Date: Sat, 21 Sep 2013 10:51:21 -0700 (PDT) From: Dave Krenshaw Subject: The Taking of Son Billy's Cherry: Installment 2 The Taking of Son Billy's Cherry: Installment 2 by davekrenshaw@yahoo.com This story may contain content of a sexually graphic nature which may not be legal for the jurisdiction in which you reside. If you are a minor, meaning you have not attained the age of majority, i.e.: "legal age", for the jurisdiction in which you reside, or material of this nature is illegal in the same, please close the window in which you are reading this disclaimer or as necessary, the computer browser you are using, immediately. This story is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents portrayed in such work are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, that you yourself have knowledge of is entirely coincidental. All comments as to this story in general or any installment of the same posted are greatly appreciated: Please send the same to me at: davekrenshaw@yahoo.com (Please put the title of this story in the subject line of your email, so that I will know that your email is not any type of commercial solicitation); and please be sure to state in your email if a reply from me is welcome. Please, if possible, donate to Nifty via the following: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html . The next morn, I had breakfast with Billy as usual; and, thankfully, it did not appear that the same had spotted me in the area of his doorway the day before. In the light of day, I realized that I was not one hundred percent certain about moving forward. For one thing, I was not even sure that Billy was gay. Yes, I had had on several occasions the standard father-son talks with him on sex, females, love, and relationships. Yet, frankly, I thought at the time that Billy was straight. Now, I strongly suspected that these girls that he has been out with now and then have been nothing more than a cover for him. When it was late afternoon and Billy would not be home till much later because of his usual swimming practice session, I took the opportunity to do a bit of snooping in his room. I thought I was in luck when I saw his notebook computer on his desk, but, I could not get into any of his personal files or email: Everything was password-protected; and none of my guesses as to the passwords worked. Then, I remembered where I used to hide stuff when I was a teenager: Sure enough, sandwiched in between his mattress and box-spring were two items: A magazine featuring fully nude men in their thirties and forties in tastefully suggestive poses, it was one of those soft-porn publications popular with grown females and catering to their needs and desires. The funny thing was that when I first saw this magazine, I was focused just on where he could have gotten this stuff, but, then, I realized of course that that was not what mattered, what mattered was why he had it and kept it and not just kept it but made a point to hide it. Then, I saw that in the same location was this log book labeled "SWIM PRACTICE SESSIONS RECORD", the same had Billy's fully name and date birth scrawled in on the inside cover. I stuffed the magazine back in between the parts of Billy's bed; and took the log book with me into the den for a closer inspection. I thought I was going to be bored out of my skull, but, then, in moments I realized that what I was reading was not a standard log book but a journal kept by my son detailing his recent fantasizing and his feelings of lust and desire as to Coach Thorneheart, his swim coach, a happily-married family man in his early forties with five very young kids and well-known for his children's charity event volunteering. There were pages and pages of entries, most of which were along these lines: "Oh, Coach Thornehart, you are so sexy, I want you to touch me and lick me all over, I want you to kiss me, I want to caress your manly chest. I get rock-hard just thinking of us together." Thankfully, there was no indication in this journal that my son had, as of yet, acted on any of these feelings. Even so, I knew that time was of the essence. I returned the journal to the location I found it; and, then, quickly devised a plan designed to ensure that I would be the one, not Coach Thorneheart or some horny bastard or the like, to take my son's cherry. Anyway, this is what happened the following Friday: As a favor to me, my best friend in college, Matt Layne, now steadily employed as a structural engineer and real estate inspector for a major company, came over to my residence and informed Billy that he had discovered that a major repair needed to be done to the ceiling in Billy's room; and that in his opinion the room was unsafe to remain in until the repair work was completed and the room subsequently passed the required re-inspection. Well, his performance was so convincing that I was finding it hard to keep a straight face. Billy looked at Matt with a puzzled expression on his face, so I quickly chimed in: "Don't sweat it, Billy, you can simply bunk with your old man in my room till all gets straigtened out. We will just move most of your things into my room, it is as simple as that." I have to admit that I was quite proud of myself and my ingenuity. Fast-forwarding to 11 PM that same Friday, I am returning to the living room of our condo to turn off the light and see that my son has dozed off on the sofa watching TV. I nudge his shoulder, gently awakening him and informing him that it was definitely time for him to head off to bed and for both of us to call it a night. I just watch him as he teeters about still obviously a bit groggy from his snoozing; and casually follow him into the master bedroom. I discreetly eye him as he slowly undresses and shyly slips a pair of pajama bottoms over his tight white bikini briefs. I manage to sneak in a good full look at those glorious luscious mounds of his just barely covered by his briefs before his pajama bottom are on. As I am standing near my dresser in my loose boxers, my cock is already twitching about with excitement; and I am almost a little more than semi-hard already. I turn by back to Billy, realizing that I cannot risk showing my hand, so to speak, prematurely; and then I hightail it under the covers after Billy gets into what was once his mother's side of the bed. Billy is in a matter of instants in his sleeping position on his side and with his eyes firmly shut. I reach over and turn off the light on the oher side of the bed; and purposefully leave the light on the nightstand nearest me on and on its dimmest control. I feel nervous and giddy. I turn on my side and flop my hairy manly arm over my son's hip, doing so as if I am doing it while asleep. I quickly lower my boxers, gripping the waistband with a sweaty hand until the same are positioned below my feet. I usually sleep fully nude of late, but nonetheless I find that there is even a more enhanced liberating feeling being nude in bed with my son this way. Through the flimsy layers of fabric, I begin to hump my manly throbbing cock against by son's inviting rear; and with my fingertips begin to caress the quarter-sized nipple of my son most easily in reach. It is unclear to me, at this point, if Billy has already drifted off to sleep. I do know that he is beginning to press his rear against my cock. I interpret the movement as the equivalent of a "Yes!". I am so turned on, I feel driven to expose the majestic mounds of my son; and caress them all over. I am filled with lust and with desire, desire for the son that I helped make.