Disclaimer:

This story contains graphic descriptions of sexual acts between a man and an adolescent boy. The story is not true; the sexual acts described herein derive solely from imagination. It is not intended to promote illegal acts with/to/by minors, nor does it condone child abuse of any sort. If you object to the subject matter, stop reading. If your reading of this material violates laws in your place of residence or where you are currently located, stop reading. Thank you.

This story is protected by the copyright conventions of the United States.

My stories are pure fantasy. In this case, the story was inspired by a young, online friend, who made the following observation. “In real life”, he said, a boy and a man could see each other daily and come to love one another, but chances are, they’d never share those feelings and almost certainly never act on them. This story asks, “What if they did?”

Those who wish to comment may email me at will1599s@protonmail.com

Tyler’s Gift

by
Will S
(December 2009, Revised September 2020)

Prologue

“Here’s your mail, Mr. Spear,” the young boy said. What a sweet voice. It always reminded me of another voice―one that I’d first heard some forty or so years ago. I smiled at the boy, a neighbor’s son. His parents had urged him to take on the daily obligation of retrieving my mail for me, and he performed the task dutifully. As his reward, I offered him an opened box of chocolates. He smiled up at me as he made his selection.

At 90 years old, my heart still stirs at the sight of a cute boy. He held out the packet of mail. On the top was an odd-sized, colorful envelope. “It’s your birthday, I guess,” the boy said. “Happy birthday!” He gave me a smile and then was on his way. I closed the door, set the mail on the tray of my walker, inched it around, and headed back to my recliner.

I poked at the bits of mail, my fear building because I wasn’t finding the envelope I longed to see. At first, I told myself to stay calm, for in twenty-nine years, it had always been in the pile. But in this, the thirtieth year, it was missing. I trembled and fell back into my chair. I leafed through the envelopes again. The clear, bold handwriting was missing. The stack of mail in my hands grew blurry in my glistening eyes. I squeezed them shut. It’s just delayed, I told myself. He hasn’t forgotten. He wouldn’t. My mind drifted back to another time―a time when another sweet, pure boy-soprano voice had brought such joy to my life.

Thirty Years Ago

I put my telephone to my ear. “Hey, Mr. Spear, it’s Tyler,” the voice said. “Would you like me to shovel your driveway?”

“Sure, Tyler,” I replied. “Come by anytime. I’ll be looking for you.” I smiled. Just the sound of his voice sent butterflies fluttering through me.

Tyler Brightman was four years old when I’d moved into the neighborhood. This was my twelfth year living in my house. He was not a next-door neighbor, but early on, I’d caught sight of him playing with neighborhood boys. He was not the biggest boy amongst his buddies, but he was always a favorite to watch. He was all boy. No doubt about that: in the warm weather, he’d be on the ball field every day; in the winter, he and his friends would clear off the ice on a little pond at the end of the cul-de-sac and play hockey for hours. But what really kept him on my radar―aside from dimples to die for―was the sweet, innocent quality about him. It gave Ty a kind of purity that sets a boy apart from others, and not just at age four, but on into his teens and beyond. And oh, yes, have I said he was cute as a button! His purity and innocence only added to that. The truth was back in those first years, I didn’t pay a lot of attention to him; he was decidedly younger than my interests, but I sometimes found myself fantasizing about the boy, projecting a few years into the future (well, more than a few years, perhaps). What would he be like when he reached his teenage years? If his good looks held, and he seemed the sort of boy where that would be true, then I was sure he’d receive the attentions of every girl in the school (and, no doubt, a few furtive glances from more than a handful of boys as well).

When he was a few years older, he came by the house one snowy afternoon. The doorbell rang, and there he stood, covered toe to head: heavy boots, dark blue snow pants, matching down jacket, hood pulled tight around his face so barely any features showed. One mittened hand hung at his side, the other held a snow shovel that was almost as tall as he was. What a vision! After a moment of awkwardness, he managed to get a question out: “Would you like your driveway shoveled?”

I chuckled, and was about to say, come back in five or six years, but something in those barely visible, earnest, hazel eyes made me pause. I could see uncertainty in the way his eyes narrowed, the way he bit his lower lip. I believe he sensed my hesitancy and quickly added, “I'm nine, so I'm big enough.”

Despite that, I think he wasn’t sure he was up to the task, but his unblinking gaze told me I couldn’t give him the answer that had been on the tip of my tongue. “Tell you what, young man, how ‘bout we work at it together.” He beamed, and it’s a wonder that smile didn’t melt every flake of snow for 20 miles! In a heartbeat, I was smitten. Oh my God, what a sweet boy, and though I’d seen him around the neighborhood for years, I realized it had mostly been from a distance. I didn’t even know his name.

“So...partner,” I said as he grinned at the thought, “perhaps we should introduce ourselves. I mean, since we’re going to be a team an’ all.” His eyes widened a bit, and his big, toothy grin told me I’d hit a chord.

“Tyler, sir,” he answered like a little soldier. “Tyler Brightman. I live in that house down there.” He jabbed his hand out, pointing to a house I couldn’t see from my doorway, but I already knew exactly where he lived.

“Well, Tyler,” I said, extending my hand. He was so earnest, I had to work to keep my smile from becoming a gentle chuckle. “Nice to meet you. I’m Will Spear. And, by the way, I think I know your house.”

His eyes widened. “You do!” He stuck out his hand and grasped mine with a soggy, cold, mitten. Almost instantly, he realized what he’d done. “Sorry,” he muttered, and quickly retracted his hand. I think his cheeks, rosy with the cold, pinked up even more as he struggled to yank off his mitten; then he reached out to me again. I smiled as a warmth flowed from his soft hand to mine. That such a touch could affect a body so. I was suddenly alive and tingling with expectation. He left his hand in mine as we shook, looking into each other’s eyes. Eventually both of us seemed to sense if we kept shaking hands, this special moment we shared would instead become strange and awkward, and so we simultaneously―if reluctantly―broke our contact. I sighed; I couldn’t help it. “And, by the way, this partnership?” I asked. “How much is it going to cost me?” It is a question that can chill any relationship, especially if one of the partners is a youngster.

“Um...is five dollars okay?” he asked, and then quickly continued, “Like...for an hour, I mean.”

My smile stretched a bit more. I didn’t know the going rate for shoveling, but I figured he was woefully undercharging for his services. “Tell you what,” I said. “I think any partner of mine ought to be getting ten dollars an hour―prorated, of course.”

A look of consternation flooded over his face. I watched as he tried to figure out a new phrase.

“Um...what’s prorated mean?”

“Well, if you work a full hour, its ten dollars; if you work half an hour, then you get half that amount.”

“Five dollars!” he announced. “And in fifteen minutes...” It took him a little longer to come up with that result, but he did. “Two-fifty!” he beamed.

I smiled. Young Mr. Brightman, it seemed, was indeed a bright boy. “Exactly!” I complimented.

Then his eyes widened. “And two hours, twenty dollars!”

I nodded. Very bright, indeed.

That day seven years ago, I think my new buddy, Tyler, lasted just a little over an hour. That he could stick to it that long amazed me. I still gave him two ten-dollar bills. “We’ll just put it on the account,” I said when he protested.

We’ve shoveled a lot of snow since then―Tyler and I―and mowed a lot of grass, too. He was quite the businessman; over the years, his rate had increased to twenty-five dollars an hour, but truthfully, I was the one who pushed him to boost his fee. Though his other customers might not have appreciated it, by my accounting, Ty was worth every penny of it. Indeed, in those negotiating sessions, I’m sure he learned something about the value of work, fairness, and his own sense of worth.

I smiled as I thought about the ritual that had evolved around those moments when I handed him his pay. Even now, the sixteen-year-old would protest. “Remember, Mr. Spear,” he’d say, “There’s still that money on account.” (Try as I might, I could not get him to call me Will.)

And I’d say, “Let’s just leave it there―just in case.”

He would always beam at that moment, lighting up his face, still with smooth, clear skin, that cute button nose flanked by a few faint freckles, those hypnotic hazel eyes, and always that incredible, dimpled smile. (You could get lost in those dimples!) “Okay,” he’d say, “but I won’t forget.” And he didn’t.

We had an easy relationship, Ty and I. I smiled when I thought about the sound of “Ty and I.” More than once, I’d grinned at that rhyme, at how we just seemed to fit together in that phrase: Ty and I. And in those moments when I found myself aroused by thoughts of that sweet young man, oh, how I fantasized we would fit together in more than name alone. Often Tyler would be my last lingering thought as I drifted off to sleep (usually following a wonderful session of self-pleasuring where he also played a prominent role). But in the cold light of day, I knew that would never―could never―happen. Though I occasionally caught the boy gazing at me, it never seemed in “that way.” I assumed he thought of me as an uncle, or perhaps simply a good friend. There was a bond between us; we both recognized it, I think, but it didn’t include anything close to something sexual.

That special connection had become more apparent around the time Tyler started middle school. He appeared at my house at odd times. He’d always begin with an upbeat, “Need help with anything, Mr. Spear?” I was happy to have him around, but the first time it happened, I thought it was a little strange. Luckily, I answered, sure, and invited him in. Actually, there was never any luck involved. I would never have turned young Mr. Brightman away from my door!

At one point I had asked him about other kids, his friends. He had said he didn’t really have a lot of friends, and though he didn’t seem particularly bothered by that, it caused me to wince. Such a wonderful boy! Why on earth wouldn’t kids line up wanting to be his friend! But over the years, I had noticed something had changed with him. Gone were the days when he would spend hours with a bunch of other boys playing ball or hockey.

“But aren’t you my friend, Mr. Spear?” he breathed. “You are, aren’t you?” He drew in a breath and gazed earnestly into my eyes, awaiting my answer.

I smiled. “Of course, I am, Ty. And glad I am, too.” He grinned at that and exhaled. Eventually, I realized he simply liked being around me. It was really quite a revelation! This incredible, sweet boy actually wanted to hang out with me―a guy old enough to be his grandfather.

One day as we worked on getting that old snowblower tuned up for yet another season, he just blurted out, “Mr. Spear, I really like being here with you.” I think he might have even blushed a little at his declaration, recognizing the unusualness of our friendship.

I looked up at him and grinned. “Back ‘a-cha!” I said.

“Really, Mr. Spear,” he pressed, “you’re not like most grownups. You really listen to me, and you don’t go getting all preachy ‘n stuff.”

“Well, Ty,” I replied, “I could say the same about you. It’s so easy to have a conversation with you. You’re thoughtful and interested in cool stuff, so I guess you could say we’re two peas in a pod.”

He grinned at that, and I fought an urge to tussle his short-cropped dirty-blond hair, but that kind of display of affection had never been part of our relationship. I had studiously avoided touching him. There were a few times in the past when some occasion merited a hug, but they were so rare as to be seared into my memory. Younger boys seemed to tolerate, even crave, contact, but when he was younger, I never quite felt comfortable touching him—maybe I was afraid of where it would lead—and now he was at an age where it would seem even more odd to offer that kind of touching.

In truth, except for some frustration when his presence had gotten me especially horny, it was fine. I valued the deep respect we had for one another, and I wanted to do nothing that might derail that. At any rate, I never had any sense that Ty thought of me in any way other than someone he could confide in and trust, and as I said, in the light of day, that truly was enough for me.

We talked about all kinds of things, no topic was off limits―save one, and that was my choice. It was one that I struggled with again and again, but there would be a risk with that, a risk I was simply (though perhaps misguidedly) not prepared to take.

At twelve or thirteen Tyler began to raise―timidly―questions about “girls.” I was happy to respond with what little information I had on the topic, but when issues of sexuality came up―and they did―I studiously avoided any reference to my own sexuality. Yes, I know I was denying myself, denying who I was, but I thought it best for Tyler. (And for me.) I was afraid that that revelation would turn him away, scare him, and the thought of not having that young man present in my life as often as he was, was unbearable. In retrospect, it was a denial of my very being, but more than that, it was a disservice to Tyler; he deserved better than that from me: he deserved the truth.

I will never forget the first time we talked about something sexual. Tyler had just gotten off the school bus and detoured directly to my house. He sat at the island in my kitchen. As I poured some Cokes, he was playing with a piece of paper. When I thought about it later, I was sure it was all part of a plan he’d concocted. He must have been about twelve, maybe even a little younger.

“Wha’cha got there, Ty?” I asked, turning back to him with the two drinks in hand.

His face grew a shade pinker. “Oh,” he said, his voice thready and unsure. “This?”

I grinned. “Mhm. That.”

“Just a word I learned today in school,” he responded, and then, reddening a bit more, added, “In Health.”

Instantly I was on guard. “Oh.”

He looked down at the scrap and seemed to struggle with what to do with it. Finally, he slapped the slip of paper face down on the island, and gratefully grabbed the glass I offered.

I gave him a look, and he, somewhat guiltily, it seemed, averted his eyes. Oh my, I thought, This will to be rich and rare!

“Well,” I said after a pause that made him squirm. “You going to make me guess?” The red in his cheeks that had subsided now flooded back, making them redder than ever. “Ty,” I breathed, “you don’t have to tell me, you know. Up to you.” I don’t think that was the response he was expecting.

“No,” he squeaked. “It’s okay.” Slowly he reached out and slid the paper scrap across the island. Holding him in my gaze, I picked it up, and turned it over. I’ll never know how I managed not to burst out laughing, but I did.

“Interesting word,” I said as noncommittally as possible.

“Yeah,” he replied, or, more accurately, tried to reply. After choking on the word, he just nodded.

“Masturbation.”

The word seemed to echo in the room when I said it out loud.

“Yeah,” Ty breathed, and silently mouthing the word, he deliberately focused on the scrap of paper in my hand, which allowed him to avoid my gaze.

“A perfectly good word,” I said, and turned my attention to getting some cookies. I knew the conversation wasn’t over.

“You know what it means?” he asked sounding somewhat incredulous. I turned to face him again, and I guess the smirk on my face told him I did. He reddened more and slapped his forehead. “Duh,” he breathed. “That was stupid.”

