Date: Tue, 01 Jan 2002 15:30:59 -0500 From: Danny Meyer Subject: TRAINING MY SON - Chapter 1 ____________________________________________ TRAINING MY SON by Danny Meyer Chapter 1 - The Beginning ___________________________________________________________________ Copyright (c) January 1, 2002 by Danny Meyer. All rights reserved. ___________________________________________________________________ I encourage you to send email. I'd enjoy hearing your opinions. I'll reply to your email unless you say not to. Thank you. Danny: sittinhome@hotmail.com ___________________________________________________________________ YOU MUST BE 21 or older, in most places, to read this type of erotic and sexual story, which includes incest, spanking, other forms of discipline, and sexual activity between males. While there is no brutality or coercion, these acts are considered extreme by many persons. The story is not real, and it does not reflect any real people or events. Any similarity to actual persons or events is strictly coincidental, and unintentional. All acts are consensual, or within the broad boundaries of the strict parental guidance, discipline, and punishment practices of an earlier era. ___________________________________________________________________ MAIN CAST: THE FATHER: Jeffrey Harper, 32, 5'11" tall, 170 pounds, (180 cm, 77 Kg), blue eyes, dark brown hair, exceptionally good-looking, trim and well muscled, tanned, and a gymnast in his free time. Jeffrey uses a tanning salon, and has included his son in the membership. The father NARRATES, most of the time. THE SON: Lane Harper, 14, 5'2" tall, 90 pounds, (157 cm, 41 Kg), blue eyes, light brown hair, angelic face, very thin, also tanned, but naturally paler than his father. Lane works out with his dad, quite often. He strongly resembles his father. ___________________________________________________________________ CHAPTER 1 "We hate losing you, Jeff. You've been quite a model salesman for us, but more importantly, I'll miss working with you," my boss said to me in the crowded airport. He was seeing me off. "Thanks, Mr. Farber." "Mister Farber? Whatever happened to calling me George?" "Sorry, George--too much on my mind. I never dreamed I'd cross the ocean this early in life, much less move to the States." At the age of twenty-eight, I felt I'd not quite achieved manhood, much less felt equipped to disengage from everything I knew, and start a new life, on my own. "I understand, Jeff. You're under a lot of pressure, especially alone with your young son. I assure you, there are many here in London who wish you well and will miss you greatly." "Thanks, George," I said nervously, having just heard the first boarding call for my flight, "Lane and I will miss London, that's for sure." George had a small gift for each of us, which we accepted gratefully. "Thanks, George." "Thank you, Mr. Farber," Lane said. "Polite boy you have there, Jeff. I was always impressed with him. Train him up, right!" "Oh, I will, George." "No doubt." We said our good-byes, and I walked with Lane to the boarding gate. He had never flown, before. I could tell he was nervous--his palms were dripping with sweat. I didn't mind--he was my son, and I loved him. I thought of ways to ease his fear. "Are you excited, Lane?" I felt foolish at having asked the question, but needed to make some conversation to break the ice, now that George was gone, and there was nothing to distract us from realizing we were about to board an airplane, and make a journey of over six-thousand miles. "Yes, sir--sort of. I'm scared, though." "So am I, son." "Really?" "Sure. Moving clear across the ocean to a new country is scary-- it's a big unknown." "Yeah." "But, we'll get through it, together, won't we, Lane?" I said, as we viewed the entrance to the big aircraft. The plane was of the latest technology--a four-engine model, with a new type of propeller and tail section--designed to reduce the transatlantic flight by two hours. "Yes, sir!" Lane said energetically, turning toward me, and smiling. "That's the spirit." Leaving his familiar world behind, my son would miss certain things, I knew, so rather than ignore those, I opened the subject as we took our seats. I had Lane take the window seat--I was certain there was simply no other proper place for a young boy to sit. Although it was four years ago, the whole trip ran through my mind as if it were happening at the present