Montgomery Hall

a continuing series of interrelated stories

White Morning Glory

By John Yager

The following story is a work of gay erotic fiction dealing with sexual relationships between men and boys of high school age. If such stories are not to your liking or if you are not of legal age to read such stories in your jurisdiction, please exit now.

This is a work of fiction and in no ways draws on the lives of any specific person or persons. Any similarity to actual persons or events is entirely coincidental.

This work is copyrighted by the author and may not be reproduced in any form without the specific written permission of the author. It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written permission of the author.

This is the fifth in a series of interrelated stories appearing under the collective title, Montgomery Hall. While it is expected that the individual stories will stand independently, they should be more enjoyable if read as a group. If you wish to receive e-mail notification of subsequent posting, please let me know by sending your request to the e-mail address below.

jvoyager@hotmail.com

Tim came out the door from the White Room and down the three brick steps into the little walled garden where Martin lay on the chaise lounge, absorbing the last rays of the late afternoon sun. Both Martin and Tim were naked. Ben, clothed in his "informal" daytime uniform, looked down at the two splendid young men who had become the collective focus of his love and concern.

Ben's choice of incredibly old khaki shorts and a clean but equally worn T-shirt was indicative of the fact that Ann Cutler, Martin's mother, was away. In fact, Martin had noticed earlier, the fabric of both garments was worn so thin that Ben's anatomy was more evident than usual beneath his clothes.

Ann had returned from Greenwood Sunday night in a dither. She had just come from a hastily called meeting of the church's Buildings and Grounds Committee, which she chaired. For over a year they and several other civic and church groups had been working on a plan to create a "Designated Historic District" in the little town of Greenwood. Now, with the suddenness with which government agencies can move, a two-day meeting had been called in Jackson, about a hundred miles to the south.

The Jackson meeting was, in itself, a sort of victory. It meant that the governor and a small but powerful group of state legislators had finally taken note of the Greenwood proposal. At the meeting from which Ann had just returned, it had been agreed that the various Greenwood groups would come together on Monday to formulate their common stratagem. Their objectives were well documented but the suddenness of the Jackson meetings had caught them off guard. Then on Monday afternoon the delegation would drive on to Jackson, where they had meetings with key elected and appointed officials on Tuesday.

On Wednesday they had been given a much coveted appointment with the governor himself. The Wrights, friends from the church, who lived about ten miles to the east, had offered to pick Ann up at on Monday morning. They would drive on to the meeting in Greenwood and then go on together to Jackson in the afternoon. She did not expect to be home until late on Wednesday night, which upset her no end. She didn't want to be away while her older son, Martin, was home from New York.

Martin assured his mother that he would be well cared for, and knowing that she was disappointed not to have more time with him, he told her of the surprise he had intended to save for the eve of his departure; tickets for her to visit him in New York in September and a full program of museum tours, theater and an opera thrown in.

Ann could not have been more pleased. She was, however, concerned that the work "which just must be done," in her vast rose gardens over the next few days, would be set back by her absence. Martin had assured her that he would be sure all the work was kept on schedule, and with much hard work and help from his nephews and from Tim, he had kept that promise. So early Monday morning Ann had been comfortably ensconced in the back seat of the Wright's huge Cadillac and driven off for her three day adventure.

Now, late Wednesday afternoon, Ben stood in the doorway lovingly watching Martin and Tim. He knew Martin was comfortable being naked in Ben's presence. After all, Ben had diapered him and bathed him and cared for him from the time he was an infant until he was almost grown. He was surprised, however, that Tim had become equally at ease with him, and done so quite quickly. For the boy it almost seemed that if Martin was comfortable, then Tim was as well.

Martin, whom Ben had practically been raised, was now in his mid-thirties but had the looks and physique of man ten years younger.

Tim, who was almost as tall as Martin, and had the baring of a man, was just sixteen and was enjoying the summer between his sophomore and junior years in high school.

Yes, Tim is a man, alright, Ben thought as he looked out into the little garden where Tim now sat on the side of the lounge, rubbing suntan lotion into the glowing skin of Martin's back. And for sure he's more a man today than he was on Monday, Ben thought, but for him it was still difficult to think of Tim as anything other than The Boy, a golden marvel of a boy, an angel of a boy. In his own mind all those thoughts and more were wrapped around his growing love for Tim.

True, in many ways, having Tim with them was like having back the boy Martin had been. For Ben it was a kind of marvel, and one for which he was deeply grateful.

Both men were blond and had the kinds of hard, well-muscled bodies which only long hours on the playing field and the weight room can produce. There were differences, of course, but they almost looked like brothers, the oldest and youngest of siblings, perhaps. If fact, nothing could have been further from the truth. Martin was the scion of an old and respected Mississippi family while Tim had been born in Indiana and brought south by his parents a little more than a decade ago.

Ben, on the other hand, was black. In point of fact, his skin was the color of fine old wood, or rich milk chocolate. But despite the differences in the color of their skin, Ben had implied to Martin that they were, in fact, related. That announcement, which had caught Martin completely off guard, had been made on Sunday night, just as Ann returned, precluding any further conversation between Martin and Ben. Now it was late on Wednesday afternoon and Martin had not yet coaxed Ben into saying more.

Not that there had been a time when Martin could have had a private conversation with Ben since they parted on Sunday night. Since early Monday morning, Martin's days and nights had been filled with the glowing presence of the boy.

Monday morning just at seven, Martin had been awakened by the gentle voice of Ben. The older man was standing over the huge bed in the White Room, a steaming cup of fresh coffee in hand. The sheet had been kicked off during the night and Martin lay naked, his beautiful body a feast for Ben's eyes. Ben couldn't help but notice that Martin's penis was quite hard.

"You better get you pretty ass moving, boy," Ben said with mock sternness. "You mama leaving and I got to get her bag down to the front door." He put the coffee down on the bedside table within easy reach and went out of the room as silently as he had entered.

"Thank you, Ben," Martin muttered, knowing Ben was probably beyond earshot. He stretched, rolled over to set on the side of the bed, and reached for the coffee. Once his brain had begun to function, he put the empty cup and saucer back on the bedside table and rose from the disorderly bed. As he bent and turned, loosening his stiff muscles, he looked at the bed again and wondered how he always managed to get it into such a mess. If he had been sleeping with someone, it would have been understandable, but he, unfortunately, had been alone. I must go through some really weird gyrations in my sleep, he thought, not for the first time.

The rather soiled shorts he'd warn the evening before were crumpled at his feet. He picked them up and headed for the bathroom, still somewhat unhappy about being wakened at such an early hour. Seven was his usual arising time in New York, but here after all, he was officially on holiday. His desperate need to urinate was not helped by the extreme hardness of his cock. Anticipating something? He thought. It took some doing, but he eventually emptied his bladder, much to his comfort and relief, and headed back into the bedroom.

He had no need to bother with a shower and shave. He knew he was in for several hot hours in the sun. And, he remembered, if things went as he expected, he'd want to do all that later, anyway. The crumpled shorts and a T-shirt would serve. The choice reminded Martin of Ben's usual summer garb, except the shorts were a good bit shorter then the nearly knee-length versions the older man always wore, and the T-shirt was not quite as venerable.

When he was still in his early teens, Martin had done his own personal study of Ben's manner of dress. He had just been at the age when he was becoming aware of how some people could wear anything and look great while others never looked especially attractive or interesting, no mater what they wore. While he could appreciate the style of a well dress woman, it was clearly, even then, the men who really interested him. He remembered how he had been fascinated by Ben's natural flair and by the sheer animal sensuality which the man always projected.

Martin discovered that Ben's choice of clothes always match the spirit of the day and the formality or informality of the occasion. He also observed that it rarely varied. In hot weather, from spring until late in the fall, Ben wore khaki shorts and a white T-shirt on any day when just the family was around. On days when he had some especially messy work to do, the shorts and shirts were of an even older model. In both cases, the "ensemble" was completed with old white tennis shoes, the low-cut variety, or by rubber sandals, the kind Martin and his boyhood friends had called "Flip-flops" in polite society and "Ass-slappers," when there were no girls or adults around.

