Date: Sat, 11 Dec 1999 09:05:43 CST
From: Tim Foure <timfoure@hotmail.com>
Subject: "Summer of My 15th Year" 1-4 (adult-youth) (incest)

The Summer of My Fifteenth Year, Chapters 1-4
by Tim Foure

If you are under 18 or not permitted access to homosexual erotica where you
live, then you should not read this story. The other usual disclaimers too.
___________

Chapter 1

My brother Ted has always been a businessman. From the time he was thirteen
years old until he left for college and sold his riding mower to me, he had
conducted a very successful lawn-mowing business. I don't mean that he
mowed a few lawns. He usually had upwards of twenty-five lawns under his
care, some of them much larger than the average half-acre lot, and he made
quite a lot of money caring for them. He paid for the riding mower he used
for the final four years he was in business, upgrading from Dad's old
gas-powered push mower. When he was seventeen, he bought himself a used
car, ending his dependence on the family Volvo.  The mower was still in
excellent condition when I bought it because, as he told me, "You gotta
take care of your equipment." He has since traded that car to buy a
convertible.

The summer he was eighteen he began to take me around with him as he "did
his lawns."  He told his customers I was there to help him with the
trimming, but his real purpose was to make sure they knew who I was. The
family resemblance between us was pretty obvious. I looked like a smaller,
younger edition of Ted, same brown hair and eyes, same U-shaped face, same
crooked smile.

It was Ted's same good service they were accustomed to when I took over the
business completely at the end of that summer. After all, I had to earn the
money to pay him for the mower. I was thirteen at the time, in his view the
perfect age to become his business partner. He himself had not needed a
partner at that age, having inherited all of Mom and Dad's entrepreneurial
genes and a few more besides. But he had great hopes that I would follow in
his footsteps if he just gave me a little boost at the start.

Ted taught me quite a lot that summer about running the business, and very
little of it had anything to do with the fastest or most efficient ways to
cut and trim a lawn. He explained that it was often necessary to play to
the customer's expectations and peculiarities. Mrs. Gaw, he told me,
believed he ought to be willing to cut her grass for free since he was "the
same age as my grandson and he wouldn't charge your grandmother." You had
to play the same game every time, looking apologetic but being firm when
you asked her to pay you. He also told me it was best not to be there when
her flower beds needed weeding because she expected free help with
that. But worse still, she did her weeding in a loose house dress, wore no
underwear, and tended to flash you with her entire crotch from pubic hair
to asshole when she bent over. As I learned from experience, that was not a
pretty sight.

He told me it was better to mow someone's lawn when he wasn't home and then
to show up at the dinner hour to be paid. The idea was that the customer
couldn't ask you to perform any services for free if he wasn't there, but
you could count on finding him at home at dinner time so you could be
paid. The exception to this rule was Mr. Morris. He liked to watch you
while you cut his lawn and could be counted on to add a tip to the cost of
the mowing. Not wearing a shirt increased the size of the tip, and letting
him give you a soda in his kitchen when you were finished increased it even
more.

"He quit watching me last year, but I bet he'll watch you," Ted told
me. "If you can get your nerve up to do it, you could wear loose shorts and
let him get a look up the leg every once in a while. I use to do that."

Ted had already taught me that it was a mistake to wear briefs, our usual
choice for undershorts, while you were mowing because the elastic around
the legs tended to feel like it was burning its way into your butt after
you had sat on the plastic mower seat for a while. He favored wearing no
underwear at all, and I followed his lead in this as in everything else.

"Mr. Morris ever grab you or anything," I asked.

"Nah, he's a cool guy. He just likes to look. I figure you're just givin'
him a break if you let him steal a quick peek every now and then."

Looking ahead to next year, he explained that I needed to see my potential
customers well before the grass cutting season started. He told me that
these people could not be counted on to wait for you to come by even though
they had been satisfied with the job you had done for them in previous
years. He said they tended to make an arrangement with the first kid who
showed up, particularly if he was very young. It seemed I was going to have
an advantage over him in this respect since people preferred to see a
spindly-legged child struggling with a lawnmower all afternoon rather than
the adult Ted had become making short work of their lawns. It didn't matter
that I wasn't actually going to have to struggle when I began cutting. They
would visualize it when they hired me and that was usually all it took.

Ted also told me to offer two kinds of service, a cut-and-trim-on-demand
service where the homeowner decided whether or not he thought the lawn
needed cutting and a regular weekly cutting and trimming at a lower
price. He gave me all of the details about the benefits and drawbacks of
each type so I could explain them to the customers, and he taught me how to
convince customers to move after the mowing season started from the
on-demand to the regular service, which was more lucrative and easier to
schedule. He had a list of tricks to use, like being unavailable when other
kids who mowed lawns were away on vacation and then showing up the day
before they were due to return and charging extra because the grass had
gotten very tall.  Since I took over the business, I've had a long list of
customers, most of whom had once been his customers, and all but one of
whom were "regulars" by the end of my mowing season on my own.  I was also
thinking about upgrading the mower again because not only had I made good
money from the business the previous summer, but Ted had turned out to be
very good indeed at knowing which stocks would rise in price and when they
would do it. He had managed my savings from the first week I went with him
to mow, and even Mom and Dad had begun taking Ted's advice in spite of the
fact that he had just turned twenty years old and was only beginning his
sophomore year at the university.

I missed him terribly when he left for college. I was miserable for weeks
beforehand, and I wanted him to promise to come home every weekend.
Eventually Dad took me aside and explained with great care how important it
was that Ted be allowed a chance to finish growing up separate from the
rest of the family. He told me I was being unfair to Ted by making him
unhappy at a time when he should be on top of the world. So I tried with
limited success to hide my misery.

The next night in bed, Ted got better results. He told me, "Listen, Sport,
nothing's gonna change between you and me, ever. Got it? So put a cork in
it. You're gettin' Dad all worked up." Then he rolled over and went to
sleep. That was all it took.

Ted and I had begun sleeping in the same bed the night my Mom left.
Actually, I slept in his bed for only part of that night, having gone into
his room in the middle of the night in tears. He lifted the covers, told me
to get in, and cuddled me until I fell sleep. I was eleven at the time and
unable to understand that Mom wasn't leaving forever. Ted was sixteen
(going on thirty, my Dad always said) and had a good grasp of the way
things stood.

The next morning he explained it all to me before we got out of bed. Mom
was moving to Atlanta because her internet business was growing and she
needed better phone service than the two tin cans connected by a string
which our local company provided. She'd come back on weekends when she
could get away, but it probably wouldn't be more than one weekend a
month. Dad, on the other hand, hated big cities and actually wanted to move
to a farm. Even the small town we lived in wasn't rural enough for him.
He'd go to Atlanta to visit Mom whenever he thought he could endure a
weekend there, which wasn't likely to be all that often. Ted and I were
staying with Dad because they both thought the country was a better place
to bring up kids, but we could visit Mom in the city whenever we wanted to.

"Would you want to go live with Mom?" I asked him.

"Sport, you gotta know I'm not about to move down there. I made it clear
right off that I wasn't giving up my business," he told me.

I put aside the fact that he had been asked to mull over later. No one had
asked what I wanted to do.

The explanation over, Ted threw back the covers and got out of bed. I got
two surprises in a row.  The first one was that he was naked. I had seen
him naked all of my life, as he had seen me. But I had thought he wore
briefs to bed, as I did. I decided on the spot if he slept naked, I would
do it too.

