Date: Thu, 14 Jun 2001 01:51:03 EDT
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: "The Storm"

A son (recently arrested at a "tearoom") goes with his father on a drive
for a hunting trip which is interrupted by a storm.

				 THE STORM
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		     "WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM"

     Thunder rumbled from the heavy clouds overhead.  Dad cleared his
throat in a miniature imitation as we took the gentle curve in the highway
and were now staring right into the approaching gray mass of clouds that
was heading our way.  "Looks like the storm's going to hit us after all.
They said it was going to miss." Dad ventured.
     I didn't say anything.  I wasn't ready to talk just yet.  No, I was
ready to talk about it, I just couldn't figure out how.
     I had been relieved when Dad suggested we take off a few days and go
rabbit hunting north of town.  It would get me out of the house while Mom
had some time alone to think things through.  She wasn't talking to me just
now (and hadn't since they'd had to come down to the jail to post my bail
and she'd heard what the charges were) but was talking to Dad full volume
in words I was meant to overhear, and that was what I had overheard.
     And Dad was being just great about the entire thing.  Not pressing me,
just waiting until I was ready to talk about it.  But I wasn't, and
wouldn't be as long as Mom kept things so damned tense, and we all sort of
knew it.
     So here we were on an early Saturday morning, in the pickup and
heading for the hills and a chance to shoot some squirrels or rabbits, only
the weekend was turning out rainy and not good hunting weather.  I was a
fair shot with the .22 my Dad had bought for me some years before, but he
was the real hunter in the family.  I didn't hate hunting, but it didn't
appeal to me much either.  But a chance to be away from Mom and alone with
Dad...well, it had been almost a week, and I was ready to talk about it
now.  The trip would give us that.  Which was the whole point.
     We had spent the first hour of the three hour drive in silence.  Dad
was silent, waiting for me to speak, and I was silent trying to figure out
how to start the subject.
     Dad waited, cleared his throat again and said, "The tank's sitting on
a quarter, we'd better stop here and gas up."  A self-serve station/store
built out of an old house was just ahead.
     "Fine by me." I said sullenly.  Anger had been my barrier ever since
the arrest, and I wasn't ready to drop it just yet.
     After we filled up, Dad said, "Why don't you drive the rest of the
way, Son?"
     "Sure I'm old enough?" I almost sneered.
     Dad shrugged.  "You're eighteen now.  An adult.  Time you were allowed
to act like it."
     "Thanks, Dad." I said, feeling my hostility vanish.  And that was
enough.  We had started talking.
     I got in the pickup and started it up and we headed out.  That store
was something of a "last stop" place, from now on the road quickly turned
narrow and countrified.  We were in a National Forest although it was now
over one-third fields and open spaces thanks to fires and some forestry
that had gone on with government approval some years before.  Excellent
places to pot rabbits and squirrels.  Except for the rain which was hanging
heavy in the gray clouds overhead, causing the clouds to almost sag down in
the middle.  It would hit any minute.
     I looked over at Dad, who had gone silent again.  He had opened the
door to talking about it man-to-man clearly enough, but it was still up to
me.
     Black hair and dark eyes the same as me; I could look into his face
and know what I'd look like twenty years from now.  A goatee and mustache;
his face was weathered and lined from work and worries.  You didn't expect
such a gentle soul inside a rugged man like my Dad.  He had worked logging
or construction or other hard physical labor for as long as I had known
him, and his hobbies were equally rough--hunting, fishing, or camping out
in the wilderness and just staying there a few days.  I had seen old
photographs; he had been so handsome once, and if you looked at him, you
could see that in him still.  He'd lived a hard life, that's all.
     But inside that battered face there lived a true gentleman.  I can't
think of any other word.  If you need any further convincing, think about
how he'd behaved the last few days.  I'd been caught in a police raid on a
public restroom/gay "tearoom."  It was my first visit to that place, and it
was to have been the night when I lost my virginity, but I hadn't been
inside the place for more than a few seconds when the police raided the
place and arrested everyone for lewd conduct.  So he and Mom had had to
step up before the judge and swear that they'd sent me out for the
groceries I'd claimed to have been fetching at the time (at 2:00 a.m.!) and
had just stopped off there to take a leak.  I hadn't been, and they knew it
and I knew it, but it was what I'd told the police, and the lawyer had told
them to stick with my story unless they wanted me to have a record for this
"victimless crime."
