Our hope is that every homosexual youth in this country can find a home and someone to love them as they are.
No one deserves to be discriminated against, no matter what their differences from society's norm

A tidy quote from our favorite author,
"titles belong on books, not people" ©Carl Dickson–2007

Does your mother know you're reading this shit?

Warning: This story is PORNO. I have tried my hand at friction, now I'm trying fiction. This story contains vivid descriptions of sexual activity between men and teen boys.
It contains no truth, partial truth, or half truth. What it does contain is stroking material. If this kind of story turns you off, or offends you, please find something else.
The author does not encourage or condone sex between adults and underage children.

If you are underage, or if this is illegal where you are, then please go away. If you're under 18, Adios come back when it is legal for you to read this smut.
If you lied about your age in order to access this story, remember this is our story. Life doesn't always work out like a story.

A strongly worded suggestion has resulted in this statement.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either
are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitioiusly,
and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business
establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Thus said, this story is copyrighted, ©2010 It is therefore illegal to copy or use any part of this story on any other web site without my written permission.

My health is sad and my eyesight if failing fast. I don't want to let that keep me from providing fresh stroke material for your personal pleasure.
Here is an old story that I dusted off and edited just for you. I hope that you are stroked while reading it.
    Allen was cute. I don't think that I had ever seen a prettier baby, but what a boy he grew into. His mother is a tramp—period, end of story. She is nothing but trash.
    I bought my apartment because I was tired of taking care of a house and a yard. The building that I settled into used to be the two hundred and fifty foot tall, six story furniture warehouse of a large moving and storage company before it was converted into loft apartments. I have no idea how she managed to get the money to move in across the hall from me. I had forty two hundred feet of space, in what was once the top floor. She bought the old equipment room behind the elevator tower. I also owned the elevator tower from the basement through to the roof. The old freight elevator was unsafe so the city condemned it. The property developer had to put in a new elevator by the front door.
    I built my seventy foot by sixty foot area my way. Both ends of the building have forty foot tall windows that run from floor to ceiling. The view to the east looks out over a commanding view of the tall mountains along the northern borders of the city. I used that feature to my advantage. I had the old windows removed and reglazed with triple pane glass. I am above any surrounding building so I do not worry about privacy. I do caution my young guests not to stand near the windows when they are naked though.
    On the east end of the building I created an eight foot wide atrium along the entire sixty foot span. I had twenty foot tall trees brought in which give me a feeling of living in the great outdoors, the addition of a small water feature adds to the illusion.
    For the main floor I stuck with a basic design with three east facing bedrooms, each with its own private bath backing against the kitchen wall, sharing the water so no extra cutting needed be made to the eight inch thick steel reinforced concrete floor.
    In the middle of the space sits a large chef's kitchen. The kitchen is the first room with a ten foot ceiling created by an overhead loft. The kitchen is equipped for working with a commercial grade six burner stove. Two of the back burners are electric for slow cooking. The stove has three ovens and a broiler unit. An open flame griddle/grill sits toward the left side burners. There are two large capacity dishwashers located next to the two double sinks,
    I entertain quite a bit, but for my private use there is a smaller dishwasher set above the floor that I use for the few dishes that I use each day. I like the placement of that dishwasher because I don't have to bend over to fill it or empty it. Two very large Zero Cold™ refrigerators complete the room.
    Between the kitchen and the large living room is a dinning room that will seat twelve. From the dinning room to the back of the area sits the large living room open above to the forty foot high ceiling. The forty foot long room sits along a new bank of windows that span from floor to ceiling
    Along the seventy foot long north wall is my very extensive library with over twelve hundred titles, some quite old. The library is raised eight inches above the dinning room and living room. To the north end of the living room I have a recessed conversation area around a four foot round fire pit with an inverted funnel shaped chimney free hanging in space over the top of it.
    There are no buildings over two stories tall to the west of me. I have an unobstructed view over the old warehouse district then the freeway almost a mile away. After that are miles and miles of houses disappearing into desert lands as the terrain climbs up a low range of mountains which rise to around seven thousand feet. The world's most perfect sunsets occur right outside of my windows every evening just before dusk. A little later and you will miss the entire show.
    Talk about sunsets, I am nearly two hundred and fifty feet above the street with nothing to block my view of the world's most beautiful sunsets over the Southwest Sonoran Desert. I do have one thing no one else in the building has, I have access to the roof.
