From: plowboyoh@aol.com (PlowBoy OH)
Subject: "Soldier's Boy" (m/m)/ "Dad's eyes were closed. My eyes followed..."
Date: 2 Apr 1997 22:48:51 GMT

The following is a work of fiction. It is intended for the viewing of
those individuals 18 and over. No part of this text may be commercially
published or reprinted without the expressed written consent of the
author.

Soldier's Boy

by
Andrew Renz
Copyright 1997

Marry your high school sweetheart, join the military, see the world as one
of The Few, The Proud. Have a kid, move every 6 months. Being a military
brat stunk.

I was conceived in Ohio, born in Germany, and raised on every point of the
globe. Dad was always being shipped somewhere else. As soon as we had
adjusted to our latest surrounding it was time to pack and relocate. The
strain wore on Mom and me more than anyone. I had few friends, what was
the point in making them? For her, it was the same. Mom and I turned to
one another for friendship.

We were living in Osaka, Japan when I came home from school one day to see
Dad sitting in the kitchen. Several of the neighbors and some military
personnel were with him. I walked into the kitchen and the conversation
stilled. Dad looked up, becoming aware of my presence. He turned his head
to look at me, his face somewhat ashen, eyes red. 

"What's wrong? Where's mom?," I asked in a hushed voice, already knowing
something horrible had happened, "Dad?"

He looked at me to speak, his throat constricting, his eyes shifting to
the floor. Something was wrong, very wrong. My dad was a brute: 5'10,  170
lbs.. of solid mass from his years of military training. His forearms were
about the size of my calves. Something was seriously wrong to make this
man of iron will break down. I ran from the room, down the hallway to my
bedroom. She was gone. I knew she was dead without hearing the words.

Several minutes later there was a knock at my door and Dad came in,
walking over to my bed and sitting down next to me, rubbing my back while
I sobbed into my pillow.

"Heath, please don't cry. It's gonna be okay. We're gonna get through
this," his voice quivered, "We have to be strong, understand?"

"Wha-wha-what happened to her?," I sobbed.

"There was accident today. Your mom was driving back to the base. Some
truck tried to cross the road in front of them and stalled or something.
She didn't see it in time, I guess. The car plowed into bed of the truck.
It was over in an instant. She didn't even feel it," he paused a long
pause before speaking again, "I'm sorry, son. I'm so sorry." He began to
cry, the only time in my life I'd ever seen him shed a tear. I rolled onto
my back and sat up on the bed as he wrapped his arms around me and hugged
me. Together we cried.

Months had passed since the accident. Dad had transferred off the island
back to the States so I could be closer to family. He had changed somewhat
since the funeral. He used to be very uncomfortable around me, not knowing
what to say as he didn't really know me that well. The military consumed
his life. His family had always been secondary. He had always loved us, we
knew that, but he didn't show it very often and said it even less the
older I had grown. I was 17, and since I had become a teenager he had
spoken the words fewer than a handful of times that I could remember. Part
of being a Marine, I had often thought. 

In some ways, Dad had become weaker. Maybe he realized that he had two
roles to play now that Mom wasn't with us. Perhaps it was just the pain
that ate away at his steely structure, her death the rust destroying him.
He had begun to drink too, something I'd never seen; nothing excessive,
just an occasional drink or beer late at night.

On the first anniversary of Mom's death I had sat alone at home. Dad
hadn't come back from the base yet which was odd. He was never this late.
It was nearly midnight. As I laid in the dark on the couch I heard the
door unlock. He was finally home. I could see his silhouette against the
door. I didn't say anything, too consumed in thought. He hadn't seen me.
He ran his hand through his fine black hair and unbuttoned his shirt as he
walked into the kitchen. He turned on the light and reached into the
fridge for a beer. He looked kind of out of it, weaving ever so mildly as
he moved. I realized he had probably been thinking all day about the same
things I was thinking, and to forget he'd gotten blitzed.

He uncapped the beer and sat in on the countertop, then untucked his
shirt, completely unbuttoning it. It hung spread from his broad shoulders.
His body was nice, I'd often wished I had the same. I was about the same
height as Dad, but smaller framed. I had nice muscle tone, but not as good
as his. He'd had spent more time working out in his 35 years than I had in
my 17. His chest was tight and covered in a down of dark, straight hair. I
was still relatively smooth except for a patch of golden hair in the
center of my chest which grew downward to my navel.

His right hand held his beer as his left hand crossed his chest. He
stroked his right pec, eyes closed. I laid motionless on the couch
wondering if I had the potential to be as rough and rugged looking as my
dad. His hand disappeared from his chest and appeared to be cupping his
dick. I couldn't tell, the counter blocked my view, but as soon as his
shoulder started rising and falling I knew. My own dick started to stir.
This was too weird. I was getting turned on watching my old man. 

He continued palming his crotch. After awhile he stopped and sat down the
beer which he'd finished. I could see his hands fumbling with his zipper,
the sound of the metal from his brass buckle clunked as he undid it. He
popped the button on his pants and reached his hand inside. My cock was
pumped, trapped in my jeans. I didn't say anything, remaining motionless.
The muscles in Dad's arm flexed, his shoulders didn't move. He was
stroking his cock. He looked down. With his other hand he appeared to be
sliding the band of his briefs under his nuts so his cock could be
displayed. This was wrong. This was so wrong. What was I doing? 

I quietly unfastened my jeans and pulled my cock out. Precum dripped from
the head onto my abdomen. I gripped it, slowly gliding my hand down the
shaft. I wondered if it was a big as my dad's. I knew I had a big dick.
The guys in phys. ed. used to joke about it, calling me 'Apollo,' like the
rocket, but I never thought much about its size. It was just a dick. Had I
inherited it from the guy in the kitchen who was now jacking off in front
of me? What did his cock look like? I'd never seen it.

Dad's eyes were closed. My eyes followed his body from his square, five
o'clock shadowed jaw down to his chiseled pecs further down his abs until
the counter blocked my vision. His right hand jacked his cock faster and
faster. His mouth opened slightly, a look of satisfaction on his face. His
left hand again hidden beneath the fabric of his shirt. It ran roughly
over his tit. It looked like he was pinching it. I could hear him moan
ever so slightly. 

I swallowed from nervousness and stroked my cock faster, harder. I closed
my eyes. The muscles in my legs twitched as they tightened from pleasure
and fear of being busted by the Marine I was watching jack off in the next
room. I ran my tongue over my lips, moistening them with my saliva.  It
felt so good. I sucked my lower lip into my mouth and clenched it between
my teeth, lightly biting it. 