On "Family Sundays," even in the hottest weather, Ben wore white cotton slacks, white leather shoes with white socks. The shirt worn with this costume has undergone one subtle change in the last few years. During Martin's youth it had always been a white dress shirt, open at the collar, but with the sleeves fully extended and the cuffs buttoned. A few years ago Ann had come home one day from a shopping trip to Memphis with a dozen new shirts for Ben. Not only were they short sleeved, but they were also made of a much lighter and cooler cotton. It had taken some persuasion to convince Ben to make the change, but he had finally done so,

"Ben, if you don't start wearing those new short sleeved shirts I got you, I'm going to burn all your old long sleeved ones." It was an empty threat on Ann's part, but it had worked.

"Well, if I must, I must." Ben had said. "I'll just keep the long-sleeved ones for winter."

From there Ben's wardrobe moved up in incremental steps. White slacks, white shirt with dark, solid colored tie. Then the addition of a white cotton jacket for summer dinner parties, and finally, the entire sequence reorganized around black twill slacks from late autumn until spring. For the most formal and the most revered occasions, formal dinner parties from Labor Day to Memorial Day, evening cocktail parties, and most important of all, Ann's huge annual Holiday Open House, Ben wore a well cut black suit, white shirt and a black bow tie.

This, Martin had noticed, was clearly a "Khakis and T-shirt Day" on Ben's rigid "Table of Appropriate Dress," and Martin decided to follow Ben's lead. The one general truth which Martin had learned from his study of Ben's manner of dress, was that no matter what he wore, he looked great in it. It always fit him, showing off his heavily muscled body under the clothes, so that it was the beauty of his body, more than the clothes themselves which you paid attention to. It was a rule, which Martin had learned from Ben as a teenager, and one which had served him well ever sense. So what it he now routinely wore two-thousand dollar suits? If the fabric or the tailoring forced you to look at it, and not at the man wearing it, then Martin was not interested.

The one variation Martin made that day in Ben's basic summer wardrobe was the addition of high-topped tennis shoes and white socks. Martin had observed many years ago that Ben never wore underwear in the summer. It was certainly an accommodation to the humidity and heat, but it also did wonders to show off the sheer mass of Ben's equipment underneath. Here, too, Martin took his lead from Ben.

Ann's bag was in the trunk of the big car and she was just ready to get into the cavernous rear seat when Martin came to say his good-byes.

"Don't worry about your mama, Martin," Sam Wright called from the far side of the chromium laden vehicle, "Marg and me, we gonna take good care of her."

"I'm sure you will, Sam. Have a great time and give 'em hell in Jackson."

"Really, dear!" his mother had said. Her voice was disapproving but there was a twinkle of approval in her eyes. "Now you be sure those roses are taken care of and let Tim do the pruning. He at least doesn't decapitate the poor things."

"We will get it done, mother." He stooped to give her a kiss. "Have a great trip and don't worry about a thing here."

Ben, was silently critical of the car as he and Martin watched as they pulled away. No sooner than they had pulled out of the circle drive into the public road than Carol Ann had pulled in. Martin waved the Cadillac on its way and then waited to open the doors of the dark green van as it pulled to a stop. As he walked around to the driver's side, the boys piled out of the car. Martin was surprised to see that Tim was with them.

"Hi, favorite sister-in-law," he grinned as he helped her out. "You going to stay around and help with the roses?"

"Not on your life, Marty. You know I don't get along with thorny plants."

"How do you manage with my brother David then?

"Well, maybe he's an exception," she laughed. Then nodding toward the other side of the van where the boys stood talking with Ben, she said, "I just deliver the work force."

"Many thanks."

"My pleasure. The boys invited Tim to spend the week with us so his mother wouldn't have to drive him back and forth from Greenwood, but he said you'd arranged for him to stay here."

Martin was baffled. No such plans had been discussed. "Ah, well I guess, yes."

"Well, I guess it does make sense. He can work all day so he'll really be a bigger help than Dave and Monty. They have tennis or swimming lessons every afternoon this week so I'll be picking them up about eleven-thirty each day."

"Where are the other kids?"

"Oh, this is one of the days Gladys is working at our house so she'll give them breakfast if they get up before I get back. You know Bess is staying with us."

"I knew she went home with you after church yesterday but I didn't know how long she was going to stay."

"We were going to bring her home this morning but your mother called from Greenwood late yesterday afternoon after the plans for these Jackson meeting came up and asked if Bess could just stay with us until she gets back. I guess I'll bring her when I come over with the boys on Thursday morning unless she wants to just stay on for the rest of the week."

"I hope that kid doesn't feel like she's being tossed around from pillar to post,"

"Oh, Marty, she loves it. And the kids love having her. With our brood one more child, especially one as well behaved as Bess is no problem at all. She will need some more clothes but I'm going to ask Ben to put them in an overnight bag for me and I'll pick them up when I come back for the boys."

"You hear that, Ben?"

"Yes, Martin. Dave here already passed along my marching orders," Ben said as Carol Ann and Martin came around the van to join him. The three boys were taking a large duffel bag out of the rear of the van and Martin figured it must belong to Tim. "And Tim here is staying with us."

"I just heard."

At that point the boys joined the three adults and Martin couldn't help noticing that there was a slightly guilty look on Tim's face.

"Morning, boys," Martin said, greeting the three of them as a group. It hit him again that they all thee looked like brothers, not just David and Carol Ann's boys, Dave and Monty. "You stay over with this crew last night?"

"No, sir." Tim said. "My dad brought me over this morning."

"Well, he could have just brought your straight here."

"Yes, but it was real early. He's going to Memphis for meetings and he brought me over on his way."

"You'd have had to get here really early to find Ben still asleep."

"Well, also, Dave and Monty has asked me to stay with them this week and kind of thought I should have Dad leave me there so I could explain our plan."

"Our plan. Yes. You staying here so you'd be able to work afternoons after Dave and Monty leave without someone having to drive you back to their place later."

"Yes, sir."

"Marty, it really was no problem at all," Carol Ann interjected. "I was already up when Mr. Arnold brought Tim by. We just gave him a second breakfast and brought him along."

Well, thank you, Carol Ann. I'm glad it wasn't a problem."

At that point Ben spoke up, realizing that Martin was a little put out by Tim's forwardness and guessing correctly that it had been entirely the boy's initiative and not Martin's suggestion. "I'll put Tim's bag in the back room upstairs, Martin so you and the boys can just go on and get started on them rose beds."

"Good, Ben, you do that," Martin said. Then turning back to his sister-in-law, asked, "Can we do anything else for you, Carol Ann?"

"No, I just need to get on home but I'll see you about eleven-thirty. You boys work hard and mind your Uncle Martin and Ben." Then as she started back around the van with Martin coming along to open the door for her, she called back to the boys, "and don't forget to wear your hats and use the sun block. It's going to be another hot day."

To a collective response of, "Yes, ma'am," from the boys she gave a farewell wave and she was off.

Well, Martin thought, there's nothing to do but get started, and mustering his troops, started around the huge old house toward the rose garden as Ben gave him a big grin and headed in the front carrying Tim's duffel.

It had already been decided that Dave and Monty would work as one team and Martin and Tim as another. They all knew their tasks and got right down to it. Tim and Dave were the more skilled pruners and their progress was more or less determined by the pace the two pruners could maintain. It fell to Monty and Martin to do the weeding and rake up the old mulch. All the trash from the beds along with the trimmings and old canes had to be loaded into wheel borrows and carry off to the compost heaps behind the greenhouse and its attached garden workshops. Once all that was done, the last step was to bring fresh mulch for the storeroom and put it down with fertilizer around each plants. On their return trips, after dumping the old mulch and weeds and trimmings, Monty and Martin brought back the bags of fertilizer and new mulch they would all help spread as the last step in completing each bed. It was clear that Monty and Martin had gotten the less skilled jobs, but it was also clear from their attitudes that they all regarded Martin as the boss.

As they got started Martin noticed that Tim kept looking at him every chance he got. The boy wants to talk, Martin thought, but there was little chance for a private conversation. With the four of them working together on one bed at a time, Dave and Monty were never far away. In any case, Martin was inclined to let Tim sweat a little after the stunt he'd pulled about being invited to stay at Montgomery Hall, rather than at the Cutler's. Martin had to admit the plan made sense, because of their work schedule alone. But he was sure that was the lest of Tim's reasons for wanting to be here.

