Date: Wed, 17 Sep 2003 11:22:15 -0500
From: Fredric L. Brothers <flbrothers@hotmail.com>
Subject: ANOTHER LAWN BOY STORY - Part 10 (Man/Teen)
ANOTHER LAWN BOY STORY
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By Fred Brothers
Copyright (c) 2003 Fredric Law Brothers - All Rights Reserved
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NOTE CAREFULLY: The following is a copyrighted work and is intended
solely for private, individual use. It may not be reproduced by any
known method, distributed or posted on additional web sites, without
the written permission of the author.
Disclaimer: This story is fiction. It bears no connection or
resemblance whatsoever to actual or specific persons and/or life
experiences or situations. If you do not appreciate gay,
intergenerational (that means man/boy love to the uninitiated or brain
dead) love stories, or you're under 18 years old, then please leave
this site now! Okay? You have been warned. Enough said!
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Part 10
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Clay is reading. He's stretched out in his bed, covered up to the
armpits. His foot is sticking out from the blanket and hanging over
the end. This kid needs a longer mattress than most people.
I am thrilled to have this gorgeous, generous, creature sharing
(at least for tonight) my home. It has been quite a while since I
shared my living space with anyone so desirable - or anyone at all. I
sit down on the edge of the bed. I rest a hand on his exposed
shoulder.
He closes the book, and looks at me. "Hi," he says in a low
voice.
"Hi yourself, big guy," I respond. I try giving him a warm smile,
but I know it's tinged with concern and some fear. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah. Everything's okkkay nnnow. Cool. Thanks." He returns a
genuinely warm smile. "Thanks a lot, Cole. You're a great listener."
He looks away. "Really! I mmmean it. That's what I nnneed nnnow."
"And you're a great talker...and an even better doer. I love
listening to you" He blushes so adorably.
"Even wwwith the bbbad stutterin'?"
"I don't mind it at all." He shoots me an smile that combines
disbelief and relief. "Honest!"
"If you sssay so."
I give his body a quick scan. "You know, you had me very
concerned...before we...uh...well, you know...you...and me...uh...we..."
"Yeah. I know." He smiles broadly. The smile disappears
rapidly. "Sssorry when I jjjust lllost it."
"Not a big deal...I suppose. But you did have me worried."
"I ggget that way when I'm tttired. And tttoday was a rrreal high
vvvoltage ddday for mmme. So mmmuch happened. We dddid ssso mmmuch."
"Yes we certainly did. Sorry."
"No ... there's nnnothin' to be sssorry about, Cole. I llloved
everything we dddid...it was rrreal great! And I lllloved that ... you
know, that we did everything together. And dddon't think it's your
fffault - it's not. I just ggget strung out...really up tttight, you
know ... like vvvery uncool...before I...ggget to sssee the dddoctor...
every couple of weeks. It's nnnothing new...for mmme anyway. My
gramma's lllike so used ttto it by nnnow."
"The doctor you see...uh...you visit him every other week?"
"Yeah."
"His name's Newcombe?"
"Yeah, him."
"At Northwestern?"
"Yeah."
"What's his specialty?"
He shrugs. "Nnnot sure. Urology ... I think?"
I nod, trying to conceal my surprise. "Okay. Anything else you
need?"
"Not rrreally. But...but...cccan I ask you fffor sssomething Cole?
Something ssspecial? A favor?"
"Sure. Anything! Ask away."
"Can I sssleep in yyyour bbbed tonight...with you?"
^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^
I'm having a tremendous problem falling asleep.
The earlier scene with Clay has unnerved me considerably. This
was lessened somewhat when Clay brought me to an almost life altering
sexual climax. It was fantastic - fantastic that this beautiful boy
could masturbate me to such incredible heights of ecstasy, and that I
responded so overwhemingly to his every touch and gesture. But his
earlier unbounded hysteria alarmed me and continued to make me so tense.
And now, to add to my difficulties, Clayton is in bed with me.
He's fast asleep...and the sound of his rhythmic breathing is like
a wonderful, soothing zephyr...a pacifier to my wounded psyche and
damaged ego. What we did - after I managed to calm him down - was
super and helped soften the feelings of acute jealousy and renewed
loneliness that flooded through me after he told of his deep feelings
for Kerry.