My sense of hearing was increased with my eyes shut. I could hear, or
thought I could, my Dad's breathing becoming rapid and more shallow. I
pictured his firm hands stroking his huge cock, nestled in a thick patch
of hair.  He stroked downward toward the floor. The swollen head of his
Marine meat disappearing into his hand. He jacked off the same way I did,
I imagined. I could see his cock from his vantage point. Staring down the
valley between his muscular chest, across the rippled plains of his gut,
down to sinewy apex of the 'V' that led right to his rigid shaft and heavy
nuts. 

My chest rose and fell faster and faster. Gripping my cock as hard as I
could I pounded it furiously. I heard my old man start to moan, "Ahhh,
ahhh.. Fuck yeah... Oh yeah," before he released a growl that started deep
in his throat. 

The sounds from the kitchen were too much. I gasped for air as I moaned,
picturing my dad shooting his cum all over the floor of the  kitchen,
blast after blast of his thick jizz bursting from his swollen dick. My
legs began to quiver. My head was pushed back into the arm of the sofa, my
throat thrust high into the darkness of the room. My nipples hardened. My
cock swelled as I thrust it into my hand one final time.

"Ohhhh, God. Nnnnnngggghhh," I tried to whisper. My hips rose from the
cushions as I shot my load into the air. The first drops landed on my
face, landing beneath my eyes and across my lips. Again and again the cum
pumped from dick. I opened my eyes. I heard rustling in the kitchen.

"Oh, fuck. What the... Christ, Heath!," Dad yelled from the kitchen
angrily and panicked. 

I didn't know what to do. I couldn't exactly hide. My body was limp, my
cock still clenched in my sticky hand.

He stormed from the kitchen, his shirt spread apart as he walked over to
me, exposing his torso to me. He was zipping his pants. The belt still
hung on either side of the bulge in his pants.

"What the hell are you doing up?!," he yelled, towering over me. I started
to cry. I gasped for words. He grabbed my arm and shook me.

"What were you... Dammit! Dammit!," he shouted as he placed his hands on
his head.

"I... I...," I was screwed.

"Shut up! Shut up! I don't wanna hear anything! Haul your ass upstairs,
now! Understand?," he said. I could smell the liquor on his breath.

I threw myself off the couch, and stood before him eye to eye. It was
awkward for both of us. My load trailed downward over my cheeks. I lifted
my arm to wipe the drops with the back of my hand. He looked furious. I
shifted my gaze downward, stuffed my cock back into my Levi's and walked
on trembling legs to my room. 

In the dark, I laid on my back, my arms across my chest, stared at the
ceiling and cried. What was I thinking? What's he gonna do to me? He
thinks I'm a damned queer. He's gonna call me a fag. He's never gonna talk
to me. I felt weak. I hated being weak. This I had learned from my father.


"Soldier's Boy: The Moaning After"
Chapter Two

by 
Andrew Renz
Copyright c 1997

I heard his footsteps on the stairs. I'd been waiting for this for about
half an hour. My breathing stopped. "What now," I wondered? "Is this when
he beats the shit out of me for being a fag? But man, I'm not a fag. It
just happened." The sound of his heavy walk ceased just outside the door.
My blood coursed through my veins. There was no knock, but I could hear
his breathing. He walked down the hallway to his room. The door closed. I
rolled onto my side. I could feel the wet spots on my shirt from where I'd
cum.
Dad was gone the next morning when I woke up. He was always gone. I made
it seem unusual, given the circumstances from the night before, but it
wasn't uncommon at all. 
I walked into the living room and looked at the scene of my sex crime:
the sofa, the kitchen, his bottle of beer still sitting there. His bare
chest, the flexing biceps, his mouth; the images flashed through my mind.
I grabbed my bags and headed to school.
I got home late that night. Dad was already eating when I walked in the
door. I managed an awkward 'hi.' There was no response. He sat at the
table in faded jeans and old, colored tee shirt. He was barefooted. He ate
his dinner in silence, the only sound the clunking of his knife as it
sliced through his dinner and clanked against the plate. I warmed up my
dinner in the microwave then sat across from him at the table. He didn't
look up. On his face was that same angry expression, masked with a little
bit of shame.
"I'm sorry, Dad," I said after a very long silence.
He lifted his head and gazed at me. His eyes were black as coal, his
stare icy cold.
"I'm... really..."
"Don't," he said shortly, holding his hand up,  "Never, again," he said
jabbing at the air between us with the tines of his fork.
"Yes, Sir," I said. I dropped my silverware on the table and left the
room.
Tensions between Dad and I were high for the next couple of days. I
probably hated running into him as much as he hated seeing me. It was too
uncomfortable for us to be in the same room.
I'd jacked off thinking about him a few times, which was strange; I'd
never thought about a guy when I'd jerked off before, let alone my old
man. I replayed it in my mind over and over as I was stretched out on my
bed stroking my cock. Sometimes it was exactly as it had played out that
night -  him in the kitchen, me on the sofa. Other times it was different.

