Mike Hennigan 4

MIKE HENNIGAN - 4, 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, "Mike Hennigan" is strictly fictional. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. As in real life, sexual themes unfold gradually. Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to the author at carl_mason@verizon.net.

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, hopefully 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, remember that maturity generally demands safe sex.

CHAPTER 4

(Revisiting Chapter 3)

After enjoying a glorious bar-be-que, never-ending birthday cake (one piece of which the famous director personally fed to Mike to the cheers of the entire company) and an evening of music and laughter, the two returned home. Having kissed in the foyer, Lawson pecked Mike again at the foot of the stairs and reminded him that they needed to talk in the morning when they were both up, around, and adequately coffeed.

(Continuing Our Story: Dimensions of Being)

As Lawson Forsythe poured his first cup of coffee, he gloried in the bright sun that was already pouring into the kitchen. Hearing a noise behind him, he suddenly turned around. The sight was unforgettable, unforgettable, that is, unless you were used to the "Son of Sasquatch" joining you at breakfast table. Mike had worked both of his muscular legs through one leg hole of his white briefs (more accurately, Barry's white briefs). Only the slightest slits showed that there was life behind the hard-squinting eyelids. Many of his curly locks appeared to have uncoiled, straightened, and now protruded stiffly from his head. His tongue seemed to be warring with his lips to allow words to escape. Nothing appeared save a small amount of sputum that his lips sprayed into the air. With that, the monstrous figure grabbed a cereal bowl with both hands and sat down...with a crash. Confused, he looked around for something that he obviously had expected to be there. A flicker of light dawning in the depths of his eyes, he got up, went back to a cupboard and retrieved a box of cereal. Staring at the box as if he held it personally responsible for not cooperating, he filled the bowl to the rim...and a bit over. Spoon, napkin, and milk followed on the boy's next trip to the parallel dimension. Hunching down over the bowl as if he feared someone or something would try to steal it, the scraping of a spoon was all that could be heard save a terrible grinding of teeth on resistant fiber. Thoroughly enjoying another cup of fine coffee, Forsythe patiently waited until, from long experience, he knew that the moment was at hand. Returning his cup to the saucer, he whispered simply, "Love you."

However unlikely this may appear to the reader, something in those words attracted the youngster's attention. He slowly sat up, opened his eyes, wiped a trail of milk from his chin, and grinned widely at his mentor. "Good morning, Sir!" he said brightly - each syllable brighter than the last. "This boy is DEFINITELY NOT a 'morning person'," Lawson chortled to himself.

"Thanks for letting me stay here last night," Mike continued, "and thanks for a fantastic day yesterday. I think it was the best day in my life." Not pausing - and, in truth, without thinking...that is, innocently - he asked a question much on his mind, "Now that the school year is ending, will Barry be home soon?"

"No, dear boy, my son will not be home...soon," Forsythe answered, his eyes suddenly showing unbearable pain. As if the words were torn from his soul, he added, "There was a terrible accident on his way up to school in January..."

His heart aching for the good man, Mike rose from the chair and worked his way over to the other side of the table. Progress was not easy due to the way in which he had donned Barry's briefs on awakening. Once fully aware of the problem, he simply tore them off in exasperation. Hunky eighteen year old or no, he eased himself onto Lawson's lap, resting his head on the man's chest. Not a word was spoken. After about five minutes, Forsythe began to cry. After another ten or so, he stopped abruptly and wiped his face with his hand. "Forgive me, sir," Mike said quietly. "I'll get my stuff together and leave." Those words, too, brought a direction-changing reaction. Having cleared his throat, Forsythe said carefully, precisely, "No, son, that's what we need to talk about. Let's take a shower, get dressed, and sit down in my den."

Silently, their arms around each other, the two figures made their way up the staircase. When they reached Barry's room, Forsythe gently guided the boy further down the hall to his own suite. Standing in front of a large shower stall, the older man removed his robe and undergarments and adjusted the water. Smiling, he then turned to the handsome, curly-haired youth and helped him remove his T-shirt. One glance at the lad's incomparable torso was enough for him to go hard erect! Mike stepped into his arms as they pressed their bodies together from lips to thighs. Reaching behind him, Lawson opened the shower door and nudged the grinning lad under the water.