Soon after they had begun, Ben had arrived with a big thermos of ice water and a supply of plastic cups. "You all use that sun block like you been told?"

"Yes, Ben" they all answered.

"You white boys got to be careful 'bout sun," he grinned as he headed back toward the house.

Ann had left instructions that twenty beds needed to be done that week, which meant they had to do no fewer than four a day. Martin and the boys had agreed that each morning they would try to get two beds done along with as much of a third as possible. Then it would be up to Martin and Tim to finish what was left of the third and do all of a fourth bed in the afternoon after Dave and Monty had left. It was more or less the same system they had used on Saturday and it seemed workable if they could keep up a good pace. If all went well, Martin and Tim could expect to finish the fourth bed by the middle of the afternoon each day and then have time to relax.

Martin was impressed by what good workers all three boys were. There was no slacking, not even from Monty, who, being the youngest, Martin had expected to be the least disciplined. "Your folks have done a good job of training you," Martin said as they took a break about nine-thirty. Ben had arrived with another big thermos of fresh lemonade. It was a nice change from the cold water they had been consuming in vast quantities all morning.

"Thank you, Ben," Martin said as the older man joined them for a cold drink.

"Got to take care of the field hands, Martin. Your granddad taught me that."

"Well, you're doing a great job."

"Now I got to go get lunch ready for you and Tim." He looked over to where the boys were lying on the grass a few feet away. Now, Dave, you and Monty be up at the house at eleven-thirty. Don't be keeping you mama waiting."

"Yes, Ben," both boys echoed.

"And Martin, you and Tim just as well come on up then. I think I'll set lunch for the three of us on the back verandah. You just as well eat soon as Dave and Monty leave. Then you'll have time for a little rest before you start again."

"Sounds good, Ben. I figure at the rate we're going Tim and I will just have one bed to do on our own after lunch." Then turning to Tim he added, "we should have plenty of time for a swim."

As it turned out, they made such good progress that they had actually started on the fourth bed before the two Cutler boys had to leave.

"Do you think we should try to do five beds a day instead of just four?" Dave asked as they were finishing up.

"No," Martin said. "We'll stick to the schedule your grandmother suggested. She'll be back Wednesday night and if she wants us to go a little further we could still work a few more beds at the end of the week."

"Well," Dave continued, "I know she won't want us working on Saturday. She's planning another picnic because you're leaving on Sunday, Uncle Martin."

As the headed on up toward the house, Monty grabbed Martin around the waste, almost as if trying to tackle him. "Come on, Uncle Martin, catch me," and in an instant he was off in a fast run.

Where do these kids get all their energy, Martin thought, feeling the effects of almost four hours in the hot Mississippi sun.

"Come on, Uncle Martin. You've got to defend your reputation, the big football star from Old Miss."

Martin obliged, catching Monty within about fifty feet and pulling him down gently onto the well tended grass. As he lifted up the laughing boy and brushed him off, Monty yelled back at the others, "now I can say I been tackled by an All American!"

As Martin looked back at Dave and Tim he saw they had stopped where he had left them and were talking together.  He concluded Monty's little chase was a put up job.

Carol Ann was pulling into the circle drive as they walked on up to the house. Within minutes Dave and Monty had gotten into the van and they were on their way with calls of "goodbye" and "see you tomorrow." Just as the van made the turn toward the street, Monty yelled back from his usual perch in the front seat next to his mother, "don't make too big a mess of that bed."

"What was all that about?" Martin asked as he and Tim walked back around the house to join Ben on the verandah. The boy blushed.

"What?"

"Well, that little private conversation you and Dave arranged, for starters."

"Oh, nothing." Tim looked down at his feet.

"Come on, mister. You want to play big boy's games. The first rule is to tell the truth at all times."

"He wanted to know if I'd had a chance to talk to you yet."

"Yeah? And what, exactly did he think we might want to talk about?"

Tim blushed again but held his ground. "He wanted to know if I'd asked you if I could stay with you tonight."

"And why, exactly, would he think you'd want to do that?"

"Well...."

"I'm waiting."

"Don't be mad at me, Martin."

"Should I be?"

"Well, I just had to talk to somebody."

"About?"

"Well, Saturday, as they were leaving, and you'd said you'd work with me while your mother was busy..."

"Yes? Go on."

"Well, Dave and Monty knew I was really interested in getting to know you better. We'd talked a lot about you the night before when I slept over at their house and I'd asked them lots of questions and stuff."

"Okay."

"Well, as they were leaving and you'd gone off to change into some work clothes, Dave asked me if I was going to try to...well, you know."

"To have sex with me?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"Well, after church yesterday they cornered me again and wanted to know what had happened."

"What did you tell them?"

"I told them we'd gone swimming together, you know, skinny dipping, but that nothing had happened."

"It seems to me a great deal happened."

"Yeah?"

"You more or less propositioned me, you know."

Tim grinned, "Yeah?"

"For sure. Did you tell them about our conversation about 'Age of Consent' and me speaking with Bill Kyle about it?"

"No, Martin, I didn't tell them about that."

Martin stopped at the rear corner of the beautiful old house. He stood looking out over the sloping lawns toward the rose gardens. It's not too late to run for cover, he thought. The idea of having sex with a sixteen year old boy, even one as beautiful as Tim was just too full of minefields.

"Look, Tim...."

"Yes, sir?"

"Oh, good grief! There we go again. I thought we got rid of the 'sir.'"

Tim looked down at his shoes. He almost looked as if he was going to cry.

"I only meant to call you that in front of Dave and Monty and their mom."

"It's all right, Tim. Forms of address are the least of our problems."

"I really am sorry."

"I know. Look, calling me 'Sir' in front of them is probably a good idea. But try to drop it when we're alone, okay?"

"Okay." He continued to look down. One big tear ran down beside his nose. He tried to ignore it, pretend it wasn't there. Martin reached into his hip pocket and pulled out an old fashioned bandanna and handed It to the boy. Tim wiped his eyes and held the dark blue cloth out to Martin.

"Blow."

Tim wadded the bandanna against his nose and blew loudly. He again started to hand the crumpled cloth back when Martin smiled and said, "why don't you keep it." Tim shoved it into his own pocket and then looked up at Martin.

"I just want to be with you so bad, Martin. I do know what's going on with me. I know I'm gay. I've known it for a long time now."

"I know, Tim, I remember. I know it can be hell."

"I just want someone older, someone who is wiser and can understand what it's like." He paused and looked down again. "I need somebody to show me what it's all about, Martin, somebody I can trust, somebody I can feel safe with."

Martin remembered what Ben had said the night before. They had been standing almost exactly where he an Tim now stood when Ben had said, "So he made up his mind and it could go a bunch of ways. But one thing sure, if you don't be a teacher to him, someone else will. And that other someone could be a boy like his self who don't know from shit. Not that that's so bad, but a boy like that deserves the best teacher he can find. Worse, he go after some other man who don't care for nothing but getting his own rocks off. He just use Tim and then leave him hurt and confused and still not knowing where he is or what he is."

When Martin couldn't find an easy answer to the wisdom of Ben's words, he'd gone on, "and what he is, Martin, is an angel. He deserves the bestest, kindest, wisest teacher man he can find, and by my books that's you."

How could Martin not respond to the wisdom of Ben's words? He reached out and took the boy in his arms. "You really think I'm the person you need?"

"I know you are, Martin." There was a catch in Tim's voice, followed by a sob.

They were both dressed in dirty shorts and very sweaty T-shirts. It wasn't the most photogenic of moments, that was for sure, but neither of then seemed to care.

"I'll try, Tim"

"Thank you," the boy sobbed against the older man's hot, damp chest.

"Now, come on," Martin said and he gently broke away from their embrace. As they turned toward the verandah, there stood Ben at the little table he had prepared for the three of them, a beatific smile on his gentle face.

"You boys go get washed. I'll bring the food."

