Date: Sat, 03 Feb 2018 17:56:53 -0500 From: FEC Subject: COSMO & LULU COSMO AND LULU A Short Story Clops of shoes on porch planks, the screen door banging, faster clops on oaken stairs. No doubt who: little Cosmo coming from the clinic. Trainer Randy-James McLeod noticed 3:15 on the wall clock and smiled at the grinning boy who burst into his office. "I got it," he waived a piece of paper. "I got it this time. My full-five rating." The tone reflected pride. "See!" The certificate was proof. "Well?" the boy, already in character, was antsy, expectant, excited. "Can I go today? I can be ready." He, too, looked at the clock. "First, good for you, Cosmo. That's excellent. Second, stop fidgeting. I'll check." McLeod turned to his desktop. One password, then a code. He clicked a category. His fingers flew with the news. A pause. "It takes a few minutes. Have a seat and tell me what Nurse Rockwell said." "Oh you know, he checked my vitals. Then he checked my 'vittles' -- that's a joke, he thinks." "Did you laugh the way you're supposed to?" "You know I did, just like you taught me." Cosmo's chin tilted proudly up. "And?" "He did the test." McLeod scowled, "Are you trying to make me pull it out of you? You want this date or not?" "He already pulled it out of me, Mr. Smarty. Three and four went easy, even five. 'A little room to spare,' he said. I was so happy. So now, please -- pretty please," he blinked coyly, playing his role. A gamin's charm, then, "What does the screen say?" "You really want to know?" McLeod's gaze, aimed at the would-be boy, could mean almost anything. Inscrutable. He was enjoying the torment. Cosmo drew up his knees to rest his chin there. Slightly strained in appearance, slightly forlorn, he waited. Seconds could be long at his apparent age. "Confirmation: 6:00 here, on the front porch. Papa -- remember to call him that -- will arrive and the two of you will walk over to the hotel for supper. He may want to choose for you. If he does, let him, and eat about half before getting around to the subject of your sister. He'll take the lead. You just follow the way..." "I know, I know. I've rehearsed it a hundred times." "Don't exaggerate. A dozen, maybe. It's my duty to remind you. A first for you is very important. An important part of your future may rest on the success of this evening. Okay? You're certified, so it should be fine. We trust that you will make us proud." Cosmo beamed, "I will." "That's what I wanted to hear. It's 3:45. Go get cleaned up, rest a while, then don your sailor suit and check your hair -- which looks good right now. I'll alert the hotel. Now, scat, scamp." The sight and clatter of Cosmo's patent pumps down the stairs, through the screen door, and across the porch faded. God, those bangs! * To anyone driving by, the road past a tilting sign, hand-lettered "Birchfield," was dusty and rutted. Nothing to notice. No fence, not even token rusted wire. A weedy field with scattered, scraggly trees. The dirt road disappeared into it and sloped down and around some other trees toward clapboard buildings. "Our part of town," the residents called it. Indeed, it functioned as one on occasions such as this. The gravel driveway led to a rambling two-story farmhouse, its wide porch on three sides adorned by a wooden swing, an old-style metal glider, and a couple of rush-seat rockers. Nearby, a generator of uncommon size and a garage of sorts. Amid other trees and some scraggly bushes stood a barn with picturesque hayloft. In its shadow, a tractor. Past a gate, usually open, and further into the property, obscured by more apparently wild plantings and haphazard scraggly trees stood the so-called bunkhouse, also two-storied. There, the road turned abruptly into a wooded, hilly area to emerge upon a small, paved square, idyllically sited among better looking trees and hedges. That is, if the vast property were entered from the one road. Entered from the other country road, nearly a mile away, where an equally decrepit sign, also lettered "Birchfield," stood, the way in featured token amounts of gravel among its ruts, scrubby areas including bushes and trees of no distinction or order, and -- barely visible -- a guardrail gate set into a high, strong security fence. Completely hidden from view, a camouflaged parking area, carefully cultivated, closely planted trees and shrubbery, and a totally-enclosed, small-town-style square. City Hall faced East as did the Police Station. Facing North were offices of a doctor and a dentist in the same duplex. Next door, Earl's Diner. Across from them, the town stopover, The Hotel Birchfield, which occupied its side of the square entirely. Its accommodations boasted a discrete restaurant. Looking South, the single-engine Firehouse and Poole's Gymnasium. Attractively planted -- trees lush with leaves, its crossed paths equipped with benches, its grass carefully manicured, a flower bed in each corner -- the square was, all in all, harmlessly charming, intentionally convincing. * At 6:00 on the dot, miniature Cosmo in his sailor suit -- navy blue, white trim -- waited, shifting back and forth by inches on the glider, banged black hair neatly straight over his brow and equally so on the longer sides and about the nape of his neck. He might have been taken as eleven or twelve. Hard to tell. With oval facial features both diminutive and delicate, he could have been mistaken for a girl pretending to be a boy. "Papa," he waved happily at the man walking toward him. "You're exactly on time!" Wyvis Wellborn, spiffy in a three-piece black suit, had to restrain the urge to run to his "son." Anticipation had built over the three weeks since Birchfield Farm officials and he had come to terms. Subjected to their invasive vetting process -- financial, physical, and psychological -- he had prepaid fully. Although his heart raced at the sight, he did not change his stride. A businessman whose working day had been cut short by a problem. That was the intention. There was the boy of his well-harbored, never-realized dream. Size, appearance, demeanor, clothing -- all perfect. The few freckles, dimpled cheeks and slightly