Firmly, almost reverently, the well-built older man rubbed the soap bar over the gleaming flesh of the magnificent teen. Over the heavy arms and shoulders, down the heavily muscled back that gradually tapered to a relatively small waist, onto the tight buttocks, firmly into the gap between and, kneeling, over powerful thighs and lower legs... Telling the lad to turn around, he had him rest a foot on his bended knee before soaping his feet and toes. Looking upward for the first time and smiling possessively, he gloried in the boy's heavy neck thrust backwards in rising passion, his tightly clenched eyes, and the immense, heavy rod that thrust out sharply from his groin. Rising to his feet, he embraced the young man, brushed his lips with the tip of his tongue and, gasping, allowed their two cocks to play for a few seconds. Mike trembled in his arms, his breath increasingly uneven, his moans beginning to be heard above the pounding water. "Yes, yes, Oh, Lawson, yes!" he gasped as his lover's powerful fingers dug into his heavy biceps and his pecs before outlining his quivering abs. "Beautiful, my boy," the older man whispered as his fingers reached the lad's lower belly. With a sense of awe, Forsythe's digits swept over the smooth, heavily muscled surface. The muscles were so developed that the lower triangle of his torso was significantly higher than the belt of cartilage, the Apollo's girdle, that separated his lower and upper bodies.

Working up a heavy lather, Lawson reached both hands under the youth's long, beautifully shaped scrotum...soft, warm, light in color...holding it and the large, egg-shaped balls it guarded up to his awed gaze. Reaching down, he touched the tip of his tongue to the light flow of precum that covered the crest of his rose-colored glans... large, cast in the shape of a firefighter's helmet...now completely exposed by his retracted foreskin. Suddenly, he almost came as the breath audibly exploded from his mouth. Drawing Lawson to his young body with arms of steel, he moaned against the man's lips, "Lawson, take me. I'm yours - everything I am is yours! I love you so." "You're sure, Mike?" the aroused man managed to ask. "Oh yeah..." the lad answered breathlessly. With that, he managed to turn around in the shower stall and prop himself up against the wall. After adding a bit of lubrication, Forsythe grasped his slim hips and accepted the gift that the lightly tanned, classically muscled figure had so freely offered. Their joined bodies had twice shuddered and the water begun to cool before they separated again.

By comparison, the reader will guess that the remainder of their shower was somewhat more...ordinary...however beautiful in its own right. Much was disclosed by the way in which he man dried the proud youth. The youngster? As he stood before the man, swaying slightly in the folds of the thick white toweling, his dream was almost palpable: Like so many human beings before him, he simply desired to seek one who loved him, one whose arms would protect, enflame, and inspire him. Fortunately or unfortunately, this is rarely an easy journey.

***

Somewhat later, the two men sat somewhat tensely in Lawson Forsythe's library. (Call it "den" or "office" if you will.) Lawson had resumed his clothing, though the youth had adamantly insisted on remaining in his natural state. (Never in his life, he asserted, had his body felt so good...so clean, so satisfied...so right! Clothing, actually, any touch save that by Lawson himself, would in his words only "muck it up"!)

"Well, my boy," Forsythe began, "you've lived on the streets, you've sold your body to remain alive, you've made it through a bit more than eighteen years with less love than that enjoyed by a feral kitten, you've found out that sexual activity per se does not necessarily bring growth or happiness...or even relief beyond the instant, and you've lived among those whose vision rarely extends higher than their insteps. Tell me, Michael, if you believe that any of these ways of living is something you wish to pursue further?

"No, sir," Mike responded. "I don't have much experience, but I think that every one of them is a dead end." "Have you discovered any other path that holds more promise?" Forsythe inquired. "I think so, sir," Matt said. "I need to put the direction of my hopes, my energies, my actions and my love into the hands of another who is a tried and true life guide." Mike rose, walked over to the couch on which Forsythe was sitting, and sat down beside him. Grasping Forsythe's hands, he said (rather dramatically), "My hope, sir, is that you will take my life as an irrevocable gift to mold and to forge into something better. To the best of my ability I'll obey your commands without question and give you my complete devotion as long as I live. Over time, I hope you will find me worthy of your efforts and, maybe...if only now and then...look upon me as your son."