    The old elevator tower, where the huge pulleys and cables were, is mine. I made the uppermost part into an observation tower, seven actual stories above the street level and two hundred feet or more above anything within a three mile circle of me--not including the tall buildings downtown, about a mile and a half away. At the present time the remainder of the old shaft is empty, save for a spiral staircase from the basement that can only be accessed with a key.
    I fought zoning variances religiously as I sought to protect what I had. I put a flat wooden deck on top of the tower with a thirty foot, fiberglass slide into a twelve foot deep swimming pool. There is nothing quite as invigorating as a disappearing edge swimming pool overlooking a two hundred foot drop to the glass sky lights of the two story building next door to my building. The pool actually sits above the condo unit occupied by Allen and his mother.
    From the front edge of the atrium I created a loft fifteen feet above the first floor. It is important that the beds be made as the bedrooms are open to the ceiling and one can look down into them from the open loft area. I had two restrooms for clients and visitors installed over the lower full bathrooms. I did include shower stalls for future considerations. Who knows what I might want to do later? It was much cheaper to build them in at the beginning then to tear everything out and add them later.
    The main area of the loft sits over the kitchen, dinning room, and library. The area is in the middle of the room so that there is minimal light from the outside. I have concentrated light on my displays throughout the showroom.
    Along each side of the living area are catwalk extensions of the loft. The sides were left open and I use them for display. I like to collect. Nothing of value, I'm sure. I'm not really a collector as much as I just don't like to throw anything away that may prove useful sometime in the future. I have an eclectic collection of claw foot bathtubs. Hideous things really, but I found out that they are worth a fortune to someone who wants one.
    Fifteen feet above that level is an eight foot wide catwalk along the north and south walls with a twenty foot wide crossover connecting the two sides. Access to the third loft is by means of a staircase at either end of the first loft area. The first loft is only accessed by a wide staircase that sits next to the front door of my apartment.
    The only truly enclosed area in my house is a large entry lobby. I don't allow just anybody access into my inner sanctum. When strangers are in my house the doors from the lobby are locked electronically.
    My wife was a real gem. She liked to find old farm houses or sites where they once stood. She was a master at locating the old trash dump where "farmer Brown" threw away a ton of history. She would dig for hours and come up with bottles from antiquity. I wasn't all that thrilled until one day she heard about an appraiser that was seeking old glass. She sold an old Dr. Pepper bottle that had the clock logo with ten, two, and four in raised glass letters for a hundred dollars.
    That made me pay attention as she opened up her little box of tonic bottles. They were all the same brand and same size but different colors. Most of them were a pale green. Kind of a pretty color actually. Then they ranged on down to a deep cobalt blue. She told me that this was her fortune. She was right, again. The appraiser creamed his pants. He offered her a thousand dollars for the box of twelve that she had with us. She closed the box and turned away.
    The man was red faced. He apologized to her. I was stunned. I had no idea what was going on. He told her his budget for this trip only allowed him a limited amount but he would give her a ten thousand dollars cash deposit and a contract for seventy per cent of whatever he could sell them for. She agreed and met him at our attorney's office the next morning.
    I started dragging her on long drives into the country side. She taught me about glass and the manufacturing process of years gone by. It seems the chemicals with which glass is made change properties with time. You have to know the bottle and there are numerous catalogs to search through. Some bottles were colored when blown. The truly valuable bottles were clear and changed with time.
    There is a pale yellow, pink, green, darker green, transparent blue then opaque blue that you can't see through. This last is the oldest or has at least had the most reaction time and therefore the most valuable. The truly valuable piece turned out to be the most common, if one knows where to look. Old electric line insulators, the kinds that were on the top of the old high line poles, the original ones were of clear leaded glass and turn a beautiful cobalt blue with age. In later years these insulators were made of ceramic and are plentiful and nearly valueless. Cynthia had tons of insulators.
    I got serious about our hunts but from a different angle. She didn't mind digging. I hated it but I loved to kick around. I started paying attention to what was where and made lists. I went to the county court house and found the owners of the properties. I made deals to clean up the property at a very attractive rate to the owners and hired a crew to do just that. I bought two large trucks and went on site with my crew for the first few days of each job as we loaded old plows, tools, bathtubs. lead sinks, porcelain sinks, anything that could be considered antique. I found and restored hundreds of wagons. An authentic wagon wheel can bring five hundred dollars and more if it is broken correctly.