I heard the door unlock. His silhouette was framed in the doorway. He ran
his fingers through his dark hair. He went into the kitchen and unbuttoned
his shirt, exposing his military-hard body to me. He massaged his chest,
ran his hands up and down his muscular trunk. His reached his hands into
his blues and massaged his cock, feeling it enlarge in his calloused
hands. He looked into the darkness and saw me lying on the sofa jacking
myself off. My eyes were shut as I savored the feel of my precum coating
the shaft of my cock with my hand. I had no idea he had seen me. Quietly
Dad walked across the carpet until he was towering over me behind the
armrest. I became aware of a change in the atmosphere and opened my eyes
to his thick fingers wrapped around his meaty cock, stroking it above my
face. His left hand was on his hip as he thrust his pelvis over me.
"Well, well, well. What have we got here? Looks like we've got a recruit
who's feeling a little under the gun. Thinking of your girl, are you?
Thinking of her lips wrapped around your cock, burying her face in your
crotch until you blow a load of cum into her mouth? Or are you thinking
about fucking a nice piece of ass? Somebody you saw in the showers on the
base today? Nice piece of chiseled Marine ass? Ramming your big cock into
that tight, dark hole. Your hands on his hips as he leans against the
wall, smashing his cheek against the tile while you give him a fuck he'll
never forget?"
His voice lowered to a whisper, "You want to feel good, son? You want to
make us both feel good?" He moved around to the front of the couch. I
turned my head, my eyes fixated on his cock and the glistening head. It
was thick, matching his physique perfectly. This was a man's dick.
It shot straight out from his body from between the opened zipper of his
pants. His briefs were under his hairy, low-hanging nuts. They bulged
upward from the pressure of the elastic waistband. He stroked his cock
slowly. 
I looked up. I could see his square jaw, his piercing, dark eyes behind
the blurred shape of his cock looming over me.
He bent his knees, lowering his cock to my mouth. I didn't move. I was
trying to comprehend what the hell was happening.
He held his cock just above my lips and milked the precum from it. A
string of it hung motionlessly over my mouth. I watched it as it
lengthened, growing thin near the point where it escaped his cock. It
broke and fell onto my bottom lip. I pulled my lip into my mouth and
sucked it into my throat and again closed my eyes, savoring the taste.
It was then that I felt the press of his flesh against my full lips. He
glided the head of his wet cock back and forth across my lips. The scent
of musk and sweat hung over me. I inhaled deeply. The pressure on my lips
was gone. I opened my eyes to see him lift his dick slightly and then
smack it across my cheek.
"Make us feel good, boy. Show me what kind of man you are," he gruffed. I
opened my mouth and sought out his cock. It entered the depths of me as
Dad let out a sigh, "That a boy. Eat this Marine cock."
Slowly I wrapped my lips around his shaft, the head just inside my mouth.
I could taste everything I had moments ago had the pleasure of smelling.
He slowly pushed it forward, deeper into my mouth. His nuts rested on my
chin, the better part of Dad's muscular cock being massaged by my tongue.
His shirttails brushed my cheeks as he braced his weight on the back of
the couch.
My hands on his thighs, I pushed him away from me and sat upright on the
couch. He slid his pants and briefs further down his legs, standing with
his legs apart. I was envious of the manliness he exuded. 
He placed his right hand behind my blonde head and pulled me back onto
his dick. My tongue explored every side of it as he slid it back into me.
I looked again at his face. He stared down at me. His free hand pinched
his hairy tit.
I bobbed again and again onto Dad's Marine pecker. My cock gushed precum.
It spilled down the sides onto my balls. 
He did not speak. He observed. My lips were secured around his brown,
veiny cock. He pulled it out until the tip was just outside my mouth
before leaning back into me. Slowly his shaft disappeared into my flesh.
He watched the progress with satisfaction as each of the seven inches
sought the warmth of my, his son's, throat.
I reached my hands behind him and placed them on his muscular ass. My
fingers moved slowly around his butt, squeezing the muscle, feeling his
flesh mesh with my hands. He sighed. My head surged forward until I could
feel his abdomen against my forehead. A overwhelming feeling of fullness
consumed me.
My fingers followed the curvature of his stone-hard ass. It flexed at my
touch. His flesh was cool in comparison to my hands. As I explored his ass
I touched his downed, sweaty crevice. He bent slightly. My left hand
remained on his cheek, but I reached my right between his legs. My hand
ran lengthwise down the split of his ass. The further down my hand
descended, the warmer and wetter his valley became. I could feel the
tender flesh of his anus against my index finger. As I crossed this
opening he shuddered slightly, a moan escaping from between his whiskered
lips. So I did it again, retracing my last touch. He shoved his dick
harder into my mouth. 
I brought my right hand to mouth, briefly interrupting the assaulting
face-fuck I was receiving. Before placing my fingertip in mouth to wet it,
I ran it under nose. It smelled like a man should smell. My cock swelled
even more.
Saliva wrapped my fingertip as I again sought out Dad's ass. I located
the sensitive opening and traced my finger lightly across it, soaking it
with my spit. I rubbed around the opening in a circular motion, each time
pressing a little harder. The Marine's breathing grew frantic. The grip on
my head grew stronger. 
His ass opened slowly with each stroke I made. Slowly I pressed upward
and my finger slid inside the soldier's butt. It closed around my finger
as I shoved it deep inside him. It was slick and warm. My finger was
completely inside my father's asshole. I felt his dick spasm in my mouth.
I probed into him, withdrew, then stuck it back into his tight ass. His
breathing grew shallow. His clenched his ass muscles around my finger. I
increased the speed of my finger-fuck. I thrust into him harder and
harder. He held my neck firmly in his hands. His cock became warmer. He
fucked my mouth with fury.
"That's it, Heath. Fuck my ass! Yes! Harder. Fuck my ass."
His legs began to buckle. "Eat my cum, boy. Taste it. Swallow my fucking
load."
His muscles clamped onto my finger. He flooded my mouth with his thick
cum. It gushed down my throat and spilled out the corners of my mouth.
My body tightened. My hand seized my cock. I pumped it wildly. As his cum
dripped down my chin I moaned loudly. My legs muscles tightened.
"Come on, boy. Cum for me. Cum for me," his commanded.
My load exploded from my cock, high into the air, splashing across my jaw
and chest. Salvo after salvo it erupted from my throbbing shaft. I was
soaked in cum.
"That's it, man. Hot, fucking cum," said the figure looming over me, with
an evil grin on his face.
I collapsed backward on the couch as he shoved his cock back into his
pants. He wiped his hand across his forehead where sweat had beaded.
My chest rose and fell. I could hear the blood surging in my head. My
heart beat pounded in my ears.
My cock had grown hard as my thoughts had run wild. The sound of the
front door closing brought me back to the real world. I pulled my shirt
out of my jeans to cover my hardon.
"Hey, dad," I said, hoping he'd respond civily.
"Hi, son," he said wearily. He looked tired.
"What's wrong? Everything okay?"
"It was just a long day. Too many things to think about. How are you
doing?"
Everything seemed to be normal for a change.
"Fine. Made the cut for the intramural's soccer team."
"That's great. Congratulations," he smiled, slapping me on the shoulder.
I grinned, pleased that we were on speaking terms again.
"Okay, why don't you fix dinner and I'll take a shower? Okay, buddy?"
I went to the kitchen to see what there was to fix. There was a pack of
pork chops in the freezer. I unwrapped the paper. They were frozen
together. A knife, I needed a knife. Holding the chops in my hand I stuck
the blade between the pieces. Suddenly, the meat shifted and the metal
blade grazed the tip of my middle finger. I held it wrapped in my tee
shirt.
"Damn!," I yelled, breathing in deeply and holding it, waiting to see how
much blood there would be.
There wasn't much, it hurt more than it was actually injured. A few drops
of blood stained my shirt. I needed a bandage.
As I went upstairs I took off my shirt. I needed to soak it before the
stain set.
Dad was in the shower. The bathroom door was open a crack.
"Hey, can I come in? I cut my finger. I gotta get a Band-Aid."
"Yeah, come on in," he yelled over the sound of the pounding water.
The bandages were in the medicine chest. Before opening it I looked in
the mirror. Dad's body was reflected in the mirror, blurred by the opaque
shower doors. The distinct outline of his hard body made my cock hard. His
arm moved round and round, lathering his body. He was soaping his cock.
His hands moved vigorously over his crotch. The sounds of the water
splashing over his body made my mind wander. I could hear him spitting the
remaining beads off of his lips as turned off the faucets. 
I ran my shirt under the cold water from the tap and threw it in the
clothes basket.
I was fumbling with the wrapping of the bandage when the shower door slid
open. His reached, with wet, dark hair clinging against his big forearm,
for a towel. There was none there. 
"Heath, you still there?"
"Uh-huh."
"Grab me a towel, would ya?"
I handed him a towel from the closet. He stood before me naked. I tried
not look.
"Thanks, son," he smiled. He wiped the water from his eyes. I snuck a
look at his body. He looked good wet, his hair darker than normal. The
water trickled down his skin. We did have the same dick, but Dad was
uncut. And it looked bigger than mine. In fact, it looked a little hard,
not a lot, just a little. Mine did the same when I washed my cock. The
feeling of my hands soaping it up, jerking on it, made it plump up a
little.
My cock couldn't be any harder than it was. Suddenly I realized I didn't
have my shirt on to conceal the bulge in my jeans.


