Date: Sun, 19 Feb 2012 06:03:28 -0800 (PST) From: Julian Otero Subject: Best of the Bunch part 1 (Revised) Best of the Bunch part one The kid was the best of the bunch, I was sure of that. He was here on his skateboard almost everyday in this cramped patch of concrete that served these city kids for a skateboard park. I stopped by to watch as often as I could. I watched his graceful arcs and jumps, the hairpin turns. Even when he landed on his ass the drop was elegant in the way he went down, and then picked himself up. The Parks Department converted this open area next to the old steel bridge by outfitting it with ramps and rails and steps. It was gritty and noisy and hard, just like the city and the kids who used it, Next to it was the playground where the boy had learned the intricacies of the monkey bars, see saws, and slides when he was younger and his parents were together and happy. I had my eye on this particular boy because he had the best body among of the crowd of 30 or so boys there. That slender frame of his: even under layers of clothing you could tell he had a well shaped body, the flesh and muscle attached in all the right places, in the right shape and in perfect proportion. His Anglo-Saxon shaped skull went unprotected by a helmet--only sissies wore any protective gear here--while his flippant ass proclaimed a Slavic heritage. He was 13. A smooth skinned, blemish-free, alert, urban adolescent whose aroused cock nestled sideways in his micro fiber bikini Calvin's. He always got a little aroused when he was on his board. I knew because he told me so. I knew about the underwear because he was my son. And he aroused me. His bone structure, fair hair and blue eyes was my contribution, while his mother's genes took care of his fine muscle structure. Her genes and mine had combined well--the only good thing to come from our marriage. Sasha was growing more beautiful each month and I worried a little that the rougher types he skated with might be tempted to shove him into a dark corner onto his knees. He was freer then he could possibly know and more desirable than he could imagine. I watched him closely for as long as I could and felt my own dick swell in my jeans. Then I left. I drove up to my mother's house to get some things of my ex-wife's, the ex of three months, and to get some of his things we left with his grandmother. I was having lunch with mom when Sasha called. "Hi Dad, ...can Jorell come over? It's cold and we want hot chocolate..." Good kid. He knew the rule: no one in the house without permission. "Ok. I'm staying here until about six. Make sure you eat lunch. Make some for Jorell if he wants to stay." ("cool") Say hello to grandma..." I knew Jorell; they were in the same class, he was smart and an ok happy kid. Sasha gave a small groan about having make obligatory grandma talk. Rudenick. For all his physical grace my son's social graces needed work. After a few typical "how you doin' ok fine" exchanges, she turned and said: "he wants to know if he can get a pizza." I nodded permission. The little dick: I would wind up paying for it. I gave him an adequate allowance but he knew I wasn't going to say no in front of his dear grandmother who still kissed him and pinched his ass. For the next hour my mother and I rehashed my marriage and divorce. Mira! Mira the bitch. No way was I going to marry a plain jane with suburban values, so when the Exotic One came into my life--smoky Mira the sexual adventuress, the mysterious Mira who gave little heed to convention and whose body rocked--I wanted her. We fucked like rabbits at first, first as a twosome and then threesome, then four, and in discreet small groups. For a few years it was always party time, anytime. There were so many things to try: clothes, kicks, men, women, drugs. The kicks slowly wore off except for dope. The fact that my wife gradually became a morphine addict and an incapable mother landed the kid with me, no contest, and I was glad for it. I could forgive the mess she made of our marriage and home life and the neglect of me and the boy, even forgive all the arrest scenes--the works--because the best thing she did for me was to give me a smart beautiful son. As my mom and I talked about her grandson in my mind's eye I pictured his naked body, saw the books, jeans underwear, cups he left all around, saw the stained sheets on his bed, the curve of his spine, the gleam of his ass cheeks: he always slept naked. Despite the train wreck marriage he was a happy well-adjusted kid growing like a weed. On the way home in the car vague unformed sexual thoughts involving Sasha keep breaking through into my awareness. It was unnerving that my libido was wrapping itself around my own son. It wasn't hard to guess why. I hadn't fucked anyone or anything but my hand for over a year. My eye roamed over any appealing girl in the street, teenager or not. And now boys? My son even? Was it because he was close and available and sexually ripe and I loved him? As I drove on the images became more clear and focused. My kid's lush hair framed his cute face attractively. His clear eyes and girlish long lashes, fair skin and full lips made his gender uncertain if given a quick glance. Sometimes, on the street, I noticed women turned to look again. The fact that he was alone in the apartment with Jorell, the two of them, the things that horny boys do with each other at that age, called to mind what I did at that age my friends. Jorell was a sexy black boy of 14. My son was a sexy white boy of 13. The possibilities. I was jealous. I parked on the block and climbed to the third floor. We live across from the playground and so close to the bridge the dull roar of traffic never ceases. I reached for my keys just as a train was crossing. Daytime, a blast of rattling train sound hit our building every few minutes, but were used to it. The noise covered up the sound of my entrance. I smelled pizza and saw two cold pieces in the box on the kitchen table. I threw off my jacket, gloves, sweater and scarf and plopped on the couch. A half eaten slice with pepperoni was on the side table. I kicked away the sneakers I felt under my feet and moved away the clothes. We always lived in a general happy jumble of clothes, books, papers and junk, just like guys. It was comfortable. The sneakers weren't my son's. From the general mess I picked out two pairs of jeans, a jacket and a discarded belt. The skateboards, two of them, were on the easy chair by the tv. These things set off a tingle in my groin. My cock started to grow. Quietly I took off my shoes and tip toed toward Sasha's room. His door never latched properly. It remained unfixed because privacy wasn't an issue for us. Sometimes when passing his door I knew he was masturbating. The drive home was a presentiment. There was underwear on the floor. They were both naked. My son was face down on his bed. On top, Jorell's gleaming body was stretched and strained as his hard black cock was in my son's ass up to the hilt. My first instinct was to turn away, but I couldn't. I stood and watched Jorell's hips sway in rhythm, the tight balls between his legs, thrusting his beautiful hard member in and out of the young white boy beneath. The boy beneath: my son Sasha! Only 13. I was first fucked by another boy at 16 years of age. We fucked each other. We were good friends and we both hung out with girls but that didn't stop us sucking each other off. We weren't queer; it was just, well, we were buddies and good to do with each other when we were horny, which was pretty often. I went back to the couch. My cock was as hard as a baseball bat. So what if they're fucking? So what if my son is playing the girl? Is he gay? Is he straight? Is he half and half? Does it matter? Must I deal with this now, on top of everything else? Why is my cock hard and wet and I'm rubbing it? One thing is, he has good taste in boys. What I saw was beautiful. I slouched into the cushions more and closed my eyes. Under my palm my cock was very warm and hard. I gave myself a slow-motion rub while I tried to feel in my own ass how my son's asshole felt. I recalled it could be a little painful at first until this older dude we hung with told us how to do it right. Did Sasha and Jorell know? Then, a realization came upon me: Sasha lives with me and he lets his friend use his boy-pussy I'm so horny all the time. Surely he'll let his dad use it too? We take care of each other in many ways, we can take care of each other that way too, can't we? For a long time I caressed myself with this delicious idea and with pictures of us both, until I became aware of Jorell standing in the doorway. end part one I always appreciate hearing from readers and welcome suggestions. I will answer. Julian ba9ba9goodman@yahoo.com