worried eyes thrilled him. "Oh Papa, they told me you were coming," Cosmo said as he ran to hug the man. "I'm sorry to cause you so much trouble. I did try. I did." Papa's tie caught his cheek. Thus cued, Wyvis Wellborn, his long-held fantasy being brought to life, hugged back. "Yes, I know. That's why I'm here. We're going to settle a few things" -- he picked up the boy and kissed him lightly on the mouth -- "after I've seen you have a good meal." Back on his feet, Cosmo looked at his Papa's earnest face, glimpsed to confirm that no freckle had transferred to Papa's tie, and let his hand be taken. Father and son walked the grassy path through its shady woods toward the town square. * Charles the desk clerk observed the pair entering the lobby, his territory. "Good evening, again, sir. We have your reservation all set. A nice room upstairs. I placed your bag in it myself. No need to sign in." Nothing unusual in Cosmo's eyes meant the stroll through the woods had been copacetic. "What a well-mannered boy you have there, holding his Dad's hand." The rehearsed smile gave Mr. Wellborn confidence to ask whether the restaurant had his table ready. "Sir," the clerk smiled more broadly, "the staff is ready and happy to meet your requirements." On a lark, he eyed the boy, "And you, my little man, have you been in the Navy long?" Cosmo's attention came forward. He thought quickly and answered in his sweet treble, "I'm a sailor tonight for my Papa. I wear this for him so he will love me." The men exchanged glances. Wellborn repeated what he had told Cosmo earlier, "That's why I'm here." Sympathy crossed the clerk's face. "He let us both down by some bad behavior at school, but I love him so much that I took off from work for this afternoon and evening." While he owed no explanation, by voicing it he felt better. A well-groomed, older teen in a waiter's uniform appeared at the restaurant entry, his nametag reading WADE -- and smaller: Let Me Serve You. "We have your table, sir. Would you like to see it?" An indication followed by, "This way," pointed man and boy into an attractive room. Tables for four occupied the center; those for two, the long wall. Unobtrusive potted plants filled corners. Solid-color, straight-hung draperies framed the windows' view of the town square. Unnoticeable until need arose, tracks in the ceiling would permit the draperies to isolate for privacy any pair of diners. Wade sat the host, carefully addressed as "Mr. Wellborn," facing the lobby and Cosmo directly opposite. "Our menus," he flourished. "May I take your drink orders?" A slight British accent was detectable. "Gin and tonic for me. Boodle's, if you have it, and iced tea for my son." I'll get iced pee. The stuff they put in it tastes like it. * Partway through their Crispy Duck Confit with mushroom fricassee and spinach soufflé, Papa sipped his G&T to watch Cosmo wrestling with knife and fork to free fleshy morsels from bones while making a mess of his plate. "I'll help you, son, if you tell me how you got in so much trouble. The truth, now." Puppy dog eyes brimmed as the plate was pushed over. "I couldn't help it." Papa's fork held the breast in place while his knife flicked piece after piece into a neat pile, waiting for the boy's explanation. Patiently, he noted, "There's more spinach here than I thought you were eating. You were just spreading it around, weren't you?" "I don't want to eat spinach like that, all gooey." With the plate heading his way came level words, "Eat it now, some duck and mushrooms with each forkful of spinach. Now, I said, while I listen to you recite your misdeeds." Crestfallen but obedient, Cosmo mouthed more than he should, made a face, started chewing, and tried to talk at the same time. Some of the spinach trickled out of his mouth. He swallowed as Papa snapped, "You're making an embarrassment of yourself. Wipe your chin." "You told me to eat and talk." "So, you sass me like you sassed your teachers?" No reply. Cosmo's head dropped its bangs down. "Very well. While I talk, you eat everything -- and I do mean everything -- on your plate." The sigh of resignation was audible. The boy's fork behaved by collecting spinach, mushrooms, and duck as Papa pointed to each and, as Papa pointed again, went into Cosmo's mouth. The right amount, regular as clockwork. The boy chewed and swallowed, every mouthful chased by a swig of tea. A face showed that he did not like it. "You've cut classes and handed in homework late. The excuses reported to me were inexcusable. So were your failures to apologize properly to your teachers. Not once did you volunteer to make up work you missed. Shame on you, son." He paused as the food disappeared into the quaking boy. Softly, Cosmo said, "Some of it's Lulu's fault." Wade stepped up to clear the table. "May I offer you dessert? Coffee? "Not yet. My son and I have to clear some air. Perhaps later." "I understand, sir. No one's here but you." He sounded British: "I can withdraw -- or, if you'd like more privacy as some dads so, there's a large restroom through that door next to the entrance." He leaned toward Mr. Wellborn's ear, "We have it on good authority that admonishments rendered there are effective." Wyvis Wellborn tried to absorb the implications of that as the waiter whispered, "Lasting impressions, sir. Lasting impressions." The waiter's voice lifted in levity as he smiled at Cosmo, "We have delicious chocolate cake for boys who mind their fathers." He bowed, backed two steps, and left for the kitchen. With due ceremony, their napkins folded, Papa stood, trousers as sharply creased as when he entered, and took the sailor boy in his blue suit by his nervous hand through the recommended door. * The facility, designated only as RESTROOM, was equipped with more than the usual wash basin, urinal, and toilet expected by men and boys. There was a bidet, a small shower with two heads, a padded table surface with drawers and doors beneath, a chair, wall pegs with plastic hangers, built-in mirrored cabinets, and a heavy-duty, pedal-operated trash receptacle above which hung the instruction: FOR EVERY ARTICLE USED OTHER THAN THE