In His Father's House 10

IN HIS FATHER'S HOUSE - 10, Rev.

All rights reserved. Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without the written permission of the author. However based on real events and places, “In His Father's House” is strictly fictional. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. As in real life, however, the sexual themes unfold gradually. Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to the author at carl_mason@verizon.net

In addition to numerous articles on the problems faced by juveniles incarcerated in adult prisons - especially those sentenced to life sentences without the possibility of parole - the author is especially indebted to three books: Santos, Michael G., Inside, Life Behind Bars in America (New York: St. Martin's Griffin edition, 2007); Parsell T. J., Fish, A Memoir of a Boy in a Man's Prison (Cambridge, MA; Da Capo Press, 2006); and Gagnon, Robert J. 053803, Life at Fifteen, updated ed. (np; Robert J. Gagnon-Paperback, 2006). Echoes of each will be heard in my story that follows.

If you would like to read additional stories by this author, please turn to the "Authors/Prolific Authors" link at the beginning of the Nifty Archive.

This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both adults and teenagers. As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the personal enjoyment of legal, mature, adults. If you are not of legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral dilemmas in your life, please leave. Finally, please respect yourself and those around you by practicing safe sex.

CHAPTER 10

(Revisiting Chapter 9)

They didn't try to clean up after the last guest departed. It was late; they had been hard at it since early morning. Hank made his way upstairs almost immediately, Jeb promising to follow momentarily. It had to have been a long moment, for Hank woke up about two hours later...in a cold bed. Making his way downstairs, he noticed that nothing was left of the fire in the great fireplace save glowing coals. The blond one was nowhere to be found, although Hank did notice the newspaper pages, crumpled and thrown onto the floor. There were also traces of physical distress in the entry hall.

(Continuing Our Story: The Inexplicable)

The harvested Indian corn did not give way quietly as a solitary hooded figure made his way across the field in the moonlight. In fact, he had to snicker as he remembered the advertising slogan for one of his favorite childhood cereals. Darned if the field wasn't speaking to him: "Snap, crackle and pop...snap, crackle, and pop...snap, crack...!" The tall, muscular, sad-faced youngster - probably a late teen - cut off his singsong chanting in mid word. "Too bad," the dazed (and somewhat disoriented) youth babbled. "It added a delicious note of unreality to the scene. Fantasia...oh yeah! Disney would have approved. No more birthday parties for me...not even a large piece of carrot cake with an orange-nut frosting. It's all over. I've given it everything I have...and I lost...fair and square. It's time to leave this place."

Encountering a bit of ground fog, he knew he was approaching the creek...the dangerous part, the part where sharp rocks lay right below the water, the section that had been snagging a kid here and a kid there since time immemorial. A few more minutes and he reached the edge of the water and the stone wall of the bridge that crossed it. "I'm hot," he complained. (His voice was...distant. Standing on the edge of that stream, It really didn't seem that he was fully conscious.) Quickly, he unbuttoned and removed his shirt. "Ah, that feels better," the handsome lad muttered. Folded precisely, the shirt was placed on the grass. Leaning back against the stone wall, he then lithely removed his shoes and socks which were placed neatly beside his shirt. Dipping a bare foot in the fast-moving water, he muttered, "Yeah, that's it", but there was no time to even sense the freezing temperature. Jeb Taylor knew his mission! Unbuckling his belt and lowering the zipper, his hands smoothly slid both jeans and briefs off muscular legs. They were placed so as to protect the shirt and other articles of clothing from the evening dew. Emitting a harsh cry as he stood upright, he savagely stretched his full body. Shaking out genitals and flexing butt cheeks too long compressed by tight jeans, he stood proud, imposing...as if in a circle of pure energy cast by the gods themselves. Ready to deal with anything or anybody that might stand between him and the force that drew him onward, he ordered himself up onto the bridge.