moment. We had a good discussion, which ended with Lane reminding me of his birthday-- although I needed no reminder. He would be ten years old in three days. "We'll have a nice birthday party for you as soon as we're settled in. How old will you be--NINE?" I said, just to tease him. "No, dad, I'll be TEN!" Lane said, with a combined expression of annoyance and pleasure, knowing that I was well aware of his age, and everything about his life. "Oh, that's right!" I said, continuing the charade, as Lane laughed. I was relieved. It was the first time I'd seen him laugh in several days. It certainly was the lightest moment he'd had, that day. The pressure of moving such a distance and leaving all his friends behind was a lot for a small boy to handle. I did my best to ease it for him. Lane was unique, because we'd bonded very closely when he was not quite five years old, when his mother and I divorced--and if I let him, he would tell me the events of his day in full detail, including conversations with teachers and friends, word for word. Most days, I let him do just that, and was totally absorbed with him. I must admit, I encouraged our closeness--I suppose as much because I felt alone when his mother left as out of love for my son. This meant that Lane was a bit overprotected, and dependent on me-- yet, he seemed to have a normal boy's life, complete with the usual number of friends. My son looked rather angelic, sleeping next to the window. The strong sunlight at twenty-thousand feet illuminated his face strikingly, and his skin took on a translucent appearance that was quite beautiful to see. He was a perfect picture of the innocent boy that he was. "The captain has turned off the 'No Smoking' sign. You are free to smoke at this time. Cigarettes only, are permitted. Please extinguish all smoking materials when the 'No Smoking' sign is again illuminated." I don't know how long I stared at him, absentmindedly, when a bump of turbulence disturbed the peace, and he began to wake up. "Are you all right, Lane?" "Yes, sir," he said, as I gave him a little hug. "Good boy." "Are we there yet?" he said, with his best coy look. Lane couldn't help laughing at himself. I smiled and chuckled, since we both knew we had many hours of flight left, before we arrived in New York. "Yes, we are. We've just arrived. Would you like to step out?" "Haha--very funny, dad," he said with a boyish grin--the kind that decidedly slants to one side and tickles you down to your toes. Lane was genuinely relaxed, now, I could tell. We both settled back into our seats--me with my arm around him, staring into space, and Lane reading the airline magazine. Soon, I felt Lane move about in his seat--a familiar squirming. I deliberately held my tongue and waited. "Dad," he said, wrinkling his nose as was his habit when tense in any way, "I need to..." then he whispered to me, "go pee." I knew that his use of American phrases was a result of his rather concerted effort to correspond with many American boys in the months prior to our departure--one of many methods he used to educate himself to the unique, American slang--as much as possible before the trip. "Oh!" I said, deliberately looking a bit unnerved, "Sorry, son, there's no toilet on the airplane." "There ISN'T?" he said, genuinely panicked. Lane's expression was so filled with fear, I could not bring myself to continue the deception. "Just joking, son. There are two, up ahead at the front of the aircraft, where the stewardess is standing." I could see apprehension on his face, and he made no effort to get up. "Just walk up there--the doors will be clearly marked." "I hafta walk that far, past all those people, and then back--" "Pretend you're getting ready to be spanked--just grit your teeth bravely, and bear it." "Ok." "Ah-ah! What was that?" "Oh, sorry--yes sir." "Better." I found it quite charming that Lane would smile, even during these little reprimands. It was as if he had a happy effervescence that nothing could suppress. He had a good-naturedness and ease about him that was endearing. Of course, he inherited my cockiness, and I found that enchanting, as well. It was obvious he wanted to whisper in my ear again. "Did I earn myself a spanking, sir?" "Hmmm...no," I said, smiling, "I'll be kind, this time--just an extra 5 birthday whacks, when the time comes." "Oh," he said, with a curious expression. It was so disarming the way he handled these