"Soldier's Boy: Pop Friction"
Chapter 3

by
Andrew Renz
Copyright c 1997

John Soldano stood in the shower, the water slowly cascading down his
arms in tiny rivulets. With an unsteady rhythm the drops fell to the
ground forming a small puddle that spread aimlessly across the floor. Time
seemed suspended for Heath as he looked into his father's eyes. 
Nervously and anxiously he waited. His body shivered inside. He felt his
flesh tingle with the touch of his dad's hand upon his shoulder.
"Heath," his father said softly. He placed his hand beneath his son's
chin, supporting it gently in his hands, "Heath?"  
"Y-y-yeah?" he responded, focusing his gaze.
"Well?"
Heath tried to compose himself. He looked into the face just inches from
his own, "Huh?"
"What are you waiting for? Man, I don't know where your mind goes
sometimes, son. You were a million miles away just now. Get back down to
the kitchen, kiddo. I'm starving." His dad slapped him on the shoulder,
"Your finger okay?"
"Hmmm? Yeah, it's, uh, it's okay. Hurts a little. No big deal," Heath
responded, his voice sounding a bit confused.
The lieutenant put his hand on his son's head and quickly rubbed it
around, mussing up Heath's blond hair, "Okay, now beat it. I'll be down in
a little bit," his dad spoke with a smile on his lips.
Heath turned and walked into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind
him. 
Still clutching the towel in his hand, Lieutenant Soldano rested his
weight against the warm, steamy wall of the shower and looked up at
ceiling. He elevated his hands until they blocked his view of the plaster
ceiling. He examined their weathered appearance. Turning them palm upward
he traced the heavy lines, opening and closing his hands to study each
crease. A person's hands tell the story of their lives, he thought. What
stories did he hold? He remembered how, years ago, he had studied his
father's hands as they rested quietly, one atop the other, upon his still
chest in the church. These were the same rugged hands as his father's. His
eyes followed the tendons and veins which bulged from his arms. His
exploration made its way over the  round ball of his shoulder across to
his torso. He brought one of his hands to chest and traced it through the
tangle of wet hair. Raising his chin from his chest he stared through the
mist covered mirror at the his nude reflection.
In the kitchen, with one powerful, angry thrust Heath drove the blade
between the solid slices of white meat sending one piece skittering across
the counter before thumping into the wall.
***

"I'm going for a jog, wanna come with?"
Heath looked over the top of the  magazine he was reading. His dad was
squatting near the front door tightening his shoelaces
"Nah, I'm meeting a couple of the guys to play soccer in a little bit."
"Okay, well, I'll see you later then. When'll you be back?"
"'I dunno. It won't be too late."
"All right. Well, lockup," he opened the door and stepped onto the
sidewalk. The air was warm and humid. Running always helped him sort out
his thoughts. It was 7 p.m. Setting his watch he hit the hot asphalt and
disappeared into the setting sun.
***

