Phelan's Awakening


Chapter 03


By: CJZ♂
email: lycanpureblood@hotmail.com

The author claims all copyrights to this story and no duplication or publication of this story is allowed, except by the web sites to which it has been posted, without the consent of the author.
 
This story is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to person's living or dead, or to events that may have occurred is purely coincidental.  Moreover, none of the actions of the characters in this story are meant to condone, approve, or sanction their behaviour.
 
You can find my other stories in the Prolific Authors section of the Nifty Archive, under...Lycan Pureblood

Other stories in progress can be found under the following categories...


Authoritarian


The Ties That Bind


College


Once In A Lifetime (Shelved)


Historical


Eagle's Honour (Shelved)


Incest


My Father's Glory (Shelved)


Wolf Creek Falls
 

Science Fiction or Fantasy


Afterlife


Contagium
 

Lycan Bloodline


Please, support the Nifty Archive by making a contribution.
 

And as always, a great big thank-you to Matt for all his patience, assistance and support.

Mike arrived at his house soaking wet from head to toe.  

The freezing cold rain didn't even seem to phase him.  On the contrary, he actually found this type of weather, invigorating for the mind, body and soul.  

Weather was never a factor when it came to Mike Phelan.  

For his rigorous and strenuous job, Mike had been trained by the best Navy SEALs team.  His arduous and grueling training had covered every inhospitable terrain on Earth.  From the sub-zero temperatures of Antartica(-128.6ºF/89.2ºC) to the driest and most scorching hot desert in Libya(136.4ºF/58ºC).

Mike also had another advantage.  He's one of those strange and few individuals whose body temperature was always unnaturally high.  His body behaved and reacted differently than most when it came to different weather conditions.

Mike's wife, used to joke that he kept her comfortably warm during the cold winter nights.  And that Mike's gigantic and muscular body, gave off heat like a freaking furnace.  So, at least in the bedroom she never needed to turn on the heat or even grab a quilt.  All she had to do was to snuggle next to her man and she would be warm, toasty and confortable, all night long.

Mike's unnaturally high body temperature was actually due to his strict and rigid daily exercise.  Like clockwork, Mike would get up at 5 a.m. and start his day by jogging for an hour around the neighbourhood, before heading off to work.  He would then get home, shower, shave, grab a quick breakfast(mostly coffee) and drive to work.  

Mike would then arrive at work around 6:45 a.m.(depending on traffic).  Where he'd head down to the company's ultra modern, extremely expensive and very sophisticated gym.  That's where he would meet his partner in crime and best friend, Brett Magnum and they would both start their morning exercise routine.   

Brett always the punctual one, would be waiting for Mike by their lockers.  The guys would then change from their very expensive, designer Hugo Boss suits to the more confortable gym attire of tank-top and gym shorts.  Mike and Brett would then spend the next 2 hours doing some heavy duty, core workouts.  

These two badasses, did everything from push-ups to pull-ups and chin-ups.  Followed by squats, windmills, laterals and overhead press.  Depending on how much time they had or what "case" they were working on, they would spar by doing martial arts or boxing.  Then, they'd hit the sauna or do a couple of laps around the heated pool to ease and relax their sore and aching muscles.

This type of daily and severe discipline had paid off, for both men.  Over the years their intense training and exercise had turned Mike's and Brett's bodies into powerful, muscular and super tough machines.

Mike and Brett were the epitome of male perfection.  

At work and specially in their Unit, both men were heavily envied.  Both men and women, saw these two gentlemen as being the total package.  On the physical aspect, both men were tall, broad-shouldered, muscular, tough as nails and extremely good-looking.  On their intellect aspect, they were smart, multilingual, cunning, career driven and willing to do anything for their country.  

Which is why, the DEA(Drug Enforcement Administration) paid both men, extremely well.  Afterall, these two men are their Top Special Agents in the field.  And it was a plus that both men were very well liked, trusted and respected among their peers.

A few years back, Deputy Director Walter Skinner negotiated a classified deal in regards to these two Agents.  Bottom line was that Mike and Brett were to be protected and kept happy in their stressful, dangerous and aggravating job at all times and money was not an issue.  

Mike and Brett didn't even really have a work schedule.  They actually didn't even have to show up at their downtown office.  Mike and Brett, had the option to work from home if they liked or they could show up at the office and work from their desks.  And they certainly, didn't have to time in/clock in, so they could come and go whenever they pleased.

Their health, both mental and physical was top priority at the DEA.  In the last twenty years, Mike and Brett had practically been injected and treated with alot of "classified" drugs that were not available to the average American citizen and would never be.  So, even though they had become guinea pigs, in the end it had paid off, because they had both become immune to all pathogens and diseases known to man.  

Mike, himself couldn't even remember the last time he'd actually gotten sick.


However,...

Now, Mike felt a stirring deep within him.  

The feeling is hard to describe.

Something was amiss.

But, what was it exactly?


Mike walked up the steps leading into his Colonial Revival home and got the mail from the mailbox.

"Fucking faggots!  Fucking like animals in broad daylight, unbelievable!"

Mike took his keys out of his right pocket.

"How can anyone, do such disgusting thing in a public park?  Jesus H. Christ!"

Mike still had the image of the two guys fucking in the park, burnt into his mind.  As he unlocked the door, he sorted mail, sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Bills, flyers, and more fucking bills."

Mike walked into the foyer and threw the mail on the mahogany entrance table.  He locked the door behind him and entered the home alarm security code.  As he walked further into his home, he noticed that the rain had started again, as large rain drops could be heard hitting the kitchen windows.  

Mike was home alone.

The house was quiet and peaceful.  

Mike smiled, took a deep breath and enjoyed the tranquility of his home.  

This was exactly what he needed.

Peace and quiet.

While Mike had been on the private jet and on his way home from Colombia, he had emailed his Filipino housekeeper Natividad to take the next couple of days off.  He wanted to be home alone during the day and just, relax.  

Mike and Brett had both been given two weeks "paid leave", by their Deputy Director Walter Skinner.  Mike welcomed this much needed time off and this was actually the perfect time to spend some quality time with his son and do some work around the house.

Mike was soaking wet and since he didn't want to drip water all over the hardwood floor, he started stripping right in the foyer.  He took his wet clothes to the laundry room and hung them out to dry. He stood only in his trusty, yet soaking wet jockstrap and walked into the kitchen.

"That run felt fucking good!"

Running always made Mike feel better.  

It was like a "high" for him.

Running was how Mike handled stress, both the personal kind and work related.  And it certainly didn't matter what the weather was like.  So, through rain, snow, hail, etc. Mike would always go out for a run.

Mike flipped on the lights lights and opened the fridge.

"Fuck, I'm thirsty."

Ah!  His sweet ass, kitchen.  

This was the one room Mike truly enjoyed being in.  And although, he never really got a chance to cook(due to his hectic job).  He on occassion would try to make himself useful (much to the headache of his Filipino housekeeper) and cook some culinary dishes for him and his son.

This kitchen was a man's kitchen.  

The look was described as Pine & Iron.  

It was the only room in the entire house that Mike had decorated and where he'd picked every single appliance on his own.  Back in the day, as a newly married couple Mike and his wife Kristen came to a mutual agreement.  To set aside picking the colour scheme, appliances, cabinets, etc, of their kitchen until after their baby was home.  

Unfortunately, that was never meant to be.  

Sadly, Mike's beloved wife Kristen passed away due to birth complications and never left the hospital.

So, Mike had left all the other rooms in his house as his wife had decorated them and he'd done this for two reasons.  The first, to keep the memory of his wife alive and second, he wanted his son Breandàn to see his mother's taste and how much love and thought she had put in decorating their home.  Now, fifteen years later Mike thought it was time to make some changes around the house.  

However, he just couldn't bring himself to actually taking the first step and bring the topic with his son, Breandàn.  But, at least the kitchen and every appliance in it had been his choice.  From the colour and type of the hardwood floor, to the cabinets, the iron stove and even the antique lighting.

The luxurious hardwood floor were done in solid oak, with a high gloss and just a touch of grey stain.  The cabinets were painted in grey undertones and the colour of the finish changed with the natural light coming through the large kitchen windows.  The huge limestone countertop was mildly mottled with a light, pale grey colour.

The bar stools around the giant limestone island were made from pine, while the stool itself was old rustic iron.  The antique iron lamps hanging over the island, had actually belonged to a bar in old Boston that had gone out of business.  Through connections, Mike had been able to salvage them and use them in his kitchen.  

The huge iron stove had been delivered from the Maritimes, up in Canada.  Mike had wanted a stove like this, ever since he and his wife had seen it in a little restaurant up in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia while on vacation.  The stove, itself was magnificent.  It was completely handmade in cast iron steel with solid brass and porcelain enamel.  It had both a natural convection gas oven and an electric one as well.  It came complete with a lava rock grill and electric plates.  Mike even had a gigantic, custom steel hood built specially for it.

Mike took a sip of ice cold beer and slammed the fridge door.
 
"Ahh, fuck ya!  That hits the spot."