FLUSHABLE. A small notice over a button next to the light switches read: Ring for Service. "Sit, son." Fidgety, Cosmo did. He was so petite that he could not see what Papa saw when he looked into all the doors and drawers. There was no need. He knew. "Stand there. I'll sit. Face me, son, and tell me about your sister. What were you two up to?" Cosmo looked ever so charming and vulnerable as he hemmed and hawed in order to blush. "They never let us see each other," he started. "Stop right now. You're not blaming anyone else." His voice rose, "I won't have it. Tell me the truth. What-did-you-do?" "Oh Papa, you scare me when you sound like that. I...." The man's shake of his son's shoulders stopped Cosmo mid-breath. "You are being difficult at exactly the wrong time, young man. It's now or...." "Or what?" The insolence of the innocently voiced question raised the Wellborn heart's rate. But having a child, his child, over his knee increased it more. Cosmo's bottom, outlined perfectly by the made-to-measure navy blue pants, twitched at the first glancing blow. Papa's broad hand descended more precisely. More quickly. Harder. Until his palm stung. Cosmo thrashed down and up in response to each swat, repeatedly bumping into his Papa's stiffness. "Please, please stop," he cried. "I'll tell you." "You're not getting up until you do." The striking hand rubbed the round mounds while Papa's other held fast to Cosmo's neck. "Catch your breath and calm down." Fingers searched the pants' rear seam and between the boys legs. "Lie still. You have a lot to answer for." Seconds passed. The more Papa caressed that butt while he waited, the more urgent his breath became. "Lulu. I played with Lulu." "Where?" The hand did not move. Papa inhaled with care. "In the woods where nobody would see." "Did she want you to?" "She liked it, Papa. When I tickled her in front, she went crazy laughing. We had fun." The slam was meant to hurt. "You were very naughty to treat your sister like that." "We liked it -- and the other thing, too," Cosmo sobbed, backing up to place his chin in Papa's crotch. He's really hard now. "What...other...thing?" "Do I have to say?" "You'd better." "I'm afraid to." "Stand up and face your Papa like before." Two faces -- one young and tear-streaked, the other mature and severe -- studied each other. Cosmo's, shamed, looked to the protrusion in Papa's trousers. "I'm waiting. Tell me. The longer you make me wait, the tougher it'll be for you." "Her bottom's so cute, Papa. You should see it. She has silk panties and she loves it when, you know, she gets felt there. You know, on them." Seeing Papa breathing through his open mouth, Cosmo reached to adjust himself in front. "Stop that, you bad child. Did you take her panties down?" "Yes, sir, all the way, and I poked her hole, and she got the giggles and told me to put spit on it. Then it was smooth all the way," he pointed his index finger in Papa's direction. "She'll let you, too. She likes it back there if you go slow at first." Papa, barely able to talk, pointed at his sailor boy's front flap with its large, white buttons. "Open those and drop your pants." "But Papa, you'll see my p...." Wyvis Wellborn found his voice. Impatient, he barked, "Well, turn around!" The reddened butt was all he needed. Across his lap in another instant, the boy was told, "You naughty lad, you aren't wearing underpants." Almost gasping, he squeezed each part hard enough to get squeals from Cosmo before the bare spank's fury called forth sobs of protest, then of anguish. Stimulated dangerously by the sight of the quivering, even redder boy buttocks and by the thought of using his own finger in the way described, he stopped. In time. His personal wetness' threat had to be postponed. Slower, man. He bent to sniff the area. Clean -- slightly fragrant from soap. "You hold still," he said, reaching under Cosmo's little chest to hold him tight. "Is this how you did it?" he whispered as the other hand's index finger touched to probe. Not without its reflex, the rosette sprang tight with each contact. "It's too big, Papa. Your finger is too big. Bigger than mine. It won't go in." "You mean yours will? You've done this to yourself?" "Uh-huh." The urge to swat the inviting target was suppressed in favor of the extension of a little finger, its contemplation, and its being drooled on from Papa's mouth. The defenseless opening accepted it so quickly that Cosmo almost neglected to moan. Sweat broke out at the hot clinginess. Cosmo clutched and held on. The finger was turned this way and that, its coating of saliva the medium for motion. Papa's nostrils flared at the sensations passing up his arm. He jabbed to hear the boy squeal, "It's too fast. Take it easy, Papa. Please." Once initial excitement died, desire rose for more. The larger finger. How? And how to free his cock? His first question's answer lay in one of those drawers. The second was obvious. He lifted little Cosmo, pants around his ankles, placed his feet to the carpet, and pressed his face and shoulders to the padding. "Right like that. Don't move." "Dad...I mean Papa, what...are you going to do?" "Silence. I'm dealing with you." He reached into the rightmost drawer for its bulging tube of lubricant, his left hand steady on Cosmo's bottom. "Reach out and open this," he said, placing the tube where his son had to see it. "You know what it is, don't you?" "No," the boy trembled. "You're about to find out. Unscrew the cap and coat my finger with it. Use a lot." "It's like clear toothpaste. It doesn't smell like toothpaste." He took his time with the word "smell" and did his duty. Soon enough, Cosmo felt himself being thrust into, one bluntly wide knuckle at a time. His shivers were taken as those of pain, his Papa's as those of pleasure. In the father-son illusion, a defining moment. The youthful orifice received a vigorous workout. Unseen but heard by facedown Cosmo, Papa's zipper being lowered and the sound of vigorous motions alternating with those being forced inside him. Papa's "ah-ah-ah" noises stopped. Various sounds involving water and towels were easy to understand. The zipper