It was 11:00 when Heath got home from the pick-up game. He was sweaty.
His shirt, shorts and legs were splattered with dried mud; the rain
earlier in the week had not yet dried on the practice fields. He put his
cleats and gear in a corner and took off his shoes. The television was on.
Asleep on the couch was his dad.
"Must've been a long run,"  said Heath aloud to himself.
He walked across the room to the end of the couch where his dad laid
sprawled. His father's white tank top was balled on the floor, thrown over
top his running shoes. He wore only his black running shorts.
 The extended body was solid and muscular. Heath watched his dad's  chest
lightly rise and fall with his breathing. His face was turned against the
cushions, with one arm across his stomach, one over his head. Even while
in this relaxed position they looked flexed. His armpit was slightly
lighter colored than the rest of his skin. Heath noticed how his dad's tan
faded to a paler shade near the mound of hair under his arms. 
Heath moved between the sofa and coffee table. The images from the TV
behind him silhouetted his body against the screen. Through the thin
material of his soccer shorts was visible the contour of his legs. Dark
blond hairs shining against his upper legs stood out in contrast to his
mud covered legs. 
He thoughtfully studied the man in his gaze. The left leg hung off the
couch, the right in an angled position against the back cushions. His
calves protruded from behind his shins, swelled from the night's earlier
run. They were sparsely covered with the same dark hair that covered his
chest and stomach. Heath's eyes moved upward to the immense, cut thighs.
The innermost part of his legs were thick with hair which grew denser as
it approached his crotch. It reappeared above the top of his shorts from
the 'V' of his stomach and rose up to his neck stopping at the top of his
sternum. His abdomen was flat and firm, symmetrically halved by a distinct
deep furrow in the muscles. His frame was solid and linear, except just
above hips where it tapered in about half an inch, creating a perfect
division between his body's upper and lower halves, before thickening
again.
Heath's thoughts flashed back to when he was younger and he would go with
his dad to the gym to watch him spar in the gym with other military
personnel. His body looked much the same now as it did then. 
Heath's cock grew warm. He reached his hand inside his Umbro's and
pointed it up toward the waistband. It was more comfortable this way.
He tilted his neck and looked up the opening of the running shorts. He
could see the edge of the jock, which appeared full. The edge of the
scrotum jutted out of the sagging pouch.
He reached out his hand and lightly touched his dad's skin, wanting to
feel the warmth of his body. He rested it lightly upon the outermost part
of the thigh. There was no reaction from the body below him. With a steady
movement he slid his hand further in, following the path of curly hair
that led to the thick cock he had seen displayed in front of him earlier
that evening. His heart raced as he waited for any signs of movement. He
shifted his eyes back and forth between the Marine's face and crotch.
His hand felt the moisture of the sweaty groin. As his fingertips reached
the fabric of the damp jock he traced them over the top and rested his
palm gently atop his dad's shaft and nuts. 
Clear liquid appeared on the tip of Heath's dick.
He lightly pressed down his hand. He could feel the spring of flesh. He
closed his eyes as he ran his hand along the outline of the cock. Even
soft it was large. He moved his hand and cautiously worked it beneath the
material. He was touching his dad's cock. No, a Marine's cock. A damn good
looking Marine. It just happened to be his dad. He had his hand on another
man's dick for the first time in his life; something he'd never thought
about with any seriousness until the other night as he'd watched another
man shoot his load in front of him.
Suddenly the Marine moved the hand that had been resting quietly on his
chiseled stomach down to his crotch. His hand was now pressing Heath's
hand harder onto his dick. There was no time to react. Heath's eyes grew
wide in terror. His stomach leapt into his throat. He inhaled deeply and
bit his lip. His hand trembled slightly. He stared at the Marine's face.
He was still sound asleep.
Heath felt it in his moist palm as the soldier's cock began to swell with
blood. 
This had gone too far. There wasn't room for a hard dick and his hand in
that pouch. Very gently he made his retreat. Slowly his fingers reappeared
from inside the opening. Just as he was near free of danger he felt his
skin pulling the flesh of the hardening military dick. The sweat from his
trapped hand had stuck to the foreskin and was now pulling it out the side
opening of the jock.
"Oh shit," he mouthed silently.
One at a time he raised his fingers, detaching it from his grip. The
Marine rubbed his hand across the front of his shorts. His dick hung
exposed across his inner thigh as it continued to harden. Heath watched as
the veins became more prominent. It was bigger now than it had been in the
shower. Heath looked down at the straining cock;  the swollen head just
partially visible from it's sheath. He brought his hand up to his face and
inhaled the intoxicating aroma. His tongue licked the open palm searching
for any lingering remains that would allow him to know what cock tasted
like, to taste another man's sweat.
He wanted to touch it again. He wanted to wrap his fingers around that
cock. He had come this far, why turn back. With his eyes watching for any
signs of awakening he reached his trembling hand out until he felt it come
in contact with the engorged cock. He deftly lifted it from it's passive
position and encircled it with his fingers. It pulsed in his hot  hand. He
watched it swell as the blood coursed through the tip before encompassing
it in his grip and squeezing. It grew harder still. He slid his hand
upward and sliding the foreskin to the tip of the rigid shaft. The skin
moved so easily. After several consistent strokes a drop of precum
glistened on the head. His thumb dabbed at the liquid. Sliding his hand
entirely off the sleeping soldier's body he brought the drop to his mouth
and hesitantly flicked his tongue across it.
Heath could take no more. As he stared at the now fully hard, seven-plus
inch dick he loosened the drawstring on his shorts, shoved them under his
swollen nuts and began to jack his own hot, pulsing cock.
He imagined bending and taking the head of the Marine's shaft in his
mouth, engulfing it with his full lips, running his tongue over every inch
of it and swallowing it deep into his throat. 
The Marine on the couch resumed, on his own, where Heath had left off. He
was gripping his own cock as he slept, occasionally squeezing the shaft,
forcing the head to bulge out slightly from the foreskin. Heath stood over
him furiously beating off. 
It was not as long or as thick as his dad's but there was no denying they
were cut from the same cloth. Jason slathered the lube that gushed from
the swollen head down the sides of his meat. His pounded his fist down his
thick shaft. It slid smoothly between his tightened fingers.
In his mind he forced apart the soldier's teeth and raped his mouth with
his tongue. He sucked the wet lips into his own. He bit the whiskered
chin. He rubbed his tender flesh across the Lieutenant's razor stubbled
face.
  "Suck my cock, mother fucker. Suck it," he imagined himself saying.
He pressed his leg against that of the officer's. He shivered as his
veins surged with every beat of his heart. He thrust over the soldier
lying asleep below him. With each stroke his cock grew bigger and harder.
With one final pump he felt the hot cum surge. He bit down on the inside
of his mouth as the first blast hit the air. Heath deflected the cumshot
with his fingers and spun on his heels away from the sofa. The first spray
dripped from his fingers as the remainder of his load blew onto the
carpet. He forced through his gritted teeth a controlled, pleasurable moan
in the form of a stream of hot breath. It was barely audible. He looked
over his shoulder in fear as he heard the sounds of shifting from behind
him.
"Christ!" he thought. He froze. How could he explain this? He couldn't.
The evidence was too obvious. His dick erect and exposed, creamy strings
of jism webbed his fingers. His face was red and damp. 
He prayed and waited. Nothing. Heath pulled his shorts back up, his dick
slowly deflating, and quietly walked upstairs. On the top step he turned
and looked again at his father, who had repositioned himself on the couch
but remained deep in sleep.
***
 In the middle of the night John Soldano awoke from his dream. Groggily,
he sat up and planted his feet on the floor. He leaned back on the sofa
and pulled on his cock a few times before remembering what happened last
time he did this. He stuffed his cock back into his jock. He ran his hands
vigorously over his thighs to stimulate the circulation.
"Ouch," he exclaimed, searching for the source of the discomfort. He
leaned over his left thigh, gently retracing the motions of his hands when
he felt it again.
Several of his leg hairs were clumped together. He rubbed them between
his thumb and forefinger. Small, translucent flakes powdered at his touch.
"Hmm," he indifferently shrugged, and bent to grab his shoes and shirt. 
Next to his shoes he noticed several clumps of dirt on the carpet. He
lifted his Nikes to eye level and checked them for mud. 
"I only ran on blacktop," he mumbled to himself as he brushed the dirt
into the carpet.  He stood, turned off the television, and trudged up to
his bedroom. Stripping off his shorts he fell onto his mattress, pulled
the sides of the comforter over him, and quickly resumed dreaming.