disciplinary discussions, I half thought he was a genius and had figured out how to take the fear out of the punishment, psychologically--effectively diluting it. I had concluded long ago that it was just his cute nature, but now I was beginning to wonder. "Bare butt, of course," I continued, pressing the point, "maybe even with the ruler. Bet you can't take all the whacks without squealing." "Bet I can," he said, with a smile of affable defiance, and then a blush of embarrassment as he peered about and realized others may have heard us. "Oh, you think you're a big boy, now that you'll be ten, soon?" "I know I am. Besides, you won't do it hard," Lane said quietly, as he passed in front of me and stood in the aisle. "Ok, big boy, just walk quickly and look straight ahead. You'll be fine." Lane was slight of build and short of stature, so he looked quite tiny, amidst the sea of passengers, as he made his way to the front of the aircraft. _________________ I don't know what dad was thinking, but I was a lot more scared about moving to the U.S. than I was about any spanking. I finally got to the front of the plane, and about died when the stewardess asked if she could help me. "Em, well...I gotta pee," I said, trying to sound a bit gross, so she would leave me alone. It worked. She just said it was straight ahead on my left, and walked away. The inside of the toilet was really strange--and it was weird to me, thinking I was standing in a lavatory but was really way up high in the air. _________________ After a few minutes, I found myself looking up for Lane every ten seconds when the aircraft seemed to hit turbulence that tossed the plane about. I knew how difficult that could be--standing at a toilet while the whole craft shifted unpredictably. I just hoped Lane was sitting down. The turbulence continued for some time. He had been gone for too long, and I was ready to get up to go after him, when he emerged from the miniature lavatory. He looked worried or distressed--I could not tell from that distance. The attendant helped him walk up the aisle, and soon he took his seat. "Dad--I couldn't do it. I was bounced about, too much." "So you didn't urinate--not at all?" "No. And I really need to." "All right--I'll go with you and steady you." "Not right away, dad--let's wait. I'm emb--" "Lane, we're not waiting another moment. Come with me." Lane followed, obediently, and I was glad he was not the type to argue--at least not under these circumstances. As soon as we were inside the little toilet with the door locked, I took over. I felt a bit uneasy, as it had been many years since I had stood at the toilet bowl with Lane. "Put your hands on that shelf, and hold on," I said, unfastening his trousers, without thinking, and pulling them down to the floor along with his underpants. "Dad--I can do that part, just steady me." SMACK!! I landed a good one, across his butt. "Don't be impudent, lad!" "Ow!" "Ow? One little bare-handed slap, and you say, 'Ow?' And you think you can take fifteen whacks with the ruler?" I could see Lane's face, flushing red. "Sorry, sir." "That's better." I guess my mind reverted to when Lane was a very small child, and I simply grasped his penis as I had done then, as he held on to the shelf with both hands. I suppose it had been too long since I was nine, because I was stunned to feel a hard rod of flesh, where I had expected a soft, floppy one. It never occurred to me that a nine-year-old would have an erection. Now it was my turn to blush, and I had no idea what to do or say. I decided to say nothing, and just held the hot, little thing, hoping he would have more luck pissing with a hardon than I did. We stood there for an eternity, but nothing happened. "Uhhh," Lane moaned. "What's wrong, son?" "I just--I don't know. Can't go." "You have a stiffie, Lane." "A stiffie?" he said, obviously baffled. "This!" I said, wiggling his little organ in my hand, so he would know what I was talking about. "Oh yeah. It feels weird. It gets that way once in a while. I don't know why it does that," he said uncertainly, his blush deepening. I quickly decided this was not the time nor place to explain. "Ok, son--just take a deep breath and relax. It's hard to pee with a stiffie, and if you relax it will soften." I released my grip on his penis, and used both my hands to hold his chest. The turbulence was relentless, and I feared we would be told to take our