    I never cheat. I am not that kind of person. I show my customer pictures of their purchase in the ground, during excavation, and out of the ground at the original site. These pictures are their documentary proof of their purchase. They can see for themselves the condition of their purchase when I found it and can see that it has not been altered anymore than to knock off any excess mud. A little mud makes it more appealing to a real collector. I have many of my wagon wheels in the homes of some of Hollywood's biggest names. A few of my wagons have appeared as derelicts in movies.
    I have an eight foot long, three foot wide claw foot bath tub that held one of the prettiest asses in the movie business sitting in a place of prominence in my loft. It is surrounded by pictures of her in the tub, getting in and out. There are some that you will never see in a movie theater, her without the towel showing her skimpy little flesh colored modesty suit that was kept out of the picture. To me these pictures are even more risque than the modern nudes of air brushed fake beauty that adorn so many horny male minds.
    Cynthia died many years ago. I often wonder if she caught some bug digging in all of those dumps. Even if she did she was happy. She loved her discoveries and she made some serious money. Just the money she left for the kids' education put our three sons through college. Two of them are world class antique appraisers today.
    Well, I wanted space and security for my treasures. I could not trust a warehouse or even a store front to keep what I have found safe. My current inventory should amass at least seven or eight million dollars. Of course to insurance men and government tax people it is just so much junk that some senile old man won't let go of. They pity me and walk away leaving me counting my tax savings in the tens of thousands of dollars. Until a buyer sees a piece and starts to bid on it every thing I have is just so much junk. The value is in the eyes of the buyer.
    Most of my sales are cash and the buyer wants no record of their purchase. They don't need anyone finding out that they have something worth stealing either. I suppose my favorite find is what every treasure hunter seeks. I love to purchase the old barns. I have them carefully disassembled, board by board. Each piece is numbered and recorded on a blue print of where it was in the construction as I took it apart. I have found stashes of a few old gold coins hidden away for a rainy day and forgotten. I've discovered old paper money in the walls of old houses and barns, but my one truly valuable find was an old painting. It had been stolen during the depression and lost for fifty years. I found it in a house where a known gangster's mother had lived. It was under the floor of an upstairs bedroom.
    Of course I returned the painting to the banker from whom it had been stolen. He had left his entire estate, amounting to hundreds of pieces of priceless art to a well known museum. They offered me a very nice cash reward as well as billing on display with the painting. It is nice to see my painting alongside works of the masters in a museum setting. I think that it is a unique honor, at least I tell myself it is for my own ego.
    I have sold tons of really old lumber to builders around the globe. Some of the biggest how-to shows on tv buy my old wood. I love to find that one person who wants to live in a barn. We go through my inventory carefully as he seeks that one wood with the character that he wants in his house. I don't let these people just take their purchase and go home. I go home with them, at least my people do. We work alongside of them as they reassemble a piece of history and make it their own. I only leave them when the final peg is placed in the old wood frame or the final nail is in the last panel. My customer's are my only advertisement. They love to sing my praises to their friends as they get the compliments on their fine new home.
    My kids had all gone back east to where the money and finds were better. When my Cynthia died I went west. It took twelve truck loads to get all of my things out to my new loft apartment and that did not include the old barns. Those are still stored in a three hundred thousand square foot warehouse with enough fire sprinkler heads to fill a back yard pool in seconds. The fire system sucks water directly from a huge lake a quarter of a mile away through a twelve inch main. Paranoid? No, cautious.
    Well, as I said, that is why I bought this loft. I thought that I bought the whole floor but the realtor was more shrewd than I and had strangely discovered that a wall that he thought was a load bearing wall was really only a divider built many years after the building went up. There was a six hundred foot area to be developed into a one bedroom unit with a four hundred foot loft.
    She moved in only two years after I had finished my place. I had to accept the fact that she was there. Her name is Faith. I had been introduced to her at a party a friend threw for society's climbers. She was on the arm of a cute young stud that made a come on to me. I was in bed with both of them before the night was over. Yeah, probably stupid but the dude liked to get fucked as he fucked and he could suck footballs through a soda straw. He was nicely hung, we enjoyed each other's creamy filling several times. Faith wanted a ride on my big pony. Sad to say that I was so drunk that I rode her while her young friend rimmed me, a very delightful first.
    She was kind of cute in those days, but as the years trudged on she lost her looks fast. It was a shame to see her going down hill. Five months after she moved into her unit the baby arrived. Well, I am a sucker for babies and I was all over this little guy. Wrong move, hot shot. She milked my good nature. I became the boy's only babysitter. Not that I minded it a whole lot.