I nodded with a grin. “I do know what it means,” I said, “and I bet you knew what it meant, too! Even before your teacher told you. You maybe just didn’t know it had such a fancy name!” I winked at him, and predictably, he reddened. I knew I’d hit the nail on the head. “Jackin’ off, jerkin’off, beating the meat, smokin’ the bone, rubbing, doin’ it,” I said. “Guys from caveman days to long into the future all know about masturbation―even if they don’t know the technical term for it! If your body has a penis, sooner or later you’re going to discover masturbation.”

His reaction to the word, penis was delightful. He gripped the glass with both hands so hard that I thought he was going to break it. His head looked like it was about to pop.

“Hey, Ty,” I said softly. “It’s okay. Breathe.” I moved the cookie plate closer to him, and he grabbed one in a desperate swipe.

A long silence followed, but it was obvious he was working up to something, but when he finally spoke, it took the fun out of the conversation.

“But it’s wrong,” he said, looking into my eyes, “isn’t it?” This wasn’t some mere curious inquiry for my sweet boy, no, this was real life-changing stuff, and he desperately needed an answer.

“Why would you think that?” I asked as neutrally as I could.

“Well...it’s...it’s like dirty an’ stuff. Like—you know—sex.”

“Ty, did your folks tell you it was wrong?” I’d gotten to know his parents a little. They knew how much time their boy spent with me, and they trusted me. Occasionally I’d even get a phone call asking if I could “keep an eye on Tyler” because something had come up unexpectedly. I was always happy to oblige. The Brightmans were pretty enlightened and I was pretty certain would never have said anything like that to him.

“No!” he responded, but then, after another long moment, added, “Well, when I was little, I remember one time my mom telling me not to touch myself down there.”

I frowned. “Where?”

He grew redder and looked down into his lap, which was hidden from my view. “You know,” he whispered.

Now I reddened and chuckled softly. “No, Ty,” I grinned, “Sorry. I figured that. I really meant like where were you when she said that.”

The boy rolled his eyes and groaned softly. “Ooohhhh.” He looked back over at me. “At the playground. I was playing on the slide...an’...I dunno...I must’ve had to pee or sumpthin’, and I was grabbin’...you know...my thing. She kind’a yelled at me. I didn’t even know I was doin’ it. But I guess the other kids did ’cuz they laughed.”

I sighed at his distress still evident even now. Back then, it must have been downright traumatic for that little boy. I knew Ty, and I knew how difficult it must have been for him to talk about this—now and certainly when he had been that little boy on the slide. He would have been as mortified then (as he seemed to be now). In all the years that I’d known him, it was clear he always tried so hard to do the right thing. He didn’t like to make mistakes, and did not react well, when he did. And it was clear the slide incident had registered as a huge mistake. “Don’t touch!” Was he still living under fallout from that pronouncement from his mother?

“I’m sorry that happened, Ty, but let’s think about it from your mom’s perspective. She might’ve been worried about how it would look—your tuggin’ at yourself. Maybe she was worried about what the other children might have thought if they saw you doing that.”

He was silent as he considered that possibility. “I guess. It probably would have seemed kind’a pervy or somethin’.”

“Yeah, or maybe they'd be thinking you’ve got some kind of problem. Like too-tight undies.” I winked at him, and he grinned. I was thankful for that. We needed a break in the tension.

I doubted his mother would even remember the incident, but if she did, I was certain she’d have regretted Tyler’s long-lasting overreaction. He’d held that embarrassment for years. I wasn’t sure I could say anything to undo the damage, but I could try. “Ty. Bud. Let’s think about this. It’s one thing when a four-year-old is grabbin’ his privates in public. But there is no comparison between that and being a twelve-year-old boy in his bedroom needing to find some relief. No comparison. Absolutely none at all! Right?”

“Relief?” he muttered and looked up at me. A slight scowl told me he wasn’t sure why a guy would need relief.

“Look, Ty,” I began, “you’ve been growing a lot lately. Your body is changing.” He blushed. “Changes in your body are natural. They’re inevitable. You can’t do anything to stop them. You are changing.” I smiled. “And, yeah, I noticed.” He grinned and blushed some more. “And if you’re taking Health,” I continued, “then you probably know about hormones and all that stuff.”

He nodded but grew more serious. “But, Mr. Spear, is it bad? You know, ja—um, doing it?”

“Look, Ty, even little boys discover that playing with their penis is pleasurable.” Penis. That word again! That word neither of us had uttered in the presence of the other until today. More blushing. “But starting at puberty, your body starts sending out even stronger messages about the feelings in your genitals―feelings that spread throughout your body. You know what I’m talking about, right?”

He nodded.

“It’s a natural part of being a healthy male,” I continued. “Your body starts producing hormones that trigger your development...including, eventually, changes to your testicles. About a year after puberty starts, your testicles are producing sperm.” More blushing, but he studied me in rapt attention. “And all that—the hormones and the sperm that’s being constantly manufactured—creates a need in a boy, a drive, for your body to seek to release. It’s what nature intends. When you think about it, it’s all pretty awesome, miraculous even.”

Ty seemed to be struggling to make all this new information make sense. “Release?”

“It’s how the human race continues. When it’s ready, your body drives you to release sperm, the human seed.”

“Like in the movie! To fertilize the egg. The movie in Health,” he exclaimed, anxious to share his expert knowledge.

“Exactly. Once your testicles are manufacturing seed, your body needs to release it.”

“The sperm stuff,” Ty asserted.

I nodded, “So, if you ask me―and I guess you just did―is it wrong to masturbate? I guess I’d ask the opposite question: is it wrong not to? I think jacking off is just a natural and normal part of being a guy.”

“Really?”

I smiled. “Really.”

Suddenly I saw the lightbulb switch on. His eyes widened. “So...” He reddened now. “Um...jack— that masturbation thing...that thing, that’s how the seeds get out!”

My smile stretched out more. “Yup, Ty, that’s one of the ways, for sure.”

I saw a sense of relief flow into him. His body seemed to lose some tension. Then, as if his new-found knowledge had suddenly freed him from all his inhibitions, he blurted out, “Do you do it, too?” Instantly, his eyes widened, and he sat bolt upright. “I’m sorry, Mr. Spear! I’m sorry... Oh my gosh, I shouldn’t have...”

“Tyler,” I said sharply, stopping him in mid-sentence. A fearful look furrowed his forehead. “Ty,” I practically whispered, “it’s not something I usually talk about, but you’re a special friend”―he smiled―”so to answer your question, yes, of course I do...as often as I feel I need to.”

The boy’s hazel eyes widened. “Need to?” he breathed.

“Exactly,” I replied. “My body sends my brain messages: take care of this!” I grinned. “And so, I do.”

“Like for real?” he whispered.

“For real?” I gave him a look. “Does that mean you think an old guy can’t jack off like you young whippersnappers do.” I chuckled, and he smiled shyly, blushing delightfully. And then I think he really heard what I said. “Like you do.” My question and his grin were an acknowledgement that he masturbated, and now I knew he did—and he knew I knew.

He swallowed looking almost desperate. “You won’t...” He paused. “I mean...like tell...”

I smiled as reassuringly as I could. “Ty, as far as I’m concerned what you do in private, is just that: private. It’s no one’s business but yours. Except―and there’s an except―if I think something’s going on that could harm you, then I’m going to talk to you about it―and maybe even with your parents. But let me be really clear: masturbating is not one of those things...unless you’ve got some sort of jackin’ machine and lie in bed all day doing it nonstop!” I winked at him.

“All day? Geez,” Ty muttered to himself, suddenly lost in thought, consumed by the idea of a machine like that. “I couldn’t do that even for an…” And just as suddenly he realized what he was saying. For the umpteenth time that day, color flooded into his face.

“Yeah,” I grinned. “I hear ya’.”

When his self-consciousness eased some, he changed the topic. “So then, why would you talk to my parents about me?”

I could see the concern growing in his face. “Well...hmm...sometimes teens can get pretty unhappy about stuff, and if I started seeing that happen to you―you know if you seemed depressed, for example―that’s not something people can always handle on their own, and if it’s ignored, it can lead to some pretty heavy stuff. Do I think that’s something you’re gonna have to deal with? No, not at all, but if I saw a change in you like that, I’d want to be sure you got the help you needed. That’s the kind of thing I’m talking about. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” he said simply.

“But...like I said, jackin’ off is defintely not one of those things. There’s nothing dirty about sex. Nothing wrong with masturbation or whatever you choose to call it. Nothing. It’s your private business. Natural and normal for a guy.” I gave him a reassuring smile.

He swallowed hard again, the tension building in him was obvious. “Mr. Spear?” I looked at him quizzically. “Are there really machines like that? You know, like masturbation machines?”

I laughed out loud, I couldn’t help it that time. “I suppose there are,” I answered, “but why would you need one of those when you’ve got two of these?” I held up both hands, shaping them as if they were fitting around a healthy dick, and grinned.

He grinned back, blushing a deep red, and seemed truly relieved. He squirmed self-consciously and gulped down his Coke. “Well,” he said, “I better be going.” He slipped down off the stool and headed for the door. He was back-to me, but I couldn’t miss his hand reaching down in front of him and a little hitch in his step as he adjusted his erection. He stopped before he got to door, and putting his hand on the doorknob, offered a soft, “Thanks, Mr. Spear!”

“No problem, Ty.” He turned and started to open the door. “Hey,” I said, stopping him one more time, “You only had one cookie! Where’re you headed in such a rush?” My grin stretched ear-to-ear. His deep blush heated up his cheeks and even tinged his ears. “Ty, my friend, just remember: You aren’t doing anything wrong. Masturbating is completely normal and natural for a healthy guy like you. Now, go on, get out of here!” I said with a big grin and a wink. He hesitated for just a moment, gave me a grin, and stepped out the door. “Jackin, jackin’ off. That’s what I call it.” The door slammed shut, signaling some urgency in my young friend, and he was gone. I knew exactly where he was headed—as fast as his legs could get him there! “Enjoy yourself,” I murmured to myself. I wondered if he realized I’d soon be doing exactly what he was going to be doing as quickly as he could get to his bedroom. I grinned. What a stimulating picture that created in my mind’s eye.

Even now that delightful conversation often comes percolating to the surface of my thoughts. Circumstances would conspire, and that moment in our shared history would suddenly bring fond memories.

The occasion of the pivotal moment in our relationship was yet another New England snowstorm. It had moved from the Midwest where the governors of three states had already declared disasters and gotten promises of federal aid. The storm had lost a lot of its punch by the time it got to us, and most of it passed to the north. It had started late Thursday and had pretty much ended by early Saturday morning.

Tyler called Saturday morning to say he was tied up with something and could we shovel in the afternoon. That worked fine for me, so it wasn’t until 1:30 that we started clearing the driveway. After seven years of our “partnership,” our roles had been reversed. I tidied up around the edges, and Ty ran the snowblower, a job he seemed to enjoy―manhandling that big piece of equipment.

“My mom and dad are away this week,” Tyler announced as we began to work. “My grandma is staying with me until they get back.”

“Where’re your mom and dad?” I asked.

“They’re marooned!” he said with a grin. “Out in Des Moines. May be there a week, my mom said. But really, it’s not a big deal, ’cuz they’d probably be out there that long anyway. Maybe longer. Dad says there’s plenty to keep ’em busy.”

“What’s in Des Moines?”

“My dad’s uncle. Dad got a call from someone out there. They told him his uncle had died. My dad was his only close relative, so they’re out there making arrangements and taking care of stuff. Mom says he was a real packrat.”

“So, your grandma’s here,” I summarized.

“Yep. It’ll be cool. She’s a great cook, Mr. Spear! Makes an awesome pecan pie!” he added with a grin.

“Well,” I replied, “maybe we ought to forget the shoveling and go straight back to your house!”

His eyes sparkled, and he never lost a beat playing along. “If we went now, we’d have to bake it ourselves; she’s gone shopping in the city with my aunt.”

“Oh, well,” I said, “you probably don’t want any pie I’d try to bake.”

“Me either,” he said with a chuckle, and those dimples popped into place.

After an hour or so of hard work, I was ready for a break, so Tyler and I were once again in the kitchen and he was sitting in the exact same spot he’d sat in on that “infamous” day. He was no longer the antsy twelve-year-old. But as then, I was preparing a snack, this time hot chocolate. My mind was wandering back to that moment when my sweet boy was all knotted up about such an elemental part of being a young male. I smiled at the memory.

That’s when my phone rang.

“Yes, it is. Yes, he is. Just a moment.” I held the wall phone’s handset out to Ty, stretching the cord across the island. He took the handset tentatively, a stiffness paralyzing his body. “Hello?” His eyes widened. “Is she okay?” I heard him say. “Yeah...okay, I’ll call her.” He said goodbye, and I could see the worry on his sweet face. “My grandmother slipped on the sidewalk on Boston,” he murmured. “She’s in the hospital. They think she may have broken her hip.”

“Oh, Ty, I’m so sorry,” I answered. “Do you want to go to the hospital?”

“My aunt says no one can see her yet. She wants me to call my mom. She said I’ll have to go stay with her and Uncle Frank.” He shook his head. “I know they won’t let me stay on my own,” he said almost to himself. “Man, that’ll suck—bein’ with my aunt and uncle.” Then he looked up at me and felt the need to explain. “They’re nice. I mean I like ’em, but— It’s just going to be…” He sighed. “Shit.” He looked up, and I saw the uncertainty flood into his eyes. He was usually careful about his language around me. “Sorry, Mr. Spear...it’s just that I’ve got exams this week, and they live on the other side of the city. It’ll take hours to get to school.” He fell silent for a moment, then resumed. “Maybe I could stay with somebody...maybe...” He brightened and looked up at me.

I wondered if I had missed something. “Ty?”

“No. I guess that’d be too...”

“What?”

He sheepishly mumbled, “Well, I was thinking maybe I could stay with you.”