Lawson sat mute upon the couch, every now and then nervously playing with one of the lad's nipples or rubbing his finger tips against his densely muscled lower stomach. Finally, barely looking at the youth, he said darkly, "Though I'm gay - and I find you appealing beyond my fondest dreams - I hardly know how to respond, Michael. I do know that I am neither worthy of the gift nor capable of fulfilling the responsibility that you would lay on me. I also know that I cannot...I cannot..." (He shuddered and left the sentence unfinished.) "On the other hand, I would not have you return to the streets, for I see too much promise in you...and I do have feeling for you. Let me suggest an alternative plan or...if you prefer...a first step.

"Live in my house for six to eight weeks, not as my son, but as my paid 'Personal Assistant'. Let's see how we do, living and working together. Let's see how deeply you want to meet my needs - and how long you'll stick with a difficult situation before having to escape. Let's see if I can love and trust again...without getting caught up in wanting power over another human being for power's sake. It's happened before, Mike, and I bear a heavy responsibility for harm I have done to others. I can't let it happen again... for you or for me. Let's see if our emotions...our love...demand more. Let's see if we are READY for more! In a few weeks, let's sit down again and, if conditions permit, redefine our relationship. Can you handle this? Will you spend another few weeks to see if a closer personal relationship is possible for either of us?

Mike was eighteen...just eighteen. He had been through some weeks of hell. Having caught a glimpse of a life far different, it's natural that he would simply WANT it...and want it NOW. Nevertheless, to his credit, he agreed to cool his desire for a immediate partnership. In short, he agreed that they had to determine whether either of them still had the necessary emotional resilience. Thus, he simply told Forsythe to define the temporary relationship and he would do everything in his power to make it work.

(We skip in time to later that same afternoon. There's still a positive feeling between the two men, but the "intensity" has definitely cooled.)

"Mike?" "Yes, sir?" the youngster answered. "Throw on your gym shorts and let's take a little ride," Forsythe shouted up the stairwell. "On my way!" Mike cried.

It was a magnificent September day along the southern California coast. The sky was almost cloudless; there was a nice breeze that the seagulls were using to full advantage. (God knows, it was THE day for a convertible. At home it was usually either too hot or too cold!) They soon passed First Beach and then Second. ('Phil had been correct,' Mike laughed to himself. 'The surf was up at Second Beach!') Soon the cliffs were higher and the mountains seemed to kiss the sea. Lawson pulled the car off into a little parking area literally gouged out of the hillside. On the sea side of the highway, a little path marked "Impassible for Horses" led down towards the water. (Mike snickered over that one for most of the day!) There was also a "No Trespassing - Private Beach" sign not far from the top. On the way down the treacherously steep trail, they encountered a (very) brawny Deputy Sheriff who greeted Lawson as someone he obviously knew. "Glad to see you again, Mr. Forsythe," he said respectfully. "It seems strange to see you down here without Barry. You doin' ok?" "Yes, Larry, I'm doing...ok. No troubles around here?" "Naw. Bettsy ensures that there isn't any trouble...don't you, Bettsy?" An immense German Shepherd interrupted her siesta behind the boulder on which her master was sitting. She barked happily and then, seeing Mike, growled softly. "Mike, go over there and say 'hello' to Bettsy," Lawson commanded. "Rub her muzzle and you'll have a friend for life." Mike wasn't sure about the "friend for life" bit, but he was relieved that "Bettsy" now had his scent filed on the right list!

At the bottom of the cliff, the trail suddenly opened onto a delightful beach. The sand and the sun stamped it as part of a world far different from the one he had left behind on the Great Plains. Mike suspected that it was highly private, for it was guarded by several steep cliffs, none of which seemed at all accessible. At no point could he see the road on which they had been driving. Looking around more closely, he saw several men who were sunbathing up towards the rocks. They were nude! 'Ah! The 'clothing optional' beach that Phil was talking about!" he thought. "Shorts off and let's run for a bit," Lawson snapped, smacking him lightly on the butt. As Mike pulled his shorts down and off and took off up the beach, he noticed a little cove way up at the end and a speedboat that was moored at its dock. Another burly figure, probably the second Deputy Sheriff, was walking towards Lawson. A playful young German Shepherd circled him, barking its fool head off.