seats, immediately. By his silence and the feel of his body, I could tell, Lane was tense. We both waited wordlessly. I was about to establish a residence and launch a new career in a strange country, and here I was, prepared to jump for joy at the first sounds of my son's piss, striking the mysterious, blue waters of an airline convenience. By now I was convinced it was no use, and I gently took the tip of his penis in hand. I was surprised, not only at the fact that his foreskin was completely retracted, but at how cold the organ had become. "No wonder you can't go. It's frozen and about to fall off." At least that seemed to break some of the tension, as Lane gave a nervous laugh. "Dad, I really need to piss." 'Reverting to his British manner of speaking at a time of distress,' I thought. "All right son," I said, gulping, knowing I was about to take a risk. I could not leave my son in this condition, for fear he would use his self control and allow himself to be in great pain, "There is a quick way out of this, but you must listen carefully, and not ask too many questions." "Yes, sir." "Do you know what 'wanking' is?" "No. At school I heard some older mates say that, but--" "Now listen, this will get rid of your stiffie, but you must do it just right. I'll hold you steady, and you grasp your penis, and rub it back and forth, until you get a strong, good feeling there. Then it will go soft." "Ok," he said nervously. This time, I did not push him for a 'yes sir.' I leaned forward and to the side, so I could see. I felt like a peeping Tom, spying my son's erection for the first time. His hands clumsily attempted to do what I had described. "Ow! Ow! I can't! That hurts!" "Lane, you're being too rough. There's no time for lessons. Just...hold the shelf, again." "Yes, sir." Although I was nervous, I didn't hesitate to grasp his foreskin gently, and begin to stroke him. His face was deep crimson, now, and I could feel his body stiffen, against my chest. I suddenly felt incredibly dirty and guilty, yet I knew I was helping my son and doing nothing wrong. "Ohhh," he moaned. "That's a good boy. Just relax. Does it feel good?" "I think so. It's hard to tell." 'Poor lad,' I thought, 'what a place to have his first orgasm!' "Just relax, Lane. Soon, it will feel very good, all over. Don't be alarmed if it's overwhelming and you shout out, a bit." "Ok." Just looking at the side of his face, I could tell he didn't understand thoroughly, but, to his credit, he asked no questions. "I'm putting my handkerchief over your mouth to muffle any sound." Lane nodded his assent bravely and silently, but he was trembling. I wondered what he was thinking. The thought of how we must have looked flashed through my mind. Here I was, holding and stroking my young son's penis, while holding my hand over his mouth. I was mortified. _________________ Dad's hand felt so warm. At first it hurt. Then, I didn't feel anything, and I thought my penis was broken. I was scared then, but after dad touched me there for a while, it felt really good, and I got all tight, inside. Then I started to feel a whole lot of things, all at once. _________________ "Ohhhhh.....OHHHHHHH!" "All right son, you're coming--just relax and try to enjoy it." "Oooooooooooofff!" came his excited, muffled scream, and more, besides. His body became rigid and actually vibrated against me. His penis swelled and pulsed mightily--I was surprised and excited at the strength of his pulsation. My whole hand wrapped around his little organ, which was astoundingly hot, now. Lane's breathing became rapid, labored, and shallow, as his incredibly powerful pulses continued to massage my hand. His arms flailed about and his legs began to twitch uncontrollably. He bent forward more markedly, and eventually his lower legs tensed, causing him to stand on tiptoe, as every muscle seemed to contract, at once. Then, there were three, deep, moaning breaths. "Ahhhh, ahhh, ohhhhfffmmmmmmm!" The pulses of his orgasm finally subsided, and my son fell limp, against me. His entire body exuded the moist heat of his first sexual climax. Memories of my own, early, dry orgasms flooded my mind--they were intense and joyous. Still, this was Lane's first, and I began to think he might be frightened by the new, powerful sensations. "Are you all right, son?" "Yes," he said, still quite out of breath. I released my grasp on his penis. _________________ I was scared that maybe