Date: Tue, 24 Sep 2013 01:03:10 -0700 (PDT) From: Dave Krenshaw Subject: The Taking of Son Billy's Cherry: Installment 4 The Taking of Son Billy's Cherry: Installment 4 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 . Appalachian Spring Hillsdale Village, a condominium development nestled in a surburb of Charleston has for many years been my adoptive hometown, so to speak. It is a balance of calm, quiet, and tranquility, and of routine happenings and pastimes mingled with a sprinkling of often not-so-subtle eccentricities of several handfuls of the South Carolina locals. A major plus for me has always been that neighbors for the most part respect the privacy of those living in proximity. I of course appreciate the serenity of the development I reside in; and on this particular Saturday, I am busy in the kitchen at about the mid-morn hour preparing breakfast, as usual, for Billy and I; and a bit buried in thought as to the overnight events in the bedroom. I am making pancakes and the pungent aroma of the same and the melted butter in the skillet is pleasingly distracting for me. To my relief, I discover that there is still plenty of leftover syrup chilling in the fridge. It is hard to concentrate on making breakfast: Images of Billy and that hot rear of his were floating through my mind: I truly love those plush-looking-and-feeling silky-soft porcelain-colored buns of his. For me, they are luscious mounds of globular flesh with this erotic jiggly quality to them. I have no idea exactly how Billy ended up blessed with them. If I had to guess, it was the result in part of genetics and of all of that repetitive swimming practice and competition. As I have said, I do know that I have crossed a major boundary through engaging in relations with my son, one from which there is no turning back. I was just thinking about that aspect of things when I was literally jolted into reality by a foreboding thought, almost simultaneous with the swinging shut of the refrigerator door: "What if Billy should leave?" I swing around; and, sure enough, standing right there before me is Billy with his suitcase in hand. "Just where do you think you are heading off to, young man?" "Dad, I can't stay, surely you can understand that." "Oh, but I think you can. In fact, I think you will." "Unless of course, you want this sordid rag to ever see the light of day." As I am saying this last part, I am waving Billy's journal prominently before his eyes. I almost cannot believe that I am doing this, but I guess in my mind desperate hours call for desperate measures, so to speak. Well, Billy is no fool: He knows darn well that if this journal of his ever gets into the wrong hands, especially Coach Thorneheart's, he could be booted off the swim team and lose any chance of getting that college scholarship he has set his heart on. Billy, as anticipated or at least hoped for, drops his suitcase with a hard dramatic thump to the floor. "All right, Dad, you win, I guess, what do you want?" "Well, for starters, I want you in my bed fully nude tonight and every night to come until I decide otherwise, if ever. That means no more of this pajama bottoms crap or wearing skimpy underwear to bed. Second, what goes on between us in private in this house stays in this house. Third, we are going to sit down and have breakfast together, as usual; and then we are going to have that long-overdue father-son talk: I want to hear all about what is going on with you and your Coach Thorneheart fixation. I want to hear from your lips whether you are gay, Billy, I sure as heck don't consider myself to be gay, but, if you are, that is all right by me." Billy finally sits down. I am, in truth, a bit surprised by all of this drama on his part; and, oddly enough, this bravado on his part reminded me of the day his mom headed out the door for good. I am staring at him, looking intently into his seductive sparkling marine-blue eyes. I know all of this happened as a result of these strong intense feelings of lust on my part, but in this moment I am beginning to feel as if I may be in love with Billy. I know, however, that I cannot verbalize any of this just yet to Billy, as I will risk scaring him away. So we just calmly enjoy our breakfast; and, after breakfast this is what I learn from Billy as to what is going on: Billy has been having these sexual fantasies and feelings as to Coach Thorneheart; and that most of it began around the time when there were rumors going around the school that the swim coach had been seen taking showers with a couple of the prized male athletes from the track team. Thankfully, that seventeen-year-old son of mine swears on his life that he has never acted on any of these fantasies or engaged in any relations whatsoever with his coach. Needless to say, I am greatly relieved as to the above. Still, I am absorbing the shock as to what else I have learned about: Namely, this nineteen year-old jock named Preston, a popular member of the football team at Billy's school. It seems that he and Billy messed around with one another in the gym lockerroom: It began when the two were wrestling with one another in horseplay; and there was a lot of charged body contact and a bit of fooling around that went beyond that: At one point, quite frankly, admittedly out of sheer jealousy, I asked Billy to spare me of the details. The long and short of it is that Billy has a thing for Preston, but knows that nothing can come of it because of Preston's reputation as a ladies man at school; and also because of Preston being unwilling to admit that he has feelings for Billy as well. Fast-forwarding to 9 PM three weeks later, I am returning from a business trip involving a fine arts convention center in Atlanta; and I am one day ahead of schedule as to my arrival. I figure that I will just surprise Billy in the morn when I pick him up from the home of my colleague, Ms. Burns. So I head off into the master bedroom to take my shower, unwind, and get comfortable for the night. Strangely, I find the bedroom door closed, but figure that the air-conitioning, always left on high-control, must have just blown it shut. I fling the door open in my casual standard manner. Well, right there in the center of my bed is Billy lying flat on his belly with this massive bear-like fellow with a hot muscular body and broad shoulders who I guess to be at least six-feet tall straddling him and licking him passionately all over the nape of his neck. The other fellow is pretty smooth all over overall; and, from what I am able to see, extremely endowed with ample low-hangers. As I am standing near my room's doorway literally speecheless, my cock is twitching about like it is about to go berserk with excitement; and I am way-past semi-hard already. I am guessing that this must be the Preston I have been told of, though I am not about to interrupt and ask, at this point. Instead, I decide to strip down as fast as I can; and join in on "the festivities". It is my bed, after all. I hop onto the bed; and in moments I am kneeling between Billy's legs, nonchalantly showing off to the same my manly and a bit on the muscular side 187-pound body with its nicely-defined pecs nestled in a thickly hairy chest and with a moderately thick cut cock, nine inches and now standing at full attention. I am lost in a haze of lust and desire, as I plunge my tongue deep inside the love cavern of my son, all the while holding and caressing the stretched buns and loving every minute of all. I am then about to say something to the fellow that I believe is Preston, but, instead, almost impulsively, I begin licking and sucking on the head of his beautiful and inviting manhood. I suddenly realize that I love cock, I cannot get enough of it. I hear a great deal of moaning, some of it sounding very familiar; and, then, in seconds, I hear panting followed by a gasp and then: "Dad!?" "Yes! Surprise!!!!" Anyway, the three of us had a few occasions after that where we engaged in some similar threeway romps: As it turned out, Billy's infatuation with Preston ran its course within a year; and Billy and I resumed our secret private life as usual until the day he went off to college in western Texas. I made Billy understand that I was not looking to ruin any chances he had for long-term happiness. I explained to him that my being the one to take his cherry was from my point of view a gift that he had given me. He said to me in return that he did not want me to be alone once he was away at college; and that if I chose to remarry, I would have his blessing. Strangely enough, with Billy now in college, while I have fully privacy and most often in the shower, I fantasize about Coach Thorneheart being the one who took Billy's cherry; and, for reasons I cannot explain, I get very aroused by that thought. It is a fantasy that I very much enjoy; and, though I often release the biggest loads imaginable while having this fantasy in the shower, as I have already related: I am glad, more than glad, in fact elated, that in reality I was actually the one who took Billy's cherry.