being raised. Papa's voice: "Now you know what Lulu felt. Get yourself cleaned up." He received a pat. On his way out of the restroom, Papa turned, "I'm sending for your sister to check out your story. You stay put. Understand? I'm not finished with you." Papa closed the door rather loudly. Cosmo's finger sought the button, Ring for Service. * "Ah, there you are," Wyvis Wellborn addressed the desk clerk, Charles, who arrived from the back. "How may I help you?" "Have my daughter brought." "Yes, sir. It will take twenty minutes or so. Perhaps you'd like coffee in the restaurant? Wade can bring you newspapers, magazines." "Thanks. Sounds good," he smiled. "And when he is finished in the restroom send my son to our room." * "Papa!" the girl's voice piped as she paused at the entrance to The Birchfield Hotel's restaurant. Wade had already seen her coming through the lobby. Unbelievable. Identical, absolutely identical twins -- same height, same haircut, cuteness to die for. Mere seconds later, she was excitedly embracing her father. "You wanted to see me! Me! I thought you were only coming to see Cosmo." She toned down, "He's been in trouble." The Wellborn eyes recovered from the sight of a lifetime, his imagined daughter, Lulu, a girl of cameo perfection. Her white blouse and pleated gray skirt looked exactly as he'd hoped, as did her shiny, flat-heel black pumps. "Let me get a look at you, my pretty little Lulu." In truth, he stared. Her complexion more delicate than Cosmo's, cheeks pink and free of freckles, her lips slightly rosier, large brown eyes more prominent, voice a bit higher-pitched. And how he loved those bangs. Perfect. They sat. Wade waited for his moment, "May I bring something for the miss?" She was coy. "Yes, please, a strawberry soda -- with whipped cream and a cherry." "We haven't made one of those in a long time, but for you, miss, we will." He turned, "Sir?" "Another gin and tonic. That was Boodle's, wasn't it?" Wade nodded. * Sights to admire -- Papa's lust masked by fatherly pride -- Lulu's mouth sucking on the soda's straw, then her agile hand deploying the long-handled spoon for remaining ice cream and its topping and, when finished, her tongue running supplely over the foam decorating her upper lip followed by dainty use of a napkin. "So, Cosmo's trouble, what part did you play in it, young lady? And why didn't you get in trouble? Your school hasn't contacted me." He scowled, trying the shake the memory of her pink tongue. "Don't look cross, Papa. I never got in trouble. We have a different schedule. They never knew when I slipped away." "Didn't you know it was wrong?" She looked into her tulip-shaped glass as if hoping there would be more at the bottom. Maybe she'll lick it. "It's not wrong for twins to want to be with each other, is it?" Like her brother -- innocent, poised, but verging on being insolent. His collar felt tight. "What did he make you do? Tell the truth." "We just played around." "Played around?" Her mouth puckered. She looked directly at her Papa's face, "You know, with each other...like we used to when we were younger." He looked back, silent. "We just took our pants down. We didn't get naked or anything." Although the waiter was not in the dining room when she said that, a decision was reached. The restroom. It was restroom time. * The smell of pine, he did not remember that. The room was immaculate. Everything exactly the same. Papa sat and said, "Show me what you did that first time you and your brother 'played' here at school." "I'll have to turn around." She's going to do it without protest. He nodded. With no shyness, she presented her skirt. "Cosmo wanted to feel underneath." "Like this?" he reached to stroke silk he could not see. "Uh-huh. Then he wanted me to bend over -- you know, to pull my panties down. Yes, Papa, just like that." Lilac-colored, the tissue-thin garment complemented her flawless bottom's pale peach color -- amazingly like Cosmo's -- to strike Wyvis Wellborn as more beautiful. Enticing in a different way. The panties slid easily. To help, she shifted from one foot to the other. He loosened his tie. >From her position, Lulu sweetly asked, "Do you want me to show you what we did next?" He swallowed. "Yes." Lulu turned, picked up his right hand, selected its smallest finger, put it in her mouth, and ran her softest of tongues around it, nearly sending the man into cardiac arrest. "Stick it in," she astonished him further by resuming her position. "It's a lot of fun when Cosmo does it." For all the world, her special place reminded him of a bud. Its taut roundness protruded a bit. Or was he imagining that? So tempting. More tempting than her brother's. His touch, meant tentatively, signaled the girl's desire to push back. She engulfed the finger in a lush looseness he could not believe. The erection in his pants, unnoticed until this moment, erupted in orgasm. "Papa, what's wrong? You can slide it around." Fixated by his accident, its thrills, and the sensations of her bottom's movements, he needed time. To regroup. What had he wanted to do? "Oh," Lulu pulled off, "it's not tight enough for you." She grasped his middle, longest finger and looked at it as if assessing it somehow. "Let me do this one for you." Her mouth and tongue drove him wild. She whirled about to grab the sopping wet digit and thrust herself upon it. "There!" Wanton little bitch. She thinks she's in charge. She's not. "Here, you bad girl," he said, with emphasis on 'bad.' He wrenched her atop his knees and onto his lap, her skirt up. Slobbering over the same finger of his left hand, he rammed it in. As easy as when her panties came down. Every stroke he took fired his thoughts. What a pair they are! She's into this. Realizations distracted him. My finger doesn't hurt her. She loves it. Then stopping, I love it. "You can do it harder, Papa. You're nice. I mean, your finger is better than two or three of Cosmo's." Papa Wellborn, transfixed by the feeling, by the sight of being knuckle-deep in his daughter's seething behind, hardly noticed what she said, much less what it implied. When it dawned on him, he reamed her with