Date: Fri, 27 Oct 2006 20:37:16 -0700 From: Joseph Farrin Subject: COMING HOME I left home twenty-six years ago when I graduated from high school in 1980. I'm now forty-five years old, was raised by foster parents and hitched to LA right after I graduated. The last set of foster parents were the best I'd ever had -- they were approved to take me despite their age because they were responsible and financially able to provide for me. I grew to love them, took care of the yard in summer and shoveled walks in winter, cleaned the basement and helped Matt load pipe on his truck plus other things to help out. Matt was a plumber. My foster mother was graying and her name was Alice. I'd visited them four or five times on vacation, wrote and called once in a while and sent them cartons of fruit whenever I saw some in a magazine that you could order from, if it looked extra special, along with other things. Before I forget my manners entirely, my name is Joey. Lately, moving back home crossed my mind with increasing frequency. Don't ask because I don't really know. I'd done really well in LA working for a general contractor as a carpenter and had a sideline making vitrines (small, glass faced cabinets for displaying collectables) but the area had grown so crowded, so big, so expensive, so everything and I spent so much time driving the freeways to and from work that it had just gotten on my nerves to the point that I thought even the climate no longer compensated for all the down side things. It seemed almost providential when an attorney called me early one evening, informed me Matt had been sick for a while and had died three months ago. Alice never adjusted to it and she too had died last week. It was a real shock to me. The second shock was that I was their sole heir -- although the house was the main asset. Money wise they'd left a few dollars over 6,000. It was totally unexpected and I felt so humbled. Millie's funeral had taken place three days ago, but if I could, the attorney thought I should come home to see if wanted to dispose of the house and what furnishings I might want to keep. I asked why he hadn't called me sooner. He said he'd just gotten back from vacation and apologized. My only reservation about moving home was sex. In LA anyone can find sex- no matter how offbeat, not that I'm into the far-out stuff. I just like love, pure and simple, as long as it's with a boy. I kinda thought it out that, after I'd spent some time getting settled, I'd get three telephone lines -- a regular, listed number, a broadband Internet connection for my computer and an unlisted number. The last number I'd write on toilet stalls in parks, service stations, Interstate rest stops, bars and other places as follows: I SUCK - 540-3606 -- 2417 (for example) If worst came to worst, I could always drive to Denver and spend a weekend gorging on cocks through a glory hole in a video arcade or in a gay, steam bath. I liked boys but in dark surroundings age wasn't any more important than the state of erection. The attorney let me park my small, pickup truck in his lot and drove me to Denver so I could fly back to LA. I listed the house, packed what I wanted in the way of furnishings (I liked some of mine better than Matt and Alice's), some possessions, had one big yard sale one weekend and drove back in a rental truck Being upset about Matt and Alice, I neglected to tell you that since I'd been back on home on vacation, the house had been remodeled and added on to. Originally it was an L shaped structure -- part one story, part two. Now it was all two stories and the stairs had been moved to the front of the house -- a U shaped stairs at the end of the dining room closest to the living room. There was also a kitchen, breakfast nook and a few stairs down to the back door that continued on down to the basement. Upstairs were a 12'x24' bedroom and a 12'x16'one in the new addition. Matt had gone all out on the bathrooms, both had tubs and walk-in showers, really nice plumbing fixtures and tiled wall and floors. The L shaped front porch had also been enclosed and new windows installed throughout. It was so great, so well done and so homey. Best of all was the two-car garage with an attached area the same size Matt used for storing plumbing supplies -- he worked out of his garage -- ideal for a workshop. I was moved in and in and anxious to convert the storage area into a workroom for making vitrines as the catalog company that marketed them was on my ass to resume production. Their stock was running low and they wanted a big supply on hand for Christmas sales. I had some parts in storage, but they were elaborate, gold foil covered and antiqued, cut glass doors with a brass knob and a gold colored braided cord with a gold tassel hanging from it. I made good money from the sideline, even when the distributor had sales. I needed to find local distributors for the glass and a painter to do the gilding. So, I started on the project right after a weekend sex respite in Denver. The very first day a young guy (he said he was eighteen) came up the driveway in an old car with an Oklahoma license plate and wanted a job, saying he was a carpenter's helper. His name was Brad Allen and I hired him, agreeing to pay him under the table so he wouldn't have to report it as earnings. I hired him before I found out he was eighteen, he looked older and before I found out he had a drinking problem. I'd have hired him regardless as I hired him because he was so fucking good looking -- almost blonde, blue eyed, skinny, had a pigtail and a sexy southern drawl. After a week he started dropping by in the evenings. It was June and the days were long, so after a microwave, or a restaurant dinner, I sometimes worked late. He'd visit, go to the fridge and get beers -- or sometimes bourbon. He was friendly and very expressive with his hands, used a lot of gestures and was actually touchy at times during horseplay-- depending on what he was talking about -- like pussies and fucking (his seemingly favorite topics). Yuck! One evening he brought his wife, Billie over to meet me. Billie had the cutest face I'd ever seen and the fattest