"That your new boy?" the newcomer called as he approached. "Heard tell that he was real popular at Mr. Casin's birthday party." "Anything you don't hear, Madson?" Lawson asked, the slightest sharpness in his voice. "Not much, sir...not much" he replied. As Mike appeared, having run a large oval that covered most of the beach, the guard breathed, "Man, he's built like a brick shithouse...and he's hung! Goin' to train him...like Barry?" "Dunno," Forsythe growled, "we'll see." When the boy had met the second sheriff and his dog, Madson asked Forsythe if he would like him to rub his boy down with a new bug repellant introduced by the Marine Corps. Given the go-ahead, he obviously enjoyed himself for several (vigorous) minutes. Mike, who was increasingly aroused by his handling, appeared relieved when his "employer" sent him off on a still more difficult run.

The next time Mike appeared, he was covered with a heavy layer of sweat and dirt. Gasping for air, he panted, "Oh, boy, sir," running in that sand will build you up if nothing else will! And this sun! I see where Californians get their sun tans! Good country..." "Yep," Forsythe replied, "it's great country. Before we're through, I hope we see a great deal of it together - the deserts, golden foothills, the high mountains, the coastal forests, San Francisco and LA, the wine country...you name it." "That sounds fantastic, Lawson...sorry...SIR!" "Ok, boy," the boss continued. "Go on down and wash off in the surf. Swim for half an hour, but not beyond the orange buoys. When you return, I'll have a surprise for you." "Yes, sir. May I ask why not beyond the buoys?" Mike asked. "Sharks!" Lawson said with a look that left no doubt that he was serious.

When the lad returned, shaking the water from his curly hair, he stopped short in surprise...and pleasure. Lawson had stripped down and was laying out a scrumptious lunch on a low, cloth-covered table provided by the deputies. There were appetizers, salads with fresh French bread, a pile of beef tacos, plus beer and sodas. After Michael couldn't eat or drink any more (Lawson stopped long before that point), his employer rubbed him down again with a good suntan lotion whereupon they napped together. Mike woke up as he was being dragged under the body of his employer. The oil and the sweat and the sun... He couldn't have resisted seriously if he'd wanted to...but he surely didn't! When Forsythe finally slid off his back, he grunted, saying that Mike was getting a little soft. It was time to tighten up his body. Following twenty minutes of hard exercise in the full sun, he sent the boy off on another run. Mike was dragging when he returned to their lunch site. 'Maybe Lawson was correct about his losing his edge...,' he thought. Abruptly, the older man pulled him down onto the blanket. Forcefully, almost brutishly, he ground his lips against the boy's until they both had to come up for air. Aroused, Mike tasted blood, possibly from small cuts on the back of his lips. He noticed that Lawson was fully erect, appeared rock-hard, and was dripping precum, the first time that he had noticed a significant pre-sex flow in the mid-30s man. "On your knees, Michael!" he growled. "Head down...ass up!" After Forsythe had orgasmed, they both recovered in relative silence. The youth would have been more at ease had he not spotted someone - probably one of the Deputies - watching them through binoculars from a cliff that protected the beach. Eventually, Forsythe spoke abruptly, "I don't think I have appreciated how hard you've been working, Mike - and how much you have tried to take care of my needs. Here... Swallow these. They'll help with the soreness." (Pause.) When the youth had nodded his thanks for the pills, he added with some appearance of disgust, "Come on, boy, let's get out of here!"