The second surprise was that he was hard. That was the first time I had
ever seen him with a hardon, or perhaps the first time I was ever aware of
it. His dick stuck almost straight up, and the head swung back and forth
through an arc of about thirty degrees as he walked, alternately slapping
against his belly and pausing in mid air. It seemed huge at the time, at
least in comparison to mine, but I was eleven and hadn't yet begun puberty.

I thought I was over my fear of abandonment after Ted's explanation, but I
woke up that night after a frightening dream. As usually happens, the
residual vague memories of what the dream had been about faded from my mind
as I woke up. The fright it produced, of course, stayed with me. I went
straight to Ted's room. He lifted the covers for me to get in as soon as I
said his name. Then he cuddled me against him and went back to sleep.

It took me longer. For one thing, the fear caused by the dream was still
with me even though I now felt securely cuddled up to Ted with his arm
around me. Also I had followed through on my intention to sleep without my
briefs, and I was acutely aware of my nakedness. And what's more, I was
aware of his. I could feel his pubic hair and his dick against my butt. He
wasn't hard, but I got painfully hard as I lay there. I could feel his
hairy legs against my own smooth ones. I could feel his steady, even
breathing against the back of my head, the warm air he exhaled moving the
hair at the base of my neck and giving me chills. I wrapped my hand around
my dick because it seemed to call out for me to touch it, and it felt very
good to hold it, but it didn't provide any relief. I suppose I lay there
like that for an hour or more before I went back to sleep.

In the morning we woke up at about the same time. Ted said, "Rise and
shine!" and threw the covers off of both of us, making a joke of it. He
jumped off of the bed with his hardon flapping up and down.

"Hey, Sport, you got a hardon!" he said.

I hadn't realized I did until he told me. Then I was embarrassed about it
for some reason. I felt very peculiar, wanting to get a really good look at
his but not wanting him to see mine at all. In fact, not wanting him even
to know I was hard. I was trying to hide it and, at the same time, to
puzzle out why I felt as I did when he jumped back onto the bed and crawled
toward me on his hands and knees. He stopped when he was looking straight
down at my crotch.

"Lemme have a look," he said as he brushed aside the hand I was using to
cover my hardon. He laid his finger on my dick, running it from top to
bottom and giving me a sudden and altogether surprising jolt of pleasure. I
had never felt anything like it before. I also felt as if my dick was
trying to get harder still, a thing which I would have sworn was impossible
a minute earlier.

"You're startin' to grow up! Sure sign! The old mornin' boner." he said.
"Any hair comin' in yet?"  he asked as he looked more closely and began to
rub his fingers all around the base of my dick.

When I didn't answer, he raised his head to look at my face. "I can't
believe you don't know if you got any hair there yet. Oh, wait. I bet I
embarrassed you." He looked suddenly very contrite.  "Sport, I'm sorry! I
just thought it was so cool that you had a hardon!" His lips spread into a
smile. "You sure don't have to be embarrassed around me. I got all kinda
great stuff that I gotta teach you now you're growin' up. Can you cum yet?"

I was trying to keep up. I wanted to know why it felt so good when he
touched my dick. I wanted to touch his dick. I wanted to know what great
stuff he could teach me.

"Come where?" I asked. I squeaked it actually. My throat was very dry for
some reason.

"No, make cum, the stuff that comes outta your dick."

"Pee is all that comes out of my dick," I said. I was getting confused.

"Wrong! Well, maybe not. I think I was older the first time."

One thing was clear to me, so I grasped at that. "Could I touch your dick?"

"Sure!" he said, lifting his arms off of the bed and straightening up until
he was sitting back on his heels. His hardon was right there beyond my
hand. "Go ahead," he told me.

I sat up and reached out my hand, touching his dick gently with the tips of
my fingers. It jumped at my touch, which I hadn't expected. I jerked my
hand back as quickly as I could. But when Ted didn't seem angry and, more
important, still seemed to be waiting for me to touch him, I got my nerve
up for another try. I ran the backs of my fingers slowly up the back of his
hardon. It was soft to the touch on the outside, and smooth feeling, and
warm.

I looked up at Ted's face. I wanted to touch it more, but that had been all
he had done to mine, just a quick, gentle touch. I needed to know if I
could touch it again. He was smiling at me. He must have understood,
because he nodded his head.

This time I wrapped my fingers around the shaft, loosely, and followed the
slight curve of it upwards from the hair at the base to the end of the
head. I wanted to simply hold it, not knowing what else to do with it. I
was very sure I wanted it, but I didn't know what for. There was a definite
feeling of purpose behind my desire to touch it, but I didn't know what
that purpose was, so I continued to hold it.

"Will mine get as big as yours?" I asked him.

"Should," he told me. "We might both get even bigger. Dad's is bigger than
mine. Not a whole lot, but it's bigger."

"You saw Dad with a hardon?" I asked, amazed at the idea of it.

"Yeah, he gets mornin' boners too. Every guy does. If you get to the
bathroom at the right time, you could get a look at it."

I stored that information away, already planning to find out when the right
time was and to be in the bathroom when it came.

"Sport, I got to pee bad!" he told me in a pitiful voice. "You done?"

I hadn't thought about it. I suppose I would have sat there holding his
dick for the rest of the day if he had let me. I let go of it, withdrawing
my hand slowly. He jumped off the bed, pulled on the loose pair of shorts
he used in place of a bathrobe, and headed for the bathroom.

As I continued to bring my hand back toward me, I began to notice a smell I
had never smelled before. I brought my hand to my nose. I realized
immediately that I was smelling Ted's dick on my hand. I lay there and
continued to inhale it, cupping my palm over my nose to concentrate the
slightly musky scent. I also became aware that there was some connection
between my enjoyment of the smell and the sudden throbbing in my still hard
dick. Totally bewildered by that realization, I hoped Ted would explain it
to me as part of the great stuff he was going to teach me.

But it turned out that Ted wasn't in any particular hurry to begin my
education. I expected him to come back from the bathroom and start
immediately, but of course he didn't. In fact, he didn't even come back. I
lay there for quite a while before I realized he had gone on to the kitchen
to get his breakfast, and even then it was more the deflation of my hardon
than his failure to reappear that caused me to get out of bed.

>From then on I thought continually about the subject of sex. I didn't
realize it was sex that I was thinking about. To me it was just a
collection of seemingly unrelated experiences and pieces of information
which contained at least one of three elements, my hardon, Ted's hardon, or
dicks in general. But thoughts about it, often very confusing thoughts, did
fill almost every waking moment.

I tried talking about it with Boomer, my best friend. His parents had
actually named him Beauregard after his maternal grandfather, but no one
called him that except his mother when she was angry with him. Boomer was
seven months younger than I was and had no interest in the subject of
hardons. It wasn't because he didn't get them. We both had for as long as I
could remember, and we had shown ours to each other on occasion. But that
was the extent of it. He told me he would rather go fishing when I brought
the subject up.

Talking to Dad was out of the question. It wasn't that I was afraid to ask
him about it. He wouldn't have been angry. In fact, he almost certainly
would have been pleased. But Dad tended to go on forever when he explained
something to you, worrying it as a terrier does a rat, until there was no
part of the subject left untouched and your interest in it had been
completely extinguished. Providing a hardon at the right moment was the
only part I wanted Dad to play in my education on this subject.