     I think that was what had galled Mom the most, dragging them into it
like that.  Dad had just nodded and done his part.  Like I said, a true
gentleman.
     I looked over at him, he looked over at me, and the rain began then.
And with that rain's soft patter, covering me like a shroud, came a release
for me and I was able to talk.  "Dad?" I said.
     "Yes, Son?"
     "I'm sorry I made you and Mom lie to the judge for me."
     He smiled at me.  "It's all right, Son.  You got rattled and told the
police a lie, and then you were stuck with it." He pointed out.  "You
didn't do anything wrong.  Just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
     I was silent again, for a while.  But it had to be said.  "I knew
where I was." I said.
     "I know." He said.
     "You do?"
     "Son, you're eighteen and you don't date any of the girls at school.
You hang around with your friends and their girls, but always you're the
fifth wheel.  And when you watch television or we're around other people,
I've seen when you perk up and stare.  And when you don't.  So I know."
     "Oh." I said.
     Dad said.  "I've known for a long time.  You don't have to tell me.
Or your mother."
     "I'm sorry." I said.  I felt like crying.
     "Don't be.  You haven't done anything wrong." He repeated.
     I fought the tears back down, leaving only a stinging liquid in my
eyes.  "But I wanted to." I pointed out.  "I went in there, Dad, and I was
going to."
     "I know, Son."
     "And I would have.  I wouldn't have backed out.  I was only in there
fifteen seconds all right, but I was all the way into the room.  I wasn't
standing on the doorstep looking in, I was all the way inside, looking
around and trying to figure out what I was supposed to do next."
     "So you were going to do it." he sighed out.
     "Yeah." I said.  "It's...it's like I have to.  I just have to.  I got
to know what it's like.  I can't wait any longer.  I was going to wait
until I left home, honest, but it's like this has been building up inside
me for so long, I just can't wait any longer.  I have to know what it's
like."  My hands shook on the wheel.
     "I understand, Son." Dad said.  "Rain's getting harder, why don't you
pull off the road here at this little clearing and we'll just sit it out."
     I pulled the pickup over off the road and into the soft soil.  Getting
out of it afterwards might be tricky, if the rain was too hard.  And like
the thought brought the reality, the rain really started coming down, the
way it does in early April and the weather really lives up to the myth of
April showers.
     "So it's all built up inside of you?" Dad said after a time.  "Like
you're going to bust open if you don't do something about it."
     "Yeah, Dad." I said.  "I can't explain it no better."
     Dad was silent for a time.  Then, "So you're ready now to tell me and
everyone that you're...."
     "Gay." I volunteered when he fell silent.
     "That's the word." He agreed.  "We had other words when I was growing
up, mean, ugly words.  And a lot less tolerance about it."
     "It's not that much better now." I said.  "I wouldn't dare say
anything to the guys at school.  God, I can't wait to get out of this town
and out of this state!"
     "I understand." He said.  "But that's not so far away now.  Just a
couple of months.  What's the problem?"
     "The problem?" I said.  "I want it, Dad.  Even after all that's
happened, I still want it.  I want it so bad I dream about it at night,
every night.  I want it so bad I can't even think about anything else.  I
keep looking at my friends, Larry, Dave, Mark, wondering if I dared...dared
just try and ask them.  They like me, right?  Maybe they wouldn't mind too
much if I just...just found out what it's like."
     "You think any of them are gay, too?"
     "No." I grinned lopsidedly.  "That's why I haven't asked them.  God,
Dad, it feels so good just to talk to you about it!  To talk to anybody
about it.  It's...it's been so lonesome."
     "I know, Son." Dad said.  "You can talk to me any time you want to."
     "So I went to that restroom.  It was like I just had to."
     "I know how you feel, Son." Dad said.  "I felt the same when I was
your age.  It's like it burns you inside.  And it's going to burn you up if
you can't get it out somehow."
     I had to say it; so I didn't say it to Dad, I said it to the window in
the door on my side.  Not able to look at him.  Screwing up my courage, I
said to the window, "Dad, I got to do it with someone.  Someone who can let
me find out what it's like.  But I don't know anyone, Dad.  Anyone that I
can...do it with.  I need someone, Dad.  Anyone at all.  Dad...do you know
anyone that I could...that I could...."  I just couldn't say it.
     There was silence for a response and I finally turned around to look
at Dad.