    Allen was all boy. I loved to watch him grow. He thought I was family and no one ever told him different. He roamed from my house to his with no fanfare, I left my door open most of the time. I am an at home near nudist and I told her that she would have to put up with it or stay at home. When the elevator button was pushed for our floor my door automatically closed however. I didn't want her boyfriends, by the scores, to see me in nothing but the briefest of shorts. Nor did I really want a customer to see more of my goods than I was selling.
    One thing that I was sure that I had kept from her was my love of boys, teenage boys, not her little one. I loved him but never sexually. I lived in an area that was rife with runaway kids. The boys would turn somersaults for a hot meal and a bath. I had a few regulars that I really enjoyed keeping company with. They came and they went but they always seemed to want to be sure that I was left with a nice replacement. I never really figured the boys' fascination with me in that respect. To them I figured I was no more that a sugar daddy feasting on their sweet bods.
    Every time a boy would leave on his own--a few were caught by the police and taken away--he would bring up a boy a bit younger than himself and we would enjoy several days of group play as the newbee found out what I liked and what he could tolerate. I never wanted a boy that was uncomfortable with any aspect of our relationship. The one part that always bothered a newbee was rimming. They would accept it but wouldn't reciprocate until much later in our relationship, usually three or four hours. Seriously, a few boys took a few days before they wanted to try it on me.
    I mean face it, by this time I was in my fifties. I had a reasonable body but time was causing it to sag here and there. I wasn't getting out stumping around the wilderness looking for treasure any longer so exercise seemed to go by the wayside.