Instantly my heart raced. I tried to look like I was weighing the pros and cons before a momentous decision, but in my mind, it was decided the moment Ty had raised the possibility. “If that’d work for you, and it’s okay for your folks, it’s fine with me.”

“Really!” he exclaimed. “Thank you, Mr. Spear. That’s awesome!”

“Well...give your mom a call. If she’s open to the idea, I’ll be happy to talk with her about the details.”

It took some time with the operator to find the phone number, but the call was finally placed, and after fifteen minutes, it was all settled. Tyler would be staying with me until his folks returned from Des Moines. His mom let me know she was so pleased I was able to help out. Ty called his aunt back and let her know he and his mom solved the problem of where he would be staying. She was grateful, too; with his grandmother in the hospital, she had more than enough on her plate.

I do not think I had seen the boy so animated since his childhood. It suddenly seemed he was seven or eight again. He seemed almost giddy at the prospects of spending a few days with me. (Needless to say, the feeling was mutual.) His questions came in machine gun fashion. “Where will I sleep? Do you need any help getting anything ready? Should I get my sleeping bag?” And on and on. His excitement left me smiling. And breathless!

“Maybe I should go to my house and get some clothes and stuff.”

“Good idea.” I suggested he might want to turn back the thermostat some since the house was going to be empty for a while.

On his way out the door, he paused at the doorway. “Oh,” he asked, “should I finish the driveway first?”

I waved him on. “No, Ty. Get your stuff, and when you get back, we can finish it up.”

He was off in a flash. About twenty minutes later, he was back, with a backpack, and a large canvas sports bag. In one hand he held a bunch of mail. “The letter carrier was late because of the snow,” he announced, offering me the packet of junk mail and a few envelopes. On top were two or three of odd sizes and colors. “Something special?” he asked, nodding toward the envelopes.

“No, not really,” I replied. In fact, it was my birthday, but I hadn’t celebrated that uninspiring event in nearly twenty years. What Tyler had seen on top of the junk mail was the sum and substance of any recognition that I’d reached my sixtieth year. My two sisters and a cousin were the few and the faithful. It might have been different if we had lived nearer each other, but we didn’t, so a few cards would have to do. And that was fine with me.

I tossed the mail on the island, and he set his kit down in the corner.

Together we moved out to attack the remainder of the driveway. It shouldn’t have taken long to finish up the driveway, but within a minute of restarting the snowblower, it stopped with a disconcerting clunk, and no amount of coaxing could get it started again. “Well, Ty, it may finally be time to get a new one. This thing is older than you are―by a good nine or ten years!”

“Wow!” he exclaimed.

“But, for now, I’m afraid we’ve got to drag it back into the garage and do the rest by hand.”

“No problem, Mr. Spear,” he responded, “I got it.”

The snow that day wasn’t the heaviest, nor was it the light, fluffy stuff, but it never slowed him down. Like all the days Ty worked with me, I was impressed with his work ethic. In an hour or so, we’d pretty much finished up the work. I was amazed at his strength and stamina despite his smaller stature. He had never been the biggest boy in his age group, and at sixteen years old, that was still true. He had told me recently, he was five feet, eight inches tall. He seemed a bit of a “late bloomer,” and I assumed he still had some growing to do. I think his size might have bothered him a little, but to my eye, he had a perfectly proportioned body; it was compact: tight with solid muscle. Perfect! After what I saw that day, it was clear, regardless of his size (or perhaps because of it), he was driven to outwork any one of his classmates.

By the time we had put the shovels away, it was pretty dark outside and close to 4:30. Once inside, he hung his jacket in the closet and then found me looking through the cabinets in the kitchen. “You hungry?” I asked.

“Yeah, kind’a. You?”

“I’m gettin’ there, for sure. Problem is, I wasn’t expecting a house guest.” I gave him a grin. “Not sure how much food I’ve got in the house. Maybe we should get some take-out or go somewhere.” He nodded his approval of my plan. “Actually,” I continued, “I was thinking if we ate early, maybe we could drive into the city, and you can see your grandma.”

“Really! I’d love that.”

I smiled.

He seemed genuinely touched by my offer. “That’d be really nice,” he said, and, continuing to hold me in that hazel gaze, added, “Thank you, Mr. Spear. I mean it, really...thanks. Thanks for everything.” He seemed genuinely touched by my offer. He was so sweet in that moment that I wanted to pull him to me and give him a big hug, and to tell you the truth, I think he wanted to do the same, but we failed to act on our shared impulse, and the moment passed.

“Okay, then...” I said, trying to recover, “you like Mexican?”

“Love it!”

“Los Amigos?”

“Awesome. My fav!”

I grinned. “That was easy!”

Then, in a classic teen-boy move, he lifted his arm and sniffed his pit. “Ummm, if we’re going into the city, maybe I should take a shower?”

My smile stretched. “Wha-da-ya mean, if we’re going into the city? So, it’d be alright to stink up my place if we were eating here? Eww!”

He looked mortified. “No,” he said. “I…I meant…” I grinned all the more. It was so easy to play with him, and by then he was grinning along with me.

His t-shirt was damp with perspiration, and there was an odor, but to me it was hypnotic. And much to my surprise, an unanticipated feeling grew inside me: pride. I was proud of my young friend who was becoming a man. Still, I wanted in the worst way to reach out and tickle him as if he were still a that eight-year-old boy who first appeared at my door. I wanted to tickle him right where that odor was the strongest. I couldn’t resist a quick poke to his underarm.

“Hey!” he exhaled, more startled and playful than offended. I grinned from ear to ear as I brought my hand to my nose and breathed in his work-borne scent. “Eeeoowww!” I grumbled. “Stinky boy! Get yourself into that shower, and pronto―or else we’ll have the Board of Health in here closing me down!”

We laughed some more. It was wonderful seeing him so carefree and relaxed. “There’re towels in the guest bathroom; your room is just beyond it.” He picked up his stuff and headed for the bedroom. “I’ll probably do the same,” I offered. “I’m a little stinky myself.”

As I was rummaging around in my bedroom, I heard him step into the bathroom, and it was then I remembered the bed wasn’t made in the guest room, so I grabbed some sheets and headed into Tyler’s room. I quickly pulled back the spread and blankets, put the queen-sized fitted sheet on. I unfolded the top sheet and flipped it, so it filled the air in front of me. As it drifted down onto the bed, clearing my vision, I was startled to see Ty stepping into the doorway. He froze, as did I. He was clad only in his underpants, tighty-whities. In all the years I’d known him, I couldn’t recall ever seeing him even without a t-shirt, and certainly not practically naked. In the summer, he always wore those baggy calf-length board shorts, and in the winter, jeans.

I was mesmerized. He was beautiful. Perfectly proportioned. His belly was a taut, well on its way to a six pack, though, for the moment, perhaps more like a four-pack. He had light, downy hair on his arms, but his chest appeared hairless, unblemished. I caught a hint of the hair under his arms, it was much darker than the hair on his arms. I knew he shaved. I have a vivid memory of a fourteen-year-old Ty, bursting into my house with fingers dancing lightly over his face to share with me the details of his first shave with guidance from his father. I had to admit, though, I wondered how often he actually had to shave, certainly not daily, perhaps weekly, if that. The memory, like so many memories of Tyler still makes me smile to this day.

There was not even a hint of imperfection on his body. His near-nakedness only served to emphasize his regal extended neck, with just the hint of an Adam’s apple. His legs were strong and straight with more hair and a shade darker than that on his arms. For the first time in all these years, I was getting a glimpse of his marvelous boy-bits. His briefs were nicely filled, his package maybe even a bit larger than you’d expect on a boy of his stature. His briefs, glowing white, seemed to attract me, as a light attracts a moth. I don’t know how long I was held in their thrall, but at one point I thought I saw a slight change in what was hidden from my eyes―a lengthening perhaps. I felt a similar stirring at the base of my own belly. I forced myself to blink, and look up into his eyes, which were already locked onto mine.

“I just...”

“I just...”

We spoke the same words simultaneously; we both stopped at the same time.

“I...um...forgot my toothbrush.”

I swallowed, dropping my stare down onto my work. “Yeah, and I remembered I needed to get sheets on your bed.”

“I can do that, Mr. Spear.”

“No problem. Almost done.” I began tucking in the sheet on one side of the bed. He quickly stepped to the other side, knelt, and began doing the same. We pulled the blanket and sheet back up over the bed. “Thanks,” I said as he stepped to his sports bag which was just a few feet from me. He crouched down, and I savored the gentle curve of his back. My gaze drifted over each bump of his spine, until I reached those pure white undies. This time I beheld the outline of two wondrous mounds of firm boy flesh. “You better get back in there; you’ll be freezing to death.” He stood now with his toothbrush and a few other toiletries.

“Oh, it’s not cold.” He stepped closer to me. “I’m fine. See?” He twisted, presenting his back for my inspection.

In my dazed state, his words finally registered. He wanted me to feel for myself. I reached up, and my hands (unworthy instruments to touch such perfection) settled lightly onto his warm, exquisitely soft-to-the-touch shoulder blades, the wing buds of a fledgling angel. I am sure I trembled, and I think so did Ty. Even now I have moments when I think it must have been a dream, but in that mystical instant, he set his toiletries down on the bed and then moved even closer to me until I felt his arms wrap around me. He laid his head against my chest. Impelled by nature, if not my years-denied need, I lowered my hands down along his back. His body was indeed warm, whereas mine, I was certain, must be covered in goose bumps―not because I was cold, but because I trembled with the knowledge that I held in my embrace the sweetest boy on earth. When my fingers touched the band of his briefs, I stopped, though it took every bit of willpower not to continue on and cup those delicious mounds of boy flesh. I sighed, releasing the air that I’d held since he had pressed his body close to mine.

“Ahhhhhhhh.” I heard the softest sigh coming from him, but I couldn’t be sure. Hell, I was sure of nothing in these moments―nothing except I never wanted it to end. But I knew it had to.

“Ty,” I said softly into his thick blond hair. It was several shades darker now than when I first saw the almost white-haired four-year-old boy all those years ago. A much older boy lifted away and looked up at me. My memory of those moments is that he seemed vulnerable, uncertain, longing, knowing―all those things wrapped up into one sweet face. “I think we better get going, or we’ll never get our enchiladas.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, and though I wasn’t sure if my ears were playing tricks or not, I thought I detected just a note of disappointment.

He stepped away, turned and headed for the door. “Tyler,” I called with still-shaking voice. He turned, and I gestured to the bed. “Toothbrush,” I said.

“Oh, right.” He blushed, stepped to the bed, and then was off again, but not before turning again and softly offering a sweet, “Thanks, Mr. Spear.”

In my own bedroom, I sat dumbly on the bed. What just happened? I asked myself. I was still trembling as I replayed those incredible moments. I tried to recall everything that had assaulted my senses as Tyler pressed against me. I tried to recapture the feel of his supple skin beneath my hands, the gentle rising and falling of his breaths, the shallow valleys between each rib bone, the smooth plane of his lower back, the warmth of his breath on my chest, his scent, the softness of his hair on my chin, his arms locked around my torso, his hands―fingers splayed―pulling me into him, the press of his body against mine. Slowly, more than my mind, it was my body that recalled one more sensation: his young firm flesh caressing my thigh, strengthening as he did so. Sitting there on the bed, I trembled all the more at the memory, wondering if he had been aware of the effect he had had on me―that he was still having on me. My penis throbbed, constrained by my khakis. What just happened? I asked myself for the hundredth time.

Later when we had both cleansed ourselves (of what I wondered), we muttered in barely comprehensible phrases about supper. We would skip the take-out and eat at the restaurant. It was a quiet supper except for the noise of the other customers― and, oh yes, the mariachi band that was wandering from table to table. But Tyler was silent, and so was I. Normally when he was quiet, I’d work to draw him out, but tonight, both of us seemed lost in our own thoughts. In truth, I suspect we were both stuck in that brief moment of embrace, but neither knew quite how to talk about it, and the sound of trompetistas and guitarras provided a reason not to try.

We were not at the hospital long; at first the nurses weren’t even going to let Tyler in, but with a little convincing from him, me, and his aunt, they relented. I stayed in the waiting room, and after a few minutes, Ty and his aunt returned.

“She says she’s doing okay,” Ty reported.

“Well, Grandma’s a trouper, that’s for sure,” his Aunt Sally said reassuringly. “As your grandfather used to say, ‘She’s a tough old bird.’”

Tyler managed a hint of a smile at that.

“She’s in one of the best hospitals anywhere,” I offered. “I know they’ll take good care of your grandma.”

Ty’s aunt agreed, and the boy seemed to relax some.

By 8:30 we were back home. Like the dinner, the ride to and from the hospital had been quiet. We had, it seemed, a lot on our minds.

“I could get a fire going in the fireplace,” I volunteered as we made the turn onto our street, “and then maybe watch a movie or something.”

“Cool,” Tyler said though not sounding entirely convinced.

Once we had gotten into the house, I asked which movie he would like to see, but as he looked through the VHS tapes, he couldn’t seem to decide. Finally, he looked over at me. “Umm...what if...we just listened to some music?”

“We could do that...though you sure you want to listen to Lawrence Welk?”

He gave me a look. “You don’t listen to that!” he said with a hint of a grin. “You’re old,” he mumbled, “but you’re not that old!”

I wanted to poke him in the ribs, but after what had happened earlier, I wasn’t sure I wanted to deal with the consequences.

“I’ve got some music.” He went into his bedroom while I arranged some kindling in the fireplace. He returned with some stuff I didn’t recognize and some wires. “Does you sound system have a CD player?”

“Sorry,” I said. “Guess I’m a little behind times.”

“Is it okay if I hook my CD player up to your receiver?”

“Sure,” I said, not knowing if it was okay or not. While he fussed around with my sound system, I got the fire going. I worried about what we’d be hearing. Please, I thought, not punk or hard rock. I held my breath as he pressed play. It was a single piano, and Tyler kept the volume low. “Nice,” I whispered. “What is it?”