When they were seated, Martin and Tim across from one another, Ben between them with his back to the kitchen door, he poured them huge glasses of ice tea and then said, his voice low and just a little shaky, "I been raised to say thanks for we eat. You want to say one of your mama's nice prayers, Martin, out'a her little book, or you want me doing it?"

"You say grace, Ben." Martin found his own voice a little shaky as well.

"Well, all right then." Ben reached out and grasped Martins left hand with his right, then Tim's right hand with his left. He waited a second and then Tim held his own left hand out across the table toward Martin, who took firmly in his own. Ben bowed his head and didn't see that while he prayed, the other two were gazing into one another's still damp eyes.

"Well, thank you Lord," Ben said, "for giving all we need. And thank you for the love you just keep a pouring into us 'til it just spill out all around for such as is in need of it. Amen."

His simple prayer had ended but the three of them sat frozen for a moment, their hands linked around the little table. "Well," Ben said at last, "we better eat, such as it is, so you boys can get on with them roses."

The meal was simple but very satisfying, sandwiches made with fresh homemade bread and thick slices of cold roast beef and potato salad, followed by Ben's rich brownies. Little was said and each of them felt that there was a certain solemnity to the moment which none of them wanted to violate with trivial conversation.

When they had finished, Ben said, "Now, I'll clean up. You just stretch out on them lounges in the shade for a bit. That sun's hot enough to take the starch out o' your knickers. You'd best rest a bit and have more tea 'fore you start again." They took his advice, although they both felt eager to finish the remaining work so they could get on to other things.

The remaining work went quickly. At about two-thirty Ben appeared again with more lemonade. They sat with him a little in the shade of one of the great old oaks and then they began again. By four they had finished the remaining bed and put the tools away.

As they came back into the house, Ben was sitting at the kitchen table looking over a newspaper. He looked up when they came in and said, "All done?"

"For today, Ben."

"Good. I was thinking you should get out of that sun." He folded the paper and put it down. "By the way, I didn't put your duffel bag upstairs, Tim, like I told Carol Ann I would." There was a pause and then he added with a shy smile, "I just put it in your room, Martin. I hope I did the right thing."

"Yes, Ben, that's fine."

"Thank you, Ben," Tim added.

"Well, just trying to help. Now I'm going off to my room and have a rest. I figure we just eat later as we please. There's a plenty in the ice box so you boys just help yourself whenever you want. Don't expect me to join you."

"Fine, Ben," Martin said again, "and thank you."

"Like I say, just trying to help."

Tim had not been in the White Room before and couldn't help but be impressed. "This room is bigger than our living room at home, a lot bigger," he said, looking across at the huge bed and then up at the high, open trusses of the roof. Like the walls, the ancient timbers which supported the roof had been whitewashed, giving them a soft, weathered appearance.  The room was cool from air conditioning and from the wicker fans which rotated slowly high up toward the open structure of the sloping roof.

Ben had put Tim's duffel bag on a chair by the door to the equally impressive bathroom and he went to it. "I have something for you, Martin." He rummaged in the bag, under an assortment of clothes, and pulled out a small bundle. It resembled a ball of tightly wadded  white tissue paper about the size of a man's fist. Rather shyly he held it out to the older man. "I wanted to give you something. I hope you like it."

Martin took it from Tim and was surprised  by its weight. He carefully removed the wrappings and found an alabaster peach. It had been carved and then painted with all the soft delicacy of the actual fruit at its peak of ripeness.

Martin looked from the beautiful gift to the boy who had given it as gentle smiles formed on both their faces. "Thank you."

He held out his arms and folded the boy to his chest. Tim turned his head and rested it gently on Martin's broad shoulder. "I saw it in a shop yesterday afternoon and it reminded me of you."

"Thank you," Martin said again softly. "I know just where I am going to put it. And every time I see it, I'll be reminded of you." He kissed the boy's damp hair and then gently broke from their embrace. He laid the boy's beautiful gift on the dresser with care and then turned and said, "Now, young man, we'd better hit the shower. I don't know how to tell you this politely, but you stink."

"Well, you do, too, Martin, but I kind of like it."

"Ha."

"You go ahead and shower first. I'll unpack if you'll tell me where I can put this stuff."

"That stuff can stay right where it is for now. Come on, it's a huge shower and we're getting in together."

Martin led the way into the big, bright bathroom as he peeled off his damp T-shirt. Bending over from the waist to untie and remove his shoes and socks, he looked over at Tim, who was standing motionless in the doorway. He looked a little self conscientious and Martin couldn't help but smile. "Come on, peel. You know I've seen it all before."

"Yeah," Tim smiled back as he, too, pulled off the sweat-drenched T-shirt which clung so nicely to his well formed chest. As his shorts came off, Martin saw that the boy was fully erect, probably painfully so. His hard cock was very nice, almost as large as Martin's and also, like Martin's, circumcised.

"I bet at your age you have that problem a lot," Martin teased.

"All the time. It's awful."

"Yeah, right. Just enjoy it," Martin said, thinking to himself, and I bet he flails that beauty two or three times a day.

Within seconds both men were naked and under the warm torrent which pricked their well worked bodies with its intensity. While Martin was certainly aroused by Tim's presence, he was not fully erect.

"God, this feels good," Martin said. "I haven't worked out in the hot Mississippi sun that long since I was your age."

Their bodies glowed from the long hours in the sun and Martin marveled at how well they both took the hot rays. Despite their blond hair and equally blue eyes, they had both been blessed with the ability to absorb all the summer sun could throw at them and turn it into golden, glowing tans.

When Tim saw that Martin was openly looking him over, he smiled, suddenly rid of his modesty. As Martin's eyes ran over his body, appraising it, Tim did the same, fascinated by the sharply defined muscularity of the older man. Martin's physique was truly "cut." There was no visible body fat anyplace that Tim could see, and as they both turned and twisted under the warm cascade, there was no part of Martin's body which he didn't submit to close examination.

What Martin saw was a beautifully formed boy in the emerging body of a man. Tim had a finely developed body, well proportioned, and defined. There was real mass there, but over it all he still had the softness of a boy, even of a child.

"This shower jell is great," Tim said, lifting the lather-filled palm of his hand to his nose. "What is it?"

"I don't know but I like it, too. I keep meaning to ask mother where she gets it." Come here, Martin instructed, "it works just as well for your hair."

He squeezed a generous portion into the palm of his own hand and worked it to Tim's already wet hair, massaging his scalp as he twisted the short, golden locks between his strong fingers.

"Mmm, that feels great."

"Gets better. Turn around." As the boy turned, Martin ran his foam-covered hands down over his neck and then out across his shoulders, kneading and soothing the tight muscles. "Don't worry about getting it in your eyes," he added, "it won't sting."

"Yeah? Like baby shampoo."

"You bet, just right for you, baby."

"Mmm!"

Martin continued to run his hands over the boy's fantastic body, down along his muscular arms, then under them, probing his arm pits where he discovered just the slightest outcropping of golden hair. He worked down along Tim's sides, across the small of his strong back and then lower.

"Lean forward and brace yourself against the wall." Tim obeyed and Martin worked more of the thick suds over the firm, rounded mounds of his buttocks. "Now, spread your legs." Again Tim did as he was told without hesitation.

Martin ran his fingers down the boy's crack and felt his muscles tighten as they crossed the tight, pink rosebud of his pucker.

"Mmm," Tim moaned again.

Martin let his hand run further down over the convex muscles of the boy's thighs, then up again along the inside surfaces of each leg. When he reached his buttocks again he let his hands explore the space between Tim's ass and his tight balls.

The boy's moans were continuous now but he made no objection to Martin's bold touch.

"Stand up straight, Tim," Martin said, and as the boy did so, he leaned back against the tile wall and pulled the boy to him. Martin's arms went 'round Tim's torso, hugging the boy's back against his own chest.

They were both hard now, fully erect, and Martin's cock fit nicely into the tight space between Tim's thighs and moved back and forth with each move, stroking the sensitive areas and probing against the back of the boy's tight balls.

"Oh, Martin," Tim moaned as his own hands went back to grasp the older man's buttocks and pull himself more forcefully against him.

The boy's hips began to move against Martin's body, instinctively thrusting back.

"Easy, Tim. We've got lots of time."