By the time, they reached the car at the top of the cliffs, the hunky youth was staggering and gasping for breath. He had to be helped into the front seat. Mike remembered only that Lawson had driven like a madman on the way home. Given permission to rest, the exhausted boy went into Barry's room and dropped onto the bed. There was only one problem: He was amped! Sweating, nerves jangling, he had a hard-on to end all hard-ons. He'd go downstairs and get a sandwich. That was it. Almost bursting out of the door and into the hallway, he ran smack-dab into Forsythe! "Couldn't rest, eh?" the older man jeered. "Guys your age just don't know how to pace themselves. Don't worry, I'll teach you," he said, sounding something like Knute Rockne talking to his team about the Gipper. "Ok...get a shower and come down to the library." When the boy appeared, somewhat resuscitated, all was well. He spent the evening comfortably lying half in Forsythe's lap, half on the couch, watching football, and being fondled and lightly stroked. Mike had the feeling that he regretted having gone too far during the day. 'Oh, well,' he thought, 'anyone can screw up.' Other than demonstrating his continuing fascination with Mike's long and very beautiful scrotum, nothing untoward happened. Frankly, Mike thoroughly enjoyed Lawson's stroking it, licking and sucking on it, drawing it through his fingers until he reached his enormous balls, and then working to get one ball after another into his mouth. He felt Lawson had returned to the human being whom he felt him to be. The youth was even more reassured when his host kissed him on top of the head at the end of the evening. He laughed, saying that he had planned to make him sleep beside him on the floor or at the bottom of the bed, but he just couldn't do that...at least tonight. "Would you like to crawl into my bed?" he asked engagingly. All of the day's pain fell away as he accompanied the man upstairs.

Having been dreaming that he was hooked up to an out-of-control milking machine in an animated cartoon, Mike awakened to being sucked off far too roughly. In one sense this introduces the problème du jour. It wasn't that the youngster had problems with sex. Given his age, forget that! He wanted it...and plenty of it! The problem was twofold. On the one hand, Lawson was egocentric and increasingly insensitive. Further, like Mike, dark shadows lurked not far below the surface of his personality. On the other, Mike was utterly naive sexually and about as inexperienced in many other ways as a three year old! He simply had no way - beyond abruptly leaving or bringing on a vicious fight - of slowing Lawson down, of forcing him to see what he was doing...and what it was doing to him.

Over and over, at any time of the night or day, Mike was subject to Forsythe's physical demands. Lawson became increasingly imperious; no one's needs counted other than his own. Further, his demands for physical development began to push Mike to the wall. For instance, they were at the beach nearly every day for hours of running (and, all too often, sprinting) in the sand. When not at the beach, Lawson often had him on a third-floor balcony at the back of the house, working on his tan. Further, at night, he often had Mike exercising in the immense, fully landscaped backyard until he was nearly out of his mind with exhaustion. (That was one of his favorite times for demanding sex! Pounding into the youth's limp body seemed to unleash something in him...something dark and ugly.) The slightest question brought on a torrent of sometimes sarcastic, sometimes bitter comments about his commitment to building a permanent relationship.

There were other problems, and this day would disclose a couple of them. David Brixton, CalState Playa's Director of Cinematographic Arts stopped over on an academic matter nearly a month after the pool party. When a deeply tanned, naked Michael carried a tray into the sitting room with coffee and refreshments, he nearly choked. "For heaven's sake, Michael," he exclaimed in near disbelief. "What in the world have you done to your body? You were beautiful when I saw you last. Now you are absolutely stunning! Something straight off a classic Greek vase..." he mumbled, "or a poster for a major film." "Come over here!" Grinning with pleasure - and no little pride - the boy moved over next to his chair. Gasping with continuing amazement...and increasingly aroused...Brixton reached out and ran his hand over the lad's muscular body. It was at this very moment that Lawson Forsythe returned to the room. "Lawson!" the administrator exclaimed excitedly. You have fashioned an absolute gem, a supreme aesthetic achievement in flesh! You MUST let me arrange a screen test for him in Hollywood."