“George Winston. I like it.” Ty gave me an easy smile, then settled down on the sofa in front of the fireplace.

I wasn’t far behind him, being sure to leave a kind of “no-man’s land” between him and me. I wondered where all this was leading. I had the feeling that this wasn’t my show, so I’d just have to wait to see how it all played out.

The music was there in the background. At times it seemed as if the crackling fire was part of the soundtrack. It helped to calm any sense of unease I might have been feeling. Just when I thought I might break my own rule about letting Ty take the lead, he broke the silence.

“My grandma’s going to be okay, right?”

“It sure seems like it,” I offered. “We can hope and pray, anyway. It’ll take a while, though. Hospital, maybe surgery, then rehab, and then convalescence at home, maybe at your aunt’s. Maybe with you and your parents.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, and then settled back into the soft fabric of the sofa. We both gazed at the fire. I longed to know what was on the boy’s mind, but I was determined I was not going to ask. It was a long time in coming, but finally he was ready. With eyes still set on the fire, he spoke softly, his words catching in his throat. “What we did this afternoon...” He paused.

I knew exactly what he was talking about, of course though I toyed with saying something silly to lighten the mood a bit (“Shoveling the driveway?”), but he deserved my full attention.

“In the bedroom,” he said, snatching a quick peek at me, then focusing on the fire.

“Yeah,” I breathed. “It’s been on my mind, too.”

He had turned from the fire to me, and we held each other in our gazes.

“I—I liked it. It was…really awesome. When we were...close,” he said.

I nodded. “It was,” I agreed. It was all of that and more. I saw his body lose some of its tension then. It struck me that my response made him happy. He turned back now to the fire, and we must have sat there for another ten minutes in soft glow of the fire and the gentle strains of the Winston’s piano.

“I want to do it again,” Ty said. “I want to do more.”

The words hung out there like your breath on a cold, still day. I felt my body tighten as Tyler turned to me. Something in me said, No. don’t do this, but for the life of me, I couldn’t come up with a reason why, a reason that overpowered all the other reasons in my head that were screaming, Yes Give him what he wants! The biggest reason was that my sweet boy had asked. It was that simple, and while the results of that simple request might be anything but simple, I could not refuse him.

I held out my arms. He seemed to be paralyzed for a moment; I think it was because he understood exactly that this simple action―his request, my response―would set something into motion with an ending that neither of us could be sure of. His paralysis lasted only an instant, and then he hitched himself closer until I could pull him to me. He wrapped one arm around my shoulder, the other around my chest. He lowered his head to my chest, and I felt his weight and his warmth on my body. My arms wrapped around his torso, and I felt him settle into me.

A deep sigh slowly escaped from his sweet lips. My mind raced with conflicting arguments: How wrong this was, yet how right this was. One thing I knew for sure, one thing we both knew for sure: this would change the relationship that had drawn us together over the past twelve years. The only problem was, we couldn’t know if it would change it for the better or for the worse. With a soft breath, I thought about those words: “for better or for worse”. How many weddings had I been to and heard those same words? And how often had it turned out to be the latter.

I held my boy tight, and let my chin settle onto his short, soft hair. My fear, my terror, was that what we were doing would destroy what was so precious to me. But I argued against that: This is so pure, so innocent, so right. How could simply holding each other be anything but a sign of our shared need to be with each other?

Then, in another instant, I had an answer. We had lain embraced in each other’s arms for twenty minutes, or was it an hour and twenty minutes? It was long enough for the fire to die down, and the cool of the air closed in on us. The music had ended, too.

“Maybe,” I said softly, “I should build up the fire again.”

“Okay,” Tyler whispered. “I’ll put on some more tunes.” He eased his grip of my body, and I slipped out from under him.

With the first few notes of the music, I started. I knew that music. Was this some cruel trick that my ears were playing on me?

“Is this okay?” he asked.

“Brideshead Revisited,” I said.

He nodded. “You know it?”

I smiled. “The soundtrack,” I said simply.

“Yeah, I love it. I listen to it all the time,” he answered.

I hadn’t heard that music in years. It had been a sort of soundtrack for a very special relationship I’d had. Zach had been the one to introduce me to it, and when he had left, I put the album away, determined never to listen to it again. Until now. In one, magical instant, it was as if that music had been born anew, fresh and alive in my ears.

“Grandma had it, and I heard it, and she gave it to me,” he continued.

“I think somewhere I have it on an old LP.”

“LP?” he asked, and I smiled.

“Stands for ‘Long Playing’,” I said. “A record. Vinyl. A large thin black platter with one long groove. Plays on a phonograph.”

“Wow,” he said cheekily, “The kind with the big horn and you have to crank up by hand?” He looked over at me, smirking.

“That, my young friend,” I said, grabbing him, “deserves a response.” Holding him with one hand, I began tickling him mercilessly.

“Stop! Stop!” he squealed amid peals of breathless laughter.

Rather than pull away from me, he pressed himself against me. “I surrender,” he breathed, and I had no choice but to cease my torment. He eased himself up against me. “Is this snuggling?” Ty asked softly. He looked into my eyes and tightened his embrace.

“I don’t know what else you would call it,” I said, smiling.

“I like it,” he murmured. “Do you know what it’s about? Brideshead Revisited?”

“I do.”

“Sebastian is gay,” Ty whispers. I can barely hear him above the music.

“Yes,” I respond. “Does that bother you, Ty?”

The answer, when it comes, is halting. “No, I don’t think so. Should it? Does it bother you, Mr. Spear?”

I pulled my arms tighter around him. “No, Tyler, not in the slightest.”

“Not everyone feels that way.”

“You’re right about that, Ty, but I try not to pay a lot of attention to them.” I felt him press his head harder against me. He breathed out a long sigh.

“Oh Ty,” I breathed into his sweet hair, “what’s happening to us?”

He just sighed; that was his only response for the moment. Then he whispered, “Can I ask you a question?” His tone was almost dreamy―or at least it was one of utter contentment.

“Of course.”

He lifted away, twisted around, staring at the fire. He gazed into my eyes, bit his lip, and trembled with uncertainty. “I’m afraid,” he whispered.

“Of what, Ty?”

“I don’t know...” Then he thought better of that. “I do know.” He swallowed. “I’m afraid I’m going to mess everything up.”

Now I turned, drew him back up against me. “Everything?”

“Us. You know.”

I did know. “You could never, never do that, Ty. Nothing you could say or do would mess anything up.” I wanted to reassure him, to encourage him, but the truth was, I was as afraid as he was. I’d promised myself I’d never presume to take him to a place he didn’t want to go, and yet, here I was ready to do exactly that. I was afraid I was taking him too far into my fantasy world, too close to the world of lovers, and now that I had, I waited, heart pounding, for him to say he couldn’t, that this wasn’t what he wanted.

Deep in my thoughts a single sentence crashed into my consciousness: “I’m not a fag, Mr. Spear.” Those were the words, I'd feared hearing for years now. Oh my God in heaven, those words would devastate me―not that he would say them, but that my behavior, my assumptions, expectations would force him into a place where he would feel it necessary. And yet, forcing myself on a young boy, I shouldn’t be surprised at such rejection. Why, I screamed inside my head, why did I ever start this?

“This is what Sebastian and Kurt do,” he said simply, softly, “isn’t it? It’s what gay guys do.”

I closed my eyes, and I think probably a tear fell down my cheek. “Oh, Ty, I...I...” I swallowed hard, trying to gather my composure. “This is what two people do who love each other.”

He held me in his soft, liquid gaze. He didn’t speak, though I thought I noticed the slightest, nearly imperceptible nod. He sighed. “We’re two guys,” he mumbled, and dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. A tear welled in his eye. He began to turn. “I shouldn’t have... I thought... I’m sorry.”

I reached out and touched his arm. He stopped and turned back again to face me. “Why, Tyler? What’s wrong?”

“I’m wrong!” he moaned. “I’m all wrong!”

“Ty,” I said, pulling him to me. He resisted, but finally relented. Still, though I had my arms wrapped around him, his arms hung at his sides. “You could never be wrong! Not any part of you! You are an incredible human being! You fill my life with such joy!”

He looked up at me with glistening eyes. “Mr. Spear,” he moaned, “I’m not like you...I’m not like other boys. I want to be with you...like the way Sebastian would—” He stopped, shook his head and swallowed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Spear. I shouldn’t have tried to―”A tear spilled down his cheek. “I’m gay.”

He stopped, or at least I think he stopped. My head was spinning, my heart pounding. He could have kept talking for all I know, but I wasn’t listening. “Ty...Ty...Ty,” I breathed over and over. And then I was lifting away from him enough to see his pain-wracked face. “Ty”, I breathed, and closing my eyes, I leaned into him and kissed away his tears. I could feel his heat, taste the salt of his tears, smell his essence. “Ty”, I repeated, lifting away from him again, “I need you to listen very carefully. Okay”?

He nodded.

“There’s something I should have told you long ago. But I was afraid. Just like you are afraid. You are so important to me, Tyler Brightman. I don’t think I can even begin to explain how important you are to me. My heart soars when you are near me. But, like you, I was afraid if I told you that, if I told you how much I loved you, I’d ruin everything we have together.”

The boy sat there unmoving, blinking, barely breathing. “You love me?” he murmured.

“Yes, Ty, I love you with my whole being,” I answered. “But I need you to hear this: I’m gay, too.”

Young Tyler Brightman stiffened and stretched ramrod straight. His mouth literally dropped open. “You’re...” he began, and then stopped. “Like me,” he breathed. In his state, it took some time for him to make sense of what he’d just heard, but then it sunk in.

He exploded onto me, practically knocking me backwards onto the sofa. One hundred twenty pounds of firm, lithe boy lying on top of me. “Oh, Mr. Spear!” he sighed.

“Tyler, don’t you think it’s time you started calling me Will?”

“Will,” my sweet boy breathed with a tremulous voice, “you said you loved me.” He lifted his head off my chest and scooted up over my body until his face hovered over mine. “Really?” he asked again.

I gazed into his face that seemed to glow with a fire of its own: soft and pure, open and expectant. I lifted my hand to his cheek, and as I’d done so many times in my dreams, I stroked his velvety-smooth skin. I smiled gently, then taking his head in my hands, I lowered him as I lifted my head away from the sofa. I felt him tremble as our lips drew closer to each other. His eyes drifted shut. The first touch was so fleeting, like the lightest breeze on the first warm day of spring. We parted for just the briefest of moments, and then our lips touched again, and lingered, and savored the warmth and firmness of the other. Oh, heaven’s sweet bliss! We broke again, and again leaned in, hungry for more contact. This time, braver, perhaps, he mashed his lips against mine. He sighed, and we kissed again and again. We broke again, and he nearly groaned, and then rolled over, to lie next to me, blankly staring up at the ceiling.

“I can’t believe it,” he murmured to no one in particular. I smiled, sharing his utter contentment.

“Neither can I, Tyler.” I leaned over and stroked his face once more, this time with the backs of my fingers. So exquisitely soft, I shivered at the touch. “Neither can I.”

“Will?”

“Yes?” I said softly.

“How come you didn’t know?”

“Know?”

“That I was gay. I read these stories on the Internet, and they always talk about ‘gaydar’.”

“Guess mine wasn’t working too well.”

“Mine either. I used to go home from being with you and...well...think about what it would be like if you were...like me. And when I...” His face grew a bit rosier. “...you know, when I...do it, I imagine you doing it to me.”

I smiled, touching my finger to his lips. “I do the same thing, Ty.”

He grinned a huge grin. Just the thought of that must have had an effect, because he reached down and adjusted his jeans; then, seeing where I was looking, grinned again. “Will,” he breathed, “we don’t have to just pretend now.”

“Oh, Tyler,” I said. “That’s a huge step.”

My sweet boy suddenly darkened a bit. It almost seemed as if he’d heard my words as a rebuke. “Ty, I...agree with you...”

“But?”

I drew my finger along his face, gently tracing the strong line of his jaw and chin. Then I lowered my fingertip underneath his chin, and down his neck to the edge of his t-shirt to that soft indentation just above his sternum. “But it will change the way we are together.”

“I want that to change! I’ve wanted you to...do things with me from the time I started knowing I was different.”

I nodded. “How long have you known, Ty?”

He turned some and lifted up, resting on his elbow. “For a long time,” this sweet sixteen-year-old.

I smiled. How long is a long time for a sixteen-year-old boy?

“Since I was twelve or maybe even before.” He paused for an instant. “Remember when I asked all those questions about girls an’ stuff?”

I nodded.

“I always hoped you’d say girls weren’t for every boy, that some boys like boys. Then I could have told you, but...”

“I know, Ty. It was just too risky. I mean, what if I got it wrong? I was petrified at the thought. What if you didn’t want my attention? What if I scared you? What if you never wanted to see me again. I couldn’t. The risk was too great.”

“I’d sort of rehearse telling you,” Tyler said, “but then I’d chicken out. I’d imagine you saying, ‘That’s a wicked sin’ or something like that and telling me to get out and never come back.” A tear welled up in his eye. I leaned in, and his eyes closed, and I kissed his soft eyelid, and kissed away his tear.

“And then, remember that day I had that piece of paper with that word on it?” Even now, the shy boy seemed to feel saying “masturbation” was crossing some sort of line.

“Oh, Ty, do I ever,” I grinned.

His face pinked up, and he spoke even more softly. “Well, I thought about that like forever. I imagined showing you the word, and me being all like confused. In my fantasizing, you would say, ‘here, let me show you,’ and”—he looked away from me and blushed a deep red—“you’d jack me off.”

“We both had that fantasy, Ty. The moment you dashed out my kitchen door that day, I was in my bedroom, seeking release and imagining just exactly that.” I smiled.

“You did! Me, too! I got into my house and started running up the stairs so fast my mom wanted to know where I was going in such a hurry.” He offered a shy smile, surprising himself it seemed that he had shared such a secret with me.