His kick-ass fridge was a Northland, Sub-zero PRO 72", giant motherfucker.  The fridge was made from 100% sculpted steel and had a side-by-side custom refrigerator/freezer.  It had dual refrigeration, meaning that the refrigerator and freezer used a separate sets of compressors and evaporators, unlike standard refrigerators.  

The refrigerator had a glass, see-through window with LED light that illuminated everything clearly inside.  The climate keeper kept the food nice and fresh, making it last longer.  Even if there was a power blackout, the food in the refrigerator/freezer would last for about a week.  The spacious fridge was a beast, with a capacity of 48.3 cubic feet.  The price for this baby...$13,800.

As Mike took a huge gulp of beer, he wondered why Natividad said that this kitchen had a "cold" look to it.

Mike could only shake his head, side to side.

"Honestly, sometimes I don't understand that woman.  The kitchen dosen't look cold."  

Besides, all his buddies loved his kitchen.  

In truth, they only wished they could have something even remotely similar in their own homes.  Not kitchens covered in fucking flowers, farm animals or pastel shit colours, etc.  And since he and his son, Breandàn loved their kitchen, well that's all that fucking mattered.



Unkown to Mike, who was enjoying his cold beer.  

He was being watched...



Across the yard and in the house next door, Jack Miller was trying to work from home.  

Jack's office was on the second floor and faced the Phelan's kitchen.  Jack had been watching the Phelan's home for quite sometime.  So, much so that Jack almost chocked on his coffee when he saw a nearly naked, Mike Phelan standing in front of the kitchen window.  The man was wearing only a jockstrap and without a care in the fucking world.

Jack, however was getting quite the eye-fucking-full, and he didn't mind it at all.  I mean, the huge bulge in that jockstrap was bordering on shocking and immodest.  

Jack like most men, has been in quite a few changerooms in his lifetime.  And again, like most men, he has discreetly and out of the corner of his eyes, checked out the competition.  But, c'on man!  I mean, holy fucking shitballs!  Mike Phelan was packing some serious meat in that bulging and overly stretched jockstrap.  

Jack had been standing by the Master bedroom window, which faced the front of the street when he saw Mike Phelan enter the house.  It was freezing outside and this guy was bare chested, completely drenched and only wearing only a pair of too tight, running shorts.  

This guy was fucking nuts!  

Mike Phelan, hadn't been home when Jack Miller and his family moved into the neighbourhood.  The Millers had moved from the hot and sunny Arizona desert to a cold and rainy Massachusetts fall. All Jack knew of Mike Phelan was the information that he got from his son, Drake.  Both Jack's and Mike's son, attended the same private school, St. Sebastian Catholic High School.

Apperantly, Mike Phelan worked for the U.S. Department of Justice.  His field was in the Drug Enforcement Administration, where he worked as a Special Agent.  One thing is for sure, Mike does look and fit the part, allright.  He has a very intimidating demeanor about him.  

Judging only in apperances...

Mike is extremely good looking, yet looks like he's a tough-son-of-bitch.  The guy is very tall, probably towering around 6'4" or 6'5" and built like a fucking tank.  His body look like it's made out of granite, full of muscles and by the looks of things, he's also very hairy.

In one word, Mike was Jack's "type".

Mike Phelan is the embodiment of an assertive, handsome, masculine and domineering alpha male.

But, poor Jack Miller is feeling very confused and torn at this moment.  

You see, Jack has been fighting and struggling all his life with his bi-sexuality.  Sure, he's done the proper and right thing to do as a grown adult man.  Which is to have a career, marry, be a good father, a good provider, a loving husband and a good Mormon.  

But, something has always been missing in Jack's life...

Until, now.

Jack Aaron Miller married right out of College to his highschool sweetheart, Hannah Kailyn Miller.  He, along with his wife had been raised and brought up, Mormons in their home town of Salt Lake City, Utah.  And although, they were both "Liberal Mormons", bi-sexuality and homosexuality is and will always be strictly, forbidden in their faith.  

Jack's strict religious upbringing, forbade homosexuality and bi-sexuality, period.  But, that didn't stop Jack from "experimenting" early in his youth.  And Jack has had three homosexual encounters in all his 40 years, which was not a bad record.  The first "encounter" occurred in his early teens with another Mormon youth on a spiritual retreat, while the other two homosexual encounters happened while he had been at college.  

Even though Jack had had sex only twice while at college, he'd felt incredibly guilty for cheating on his highschool sweetheart.  Jack had felt so bad and sinful, that he sought the "counselling" of a well known Mormon Psychologist, who "treated" Jack with Reparative/Conversion therapy.  This ofcourse, was done in secret of his parents, family and fiancèe and it had worked.

Again, until now.

Jack worked for Advertising Firm out in Phoenix, Arizona as an Account Executive.  He had join the firm right out of college and now that the firm was doing very well financially, they felt that they were ready to expand on the East coast.  The Board of Directors had favourably and hands down, selected Jack Miller to overlook and run their new branch in Boston.  

Jack was made Sr. Account Executive and along with the new title, he ended up getting a hefty raise, a corporate spending account, plus a monthly and yearly bonus.  The firm even paid for the movers to drive the Miller's possesions from Phoenix, all the way to Boston and first class plane tickets for the entire family(it was just them three, but still).

It had been Jack's wife, Hannah who had found and fell in love with the exclusive suburban and gated community of Oak Hill Estates.  The proximity to their son's private school was also a plus and overall, Jack liked the neighbourhood.  But, it was his new home that Jack was very happy about.  This mansion was 3,855-square-foot, with 6-bedrooms, 5.5-bath, a sunroom, wine cellar, 4 car garage and came complete with a large outdoor pool, backyard fountain and jacuzzi.

Boston was a new start for Jack and his family and they were all looking forward to living in a state that had 4 seasons, year around.  Not like Arizona, where the seasons were, hot and hotter.  Everything was moving smoothly with the Millers, his wife had just found a job and Drake had already made a friend, which was great.  And this morning, after Jack caught a glimpse of Mike Phelan, Jack wanted to have Mike as a "friend" as well.

Well, that's not entirely true.  

Jack had never had this kind of reaction before...

To anyone, male or female.  

As soon as Jack saw Mike, it was like he got an immediate and almost explosive crush on Mike Phelan.  All these years, Jack has been able to supress his urges and desires towards other men.  It hasn't been easy, but he'd done it.  However, after seeing Mike this morning something had awakened inside Jack and he couldn't fucking explain it.

As Jack took another sip of his coffee mug, his eyes were fixed on Mike.  Jack was hiding and peeking from behind the curtains in his office, as Mike went casually about his business in the kitchen.

"Oh, my God!  Even his butt is hairy!  Damm!"

Jack took a deep breath inwards and moved away from the window.  He slowly walked over to his desk and put his mug down.  He was trembling, had started to sweat profusely and that's when he looked down at his tenting crotch and noticed that he had a hardon.

"What the hell is happening to me?"

Jack sighed, sat back on his confortable leather chair and looked at the Tiffany & Co. clock that was on his desk.  The time was 10:00 a.m. and his wife was long gone by now.  Hannah worked at the prestigious law firm of Blake & McKenzie Family Law, in the heart of downtown Boston.  Hannah is a Family & Divorce Lawyer and she practically got hired as soon as they had landed in Boston, due to her impressive resume and the notable references she had.

Jack then checked his planner and noticed that he had phone conference at 1:00 p.m. with the Phoenix head office.  So, he has plenty of time to head over to the Phelan's home and properly introduce himself.  

"I got plenty of time..."

Jack quickly and discreetly peeked out the window, again.  Mike seemed to be oblivious, while reading the newspaper as he walked around the kitchen.

"Yes, I can do this.  It's just an introduction, that's all.  Nothing else is going to happen."

But, deep inside Jack did want something to happen.  He just didn't want to admit it to himself.  

Jack moved away from the window, walked over to his private bathroom, turned on the tap and splashed cold water on his face.  As he looked at himself in the mirror, the guilt slowly crept back in.

The treatment that he was given by Mormon Psychologist Joseph Philo Farnsworth had been a success, until now.  

At this moment Jack was feeling an unexplainable urge.  

This urge was like a thirst, a hunger, a need, even.  

But, this thirst was not for water, nor a hunger for food or even a physical need.  

It was much deeper than that.  It was more complex.

Jack felt like his skin was crawling.  He actually felt like a fucking junkie that was being denied his fix.

All Jack wanted right now, was to be on his knees while looking up at Mike.  He wanted to submit to Mike and show him that he could pleasure him in any way, he wanted.

"What, the hell am I doing?  Why, am I feeling this way?  Why, now?"

Jack stood in front of his bathroom mirror and looked at his trembling hands.  

"Fuck!  Why, are my hands shaking?"  

Now, Jack was starting to get cold feet.

"It's just an introduction, that's all.  I'm just going to go over and introduce myself.  It's part of being a good and friendly neighbour.  That's all there's to it!"

But, the images assaulting Jack's brain were anything but neighbourly.  

Jack desired and needed for this strong and muscular alpha male to use him in any way, Mike wanted.  Jack wanted to feel Mike's powerful and muscular hairy chest on his smooth back as he got drilled, deep from behind.  