"Oh, Martin, it feels so good."

"Yeah, wonderful, but let me help you make it last."

"I don't know if I can."

"If I let you come now, how long will it be before you'll want to play again?"

"You mean will l lose my erection?"

"Yeah, how long will it take you to get it back?"

"You got to be kidding."

"How long?"

Tim was really panting now. "Probably won't lose it at all. Oh, gees, Martin, I don't think I can hold back."

Martin relaxed his grasp a little, moving back so his chest and stomach were no longer pressed tightly against Tim's back and his hard prick no longer slid across the boy's ass. "Relax, Tim, try to let it slack off."

"Oh, man, I'm trying."

"Don't come. I'm telling you, Tim, don't come."

Tim pulled away a little more and supported himself against the wall, his arms extended to their full length and his palms splayed against the white tiles. Martin backed up a little more and severed all physical contact between them.

Tim was still panting but his breathing was slowing down.

"You okay?"

"I think so but it was really close."

"You didn't tell how long it would take you to get hard again if I let you come."

"Ten minutes, maybe. Probably not that long."

"Okay then." Martin leaned back against the wall until his back was braced against it. He spread his legs and then reached out to grasp Tim's shoulders. "Come here." Tim started to turn around but Martin stopped him with a firm grasp of his shoulders. "No, back up."

Tim backed up until his back was once again pressed against Martin's chest and the older man's strong, muscular arms closed around him. "Now, just relax and try not to move. Just let me do it."

As Tim's head fell back against Martin's shoulder, Martin moved his left hand down to Tim's groin and began to slowly move it over the boy's rock hard cock. He didn't grasp it at first. Instead he just ran his fingers and then the flattened palm of his hand over the hot, moist head. Tim was leaking copious quantities of pre-come and his breathing was again speeding up.

With his right hand Martin began to wiggle into the tight space between his stomach and Tim's buttocks. He grasped his own hard cock and began to move it up and down Tim's crack, over the pucker of the boy's ass, then further down until it was prodding the back of his balls. He felt for Tim's pucker and pushed the hard head of his cock against it, spreading his own lubricant over the boy's bud, leaving a trail of slick pre-cum.

"Oh, god, Martin. You gonna fuck me?"

"No. Just relax."

Martin had to lift his left hand from Tim's throbbing cock and press it against his hard stomach, holding him tightly against his own body to keep the boy from pulling forward and then thrusting back as if he wanted to impale his virgin ass on Martin's cock. But Martin was strong enough to lock Tim in a vice like hold, stopping the boy's movements. He let go of his own cock as well but left his right hand clasped between them in the tight space between Martin's stomach and Tim's butt.

A steady moan came from Tim's gaping mouth but Martin could tell it didn't originate with his vocal cords or even deeper in his throat. It came from some far deeper place in the boy's chest or in the very center of his being. It made his whole body resonate like the vibrations of a tuning fork. Tim moved his right hand from behind Martin's buttocks and brought it around to grasp his own cock.

"No, Tim. Don't touch it," Martin ordered. His voice was harsh, commanding. "Don't touch your cock." Martin could look down over the slumped boy's torso and see that his cock was jumping with it's own strength, nearly at the point of explosion.

Martin moved his right hand down a little further and with his index finger felt along Tim's crack for the twitching bud of his ass. He found it easily. It was still very slick with a combination of soap suds and Martin's own pre-cum. He pressed his finger against the boy's entrance and felt the tight ass twitch and open just a little. He pressed his finger in, just a little, no further than the first knuckle.

The boy's moaning was louder now and it had taken on an unbalanced quality which sent Martin's brain reeling. He pushed harder and his finger slipped a little further into Tim's tight ass and that was all it took to send him over the edge.

Tim's whole body shook with the force of his climax. Martin saw a seemingly endless series of white globs catapult from his throbbing cock. They hit the white tile of the shower wall and clung there, too thick to run down the slick surface. A powerful tremor went through his legs and Martin had to move quickly to keep him from falling. The moans caught in his throat and then became deep, heart wrenching sobs.

Tim's muscular body was a lot heavier than Martin would have guessed. It took all Martin's considerable strength to steady him while at the same time, turning him around. Once Tim was facing him, Martin hugged the boy to him, his left hand under his firm buttocks and his right on the broad center of his muscular back.

"Oh, god, Martin," the boy sobbed, "I never came so hard." He brought his own arms up around Martin's neck and held on for dear life. "I came so hard and you didn't even touch my cock." Another chest-rumbling sob shook his body, sending waves like aftershocks through both of them.

Martin chuckled softly as he kissed the boy's flushed cheek. "You crying out of pain or pleasure, babe?"

"I just can't believe it. I never had sex with anyone else before. It was so wonderful." His body was beginning to settle down.

"Well, that was just a preview, fellow. Wait 'til we get to the main event."

Tim pushed back a little and tried to stand alone. "Any better than that and it will probably kill me, Martin." He was smiling weakly now.

"You think you can stand up alone without falling?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Good," he leaned Tim back against the wall of the shower just as a precaution. "Stay there while I get us towels." The shelf was within arm's length but he had to slide back the glass door and reach out for them. Throwing one over his own shoulder, he took the other large white towel and began to dry the boy's hair. Once he seemed a little more steady, Tim reached up for the towel and continued drying his body for himself.

"Come on," Martin said when they were dry. "I think you need to lie down."

As they left the bathroom Tim wrapped the damp towel around this slender waist. "No, no, young man. We're staying naked. Besides, I don't want that damp towel on the bed."

Tim looked a little uncomfortable but he didn't audibly protest. "You just want to be able to look at my beautiful body, right?"

"Oh, good, you've recovered," Martin laughed, "back to your wise ass ways. Yeah, I want to look at you and I want you to look at me."

"Show off!"

"Sure, I admit it. But you said you wanted to be taught about sex, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I did. I want you to teach me."

"Okay, then. The first lesson will have to do with being comfortable naked in front of me."

"I always had trouble with that."

"Locker rooms?"

"Yeah."

"Always tough for gay guys."

"You, too?"

"Sure, at first, 'til I caught on that even some straight guys have the same problem."

Martin threw back the sheets from the neatly made bed thinking that Ben shouldn't have bothered.

"Now, stretch out and rest while I drink in your beauty."

"Only if I can drink in yours."

"Come here," Martin said as they relaxed on the cool, white sheets. He drew Tim over against him and the boy's head rested on Martin's chest with his arm down across Martin's side. They lay in silence for a short while. Tim was so still that Martin had just about concluded that the boy was asleep, so it came as a slight surprise when Tim rose up. He turned a little and looked into Martin's face.

"Thank you," Tim whispered.

"For what?" Martin asked.

"For letting me be with you, for want you did in the shower."

"Well, like I said, we haven't really done anything yet."

"Maybe for you it was nothing, but for me it was an incredible experience." He was silent again for a few moments and then went on. "You know I've never been with another person before."

"Yes, you told me," Martin said as he stroked Tim's soft, golden hair.

"I want to do everything with you."

"We'll see. We're going to take it slow. Anyway, 'everything' is a rather ambitious goal."

"I guess. But do you know what I want to do first?"

"No."

"I want to touch you."

"I'd like that."

"I've never touched another man before."

"It's not too difficult, Tim, just start."

"Okay."

Tim sat cross legged on the bed, his own cock already hard again and protruding at a rakish angle. He looked down at Martin's beautiful physique. Tim put his right hand on Martin's arm and felt the firm muscles. starting at his wrist and moving up slowly, stroking, feeling. When he got to Martin's right biceps he squeezed the relaxed muscles and then took the forearm in his left hand and lifted the arm into a bent position. He moved Martin's arm back and forth several times, bending and supporting it with his left hand while feeling it with his right.

"Would you flex it for me?"

"Sure." Martin grinned at the boy and flexed the upper arm, causing a hard mound to appear.

"Can I feel it?"

"Go ahead."

Tim lay his right palm on Martin's hard biceps.

"It feels so hot."

"Blood." Martin said. "You work muscles and you increase the blood flow into them."

"Yeah, I know, but that doesn't explain how great if feels." He turned and looked into Martin's face then lowered his own a little, "I've always wanted to do that with some of the older guys on the football team."