That left Ted. Normally I would have gone straight to him and asked
whatever I wanted to know.  Ted had no time for long-winded explanations,
which he called "the bullshit." He would cut to the heart of the matter and
give you the facts as he saw them. Sometimes the information he imparted
was downright stunning in its directness, leaving you with enough food for
thought to last for days. But on this subject I was not yet ready to
approach him. I was still confused by what he had said that morning in bed,
and I was worried that my lack of understanding was a sign of a deficiency
on my part. Ted did not suffer fools gladly, so I didn't ever want him to
get the idea that I was one.

I was left with the indirect approach, watching and waiting until I could
make some sense of it all.  Since Ted had been willing to let me feel his
hardon, a thing which I probably should have been afraid to ask him, I
decided to stick closer to him than I already did. There was no telling
what vital information he might let slip entirely by accident, and I didn't
want to take any chances on missing it.

That night I lay in my bed waiting until I thought Ted must surely be
asleep. I went into his room and spoke his name. He replied by lifting up
the covers so I could slide in with him. He did it so quickly after I spoke
that I was afraid he was still awake, but he cuddled up against my back
and, in less than a minute, began the rhythmic breathing that signaled
sleep. I lay there awake, feeling his dick and pubic hair against my butt
and wondering why I had gotten a hardon again. I wrapped my fingers around
my dick and held it until I went to sleep.

When I awoke in the morning, Ted was stretching beside me, first his arms
and then his legs, twisting this way and that as he did it. When he
finished, he looked at me and said, "'Mornin', Sport."

I smiled a good morning back to him.

"How's the hardon this mornin'?" he asked. I must have blushed, because he
added, "Aww, there's nothin' to be embarrassed about. Mine's up right on
schedule. See." He lifted the blanket so I could look down at his hardon.

"So how 'bout yours?" he asked as he held the blanket higher and looked
under it.

"I think it's up too," I said, a little timidly.

"You don't know? Lemme see," he said as he dropped the blanket. I felt his
hand slide quickly across my hip and wrap itself around my dick. It felt so
much better touching it than my hand did that there was no comparison.
"Feels like it's as up as it can get." He squeezed it before he pulled his
hand away. Then he threw himself on top of me and began to tickle me.

I lose all control when someone tickles me. I roll around and flail and,
for some reason, squeeze my eyes shut. Ted used my vulnerability to such an
attack as a way of breaking down my reserve any time he thought I was being
too serious. It always worked. When he stopped poking me in the ribs, I
collapsed in exhaustion as I always did.

"Reach down and feel your dick, Sport."

I did as he said.

"Now feel mine."

It was only an inch or two from mine. My hand had brushed against it as I
was reaching for my own.

"Any difference between 'em?"

"Yours is bigger," I said.

"But they're both just as hard, right?"

"Yeah, they are." I was still holding his.

"Then get over bein' embarrassed about it. Nothin' about a boner in the
mornin' that's not 100% normal."

Having said that, he rolled back to his side of the bed, pulling his dick
out of my hand.

"Time to haul ass outta this bed. Let's go, Sport," he told me as he got
up.

I watched him walk around the bed to get his shorts. His dick swung through
its arc as he walked, slapping his belly at one end and pausing in space at
the other as if it was pointing the way to go. I was actually waiting for
him to leave so I could smell my hand. I had it cupped over my nose as soon
as the door was closed behind him.

That night I asked him before he was asleep if I could sleep with him. I
thought the chances were about even that he would say no, but he just
lifted the covers to make a place for me. The following morning he
announced a "boner inspection" when he woke me. He grabbed my dick, which
was hard, and gave it a few squeezes before letting it go. I grabbed his
immediately, but I didn't let go.

"Definitely growin' up, Sport," he told me. "We're gonna have to talk about
some stuff real soon."

"How about now?" I thought, but I didn't say it. I was too pleased to be
holding his dick. There was now a clear connection in my mind between the
smell his dick left on my hand and a pleasant throbbing in my own. I
couldn't wait to smell my hand when he left.

The next day was Saturday. I was apprehensive all day because the pattern
of my sleeping with him every night would be broken. I knew it's often more
difficult to begin something, even the second time, than it is to simply
continue it. It would seem as if we were starting all over again on Sunday
night. The problem was that Ted had a date and wouldn't be home until well
past my normal bedtime. I didn't have enough nerve to sleep in his bed
without him being there. In my own bed, I had trouble falling asleep, half
thinking that if I was still awake when he got home, I could go to his
room.

I didn't remember falling asleep, but then you never do. Ted woke me,
saying, "Scoot over, Sport. You're hoggin' the bed."

As I moved, I felt him slide into bed with me and press himself against my
back. I was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of well-being.

"G'night, Sport. Sleep tight."

"G'night," I answered, going back to sleep just as quickly as I awoke.


Chapter 2

Sunday morning I woke up at my regular time, but Ted slept on, having come
in late. He was lying on his side facing me, but not lying against me as he
had been when I fell asleep. No doubt we had both moved around during the
night. My first thought was to move against him, but it was replaced by an
even more daring idea. I wondered if I could feel his dick without waking
him.

I lay my hand on the sheet, knuckles-side down, curled my fingers slightly,
and very cautiously slid my hand across the sheet towards where I thought
Ted's crotch had to be. My thumb touched his pubic hair a second before my
fingers touched his dick. I held my hand very still after I made contact to
see if I had disturbed him, but he didn't move. Emboldened by that, I
raised my hand up and wrapped my thumb and fingers around his dick.

I was a little confused about what I felt. My dick had two conditions, hard
and soft. It seemed to go from the one to the other instantly, with no
in-between state. Ted's dick felt like it was somewhere in between. My
confusion disappeared quickly though, replaced by the knowledge that I
could probably now hold his dick until he woke up.

I lay there contentedly holding it for a minute or two when I realized it
was getting bigger in my hand. As I continued to hold it, it got bone
hard. I had no idea it was my warm hand that was causing the erection, but
I was very pleased by its appearance. Now I was holding what I had hoped to
hold when I first slid my hand toward Ted's crotch, his hardon. I continued
to hold it, prepared to lie there contentedly doing so until Ted woke up.

Various things went through my mind. I realized I had a hardon too,
something I hadn't noticed before, so I wrapped my other hand around it and
held it as I was holding Ted's. The idea of having a dick in each hand
appealed to me, as if there was now some connection between the two dicks.
My own dick also throbbed periodically, and I found myself wishing Ted's
would do the same thing.

After a few minutes Ted's breathing changed in pattern. My first thought
was that he was waking up and I should let go of his dick. But since I
didn't want to, I convinced myself that I was mistaken. Of course I was
wrong, and he opened his eyes a few seconds later.

"Hey, Sport," he said drowsily, his head still laying on the pillow.

"Hey," I replied.

I wondered how I could let go of his dick now without him knowing I had
been holding it. There didn't seem to be any way to accomplish that, so I
continued to hold it.

"Got lucky last night," he said as he broke into a grin.

"Yeah?" I said, having no idea what he meant.

"Sure did! The whole deal. Didn't even have to wear a rubber. She's on the
pill."