Jack had gotten so sexually worked up, that he was unaware that as he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, he was slowly massaging his firm bubble butt.  In the mirror, Jack caught a vision of Mike Phelan towering over him.  Mike was grinning from ear to ear, with his muscular, hairy arms crossed over his manly and hairy chest.  Jack dutifully, bent over and used both his hands to spread his firm and taut ass.  He felt his face burn with desire, lust and shame as he exposed that extremely and most private part of his body, his virgen asshole.  Jack then looked over his shoulders and saw Mike give him an approving nod and permission for Jack to use his own fingers to loosen himself up.  

"Oh, my God!  What is happening to me?  Why, am I having such perverted thoughts?"

Jack's "degenerate and impure encounters", as his Mormon Psychologist had so eloquently put it, had consisted of Jack pretty much just, sucking cock.  This wasn't such a bad thing, in Jack's mind. Afterall, performing fellatio on a man wasn't the end of the world.  There were other people out there in the world, who did much worse and fucked up things.  But, Jack's Psychologist didn't see things the same way in which Jack saw them.  So, Joseph Philo Farnsworth had installed the fear of God in Jack.  

Jack's psychologist, had made it crystal clear that he needed to stop immediately with this deprived and filthy homosexual lifestyle.  Ans if Jack didn't stop these impure urges, than he would be cast out, exiled and publicly shamed for being a sexual pervert and deviant.  To continue down this immoral and depraved path was to live a life of blasphemy and Jack would end up alone in eternal damnation.

But, the pull Jack was feeling now, was different.  

This one sided attraction, this chemistry that Jack was having towards this man was way too strong to ignore, or even try to dismiss and forget.  

Jack wanted nothing more than to submit like a bitch to Mike, as soon as Jack's eyes fell on Mike this morning.  Jack desperately and excitedly, wanted to get to know this enigmatic and handsome man.  In fact, Jack wanted to be more than friends or neighbours.  He wanted to find out everything he could about Mike, down to the most personal detail.  Because, at this very fucking moment, Jack had become infatuated with Mike Phelan.

"Jesus Christ, allmighty!  Why, do I have it so bad for this guy?"

Jack splashed more cold water on his face and turned off the tap.  He then grabbed a towel, dried his face and checked his breath.  Jack then popped a mint into his dry mouth and checked his breath. Satisfied, he combed his shiny, platinum blonde hair and looked at himself in the mirror.

"O.k, I can do this.  I'll just introduce myself and leave.  That's pretty simple!"

Jack was dressed in formal attire, wearing khaki pants, a Ralph Lauren white alpaca wool sweater and black leather, Prada dress shoes.  Jack, actually looked very handsome, youthfull and presentable.  As he headed down the stairs, he thought of bringing something over to the Phelan's, as a "neighbourly gesture."

"I should bring something, though.  But, what do we have?"

Jack opened the fridge and saw a Chocolate Cappucino cheesecake that his wife Hannah had bought the previous day.  His wife had a wicked sweet tooth and cheese cake was a must in their household.  Actually, cheesecake was the only thing that would calm Hannah down after a long day's work.

"Bingo!  Sorry, Hannah but I need this more than you."  Jack was then out the door.  

As Jack stood at the front door to his house, he promised himself again, that this was only an introduction and nothing else.

"Ok, here I go..."

Jack stepped out into the cold, wet and chilly morning.  Luckily, it had stopped raining and he quickly dashed acrossed his lush and heavily manicured lawn and over to the Phelan's home.

Jack stood in front of the Phelan's door for one whole minute and took a deep breath.  He was extremely nervous and even felt kinda stupid for behaving and feeling this way.  He knew that his face was flushed and he was also trembling.

"C'on, grow a fucking pair.  You can do this.  Ring, the fucking doorbell!"

Jack took another deep breath and rang the doorbell.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the door, Mike was enjoying his beer and reading the front page news of The Boston Herald.

Drug kingpin, The Crow captured!

Even though Mike was on a two weeks paid vacation, he still had the bad habit of checking his Blackberry.  The TV in the livingroom was on and from the kitchen, he could hear the news on CNN.

Mike then typed a BBM message to Brett,

Mike: "You watching the news?"

Brett: "Yup...lol."

Mike: "Have you seen the front page of this morning's paper?" 

Brett: "Yeah, buddy.  Got up early, just for that.  Looks like the've unleashed the news hounds and they've smelled blood."

Mike: "No shit.  You know, they're not going to stop until they get the name of the snitch, right?  You think we've done enough to hide him?"

Brett: "You, don't know?"

Mike: "What?"

Brett: "O.k...  Just promise me that you're not going to lose your shit, when I tell you."

Mike: "Tell me, what?"

Brett: "Fernando, didn't want to completely disappear and go underground.  The Feds have him set up at The Ritz-Carleton, downtown."

Mike: "WHAT!  You, fucking with me?"

Brett: "No, I'm not.  Now, calm the fuck down and listen.  Fernando is under house arrest and wearing an ankle monitor.  He's got the entire Penthouse floor to himself and he's under 24 hrs surveillance by a team of 10 FBI agents.  All entries and exits are covered by a two man team.  Trust me, the little fucker is secure."

Mike: "Why the fuck, wasn't I told about this?"

Brett: "I don't know, bud.  I thought you knew, already."

Mike: "Call me on the landline.  Now!"

Brett: " 'k"

The phone starting ringing and Mike grabbed it.

"What the fuck, Brett.  How long were you planing on sitting on this?"  Mike was so angry, that he was literally seeing red.  

He heard Brett sigh at the other end of the phone.

"Ah, c'on man.  You know me better than that."

Mike, did know Brett by heart.   And his best friend wouldn't keep something so important from Mike.  

Unless...

"Listen, bud.  In a few hours we're both going to be in a meeting with Skinner.  Why, don't you ask him, as to why you weren't told anything."

Now, it was Mike's turn to sigh.

"Brett, did you tell Skinner the deal we made with Fernando?"

Another sigh from Brett.

"Ofcourse, not.  I made a promise to you and I've kept it."

Mike was about to say something, when the doorbell rang.


Ding-Dong


"Allright.  Listen, there's someone at the front door.  I'll see you at noon in Skinner's office."

There was a moment of silence at the other end of the phone, then Brett answered.

"Sure, 'later."

Mike wasn't a happy camper and he was taking his anger and frustrations on Brett and that wasn't fair.  

As he put the phone back on the cradle, he took another sip of beer, scratched his hairy ass and headed for the front door.   Mike couldn't help to stop and look at the TV, as he heard the International News coming out of Colombia.  It was, LIVE broadcast from Colombia with an Urgent News Bulletin flashing across the bottom of the screen.

El narcotraficante, El Cuervo capturado!

Mike had access to 8000 plus channels from all over the world.  

These channels were being transmitted by a classified and top secret satellite nicknamed, "Big Brother".  Access to this top secret satellite was given to all Special Agents within the Intelligence Division.  Many, if not alot of these channels would never be seen by the public, American or otherwise.  

The fun channels, were ofcourse the "Restricted/Adult" channels coming from Eastern Europe, Russia and Asia.  These verboten channels show every type of depraved and debauched porn that your dirty mind can think of(Seriously, if you can think it.  There's a fucking channel for it).  These channels are owned by underground porn companies that are funded by Russian oligarchs.  Many of these channels run 24Hrs, most are LIVE and ofcourse in HD.  

Mike, ofcourse never watched these channels(wink, wink).

All 8000 plus channels are being monitored by Big Brother, 24/7 and are meant to be used for work only.  Agents from the CIA, FBI and DEA could check, report and cross reference of whatever was being said about the U.S. Government and it's many agencies throught the world.  Special Agents, such as Mike had to have access to all types media and at all times, even from the comfort and privacy of his own home.

Mike on more than one occassion had left Big Brother, unlocked.  

He'd done that just in case his son, Breandàn would come across it by accident, ofcourse.  

Oh, c'on(don't make that face.)

How many of us, while growing up came across our dad's porn magazines by "accident"?  Many dad's knew that junior had found dad's, secret porn stash and even though he suspected that his hiding place had been discovered, he never said anything.  On the contrary, dad went on to supply junior with more current issues of much needed, male release material.  From then on, dad gave his growing boy an outlet for his manly needs and an unspoken camaraderie/understanding was secretly and silently shared between father and son.

Breandàn was a very good kid.  

The perfect son, as far as Mike was concerned.

No, seriously!  

Breandàn was raised in a household that had alot of rules.  

These rules were to be followed and never questioned.   And the kid followed these rules and obeyed them like a good little soldier.  But, now Breandàn was getting older, bolder and a bit more independent.  Breandàn, would roll those beautiful grey eyes and huff and puff whenever Mike had a new rule to implement.  But, in the end the kid would dutifully follow it.  

Mike Phelan was a very busy man.  Actually, that's an understatement.  

Mike is an example of the typical, hard working and single parent.  A man that is juggling an extremely busy, not to mention dangerous career, while doing his best in raising a growing,  responsible and law-abiding teenager.  Mike tended to be away on "assignment" a lot and even though Breandàn was getting older, Mike was not oblivious or blind as to what his son did, while he was away.