Soldier's Boy: Sins and Sensibility
Part Four

by
Andrew Renz
Copyright c 1997

"Bring forward the accused," the court's magistrate spoke in an eerie
tone, each word evenly spaced as they fell from his mouth. The crowd grew
momentarily hushed as all turned their attention to the large, oversized
doors at the rear of the chambers.  The clinking of the iron latch
announced his arrival. The doors flung wide, resounding as they struck
against the courtroom walls. A flood of curses and screams were cast at
Heath Soldana, held nearly aloft by the two burly guards who led him,
shackled yet defiant in spirit, to stand under the stern, unforgiving gaze
of the judge. 
"Sodomite! Devil! Queer! Faggot! Let the faggot die!," he heard them
scream as he was forced through the crowd.
"This court has reviewed the charges and offenses brought before it," the
magistrate spoke without delay, "and finds the defendant guilty."
 The packed courtroom burst into thunderous cheers.
"And is fitting with the court, the sentence for your crimes is death..."

Heath's knees buckled. He screamed a loud, sorrowful wail, "But I'm not
guilty! I haven't done anything! I haven't done anything! Oh my God! Dad!?
Dad!? Nooooo!"
 The judge continued as he eyed the papers on his bench, "... by public
beheading, to commence immediately following adjournment.  With a powerful
strike of his gavel against the wooden pedestal the judge rose and looked
coldly into Heath's terrified eyes, "Take him away!," he screamed.
Screaming innocence, Heath was led to the platform on the public square.
He scoured the crowd for a sympathetic eye. Where was his dad? 
Forced against the crimson stained chopping block, which smelled not of
oak but death, Heath prayed for forgiveness while being read the last
rites. 
He saw the glint of the ax as it caught the last rays of the setting sun
on its razor-sharp tip. Tears flowed from his eyes, drool from his
plaintive sobs pooled around his cheek
"I'm not a fag! Dad! Tell them! Dad, where are you!?," he wailed
searching the crowd in desperation. Finally, he saw his father emerge from
the maddened gathering. 
As the Bible was closed, the magistrate, too, locked eyes upon John
Soldano. And with a solemn bow of his head to the robed figure on the
platform, Soldano disappeared back into the crowd.
"Noooooo! Nooooo!," wailed his son, not believing his eyes as the ax was
raised high over his head, where it hung in silence before slicing through
the air.
Heath bolted upright in his bed. His heart raced. Arms locked against the
mattress, he spun his legs onto the floor as he caught his breath,
realizing it was nothing more than a nightmare. He turned on the halogen
light next his bed and sat for some time before making his way across the
cluttered bedroom to the door.
He turned the handle slowly, not wanting to wake his dad. Poking his head
into the hallway he peered into his father's room. The light from Heath's
doorway stretched down the corridor, illuminating the flesh on one of John
Soldano's calves, the only part of him exposed from beneath the blue
comforter. Tiptoeing, he went to the kitchen for something to drink. He
was afraid to fall back asleep.
"Hey, what are you doing up?" said a gravely voice from somewhere in the
dark from behind him.
Heath, his head buried in the refrigerator, jumped and knocked over a
bottle of ketchup on the fridge shelf.
"Whoa, didn't mean to scare you," said his dad, as Heath reemerged
holding a jug of orange juice.
"Sorry. Had kind of a bad dream. Did I wake you?"
"Nah, I had to pee and saw the light on down here. Wanna tell me about
it? Looks like it shook you up a bit." John reached into the cupboard and
pulled out a glass. He filled it from the tap and drank.
"Nah, no big deal."
The cinch around John's robe slowly inched itself loose causing the gap
in the front to widen. Heath could see a good bit of flesh. He ran his
eyes quickly down the length of his dad's body, the shadows accentuating
each muscled strait. The dark hairs contrasted with the color of the skin.
His crotch was not visible, but the sight of his dad's nude thigh was
better. Heath remembered the way his dad had looked earlier in the evening
as he slept on the couch. 
Tilting the glass high to get the last drops, John's robe fell open
several more inches. His meaty, uncircumcised dick swayed between his
legs. Heath quickly looked away in guilt. He heard the clink of glass on
the counter and the rubbing of fabric upon fabric, as his dad, realizing
he was flashing, retied the knot hastily.
"Okay, I'm going back to bed. See ya in the morning."
"Yeah. 'Night, Dad."
"Goodnight."
Heath placed his elbows on the edge of the sink and rested his heavy head
in his hands.
***

"Happy Birthday to a boy who is great! Here's wishing you fun now that
you're 10 plus an 8!' Where does she find this stuff?" Heath said as he
read aloud to his father the greeting on the glittered balloon covered
card.
"It's something only grandmas can find. And I hope they keep it their own
little secret. So, what are we gonna do to celebrate your '10 plus an 8?'
Maybe we could go out, or we could barbecue. You call it, Birthday Boy."
"That's Birthday Man," Heath said, striking a virile pose.
"Mom would be so proud of you," John said reflectively.
"I hope so," his voice trailed off as he considered that maybe his mom,
wherever her spirit was, knew what he did that night he whacked off at his
dad's side. "Okay, well I'm gonna be late for soccer practice. Why don't
we cookout? I'll see you later this afternoon."
"Sounds good. See you then, Sport."