I thought I had understood more of what he said than I actually did. I knew
what a rubber was. A kid had brought one to school. It fit over your dick
so you didn't catch a disease. We decided that the one he had was for an
adult because it clearly would have fallen off of any of our dicks and
therefore provided very little protection. I was a little vague about how,
exactly, a rubber prevented you from catching anything, but we had heard
that said often enough that we were sure it was correct. No one had ever
said you could take a pill instead, but it seemed like a great idea since
it was an article of faith among us that guys didn't like to wear rubbers.
I decided that he felt lucky about not having to wear the rubber. I
wondered why he would date a girl in the first place if he already knew she
had a disease. Of course everybody said Mary Ellen was a knockout, so maybe
it was worth taking the chance you would catch a terrible disease if you
got to date a knockout. It was hard to believe she had any kind of terrible
disease, though, because she was always very nice to me.

Hardly more than a few seconds passed as all of that rushed through my
mind. I replied, "Yeah, you really were lucky."

"Wasn't her first time, though," Ted said.

Now I was confused again. Her first time to take the pill? I knew girls
didn't have dicks and couldn't wear rubbers anyhow, so it didn't seem it
could have anything to do with that. But I understood from the tone of his
voice that somehow it would have been better if it had been her first time
for whatever, so I said, "Too bad," hoping that that answer would do.

"But she was pretty hot, so I guess I ought to be satisfied with what I
got," he added.

Completely lost now, I said, "Yeah, guess so."

"Hey, you doin' the boner inspection this mornin', Sport?"

Trying to puzzle my way through what he was saying, I had lost track of the
fact that I was still holding his dick. It came back to me suddenly. I
yanked my hand away from his and let go of my own.

"Yeah, guess so," I said with a sheepish grin.

"I'm glad you're gettin' over bein' embarrassed about it. How's yours doin'
this mornin'?" he asked as he reached for my hardon.

A wave of pleasure went through my entire body when he touched it. Then he
gave it a few squeezes, as if he was feeling it or checking it out. Each
one produced another wave of pleasure. I couldn't speak even though I had
the intention of answering him.

"Feels like it's all the way up there," he said as he let it go.

His releasing my dick also gave me back the power of speech. "Yeah, I think
it is," I told him.

I got my nerve up enough to feel his one more time.

"Is yours doing ok?" I asked as I grabbed his again and squeezed it.

"It's up its usual for a morning, but it was up a lot higher last night,"
he told me, laughing.

I laughed too. I had no idea what he was talking about since I didn't think
his dick could get any harder or any bigger.

Just then Dad opened the door. "Ted! How come you're in here?"

I was suddenly very much aware that I was lying there holding Ted's hardon.
I wiggled around to cover the possibility that Dad would recognize what I
was doing as I pulled my hand back from Ted's crotch.

"He's been havin' trouble sleepin' and some bad dreams ever since Mom
left," was all Ted offered by way of an explanation.

Apparently it didn't occur to Dad to ask why I hadn't come to him. Ted had
watched out for me for as long as I could remember, so probably Dad thought
it was only normal that he should be providing me with the comfort I needed
at this point.

Dad said, "Well, I was going to wake you up next anyhow. Come on into the
kitchen." Then he left.

Ted got out of bed, still hard, gathered up his clothes from the night
before, and left.  As soon as he was out of the room, I cupped my hand over
my nose to enjoy the smell. But this morning it smelled different than it
had on other mornings. I still liked the smell, but not as much as
before. I wondered what had changed it. It never occurred to me that the
difference was the result of Ted's having gotten lucky the night before.
The new smell also didn't have the same effect on my dick, which started to
deflate. I got up and put on my bathrobe.

Ted, now wearing his old loose shorts, was already in the kitchen with Dad
when I got there.  They were both drinking coffee. I had a cup with lots of
milk and sugar in it. I was just then beginning to develop a taste for it.

"Listen to this," Dad said. Then he proceeded to read an ad from the Sunday
paper. "Estate sale.  Farm to be sold at auction. Offered first as three
parcels and then as a piece. Parcel one consists of a ten room house, barn,
shed, and 17 acres. State highway frontage. Parcel two consists of 137
rolling acres in pasture with 2 spring-fed ponds and 3 other springs. State
highway frontage.  Parcel three consists of 94 acres in second growth
hardwood forest with 3 spring-fed streams.  State highway frontage." The ad
gave a date for the auction, about two weeks later, and directions for
finding the property.

"Doesn't that sound great?" Dad asked.

"Yeah, it really does," Ted answered.

It didn't sound great in the least to me. It meant Dad was actually looking
for a farm to buy instead of just talking about it as he had done for
years. It was very unsettling for me. I didn't want to move from the house
where I'd always lived.

"We can ride over there after breakfast and take a look," Dad said. "It's
just outside of town, not far, about three miles or so."

"Three miles or so" might not have seemed like it was very far if you had a
car, but it was another matter altogether if all you had was a bicycle.

The house turned out to be set between two hills. There were more hills
behind those, all wooded.  There was a small cleared area between the hills
that might have been called a valley if the hills had been higher. The
valley extended away from the back of the house to the base of another
hill.  Because the house was aligned with the hills, the front was at a
considerable angle to the state highway, which was some distance away. The
shed was behind the house at the base of one of the hills. The barn was on
the opposite side of the other hill.

The house was like lots of older houses around us, a square having six
rooms on the ground floor, three across the front and three across the
back. It was bigger than most, though, having a second floor consisting of
four smaller ones instead of an attic. There was a covered porch on all
four sides. The roof peaked in the middle, giving the whole thing the
silhouette of a squat pyramid sitting on the stilts of the porch posts.. It
was also clear from first sight that it was a "fixer-upper" since it badly
needed a coat of paint.

Inside, about all that could be said was that the structure was sound.
Every room was covered in peeling wallpaper which had been applied to some
base having no similarity to plaster. Water had leaked through the roof, so
that base was crumbling as well. There was one bathroom with a claw-footed
tub on the first floor. The tub had originally been in the kitchen, but
that room had been partitioned at some point to make a separate bathroom,
and a toilet and sink had been added.

Dad's eyes lit up as he looked around the interior. "This can't go for much
at all," he said. "Rip out the bathroom and make that whole space the
kitchen. Join the other two back rooms into one master suite. Put in a new
bathroom on the end near the kitchen. Pull out that wall and make these two
rooms in the front into a great room. Have the fireplace rebuilt. The last
room can be my studio. That's the north corner. It'll be perfect." From the
look on his face, you would have thought it was all happening magically as
we watched.

The tour continued upstairs. "You boys can have this floor to yourselves.
Take out those walls, divide up the space and give each of you a pretty
good size bedroom. Bigger than the ones you've got now. The other room we
can divide up into a bathroom and two closets. The bathroom'll be right
over the one downstairs. Easy plumbing job."

Ted seemed to be getting excited about it too. He started adding details to
flesh out Dad's plan.  The only hope I had was that he wouldn't be able to
convince Mom to buy it, or, failing that, that it would go for more than
they would pay.

After we went through the house, we had a look at the barn. From the road
it looked fine, but head on it was clear that it was leaning ten or perhaps
as much as fifteen degrees off of vertical.  Barns which did that were not
an uncommon sight around us. It seemed most farmers never did any work on a
barn once they had finished building it, so eventually every barn began to
sag either left or right. Something about the interior bracing kept them
from sagging backwards or forwards.  This barn really wasn't sagging very
much in comparison to some that I had seen. There was one that had reached
forty degrees off of vertical. Its owner no longer used it because it was
clear its collapse was imminent. "This one," as Dad said, "had years of
life left in it."

The shed was serviceable. There wasn't much more to say about it. Dad
looked past the hills and said, almost as if he was talking to himself,
"Sure would love to have those woods too."