vengeance. Gasps of "oh-oh-oh" and violent movements of little Lulu's pelvis roused the Wellborn penis from slumber. It struggled to life through spermy pubic hair and uncomfortably tight trousers. What? That question about himself had no answer as he became aware that she had had an orgasm. They both calmed. He took back his finger and helped her up. The flush to her face and her rapid breathing were real. There was a little-girl smell in in the air. With mutual regard, they studied each other as she pulled up her lilac panties, smoothed out her skirt, and shook her bangs back in place. "Did you just make me...a woman?" "Did I?" "Cosmo never gave me a feeling like that. I thought I was burning up down there." Wyvis Wellborn, a hand covering his erection, remained nonplussed. "Papa." Hesitation preceded her "You're so nice." And, "I love you so much." Approaching footsteps broke the stunned silence. They belonged to Charles, from the front desk, who knocked -- tapped, really -- on the restroom door. "Sorry to intrude but the car is here for Miss Wellborn." She was gone in a flash, leaving "Papa" with impressions of her strong hug, her kiss to his cheek, her goodbye wave, and the lingering odor of strawberry. Somewhat dazed, the man washed his hands. There was nothing to be done about the state of his trousers. A dampened cloth towel was tried. It left lint. He brushed that off, dissatisfied. With heavy tread he walked back to the dining room where he sat to finish his now-diluted drink. Wade appeared. "May I fetch you a fresh one?" * Placed directly in front of him within moments, the drink helped. Settled his mind if not the matter in his pants. Why was he hard now? The Wellborn tendency to replay dramatic events -- a trait inherited from his own Father -- verged on start-up. That is, until it dawned on him that he had not done what Cosmo had: fingered Lulu's bald pussy. Why, he had not even seen or felt it. Or her tiny clit. Her aroma remained to tantalize him. Maybe she has some hairs. She's awfully mature. His mind was not crossed by Lulu's admission of their younger acts of play. He grappled with thoughts of Cosmo. I'm getting harder. That kid. Her impurity's Cosmo's fault! He experimented with her. Got her going. The way she sucked my finger, she might have blown me. I didn't even get to spank her. Damn! She got away too soon. When I get my hands on that boy.... Distracted as he was by his Lulu thoughts, "Papa" had forgotten about Cosmo. He should be upstairs. To go there or to have him back here...that was the question. Here, for chocolate cake. His reward. Then, upstairs. A glance in Wade's direction sufficed to get his attention. "Tell the front desk to call down my son." "Sir, I'll gladly fetch him for you. You enjoy your drink." * Several minutes passed without incident. What's the delay about? Charles saw him coming. He smiled expectantly. "Can you call my room and find out what's taking your Wade so long with my son?" "Most certainly." Nothing if not officious, 'phone to his ear, a number punched, he listened for mere seconds, then spoke, "Wade? Cosmo is needed right now." He waited. "I see. Thank you. I'll tell our guest." He disconnected to relay the information that Cosmo had been caught napping. "Wade woke the boy. They're readying him to face you. Just a few moments more." The professional smile reappeared to reassure. Actually, moments became minutes before the sailor boy peeked from the hall door and emerged sheepishly into the dining room where Wyvis Wellborn waited. "How is it that you're coming from there? I thought you were upstairs." Gosh, the kid's so smartly attractive. Standing there. That funny expression on his face. Those freckles. The outfit -- freshly ironed it looks. "I was. Wade brought me down the back way because we needed to fix something." "And that was what?" "You know, earlier, when you made me drop my pants back in the restroom? They got kinda rumpled. He said one of the maids in the back would press them for me." "So why the back way?" "Papa, I didn't have any underwear. And I was carrying my socks and shoes. We didn't think you'd want anybody else seeing me like that. You know, like, um, my bottom is still, um, hot." He's blushing. "Did Wade say anything about it?" Cosmo swallowed, appearing to consider whether to tell. "Yes, sir. He did." Chin up, the boy braved, "While we were in the laundry and I was rubbing my bottom, he said that any man who saw me looking like that would want to spank me, too." "Papa" laughed, "I do, too, but not until you've had your cake. Wade," he called, "we'll have a piece of your chocolate cake. I'll have a cup of black coffee, very hot, and my son here will have a glass of cold milk." Cosmo sat, looking as if preoccupied. "You have something else to say?" He looked around as if to propose a conspiracy, leaned toward Papa with a request, "Would it be okay if I wanted whipped cream on it?" "Your sister wanted some, too, for her soda. So you both like whipped cream?" "Papa, all kids like whipped cream." Dimples! And the way he smiles when he looks at me.... His ear alert, Wade reversed path with his tray of coffee, milk, and cake, returning swiftly with the last mounded by fluffed-up creaminess. "There we are. Now, you both enjoy." He did his little bow with a wink at the boy. From the eager way Cosmo forked the dense cake and its insubstantial topping into his mouth, Papa saw childish zeal that needed a correction. "Slow down. You act like a pig in a sty. Eat properly or there'll be more to deal with." Cosmo's large eyes watched Papa sit back and sip his steaming coffee. "But Papa, I like to eat cake this way, it tastes so-o-o good. Here," he put down his fork to reach for the milk, "I'll drink some of this to wash it down." The rash act seemed to cause him to cough, which jerked his hand -- and most of the milk went down his pullover shirt and onto his pants. White against navy blue but not in the places outlined by the suit's white trim. "That's enough! Your bad manners are too much. You need tending to right...this...instant." "But, Papa, it tasted bad," Cosmo whined. He called