body. She must have weighed close to 200 pounds. We always sat on the front porch until one Saturday night I was already to drop down to one of the local bars when they drove up the driveway and it was immediately obvious to me that I'd never see the bar tonight. It was Billie's first time inside the house and she had to have me explain where I'd gotten each piece of furniture, where I'd found the paint colors for the walls -- everything. She drank, but nothing like Brad. They arrived around 8 o'clock and by midnight Brad had had it and I began thinking I should get rid of them and try the bar. I always got a little aroused around Brad -- especially when we were both drinking. It took both of us to get Brad upstairs to bed. Billie wanted to stay, too but I nixed that idea, saying "No way. I have only one set of bed linen unpacked and I'm not going to a motel. You've had only a few beers and are able to drive." She still wanted to stay, but I told her I was not sleeping in the same house with her and having Brad accuse me later of seducing her. She left; I locked the doors and turned out the lights. Shit, I was nervous as a new bride. I knew I wouldn't be able to behave myself once I was in bed with Brad. I'd been fantasizing over him, how big his dick was, etc., since the first time I laid eyes on him. He was slightly older than my liking but he was a man, had a cock and I was curious -- among other things. He was on his back, so I left the bathroom door open a crack for light and after I stripped down to my boxers, I unbuckled his jeans, unzipped them and spread the fly as open as I could get it and succeeded in wiggling his jeans down two or three inches then reached in his jockeys and fished out his genitals. I about cremed at the first sight of them eventhough he was small in the cock department. I gave it up for a while, in case I'd disturbed him too much, to give him a change to settle back down as I looked at his male treasures and played with myself. He seemed totally out of it, so I fondled his balls and his penis, got it semi-hard, sucked on it a while and got it totally erect but couldn't make him cum, so I held it in an upright position with my left hand and masturbated myself with my right, moved down so our cockheads were touching and I shot my juice all over his cute, little fucker. With that I dropped off to sleep but awoke around 3 AM when he got out of bed and went to the bathroom. When he came back to bed he'd left his pants and jockeys in the bathroom and he threw an arm around me feeling, looking for tits or a patch of pubic hair on a cunt. His roaming hand encountered a big hard cock instead and I felt his erection poking me between my ass cheeks. "Where am I?" "Brad, you passed out and Billie went home without you. Go back to sleep, I'll take you home in the morning." In response, he started poking his finger around my asshole. I said, "Brad, don't." He replied, "I need some, I've got a hard-on, I just had a fuck dream and didn't piss it off!" I quickly turned around, scooted down and took his young manhood into my mouth. "Holy shit, what are you doing?" Without verbally responding I kept working his dick and he gave me a huge, violent, pulsating reward. Damn, that was it -- a parting of the ways for sure. So I was totally surprised when he pulled me up in the bed and kissed me. "I'm sorry Brad." "I'm not. That was great and the first of many, I hope!" "But you're married." "But so what? I like to get serviced by a cocksucker every so often. I guess I was just a little surprised that you're one. I teased you once or twice, but you didn't seem to take the bait." He sure did like to get serviced, and more than every so often. We left the garage door facing the alley for loading, installed a long line of windows facing the back yard and under the windows built a carpentry table with tool storage drawers below. I'd already decided to cut him in on the vitrine business because he was so generous to me in letting me suck him off. Every day after lunch, he'd drop his jeans and underpants to the floor, flash his dick at me and I'd get on my knees and blow him as I jacked off. He really was a horny little bastard and his dick seemed to need frequent servicing. Finally, it came time to make the rounds of the places I wanted to write my unlisted phone number. I told Brad what I was going to do and he said he'd write them in a couple of the sleazy beer joints, including those that kids recently released from the juvenile detention home always hung around if they were looking for a fuck or a blow job, saying maybe he and I could work together. It took a while. It was a real education in and of itself. I was more nervous than the clients at first. In fact, as they showed up, I'd answer the door, invite them in, point toward a chair, tell them I'd be with them in a second, then watch them for a couple of minutes as I appeared to be winding up a conversation on my cell phone. I'd get a visible erection though anticipation and observe their reaction. Some would stand up and take it out; some would raise their butt off the chair and scoot forward to display their sex organ assets or that which they wanted fucked. Some, once we got started, never shut up -- guessed maybe they were nervous. Some were high school kids out of school in the afternoons, some were motorists that had stopped at the local Interstate rest stops and some were drunks from the bars at night. It was a small town and not a brisk trade, although I did develop a few high school regulars. One was a twenty- two year old, first year high school teacher who taught in a small town fifty miles east who first read my invitation at the Interstate rest stop, and came every Saturday evening thereafter. We'd go to a bar, come home and throw some blankets and pillow on the floor in front of the fireplace, get naked, drink beer and have sex, drink beer, have more sex, drink beer and have more sex. He was as cock crazy as I was. He had a big one and he was also the first to ever get in my back door pussy. Some of the young kids just released from the juvenile detention were really hot and horny and some of