That night he talked to Mom on the phone and she agreed to come home the
following weekend to look. We both had some time on the phone with her
after he finished. When I hung up the phone, I felt as bad as I had the day
she left.

Ted must have realized it, because at bedtime he came into my room and
said, "I'll be back as soon as I get done with my shower."

I had already intended to go to his room as soon as I thought he was in
bed. My worry over the interruption of Saturday night had disappeared when
he had gotten in bed with me after his date.  And while I was sure I would
have bad dreams if I slept alone, that worry had now been dealt with as
well.

Nevertheless, lots of thoughts were going through my mind so that I was not
aware that I was lying there squeezing my dick. Suddenly I felt an
incredible sensation I had never felt before. The pleasure of it was
overwhelming. On their own my legs stretched out to their fullest extent
and my back arched. I seemed to freeze, unable to move. The feeling
centered in my crotch. As it subsided, I noticed the hand I was squeezing
my dick with felt wet. I brought it up to my face to look at it. My palm
was wet and there was something white and gooey on my fingers. I had no
idea what it was.

Ted walked in as I was looking at my hand.

"Hey, Sport," he said. "If you hadda told me you wanted to jerk off, I
woulda waited and not done it in the shower."

Since what I was looking at came out of my dick, I would normally have
tried to hide it. But I was actually more afraid I had broken something
inside of myself. I certainly had never had anything like this come out of
my dick before. I held out my hand for Ted to look at it.

"Yeah, I saw already. Too bad you didn't just tell me you were gonna do
it."

I was barely paying any attention to what he was saying. I wanted to know
what the stuff on my hand was, and since he seemed to think it wasn't very
unusual, I was sure that he could tell me.  "But what is it?" I asked.

"What's what?" he asked with a frown.

"This white stuff on my hand!" I said. I was beginning to get a little
frantic about it.

"That's cum. You never saw that before?" he asked.

"No, never!"

"Ohhh, I get it now. You mean you just now came for the first time? That's
great!  How'd it happen?"

I didn't understand what he was saying. I thought I knew what the words
meant, but some of them didn't make any sense the way he was using them.
Too worried to be embarrassed, I said, "I was squeezing my dick and all of
a sudden there was this white stuff." I held out my hand as if to prove it.

"Bet it felt great, didn't it." It was not a question. "Your first cum!
That's totally cool," he added as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"Please just tell me what this is," I said, shaking my hand in front of his
face.

"That's cum, that's the stuff that makes babies."

That threw me completely. My knowledge of human reproduction was hazy at
best. I wasn't convinced that a man had a role in it. In fact, it was
rather the opposite. One of the boys in my class, Kevin Cooper, had given
us a detailed description of a man and a woman having sex which was
actually quite accurate. However, Jerry Daniels, believed by all to be the
smartest boy in the class, disagreed, assuring us all that his parents had
certainly never done such a thing in their lives and yet here he was. Jerry
didn't deny that such actions were possible. But he was certain there was
no relationship between those actions and a woman becoming pregnant. Since
Kevin was not known for his intelligence and Jerry was, we all decided
Jerry was right. We labeled Kevin's tale "gross".

"How does it make a baby?" I asked.

"It shoots out of your dick when you fuck a girl and makes one of her eggs
become a baby," he told me. "But you don't want that to happen so you wear
a rubber."

The idea of girls laying eggs like a chicken was so ridiculous I thought he
was telling me some fantastic lie just to see how much he could get away
with. And in my mind the word "fuck" didn't signify any action. It was just
a word like "shit" which you said to make a point, except, of course, that
shit did exist. A rubber I knew about, but not in relation to cum.

"I thought a rubber was because of disease," I said.

"Yeah, it is I guess. But mostly it's for not makin' a girl pregnant," he
told me. He had slid into bed but was just lying there on his side, naked,
supporting his head with his hand so he could look at me. "Are you savin'
that cum for a reason? I always wipe it on my dirty underwear."

While I knew I was getting some answers, each answer seemed to have two
more questions attached to it. I was becoming more confused, not less.

"Could you just explain this all to me. I don't understand," I said.

"Ok, you know about fuckin', right?"

"No!" I said.

"Oh!" he replied. "Not at all, nothin' about it? Really?

"Come on, Ted, gimme a break!" I wailed at him.

"Fuckin' is when you put your dick into a girl's pussy, which is like a
hole between their legs. They have these eggs way up inside of 'em that
when your cum hits 'em, they start to make a baby. But if you put a rubber
on your dick, the cum can't get to the eggs and you're home free."

"Jerry Daniels said that's not true."

"Trust me. It's true," he said.

"Why would you do it if you don't want to make a baby then. I mean, why do
you need rubbers?"

"Did it feel good when you shot that cum in your hand?"

"Oh, yeah!" I said.

"That's why you do it, got it?"

"Oh! Yeah, I understand," I said. "But you can just make it feel good all
by yourself." I was remembering just how good it had felt.

"It feels a lot better if somebody else does it for you. Besides fuckin',
somebody can jerk you off too."

The idea that it could feel a whole lot better than it had felt was beyond
my comprehension.  "What's jerking off?" I asked.

"That's what you just did to yourself."

"Oh," I said. I was learning a lot. "Is a boner inspection the same thing
as jerking off?"

He laughed. "Not really, but it could be if you inspected it long enough."
He laughed some more.  "Listen, Sport," Ted said, "Dad's gonna tell you
about this some day. No tellin' when. By the time he told me, it was way
too late. Anyhow, you're gonna have to pretend like you're hearin' it for
the first time, ok? Otherwise you'll just hurt his feelin's. You ready to
go to sleep now?"

"Yeah," I said absentmindedly.

"Cuddle? Or're you ok on your own?"

"Cuddle," I said.

I rolled onto my side and he settled against my back. It felt great.

"G'night, Sport."

"G'night."

He was asleep in no time, to judge by the change in his breathing. I was
thinking my way through all I had learned. He had given me plenty to think
about. I was re-evaluating lots of things he had said to me in the past,
including his "getting lucky" the night before. But the best part of it was
that it was all suddenly making sense.


Chapter 3

In the morning I woke up just ahead of Ted. I had been a long time going to
sleep, so I should have slept later than I did. I suppose I was too excited
over my new understanding of sex. I had a hardon, which I started to
squeeze right away. I slid my hand over toward Ted's crotch and discovered
he had a hardon too, so I wrapped my hand around it. His eyes opened almost
immediately. I started to squeeze his hardon in time with my own.

"Mornin', Sport," he said sleepily. Then, after a minute, he said, "Feels
like you're doin' the boner inspection already. How's yours?"

With that he reached over and grabbed my dick, pushing my own hand off of
it.

"No I'm not," I said. "I'm jerking you off." I was very proud of myself for
knowing what to call it.

"Is that how you did it last night? I can't believe you ever got there just
squeezin' it like you're doin' to me."

That surprised me. I was certain I had it all figured out.

"You mean I'm not doing it right?" I asked.

"I guess there isn't any wrong way to do it if it works, but if all you're
gonna do is squeeze my dick like you're doin', it'll take a hundred years."

"Show me the way you do it."

He loosened his grip on my dick and started sliding his hand up and
down. It felt good immediately. I tried to copy his movements with my hand
on his dick. After a minute or so, he let go of my dick and wrapped his
hand around his own, cupping my hand inside of his.