     His face was kind, gentle, understanding.  And maybe a little bit more
than that.  When I turned to look at him, he rose up in the seat, lifting
his buttocks off the seat, and tugged his zipper open.  Reached in and took
out his cock and laid it out on the outside of his jeans.  It was still
soft, but it stiffened up as I watched it.
     "Go ahead, Son." He said.
     I looked at his cock, as it slowly rose up.  It was a deep brown in
color, the cockhead was purplish-brown.  His foreskin was thick and formed
a meaty sheathe around the shaft, curling up to the base of the glans.  I
smelt the faintest musky odor from it, all the way over where I was.
     Thunder boomed in the distance, like a rumbling truck, and the rain
took that as the cue to pour down harder than ever and the rumble of
thunder was drowned by the hard constant drumming of the rain.  The windows
of the pickup were a solid smear of raindrops that splattered against it
and rain down in layers rather than rivulets.  It was like being
underwater.  Private. Confidential.  Safe.  I was safe here.  So safe.
     I licked my lips.  "I don't know how.  I read some books about it at
the library, but they don't tell you what to do.  Not exactly."
     Dad gulped hard and said, "Well, first thing you should do is get your
mouth all wet and then slick it down.  More spit you use, the easier it'll
be to work it."
     "Okay." I said.  Suddenly my mouth felt very dry.  I worked my cheeks
violently, and managed to work up some spit.
     "Don't fight it, Son." Dad said to me.  "Just lean on over and give it
a try.  You'll get better at it with some practice."
     So I leaned over with my pitiful reserve of saliva perched in my
cheeks, and I touched his cock to my lips.  That odor of him was stronger
than ever.  Heady, intoxicating.  Male.  I slid my lips over Dad's cockhead
and took his cock into my mouth, and felt a strange sense of triumph.  By
God, I had done it!  I had a cock in my mouth!
     What was it like?  A warm, palpable presence in my mouth, kind of
rubbery-like but very much alive, nothing fake about it.  It felt
less...human than I expected.  But that was just the way it felt.  The way
it made me feel was...triumphant!  I had done it!  I was doing it, finally
doing it!
     "Now, just hold it there for now." Dad instructed me.  "Work up some
more spit; it'll be easier now that you've got it in you."
     He was right, my mouth had begun to water, taking the taste of the
cock as food, I guess, but it had triggered the salivary glands and now I
had plenty of spit to work with.
     Dad felt it, too.  "Coat it, Son, just get it all nice and slippery.
Don't try to work it now, just wet it all down."
     I did that, running my tongue over the glans and shaft, trying to
smear my spit over that huge organ evenly.  Then I took it back into my
mouth and began to make some tentative bobs up and down on the cock.
     "Grip it as you pull up." Dad explained.  "And release it as you go
down.  Tight and loose, tight and loose."
     I did it, and I earned a slow, low groan that slipped from Dad's lips.
God, I was sucking my own father!  I had always wondered what my first time
would be like, and it was with Dad!
     The rain seemed to take a deep breath and started in again, this time
a hard-pounding rain which splattered rather than drenched like the first
onslaught.  Like it was settling in for a long hard downpour, the rain
rattled rather than pattered on the pickup roof and doors, like a machine
gun, or like a million nervously drumming fingers, the wind making the
sound rise and fall in intensity.  Papapapapa, papapapapa, papapapapa!
That's what it sounded like
     I began to find a rhythm in how to move, how to make my head slide
sinuously up and down on Daddy's cock.  Dad gave a sigh and a small hunch
of his buttocks.  "Ah, yeah, Son, that's how you do it." He coached me.
"Just like that, oh, yeah!"
     His fingers ran into my hair, and then over my shoulders in a gently
stroking motion, the way you'd pet a cat.  Dad's cock was harder than ever
now, and I was getting better at sucking his cock all the time.  I even
managed to speed up some more, figuring that'd make Dad happy.
     It did.  He gave a low, lusty groan and slid down in the seat some
more, and I sucked him harder.  His cock was like steel now, with a wrap of
thick velvet cloth on it, that slid up and down and the entire thing was
getting hotter than hell.  His balls had moved up against his shaft and now
pressed against my lips on the downstroke while I sucked him, and Daddy was
groaning steadily now, his hands, both of them, now moved over my body,
roaming like a couple of mountains goats upon a rocky hillside, his hands
roamed over me, like he wanted to hold me but he couldn't in this position.