them stayed overnight, Brad managed to fuck some of them, and I always gave them some money to replace that they'd spent in the beer joints so they could get home. I felt sorry for a lot of them, especially one young kid that, after I started sucking him and Brad was fucking him, kept reaching down and gently caressing my cheeks while he talked to me, calling me "Daddy". To this day I wonder what the kid could have possibly done to deserve incarceration. He was only sixteen years old. One high school sophomore, fifteen years old, with an uncut cock way bigger than a kid his age should have had, became one of my most frequent, young regulars -- at least two afternoons a week after school and sometimes he bicycled over on Saturday afternoons. I really had to be careful with him. He would have been all too easy to fall in love with. Brad, however, turned out to be the totally unexpected surprise of my moving back to my hometown. I told you he was married, but he began getting drunk on Saturday evenings sooner than usual and, after Billy went home, had a miraculous sobering up. He'd faked the whole bit. He just wanted her out of the way. About the third time he did this was in autumn, we closed the window blinds, turned out the lights, lit a fire in the fireplace and got naked, as I'd been doing with the schoolteacher. Before I had a chance to suck him he got in my ass. It was my first time for getting fucked by Brad. It hurt; he wasn't as big as the teacher but he wasn't as gentle, either, but I didn't object too strenuously because he'd been asking me over and over and, besides, this time I'd been drinking as much as he had. By now you've probably guessed I was more than infatuated with him and on the verge of being in love. Then Billie got pregnant, went home to Watson, Oklahoma (wherever that is) to have the baby. When she was close to her due date Brad went to Watson to be with her but came home alone. The baby lived less than two days and she said she didn't want anything more to due with Brad (as it turned out they were just living together but not legally married). I felt sorry for both of them but I couldn't bring myself to blame Brad. She was four years older than he was, therefore an adult who had picked up with a teenager. Somehow, in my warped mind, that seemed worse than when a man picks up with a younger man. Right after my little speech on morality, the next part of my story will probably shock you. Remember the kid who called me "Daddy" when I was sucking his teenage dick and Brad was fucking his tight little ass? Soon after Brad returned from Oklahoma, the doorbell rang one evening just as I was thinking about going out somewhere to eat. When I opened the door, he was standing there and said, "Remember me?" I said, "Sure I do." "Can I come in?" "Sure you can!" "Can I stay awhile?" "Sure you can, my house is your house." It was cold outside, he was cold, I wrapped him in my arms and he began to cry. I patted his back and caressed his cheeks and continued to hold him close until he said, "I'm sorry." "I'm happy -- happy that you're here." "Really." "Really, but you know I don't even know your name. The night you were here, we never got to names." "It's Joey." "Oh no! So is mine. You're going have to be Joey 2" "Could I call you daddy? I've always wanted a daddy." "Sure you can." Why did I keep repeating, "sure you can" in response to everything I said to him. His arrival was so unexpected. I'd thought of him so often, and now we were standing plastered together with our arms around eachother. I couldn't think of anything else to say. I was on the verge of tears. All I could do was to keep holding him, as if he was going to leave again. I had to believe Brad was telling me the truth, when a couple of days later he asked if he could move in, too. He was lonely living all by himself. I looked at Joey, he looked at me and I said, "Sure you can." A few days later Joey said he didn't see why we were eating frozen dinners or going out all the time. He knew how to cook everything but baking pies and cakes. The very next day Brad and I took him to a supermarket and thereafter mealtimes became healthier and more enjoyable. With the exception of a few Friday nights, pizza deliveries and Kentucky Fried Chicken takeouts, we ate every meal at home except lunch when Joey was in school. In fact, meals became something we looked forward to, and befitting steak, pork chops or a roast, with all the trimmings, I started setting the table in the dining room with Alice's table linens, china, silverware and, occasionally candles. Brad cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. We were beginning to live like normal people. At first we were flipping around between the two bedrooms and switching beds during the night, until one day Joey suggested we built a platform with raised edges that would support three twin bed mattresses, side by side. We did and it worked like a charm except we couldn't find blankets to fit. Twin bed, bottom sheets, a king sized top sheet and two down comforters, sewn together, solved the problem -- for the most part. We had some torrid 3-way gay sex parties together. Learned to sleep with someone's hand holding your cock or an arm around your chest and a hand tucked in your armpit. Learned to like showering together, waking in the wee hours of the night or early hours of the morning on the verge of climaxing into someone's mouth, working together, sharing problems together and becoming dependent upon one another. The only person who ever shared our bed was the young teacher. Joey and Brad grew to like him a much as I did and enjoy his Saturday night romps with us. It took a while, but Joey and I finally lost our fears that our relation would not last. Brad finally came to the conclusion that it was not wrong and our sex life was as natural as his with Billie had been. We seemed to have found a magic mixture of love, respect and friendship all expressed very often, in many ways, big and small, including through the sex we had together. Finally, we'd all come home. It's a strange world isn't it? Thanks for reading my story. Hope you enjoyed it.