"Do it like this," he said as he stroked my hand up and down on his dick a
few times. Then he let go and went back to doing the same thing on my
dick. I continued on his with the grip and motion he had showed me.

In a little over a minute I came. I could feel it start deep down inside of
me behind my dick and then it happened. I arched my back as I had done the
night before, but this time I had been waiting for it, so I enjoyed every
last second of the pleasure it gave me.

When it was completely over, I looked at Ted's hand to see my cum. There
were only a few drops, not nearly the amount I had made the night before,
which disappointed me.

I looked at Ted and asked, "Is that all I made?"

"That's pretty good for your second time. It'll get to be more, you wait
and see."

I had stopped stroking Ted's dick when I came. I began again now in
earnest. After a minute I moved to a more comfortable position from which I
could more easily stroke him. He started moving his head around soon after
that, so I watched his face instead of his dick. First he closed his
eyes. Then he arched his neck, throwing his head back. His mouth dropped
open and I could hear him taking hissing breaths. Then his back arched as
mine had done.

I missed seeing the first spurt come out of his dick, but I felt it as it
landed on my hand. I watched all the rest, each one achieving less height
than the one before. His back settled down onto the bed.

"Stop!" he told me. "I can't stand to have the head touched after I cum."

I let go of his dick, looking at the amount of cum that lay along the side
of my thumb and index finger.

"You made a lot," I said.

"It's not a lot. You should see the load Del's brother can shoot."

Del was Ted's best friend. His brother Ray was twenty-two. I wondered how
he had seen Ray cum. I wished I had. I also wondered how big his dick was.

"Get your underpants from yesterday and wipe your hand on them," he told
me, so I did.

He got up while I was doing it, pulled on his old shorts, and left. I sat
down on the side of the bed and looked at my hardon, which had returned. I
decided to try doing it to myself the way I had done it to Ted. Lying back
on the bed, I started jerking my dick. It was quite a while before I began
to think I might cum again, and when it did happen, there was very little
pleasure and practically no cum, just a drop that appeared at the opening
in the head of my dick. There was also a tight feeling in my balls that
stayed long after my hardon went away.

I had barely finished when Ted came in. I didn't make any effort to hide
what I had been doing.

"Thought that was why you were so long comin' for breakfast. Listen, I know
this is hard to believe, but you gotta wait a while before you try it again
or it'll just hurt. I know what I'm talkin' about because I jerked off
about every hour on the hour the day I learned about it. I was sure the
next one would feel good, but they just hurt. My dick got like raw meat I
rubbed it so much. And I got this awful feelin' in my balls. After a couple
times they began to feel like somebody smacked 'em."

"I got that feeling now," I said.

"Honest, wait 'til tonight. It'll feel great then."

"Ok, I'll try," I said.

"Good luck, Sport," he said.

So all day I had to resist the urge to jerk off. I was partially successful
at it, rubbing my dick occasionally because it felt so good, but always
managing to control myself before I got to the point of no return. The
unfortunate side effect of the rubbing was a growing rawness, first along
the edge of the head, and later on the skin of the shaft.

At bedtime, Ted asked me, "You sleepin' in with me tonight, Sport?"

"Yeah, that ok?" I asked. I figured it must be or he wouldn't have asked.

"Always glad to have you," he said.

I got undressed in my own room and wore my robe into Ted's. He was sitting
at his desk in his old shorts doing his books. He kept very careful records
for his business. It galled him to have to pay taxes, so he kept track of
every cent that he might deduct. I took off my robe and got in bed.  He
joined me a few minutes later, throwing his shorts onto the chair and
sliding into bed naked.

"How many times you do it today?" Ted asked.

"I didn't," I told him.

"Yeah? Lemme see," he said, shoving down the cover and peering closely at
my dick, which was already hard in anticipation. "Looks pretty raw to me."

"It is raw. It hurts! But I swear I never did it even once."

"Did you rub it at all?"

"Yeah, some."

"Looks like a whole lot more than some."

"I guess I might have," I said.

"I got some of Mom's hand cream, we can put that on it. That's what I used
when I rubbed mine raw."

He opened the drawer in his bedside table and took out a plastic bottle.
The liquid he squeezed into his hand didn't look very different from
cum. He put the bottle aside and wrapped the hand with the cream around my
dick, twisting it around and stroking up and down. It felt incredibly good!

Ted was watching me as he stroked my dick. "Like that?"

"Oh, yeah!" I answered.

"I been using this stuff to jerk off with forever. It feels better with
something slick than just doin' it with your dry hand. Soap's good in the
shower too."

I was trying to file it all away to think over later, but the waves of
pleasure coming from his manipulation of my dick in his cream-covered hand
were overwhelming my good intentions.

"Tell me when you get close, don't just cum, ok?" Ted said.

"I'll try," I said. "But it feels so good!"

"No harm done if you just shoot, but it'll be worth it if you can tell me
in time for me to stop."

I didn't know why he wanted to stop, but now that he was finally telling
the great stuff as he had promised, I trusted him to have a good reason for
holding me back at the gates of heaven. I concentrated on what I was
feeling, not only for the pleasure it was giving me, but for the first
warning signs of an impending orgasm.

When I thought I felt it starting, I said, "I think now."

Ted stopped stroking me immediately. I fought the urge to grab my dick
myself and pump it like crazy. Ted just watched me for what seemed like
forever but was probably less than a minute.  Then he began to stroke my
dick again.

"Tell me again, ok?"

"Ok."

And again I told him as soon as I felt like I was about to cum. He repeated
the short wait and then went back to stroking.

"Can you do it again?"

"Dunno, I thought I might have almost waited too long that time."

"Try, ok?"

"Ok."

This time when I told him it, I was truly afraid it was too late. The
feeling kept building after he let go of my dick. He watched me carefully
and grabbed my hand when I started to reach for my dick.

"You'll make it, just wait."

I struggled against the feeling as it grew within me. I was certain I would
cum this time. But with no stimulation to drive them on, the sensations
began to mellow and decline at the very doorstep of an orgasm.

"This time we go for it," Ted told me.

He squeezed a little more hand cream into his palm and started stroking my
dick with it.

"Give in to it all the way, don't hold back at all," he told me.

As if I would have. When the orgasm started, it flooded me with feeling. It
was much more intense than it had been the night before or in the morning.
It seemed to be coming from all over my body instead of centering in my
crotch. I bucked under his hand, arching my back as I came.

When it was over, I looked to see if I had produced much cum, but the small
amount was disappointing again in comparison to what Ted had shot that
morning.

"It'll grow, just give it time. It's only been like twenty-four hours since
the first time, ya know?"

"Yeah, that's true," I said. "Can I do it to you now?"

I had noticed Ted was stroking his own hardon very slowly as he jerked me
off. "You bet!" he said as he wiped my cum and the hand cream from his hand
onto his dirty undershorts and lay down on the bed.

When I started to wipe the hand cream off of my dick, he said, "Don't do
that. Let it soak in. I'll help the raw feeling." So I stopped, swinging my
feet back onto the bed and sitting cross-legged beside him. As I reached
for his dick to begin, he said, "Use the hand cream on me too."

I got the bottle from the drawer and squeezed a glob onto my hand. It was
cool to the touch. I wrapped my hand loosely around his dick and began
stroking up and down and twisting my hand at the same time to spread the
cream around.

Ted's reaction to my touch was immediate, "Ahhhhh, yesssss!"