     His cock was spewing out a strong, salty flavor to it, so much that I
wondered if he had come, but his groans didn't let up any, so I kept on
doing it, savoring the strong, male taste his cockhead had now sprouted,
all slimy and thick and tangible on my tongue.
     "Oh, God, Son, now, harder, harder!" Dad begged me and I sped up as
quick as I could now, making my head move so fast my neck ached and my lips
smeared with saliva run rampant, and I saw an electrical flash of lightning
nearby or overhead, and then the drum-of-doom thunder that crashed all
around us, safe here in our little haven.
     I never wanted to stop, I wanted to suck my Daddy forever like this,
here in this pickup, away from the world, hearing his pleasure sounds in my
ears, feeling his warm tower of masculinity in my mouth and throat,
smelling the concentrated aroma of male rut.  It was everything I'd ever
imagined.  My indecisions were resolved now, I was gay and I was going to
be gay no matter what happened or what I had to do.
     That gave me a burst of speed and Dad's cock was burning my tongue it
was so hot, Dad was bellowing like an enraged lion, his hands tightened on
my body and then reached up and clamped onto my head, and held me down on
his cock tight, shoving the entire length into me, and he humped upwards
into me, hard, fast strokes that pummeled my throat, almost bruising me,
and Dad roared, strangled on his roar, then burst forth anew and Dad's jism
spewed into my mouth.
     Hot, salty, liquid, like so many gelatin capsules taken all at once
and melting in my mouth in a heady mixture of taste and smell, some of it
landing on my tongue to be smeared about my mouth, but some of it flying
right into the depths of my throat, my Dad was face-fucking me now, lost in
his rapture, and he groaned, twitched, spasmed, and it was over and he was
limp and drained completely dry.
     I was left with a mouth full of sperm and a rapidly delating cock that
slipped from my lips and fell in a wet puddle on his balls.  I looked up at
Dad's face, all sweaty and exhausted and soft, and he was handsome as a
young man once more in that moment, and I looked right into his eyes and I
swallowed his jism, then leaned back down to lap at his prong which had
been so vibrant and full, but was now weak and limp once more.
     Dad didn't stop me, just let me do it as long as I wanted, licking at
his cock and balls, though I could tell the cockhead was sore and sensitive
for him now, from the way he grunted in pain, and I raised back up into the
seat and clutched the steering wheel and, tired myself, I leaned over it,
resting my chin on the top of the wheel and caught my breath once and for
all.
     Again, I couldn't think of anything to say.  The rain was letting up
again, now it was a light drizzle, and I cleared my throat and reached and
turned the ignition back on again.  The pickup started up in a gentle
rumble and I steered us slowly and carefully back onto the road once again.
     Dad quietly put his cock back into his pants and zipped them up again
and now, nothing revealed what we had been doing.  It was private, between
him and me, and that was right.  Nobody else's business.  None at all.  And
with that realization came a confidence I hadn't felt before.  And it felt
good.
     "The police were wrong to come in and stop us like they did." I said
firmly.
     Dad was surprised by this.  "It's a public restroom in a park." he
pointed out.
     "It was two o'clock in the morning." I said.  "Nobody else was using
it.  Nobody else even goes there that time of day.  Why couldn't we use it?
Nobody's business."
     "There are better ways for you to get together with other men." Dad
said uncomfortably.
     "Maybe." I said.  "But it's all they have around here.  Unless you're
lucky."
     Silence again, and the clouds which had been so thick overhead earlier
now showed themselves to be a thin band of heavy rain, for a thinning out
and patches of blue sky shone through them on the horizon.
     "Looks like it's all going to blow over." I said.  "The rain, that
is."
     "I reckon so." Dad agreed.
     "We can camp out after all." I said.  "I thought we'd be stuck in a
motel or a cabin."
     "You want to camp out?" Dad was surprised.  "I thought you liked the
cabins."
     "I do." I said.  "Except that they're all crowded together.  I want to
be alone with you this weekend."
     "Yes, Son?"
     "Yeah." I grinned over at him.  "I got other curiosities still.  I
figure it's best if I take care of all of them this weekend.  Hope you
don't mind."
     After a time, Dad agreed, "Well, we can't hunt all the time."
     I grinned at him.  "And we can't play that much pinochle either."
     Dad grinned back at me.  Over to our right, the mid-morning sun broke
through the clouds with a golden beam upon the grayness.
     The storm was over.

THE END