I wasn't supposed to feel all those things, and I wanted to explain more to dad, but I didn't know how. The light seemed to bother my eyes. I knew I felt a little dizzy, but a lot better. It felt cold when dad took his hand away. _________________ I began to doubt the wisdom of what I had done as I asked, "Did it feel good, Lane?" "Oh, yeah!" "Scared?" "Just a bit." "Did it help that I was here?" "Yes." "Good boy." I held him for some time, which seemed to calm both of us. I was still full of guilt, which was strangely overshadowed by new, uplifting emotions I found indescribable. "Ohh," came a sensuous moan. "Very good, very good--I'm proud of you." I prayed he would not ask why I was proud of him, as I had no rational explanation. Eventually, I glanced down at my boy, and saw he was soft. I was about to announce this condition, when I heard his stream of liquid falling into the metal bowl. "Ahhhh--YEAH!" was his enthusiastic utterance. "Thank God," I said, as I grasped his penis and aimed, for him. I was content to remain this way, holding him lovingly, as his pounding heart began to decelerate--while he pissed and caught his breath and regained his strength. Meanwhile, I pondered the absurd situation we were in--me, holding my nine-year-old son's penis, while silently celebrating the fact that he had just taken a piss. There wasn't another living soul that could possibly understand. "Oh, dad--that was...it felt--" "Intense? You liked it?" "Yes, sir." "And now your bladder is all empty and comfortable?" "Yes, sir," Lane said, grinning sheepishly. Using his own organ, I showed him how I squeezed and stroked the shaft of the penis and dabbed the end with tissue-paper to avoid staining my clothing--his clothing, in this case. "Will you remember to do that, from now on?" "You mean, doing wanking, before I pee?" "No, son--I mean what I just did with the tissue and squeezing." I wanted to correct his grammatical error, but somehow felt that would be inappropriate. "Oh, yeah--sure, dad." "Good boy. Feels as if the turbulence has died down. At least we won't have trouble getting back to our seats," I said, as I turned him around to face me, and reached to the floor for his trousers. "Dad, I'll do it," he said, as he bent and fixed himself. Then he did something so quickly and spontaneously, that it took me by surprise--he hugged me. It wasn't that hugs were unusual between us, but the suddenness, context, and location struck me as rather odd-- pleasantly so. "Oh, such a nice hug," I said, grinning, as I gave him a good squeeze in return. "Thanks, dad." I wasn't sure if he thanked me for the hug, or the wank, or the relief of finally urinating, but I wasn't going to ask. The guilt lessened, and I felt better, but I couldn't help thinking that my son had been cheated--forced to have his first sexual experience at my hand, of all things--and on an airplane, of all places. "Lane, this is...this is a very private thing that just happened. It must remain private. You wouldn't think to tell anyone that--" "No, dad--no way." What a role reversal! Now it was my boy who was reassuring ME. I dropped to my knees, and hugged him again--kissing his neck, this time. Had I not been intimately familiar with what Lane had just experienced, I would swear he had a fever. "I love you, Lane!" "Love you, too, dad." "Can you walk, now?" "No, carry me," he said, laughing. Those three words brought back such fond memories, a tear come to my eye. I was half tempted to call his bluff and carry him up the aisle, but I didn't have the heart to embarrass him. I was sure he'd had enough of that, for one day. I looked at us in the mirror and could see we were both presentable. "All right, open the door, son, and let's get back." He walked a bit unsteadily, but there was nothing in his gait that a stranger would notice, especially on a crowded aircraft, speeding through the sky. We weren't long in our seats when Lane fell asleep--this time, with a little smile on his face. I soon found myself erect again, and could do with a wank, myself. I wondered how that would all work out in the hotel room. _______________________________ Would you like me to continue? Please let me know. When you write, please mention, "Son story," or something similar. Thank you. Danny Meyer sittinhome@hotmail.com MY OTHER NIFTY STORIES Incest: cool-kid-brother (CKB) Authoritarian: boyz-brutal-training-school (BBTS) [end of file]