Having covered his dick completely with the cream, I began to stroke it.
The whiteness of the cream disappeared, leaving only a uniform shine. This
was the first opportunity I had to look at his dick carefully.  While mine
was straight as an arrow, his curved slightly upwards from where it began
in the hair above his balls to the opening at the tip of the head. The
shaft was two different colors. The bottom two-thirds was tan, but from
there to the base of the head it was a lighter color. The head had a
pinkish tone. The shaft was the same thickness most of the way up from the
base, tapering in slightly before the head flared out. The bottom edge of
the head was just a little wider than the lower part of the shaft. The head
itself was pointed, like a cap. I discovered that the slight curve actually
made it easier to stroke.

A few minutes after I started, Ted began giving me directions. He wanted me
to rub my thumb across the point of the head on the up stroke. In a short
while, he asked for a longer stroke, almost coming off of the end of his
dick. I began to get the idea he was teaching me different types of strokes
I could use on myself. After that he wanted me hold my hand so that my
thumb rubbed across the bundle of skin directly below and behind the
head. Last, just before he came, he wanted me to do most of my rubbing on
the shaft of his dick, rubbing only the back of the head and the bundle of
skin but not touching the rest of it. I was doing that when he came.

The first shot was impressive. It rose perhaps two feet from the end of his
dick before it fell onto his belly. The second shot left his dick before
the first had hit his belly and achieved less height.  The third barely
rose off of his dick. The last three oozed out and ran down my hand. I was
careful not to touch the head after he started cumming.

As he came, Ted writhed on the bed. His breath hissed and his eyes were not
so much closed as squeezed shut. When the last bit of cum had issued from
his dick, he shivered all over.

"Great job, Sport!" he told me. "Hand me my underpants."

After he had wiped the cum from his belly, he handed me the pants. "Here,
wipe your hand," he told me. By the time I was finished, there was hardly a
dry spot on the shorts. It amazed me that that was the case when you
considered how little cum the two of us had produced. I decided that cum
must be like an egg dropped in the kitchen, able to cover a much larger
part of the floor than you would expect, given its volume.

"I'm ready for sleep now. How about you, Sport?"

"Yeah, I guess so," I said. I had gotten a hardon again while I was jerking
Ted off, and now I was thinking about jerking myself off.

Ted must have known what I was thinking, because he said, "Best thing would
be to let it alone tonight. Give the rawness a chance to go away."

So I crawled under the covers as Ted did the same thing.

"Cuddle?" I asked over my shoulder.

As an answer, Ted scooted over against my back, wiggling to get into a
comfortable position. I was aware of the slickness of his dick as it slid
around on my crack and my own hardon. I thought I would never be able to go
to sleep, but in fact I did, and very quickly too.


Chapter 4

Ted and I followed that same pattern, jerking each other off twice each
day, unless he had a date.  On those days we did it in the morning, but
since he always came in after I was asleep, I jerked myself off alone at
night. I sneaked in a few more each day besides those two, but I tried very
hard not to jerk off more than two other times during the day. It had taken
my dick almost a week to stop feeling raw, and the rawness had been painful
enough to make me try to avoid getting it into that condition a second
time.

When Ted had a date, he either "got lucky" and didn't need to jerk off or
did it for himself after he had dropped off his date. If he did it for
himself, he simply stated the fact the next morning, but when he got lucky,
he gave me all the details. He enjoyed talking about sex and encouraged me
to ask questions, so after a short time I knew all he knew about having sex
with girls. At least as much as you could know without having done it
yourself.

A few days later Ted told me he had noticed how fast the level was dropping
in the bottle of hand cream. He said that, judging from the amount of cream
I was rubbing into my dick, pretty soon it would have the softest skin in
the world. But he bought two bottles the next time, giving me one to keep
in my room.

He also showed me his dick stick one night while we were jerking off at
bedtime. It was a plain, smooth, flat piece of wood that looked like a
ruler, but the markings on it were not spaced out at regular intervals.

Ted told me, "Me and Del started keeping dick sticks when we were your
age. You know how Mom use to stand us against the doorframe in the kitchen
and mark our height? This is the same thing, only for your dick. It was
Del's idea. Me and Del used 'em to compare how long our dicks were. You
just lay it on top of your dick and mark where the end comes to with a
pencil. We quit comparin' when his got over an inch longer than mine.
Didn't seem to be much point after that because mine didn't change any
more. You can turn it over and use the blank side to mark yours and then
compare it to mine. Woulda been cool if I'da kept track of my age with each
mark, but I didn't think about it then."

"When did you mark yours the last time?" I asked.

"Like last Christmas I think."

"Do it now," I told him.

He laid the dick stick with the marked side downward along the top of his
dick, pushed the end firmly against his belly at the base of his dick, and
pushed the stick downwards until his dick was sticking straight out from
his belly.

"We decided it had to be level with the ground to get an accurate
measurement," he told me.

I handed him the pencil. He squeezed the middle of his dick up against the
stick, thereby eliminating any error introduced by the curve, and marked
the end of his dick on the stick.

When he turned the stick over, he said, "Hey, how about that!"

The mark he had made was a full half-inch further down the stick than the
previous mark.

"You're still growing!" I said. I was as excited for him as I could be.

"Yeah, look's like it for sure!" he said. Then he added, "Course Del's is
still bigger."

He handed the stick to me. "Your turn," he said.

I followed his example, except that I had no curve to deal with, so the
stick laid straight along my dick. After I marked the end, he took the
stick from me. My first mark was every so slightly further down the stick
than his.

"Lookee here, Sport. Yours is bigger. I know I was your age when I started
makin' the marks. It was right after I came the first time. No doubt about
it, yours is bigger."

That made me very happy, because mine looked pitifully small next to his.
In fact I was thrilled. I decided to give him the best hand job possible. I
made him wait over twenty minutes to cum, stopping eight times before I
took him over the edge.

The next day I wanted more information about the measurements than just the
comparative data. I measured the marks on the stick with a ruler. Ted's
dick now was five and five-eighths inches long.  Mine was just a quarter of
an inch less than three. In thickness his clearly made two or three of
mine, but we hadn't measured that. I decided to figure out some way to
introduce that measurement into our comparison.

Saturday midday Mom came home. I was glad to see her, but in some ways she
already seemed like a different person than she had been when she left. She
told us all about her life in Atlanta, and we brought her up to date on
what she had missed at home.

She and Dad went without us to look at the house and came back talking
animatedly about its location and the possibilities for renovation. Ted and
I took part in their discussion up to the time when Ted had to leave for
his date. After that I just listened to them talk, not adding much myself.
I was becoming depressed over the idea of moving out of my room and the
house in which I had lived my whole life. There seemed to be no doubt that
we would be moving if they could buy the other house for a price they were
willing to pay.

That night I woke up after a bad dream, sweating furiously and thoroughly
frightened. As usual I couldn't remember what the dream had been about, but
the residual terror was still strong in my mind. Ted wasn't in bed with me,
so I went straight to his room. He wasn't there either. When I looked at
the clock, I saw that it was almost his curfew time. I sat on the edge of
my bed and waited for him. I never even considered going into Mom and Dad's
room, partly because Ted had told me Dad was probably going to get lucky
that night and partly because it didn't beckon with the promise of comfort
I needed.

Ted came in a short time later. I heard the front door close, and in a few
minutes my bedroom door opened. When he saw me sitting on the bed, he must
have figured out I'd had a bad dream. He sat beside me on the bed and
hugged me to him, telling me it was going to be ok. After a few minutes of
that, he got up and told me to come to his room and sleep with him. I lay
in his bed and watched him take his clothes off.