Jeb took full advantage of one of the bridge's stanchions as a car drove onto the bridge and approached. Strangely, it stopped several feet before it would have been opposite the distraught youngster. The young man quietly climbed up onto the bridge railing... immediately above the worst of the rocks. Clinging to a stanchion with one hand, he swayed slightly. Though bright lights ensured that Jeb couldn't see a thing, the driver's voice was audible. In a few minutes, a familiar voice directed him to come down from the railing and stand in front of the car." Without thinking, the dazed lad mechanically obeyed. At that point, the voice asked him to come around to the driver's window. Inasmuch as bright lights had been directly in his eyes for some minutes, it took a little time for Jeb to focus. When he saw who sat behind the wheel, it was as if he had received an electric shock. Words and phrases such as "dazed," "disoriented," and "not quite there" or "not with it" were simply no longer applicable. Jeb Taylor had snapped back into full command of his faculties as he stood naked before his father, Devon Taylor of Gold Star.

"Happy Birthday," the man said with great intensity. "Thank you, sir," Jeb answered cautiously, albeit without sarcasm. "I wonder, son, if you would do something for me that I have absolutely no right to ask, let alone demand?" Devon continued. "Namely, I wonder if you would come around to the other side of the car, get in, and talk with me for awhile as we drive. You have my word of honor that you will be completely safe and that I'll do my best to follow any reasonable command you give me. For example, I'll let you off when and where you direct." (Pause.) "I may have my doubts about a lot of things, Father," Jeb responded, "but I have never doubted your personal Word." Climbing into the fine European sedan, he seemed to realize for the very first time that he was naked. As the fog continued to clear from his head, he began sweating. Every part of his body shook with excitement. A moment later, they drove off.

For some time, they drove...in silence. Down from the forested hills, around the bay, the harvest moon so bright that it could have been day... Finally, Jeb, cleared his throat. "I don't understand, sir," he said quietly but clearly. "I'm still the queer that you turned your back on." "Yes," Devon murmured. "You're also still my son - and I'm still the son of a bitch who made a terrible mistake. Can you grant that I might have come to realize how stupidly...how immorally...I've acted?" Reaching down, he laid his hand on the eighteen year old's powerful, heavily muscled thigh, allowing his fingers to tease the velvety skin of his son's inner leg. Jeb felt overwhelmed as he had four years ago. Again he was the little fourteen year old who wished to hell that his dad would come and get him...and take him out of that stinking, terrifying place to which they'd taken him. His wide shoulders slumped and his magnificent mane of golden hair sank low as tears ran down his face. Despite his best intentions, he widened his thighs. After a short pause, he took his dad's hand...and moved it slowly upwards. "Dad," he gasped, "We're near the duck-hunting shack. Take me there, please!"

The large hummock in the midst of the marshlands was not all that far. Once they had reached the rough hut, Devon helped the boy out of the car and inside. The curtains were drawn, the fire lighted, Devon reappeared shortly, as naked as his son. For his age, he was an extremely powerful human being who obviously worked hard at staying in shape. Jeb had never before seen him in the nude. Also for the first time, father and son downed shots of whiskey in silence as they lay down on the thick fur in front of the fireplace. "I thought I had lost you forever," the man began. "Shush-h-h," the boy whispered as he set his shotglass aside. At first, their hands and lips were everywhere, pressing, stroking, "saying" whatever needed to be communicated after so long a time. Gradually, the two naked bodies began to twist and twine, writhing...sweating...gleaming in the flickering light.

Jeb was amazed. Though he was only 18, he was in fantastic shape - and it wasn't only a matter of his physique. He was inordinately strong. Nevertheless, he found that there was absolutely no way he could physically control the 48 year old! Finally, the grizzled figure growled in a way that he hadn't heard for some years - in a tone of voice that announced to the world that he was in complete control - "I need to go further, Jeb. You up for it?" In no little frustration, Jeb shook his head and snorted brashly, "Sure... old man!" Immediately, to his utter amazement, the blond one found that he couldn't move. Devon reached out with one leg and pulled a leather ottoman toward them. The brawny young man - or so he had thought a few minutes ago - felt himself lifted into the air and set down on the top surface of the large leather-covered footrest. His arms were positioned to the sides, his heavily muscled torso directly on the footrest, his buttocks at the padded edge, his knees and lower legs on the floor. He then kicked Jeb's legs further apart and grasped his hips with serious downward pressure. "Be still or you could hurt yourself," he growled in the same tone of complete control. Unexpectedly, for it had never happened to him before, he felt something soft, warm, and moist licking at the lips of his asshole. His eyes bulged, a scream rose from deep in his throat, and he placed the palms of his hands flat on the floor to help propel the bastard off his back! But he didn't lift... His hole had abruptly opened, and his father's tongue was corkscrewing deeper into his guts! It felt...oh God! In fact, as his body started to sweat and stiffen, he wasn't aware...at first...of the insertion of an object considerably larger than the tip of a tongue or a moistened finger. He soon realized that it also felt awesome. No quarter was given, no hold barred as the carnal scene played out - until, that is, a mutual explosion released some of the pain, the ocean of hurt that had dominated their lives for too long.