I had been fantasizing for more than a week about having this
gorgeous teen in bed with me and now it has come to pass. But I would
have preferred if he had been just the tiniest bit conscious - and if
he demonstrated more interest in me as an individual...and potential
companion...and possible lover.
No mind! He's here...that's all that really matters...and that's
wonderful. I think he's comfortable for now...with me and...with us
being together.
Of course, maybe I am rushing things between us - trying too hard
- feeling insults and slights that just aren't there...or meant ... or
intended.
After the hysteria, I knew I had to help him stay calm ... I did
not want an encore performance. So, when he asked to sleep in my bed I
agreed. He could sleep in my bed tonight...with me...and we would be
friends...good buddies. I knew we could be nothing more - at least for
now. After his multiple confessions tonight - of not ever having been
with a sex partner in addition to his love for Kerry - I knew I needed
to play it cool.
He assured me that sleeping here with me would help keep him to
stay relaxed...prevent him from getting lonely...avert any bad dreams...
and make him sleep well. When I pointed out that he sleeps alone at
home, in his own room, he said that those were familiar surroundings,
while this is completely new, very different and quite strange. He
assured me he had never slept away from home since he was a child...and
was in the hospital just after the accident and his multiple surgeries.
Okay. I bought his logic. I didn't think there was any need to
make this into a big deal. Also, I suspected his pending doctor visit
was weighing heavily on his mind. When I asked if it is a serious
condition he's being treated for, he only shrugged again ... and
responded with the usual "I s'pose." He gave no details. I must
assume, though, that it is severe...and that it is chronic ...since he
sees the doctor very regularly.
He wears baggy, red basketball shorts and a long sleeve, white tee
shirt. He hops over from the guest bedroom, dragging his blanket and
pillow. I just gaze at him. I see his leg stump kick out and shudder
slightly whenever he takes a hop. I find this so incredibly bdeautiful.
He is so amazingly sexy.
I get a shy smile as a reward for my attentions. "I nnneed mmmy
own blanket," he explains. "I cccan be a rrrestless sssleeper ... and
dddon't wanna wake you bbby tttugging the whole bbblanket away."
Clay gets into bed and immediately makes himself comfortable. His
bright, red hair shines gloriously...and his pale, freckled skin looks
absolutely luminous in the flattering lighting and color scheme of my
bedroom. He brings his copy of the first Harry Potter book with him.
He faces away from me. I look down the length of his covered
body. I stare at him. I am transfixed by his wonderful appearance...
the long, lean torso...the graceful curves...as his flanks gently
descend and seamlessly and smoothly connect to his small, but muscular,
buttocks. Maybe it just the adoration of youth by one no longer young
but Clayton epitomizes for me the melding of the divine beauties of
boyhood with those of impending manhood.
I know I will never, ever recover from the disappointment of his
admitting to loving another. I know for sure that age has something to
do with it - in many and varied ways. I'm positive he feels I'm too old
for him - and therefore not a suitable sex partner.
We are from different generations. In truth, we are two
generations apart. We are separated not only by age, but also by
traditions ... and economics...and, to a certain extent, cultures -
middle age (as I wish to call it) and youth. An old man is not
acceptable to one so young and vital. And I'm positive that's how he
sees me - an old man, not so far removed from his own grandparents and
soon bound for final interment.
So! What else is there to do? I cannot roll back the clock ...
as much as I'd love to.
Recovery times from infatuations and abortive love affairs take
considerably longer when one is older. The young manage to pass it off
as just another inconvenient experience and move on to something - or
someone - new.
We read for about twenty minutes. Then he rolls over to face me.
"I'm rrreally sssorry for that bad ssscene earlier tttonight, Cole," he
says softly and with great sincerity. He moves his hand until it is
resting on top of my blanket...and directly on my hip. He squeezes me
very slightly.
I look up from my book...and smile. I place my hand over his, and
give it a light clasp in return. "As I said before, I understand."
"Thanks ssso much. I rrreally, really apprrreciate hearin' that."