***

Smoke rose from the grill on the patio as the juice from the steaks
dripped onto the burning coals. The smell of charcoal fluid and meat
greeted Heath when he opened the front door. He looked out onto the patio
where his dad, in cut-offs and a ribbed, tank T-shirt, stood watch over
the grill. He alternated between swigs from the longneck bottle of beer in
his left hand, and poking at the embers with the tongs in his right. 
Dropping his equipment by the door, Heath wandered onto the patio,
"Smells good."
"Hey, there you are. Yeah, they do don't they?"
"I'll be right back. I'm gonna go shower real quick."
"Okay, but hurry up. They're almost done."
  Heath stripped off his clothes and turned on the shower. He walked over
to the window and looked down onto the backyard. He could see his dad
rubbing his hand back and forth across his abdomen. From above, the
Marine's shoulders looked even broader and more muscled . Heath felt
movement in his dick. He looked down between his legs and watched as his
cock slightly inflated. Taking it in his hand he tugged on it slowly. It
began to rise into the air.
"Okay, just shower. You don't have time to jerk off," he said aloud to
himself. 
Under the jets of the warm water he vigorously ran the bar of soap across
his chest and under his arms, removing the sweat and dirt from the
afternoon scrimmage. He lowered his hands to his still erect cock. He slid
his encircled fingers up and down the shaft. They slid smoothly across his
skin. He lifted his nuts, lathering them with suds. Bowing his legs, he
reached further and ran a soapy finger over his anus. As he ran his finger
across the opening he felt it open slightly with each touch. He closed his
eyes. He moved his hand back to his dick and began to fuck his fist.
"Okay, hurry up! Dinner's ready!," his dad yelled through the crack of
the bathroom door.
"Ouch," Heath said as the soap fell out of his hand and onto his toe. His
dad's voice had surprised him, "I'll be right down."
On the other side of the door, John peeked through the crack onto the
mirror, "You okay?" His son's blurred profile was outlined in the mirror.
"Yes. Fine," Heath replied nervously, quickly turning into the corner of
the shower to hide his erection. He didn't need to get caught again.
"Okay. Well, come on."
Heath toweled off quickly, dressing in pair of boxers and sweatshorts. As
he walked through the patio door, his dad handed him a beer, "Happy
Birthday!"
"What's this for?"
"To drink."
"Seriously?" he asked.
"Well, yeah. It's a special occasion."
"Cool. Thanks." Heath put the bottle to his mouth. Swallowing the first
mouthful, he winced and made a face. "Mmm, good stuff." He looked at his
dad and watched him chuckle.
"It's dark beer. Takes awhile to get used to."
Heath lifted the bottle again, determined to acquire a taste for the
brew.
Father and son sat on the patio as the sun descended over the edge of the
California coastline. The sky changed from a majestic purple hue to black
as the pair had their first meaningful talk since the accident; for that
matter, for the first time ever. The heat of the night and the alcohol
diminished the Marine's usually reserved self. Heath felt he was actually
coming to understand his father. They discussed parts of his father's life
that Heath had never known. His dad's distant relationship with his own
father explained a lot about his inadequacies raising Heath. They talked
about their lives without Mom. How hard it had been on them both.
"Have you ever thought about remarrying, Dad?"
John stared at the sweat-covered bottle in his hand in silence. "I still
haven't stopped missing Mom yet. But, yeah, there are a lot of things I
miss. A lot," he said.
"Like?" Heath asked quietly, swigging his beer before leaning his head
back against the cushion of the deck chair and staring at the blurry stars
overhead.
"Like having someone to talk to, to share things with. Feeling someone in
the bed." His voice trailed off into a whisper.
The two sat quietly. Heath was thinking about the empty bed issue. He had
thought recently about how he'd like to crawl into bed with his dad and
sleep with him just to feel the heat of his body pulled up against his. It
was the liquor talking. And its 'truth soup' effect was too strong.
"Dad..., " he said nervously, fearing what might come from what he was
about to bring up, "I know you told me not to talk about this again, but
that night... in the kitchen?" 
No response.
"I'm sorry about what happened. I couldn't help it though. I mean, I'd
never," he strongly emphasized, "ever thought about another guy before,
but seeing you there. Man, it was too much. Dad?" He had expected some
reaction by now.
He turned his dizzying head to the side in the direction of his of pop.
John Soldano sat in his cushioned metal chair, chin lodged against his
right shoulder. Too much beer, too much heat.
 "Pop? Pop? Aw, man." 
Heath shook his dad to no avail. He opened the patio door, walked back to
his dad and hoisted him from his seat, "Come on. Make this easy on me."
Placing his shoulder under his dad's arm he struggled to lead him into the
house. Carting his dad up the steps was out of the question. Father and
son veered across the living room to the couch. Heath laid his dad out on
the cushions then sat in the chair next to the sofa under the soft glow of
a solitary overhead light. He had a good buzz going. He watched through
beer goggles his father's motionless torso. 
Heath's cock moved in his shorts. He put his hand on his lap and pressed
his palm onto it. He moved his hand down the length of his growing shaft,
maneuvering it so it pointed up. His inhibitions were low, very low.
He got up from his seat and lowered himself to his knees, crawling across
the plush carpet to the couch. He peered his eyes over the edge of the
sofa, cautiously rising. He placed his hand on his father's forehead and
brushed the bangs backward with his fingers. There was no movement.
Several times he whispered into his dad's ear, but nothing. 
Keeping his attention on the Marine's face, Heath placed his hand on the
soldier's chest. He gripped the firm pecs softly in his hand. Through the
white cotton he could feel the point of hardened nipples. Lightly he swept
the left tit under the tip of his finger. He took it between his fingers
in a vise-like manner, pinching it. He felt his own nipples harden. He
reached his free hand up to his own chest and grabbed his tit. His skin
tingled. He leaned his head back and savored the gratification he felt.
Heath bent over, removed his hand and replaced it with his lips. He
sucked on the cotton. It was dry but soon dampened with his saliva. He
lifted his mouth away from the tank and could see the brown aereole
faintly through the material. His cock surged against his abdomen.
His hands fumbled with the drawstring of his shorts. He stood, put his
thumbs in the waistband of his sweats and slid them and his boxers to his
ankles before kicking them off to the side. Naked, he returned to his
kneeling position. He took his cock in his left hand and squeezed it
firmly, milking drops of precum on the thick head. He smoothed the liquid
down the shaft of his cock and stroked it as he reached his right hand up
to the button of his dad's faded denim shorts. Unable to undo the snap
with one hand he stopped his jack off session. With both hands in motion
he quickly opened the jeans and partially unzipped the fly with the
greatest delicacy. His dad still had not moved. He was out for the count
it seemed to Heath.
Reaching his hands smoothly into the opening, he untucked the tank top
from the shorts. It fit snugly against his dad's body. With trembling
hands, he peeled the fabric upward over the heaving chest an inch at a
time. He took in the sight of the hairy abs as they revealed themselves to