Wade by name and asked for the check. "No need, sir. It goes automatically on your statement. From the mess I see, you may want to take that boy to your room for proper treatment." In defense, Cosmo tried to say, "No one else is here, so no one saw me, and it was an accident, and...." Papa's strong hand stopped the excuses. "Up. Now. Now, I said, and don't think that sulky face helps. Take me upstairs since you know the way." He meant his hand to be taken by Cosmo's. Silently, under the watchful gazes of a waiter and a desk clerk, both smileless, the chastened boy led his Papa to the polished wood staircase rising to The Shellman Hotel's second and third floors. One step at a time, carefully placed, made the journey proceed slowly. "Be careful, Papa. You don't want to slip." Their curious pace, allowed the ever ready Wade to greet them at their door like an usher. He indicated the amenities, as if pre-recorded: "Our custom-made dresser with its comb and brush and large mirror, 'with a good view from the bed,' our capacious closets, flat-screen TV with its remote, a small, round table and two upright chairs should you want food brought up, this comfortable arm chair with its adjustable ottoman and room for two, and of course, the bathroom which has everything either of you may need, I'm sure. The minibar's fully equipped, too. And sir, your overnight bag is right there on the bed -- next to where Cosmo took his nap." He waited, Wyvis Wellborn assumed, for a tip, so reached into his back pocket. "Oh no, sir. I was wondering whether you required any other service?" Something's anxious about him. "No, thank you, Wade. I can handle this child myself." He looked disapprovingly at nervous Cosmo, "Our issues are not yet resolved. But," he saw the waiter out, "they will be before I'm done." * Each eyed the other. Quizzical, expectant, anxious -- they found themselves in a different environment, potentially of intimacy neither imagined before. Papa jockeyed for a new position by walking around Cosmo and settling on the end of the bed. The boy turned where he stood. Big brown eyes looked at Papa's face, moved down his suit, saw the spot, continued to the carpet, and focused there. "You are not happy with me." "I will be, my boy, when you've made up for your misdeeds." "You mean the milk? It tasted sour." Wyvis Wellborn's face collapsed on itself. His features drew together, his skin flushed, he held his breath. He labored for air, eventually calming to the point of saying, "Only the latest of your provocations. Let me remind you -- no, don't wiggle around -- stand still and listen. You've broken school rules by cutting classes, not doing your lessons on time or at all, and you've been letting your mouth get sassy. That's impertinence. You've been inappropriate with your sister. You shouldn't be doing those things. They could turn into bad habits that could get you in lots of hot water." "Sir" -- Cosmo said it the way their waiter had -- "May I ask what does that mean?" "You may, but remove your clothes -- shoes, pants, shirt -- everything, and don't turn away this time." "I will be ashamed." "You are already in a state of shame, aren't you?" Nothing was said as Cosmo disrobed. Papa's gaze took in each move of fingers, twists of arms, emerging sights of alluvially flowing upper then lower limbs, the minute navel floating like a star above burgeoning sexual equipment haloed by a few hairs, a chest with dark pink nipples that would do justice to Cupid himself, a swan's throat, and that engagingly doll-like, charming face, those adorable bangs. Mind in ascent, emotions charged stronger than before, Papa ogled his beautiful, guilty boy. Modesty overtook Cosmo. His delicate hands moved together to cover his sex. "Don't," Papa cautioned. "You've been developing there. Let me see." "Papa, I can't help it." "No one can. It's natural..." "You mean," he broke in politely, "like when Lulu or I play with it? That's natural, isn't it? I mean, we're twins, Papa, and we need to share each other." With that interruption, although he stood his ground, little Cosmo started to cry, believing he had overreached Papa's patience. Instead of the slap he expected, Cosmo watched his Papa lean forward to cup his sex. "Tell me how Lulu played with this," his voice was husky. Palm to tender scrotum, thumb touching penis. "Uh, not like that. Not all at once." Less worried but very curious, Cosmo said, "Mostly she'd tickle them and call them my bird's eggs. We'd laugh about how they'd taste if we could eat them. Actually, one time after her lunchroom had served the girls lychees in syrup, she said my balls looked as succulent. That was her new word, and she was proud of it. We really giggled then." "Did she try...to suck them?" "Well, she -- is this all right to say? -- used her tongue all over, and she'd kinda nibble at them. And I'd squeal. She'd let go. We'd both laugh. I did it back to her. Like, in front. Nibbling and sliding my tongue -- just the tip -- around. She liked that the same way I did. There's a little stiff red thing -- clit, she said -- that my mouth and fingers play tickle games with." Timorously, he asked, "Are you sure you want me to tell you this? You might get mad." Papa's throat was dry. His nose twitched at what remained of Lulu's special smell. He only nodded, without taking his eyes off the small organs or his hand from dandling their slight heft. Lychees...succulent... "We found out that if we turned a little bit, we could look at and play with and tickle each other with our tongues. When we were doing it together, it didn't tickle." His small voice rose, "But it felt real good." Papa's thumb noticed a change: Cosmo's penis was on the move. He rubbed it. The boy's nerves sharpened. Two inches, became three, then four, he guessed. The pinkish head brightened as it firmed, went red-orange, and seemed ridged by purple. Papa's fingers drifted up the stiff, thin shaft to dwell teasingly on its tip. "Oh, Papa, don't, I...." But it was too late. Cosmo's erection threw out stringy, watery jets like a fountain gone mad. Most landed on Papa's face and hair. Expecting the