Forsythe's reply was barely polite; his tone, worse. "Your opinion is most appreciated, Professor Brixton. Unfortunately, we are some weeks away from completing a program important to both of us. Any other activity will simply have to wait." With that, the green horns of jealously seemed to break through the man's skull. "Please keep your hands off him. He is being prepared for a complex treatment," he continued curtly. David Brixton's ego was probably big enough for both of them - with a fair pile of remnants left over for others . "Remember your place, Forsythe," he growled. "Why don't you let the boy decide what HE wants?" Forsythe snapped, beginning to scream obscenities at the colleague whom he would always hate for "stealing" the Department Chairmanship. Finally, in a blind rage, he picked up the china coffee pot and threw it at him. The shouting of obscenities and the aggressive acts gradually escalated over for a good half hour until they were interrupted by a knock at the door. Neighbors had called the police!

The long, highly confused, and especially unpleasant shouting match was finally ended when the police persuaded Brixton to simply leave the house. Lawson stood in the center of the sitting room long after they left. Mike sat in a chair over to the side. "That bastard!" the older man screamed for perhaps the fourth or fifth time. "Why can't he keep his filthy hands off something that doesn't belong to him?" Mike, who early on was rather on the fence, taking some pleasure from the degree to which Forsythe obviously wanted him, was obviously dumbfounded. Suddenly, he grunted and headed for the staircase. "Where are YOU going, you little slut?" the irrate adult yelled after the youth. "Goin' to bed, sir," Mike said, obviously upset. Good night."

Forsythe remaining in a foul mood the next morning. Mike tried successfully to stay out of his way until he demanded that they get ready to go to the beach. Again, a period of intense exercise and at least two hours running on sand drained much of his energy. He lay limply on a blanket as Lawson worked on his body. 'At least the exercise program had been successful," Lawson thought. The youth's heavily tanned torso was heavier and far more defined; his thighs had actually begun to look ripped. Further, it was clear that his muscle hadn't been cultivated in a gymnasium. If anything, his cock had grown slightly. Hanging down over his scrotum for a good six inches, the tube of smooth flesh could rapidly thicken and harden into a steel-like, ridged weapon over nine inches in length.

Realizing that Mike looked better and was actually stronger than Barry just before he left home after a tremendous row on New Years Eve, Forsythe simple sat by his side, toying absentmindedly with the youth's body. It was at that point that Deputy Madson suddenly appeared. "Mornin', sir," he began. "Sorry to bother you." Suddenly shrugging off his listlessness, Forsythe looked up, saying, "Yes, Deputy?" "Sir, we caught five college students up from 'Dego' last night. Evidently, they thought they'd have some fun harassing a bunch of our young people who were simply enjoying the full moon on the water. They're stripped down and handcuffed up in the boat shack over by the cove. Want to check them out?" "Good work, Deputy!" Forsythe exclaimed. "The Association will make sure you have a little something extra in your pay envelope this week. Would you take over here, while I take a look?"

From the look on his face, Deputy Madson was more than happy to take over from his employer. The comments they'd heard about the pool party were seriously hot. From the first time he had seen the youth himself, he had been aroused. This was working out perfectly! "Would you like me to loosen your boy's muscles up a bit and, maybe, show him a few new exercises?" he asked. "Anything, Deputy," Forsythe grunted absentmindedly. "This man deserves our cooperation, Michael. Show him that you're part of the team. I'll be back shortly."

As Forsythe walked off rapidly up the beach, Deputy Madson laid his hand on Mike's shoulder. "If you will let me, youngster," he said, "I think I can show you a few exercises from the Canadian army that are real killers." Mike looked at him with loathing and drew away. "Oh, so that's the way it's going to be," the fat pig grunted. "Turn over on your stomach...NOW!" There was no movement. "Butch, tell the bitch to turn over." Hearing a blood curdling growl coming from the German Shepherd, Mike turned over without further comment. Madson immediately began working on his crack, raising his head and shoulders to hock up a wad of thick phlegm and then bending down to propel it into the boy's hole. It was when Mike felt the end of the deputy's nightstick being positioned that he realized he was in deep trouble. He simultaneously rolled over and hurled a handful of sand into the officer's eyes. He was on his feet immediately and off running. He needn't have tried so hard, for Manson was in no condition to follow him. Further, the other Deputy wasn't going to intercept the youth. He had seen what had happened and enjoyed every minute of it!

Mike was not home when Forsythe returned. Nor did the man hear from...or anything about...the boy for three days.

(To Be Continued)