Even before Breandàn was born, Mike had secretly installed hi-tech cameras all over his home.  His own wife didn't know about them and Mike had done this because he wanted peace of mind, when he'd be gone for longer than 24 hrs.  So, he had installed a complete surveillance/protection system, to watch over his home and beloved family.

Mike also had access to his home security system from anywhere in the world.  Whether he was in the scorching, hot fucking desert, a humid jungle or even a frozen wasteland, Mike could view every room in his home by using his cell phone, a laptop or even office computer.  The cameras installed in his home were the latest in private surveillance and high tech security.  He could even view the cameras in infrared, if he wished to do so.  

Last year, Mike and Brett had been given a last minute assignment to Afghanistan.  His son, Breandàn had strongly voiced his opinion that he was old enough and responsible enough to be left home alone for the weekend(afterall, Natividad would be back to work on monday).  Mike wasn't thrilled with the idea and felt that even though Breandàn had just turn 14 years old, that he was still too young to be left home alone, even if it was just for a weekend.

But, after alot of badgering, insisting and sulking from Breandàn, Mike agreed.  This decision had also been heavily influenced by his parthner, Brett(but, let's not tell Brett that.)
However, there were to be about two pages worth of conditions that Breandàn was to follow to the letter.  Among the most important conditions and with no chance to argue them, were...

Absolutely and positively...

• No parties

• No friends/schoolmates/neighbourhood kids/or anyone was allowed to come over to the house

• No one was allowed to spend the night

and

• Breandàn was to stay indoors all weekend

When Mike told his best bud Brett, that his son wanted to be left home alone all weekend, Brett was all smiles.  He gave Mike the thumbs up and a hard slap on his back, while shouting "Fuck, yeah!  It's about fucking time!  Partay!"  Mike however, sighed and shook his head.

Now, Brett aside from being Mike's work parthner and best friend, is also Breandàn's Godfather.  

The night Breandàn was due to be born, it was Brett who drove Mike to the hospital.  That day Mike, Brett, their closest co-workers and the entire Navy SEAL team that had trained them both, had all gone bar-hopping for the day.

Another thing about Mike and Brett, is that they both have an extreme and high tolerance level to alcohol(any type of alcohol).  But, that evening the drinking had started very early in the day and they were both wasted by the time Mike got a call from his in-laws that Kristen's contractions had started.  They both ended up, running out of the Fox & Fiddle Pub like they were on fire, among the cheers, whistles and many goodluck wishes for the new dad-to-be.  

Brett jumped into his '67 classic, Jaguar Roadster and along with Mike, drove like a madman down Washington St. on route to St. Elizabeth's Medical Center.  However, Brett was pulled over by a traffic officer only 5 blocks from the hospital for obviously, speeding.  But, the poor cop didn't even have a chance to step away from his bike when Brett, jumped out of his Jag and came within inches of beating the living shit, out of the scared officer.  

Brett Thomas Magnum, is a big, intimidating, broad-shouldered and hulking motherfucker.  At an impressive height of 6'6" and weighing in about 240lbs, smart people tend to stand aside when they see him coming.  Brett is literally, built like a brick shithouse and he has a bad habit of bulldozing anyone that stands in his way.  He also has a bit of a temper, so in a drunken stupor, Brett was hitting the poor traffic officer on the forehead with his Special Agent badge, while also shouting a barrage of obscenities.  

Mike had to move like lighting and jump out of the Jag in order to pull Brett off the startled, patrol officer.  Mike quickly went on the defensive and explained the situation, as to why his best friend was behaving like an ass.  The patrol officer then gave both hulking oafs, the weary eye.  But, as soon as they presented the Special Agent badges to him, he knew that there was no point to even bother and call/report this in.  All the officer wanted to do, was to get away from these two brutes, so he personally escorted them the rest of the way to the hospital.

As Brett "parked" the Jag(on the sidewalk, nonetheless) he gave the scared patrol officer, one of the world's most expensive cigars ever made.  

For the birth of Mike's son, Brett had purchased a box of Gurkha cigars.  Each box, contains 20 cigars and will set you back about $17,000.  These very expensive cigars came from the South Asian country of Nepal and are otherwise, known as the "Rolls Royce" of the cigar industry.  

This particular brand that Brett had bought to celebrate the birth of his Godson, were known as "His Majesty's Reserve".  The HMR used rare and aged Dominican wrappers, that covered the secret blend of the filler and once rolled in 18-year-old tobacco leaves, they were then soaked in an expensive and premium cognac label.  This unique infusion process, involves using an entire bottle of Louis XIII de Rèmy Martin Cognac, which itself costs in the range of $3566.00 per bottle.  

Brett, gently slapped the patrol officer on the back and slipped one of the expensive cigars into the officer's shirt front pocket.

"Here, man.  Sorry, for bitch slapping you.  That in your pocket is a $750 Gurkha cigar.  It's on me, so enjoy it and fucking savour it!" and with that Brett took off, after Mike.

The police officer just made a face.  He took out the strong-smelling cigar, inspected and smelled it, then shoved it back into his shirt pocket.  He walked over to his bike and pulled out a pad from the bike's leather satchel.

"Here you go, asshole!  A ticket for speeding, careless driving and parking violation.  Enjoy these tickets yourself, fucker."

Breandàn Christopher Phelan came into the world at 9:09 a.m, on May 19, 1999.  Brett passed the expensive cigars to Mike's and Kristen relatives, who took them out of politeness(but, didn't light them).  Brett then lit up his and Mike's cigar and starting smoking in the Waiting Room(much to the dismay of the nurses on duty).  But, their happiness was very short lived as Kristen went into cardiac arrest, an hour shortly after giving birth due to heavy, internal hemorrhaging.

Brett loves Breandàn like a son.  

There's no question about that and he'd also do anything for the kid.  Yet, after the hardship and almost severe depression that Mike suffered after the death of Kristen, Brett vowed that he himself would never get married.  

Then again, Brett's also not the marrying kind.



Now, let's get back to last year.

The night before Mike and Brett were about to leave to a classified location(Afghanistan), Brett showed up to the Phelan's home for dinner.  That evening, Brett brought along with him two brown grocery bags.  One bag had a case of beer for Mike and him, and Brett took them out and put them in the fridge.  And while Mike was busy marinating the Kobe beef steaks they were going to have for dinner, Brett tried to sneak and give the second paper bag to Breandàn.  

Brett made small talk with Breandàn about school, sports, girls, etc.  He then threw his gigantic, heavily muscled and tattooed arm over Breandàn and guided him into the living room.  Out of the corner of his eye, Mike saw that Brett gave the other brown paper bag to his son, while whispering in a hushed tone, "Go, nuts."  He then spanked Breandàn in the butt and motioned him to take the bag upstairs.

Mike sighed and knew right away that Brett was up to no good.  Once, Breandàn was out of the kitchen, Mike threw the steaks on the burner.  Brett walked back into the kitchen, took a sip of his beer and sat on a bar stool around the gigantic kitchen island, while checking his Blackberry.  

"What was in the bag, Brett?"

Brett burped loudly, as he looked up at Mike.

"Whaa?"

Mike sighed and made a face.  

Mike's known Brett since they were 20 yrs old and Brett was on purpose, acting dumb and ignoring his question.

"Let's try this again.  What was in the brown paper bag, that you gave Breandàn?"

Brett smiled, took another sip of his beer and once again, burped loudly.

"Some wine coolers, about 8 porn Blu-rays, my old fleshlight and a jug of cherry flavoured, Astroglide lube."

Mike stood in his kitchen with his mouth hanging open, as he looked at Brett.

Brett, on the other hand was busy typing away on his Blackberry.  And as he looked up, he saw Mike's face turning red.

"What?"

Mike looked at Brett, in total disbelief.

"Brett, what the fuck?  Breandàn is only 14 years old!"

Now, it was Brett's turn to roll his eyes.  He sat back on his stool and crossed his arms.

"Yes, I know that.  Again, so what?  I was 12 yrs old when I lost my cherry."

Mike rubbed his right hand over his stubble and couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Yes...and look at how wonderful, you turned out."

Brett flipped Mike a long and thick middle finger.

"Fuck you.  And let's back up the fucking truck, a bit.  Now, if memory serves me right, you lost your cherry at 14.  So, let's not start throwing stones, here."

Brett took another sip of his beer, while looking at Mike straight in the eyes.  

"Listen, bud.  All I'm saying is just give the kid a break.  Breandàn is a polite, studious and pretty much, the perfect kid.  But, man you've gotta to cut him some slack.  If you wind up him up too tight, he's going to snap.  Just remember, Redfield's son.  That's, all I'm saying."

Mike hated to agree with Brett, period.

Hated it!

Hated it!

Fucking, hated it!

But, the big fucker was right.

Tom Redfield's son, Patrick was currently locked up in a Juvenile Detention Center.  Patrick had been a "perfect son", at least that's how his father had referred to him.  Patrick had attended St. Sebastian CHS and that's actually how Mike heard of what a great school it was, and the reason he enrolled his own son there.