worse, Cosmo pulled away, fetched a white hand towel, and tried to wipe away the evidence, his body shaking. So startled was the man that he reacted solicitously by using the same towel on his drippy hand and the boy's wet front. Boy odor. He wanted to bury his nose in it. "Papa," Cosmo sounded serious, "take off your clothes. There's a laundry bag in the closet. Just keep your stuff -- like keys and money and shoes and belt, you know. Then," he pointed, "we can ring the service button." Wyvis Wellborn located the drawstring bag and, under the scrutiny of his "son," loaded it with underclothes, shirt, and suit. Shoes and socks went under the bed alongside Cosmo's. Tie, small change, billfold, cellphone, and belt went in a bedside drawer as he saw Cosmo swiftly place the bag outside in the hall, close the door, lock it, and walk to press the nearby service button. "Wade will know what to do. Don't worry." Almost a slip-up. Wellborn's preoccupation prevented his notice. Naked boy, having taken charge; naked man, waiting. The latter, not in control, let his hand be taken and himself be led into the bathroom where Cosmo turned on the shower heads, adjusted the sprays, and stepped in. "Come on, it's fun to wash together." Hands everywhere discovered sensitivities hitherto unknown. Erections sprouted. Lathers washed away. "Yours is so big, Papa," Cosmo said, admiring the five or so thick inches, "and you have such big balls and so much hair," he admired further. "I hope mine grows like yours." White terrycloth robes to fit each followed their use of matching terry-cloth towels to dry. "Now you can spank me, if you want, Papa. I'm not afraid." >From bathroom to bed in anticipation, they saw themselves in the dresser mirror. "Oh," exclaimed Cosmo, "my hair's all messed up." He grabbed brush and comb, and soon re-arrayed his bangs. Center part perfect. "That's how you like it, right, Papa?" Insouciance turned into big-brown-eyed seductiveness with the boy's twist from the mirror. A nod rewarded his efforts. A slight smile, as well. "You're becoming a better son, I think. But you haven't convinced me yet that I can trust you." Nudged to the bed, Cosmo was struck by the idea to bend over its edge and to raise the back of his robe. His voice was seductive, "I want you to trust me, Papa. I want to be as good as you expect." Then, "Teach me." Spheres like peachy moons. Ready. Wyvis Wellborn's throbbing heart prompted his penis to emerge, throbbing also, from the front of his robe. At its robust appearance, he thought to say, "You're getting a spank for being silly with your milk. You understand, don't you?" He sat beside his son, pulled the robe higher, and ran a hand over the pillow-soft mounds, waiting. God, I'm hard. "Yes, Papa, I was silly." Each smack jiggled the buttocks. Cosmo's knuckles against his mouth muffled the "ngh" sounds he made -- a new, auditory wrinkle. Its stimulation to the Wellborn ears brought swifter strokes. Brighter color rose with the noise. If he did not stop soon.... "Cosmo?" >From his place kneeling, the boy sniveled, "Yes, Papa?" "When you and Lulu were misbehaving, did you ever put your erection in her...bottom?" "Do I have to say?" He looked up. "So you did, you wicked lad. What about in her front, her vagina?" "Papa, no! She might have a baby. We know about how that happens." Consideration of that announcement brought a new idea to mind. He formulated his next question while touching Cosmo's tiny opening. "What did Lulu say about what it felt like when you were pumping her behind?" "Umm...that it felt good? I mean, she liked it." "But you don't know what that feels like do you?" "Huh? To have another boy's thing in my bottom? No, Papa." "A man?" "You wouldn't, would you, Papa?" His son's shaky voice asked the question as if its answer were known. "Get up and find me some lubricant." Obediently, Cosmo righted his robe as he stood, tightened its sash, looked around, and opted to open the nightstand's drawer. Partially hidden by Papa's things were a fat tube similar to the one used earlier -- in the downstairs bathroom -- and a bottle of baby oil. Both he offered for inspection from tentative hands. Baby oil. "Come here without your robe," he was told. "Now on the bed. Not that way. On your elbows and knees. Face the mirror. Put your head down." Papa was in charge again. Really in charge. "Yes, just like that," he continued as he shifted from sitting where he had been for the spanking to where he wanted to be for what he was planning. Baby oil spread soothingly over punished mounds. Some, pursued by his Papa's finger, trickled into Cosmo's crevice. Pushed around until a second's relaxation allowed entrance, oil and finger gave the boy a start. He yelped, was swatted abruptly, told to "keep quiet" and to "learn." The finger went steadily forward -- until it could go no further. Cosmo, whose respiration rate had escalated, blinked when the finger left. Not daring to check the mirror to see what Papa was doing, he stayed put. "Here's some more oil for you. On my middle finger. Feel it? Goes deeper, doesn't it?" He barked, "You must stop squeezing, so that I can coat you inside. Your sister knows how to loosen up. You're making it worse." Of course, Cosmo was not. Papa had to think so. That was important. Even more important when those two oily fingers were forced through. Clenching hard, they did hurt. Cosmo cried out for real and managed to hold out until the screwing motions compelled him to let go. "Oh please, Papa, don't. It makes me so sore," he pled. "Be still. I'll give you more oil." Papa sure is determined. Greater freedom of motion convinced Wyvis Wellborn that this was his moment. The moment for a lesson to be taught to good effect. He ought to know what his sister will be feeling when he gets to be my size. The idea, voiced loudly as Papa's penis parted Cosmo's sphincter and plunged through, distracted the boy. He screeched a second too late to be convincing to anyone other than the man who fancied his own son was on the receiving end. Hands holding the boy's hips to his thrusts -- from tip to base -- insured thrills in series of