Now it's my turn to smile shyly. "And I'd like to thank you again
for ... for also what we...uh...you know, what we did together...
afterward."
He looks at my stretched out form. "I thought you'd lllike it. I
was nnnice...a nnnice experrrience...for mmme tttoo." He gives me a
little squeeze. "It was lllots of fffun."
I look down at our hands together - mine on top of his. I take
notice once again of how large his hand is...and how long his arm is.
When I place mine over his, it barely covers three-quarters of the
hand. Big foot...big hand. What else? I wonder, "What else is big on
this boy?"
"Thanks again, Cole." He leans forward and kisses me lightly on
the cheek. "And...thanks fffor everything else, tttoo. Good night."
"I should be thanking you, Clay. Thanking you very much." He
blushes and smiles an endearing, dazzling smile.
He rolls back, closes his light and falls asleep quickly. He
sleeps at the far edge of the king sized bed...as far from me as
possible.
^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^
As I lay there watching Clayton sleeping peacefully, I realize
what a remarkable young man he is. He is unlike any young person I'd
ever met - unlike any individual I'd ever met, period! He is amazing -
amazing for his age...amazing for any age.
There is no pretense. He seems to be honest, forthright and
straightforward. There is no guile and no deviousness. There is
nothing false, nothing artificial, nothing predatory in anything he
says or does. And there is none of that incredibly phony male macho
bravado - the posing, the bullshit, the acting out of the fake male
expectations.
I know I must stop obsessing about this boy! I must! I can never
remember being this taken...this completely infatuated...with any man...
ever before! Christ! This is getting a little illogical, isn't it?
Yet, when I think back on my life, and consider how devoid it has
been of meaningful relationships, maybe it really isn't illogical at
all.
From earliest childhood, I never developed any close friendships.
Ever! I was raised in the bosom of a very large and extremely tightly
knit family. Smothering is more the term that springs to mind now
instead of "tightly knit." For us, it was always family. Family this
...family that. Cousins, aunts, grandparents, uncles ... for weekend
visits, holiday gatherings, weddings, funerals, summer vacations, etc.
It was always doing things with the family.
As an adult, friendships did not last long. Neither did family
ties, once my sexual preference was revealed. Only two of my four
siblings remained close - my two youngest sisters. My brothers would
have nothing more to do with my perverted lifestyle and me.
Friendships would endure for maybe for a few months. A "lasting"
friendship was one that went on uninterrupted for six months. Then
something always caused a separation - either being physically removed
from the same living area or, sometimes, emotional divides.
I've never had a regular sexual partner...or a live-in lover...or
been in any kind of extended relationship...or had what one could even
remotely call a boyfriend...ever!
Sadly, I've always been a loner...an itinerant worker ... a day
laborer, so to speak. Since leaving the academic life at age twenty-
six and graduating into real world commerce and setting out to earn my
way, I have been on the move. The work I selected, that of being a
consultant, is one of perpetually not knowing. It is not knowing what
or where the next job will be...not knowing when the current position
will end ... not knowing the co-workers because last week they were
different...not knowing if the pay rate will be trimmed or raised for
the next assignment.
I thought I was living the most exciting and hottest life style
imaginable. From city to city...from country to country...I thought I
was someone to be envied and emulated. The money was fantastic -
fabulous compensation, plus great apartments, allowances for food,
clothing, transportation and incidentals. And there were always the
incidentals. And the incidentals always included men!
Men! There were always men in my life...but not IN my life. The
available men were always...well, they were always available and
willing, that much I'll say for them. But so mostly rather ordinary...
to my way of thinking, anyway.
What always amazed me was how consistent the men were in city
after city. One would think that certain cities would have wider
selections...a larger pool or variety from which to select. But not
so! Yes, there are a greater number of gay men in New York City than,
say, there are in Denver. But I always found that the percentage of
good, high quality, disease free men seemed to be the same in city
after city. The ratio never seemed to vary...no matter where one went.
That has always been my experience. One deals with a rather small
pool of potential available, high quality talent. And not just in the
United States, but all over the world - from Vancouver to Venice, from
Berlin to Buenos Aires.