Patrick Ian Redfield had been Captain of the football team, President of the Debate Club, an Honour Roll student and had also gotten a football scholarship to Notre Dame.  But, sadly somewhere down the line, either the pressure of being the "perfect son" or getting involved with a "bad crowd", Patrick got involved with drugs and eventually became a crack addict.  The kid ended up getting kicked out of school due to poor grades, cutting class and selling drugs at school.  He also lost his scholarship, ended up running away from home and turned to petty theft and prostitution to fuel his drug habit.

Mike trembled for a second, at the thought of poor Patrick.

He also remembered the last time he saw Tom Redfield.  The toll of all the troubles the family was going through, showed deeply in Redfield's face.  The man was a far cry from his former self. Redfield had lost alot of weight, his marriage fell apart, his son ran away from home and there had been rumours that the kid was selling his young and beautiful body on the street for crack.  Tom then suffered a nervous breakdown, soon after that he had a stroke and eventually he was forced to take early retirement.  
  
Mike found himself, silently nodding his head.  He then set his beer on the counter, and looked up at Brett and straight into his light green eyes.

"Brett, I love you as a brother.  As far as I'm concerned, you're family and also Breandàn's Godfather.  But, he is my son and my responsibility.  Don't you ever, pull this shit again."

Now, it was Brett's turn to silently nod his head.

"I'm sorry.  It won't happen again."

Miked nodded, walked out of the kitchen and as he walked up the stairs, yelled out.

"Watch the steaks, will you.  And don't fucking burn them."

As Mike came up the stairs, he found Breandàn waiting for him at the entrance to his room.

"Umm, dad?  Uncle Brett(Breandàn always referred to Brett as his Uncle) gave me this bag.  But, I don't think it's for..."

Mike motioned with his right hand for Breandàn to give him the bag.  He then took a peek inside, smiled and took out the wine coolers.

"Your Uncle Brett is getting sinile and forgetful in his old age.  The wine coolers are actually for him and me."

Mike, then handed back the brown paper back to his son and started walking away.  

Inside the bag, you could clearly see the porn Blu-rays, with names like... XXX-Men, Anal Assault & Destruction, Cum Crossfire, DP Fanatics, Gangbang Xtravaganza, Field Of Wet Dreams, Teen-aholic$ and Throat Fucks.  As well as something that resembled a flashlight?  But, it smelled like..?  And a large jug with a label that read, Astroglide(cherry flavoured).  

The look on Breandàn's face was priceless.  

As Mike started walking down the stairs, he called out to his son.

"Dinner is going to be ready in ten.  So, please wash up and come and set the table."

Breandàn's mouth was still open, as he peeked inside the bag.  His handsome and babyish face turned a deep shade of scarlet and even his ears, had turned bright red.

"Oh, and buddy?"

Breandàn looked up at his dad with raised eyebrows.

Mike tried to hold in his laughter.  His son was looking extremely flustered and embarrassed.

"Enjoy..."

That had been about a year ago.

That weekend as Mike was knee deep in Taliban territory, he took a quick break.  He went into a hut that he was sharing with his parthner, Brett and took out his labtop.  The battery life on the labtop was at less than half, but he wanted to see for himself as to how reponsible his son was for one weekend.  Mike took a deep breath and made a promise to himself, that he would check on Breandàn just this one time.  

In Boston, it was past midnight and he was sure that Breandàn was at home and asleep.

He took a deep breath and logged in to his home security system.

SENTINEL

Online...

Mike logged in.

He felt weird for checking on his son this way.  

But, Mike wanted to make sure all the cameras worked properly and that Breandàn was at home and most importantly, allright.

Mike would only be checking on his son, just this one time only.  

If Breandàn had followed all of his instructions and kept the end of his bargain, then going forward there would be no more need for this.


Cameras online...


The cameras worked, perfectly...Thank God!

Mike checked the upstairs floor, first.  

He turned on the camera in Breandàn's room.  

This camera was hidden in the smoke detector, on the ceeling and right in the middle of the room.  

The room was pitch black.  So, Mike went to infrared.  

But, his son was not in bed.

Sigh!

Mike took a deep breath, shook his head and hoped his son was somewhere else in the house.  

He then checked the camera in Breandàn's bathroom.  

This camera was hidden behind the large mirror in the bathroom and again, nothing.

"Fuck!  Where are you, boy?"

Mike then checked his bedroom.  

The camera in his room, was in exactly the same spot as in Breandàn's room.  In the ceeling, right in the middle of the room.

Nothing.

Mike's heart was beating faster and his throat had gone dry.  He then checked the camera in his bathroom, but already knew the answer.  

Nothing.

The next camera was in the smoke alarm in the upstairs hallway.  

He turned that one on and saw that the hallways was ofcourse, empty.  But, there was light coming from downstairs in the living room.

"Yes!"

Mike turned on the living room cameras.  

One camera was hidden behind the large mirror across the foyer.  The second one, was in the smoke alarm, above on the ceeling and in the middle of the living room.

He turned both of them on.

At that precise moment, Brett walked into the tent.

Fuck!  

Busted!

So, much for bullshitting Brett that he trusted Breandàn.

Sigh.

Brett casually walked past Mike.  He took off his dirty, sweat and dirt covered shirt and sat on his cot.

"So, what's our boy up to?"

Mike looked at Brett and felt guilty for not keeping his word.  

Brett, however understood his buddy and wanted to make him feel less guilty.

"Bud, c'on.  You and I knew that you were going to be doing this.  Besides, if Breandàn was my son, I'd be doing the same fucking thing.  So, let's not pretend."

Mike smiled and agreed.

Mike then turned the labtop around, so that Brett could get a better view.

"Well, for one he's not in bed, asleep.  Where he's should be."

Brett scoffed and dried his sweaty and hairy armpits with his shirt.  He then threw the smelly shirt in the corner of the tent.

"Right.  Like you'd be in bed asleep, the first time you'd be left home alone."

Mike agreed to that as well.

As Mike zoomed with the camera into the living room, they saw Breandàn sitting in the living room sofa.

At least the boy was at home.  Not in bed, but alone.

Brett was the first to scoff and laugh.

"Ha!  Fuck, ya!  That's our fucking boy!"

Brett then punched Mike, hard on the arm as he walked away from the laptop.

Mike's face, flushed a deep shade of red.

Mike lowered his gaze and then slowly brought his eyes back to the screen.  Right there in the living room, in the confort and privacy of his home and on his 70" Sony Bravia HD TV, was his 14 year old son watching a porno.

Brett was laying back on his cot, and had the biggest grin that Mike had ever seen.

"You know what?  That's actually one of my favourites as well.  Looks like our boy, takes after me.  He's watching, DP Fanatics and I gotta tell ya!  The double penetrations on that movie are fucking fantastic!  Man, I'm getting hard just thinking about them."  Brett then grabbed his bulging crotch and tugged hard at it.

Mike sighed and closed his eyes.

Brett got up and pulled out a cooler that he kept under his cot.  He opened it, took out two beers and handed one to Mike.

Mike took the warm beer, got up from his chair and walked away to the entrance of their tent.  Brett on the other hand, walked over to the laptop, grabbed it and then started zooming in.

"We'll, I'll fucking be!  Congratulations, bud!  It looks like our boy is a chip off the old hung block."

Brett raised his beer in the air and towards Mike.

"Salut!"

Mike took a sip of beer and turned his head.  He already knew what Brett meant.

"Allright, Brett.  Turn that off, please."

Brett smiled, as he kept looking at the laptop and took another sip of his warm beer.

"What?  You mean, you don't want to see?"

Mike sighed, shook his head and looked out into the quiet and cold desert night.

"Really?  You're not even a tad bit curious?"

Mike turned his head and saw Brett, leaning back on the cot.  Brett was gulping away at his tepid beer, with his hairy and muscular arms behind his head.

Mike sighed and felt torn.  

Well, Breandàn was his first born son(well, his only son) and he'd be lying, if he wasn't a tad bit curious.  He had to take a peek, at least a quick peek.  Otherwise, how would he know if the Phelan legacy had been passed onto his son?

Mike turned around, walked back to the labtop, but avoided Brett's piercing eyes.  There on the screen and as clear as day(thanks to the infrared) Mike could see that his son, Breandàn was very "busy" using his right hand.

His son, his boy, his pride and joy, was doing what came naturally to all teenage boys his age.

Masturbating.

And even if Brett hadn't zoom in completely.  Mike could clearly see that Breandàn had indeed gotten the "Donkey Dick Gene"(as Brett, loved to call it).

Mike Phelan was roughly 9" when flaccid and 13.5" when fully erect.

That was one part of the Phelan legacy.  

Mike smiled, sat back, logged off Sentinel and took another sip of beer.  

He chuckled, as he remembered the time he'd had "The Talk" with his own dad.



The year had been 1984 and Mike had just turned 10 years old.  

This would be the year that Mike would find out many things about himself, and of others.  As well as the legacy(or burden as he thought about it, now) that is his family's name.  