"That might get you into a little trouble."

"Yeah," he grinned. "When I was a little kid I used to love to get up in my dad's lap and just snuggle against him. I loved to run my hands over his shoulders and his chest. I'd ask him to 'make a muscle' for me, too, and when I as a little older, he'd tease me by saying 'make a muscle' and he'd feel it and tell me what a big strong boy I was."

"I think I'd like your dad."

"Yeah, he's great. Both my folks are."

"Do you think they know about you, what you're going through?"

"I think they might. But if they do, I suspect they just think it's a phase and I'll grow out of it."

"But you haven't talked to them about your feelings?"

"No. I'd sort of like to, but I don't know how to start."

"Yeah, it really is tough. I remember."

"When did you tell your folks?"

"I never did. My dad died not knowing. I guess at some point my mother just kind of caught on but she didn't say anything for a long time. Now she just says little things, but enough to let me know she knows and is okay with it."

"Dave and Monty know."

"Yeah. I came out to David and Carol Ann when I left for law school. It wasn't any big news to them I guess, even then. I guess at some point they told the boys."

"I bet back when you told them, your brother and sister-in law knew you had a boy friend."

"How did you know that?"

"Just guessed."

"Smart kid," Martin grinned as he placed his hand behind Tim's head and drew him down to him. "Done with your touching?"

"No."

"Okay if I do a little of my own?"

"Sure."

"Stretch out beside me." As Tim did so he let his arm fall across Martin's chest, his hand running over the firm mounds of the older man's pectoral muscles.

"Martin, you must work out a lot."

"Is that a question?"

"I guess, but it's obvious."

"Yeah, I go to a gym about three times a week."

"I hope when I'm your age I look like you."

"You probably will, but as you get older it's harder to keep yourself in shape."

There was another long silence as Tim's hand ran over Martin's chest and then down along his stomach. At the same time, Martin gently stroked Tim's firm shoulder. It was a wonderful time, Martin couldn't help thinking, a gentle, loving time.

"It's Mr. du Prey, right?" Tim's soft question in the quiet privacy of the room caught Martin off guard.

"What?"

"Your boy friend."

"That's kind of private, Tim."

"You mean he might not want it known? If I had a boy friend I'd want everyone to know."

"Well, he is married, Tim."

"So what difference does that make?"

"We do live in a world were some people still don't understand."

"Yeah, I know."

"Okay, Tim, look, I guess this is a conversation we needed to have."

"Secrets. Is it okay if I touch your, you know, your dick?"

"Penis, if you please. And, yes, it is sort of about secrets, at least about privacy."

"Penis? You really want me to call it that?

"No, of course not, I was just kidding. One time when I was a kid I kept a list of all the words I heard for the phallus. It got quite long."

"Your phallus or the list?"

"Very funny. The list, wise ass. And yes, of course you can tough it. I've touched yours, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, I definitely remember. What still amazes me is that you got me to come while you weren't touching it. How many words were on your list, anyway?"

"Oh, it got very long. Let's see, I'll tell you what, I'll give you one, you give me one back. We'll see who can keep it going longest."

"Okay, I'll start. Dick."

"You beginning with the easy ones?"

"Yeah, I figure if I don't you'll beat me to them."

"Okay, if you want to play that way, I'll just go with cock."

"I bet you go with cock a lot," Tim said, and then before Martin could respond, he added, "Peter."

"That's an old one. How about tool?"

"Tool's good. Ram rod."

"Pile driver."

"You don't like that kind of thing, do you? I mean secrets," The boys hand ran down along the inside of Martin's thigh and tentatively touched his balls. "You're the first man I ever touched, Martin."

"I feel honored, Tim, and to answer your question, no, I hate secrets. That's one of the major reasons I live in New York. But, may I ask, are you conceding our little game?"

"Definitely not, monkey. You're 'Out' there, right, in New York?"

"I'm not sure monkey is legal."

"Sure it is, like 'spank the monkey.'"

"Okay, I guess I'll accept it. You sure know your way around gay vocabulary, young man."

"You mean 'out?' That's pretty much a regular word these days. Even terms like 'bottom' and 'top' are getting used up by just about everybody now. But I figure I am one, Martin, gay, I mean, so I'd better get to know the language."

"So you hit the leather bars and the sling cellars just to improve your vocabulary, right?"

"I wish. No, I've spent a lot of time on the Internet."

"Just reading, right?" There was a chuckle in his voice.

Tim raised up and smiled at Martin. "I didn't say that."

"So you've found the picture sites."

"Sure. And the story sites and the 'Young Gay Information Sites' and a few chat rooms, too."

"You get around."

"Yeah. Without those sites I'd really be flying blind. It's not exactly like I can walk into my high school counselor's office and ask for advice on how to live as a young gay guy."

"Why not?"

"Come on, Martin. That might work in New York, but this is Mississippi."

"Yeah, that's exactly my point."

"You mean you can live openly as a gay man in New York, but here you have to be careful."

"More or less. First of all, I don't exactly yell it from the rooftops in New York. But I don't lie about it either. The people I work with and my friends know and it's okay. But when I come home, I try to be a little circumspect."

Tim was silent.

"You know that word, Tim, circumspect?"

"Sure. It's when they trim the foreskin off your club when you're a baby and can't stop them."

Martin looked at him with a serious expression on his face.

"Just kidding. I know what 'circumspect' means."

"But you wish you'd not been circumcised."

"Kind of."

"I guess I am to. If I ever had a kid, I'd not let them do it."

"I guess that's not too likely. So where this is leading, I guess, is that I need to be careful about what I say."

"Yeah. I was kind of upset that you'd talked to Dave and Monty. There are people who would string me up for child abuse if they knew what we were doing."

"But you said this is legal in Mississippi."

"It may be legal. There are a lot of areas of the law where there is such uncertainty that questions never do get answered. Sometimes it is just better not to ask the question. That's the point Bill Kyle was making yesterday."

"That sucks, Marty."

"Well, maybe it does. But are we going to fight battles for legal and social approval or just get on with business of making the best of the time we have together?"

Tim smiled. "That's a lousy choice."

"Yeah, I know. But look, Tim, every generation has had to do what they could. My generation sort of pushed the envelope. Things really are a lot better now than they were when I was your age. You and kids your age will take it still further. Maybe there will be setbacks, but there is slow progress."

"Okay, I get the point. We enjoy what we have and we don't talk about it."

"Well, I guess. And we don't make life difficult for other people in the process."

Tim's grin, Martin decided, really was mischievous. It illuminated his handsome young face as he then said, "Okay, fine, so he was your boy friend, right."

"Just between us, yes, James was my first boy friend when we were about the age you are now."

"But he is he still? I mean, do you have sex with him when you come home?"

"TIM!"

"I need to know."

"Why?

"When I looked at you two talking Friday night I kind of knew you guys were having sex. There were sort of sparks between you." Tim had gone beyond touching Martin's dick and had begun to gently stroke it now. "And, any way, Martin, now I'm in bed with you and I want you to be my lover. But I know that in a few days you'll head back to New York, and for all I know you may have a dozen guys there. But that doesn't matter to me the same way. I don't see them in church every Sunday and I won't be running into them and their wives and their kids when I'm out with my folks doing ordinary every day things."

Martin pulled Tim to him, cradling the boy's cheek against his chest. "You're right, Tim. That sucks." They were silent for a while as Martin thought about what he should say. He was better at formulating complex legal positions than he was here. At last he decided on an approach.

"Sit up, Tim, I want to say this right." The boy did as he was told.

"Okay, here goes," Martin began, "We are here in my bed naked and it looks like we are going to have sex. I don't mean just me getting you off no-handed in the shower." He patted Tim's leg and added, "at your age, with your hormone levels bouncing off that way, I could have done that long distance."

"Does that mean you'll have phone sex with me when you go back to New York?" The grin was still there.

"Cute, Tim. Now shut up and listen." When Tim didn't interject some further wisecrack, Martin continued. "What we're doing may or may not be right. There are a lot of cultures where it's perfectly acceptable. But there are also a lot of places where this is an actionable offense under the law. I don't think anything can be gained by debating that issue at this point. Would you agree?"