him. Again he leaned forward. He extended his tongue from between his lips
and placed it against the tanned skin. He broadened his tongue and ran it
up from the soldier's side across his flat stomach. It tasted incredible.
Heath couldn't believe how turned on he was.
With a light kiss he removed his mouth and continued to lift the shirt.
With the shirt up to his dad's neck Heath stopped. He looked at the
delicious feast before him. Thick, dark hair blanketed the rugged torso.
It laid smoothly against his skin. It all flowed downward where it
disappeared beneath the top of the Levi's. His pecs rose above the rest of
his body, solid from years of training. They looked very natural, as
though he'd never lifted a barbell in his life, which in fact was almost
true. Lowering his head, Heath kissed the nipple closest to him. Pulling
away, he looked at the ring of saliva his lips had left. He looked again
at his dad; still asleep. He bent and took the tit between his lips and
nursed on it, sucking the flesh into his mouth. He put his hand back on
his dick, slowly fingering it. His wet tongue darted back and forth across
the end of the nipple. It glistened beneath the saliva. 
Heath put his other hand on the far nipple and rubbed it gently. He
swirled his hand across the hairy flesh, watching as he did so. He moved
his hand down across the Marine's abs. He righted himself and skootched
across the floor to his left. He moved his hand further down the taut
stomach until he reached the top of the shorts. Taking his hand off of his
cock, he tugged at the zipper. He ran his left hand up the tender flesh of
the soldier's leg. His right hand crept into the opening at the top.
Following the trail of hair into the shorts his fingers met no resistance.
His dad was not wearing briefs. The hair thickened as he progressed
further until he felt the tangle of pubic hair. His left hand moved
upward, guided by the heat radiating from within. Heath's hand brushed
against the hardness of his dad's uncut cock.
Gently, Heath pushed the meat upward until he could feel it touch his
other hand. Hooking his fingers around it he eased it forward until it
stuck straight up, the uncut head visible through the gap in the fly.
Heath grew very nervous. He had gone too far. He needed to stop.
He leaned back onto his heels. Precum flowed from his rigid shaft. A
string hung precariously from the head, dangled briefly in mid air before
lengthening and snapping. It landed onto the carpet.
He stood. His hands went to the legs of the Marine's shorts. Wriggling
them back and forth they slipped over the soldier's muscular ass. Heath
watched as two, three inches of the hard cock appeared. Once over his
butt, the jean shorts pulled easily down the muscular legs and over his
feet. Heath draped them over the back of the sofa. His father lay naked
before him.
Heath moved back to the soldier's side. Bowing his face over his crotch
he stared inquisitively and hungrily at the thick cock just inches from
his mouth. He moved his head down the dark brown, low hanging sac. Placing
his hand underneath it he hefted it in his palm. He explored the
smoothness of it, the small, purple veins. He released the nuts from his
hand and brought his hand to his nose. The smell of musk and sweat was
intoxicating. Goosebumps appeared on his arms and legs.
Again he leaned forward. He put his face very close to his dad's cock,
close enough that he could smell the manliness and feel the heat against
his cheek. He followed the cock from where the base, at the top of his
nuts, to the tip, where half an inch of the head rose out of the foreskin.
Easing forward he put his tongue on the exposed head. The taste was
bitter. He bobbed his mouth on and off of it. He looked to make sure his
dad was still out, before lifting the cock away from his body. 
Heath parted his lips and tentatively hovered over the cockhead. He
counted to three, shut his eyes and lowered his mouth, taking the swollen
shaft inside. He wrapped his lips around the flesh and worked back toward
the head, enjoying the taste of a man's dick as it receded from his the
confines of his hot, juicy mouth.  Reaching the head, he slid down the
shaft once more, this time sliding back the skin and revealing the entire
head. He took an inch more than the previous time before sliding off. He
eyed the flared head momentarily then sucked it into his eager mouth. His
tongue found the slit and tasted the precum that oozed forth. He pulled
off. Milking the shaft another glint of lubricant appeared on the head.
Heath licked at it with his tongue. He was so turned on now that even if
the man awoke he would continue with his actions.
Holding the cock at the base, Heath again took it into his mouth and
began a steady suction on it, working it from midshaft to the head and
back again. 
He put his hand on his cock and jerked it furiously. He assaulted the
Marine's cock with his mouth. His golden blond hair fell into his eyes as
he sucked the meat in a rhythmic fashion. He swallowed the precum as if
fell onto his tongue. In his mouth the Marine's cock swelled.
Heath stuck one his fingers into his mouth, coating it with saliva. He
reached behind himself and located his asshole. He rubbed the mixture of
spit and precum over the opening. His body was flooded with new
sensations.
He sucked harder on the Marine's cock. With his eyes closed he felt
something different. He opened his eyes to see that the Marine was ever so
gently lifting his hips. Heath slowed down and watched the cock still
continue to poke into his mouth. His dad was getting off on it,
consciously or not.
The new revelation fueled Heath's hunger. He brought the finger that was
working his ass back up to his mouth. Without releasing the cock from
between his lips he dripped saliva onto the fingertip. Moving his hand
between the soldier's tight ass, he swept it up the crevice between his
cheeks and located the hairy opening of his anus. He pressed against it
with his wet finger, massaging it. The Marine legs parted slightly. Heath
froze.
Releasing his grip on hot cock in his mouth he turned his head slightly
to the right. John Soldano had turned his head but his face was still
relaxed. He was still asleep.
Heath's heart felt as though it would burst in his chest. He paused to
recompose himself before continuing to suck off the Marine. He brought the
finger back to his mouth, wetted it, and returned to stimulating the
opening. His finger probed in slightly, beyond the tight ring of muscle.
Again the hips rose, grinding upward. Heath began to jerk the base of the
cock upward as he lowered his lips on the thick shaft. With every suck the
cock grew larger in the depth of his throat.
His own cock was in agony. Heath pulled his left hand from the soldier's
butt and worked the shaft with it. He seized his own throbbing meat with
his right and jerked it furiously. He felt the Marine's dick begin to
pulsate in his mouth as he felt the  cum in his own nuts begin to boil. He
pressed his lips tightly around the guy's cock. As he lowered his mouth he
felt the veins surge.
The cum shot forth against the back of his throat. He pulled his mouth
away and let the cum shoot across his face, splash after splash. The warm
liquid landed on his cheeks and tongue like raindrops. Heath grunted and
rocked onto his heels as his balls tightened, seconds before his own dick
blasted streams of cum high into the air before arching and landing on his
chest and shoulders. His body twitched in ecstasy. The cum rolled down his
chest onto his stomach. He brought his hand to mouth and licked the jizz
from his mouth, swirling it with mouth his the Marine's.
John Soldano peered hazily from beneath his heavy eyelids at his son who
was rubbing his palms across his pale, smooth stomach, then drifted back
to sleep.


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