1984 would be an intense, confusing, frustrating and lustful year.

At the end of that summer, a young Mike Phelan was about to start the fourth grade.  He was actually looking forward to a new school and making new friends.  Mike never had a problem making new friends(unlike his mother).  Kids always seemed to flock to him and making friends was actually, quite easy.  Moving away and letting go, was another story.  

His dad had relocated his family from Boston, Massachusetts to San Diego, California.  Mike had stopped asking as to why they had to move so much, because whenever he asked his mother as to why they always moved.  She would get all angry, irritated, would start drinking and always answered him sharply with.

"Ask your damm, father!"

And on that very first day of school and on his first class of the day, Mike had an embarrassing moment.

While in Gym class, Mike and the rest of the boys had been doing jumping jacks while wearing sweatpants.  One of the boys standing at the front and leading the others, pointed at Mike's obvious bulge, laughed and made a lewd comment.

Mike couldn't really remember the exact wording of the comment, right now.  

Something about...

"An advantage by having a third leg, while doing jumping jacks."  All the boys in class laughed, as they stared and pointed at Mike's predicament.  

You see, Mike had been 8" fully erect at the tender age of 10.  And even at that young age Mike's testicles were also three times the size of a boy his age.

On the next Gym class, Mike gathered all his courage and went to see his Gym teacher, Mr.Falco.  He walked into Mr.Falco's office and asked him, if he could be excused from doing jumping jacks.  Obviously, Mr.Falco gave the poor boy, a hawk-eyed look and thought the boy just wanted to skip exercising or showering after gym class(the most common answers).

Mr.Falco silently walked past Mike and closed the door behind them.  He then went back to his desk, stood in front of Mike and asked him what this was really about.

Mike sighed and knew that no one would believe his embarrassment if he told them.  So, he did the only thing he could think of and he pulled down his sweat pants.

To this day, Mike can still remember the look on Mr.Falco's face and the brief, yet interesting interaction between them.

"Jesus Christ, son!  Look at the size of....  Damm, boy!  What, are they feeding you at home?"

Mike could only blush and look down in embarrassment.

"Hey, hey...none of that Mike.  Never be embarrassed for the gifts that you've been given.  You're a man, now and never feel embarrassed about being one."

Mike made a face and looked up at Mr.Falco.

"Gifts?  You think these are gifts?" Mike pointed at his lengthy member and low hanging, enormous, yet hairless balls.

Mr.Falco made himself more confortable and sat at the edge of his desk.  He smiled, as he eyed Mike carefully from head to toe.  Mr.Falco then tugged at his too small and too tight shorts and spread his legs.  Mike, had to blush and look sideways, as Mr.Falco's hairy ballsack fell out of his shorts.  Mike didn't even know how to react or even where to look.

"Mike, I'll be sending a letter to your father explaining what happened to you at Gym class."

Mike's face must have had a look of panic, because Mr.Falco then raised his right hand in the air.

"Calm down, you've done nothing wrong.  But, it seems that you're developing earlier than the other boys in your class."

Mike took a big gulp and looked at Mr.Falco, curiously.

"Developing?"

Mr.Falco kept looking at Mike's crotch, while smiling.

"Yes, Mike.  You've started puberty earlier than most boys.  It's perfectly normal, so don't worry about it."

Mike gave Mr.Falco a confused look.

"Puber...what, now?"

Mr.Falco, sighed.

"Puberty, Mike.  That's the period during which growing boys and girls undergo the process of sexual maturation."

Mike looked more confused than ever.

"Listen, Mike.  I can't speak more about this subject, until I get your parents consent on the issue.  I could get in trouble, reprimanded or worse, fired.  So, I will send a letter to your father, so that he can talk to you about this."

Mike nodded and gave a worried smile.

Mr.Falco got up from his desk and while adjusting his tenting shorts, put an arm around Mike and walked him out of his office.

"You'll be fine Mike.  We all go through this stage of change and it's perfectly normal.  You just need to have a man to man talk with your dad, and he'll be able to explain everything to you."

As Mr.Falco and Mike were coming out of his office, the other boys in Mike's Gym class were heading to the showers.

Mr.Falco leaned down and whispered softly into Mike's ear.

"What you got between your legs is a great gift, remember that.  You're becoming a man and these boys only wish they could have what you've got.  So, lift your head high, walk tall and show off, Mike.  I know, I would."

That made Mike smile.  

The other boys could be heard, laughing and rough housing in the showers.  Mr.Falco gave a quick look around the change room and since it was empty, he rubbed his right hand on Mike's crotch.

"You're going to make alot of girls happy with this big toy, Mike.  Promise me, that you'll enjoy and play with it, alot." Mr.Falco winked at Mike, slapped his butt and gave him a nice shove forward.

Everything happened so fast, that Mike didn't even had time to react and he simply walked away to change.

At the end of the day, Mike was heading to his locker to get his backpack.  He was about to open the combination lock on his locker, when he felt someone put their big hands on his shoulder.  As Mike turned his head around, he saw it was Mr.Falco.

"Here you go, Mike." Mr.Falco extended his hand and gave a letter to Mike.

"The letter as promised.  And please make sure that you give it to your father, only.  O.k?"

Mike nodded and took the letter.

The letter was addressed, as follows...

"To the attention of Mr.Phelan, only!"

Mike simply smiled and turned the combination on his locker.  As he opened it, he heard Mr.Falco say.

"And, Mike..."

Mike once again, turned around.

"Please, feel free to come and see me for anything, allright?" Mr.Falco then winked at Mike and headed towards the Gym.

Mike held the letter in his hands, looked at it(it was sealed) and put it in his backpack.  He headed home and wondered what the hell his dad would say to him.

Mike's dad was a man of few words.  

Chris Phelan worked for the U.S. Government and was very secretive about his job.  Everytime, Mike had asked his mom or dad, as to what dad did for a living, they would simply answer him...

"Government."

End of story.

No more discussion.

Also, Chris Phelan tended to be away, alot.

To say that Christopher Phelan was an absentee father was an understatement.  The man was hardly ever, home.

By the time Mike got home, his mom was out.  There was a note on the kitchen door, saying that she had gone to the post office and the grocery store.  There was also a meat pie in the oven, heat it up for half and hour and enjoy.

This was perfect, Mike thought.  

She's out and dosen't have to know anything.  Mike also hoped that the conversation that he would be having with his dad, would stay between them and not have to involve mom.

Mike then made a beeline to his dad's home office.  The door was closed as usual.  

Mike took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

Knock, knock...

There was only silence on the other side of the door.  Then a deep baritone voice, answered.

"Yes?"

Christopher Phelan's was always locked in his office for hours on end.  Mike hardly ever saw or even spoke to his father.

Mike sighed and cleared his throat.

"It's me, dad.  May I come in?"

Mike knew better than to try to open the door, as it was always, locked.

"What is it, son?  I'm sorta busy at the moment."

Mike sighed again and rolled his eyes.

"I have a letter from my Gym teacher and I was told to give it to you, only."

Mike heard papers being shuffled and drawers being closed and locked.  

No one was allowed in Christopher Phelan's office, not even his mom.

"Can't you give it to your mother, son?  I'm in the middle of something, right now."

Mike shook his head and was getting frustrated.

"No, Sir.  The letter is from my Gym teacher, Mr.Falco.  He told me to give the letter only to you."

Mike then heard a desk chair being pushed aside and loud footsteps getting closer and closer to the door.

The door was then unlocked and the heavy, oak door opened.

At the other side of the door, a shirtless Christopher Phelan was standing in the doorway with an alcoholic drink in hand.  His piercing grey eyes, were looking directly at Mike.

"Did I hear you right?  Did you say, Falco?"

Mike nodded.

"Yes, Sir.  Mr.Falco teaches health and Gym at my school."

Chris Phelan was standing bare chested, barefoot and in his boxer shorts.  Mike's dad then opened the door and motioned for his son to come in.

As Mike entered the room, he noticed how warm it was inside.  A cigar was lit and sitting on an ashtray on his dad's desk.  

The room was quite warm and smelled.

It wasn't a terrible smell.  It was a manly smell, kinda...ripe.

Chris Phelan then motioned Mike to take a seat on the long leather couch in his office.  As Mike started walking towards the leather couch, his dad put a hand on Mike's chest.

Mike knew what he wanted...

The letter.

Mike handed the letter to his dad and sat on the couch.  Chris Phelan looked at the letter and then cast a glance at his son.

Mike, looked nervously around the room.  He'd never been inside this room before.  

It was a nice room.

The room had beautiful, dark oak panelling with floor to ceeling book shelves on all walls.  The shelves were covered with books and magazines from top to bottom.  Books about world governments, biographies on world leaders, U.S. presidents, science, geography both local and International, etc.  There were also 8½ x 11" black and white photos of the places dad had "visited" while on "assignment" that hung on the walls.  

Mike could read and recognize the name of some of these places...  