"Yes."

"Okay, so you understand there are lots or reasons why we must keep our friendship private."

"Friendship?"

"Yes, friendship. It may become more later, but for now we'll call it a friendship."

"Okay."

"So what goes on between us cannot be talked about in public; not with friends at school or anyone else. Maybe we can think of someone you can use as a sort of advisor, someone you can relax with and be your totally open self with. I realize you need such a person. You'll probably need such a person a lot more after I go."

"Could that be Dave?"

"I don't think so."

"He'll want to know."

"Maybe, but you know the old adage, 'gentlemen don't tell.' Just tell him that what goes on between you and another person is entirely private. It will probably shut him up, and besides, it'll make you look like a stud."

"Cool. But who can I talk to?"

"I was kind of thinking Ben."

"Ben? Your Ben"

"You say that in his hearing and you're certain to be taken down a notch."

"But, Martin, he's old."

"All the better. He is certainly a very wise man and one you can trust. And besides, he's available. You'll be coming back here to work on the roses and if he knows you want to be able to talk with him, he will find a way for you and him to get off where you can talk in private."

"Are you telling me Ben's gay, Marty."

"Didn't we agree we'd not ask that kind of question?"

"I don't know, did we?"

"Well, if you want to know that, you ask him."

"So I just say, 'Ben are you gay?'"

"You'll find a way. I can probably set it up."

"So you're not going to tell me if you and Mr. de Prey and you still have sex."

"No, I'm not. It's none of your business."

"Sounds like you are to me."

"Well, you think what you want, but we aren't going to talk about it."

"Okay. I guess I can live with it. Anyway, we're wasting time."

"Oh, really, Mr. Arnold? Are we on the clock?"

"You bet. I know I can't keep you occupied for ever. At best I've just got you for a few days, and besides, you're an old guy and you'll need your sleep, so I figure you'll probably conk out on me about nine o'clock."

"So what is it you want to do?"

"Everything. I want you to teach me all the things men do together."

"Tim, you know all that all ready."

"No I don't. I mean I've read about it and even seen a bunch of pictures on Internet sites, but, well, you know."

"Yes?"

"Well, I figure it's like football. I could look at pictures and read about plays all day, but you don't really get to know them until you get out on the field and scrimmage."

"So you think sex is like football."

"Yeah, well, sort of."

"What would you say if I told you that you already know just about everything you'll ever need to know?"

"I wouldn't believe you."

"Well, it's true. Think about it, Tim. Who taught you how to beat off?"

"Nobody."

"How long have you been doing it?"

"Oh, gees, since I was about twelve, I guess."

"Okay, do you remember how you got started?"

"I don't know, Marty, this is kind of embarrassing."

"So you want to get on to the good stuff and you're having a little trouble talking about how you discovered masturbation"?

"Yeah, I guess I get the point."

"So?"

"Well, I guess I kind of felt like rubbing my pecker. Hey, there's another one for our list."

"Very good, Tim. So you felt like rubbing your pecker, and then what?"

"Well, it felt good so I just started doing it when I'd go to bed at night, you know, under the covers."

"And then one night something that felt really good happened which hadn't happened before, right?"

"Yeah."

"I bet you were just having dry orgasms at twelve."

"Yeah."

"When did you first come?"

"You mean shoot?"

"Yes."

"I guess it was about a year later."

"And nobody taught you how to do it?"

"No."

"Okay, Tim, let me suggest some other things I bet you already know."

"Shoot."

"Very funny. Okay, you know there are parts of your body that are very sensitive to sexual stimulation, right?"

"You mean besides my whacker?"

"Were you saving that one?"

"Yeah," Tim grinned. "Yeah, I know there are, like hot spots."

"Okay, tell me a few."

"Well, to sort of starting at the top, my scalp and my ears, especially my ear lobes, and my eyelashes and eyelids, Then my lips and inside my mouth, my tongue and my throat and my armpits and my nipples and stomach, especially my belly button. Then of course all the area around my penis and my penis itself, like big time. And my balls and the insides of my thighs and my, you know, my...."

"Your ass."

"Yeah, and the area around it."

"I kind of figured that one out in the shower."

"That's for sure! Well, anyway, my legs, you know, the spots behind my knees, and my toes and the soles of my feet. Maybe there's a few other places but those are the main ones." Tim had again stretched out next to Martin and was running his fingers through the thick push of golden hair just above his now nearly hard cock.

Martin just stared at him. "Oh, to be sixteen again."

"It's not all it's cracked up to be."

"Well, maybe not when you're going through it."

"So what are you saying, Martin?"

"Well, again, who taught you all that?"

"Nobody."

"Okay, next point, you can sort of figure that if those spots are very stimulating for you, they probably are for other people as well, more or less."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Some areas of another person's body may be more or less sensitive than that spot is for you, but the general map works."

"Okay."

"Do you know why you shot wen I played with your ass?"

"I know it was really hot."

"Be specific."

"Well...it's kind of embarrassing again."

"Look, Tim, we're going to talk about a lot of even weirder things before we get through. Let's just get over it now, okay?

"Even weirder stuff?"

"Yeah, believe me."

"Okay, I'll get over it" Martin just looked at him. "I will. I will not get embarrassed talking with you about anything. Ever. Okay?"

"Great. Now again, what did I do that really put you over the top?"

"You stuck your finger in me."

"In your nose? In your ear?"

"In my ass."

"Thank you. I stuck my finger in your ass and you had what you said was the most intense orgasm you've ever had."

"Yeah, intense."

"Okay, and why do you think that happened?"

"Because my ass is very sensitive."

"Yes, and?"

"Because it was a new experience for me and we'd been messing around and I was already so close, and because I really wanted you there."

"You wanted me there? You wanted me to put my finger up your ass." They were silent looking at each other. "What did you ask me just before you came?"

"I asked if you were going to fuck me."

"Yes. So you know about ass fucking. You probably saw some really hot pictures on the Internet."

"Yeah, and I read some stories about guys doing it."

"Do you now about the prostate gland, Tim."

"Kind of. It's up in your ass and it's really sensitive. Is there more I need to know?"

"Probably not, at least not until you get past fifty."

"What do you mean?"

"Private joke."

"Oh."

"So do you see where this is going, Tim?"

"Well, sort of, but I want you to tell me."

"Okay. What it comes down to is that there are a limited number of spots or areas on and in our bodies which are especially sensitive to sexual stimulation. When those spots are touched or rubbed, our bodies respond. If such stimulation goes on for a while, it can lead to orgasm."

"Okay."

"And you'd agree that there are some parts of the human body which are better than others for doing the rubbing?"

"Sure."

"Do you remember those little puzzles you got as a kid where you had to draw a lines between the things that had something in common? You know, between an apple and an orange because they're both fruit and between a hammer and a screwdriver because they're both tools?"

"Yeah, I remember, and you're saying sex is a little like that once you figure out which parts of the body are fun to stick in or rub against or play with whichever other parts."

"You got it."

"So it is like learning football plays."

"Well, let's put it this way, once you know all those plays and you get into a real game, do you know right away which play will work against the other team?"

"Well, sometimes, but not always. Sometimes we know a team has a weak line so we can assume certain plays will work well against them, you know from news coverage or scouts' reports on their past games."

"Well, when you don't have that kind of information, how do you play?"

"You hang tight and try to figure it out."

"So you kind of get to know them and figure out which plays will work."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Well, I think sex is sort of like that. I know were the hot spots should be but I don't know which ones are most sensitive on you. So when we first start getting to know one another, I sort of play around, trying a few things, until I get you mapped."

"So sex is about trying to figure out how to please the other person?"

"If you want to be a really good lover, it is."

"And if they are doing the same thing, trying to figure you out, you both have a great time."

"Yeah."

"Is that all there is to it?"

"Well, if just having great sex is all you're looking for, yeah, it kind of it."

"But you're saying there's more than just having great sex, right?"

"Sure. It depends on what you're looking for, I guess. If you just want a One Night Stand, there isn't much more to it than the sex. But if you want a relationship that is going to last, there's a lot more. But in some ways, even then, the same rules apply."

"Like trying to please the other guy."