“I would have loved that, Ty, but it just seemed too great a risk,” I said. “I couldn’t bear the thoughts of not having you around.”

“Well,” he said and then paused for a beat. “I’m here now.”

I gathered him in my arms and pulled all of his 120 pounds close to me. “Yes, you are,” I whispered into his ear. We lay still then, unmoving, silent. Finally I spoke again. “Ty, we’re in two different places in our life journeys. You’re 16, and I’m...well...can I let you in on a little secret?”

“Sure,” he breathed.

“Today’s my birthday. I’m 60.”

“Your birthday! Why didn’t you tell me! I should have gotten you something!”

“It’s okay, Ty. Really. Your being with me: that’s all the gift I need.” A more cynical person may have smirked at that, but it was exactly what I felt in those moments. There was more I needed to say, things that wouldn’t be so easy. “Ty, that journey we’re on? We are in different places. Things are different for us. You see things from the start of your journey; I see things as I’m―well―from a good long way down the road. When I think about being with you, my heart soars.” He smiled at that, those lovely dimples framing his sweet mouth. “But,” I continued, and that radiant smile faded. “I also see all the potential detours or pitfalls in the road along the way.”

“I know, Mr...” He caught himself. “I know, Will. I know about some of them...maybe not all of them, but some of them. I know I can’t ever tell anybody. Even though it’s legal. It is. I know. I’ve looked it up on the Internet: the age of consent is 16 here, but I also know people wouldn’t understand.” He let his hand rest on my neck. “I’d never do anything to get you in trouble.”

I smiled. “Thank you, Ty. That’s one thing―a big thing, but it’s not the most important, or the hardest to explain. I have fantasies about being with you.

“Me, too!” he interrupted. “I imagine that we’ll be together forever.”

“But, see, that’s really the problem, Ty. When I really think about how much I love you, I know it can’t be like that.” I felt him stiffen; his hand on my neck stopped its gentle swirls.

“Why?”

“Because, imagine what that would be like? Thirty years from now, you’d just be 46, but I’d be 90…or…” I didn’t want to finish that thought. “Tyler, I want to be with you so much, but I also want you to keep moving forward on your journey. You’ll come to turns where I can’t follow.”

“But why?” He was growing more upset, and it hurt me so that I was hurting him, but he needed to understand how much I loved him.

“Because you have your whole life to live. And if you are with me, you’ll be going down my roads, not yours. Tyler, I want you to find someone your age, a partner. And there are even people talking about someday making it possible that gay people can get married! There’s so much waiting for you!”

“But...” I could see the confusion in his eyes.

“Tyler, my sweet boy, I want you to have a soulmate, a life-mate: someone who can grow old with you...not someone who already is old.”

“But I want to be with you.”

“Yes, I know, my love. And I want to be with you, but I can’t bear the thought of you...” I stopped. I could see he wasn’t ready for this. He was confused. “Tyler, I never want to hold you back. It would kill me if I thought that was happening. What’s most important to me, what’s always been important to me, is being with you as you become the man you are meant to be. I always want to be there...to urge you forward, urge you along that road, to cheer when you excel, to hold you when you despair, but you must live your life fully. I know that doesn’t make sense right now, but someday it will. I want you to make the right choices―for yourself. Because even if those choices move you away from me, they will be the right choices for me as well. Then you will need to turn to me and hold me tight, give me a kiss, and I will release you to go be who you need to become. I never want you to forget me, but I want you to promise me, that when those moments come, you will take that roads that beckon you to journey into your future, not bound by obligations to someone who can never take that journey with you.”

It was too big a burden to put on such a young boy. How could he possibly understand what had taken me decades to understand. I shouldn’t have been surprised at his reaction: “I’m sorry,” he said, with tears streaming down his face. He pushed out from under me, stood up, and raced into his room.

I sat there frozen with fear. I’d done what I so feared doing; I’d damaged the very thing that was most important to me. I should have known. He’s just a boy, I thought. You should have known!

The fire had died to just a dim glow of a few embers. I had run the arguments around in my head a dozen times. I’d either make it better, or I’d make it worse. For better or worse. I hoped I’d get it right this time. I had to get it right.

“Tyler.” I stood in the doorway of his bedroom. He lay prone on the bed, his face buried in the pillow. “Ty,” I whispered. There was no reaction. I stepped to the bed and sat down. Haltingly, I placed my hand on his back. I felt him stiffen at my touch, but he made no move to stop my slow, light movements up and down from his shoulders to his pants. “Ty,” I repeated. “I’m sorry. I did what I never wanted to do. Ever. I hurt you.” I continued to move my hand over his t-shirt. I swallowed. “I just love you so much.”

I heard his words muffled by the pillow. “How can you? You’re so much older than me.”

My hand stopped stroking his back, and I felt the sting of his words. I felt his pain, the pain I had caused. My tear spilled onto his T-shirt, darkening the spot where it fell.

Then he lifted his head and turned it away from me. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, his words echoing my own. “I shouldn’t have said that.” He rolled over, then, and looked up at me through red-rimmed eyes. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking, Ty.”

He was quiet, struggling with his thoughts, then: “I love you.” I smiled, and my heart swelled. “And I know you love me.”

“I do,” I nodded.

He sat up now, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Don’t you think I know that we’re different―with ages. There’s stuff I just don’t talk to you about, because it’s kid stuff, and why should you know about that? It’s not even that important, anyway. But I talk to you about the important stuff.” He searched my eyes. “Will, don’t you think I know I won’t always be here with you?” Tears spilled from his eyes, and he wiped at them. “I know that, Will...and I know what you said is true, but I don’t want to think about that, not today.”

I swallowed hard. “Okay, Ty.”

“There's that poem by Robert Frost,” he said. “About the road not taken. We studied it in school. I know someday our road will split. I know we will go in different directions. But that’s not today. Right now,we’re on the road together. Now. There is so much I've learned from you, so much. But there is so much more for me to learn. From you. Today. Today is…today, Will. I don’t want to think about tomorrow. Just today. Just now. Okay? Here. Now. Okay?” He snuffed once and wiped his tears again.

“Okay,” I whispered.

He looked at me, waiting. I reached around him and resumed stroking his back, and whispered, “I understand, Ty.” I thought about what he’d said. The truth of his words made me tremble. Maybe I’d been right in what I was saying to him, but I’d been wrong in when I’d said it, how I’d said it. “You’re right,” I breathed.

I glanced over at him and glimpsed the classic contours of a male, and though my view was somewhat shrouded by his shirt, I could not miss his tapering sides narrowing to his waist or his muscled arms filling the sleeves of his t-shirt. I slipped my hand under the bottom of his shirt, and again felt him tense. I could feel his muscles tightening under my touch. “You’re right, Ty...”

I pulled him to me, and whispered in his ear his words, “Today is today,” and added, “We are together now.” I felt some of the tension my blunder had created drain from his body. My fingers drifted lightly over his skin. It was like the finest velvet, sublimely soft and smooth and warm. I moved in closer to him―close enough that I could feel his warmth. My hand continued to explore. My hand wandered over the meadowlands, the shallow valleys, and gentle hillocks of his back―all the time softly raising and falling with each breath. I leaned into him and planted a soft kiss on his warm skin just above the collar of his T-shirt. He shivered when I did that and drew in a slow breath.

“Do you want me to continue?” I whispered in hot breaths in his ear.

“Yes,” he sighed, the word cracking, caught in his throat. He sat there, barely moving, but it was clear what he desired, needed, even.

“Come with me.” I took him by the hand and led him into my bedroom. It was a simple act, but somehow one laced with intent. In stepping into my room, he seemed to understand we had crossed a threshold in our relationship. We sat down on my bed, and he breathed out a long, soft sigh.

I slid my hands up along his sides, catching the bottom of his shirt with my thumbs. “Lift,” I said quietly, slipped the shirt over his head, and dropped it on the floor. The smooth, silky skin of his back was mesmerizing: the uplifting of his shoulder blades; every bump of his spine; every rib, not seen, but felt; the dramatic tapering of his sides, which drew my eyes downward to the flat plain of the small of his back. The rest was hidden by faded blue jeans. I leaned in and kissed every square inch, ending at the edge of his pants. While my mouth was so occupied, my hands traced along the edges of his body, and down his arms, so smooth, soft yet firm: perfectly shaped, tight, swollen biceps. Ahh, how I savored his texture, his scent, his taste, his warmth, the sound of his sigh as I attended to his need.

I lifted away now, and drew my hand upward, finding his ear, and tracing its delicate swirls. To think such a simple act could fill one with delightful sparks of energy, but it did. I tingled. I glanced down to his back once more, endeavoring to memorize its sensual topography. I permitted myself one last pleasure: My hand traced lightly down his spine, across his lower back, and onto his jeans, coming to rest there, the spread of my hand embracing one of his firm, muscled cheeks. I sighed, feeling the heat that emanated from that place. I heard in that moment a divine sound, a soft mewling coming from Ty. It was not a whimper exactly, and not a sigh, but rather some small animal sound of contentment. I was pleased I was having such an effect on him.

I reached out now, and gently grasped his arm, urging him to turn. His exposed front was every bit as perfect as his back. His jeans-covered crotch, swollen with anticipation was evidence he had found my attention pleasing at the very least. But I forced my focus from that hidden treasure for the moment and moved upward. His angelic face was flush with expectation. Those hazel eyes sparkled as he looked up at me. Like his back, his chest and belly were devoid of any trace of hair. Smooth as a baby’s bottom. Smooth as his own botton, I speculated. His pecs were nicely muscled mounds, each one embellished a rosy chisel point of dark flesh was surrounded by a lighter-colored, nickel-sized base.

I leaned in and kissed his sweet face: his cheeks, his button nose, his forehead, his succulent lips. When our lips touched, he reached up and tugged my head closer to his. He was hungry for that contact, and he did not relent, growing more desperate by each passing moment. I debated parting his lips with my tongue, but I opted instead to break from him, and kiss my way down his neck. I kissed lightly over each of his firm pecs, finally coming to his firm, small coppery nuggets. There I extended my tongue and prepared to give his BB-sized nipples a treatment he’d not yet experienced. He gasped when that happened (the first of many such gasps that night). I sucked hard on that tiny morsel and toyed with it until it grew into a miniature echo of another rigid part of his body. His easy breaths ratcheted up a notch, and I smiled at the effect I was having on his young body. Then I turned my attention to his other nipple, teasing assertively until it, too, responded to my attention.

My hand was not idle during this time, either. I traced lightly down over his belly, savoring the delicious warmth and the smooth, firm flesh. As my touches awakened him, I felt gentle risings of muscle along the mounded expanse of his silky stomach. I found that delightful swirl of belly button and toyed with that for a moment before allowing my hand to drift downward, ever closer to the seat of his need. I had been anticipating the edge of his jeans, and when my fingers made contact, I stopped, letting my fingernails ever-so-lightly trace along to top of the fabric, the edges of my fingernails lightly trailing over his skin. Poor Ty was so desperate, so in need, he vibrated with expectation. It seemed to overcome him now, and suddenly I felt his hand on mine. He tugged at it, dragging it over the front of his pants, now stretched tight by the package hidden beneath the stiff fabric. As if possessing its own capacity for thought, my hand opened automatically, extending over the sizeable bulge. I hear just the softest whimper escape from him, but still not satisfied, Tyler lifted his buttocks, pressing himself hard against my hand that now cupped his considerable treasures.

I forced my hand to be passive; I did not want to rush. Instead, I lifted away from my tongue work on his nipples and returned to his mouth. He was hungry as ever, and eager. I kissed him again and again and again. Unlike earlier, this time I extended my tongue, first lightly tracing along the soft, warm divide between his lips. He was alert to my intent and opened his mouth enough to permit my tongue to perform a sensual dance along perfectly aligned teeth. His mouth opened more. I accepted the invitation, extending my tongue further, first tracing over the sharp edges of his teeth, then delving deeper into his hot, moist cavern. His own sweet tongue waited for me, and when we touched, his whole body stiffened. Now the dance transformed. We began a slow serpentine tango, touching, exploring, swirling around the other, parting, rejoining, entwining, and when he became the more aggressive, I retreated allowing him to enter me and perform his own tentative explorations.

Careful not to break our kiss, I moved my body up over his, straddling him, my knees pressing against his thighs. My lips muffled his squeal when he felt that, and despite their current activity, they curled into a smile.

Tyler’s glance shifted from my eyes to my torso. A reassuring smile gave him permission to do what I thought was on his mind. Slowly he reached up and with trembling hands unbuttoned my shirt. He tugged it out of my pants, and then tugged at my t-shirt as well. He needed some help freeing my body of those troublesome coverings. I was more than happy to assist. He gazed at my chest and literally licked his lips, which brought yet another smile to mine.

My body is no longer that of a youth, but it’s not in bad shape for 60 years, at least that’s what I would tell myself whenever I caught sight of myself in the mirror. And while I am far from a “bear,” there is more hair on my body than on Ty’s. In these moments, he seemed almost like the little boy of a dozen years ago, curious about something newly discovered. (I know the feeling!) Once he glanced up, seeking my approval. A hint of a nod and a slight smile was all the boy needed. Tentatively, he reached out and drew his fingers over my chest, toying with the few hairs he found there. A sigh escaped from him, and I felt his warm breath against my face. His hands were electrifying, awakening me in ways I’d long forgotten. I was alive as I hadn’t been in years. My heart pounded, and the contact of his hand set me to trembling, too. “Mmmmmm,” I hummed, letting him know my approval, teaching him the language of lovemaking. As much as I gloried in his touches, my need was pleasure my young friend.

Ty’s body was a newly-launched boat. Its first virginal cruise was about to get underway. Until now, this sleek, handsome craft had tugged impatiently against its mooring, anxious for the course to be charted. With our bodies aligned, the engines had been brought online. My manhood, awake, tumescent, and straining, teased his proud package. Its effect was to bring those primed and ready engines to life, throbbing, pulsing. Massive surges of energy vibrated throughout the virginal vessel that lay beneath me. It thrummed with sexual energy. I could feel it radiating from his hot body as he pressed himself against me.