Buenos Aires, Argentina    

Bay of Pigs, Cuba

Caracas, Venezuela

São Paulo, Brazil

East Berlin, Germany

The Great Wall of China

Tokyo, Japan

Saint Petersburg, Russia

Moscow, Russia

Prague, Czech Republic

Cairo, Egypt

Tehran, Iran

Jeddah, Saudi Arabia

Baghdad, Iraq

Istanbul, Turkey

Ephesus, Turkey

Tora Bora, Afghanistan

There were also huge file cabinets covered with tons of papers on every corner of the room.  Mike turned his head and looked at his dad, as he heard him tear open the letter.  He sat quietly on the leather couch, while looking at his imposing and hulking dad.

Christopher Phelan gave his son one more look, before reading the letter.

Mike's dad, was standing like a gigantic statue in the middle of the room.  

His dad was a tall, broad-shouldered, heavily tattooed and hairy, muscular man.  And as Mike looked at his dad, he got a surge of pride in the old man.

His dad was built!

Mike literally saw his dad, as a mountain(although, a very hairy mountain).  And he wondered if one day, he was going to be like him when he grew up.  Tall, muscular and hairy?  Afterall, his dad was pretty hairy all over.  Hairy chest, arms, legs and even on his back.

When Mike got to his dad's crotch, he had to avert his eyes.  

If Mike stared at his dad's crotch, long enough.  He would clearly make out the outline of a long, thick dick and a pair of heavy and enormous balls through the faded, Fruit of the Loom boxers.  

So, he took after his dad,...interesting.  

What was strange, was how Mike had never really cared or even paid attention to his dad's junk before.  

Until, now.  

His dad was also older than most of his friend's dads.  But, not only was Chris Phelan in alot better shape, but his dad had a cool, secretive job that all his friends were envious of.  Mike's friends always joked that his dad was probably a spy and he always laughed it off, but often wondered the same thing.  

Mike had been distracted.  

He'd been busy, counting his dad's tattooes and as he reached tattoo number ten, he saw the look on his dad's face.

Chris Phelan, had started all serious as he first read the letter, he then blushed and eventually smiled as finished reading.  He cleared his throat, slowly walked over to his son and messed up his hair.

"Well, son.   It looks like congratulations are in order."

Chris Phelan, extended his huge right hand at his son.  Mike took it and as they shook hands, he blushed.  

Mike knew what his dad meant.

"We'll, go shopping and then eat out.  That sounds good?"

Mike looked up his dad, strangely and nodded.

"Shopping?"

His dad nodded and gently stroked his son's cheek.

"Yes, shopping.  We need to stop by a Sporting Goods store.  Then we'll eat, whatever you want."

Mike gave his dad a confused look.

"What about mom?"

His dad simply smiled.

"Tonight, is a men's night out.  You and I, will be having a man to man talk, over dinner."

Mike blushed and nodded his head in agreement.

"What are we buying at the Sporting Goods store?"

His dad was smiling and Mike hardly remember ever seen him this happy.

"Well, my boy.  It looks like you're in much need of a jockstrap."

Mike turned a deep shade of red, bit his lips and again, nodded.

Chris Phelan took a hold of his son shoulder and they started walking out of his office.

"I'll need to get clean up and shower first."

Mike was just looking up at his dad.

"Why, don't you come with me to the bathroom.  I have something that I need to discuss and show you."

And with that, they were both out the door.



That seemed to have happen a lifetime ago.



Mike had stepped out into the cold, desert night and as he looked around the camp, he saw a few Marines walking around the camp.

So, the "Donkey Dick" trait of the Phelan legacy, had been passed down to Breandàn.

Mike smiled.

Pretty fucking sweet!  

His boy was in for some fun!

But, now Mike would have to have another "Talk" with his son, once he got home.  

He sighed.  

Mike and his son, had already had "The Talk" when Breandàn had turned 10 years old.  Mike had wanted his son to be well educated and prepared for this stage in his life.  So, Mike had bought his son alot of books about puberty, sex, etc.  But, Mike hadn't spoken about the "Donkey Dick Gene"until he was sure that Breandàn had inherited this particular trait.  Mike had also hoped that Breandàn would have reached out to him about this "new change".  But, the boy hadn't.  This is a typical reaction and way of thinking for shy, yet know-it-all teenagers.  

So, now Mike had to find a way, in which to talk to his son about these "new changes" that were occurring in his body.  Because, getting a massive and thick, baseball bat of dick was just one part. There were to be more changes in his body, other more drastic changes.  In fact, inheriting the Phelan legacy, caused a domino effect that would have a blitzkrieg reaction to Breandàn's mind, body and soul.  

His son would also develop much, much, bigger testicles than a "normal" teenage male.  Which, in turn would cause Breandàn's ejaculations to produce a thicker, heavier, creamier and higher than normal volume of potent, sperm release.  Breandàn's hormones would also experience two or three times the "hornyness" or "oversexed" feelings of a "normal" teenage male.

When Mike had gone through this stage, his father told him to "enjoy and revel, in it!" when it came to masturbation.  So, much so that Mike clearly remembers having jerk-off marathons and jacking off, up to ten times a day on an almost daily basis.  

Phelan men, tended to have a constant state of blue balls.  

Phelan men, needed... 

Actually, let me rephrase that.  

Phelan men, must drain their balls, at least three times a day, seven days a week.  If they didn't, then they would most likely experience an "unexpectant seminal emission" and this was no ordinary wet dream.

You see, a typical ejaculation for a Phelan man, tends to produce about 50ml of thick, potent, grade-A, milky white sperm.  

But, if a Phelan male skipped a mandatory ejaculation...

Well, then he was playing with fire.  As he now had roughly 100ml of thick sperm, stored withing his massive balls and the last thing you wanted was unwanted attention.  You, certainly didn't want to be in a meeting, a baseball game, driving or even at the movies and have "unexpectant seminal emission".  

Because, if you did...

Not only would you have plenty of explanations to give, but you'd be drenched in your own cum.

The Phelan's men solution to unexpectant and embarrassing seminal emission?...

Flushable, 2XL Mega Magnum sized condoms.

These condoms had been invented by Alexander Cullen Phelan, Mike's grandfather.  

Alexander Phelan had been a brilliant scientist working for the U.S. Government in the 30's.  And it was during this time, that he secretly invented these durable and heavy duty condoms at the tender age of 19 yrs old.

From then on, fathers passed this very important and useful tool, to their teenage sons.  Afterall, after a heavy milking session, all you had to do to dispose of your "evidence" was to simply flush it down the toilet.  The material of the heavy duty condom was biodegradable and the best part was that mom/roommate/girlfriend/wife, etc would never find out.

First born Phelan men, had so far inherited the Phelan legacy.  But, this trait wasn't necessarily set in stone.  On more than one occasion, a brother, Uncle or cousin would also inherit the gene. But, according to the family archive, going back ten generations, all Phelan first born males had inherited the "Donkey Dick Gene" & "Massive Tennis Sized Balls".

Puberty age in first born male

Breandàn Christopher Phelan (b.1999 - )...13 yrs

Michael Christopher Phelan (b.1974 - )...10 yrs

Christopher Alexander Phelan (b.1944 - )...12 yrs

Alexander Cullen Phelan (b.1914 - d.1999)...13 yrs

Ewan Breandàn Phelan (b.1884 - d.1959)...11 yrs

Lyall Cullen Phelan (b.1854 - d.1924)...12 yrs

Tamhas Ewan Phelan (b.1824 - d.1895)...11 yrs

Wallace Lyall Phelan (b.1794 - d.1863)...12 yrs

Ronan Tamhas Phelan (b.1764 - d.1833)...13 yrs

Michael Wallace Phelan (b.1724 - d.1794)...10 yrs



Fast forward to present time and the news on TV...



It appeared that Colombians, as well as the rest of the world had awaken to startling news.  Many, in Colombia were stunned and shocked that the most feared and blood thirsty, drug lord in Colombia, El Cuervo(The Crow) had finally been captured.  

The Americans were calling it, Operation Black Raven.

An elite team of American Commandos and members of the CIA and DEA, as well as the Colombian Army and Air Force had descended, yesterday during early dawn into the little town of San Agustin, Huila, about 520 km from the capital of Bogotà.

Mike could hear the distinctive voice of a well known, white haired, CNN anchor who was reporting live from Colombia.  Mike walked over to the living room and saw CNN panning a wide shot, while showing news crews, reporters, photographers from all over the world that had descended into San Agustin, Huila.

The events of the news story of the year, was still developing and unraveling.  Every newstation in Colombia, as well as the world was scrambling to be the first to report anything.  What was being reported now, was that apparently El Cuervo had been living in a simple hut, near the bordering jungle.  

Reporters were taking photos and trying to interview the people in the small town.  Many of the townspeople didn't want to be interviewed, for the fear of retribution.  The very few eye witnesses that spoke to reporters, spoke of a hail of gun fire and explosions like they had never seen or heard before in their peaceful and quiet little town.  

These people were mostly poor farmers, growing crops of vegetables, tobacco and coffee.  They lived well below their means and only worried about how their crops would do next season and if they had enough to feed their families throught the year.  These farmers and villagers, didn't care about world politics or who was controlling and running the drug trade.  They knew that soon enough, another narco-trafficker would take the place of El Cuervo and start the drug trade all over again.