As they lay together, recovering from a massive outpouring of energy - and the bursts of released love that ripped through their bodies even more powerfully than any orgasm, Devon lifted up on one elbow. "Jeb...son...what really happened four years ago? "Sure you want to know, dad?" ask his boy. "Some things are best left alone." Devon's serious nod led to a sharing of lives thus far unattempted. "Bo...Bratzilla... caught Brad Jr. and me making out in the woods. He turned to run and go tell his daddy, the deputy," Jeb continued. "Brad threw a stone - really little more than a pebble - that caught him at the base of the skull. Killed him on the spot... Brad said that if I ever cared for him, I'd keep my mouth shut and give him time to get away. We meant a lot to each other, Dad, and you know how both you and I feel about loyalty. No one ever heard the truth until Brad was shot in a robbery and told the police what happened as he lay dying." Devon grunted. He might not always admit it, but he recognized the truth when he heard it. "How about all the rumors about Bo being molested?" Devon continued. "Well, dad, I guess that was kinda my fault," Jeb admitted uncomfortably. "Brad wasn't the only guy with whom I fooled around. As far as I know, however, Brad was straight. He was just experimenting with someone he thought would never tell. Bo? I never touched Bratzilla - or any other little

kid - but I can't speak for others."

Devon nodded. Looking down at the magnificent body of his son, he suddenly realized that getting things right between them meant that he had to tell Jeb a few things that he had hoped would never come to light. "You've been generous with me, son," he said with no particular joy. Now I've got to tell you a couple things that I really regret." The blond one looked into his eyes affectionately. "First, at the time of your trial in Gold Star, I was the one who put great pressure on the sheriff and his deputy, on the DA, on two of the jurors to convict you, and on the judge during the trial and later on to throw the book at you. You were the queer who deserved every punishment promised by the Lord and codified in the laws of our blessed country. Jeb nodded, but he wasn't smiling. Devon continued, "I take it you know about tomorrow morning's edition of the Capital Clarion. Jeff nodded again. "I was the one who made it worth Lorna Higgins' while to shop her story to the newspaper. (She didn't need much encouragement, but a few greenbacks had her absolutely frothing at the mouth!) I also spoke with the publisher and, as a major investor in the paper, advised him on the lead story. Finally, I spoke with Kip Young and had a proof of the Clarion lead messengered to him. His father is one of my employees. Your name came up at a recent social occasion when his father let it slip that you and he had come to respect and like each other down in Parkersville." As Devon Taylor completed his account, dead silence filled the little shack. Even the fire seemed reluctant to continue crackling and popping.

"Why?" asked Jeb in a strangled voice. (He could no longer even look at his father.)

Gazing intently at his son...as if he were evaluating whether his conclusions about him had been correct, the Taylor patriarch continued. "This evening you have seen an example of how I act when I realize that I have taken a wrong turn on my journey. When words change, actions change. In my view, there is nothing 'political' or 'personal' about such behavior. Neither embarrassment nor excuses are necessary. It is simply a moral imperative for the human being. Jeb, I'm 48 years old and have taken strong stands in the community on several topics. Though not simple, the truth in this matter is at least straightforward. As of only a few days ago, I concluded that I'm gay. Forty-eight years old and I finally figured it out... You will note that your mother is in San Francisco...by her choice. You also realize that I sought you out in order to share the truth of a difficult matter and, hopefully, to begin healing a breach that I regret with all my heart, a breach that is in no way your responsibility."

As with the father, so with the son. Jeb Taylor might not always admit it, but he recognized the truth when he heard it.

(To Be Continued)