I’d forgotten the exquisite frustration of first times, and the surges of building power that it unleashed. Aligned with Tyler now brought it all back. The energy was palpable: the power of first times. I looked into those sweet hazel eyes, and I could tell he had no real understanding of what was happening to him.

O, sweet Ganymede, what a privilege
to release the power in you!

Tyler stopped thinking. Instead, he simply relinquished all control to his body’s demands. Little moans and gasps told me his usual self-control had been challenged, then overpowered by the sensations assaulting his body, and it was to those sensations that he now yielded. I felt him lift, pressing―mashing really―his denim-covered manhood into mine. His hips rotated in slow-motion gyrations. I was worried he might release right then and there, but in the same instant, I realized in his aroused state, he’d be able to repeat that achievement almost instantly. (Ah, sweet youth!)

Reluctantly, I lifted away, hearing a delightful, soft sigh as our lips parted. I kissed him lightly on both cheeks, then on his chin. He tilted his head back, inviting me to explore his firm neck. This was all so new for him, but there was no doubt that he was anxious to receive all I might offer him. I tasted his sweet, pure neck, kissed his small Adams apple, then traced my tongue downward a bit more, and “rimmed” that soft little indentation just above where his collarbones met his sternum. Lower, I paused long enough to reawaken his hard nipples.

To go lower, I had to move my whole body, which meant an end to mashing of our cloth-covered hardness. A groan signaled his frustration as I lifted away, and I smiled at his desperation: so hungry was he for what he sensed building inside him. Each new attention to his body was a revelation to him, and each new sensation ratcheted up his rapid breathing, his taut muscles rippling with energy. But the incredible, mystical paradox of sex is that the act of moving toward fulfillment does nothing to fulfill, but rather only creates greater need and urgency―until that mind-blowing moment when release (and relief) is finally attained. Relief and release: I thought back to that conversation so many years ago about masturbation. It marked the beginning of his novitiate, a state that would end in just moments.

I knew exactly what my sweet, pure Ty boy was experiencing, so I was prepared for him when he reached up to hold me in place. I placed my hands on his, matching every press toward me with an opposite and equal resistance, which I could tell from his grunts, only increased his desperate need for release. My mouth immediately moved downward along his sternum leaving a dusting of light kisses in its wake. “All in good time,” I breathed just below his beating heart.

Eventually, the resistance in his arms eased. I folded his arms back and looked down at him. With his hands pinned down on either side of his head, his eyes and the slightest tightening of his mouth told of the recognition that he was vulnerable, conscious of the power I held over him. Even his humping―his deliberate grinding against me slowed, as if he were unsure of what was to follow. I kissed lower, moving onto the sweet meadowland of his belly. I loved hearing his quick, desperate breaths.

Where I touched, tasted or breathed, his muscles would respond. I’d awaken one muscle—a little lick or a soft stroke—and that simple action would trigger every muscle throughout his body, like a movie in reverse of fallen dominoes: each would tremble slightly, then one after another would suddenly pop up proudly erect. It was as if we had discovered a new law of physics: Each action in his body led to an equal, sympathetic reaction in mine. Powerful sensations coursed throughout his body, and as the charges grew in him, lightning bolts arced from between us.

His belly button was a shallow innie, and the touch of my tongue to that succulent swirl ignited me as much as it fired him. On either side of his belly, two shallow valleys, each defined by muscled ridges, marked the divide between his torso and hips. It was a place not all males display, but on Ty they were riveting. I drew the tip of my tongue along first one of these inviting channels, then the other. He gasped when I did that, for it brought my mouth as close as I was able to get to the source of the energy that surged through his body. I would not get closer without removing the rest of his clothes.

The effect on his body threatened to overpower him at any instant. Waves of that same energy coursed through my body as I anticipated the next several minutes, moments when the dreams and fantasies of a dozen years would be fulfilled.

We hadn’t spoken in countless minutes; words were not needed, but now I felt compelled. “How are you doing, Ty?”

“Ohhhh,” he croaked hoarsely. “Awesome.”

“Are you ready?”

He was silent for a moment, and then in a confused murmur repeated that word: “Ready?” He sounded like someone coming to after a serious knock on the head.

I offered a nod of reassurance. I reached down and, with my fingertips, moved along his inner right thigh, lightly tracing under his swollen package and down his left thigh. Though still clad in heavy jeans, he trembled visibly at my ministrations. His eyes were wide and unblinking. There was no mistaking the crossroads at which we had arrived. “Ty, are you ready to continue our journey together―to go to a place you’ve never been before?” I offered a gentle smile, hoping he would wonder at the mystery in that whispered query.

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but he seemed unable to form words. He swallowed, then ran his tongue over his lips. Waves of tremors surged through his lithe body.

I smiled. “Will you allow me to take you there, Ty?”

Looking into my eyes, he nodded once. A soft, “Yes” parted his lips.

I smiled back at him. “Thank you.”

We removed his Nikes now and his white ankle socks. Again I noted how one can be so unprepared for the impact of such a simple thing. The vision of his feet caused a wave of pure energy collecting at the base of my belly. I realized I’d never seen those parts of him before (save the briefest glimpse earlier in the afternoon). My head spun; was that only a handful of hours ago? In some ways it seemed like an eternity; in other ways it was as if time had frozen in that moment. I generally find little about feet praiseworthy, but not so as I gazed down at his. They were perfectly shaped―sculpted—by a master artisan. I leaned down and kissed the tops of each one, and then slowly, lovingly, tasted each morsel of boy toe. I glanced up at his face while so engaged, and his face was flushed. I do not think he had ever considered such attention to that part of his body. Inwardly I smiled. Ty, my love, it’s just beginning!

When his luscious feet had received the attention they deserved, I slid off the bed and stood. Taking him by the hand, I urged him to stand as well. His mere touch threatened to overpower my senses. It had been years since I’d felt his hand in mine.

O, sweet sensation: so warm and soft, firm and strong!

One brief kiss, and I sat back on the bed, my legs open as an invitation. I guided him toward me, and moving my hands to his waist, drew him between my legs. He was the altar before which I now paid homage. My eyes gloried in the temple of his body, and I reached out to his belted jeans.

Anticipating my desire, he breathed a simple, “Yes.”

I ran my hands lightly over his cloth-covered hips, his uplifted backside, and of course, his front. It was as if my hands demanded a rehearsal: practice to be sure when the time came, they would perform sufficiently. I closed my eyes, letting my fingers retrace their steps to be sure they understood their task.

Opening my eyes again, I grasped his belt and gently tugged until the buckle released. He seemed to sense this act signaled some point of no return. Like a transoceanic flight reaching its journey’s midpoint, there was no turning back, his only option, to move forward. Waves of tremors coursed through his body.

Quickly releasing the button, my fingers lowered to the pull tab of his zipper. I felt like a nervous schoolboy standing in front of the class. Two equally anxious hands settled tentatively on my shoulders. I looked up. Tyler gave a slight nod. I eased his fly downward. He was so slim, at first nothing changed, but then as I got closer to his mounded package, the two sides of his jeans strained to part. When I had lowered the zipper sufficiently, my eyes locked onto the gleam of white between the two blue flaps. I leaned in and gently nuzzled that pure cloth, luxuriating in his scent.

Grasping his jeans on either side of his hips I lowered them. With a few shakes of his legs, the jeans fell around his ankles. He was fully erect. His boyhood formed a prominent ridge reaching upward to the waistband of his briefs. It was quite obvious even cloth-covered, that my sweet Ty was circumcised, a fact that surprised me because it seemed to me it had fallen out of fashion in America. A moist, quarter-sized spot just at the tip of his penis was testimony to the extent of his arousal. Below, his testicles, swollen with his seed, stretched the pure white cotton to its limits. Ohmygod as the kids say! Oh, my sweet Ganymede! as I would say.

I began to grasp his Hanes bright white briefs, but I stopped when his hands drifted off my shoulders and moved deliberately down to my Dockers.

We held each other in our gaze as his hands found my belt, my button, and my zipper, but he stared as if trying to figure out the “trick” in undoing pants. He finally ran his fingers lightly over my belt and the buckle. With utmost care, he slid the end of the strap out of a loop and then from the buckle itself. It took both his hands to tug on my belt enough to free the prong from the hole that had kept the belt clasped. He struggled some to unbutton my pants and lower the zipper, something he’d done thousands of times with his own pants, but never someone else’s.

When my khakis had parted, I lifted, and he tugged them down over my knees. His eyes were fixed on my crotch. I wore boxer briefs, and like him I was hard. His gaze made me grow even harder. Also like him, I was cut, and like him, or perhaps surpassing him in this respect, I was leaking precum in a way I hadn’t in years. I possibly surpassed him in one other respect: I might have been larger. My covered cock pulsed once, which caused the smallest of hesitations from him, and then his small smile stretched to a broad grin. I was hairier as well, but as Ty let his fingers dance over the light trail of fur running from my navel to the top of my Jockeys, I could see this was at least acceptable to him, if not a turn-on.

He seemed enthralled with what lay tantalizingly covered by the cloth stretched tight over my cock and balls. His fingers hovered over my package. “You’re big,” he breathed with a tone of adoration that made me blush. At this point, he could not bring himself to touch me, for it must have still seemed forbidden territory for him—despite years of imagining.

I had no such qualms, though I did feel that same sense of wonder and awe at what would soon be revealed to me. Even as he stood before me, I was overcome by his innocent beauty. I doubt he even had a clue about the power he held over me. His gentleness of spirit, his quiet self-awareness, his warmth, and self-giving nature were all lenses aligned to magnify his physical beauty. It was the former that had drawn me over the years to love the boy. It was the latter that would soon move us to a point where the need to touch, to hold, to stimulate beyond all sense would redefine who we were.

My hands rested on his hips, the elastic band of his briefs just under my thumbs. Another glance upward focused him; he knew what was about to happen, and though he was a novice in such things, he yielded all control to me. I grasped the waistband of his briefs and pulled gently downward, lifting the band away from his body, giving room for his erection.

His glans was the first part of his hidden treasures revealed to me. I had imagined its perfection, but what was revealed was perfection beyond imagination. A clear syrupy teardrop oozed from its single eye, just slightly open, and a pure, gossamer string trailed back over the head onto his belly just below his navel. A proud corona gave the satiny pink helmet a regal appearance. I swallowed, resisting an insistent urge to lean in and kiss him right on the tip and savor the sweet juice that welled up from inside him.

With shaking hands, I lowered that cruel cloth―cloth that denied me the vision of that which defined the boy’s essential maleness. Millimeter by millimeter, the full length of his penis came into view. As it did so, I became aware that he had stopped breathing. I looked up; he seemed entranced, expectant, even perhaps worried. And why not? For the male of the species, his penis is so much of who he is. When it is revealed to another for the first time, there is always uncertainty: Will I be accepted; will I measure up; will I impress?

“Ohhhhhh,” I exhaled. “Beautiful.” It was ramrod straight and was set off nicely by a thick nest of dark hair that now came into view at its base. The unfolding scene was like the most stunning scenic view on a road already filled with wonder. Lower still, and the fullness of his maleness was revealed. At the root of his boyhood, the beginnings of a sac stretched taut by the two impressive spheroids. I coaxed his underpants downward, and they fell to his knees. Below them, his jeans bunched up around his ankles. With a quick wiggle, his tighty-whities slid down further, coming to rest on the Levis. Discontent with the encumbrances of his clothes, he bent down and just two or three swipes and a kick, he cleared the tangle away. He stood now, revealing himself to me completely.

O, divine vision, behold a feast of the gods!

The boy who stood in front of me rivaled—no, surpassed—any of Henry Scott Tuke’s masterpieces. Tuke’s art, I thought, was sublime; his boys, perfection, but until this moment, never had I been presented with a benchmark against which all else would be compared. The only flaw—O, wondrous flaw it be—was his manhood and balls. They were larger than I had imagined, but therein lies the flaw. In truth, the defect was not in the living statute standing before me, but rather in the limits of my imperfect imagination. Indeed, his cock was almost as big as my own in length and perhaps even a bit larger in girth, if I was honest, and who among us could count what I now beheld as flawed.

“Magnificent,” I breathed. And he was. His erection angled upward, not the extreme 12 Noon angle of a still-prepubescent boy whose whole length might seem practically welded to his belly, but rather Ty’s hardness seemed to have reached some agreed equilibrium with its weight, perhaps one o’clock or slightly more toward two as opposed to my three o’clock erection. “Stunning,” I murmured.

The poor boy, I now realized, had viewed his presence before me in those firsts moments as a kind of test. With my approval evident, he understood he had passed. Once again, he was able to breathe. In syncopation with the beat of his heart, his cock pulsed proudly. It was the metronome setting the tempo for a new composition, a symphony of discovery. His hair was a dense thicket of tight curls, a shade or two darker than his dirty-blond hair that fringed his ears, darker even than the hair under his arms. It seemed gathered around his shaft only; to my eye, his scrotum was hairless―hairless and holding two enormous eggs. I sat there riveted.

“Breathe,” I heard him remind himself in a whisper, and I looked up to find him with eyes focused on my crotch. Small tremors passed through him as ran his tongue quickly over his lips. With only the quickest of glances upward, he found my approval. He was suddenly a little boy again, pleased that he’d taken the first step toward something he had dreamed about doing, but, once he had accomplished that first step, was unsure he should (or could) take the next.

I smiled my encouragement. “Trust yourself,” I said softly.

He licked his lips and reached out to grasp my Jockeys as I had done to his. Steadying himself, he dropped to a kneeling position. “Can I?” he asked hesitantly.

I nodded my approval. “Of course, Ty.”

He smiled, swallowed once, and muttered a quiet, “Lift.” I did, and he slowly lowered my boxer briefs. He gasped when my cock and balls were fully revealed just inches from his face. “Oh-my-god,” he muttered more to himself than me. I smiled at that.