But, what everyone wanted to know was...

Who had snitched on El Cuervo?

Who was the mole?

El Cuervo, had dissapeared from the face of the Earth about 5 years ago.  Rumors were that he had gone underground and no one had seen him ever since.  So, the snitch/mole had to be someone on the inside, someone very close to his entourage.  But, now El Cuervo was on American soil and royally fucked.

The CIA, DEA and Colombian authorities said that El Cuervo's compound had been a large producer of cocaine and a top supplier of heroin.  An estimated 9.5 tons of cocaine and vast quantities of chemicals were seized in the raid on the facility.

A member of the CIA, who can't be named for security reasons, states that "This has been a huge blow to narco-traffickers.  The losses that they have sustained are incalcuble.  This is by far the biggest and most organized drug lab that we've seen in a very long time."

The compound was roughly 1.5 square miles(4 sq km) and was hidden by the thick and dense jungle.  The CIA and DEA figure that El Cuervo was able to produce up to 60 tons of cocaine a month and then distribute to other cartels in and around the country.  A large percentage of these drugs would then make it to international markets.

The white haired, CNN anchorman went on to say that..."Colombian authorities cannot confirm, but estimate that El Cuervo had sustained a heavy loss of his "troops".  About 67 of his men were killed in the gunfire, 25 are badly wounded and 37 captured.  The CIA also seized a helicopter, 5 speedboats, a luxury yacht, a Rolls-Royce, a Turquoise Blue 1997 Porsche Turbo S and a private jet on the raid."

The CNN cameraman was panning the camera, showing $85 million dollars in cash spread out in a table and a vast arsenal of weapons.  The DEA were seeing carrying about 60 boxes, labeled Evidence that contained 1,090 pounds of heroin with the street calue of $3 billion dollars.

El Cuervo will be tried on U.S. soil for drug trafficking, money laundering, kidnapping and the bloodiest massacres of Government officials, their families and even other drug cartels that he saw as enemies or competition.

For El Cuervo, gone are the days of living in his many "palaces" and "villas".  Of being catered to all his needs and living in a vast and obscene display of wealth, power and drugs.  Gone are also the days of driving his many fancy sports cars(he loved to collect vintage Porsches), the expensive clothing(Italian suits), the jewels and a harem of beautiful women.  Now, he would end up living his last days in some dingy, perhaps crowded American cell.  



Deep down, Mike knew that El Cuervo would never walk as a free man, again.  

Mike sighed.  

He took his eyes away from the TV and dashed for the front door.  But, as he got closer to the door, he realized that he was only wearing his wet jockstrap.

"Shit!  Fuck sakes!"

He ran back to the kitchen, rushed into the laundry room and started digging in the dirty laundry for something more decent to wear.  He sighed again, when he remembered that he hadn't unpacked his clothes, yet.  All his clothes, both dirty and clean were still in his suitcase upstairs.

The doorbell, rang again.

"Shit! shit! shit!"

Apparently, the laundry must have been done by Natividad last week.  All there was left in the laundry hamper, were some dish towels, Breandàn's uniform shirts, socks and a pair of white Gym shorts.

"Oh, c'on...give me a fucking break.  That's it?"

The doorbell, rang once more.

Mike shook his head and sighed.

"I'm not going to be able to fucking fit in these!"

He was about to run upstairs when the doorbell rang again.

"Allright!  I'm coming! I'm coming!"

Mike shrugged his shoulders and started to slip on his son's, white Gym shorts.

Mike, literally forced himself into the way too small shorts, one gigantic and muscular leg at a time.  He actually, looked comical as he tried to balance himself, while jumping up and down trying to fit his tree trunks of legs and his huge package into the small Gym shorts.

When he finally got them on, he looked down and groaned.

"Oh, man.  This is just fucking wrong..."

The white gym shorts looked like they were going to burst at the seams.  Seriously, though.  

It looked like the fucking fabric was about to rip and Mike's ample crotch mound, looked unbelievably massive and just plain, obscene.  

Mike's, man junk was a huge, bulging and immodest mound.  And since the fabric was white and his jock was still a bit wet, the fabric of the shorts were soaking up the water.  So, you could clearly make out the size and shape of his huge gonads and his thick tube steak.

Mike then grabbed one of Breandàn's white uniform shirts, to cover his naked torso.  But, as he tried to shove his muscular arm on the sleeve, he ended up just ripping it.

"Oh, hell.  Fuck, this!"

Mike hurried while walking funny towards the front door.  He tried his best to push his thick dick and massive balls inwards.  But, there was just no way to conceal how much meat and potatoes he was packing.

"Oh, well.  I tried..."

Mike was hoping and praying that it wasn't Mrs.Fitzgerald from across the street.  That sweet old widow, would have a heart attack if she saw him in this lewd and vulgar appearance.  

Mike finally got to the front door and as he opened it, there was no one there.

"Hello?..."

Mike poked his head out the door and looked to his right.  A man was walking away, while carrying something in his hands.

"Hello, there!  Did, you just ring the doorbell?"

The man quickly turned around and smiled.

"Oh, hi!  Yes, I did.  I thought that maybe you'd gone out."

Mike was looking at the man and he had no idea, as to who this was.  Obviously, this guy lived in the neighbourhood.  This was a gated and private community and no one could just walk in from the street.  You had to be buzzed in by Security at the front gates.

"I'm Jack Miller.  Your next door neighbour."

Mike simply smiled and nodded politely.

"Ahh, o.k."

Mike still didn't have a clue about this guy and he was positive that he hadn't met this guy before, either.

Jack walked up to the house, as Mike stood behind his front door.

"I'm Mike Phelan.  Nice to meet you."

Mike extended his right hand, but saw that the guy was holding a cake with both hands.

Jack smiled.

"I would shake your hand.  But, I don't want to drop this cheesecake.  It's for you and your son."

Mike again, smiled and nodded.

"Thank-you, that's really nice of you.  Where are my manners.  Please, come on in...it's freezing outside."

Mike motioned with one hand for Jack to step into his home.

Jack smiled, nodded and entered the Phelan's home.  Mike closed the door behind him and stood behind Jack.

At least it was another guy.  So, Mike didn't feel too bad about offending Jack in this indecent appearance.

"Here, let me take that."

Mike took the cheesecake from Jack's cold hands.

"My family and I, hope you both like it.  It's a Chocolate Cappucino cheesecake."

Mike smiled and starting walking towards the kitchen.

"Well, you're off to a great start.  Keep this up, Jack and we'll be great neighbours.  How did you know that my son and I, love anything chocolate?"

Jack smiled and blushed, as Mike started walking towards the kitchen.

"C'on, follow me to the kitchen."

Jack couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Holy Fucking, God!

Sweet, dear Jesus!  

Mike's appearance was a scene out of a fucking porno!  

Jack was praying really hard, not to get a hardon.  But, fuck!  Mike Phelan was a walking wet dream come true.  

Mike did not, fucking disappoint!

As Mike stood in front of the kitchen island, he looked amazing in those small and tight shorts.

"I'm sorry, that I didn't recognize you earlier.  I'm still a bit tired and jet logged from my trip.  But, our boys go to the same school, right?"

Jack was blushing and "trying" very hard, to look at Mike straight in the eyes and nowhere, else.

"Yes, that was me earlier driving our boys to school.  My son Drake and your son, Breandàn are in the same grade and have some classes together."

Mike smiled and nodded.

"Please, forgive my appearance.  I was out jogging and..."

Jack interrupted Mike, as he once again blushed.

"No, no...please.  There's no need to apologize.  I should be the one apologizing.  Afterall, your son told us this morning that you've just gotten back from a business trip.  I shouldn't have bothered you so early in the morning.  I'm very sorry."

Mike smiled, as he put the cake on the kitchen island.

"It's allright, really.  I actually have to be heading out for work, soon.  I have a meeting at noon.  So, no worries."

Jack politely nodded and took a quick glimpse of Mike's hairy muscular chest and massive broad shoulders.  He then quickly looked away.

"Well, then.  I should leave you to do your thing..."

Mike looked at his wrist watch.

"You don't have to, Jack.  I got some time...unless, you need to go."

Jack's heartbeat was accelerating and his throat was dry.

"Umm, no.  I just don't want to keep you.  Maybe, I can stay for a few minutes."

Mike smiled and nodded.

"Allrighty, then.  Listen, you don't mind if we cut this baby up.  Do you?"

Jack smiled happily.

"Not at all, please enjoy."

Mike then went to turn on the coffee pot.

"Would you like a piece?  Maybe, some coffee?"

Jack was feeling very confortable around Mike.  He was sooooo, very glad that he came over.

"I'd love both, actually and thank-you."

As Mike was going to open the top cupboard, where they kept the plates.  His son's Gym shorts, somehow got caught in the handle of the utensil drawer.

A loud rip could then be heard.

Riiiiiiiiip

Poor Breandàn's Gym shorts, fell to the kitchen floor and there in his own kitchen, stood an almost naked and blushing Mike Phelan.

To be continued!