Date: Fri, 23 Mar 2001 23:20:21 EST
From: Joewilson583@aol.com
Subject: Chris Wake 1

I sat quietly in my chair.  'The papa-bear-chair,' the designer said when
we made Jonnie's bedroom into my study.  He was married now; has made me a
grandfather already.  I suppressed a chuckle.  Reaching for my Glenlivet,
sparkling amber in a crystal glass, I sighed my contentment.  Yes, life has
been good to me, giving back more than I had put into it.  Yet something
was missing.  The contentment was there only because it was supposed to be.

They gave me a good birthday, those kids, my children, Janet, too.  Trying
so hard to surprise me and to fulfill all my wishes.  Forty-five.
Well.....

It was dark outside, the moon having drifted out of sight, below the
horizon.  I looked at the clock, the one hanging on the wall with the
swinging pendulum, swinging back and forth, like a soft cock hanging out of
a fly.  Shit!  Why did I think of that?  It was two A.M.  I should go back
to bed.  But a restlessness churned inside me.  A vacant corner in my soul
needed to be addressed.

I arose from my comfortable chair, and walking to the door that led into
the hallway, closed it, turning the key as quietly as I could.  Flipping
the light switch, I stumbled back to the leather chair in the dark.
Shrugging my shoulders, the robe that covered me slipped to the floor.  As
I placed my naked body in the chair, the soft leather wrapped around me In
a seductive way, and my trembling hands found my nipples where they paused
a moment, sending sparks of pleasure to hungry unsatisfied loins.  My hands
followed the darts of pleasure, one cupping the hairy testicles, while the
other circled the swollen cock with tight fingers, I thought of him when he
said, "Let me kiss you, please I want to kiss you," and I began to
masturbate.


It had begun so simply, so unexpectedly.  I was not looking for it, seeking
it out in hidden alleys.  It found me, I didn't find it.  Or maybe I was
looking for it and didn't realize it.  Why else was I cruising so slowly
down Sunset in the dark of night.  And in the rain, too.  The rain, that's
important.  Why did I go around the block when I saw him sitting on the
bench, when a right turn would have taken me home.  I could have made the
light, but slowed the car instead, so that it turned red just as I
approached it.

When he came to the door on the passenger side, I lowered the window.  He
was smiling.  That broad bashful smile that was so appealing.  So young.

"Won't you let me come in out of the rain," he asked?  And he opened the
door and sidled in, not waiting for an answer.  He was smiling, laughing,
almost with the cheerful countenance of his young years.  There was a charm
about him that attracted me to him, even before more words were spoken.
The blood rushed into my penis, to nipples, too, and I could feel the
lovely pressure of hardness settling in.  And I desired him, this boy,
younger than my own youngest son.

"I'm hustling," he said, with an embarrassed laugh.

And I puzzled over that, for I didn't know what he meant.  Hustling?"

"Broke.  I need money for bus fare.  I'm supposed to meet a man up at the
8720 Club.  If you give me five dollars I'll blow you.  You'll like that.
I'm good at it......really."

"What is it?" I asked, "The 8720 Club?"

"Well it's a gay place, you know.  Where guys meet guys.  I'm gay and I
promised my date I'd meet him there.  Thought I could catch a ride but with
the rain...... well, you know, nobody's out, so I'll have to bus it, but I
don't have the fare."  If you're not interested, I'll get out."

In an irresponsible moment, I made a decision that would affect the
remaining span of my life.  "I'll take you there," I said sneaking a look
at this handsome young puppy.  He was sitting so close to me I could feel
the warmth of him.  "Where is this club?"

"Well, you see that address, on the building over there, 5786?  Well, the
8720 Club is just about 30 blocks up Sunset.  It's an address.  See.  The
name of the club is its address.  You understand?"

And I watched him pull his T-shirt from his jeans and slip his hand
underneath it.  I could see the depression of his belly button resting on
smooth hairless skin, and a luscious stirring settled in my loins.  I was
erect.  he noticed and put his hand on my crotch and began to stroke it.

Though I liked it, wanted it, I pushed his hand away.  "I don't do that
kind of stuff," I said, and immediately regretted having said it.

He pulled away and sat against his door.  "You don't hate me do you.  For
doing that?  Older men turn me on.  You want to do anything?  I'll do it
with you, and you don't have to pay me."

I had to remain silent.  To answer his blunt question would surely have
gotten me in trouble, for at that moment, I wanted to.  To do something I
had never done before.  Never even thought of.  I wanted to take the boy to
a motel.  To play.  Play with him.

We were silent for a long time, each of us thinking his own thoughts.  And
then I turned to him and asked, "How old are you?"

He squirmed.  I don't think he wanted to answer.

"Seventeen," he said, "I mean eighteen, going on nineteen."  Ah!  My
youngest son was seventeen.

I looked at him snuggled against the car door.  His face was hairless.
There were no worry lines marking it, only the sweet-insecurity of his
youth.  He smiled to himself, he seemed always to be smiling, but a secret
smile, almost a sneer, not sharing the cause of it with anyone, least of
all, me.

He pulled his T-shirt over his head, now exposing his chest.  Both his
hands tugged at his nipples.  They were pronounced, obvious, and swolln
from frequent manipulation.  I have never felt excitement over a boys'
nipples before, but I wanted to reach to him, to help him achieve pleasure.
Looking at his slender, almost feminine torso, expanding and contracting as
he inhaled, smooth and silky hairless flesh, tight, taut stomach with the
deep navel, I hungered for release of the inhibitions that bound me to a
lifetime of restrictions.  It was then he opened his eyes and caught me
staring at him.  Did he read hunger and need and want in my eyes?

Hastily, he lowered his shirt and sat upright.  A sense of resentment
flashed across his now serious face, as though I had caught him in a
private moment.  he turned to the window and then back to me.

"It's in the next block," he said quietly.  Did I detect regret in his
voice.  "See....there, where that awning comes out.  That's the 8720."  And
then he added, in a soft voice, "You could come in you know, come in with
me...."

"No," I replied hastily, "It's late.  I've got to get home."

"Let me kiss you, please.  I want to kiss you."

I shook my head,"No."

He opened the door, his back was to me as he got out.  Then he turned and
captured my eyes with his.  They were sparkling now, laughing in their
usual way, the way that I remember him.  A lonely and secret way, that
suggested little happiness.

"Remember" he whispered, as though what he was saying was a secret, which I
later learned it was, "Chris Wake.....I live with my grandmother, Virginia
Wake, on Parkman... 457.  That is, if you want to see me again.  You hear?"

And he slammed the door, and rushed inside, leaving me in a string of knots
that needed unravelling.