    My world crumbled around me one afternoon when she invited me to dinner. At her table was a boy of seventeen that I had been most infatuated with until he disappeared two years before. He left me a beauty in his stead and he gave me such a send off that I was ready to go with him. He was a boy lover's wet dream.
    He smiled at me as Faith introduced him as her brother. She knew he was gay and he had come to see her in this building when I found him. They kept their little secret. I found out that she had many secrets of her own that he helped her keep. They were the offspring of a prominent personage of this town. She was in hiding, in fear of their father. He was a totally unforgiving man and in no way would accept a grandchild born out of wedlock or a homosexual son.
    The son had made peace without outing himself and returned home so that he could finish highschool. I was proud of the boy for that. He had now met a man with whom he was madly in love and was leaving the state to live with him as partners. I was sad to see him go. He did stay with me for a few weeks and licked my wounds and his, until things were ready for him to move on.
    At that dinner I got the shock of my life when a birth certificate for Allen Rosenfeld Davis was lain before me. I was listed as the boy's father. This was an original copy, certified by the state with the state's seal on it. Alex Robert Davis, me, was named in full, with my address, as the birth father of the boy. I checked the dates quickly and determined that she was of legal age well before conception. I sure didn't see that one coming and I didn't want state certified proof that I had taken an underage child to my bed. I had taken her brother and many other boys to boot but as far as I know there is no documentation to that effect.
    Well there was madness afoot and I quickly discovered what it was. Momma had met her man. She had been keeping very upscale company and had finally found the man she wanted. He, however, and you knew this was coming, didn't know, about Allen. Sis and little brother were sure that I would welcome my own son into my life and raise him to be the kind of son that would make me proud.
    I'm queer for teenage boys. I have a fairly regular stream of youngsters that know how to sneak into the fire escape and walk up a floor or two to catch the elevator, thus evading the cameras at the front door. I had my own cameras in the firewell so that I could keep track of company thru this insecure portal. With what I have to lose in my house I have to know who comes and goes. But if I take ten year old Allen into my home my sexcapeds are at an end.
    I was kind of in a quandary when the other shoe was dropped. I had no records of supporting my son for all of these years and she was not above going to the courts to ask for restitution and my immediate incarceration. I happen to have chosen one of the major states in the west that likes to lock up dead beat fathers. The fact that I had lived across the hall from the woman for the boy's entire life, and had been seen with him in public time and time again, did not seem to deter her. I had no doubt in my mind that I could beat her in a court of law but did I want to? I do love the kid.
    Another thought crossed my mind. If she was this devious would she resort to outing little brother and have me locked up for life as a molester? I was really warming up to the idea of Allen moving across the hall. Then she sweetened the pot. She had seen an attorney and was prepared to sign over absolute custody. She was also giving me her apartment, which was paid for. She was a gold digger and had managed to pay the nearly three hundred thousand dollar mortgage on her unit in only eleven years.
    I suggested that she leave the apartment to her son, but she told me that taxes and upkeep would make it impossible for him and no one under eighteen can control real estate in this state. Can you say archaic laws? It is still on the books as being illegal to lick another person's ice cream cone. A penalty of thirty days on a work farm is the result of that little endeavor. I embraced my son and prepared to start a new life as a father again at fifty two years of age.
    I stared in fascinated wonder at a four foot seven bag of bones weighing seventy five pounds. The spindly thin legs and arms looked incapable of supporting the body to which they were attached. A pencil thin penis stood upright reaching an unbelievable length approaching four inches. A tiny red eraser topped it in the form of a shiny red glans, exposed by the withdrawn foreskin of the throbbing organ. A crown of yellow blond hair encompassed the round elvish face. A tiny upturned nose whose cartilage had not yet began to push downward into its future adult shape sat atop red thin lips. Balanced to each side of this precious nose were two twinkling blue eyes staring into my face as I beheld the beauty before me.
    Ten year old Allen was a joy to behold. Still damp from his bath he held out his arms requesting permission to climb, naked, into my lap. I opened my arms to embrace him as he ran across the room. "I am so glad to finally be home with you, daddy."
    I had not bathed Allen since he was seven or eight. I had only seen him naked as he sat in a tub full of hot water and lots of bubbles. To see, feel, and hold this boy wonder did much to my libido. I rose to the occasion only to find my tumescence gripped in the hot hand of my precious lap quest. "Wow, uncle Kyle said you had a big dick. I have so much wanted to see it forever." I was having a very difficult time remembering to breathe, in and out, in and out. My head was spinning. I could not think of a way out of my current dilemma.
    I awakened with my tiny little bundle curled up against me. His drool was running down my chest, his hand was under the waistband of my shorts. A soft comforter had been placed over us. A new log had been added to the fireplace. My chair was laid all the way back and I was as comfortable as I had ever been. I closed my eyes and pulled my little man close as I slowly awakened to a clear blue sky as the sun rose behind me, bathing my sky house in the light of a new day.

So there you have it. Is your friction enhanced by my fiction?
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Many often mistake me for one who takes criticism well.
Actually I know the little person that offered the criticism is
dead wrong and not worth the breath to correct him.