"Yeah, golden rule sort of stuff."

"So why not just ask what the fellow likes?"

"You can do that, but sometimes he won't tell you, or maybe he doesn't really know. Maybe by just getting to know him, you can show him some stuff he never tried but would really love."

"But how would you begin?"

"Well, It depends. Sometimes you know, or are fairly sure, that the guy wants to have sex with you. Other times you may not know if he is willing to have sex or not. If you aren't sure, I usually just start with some friendly touching, you know, nothing too sexual at first. If he seems comfortable with that, you can move on to more sexual stuff, letting him have a chance to stop you if he wants."

"But before you go even that far, you'd want to know if he was gay or not, right?"

"Probably. But it seems to me that these days the lines are getting sort of blurred."

"You mean he may not be really gay, but he'd still be comfortable messing around?"

"Yeah. I guess a lot of straight guys are curious. Some are definitely bi. You just have to take it slow until you know how far he is willing to go."

"But once you think he wants to go further, or if you know from the start that he wants to have sex with you, how do you find out what he likes?"

"Well. Tim, it doesn't hurt to ask."

"Yeah?"

"Sure, you can work it into your conversation or you can just get him talking about experiences he's had and what he liked and didn't like."

"So if I was just meeting you and I wanted to find what turned you on, would you ask questions or just start some physical stuff?"

"If I knew as much about a guy as you know about me, I'd just start touching him the way you've been touching me. It never hurts to ask from time to time if what you are doing is okay."

"Is what I'm doing okay?"

"Yeah, its really nice, but you could get a little more aggressive now."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, you can see I'm completely hard and you have me excited that my dick is producing pre-cum. When a guy has let you get him that far along, he isn't exactly going to stop you, at least none I've been with have."

"So get more aggressive. You mean like stroke his dick harder, try to get him to come?"

"Yeah, or you could try just kissing him and see how that works."

"I told you Saturday I've only kissed a few girls and then Dave and I kissed Friday night. I guess you'd have to say I'm still a rookie."

"Want to practice?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that's what I'm here for."

Martin had the feeling that a sort of dam had broken. Or perhaps, a better way of describing it would be to say that all the conversation they'd had and all the issues they'd discussed, were now being implemented by his young pupil. All restraints had gone, all reticence was behind them.

Tim placed his warm, damp lips against Martin's and began to explore them with his timid tongue. The timidity soon vanished and Martin realized that Tim was pressing discreetly, wanting in. From that point on, it was as if their passions built in unison, mounting, ebbing, mounting again. By some unforeseen and rather mysterious means, all Martin knew, all he hoped to convey to the eager boy was now evident in Tim's behavior.

Tim moaned as he probed Martin's warm mouth, thrusting as deep into his throat as his tongue would allow. When he withdrew, Martin reciprocated, gently pushing his own tongue between Tim's lips. He moved slowly, not knowing if this latest development would be acceptable to the boy. But he need not have worried. As soon as the tip of Martin's tongue entered his mouth, Tim was sucking on it, inviting it in, drawing it, charming it. Soon, Martin's tongue was as deep in Tim's throat as Tim's had just been in his.

The boy moaned again and pulled away.

"I see what you mean. There are parts of our bodies which can probe and there are parts that like to be probed."

"Yep."

With no further delay, Tim rose up a little and positioned himself between Martin's legs.

"Spread them for me. I want to suck your cock."

"You sure you're ready for that, Tim?"

"If you only know how long I've been dreaming of doing it, you wouldn't ask."

"Okay, guy, go for it."

Tim didn't exhibit as much confidence in his actions as he had in his words, and Martin had just about decided that, despite the statements made in many stories about those new to the game, that Tim was NOT what is generally called a "Natural Cocksucker." But just about the time Martin was thinking those thoughts, Tim's instincts kicked in.

Up to that point he hadn't been really bad, he just lacked practice. It wasn't like he was torturing Martin with his teeth or something. But then after just fooling around for a few minutes, Tim really got down to the job at hand. He began pushing himself, diving onto Martin's increasingly enflamed cock with more and more determination. With each descent, he went further. Martin's cock was not exactly short, and he knew the head of his spear must be hitting the back of Tim's virgin mouth. But the kid held in there. Sure, there were a few false starts, a few near gags, but he persisted and then in one really determined effort, succeeded in taking Martin all the way in.

Martin felt the head of his cock pass beyond Tim's trachea and into his throat.

Martin moaned.

Tim moaned.

There was a moment of frozen stillness as Tim adjusted to the situation he now found himself in, and then he began to bob in earnest, driving Martin to the threshold of climax within seconds.

"Tim, babe, you'd better pull off. I'm gonna shoot, fellow, and you may not want to take my load the first time, right?"

There were murmurs from Tim which, while not discernible in the usual way of words, seemed to convey a general determination to stay in the contest.

"Okay, babe," Martin tried again. "If you want it, just keep that up. If you want to pull off, you'd better do it now."

Tim made no move to avoid the approaching torrent and within seconds his mouth was filled with the hot blasts of Martin's cum. The first blast hit the back of his tongue and shot with considerable velocity down his waiting throat. Tim had tasted his own juices before and was expecting, even looking forward to, the flavor of Martin's cum. He was therefore a little disappointed that the first shots exited his mouth and headed straight for his stomach leaving so little taste for him to relish. He quickly realized that the problem was that the longed-for seed had more or less bypassed his tongue, the site of most of his taste buds. He quickly pulled back, just in time to catch the full brunt of Martin's second volley.

"Mmm," Tim moaned as the rush hit all his sensory systems at once.

"Oh, yeah, Tim, " Martin was chanting, his strong hands instinctively pressed into the back of the boy's golden head, locking his mouth to Martins' cock.

Martin's body, which had lifted off the bed in the muscle wrenching seizure of his climax, now slumped back onto the rumpled sheets. His hands dropped from the back of Tim's head and the boy rose up, slowly, reluctant to abandon Martin's softening dick.

"Um, that was unbelievable," Tim said, one thin strand of Martin's cum dribbling down from the right side of his now swollen and reddened lips.

"Come here."

Martin pulled the boy to him and kissed him deeply, tasting his own special flavor in the boys mouth, and then as their lips parted, using his tongue to capture the one escaped strand of his cum.

"You are amazing, young man."

"Yeah?" Tim said, a note of pride in his voice, "You really think so?"

"Amazing. It's hard to believe you haven't done that before."

"Haven't. Just read about it a lot and dreamed of it so often it felt natural right from the start."

"Well, all I can say is, 'Three cheers for the internet.'"

"Yeah, but it can't beat the real thing."

"I was surprised you wanted to take my load, your first time and all."

"Wouldn't have missed it." Tim was silent for a moment and then spoke again.

Ah, Martin, you remember you asked me how long it would take me to get hard again?"

"Yep."

"Well, ah, how long will it take you?"

"I'd say after that draining, about half an hour."

"Well, then could we do what Ben said? You know, go to the kitchen and make sandwiches or something?"

"Hungry?"

"Starving."

"My load didn't fill you up?"

"Well, don't get me wrong, it was great, but it's not real high on calorie count."

"No, probably not, but a great protein supplement, I hear."

"Cute, Marty. But remember, I'm a growing boy."

"Yeah, I noticed. Okay, we can head to the kitchen, or if you want, I'll call Ben and ask him to make us some sandwiches."

"He said he was going to rest. Should we bother him?"

"He just said that as an excuse to get out of our way. I bet he'd really like to hear from us, just to get a progress report."

"He knew we were going to have sex, didn't he?"

"Sure. In fact, he was the one who really convinced me to do it with you when I was having all kinds of concerns."

"You didn't want to have sex with me?"

"I wanted to, babe, but I kept thinking about the age issues and all the possibilities of complications."

"And Ben convinced you?"

"Yep."

"Wow. What did he say?"

"He said you were going to do it with someone real soon, if not me, someone else."

"He was right about that."

"Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, he convinced me that I'd be the best person you could find."

"I guess I really own Ben a big thanks."

"Probably. But for now, just let him see that things are going well."

"Okay, call him. I've got to have food. And once we've eaten, I want you to fuck me."
To be continued.....