dizzying impact upon Wellborn's awareness. When orgasm burst through that magic spell, it nearly caused a faint. Papa collapsed against the boy, mashing his face and body onto the bed, splaying his arms and legs, and knocking the wind out of him. Cosmo's shoulders and back felt the heaving chest, his rectum the pumps that slowed to a halt. Residual was the strange fullness -- an illusion, surely. Men always shrank after their peaks, he had been told. He had been told wrong. He inhaled deeply. His sigh or groan stirred Papa. The snug, hot fit, throbbing vessels, quivering surrender, protesting boy, and new position -- from which his flooded tip touched an end -- combined to stoke the fire of Wellborn's loins for another round. Not in his life had the man conceived of such prowess in one period of two hours. His arms lifted him enough to look down at the site of his fuck. How his breadth parted those resilient buns.... I've widened him and loosened him like his sister! Cosmo's eyes went wide with suspicion, then understanding. Scant movements confirmed Papa's intent. Gently testing the area, aware of its increased lubricity, and keen to try more, Papa settled back and began to thrust. Later, his lower back would ache from the overlong exercise. Now, nothing else mattered. His mind spun out of control the more he pounded. Long and hard into his unresisting son. Straight strokes from hilt to tip and in reverse, sluiced by further secretions and coasting upon mixed lube and sperm, met little resistance and no protest. Aimed obliquely left and right, a few directly downward, Wellborn's unpredicted strokes impacted Cosmo like a battering ram. He shrieked, "Oh! Stop that, Papa! You aren't teaching me, you're hurting me. Why are you doing that?" His tone lowered, "I'm trying to learn from you to be a better son," before it trickled into tears. Wellborn's blissful madness gave way to the boy's plea. He stopped. He thought nothing would deter his longed-for goal. A new position might make everything better. The skewered Cosmo was wrestled around to be sitting on Papa's pelvis, then laid back as Papa rose, lifting his son's legs high before letting them find their place over his supporting arms. With a smile, gazing down at the wet-streaked, pale face framed by its jet-black hair, he said, "You know you weren't paying attention, son. There's a saying: No pain, no gain. Your pain brought you back to me. This is about love and lessons and you and your sister. Look at me. Listen to me. Feel where I am inside you. Finally, I'm as close as I can be and your body has me completely to itself. It's comfortable now, isn't it, and it's not hurting, is it?" To the conciliatory voice, Cosmo responded, "I guess so." "Good. Now play with yourself while you look at me. I won't move until you, too, are...stiff." Tentative at first, Cosmo touched himself. "Think of yourself as Lulu, toying with her pussy, and of me as you, all the way inside her having the time of your lives. She loves you penetrating her backside." Hardly believing his ears, Cosmo caught his mind looping through the reasons. It was crazy. It made a difference. Papa's cock made a big difference, too. Where it was -- like a part of him -- it felt right. As he adapted, his few inches swelled. Desire rose under his fingers. A reflex shudder of anus told Papa what he wanted to know. "Go slow, my baby. I will, too. We are going to make love. You are ready. Lulu, too. Do this with me and I'll authorize regular times the two of you can be together, in private. You do belong together without going truant from your classes. You'll love each other and I'll love you both, knowing that you are happy and safe." He said these things one by one while beginning to slip and slide with rocking motions -- gently at first -- into Cosmo. "I...," Cosmo attempted. "Shhh, don't say a word." Papa leaned down to kiss the parted lips, and to look lovingly into the boy's eyes. Confident, they seemed, with each pelvic surge, to grow luminous. Cosmo blushed at the wonderful newness. It went on. It built. It led them to climaxes at the same, joy-filled moment. Cosmo's "I'm going to..." was cut short by Papa's "Me, too" and their paroxysms. Simultaneous white glares lasted only a second or two before both blacked out. Deep inhalations and childlike laughter followed as, lying apart side by side hardly seeing the ceiling, they regained their senses. * The lights -- neon outside, fluorescent inside -- were on at Earl's Diner. Cosmo stopped en route to wave at his friend Ting. The tall, willow-thin Taiwanese was seated across from a South American businessman with a considerable moustache. Wade, looking the part of an aproned short-order cook, was taking their order. The question asked by Ting's face was answered by an okay sign from Cosmo. Both nodded and beamed. Cosmo strode the path back through the woods and went directly to knock on Nurse Rockwell's door. It flung open. A hug and congratulations greeted him, "Saw it all. You were wonderful. Beautiful performance. Now, quickly, undress so that I can check your vittles." * Cosmo went to sleep thinking of the morning to come. 8:15 AM. Breakfast in the bunkhouse cafeteria. All staff and residents would be buzzing with conversations over scrambled eggs, coffee, cereals, and the rest when he would walk in. Trainer Randy-James McLeod would ding his bell to interrupt. "Everyone, attention." He would lift his cup to say, "I give you our latest first double-date success, Cosmo!" Before clapping could embarrass the new star, some smartass would call out, "Where's Lulu?" Laughter would join applause as Cosmo would seize the moment, bow wholeheartedly -- and head for the steam table. Happily anticipating the recognition, he pulled up the sheet, and settled into his personal dreamland. The End If as I, you appreciate stories such as this on Nifty, then remember to send them your contribution so that the site can be maintained, and consider investigating this many-pages-for-your-money, cliché-free novel about an extraordinary teen and his associates: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0799HFWM8/