I suppose he knew I wasn't going to be able to fall asleep very quickly, so
when he got in bed he cuddled me against him and started telling me the
details of his date. Since he had gotten lucky himself, there was a lot to
tell. As I got more interested in the details, my fear lessened. I also got
a hardon and I felt Ted's dick getting hard against my butt.

"D'ya do it already?" he asked.

"Yeah," I told him.

"I feel like I could do it again. Whatcha think?"

"Yeah, me too."

"Stay put," he told me.

He threw the cover off and rolled away from me. I heard the nightstand
drawer open and close.  There was the click of the cap opening on the hand
cream bottle. When he rolled back against me, I could feel his dick at the
top of my crack, but now it was slick with the hand cream. He wrapped his
hand around my dick, coating it with hand cream.

"I'm gonna do us both together," he told me.

He wiggled downward a little ways until his hardon was laying in my crack
almost like a hotdog in a bun. Just as he started stroking my dick, he
began to slide his dick back and forth along my crack. It was a novel
feeling, but I liked it.

"Whatcha think?" he asked.

"Feels weird," I said. "I like it."

Nothing more was said. He continued to stroke my dick and hump my crack
until we came. First I came, and after I did he held my dick in his hand
until he came. I felt his cum on my back. There didn't seem to be much at
all of mine. He wiped my butt and back with his undershorts and finally
wiped his hand on them too.

"I'm really beat now," he said as he cuddled back against me. I could feel
the heat of his dick against my butt.

"Yeah, me too," I said.

"Think you can go back to sleep now?"

"Yeah, pretty sure."

In fact I fell asleep so fast that the next thing I was aware of was waking
up the next morning.

The following Saturday at the auction the parcel containing the house sold
for considerably less than Mom and Dad had been willing to pay since there
was only one other bidder. Dad had given up the idea of buying the forested
land adjacent to it. At the end of the auctioning of the separate parcels,
the whole farm was offered as a piece, but since it didn't bring an offer
greater than the sum which the separate auctions had generated, it sold as
three separate parcels.

Ted then demonstrated his business skills once again. He had gone to stand
near the man who was bidding against Dad. He heard this man tell someone
nearby that his only interest was in the lumber from the barn and in the
mature black walnut trees on the hillsides along the valley behind the
house. Ted knew that Dad and Mom considered the barn a nuisance rather than
a desirable feature of the property, so he asked if the man was still
interested in buying the things he had bid on the land to get. When it
turned out that he was, Ted brought him to Dad.

I watched as Ted, Dad, and the other bidder began to talk. What began as a
discussion between Dad and the bidder ended with Ted taking over Dad's
role. It seemed the man was in the business of making very expensive fine
furniture. His interest in the barn was in the wood from which it had been
built, a mix of chestnut, oak, and poplar. It was even more valuable to him
because it had never been painted. He was interested in the black walnut
trees because of the value of the wood as well. From his point of view, the
other trees were not worth logging. By the time the deal was struck, Ted
had gotten the man to agree to pay almost two-thirds of what Dad had bid
for the whole parcel. They agreed to meet at Dad's lawyer's office the
following Monday to draw up a contract under which the other bidder could
demolish the barn and cut down the trees.

Dad called Mom as soon as we got home. He was so excited that his voice
kept getting louder and louder. By the time he hung up, you would have
thought she could have heard in him Atlanta even without the telephone.

We spent the rest of the day first drawing and then changing plans for the
remodeling of the house.  By the time Ted left for his date, I had gotten
excited over the prospect of having a room just as I wanted it. In fact, I
was so excited that I was still awake when he came home from his date.
Since there was still more than an hour and a half until his curfew, I
wondered why he came home so early. It turned out he hadn't gotten lucky,
but since it was early enough that I might still be awake when he got home,
he hadn't jerked off after taking his date home.

"D'ya do it yet?" he asked me as he slid into bed with me.

"Yeah, just a little while ago. You?"

"Nope. Got a major boner here. I think Cheryl is gonna turn out to be just
a prick tease." This was his third date with Cheryl.

I reached for his dick under the covers, wrapping my hand around its soft
warm skin and feeling the hard core within. I stroked him slowly with a
loose hand, just to get him started.

He let me continue in silence for a few minutes before he said, "Switch
over to the hand cream now."

As I got the cream out of my nightstand, he threw the covers off of us. I
squeezed a little of the cream straight onto his dick instead of squirting
it into my palm as I usually did. I had done this to myself earlier in the
week and found that the cream, which always felt cool as it came out of the
bottle, gave me a pleasant sort of shock as it hit the hot skin of my
dick. I knew it had had the same effect on Ted when I heard him draw his
breath in sharply.

I cupped his dick and twisted my hand around it to spread the cream out
evenly. As I started to stroke it, I said, "Tell me when to stop," thinking
I would build him to an orgasm through several stops along the way as we
usually did.

"No, just go for it. She got me pretty worked up already."

I went for it, stroking firmly and with growing speed until he came. The
first shot rose over three feet above his dick. I had learned there was a
direct relationship between the level of his excitement when he came and
the height of his first shot. Three feet was about as high as he had ever
shot before, so Cheryl must have teased his prick quite a lot before
turning him down for the main event.

When his dick started to soften, I wiped the cum from his belly and my hand
with my undershorts.

"Can you cum again, ya think?" he asked me.

"I think I can always cum," I said.

He laughed at me. "But what I mean is, do you want to?"

It had been less than an hour since I had cum the last time. I had learned
by this time that I would probably end up with the pain in my balls if I
came again so soon, so I said, "No, guess not."

"C'mon, cuddle up then. Let's go to sleep."

I backed into him, settling my butt against his dick and feeling his arm
come around my side. I took his hand and held it flat against my chest as I
went to sleep.

Dad woke us in the morning by coming into my room and putting a drawing
down in the middle of the bed. Ted and I sat up, sliding up the bed and
pulling our legs up so we were sitting cross- legged with our backs against
the headboard. We both had hardons. I tried to pull the covers up over
mine, a useless effort since Dad had climbed onto the bed and sat
cross-legged on the bottom, trapping whatever slack there was in the
covers. Ted never made any effort to cover his own. And what's more, Dad
wasn't wearing anything under his robe, so I was looking straight across
the drawing at his bare crotch. He didn't have a hardon, but seeing his
dick reminded me of my intention to be in the bathroom some morning to see
him when he did. So far having Ted's hardon available to me right there in
the bed when I woke up had taken precedence over the possibility of only
seeing Dad's.

Dad then showed us what he described as the "final" plan for the new
house. Since he and Mom had paid practically nothing for it after Ted
finished negotiating the sale of the barn and the trees, and with the
equity from our present house which they could realize when they sold it,
he had allowed his imagination to take flight. The wreck they had bought
was about to be converted into a dream house.

Dad did practically nothing for the next week besides deal with lawyers and
a building contractor.  It was all Ted could do to fit in the cutting of
his lawns since he wanted to be with Dad as every arrangement was made. I
wasn't there for any of the discussions, but I was sure Ted had made at
least half of the arrangements himself because when the work actually began
on the house, the contractor either phoned asking for Ted or walked up to
him at the site when he needed a decision.  Dad had decided what he wanted
the house to be like, but Ted had translated Dad's ideas into instructions
the contractor could follow.


To be continued
_______________

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