“I’m so proud of you,” I offered.

“Proud?” he repeated.

Oh, my sweet Tyler! I nodded. He was in virgin territory―literally―and for a boy who often struggled to try new things, he had acted boldly, overcoming all inhibitions.

He had been kneeling, but now I coaxed him to stand, and as he did so, so did I. He immediately stepped into me (no coaxing needed this time), wrapping his arms around me, holding me tight. He groaned as our bodies pressed insistently against each other. I could feel his package throbbing against me. He was about four inches shorter than I was, so we didn’t quite align perfectly, but that did not slow his little humping movements in the slightest.

My hands began again to explore his smooth back, and where before his jeans always got in the way, this time there was no such impediment. Stretching my fingers downward, for the first time I felt his exquisitely smooth bottom. It was incredible, and the mere touch of that special place sent massive shivers through me, as it did through him. I felt him press the side of his face against my chest, and a long, slow moan tore from him.

I slowly massaged his butt. It was so firm, so warm, so smooth—as a baby’s bottom. I smiled. Yes, I thought. Exactly.

“May I?” I asked, knowing he wouldn’t understand, so instead of explaining, I simply turned him and beheld his glorious bottom. I knelt before my boy god and gazed on those perfectly formed globes of muscle. They were wonderfully rounded―as I knew they would be from years of studying him from behind. The sides of those two globes were pinched in slightly, serving only to accentuate their firmness and roundness even more. His bottom was as luscious as any I’d ever seen (though I’d only had a few to compare). Ty’s sweet, uplifted (and uplifting!) bottom offered warmth and softness to the touch, his mildly musky boy scent for the sense of smell, and when I stroked him, a soft meowing sigh escaped from somewhere deep in his throat for hearing. But that’s only four of the five senses. Indeed.

I drew in a deep, slow breath, closed my eyes, and leaned into him. He tensed and drew in a breath when my lips touched him first on the left cheek, then on the right. He felt it as merely the lightest of pressure on his cheek. More odd little sounds softly burbled up from his throat. My hands ensured the rest of him (save his boyhood charms!) would receive the attention it deserved, but now his sweet bottom was my focus. I plied him with kisses, my lips a kind of planetary probe exploring new terrain. I drew my tongue along that deep crevasse between those clenched mounds. I savored his earthy taste, satisfying finally all my senses. He trembled under my ministrations; I trembled, knowing I was the first to share in such beauty.

For his part, the movement of my tongue seemed to spark him, to fire him to greater intensity, and I wondered if he’d discovered the pleasures of anal play. At first touch, he clenched, almost trapping my tongue, but then almost instantly, he relaxed, as if willing it deeper. But I was not ready to go there with him; we’d have to explore that some other time. First, there were other, more urgent explorations awaiting.

“You are beautiful, Tyler.” These words might seem strange to a boy, but I hoped he would understand the truth of them. I stood now and turned him to face me. “You are, Ty.” He blushed sweetly at that. I smiled, and knowing what I intended, he stretched up, closing his eyes as I leaned downward. We kissed again—a surprisingly chaste kiss, delicate even, but it was the perfect punctation to my simple thought: he was beautiful. It came from the depths of my very soul.

At the risk of cliché, it wasn’t just his physical beauty. With Tyler, there was an inner beauty. It had always been there. It was what made him who he was. It was why I wanted to be with him. Very simply, it was why I loved him, even from those earliest days.

For me, he was the best of humanity. He was also the closest I’d ever come to having a son, and yet as he was proving now, he was more than a son: In a place deep in my soul―a place no one else could ever know―he was my lover. I’m not sure even Tyler understood the depth of my commitment to him. But perhaps before that night had ended, he would.

Skin is an incredible thing, and touching skin unfettered by any cloth is like touching the divine. My hands continued to explore from as low as I could reach to his sweet head of thick, well-cropped hair. Always though, I returned to his bottom and those magnetic outcroppings of muscle. Shivers of raw sexual energy continued to course through his compact body, and like the surging charges of a Tesla coil, sparked from his body to mine.

Impelled by all the forces that newly assaulted his body, he began a more aggressive humping of his boyhood against my thigh. The soft sighs turned to more insistent groans. I knew it was time.

I’m not sure how I managed this, but I picked him up, and lowered him gently onto the bed. Then I lowered myself over him, straddling his legs. His slightly worried expression told me he knew we had moved to a new milestone on our journey.

“It’s time, Ty,” I whispered.

He nodded and murmured, “Okay.”

“It’s going to be like nothing you’ve ever experienced before,” I said, smiling down at him. Once again, I recognized that look of uncertainty, a sort of paralysis that momentarily shut him down, a look I’d seen often in the Tyler of years ago.

“I know,” he said finally in a soft, tentative voice.

“Oh, Ty,” I whispered and lowered myself to offer him yet another kiss, and more on top of that one. Despite his uncertainty, he was hungry, eager, ready, and he responded with a desperation that took my breath away. He couldn’t help himself. What those kisses began was a glorious scene of seduction. The only thing is I didn’t know―don’t know even now―was who was seducing whom.

He kissed so voraciously our lips seemed in danger of injury. Underneath me, my love’s body was in constant, ratcheting motion. I lifted away from his mouth, and kissed my way downward, tarrying only long enough at each nipple to reawaken them. Then I plunged downward, recognizing that my own growing lust was matching Ty’s. I forced myself to linger as I bathed his belly button with my tongue despite the urge to move lower.

I think he thought whatever was ultimately going to happen would happen right then; however, I wanted his desperation to build even more before he found relief. I kissed my way down past his throbbing cock and his balls, savoring instead his strong, silky-smooth thighs, and knees, calves, feet and toes.

When his moans of frustration had grown louder, I slowly began to move back. My fingers danced/scraped along ahead of my mouth. Then dipping my fingers down between his thighs, with the lightest of touches, I let the backs of my fingers trace over his balls. His whole body tightened, and he sucked in a sharp breath. A small whimper escaped from his mouth.

From there, my fingers drifted upward, caressing his throbbing boyhood. Finally. Ah, sweet, succulent morsel. He was so hot, so firm, skin stretched so it glistened. My heart pounded in rhythm with his rigid cock.

“Oh-h-h,” he breathed. He lifted himself as if to make even more of his member more accessible. “Yes.” he gasped. His words had more the tone of a desperate plea than a command, the need of his body overpowering his usual reserve. I gently traced around his proud coronal rim with just a fingernail, and he groaned as his cocked pulsed so violently, it threatened to jerk from my grip. I slowly ran my fingers up and down Ty’s penis, and as I did so, I gradually tightened my grasp around him. He gasped aloud and then a tremulous, “Oh my God, I’m gonna—”

I quickly lifted my hand from him. “Shhh,” I breathed. I knew he was on the edge, but I wasn’t ready for his release. He stared down at me, disbelieving I had denied him what he so desperately craved. After a moment, I leaned down and felt his heat on my lips before I felt his flesh. I lowered a millimeter more, and my lips savored the satiny-smooth flesh of his head. I shook with the sheer exhilaration, and he let out a high-pitched, “Aaaaaaaaaa!” I smiled in spite of myself, and with my mouth savoring his cockhead, even the subtle movement of my lips forming that smile seemed to electrify him. I extended my tongue and ran it over his head, finding his slit, and the clear syrup that oozed from him. It was the sweetest honey.

When I had kissed and licked my way around that boyhood perfection, I raised myself up, remaining connected to him only by the tip of my tongue to the tip of his head. Then, in one motion, in one swift move, I sucked his head back into my mouth. I sucked hard, and my lips locked under his rim, forming a tight seal. This was almost too much for Ty, and he grasped my head firmly, holding me in place. I extended my tongue and felt the thick tube on the underside of his cock expand. When I backed off again, he was ready to protest. “Not yet,Ty,” I breathed. I placed my hands on his belly, but the poor boy was beyond any counseled for patience. In a frantic move, he grabbed onto his cock and began jacking. I wasn’t ready for him to ejaculate just yet, so I gently grabbed his hand and slowed him. “Too soon, Ty. Easy,” I whispered.

“I’ve got to—" he whined, almost ready to cry.

“Shhhh,” I soothed, as I would comfort a baby, “Shhhh.” I smiled at him, my hands caressing his thighs, hips, torso. “I want this night to be so special for you, something you’ll never forget. Trust me, Ty.”

“I have to,” he muttered, sounding just a bit frustrated at my interruption.

“Not yet,” I countered. “Resist it.” The moment was too sacred. Yes, that was precisely the correct word: sacred. I knew what he meant, of course: he was so aroused, so driven, so erect, it was impossible for him to step back from precipice. Like most boys, his solitary masturbatory sessions were all too often dictated by urgency—something to be done quickly, furtively. He had learned, no doubt, when his body responded in this way, a few quick strokes would bring welcome (and speedy) relief. Then he could flush the toilet, finish the shower, or bury the tissues in wastebasket, and avoid any chance of discovery.

“I’m really close,” he breathed, his words laced with frustration.

“I know, Ty, but let’s try something new,” I said. I leaned down and kissed him along that dividing line between his stomach and his hip.

When my left hand moved lightly over his torso, toying occasionally with his erect little nipples, he did seem to back away from his imminent, shuddering explosion. I drew my right hand down across his right leg, slipped it down along his inner thigh, and back up under his warm, velvety bottom. The movements of my hands on his skin were soft caresses, little more than hints of what had been experiencing—and what would soon resume. Finally, I curled my fingers of my left hand slightly, and scraped lightly at his nipple. It was like I’d found a switch to turn on the flow of all that incredible sexual energy. His body snapped taut once more.

Again, I took him into my mouth. Truthfully, it was a little difficult because he was so rigid. For an idle moment, I worried I might injure him as I angled his cock so I could take him deeper. It had been years since I’d deep-throated anyone, but I wanted all of him, and so I began a slow up and down action, willing my throat to open, swallowing, gulping, more of him each time. He had placed his hands back on my head, and when I glanced up at his face, he alternated between having his eyes open wide and closed tight. He had to watch, but if he did, it seemed, it became too overpowering.

Finally, I felt him surging into my throat, his thick nest of curls pressing into my lips. My tongue twisted around the base of his tool, and, when I pulled back, I greedily slurped up every drop of precum I could manage. My fingers edged along his luscious crack where I basked in an incredible heat. When he felt my fingers there, he gasped, and pressed down on my hand. He wanted more attention paid to his bottom it seemed, and I was happy to oblige.

I lifted away, and quickly retrieved the KY from the nightstand.

“What’s that?” he asked.

I smiled. “I’d have thought a young, avid reader of Nifty stories would recognize lube when he saw it,” I smirked.

He reddened, then grinned. “Oh, yeah,” he mumbled, his stare betraying his intense curiosity. I folded his legs so his heels were practically against his bottom. Then I angled them outward like a butterfly opening its wings. The wide V of his legs seemed to focus emphasis on his package, but a more subtle effect was to open that deep divide between his butt cheeks. I could see just a hint of his secret opening.

I opened the tube and squeezed a generous amount out on my finger. Ty’s gaze was riveted on the glistening gel. I looked up at him and again saw that blend of curiosity and concern fill his eyes. I smiled reassuringly; I knew the source of that concern. “It’s okay, Ty,” I said, “Just my finger.” He seemed to relax some then, but that brief exchange told me so much about him. First, he knew about anal sex. From his response, I figured he’d at least tried some variation of ass play. But he was also alarmed that I might have been planning to insert something other than a finger into his tight hole. It was concern I saw in those hazel eyes, though, not panic. He knew enough about anal sex to know it would hurt at first and that concerned him; yet it was not a turn-off to him.

I smiled and shook my head in wonder. I had known Tyler for so many years, and I had thought I knew him so well, but in these past few hours, there was so much I was discovering about him that I hadn’t known, not at all. I wondered what more there was to learn about him. “Just, my finger, my sweet,” I repeated.

He nodded, and I leaned in and kissed him on his beautiful mouth, his lips still red and puffy from the last time we had kissed. Then I lowered myself, and I heard him draw in a breath, hold it for a moment, and then release it in a long sigh. He was preparing himself. My mouth again found his cock, my tongue reveled in his flow of precum which had bubbled to a large drop held in his slit. My left hand toyed with his balls as they pulled themselves close to his body. My right hand, with gelled finger extended, searched out his anus. When I touched down, he gasped, and I sucked him hard into me. I held my finger steady there until he had again ratcheted himself upward toward the point of no return. I ran the length of his penis in and out of my hungry mouth, working to maintain the vacuum around him, savoring his taste and his heat. I bobbed up and down on that wonderful tool, on the upstroke, my tongue running around his corona, and over his slit, on the downstroke, my throat compressing around his head. With each stroke he’d moan, and his body would actually compress as if he were having some sort of spasm. Then I felt his penis grow even harder, and I knew he was again close.

My finger had been resting against his anus, and occasionally, I’d press in gently, not to penetrate, but simply to test. I lifted off him just long enough to offer a further instruction: “Fight it, Ty, for as long as you can. Hold out until you can’t any longer. Then give in completely. Surrender to it. Okay?”

His over-stimulated boy clouded his reason. In his dazed state he struggled to respond. Finally, he managed a slight nod of acknowledgement. He understood, though I wasn’t sure he understood everything that was about to happen to him. I resumed my mouth work.

At the same time, I pressed in with my finger, twisting it first one way, then the other. He stiffened all over, groaned, and lifted his bottom off the bed. His stomach muscles were taut and rippling. Just my fingertip was inserted but already, his response had risen. I pressed in more, and more. So hot! So soft! So tight! I could feel his anal ring contract around my finger, but I held my finger still, and after a moment, it seemed to wink open just a bit more. It seemed like an invitation, and I rotated my hand slightly to improve the angle and pressed my finger in for maximum penetration. That signaled the end for my virgin lover. He shuddered almost violently. His groans had given way to whimpering and soft gasps of “Ohh-ohh-ohh.” I increased my attention to his balls, playing with them and squeezing them just enough to make him aware of the pressure on them. I increased my speed, plunging wildly up and down on his penis, varying the vacuum in my mouth, swirling my tongue.

By the groans and moans and squeals that tore from his mouth, I knew he was beyond caring. He seemed almost as if he were having some violent out of body experience. His head was thrashing back and forth, and as my hands played across his body, I could literally feel ripples of energy flooding across his muscular body: a taste of what was to come. Now I fingered his hole with the same speed and rhythm as I assaulted his boyhood. “Ah-h-h…It’s happening,” he gurgled.

He was looser now, and I pulled my finger back and gently added a second. He groaned when he felt the pressure of two fingers where just moments before one seemed as much as he could accommodate. My fingers explored his hot chute, and I sucked him harder, swirling my tongue over and over on his head. Then my fingers found what they had been seeking. I pressed down on his prostate and pressed against its smooth surface. That was the final trigger. I truly do think he’d been fighting that overwhelming assault of sensation up until that very instant, but suddenly, there was nothing left for him to fight with.

“Aghhhrrrr,” he groaned or was it more of a cry?

I felt his cock swell. It seemed to be locked rigid for an instant, and then his entire body spasmed violently. And I felt a massive, hot, thick, explosion on the roof of my mouth. He grunted once, and then, as if in the throes of a massive seizure, another contraction, and he shot again, and again, and again. I tried to count them in my euphoric state. I got to six, I think, perhaps more. I had a mouthful of cock and the sweetest sauce.

“Will,” he murmured in his delirium, but he was already collapsing into unconsciousness. I held him in my mouth until I felt him soften, Then, lifting away, I slipped out from between his two legs, still folded up and out. I straightened first one leg, and the other, and then I lay down next to him. He turned to nestle up against me. In his half-consciousness, he reached out and grasped my throbbing cock and mumbled something unintelligible.

“What was that, sleepy head?” I whispered.

“Happy Birthday,” he murmured. A contented smile formed on his lips and half-closed eyelids lowered completely over his glazed, unseeing eyes. I lay there, holding him, sharing his contentment, knowing these moments had forevermore bound our lives together.

Epilogue

Thirty years ago today. That day. The first time Tyler and I had sex. (And not, by the way, the last.) In my 90 years, I had never loved anyone as I had loved my sweet Ty. I loved him so much. I still do. It broke my heart when he went off to college, and I think it broke his, too. I was so proud of him, so hopeful for his future; and yet, I knew that moment had come: our journeys were taking us down different roads. When I reached out, he would no longer be there, beside me.

Oh, how I love that boy, that man. After all these years, that’s the truth of it, even though he lives halfway across the country, and I rarely see him.

As we both knew would happen, we are in different places. The last time I got to spend any time with him was eight years ago. He and his husband had come to help his parents move. He and Mark had a successful business by then, and they had decided to have a child with a surrogate mother. The result was the most adorable little boy―about four years old, when I met him, but even at that tender age, I could tell he was as sweet as his father. Since then, they have had another child, a girl, this time fathered by Mark. After that, contact with Tyler diminished. Occasionally he’d appear, squeezing an hour or two from a business trip, but there has always been a card on my birthday. Always. Until today. His cards always bring a smile and reassurance that, despite all the demands of his life, he too still shares the love that was fullfiled in those days so many decades ago.

It was past the noon hour of that winter day when I finally shook the memories of that time so long ago from my thoughts. Had I just been remembering all those events, or had I been dreaming?

I shook my head, trying to clear my head. And then disappointment seeped into my thoughts. I had so anticipated getting Tyler’s card―that simple sign of our love―and now this year it was not to be. I tried not to be like a lot of old people and bitterly mumble something about being forgotten, but I guess I understood why people my age feel that way―especially ones, like me, with no family. I had lived in this house for 42 years, and now I was faced with the prospects of having to leave this place filled with so many happy times. My memory wasn’t as good as it used to be, but my mind was still plenty sharp enough to know I couldn’t stay here forever. So far, I had always managed to recover when my walker would catch on the edge of a rug and I’d stumble, but one of these times, I wouldn’t. I knew assisted living was my inevitable and perhaps not-so-distant future.

“He wouldn’t forget,” I muttered aloud, feeling twinge of shame that I had thought even for a moment that that was possible. It’ll be here tomorrow, I told myself and soon drifted off for another nap.

How much time had passed, I’m not sure, but a knocking on the door pulled me from sleep. I almost decided not to answer it, but it was insistent, and I guess perhaps I was hoping that neighbor cutie had realized he had forgotten to deliver one card, a very special card. The memories of those earlier days again swirled around me as I “walkered” my way toward my door.

I flipped the lock and opened the door, and suddenly I felt myself spinning. My eyes wouldn’t focus. Am I still dreaming, having some seizure or hallucination? Or perhaps I’d already died and was in heaven. I gripped the handles of my walker as tightly as I could. A boy, perhaps 12 or so, stood before me. “Mr. Spear,” he said in the most melodious soprano voice. He had a smile to die for. “Special delivery.” He held out an envelope. He was stunningly beautiful, and in my confused state, I thought it was my boy; I thought it was Tyler. Impossible, I told myself, but it was uncanny; he sounded just like him, and in my confused state I thought I had to be still asleep. The vision before me was disorienting. I blinked hard, trying to clear my head. He could have been a clone, though when I looked closely, I realized there were differences. This boy’s eyes were brown, not hazel, and under his ski cap, I could see he had darker brown hair. Still, it was a shock, and it took me a moment to recover. He reached toward me, practically pressing the envelope into my hand. I took it and immediately recognized the handwriting. My boy hadn't forgotten his annual card, and now through some miracle, I held it in my hand. I shook my head, still not certain of what was happening.

Here, the boy said, stepping into my house, and closing the door to. Let me help you to your chair. Like a befuddled old fool, I let him do exactly that. He held my arm as I settled into my chair, and then he stood there patiently while I opened the card. Inside there was Ty’s typical thoughtful card, but there was also a long letter. I couldn’t help the building sense of apprehension as I began to read.

Dear Will,

I hope this finds you well. We think of you often. Mark says I’d have nothing to talk about if I couldn’t talk about you. (He is almost right about that, but not quite.) The kids are another year older of course and doing well in school. This year our oldest is in sixth grade. Hard to believe how time flies.

I smiled perhaps a bit ruefully. It wasn’t hard for me to believe. The years fly by ever faster the older I get. I looked up at the boy. I should have asked him his name. I should have at least asked him something; instead I gave him a smile and returned to Ty’s letter.

This has been a busy year. Even with the economy the way it is, our business has been doing quite well. We’d talked about moving into a bigger house, and finally last month we did it. There is plenty of room with lots of space outside. It is in a great location and has lots of conveniences nearby. In addition, there’s a great hospital within minutes of the house. Oh, I almost forgot: the house has what was billed as an attached in-law apartment, but we prefer to think of it as an attached dear-friend apartment.

Our son really came up with the idea, and Mark agreed wholeheartedly. Will, we want you to come live with us. I know you’ve had some health issues lately. (Mom still keeps in touch with some of the old neighbors.) So, we think the perfect place for you is right here with us. The kids are too old for a nanny, but they aren’t too old for a good friend to be waiting for them when they get home from school, and because of the way work is going, Mark and I are finding it harder and harder to be at home when we need to be.

Will, I know you’ll want to give this a lot of thought, but we won’t accept no.

Love,

   Ty

I frowned, took my glasses off, and wiped my eyes. I was touched by his invitation, but I knew I could never impose on him in that way.

“Did you finish it?” the boy asked. I put my glasses back on and nodded. “And?” he asked.

I looked at him again, struck by his beauty―and his familiarity. I gazed into those beautiful blue eyes. What’s your name, son?

He held out his hand, and I slowly grasped his warm hand in mine. “Actually, my dad says we met when I was about four. He says that’s how old he was when he met you for the first time. I’m William, well, Will, really. Will Brightman.”

My mouth dropped open. I couldn’t think of a thing to say.

A cold breeze carried a new voice: “You never used to be a loss for words when a cute boy was around.” I turned to the doorway. Instantly, I teared up, I couldn’t help it. My Tyler was there, his husband, Mark, next to him, and just in front, their daughter, Jessica.

“I always had things to talk about when you were around,” I said, my voice cracking.

“Will,” he said, “you know Mark. And I see you’re getting reacquainted your namesake, and this delightful young woman is Jessie.”

I smiled at the young girl. She seemed so poised. I grinned. Clearly, she was not a shy, demure child. Perhaps living in an otherwise all-male family and competing with an older brother had given her an independence and confidence that would make her a success in whatever she might choose to pursue. “A pleasure to meet, you, Miss Jessica,” I offered with a slight bow and a smile. She grinned. “Likewise, Mr. Spear.”

“Come,” I beckoned. “Come in.” Ty closed the door behind them.

And to what do I owe this extraordinary assemblage?” I asked with a smile that exercised the muscles of this old face.

“We had to deliver your birthday card!” young Will exclaimed. “Dad said it was a special one.” It was humbling knowing that Ty and Mark had named their son after me. “Are you going to come live with us?” he asked. His intensity was a delightful of his father’s at that age.

“Yes, are you?” Jessie asked. “You simply must!” She had the loveliest lilting voice, but then so did her brother.

“I’m afraid it’s not that easy,” I replied. “You see, I’ve got about 40 years of stuff here to deal with.”

“We can help,” the boy offered. “Please.”

I couldn’t help but smile.

“Will,” Mark said, and both his son and I looked over at Ty’s handsome husband. “Well,” Ty muttered, “I see one potential problem. I guess we’ll have to call you William, from now on,” he said putting his arm around his son’s shoulder and drawing him close.

“That’s cool, Dad,” his son said, and then looking at me, added, “Really!” Such a sweet boy!

“Will,” Ty said, turning to me. I gazed into those still-sparkling hazel eyes. He was still a beauty at 46. “We’re not going to take no for an answer. The in-law apartment is pretty good size. Most of your things will fit there perfectly. He smiled reassuringly. “Remember,” he added, “You taught me well. I can drive a pretty hard bargain, so don’t even try to argue.”

“Tyler,” I said, “it’s too much. I couldn’t impose like that.”

“Impose!” he repeated, and reaching into his pocket, exclaimed, “Mr. Spear, I owe you!” He pulled an old ten-dollar bill.

“That’s not really…” I said, taking the bill in my hand.

“It is,” Ty said. “I’ve kept it all these years. It’s my good luck charm. Been with me through thick and thin. Though usually it’s in a frame above my desk.”

He stepped to me now, slipped that folded bill in my shirt pocket, and practically lifted me out of my chair. He wrapped his strong arms around me, and we hugged, tears flooding down our faces. “It’s time we settled my debt,” he whispered in my ear. “It’s time, Will.”

Ty lifted one arm away, and his son stepped in. His dad pulled him into me, and the boy wrapped his arms around me, his dad holding him tight. “My dad told me all the stuff you used to do together.” I looked sharply at his father as young Will added, “I think it’s awesome!”

“Now that’s just fighting dirty,” I whispered in Ty’s ear.

“Whatever it takes,” he breathed, never missing a beat.

Now lovely Jess stepped into the scrum. Her father and brother made a place for her. She looked up at me with those sweet eyes, the eyes of her father. “At least you can just come for a visit. And see if you like it,” she said with a coy smile. “And if you do, I know you’ll stay because...because you just have to!”

“Oh hell,” Mark muttered, “I’m not gonna get left out of this.” And he wriggled in between Jessie and Will.

“Group hug!” young Will exclaimed, which sparked a round of giddy laughter.

“Will,” his father said to me softly, “This really isn’t about owing you anything. Even though it’s true. I do owe you―so much. Things for which I can never repay you. This is about something that’s just right to do. Our family is pretty awesome. But it’s never been quite complete. There’s an empty place in it. You’re what’s missing. For 30 years. It’s been too long.”

“Mhm,” his beautiful son said. “We can all feel the love filling up that empty place already.”

I looked at him. There was not a hint of guile in that sweet boy’s face. What he’d said came from the same sort of purity and innocence his dad had at that age. I gave Tyler a look.

He grinned. “What he said,” he murmured as a tear spilled down his cheek.

An hour later, we’d gotten my bags packed with all my essentials, and then some. The kids and Mark had loaded everything into their vehicle. Mark, Jessie, and Will piled in and were now waiting for us.

Ty and I—“Ty and I:” It brings a smile to my face—took one last look around my bedroom. “We spent a lot of time in this room,” he said quietly.

“Yes, we did,” I responded.

“I hope you understandd just how important you are to me, Will. I’m the person I am in large part because of you.” He hugged me, as tears fell from our eyes. Together we walked out of that room and headed for the door. “I shouldn’t have waited this long to tell you.” He wiped the tears from his eyes and mine. “I’ve missed you so much, he added, embracing me one more time. He leaned in and kissed me on my cheek.

“Tell me about it,” I mumbled.

“You used to talk about the journey we were on.”

I smiled, gazing at him with blurred vision. “I remember,” I said.

“I want us to finish that journey together―all of us. Together.”

“Now, young man,” I said, “you keep that up, and the crying is going to keep on.” I gave him a look. “And old people get dehydrated pretty easily. Then you’ll have some explaining to do at the ER.”

“Well, turn-about’s fair play,” he said quietly. “You used to drain me pretty good, as I remember.” He gave me a wink, and we both smirked at that.

“Ohhh, did I ever,” I grinned. I stepped away from his body, reached into my pocket, and thrust that ancient ten-dollar bill back at him. “A visit would be alright, but I don’t think I’m going to let you off that easily―not just yet anyway.”

“Fair enough,” my boy said. He put the bill back in his pocket. Then he folded up my walker and tucked it up under his arm. His other arm, he put around me. And together we stepped out the door, stepping off on a new journey, a journey where separate paths rejoined and once again became one.

―End―