So what did I get? What did I have for my dedication and years of
hard work, both in and out of the office? Besides socking away plenty
of capital, there was the occasional date with some good-looking,
accommodating dude. Some drinks, maybe a concert or a film or the
theater, a fine dinner, a night of fucking and sucking...if I was lucky
in my choice of men...and I most often was. That was how I lived.
Twenty-five years, more or less, spent this way. It was a very nomadic
life...with all the disadvantages that that entailed.
Yes, I had some wonderful times...with some marvelous men. But
never more...never. I had them...and then it was over.
I never fully connected with another human being in all those
years. I never was able to experience anything more than a casual,
small taste of ever fleeting - and ever shorter - happiness. Yes, it
could last a few nights...or a few weeks...but it was over relatively
quickly ... both of us knowing when we started that it would never be
more than a casual fling - a mere bagatelle.
I don't feel sorry for myself, however. Well, maybe I do ... a
little. More than a little, if the truth be told. I'm lonely ... and
alone.
There was never more than ME to occupy my thoughts. I've become
rather egocentric. My own comforts...happiness...and feelings...always
occupied a primary position in my thoughts. It was never about another
person. It was never about the feelings...and needs...and desires...of
others...or another.
And now, suddenly, in a matter of days, I am faced a new reality.
Here I am, solidly embedded in stuffy, conservative middle age, and I
find myself with a strange and overwhelming sensitivity. I'm ... I am
absolutely craving the love, and affection of a boy - lusting after the
body and mind of a sixteen-year-old boy - the most desirable person I
have met in all this time. With decades of self-absorption propping up
my rather ramshackled ego, I discover that I am not at the center of
the universe...not even my own universe. Clayton is!
This boy ... this lovely boy is...somehow...somehow ... different.
And I find those differences both intriguing and exciting. Very
intriguing ... and very, very exciting.
I know it's crazy, but I think I react to him as if he was an
adult and we react to each other as contemporaries. I believe I see
him as an adult in the form and body of a beautiful boy. I react
differently to Clayton and...and to his wonderful personality ... and
thoroughly marvelous appearance. I think I'm reacting as I would to an
older man...as I would to a person who I am "sizing up" as a potential
companion...and permanent partner. However, never honestly having been
through that process, it is one more sensation that has made me
confused, alarmed and unsettled.
"What do I expect of him?"
"What do I want from him?"
"Is it just the sex that I crave?"
"Or do I seek the companionship ...
and deep friendship ...
and the possibility of finding that most elusive of all ...
LOVE?"
"All!"
"I want them all ...
and I want Clayton."
"I want him more than I can possibly imagine in my currently
enfeebled mental state.
"It is no longer the head setting down the rules of the game."
"Something greater...more profound...more powerful...more primal...
is at work."
Images of Clay are reeling through my brain.
Clay the twink ...
Clay the boy ...
Clay the man.
Clay ...
Clay!
I'm getting tangled in my blankets. The sheets and pillowcases
feel hot and sweaty. I straighten up, fluff my pillows, respread the
blanket and lay back again.
And soon...soon....
I begin fantasizing about his body once maore...all of his body...
and particularly those parts I have not yet seen ... like his chest...
the remains of his missing arm...his genitals.
Yes! Absolutely! Especially his genitals. His penis ... his
testicles ... the entire crotch area ... his tight ass. My imagination
runs amuck.
Tall and thin Clay ...
tall and thin ...
tall.
Is everything tall ...
or long?
I've never even felt them.
When he's near me ...
up against me ...
pressing into my body ...
I feel nothing ...
no swelling ...
no movement.
Nothing ...
nothing at all.
I cannot hold my thoughts in check.
I sit up suddenly.
Urology? What the fuck does a sixteen-year-old boy need with a
urologist?
Urologists treat old men...not teenage boys. Every man, if he
lives long enough, eventually has the dubious pleasure and honor of
visiting a urologist. But...but Clay? Sixteen-years-old? A teen?
Why?
I switch on the bedside lamp. I look over at him. He seems to be
sleeping very soundly, on his left side, with the stump of his arm
above the blanket. I stare transfixed...as it - and he - occasionally
twitches. I wish I had the courage to reach for it...and cuddle it...
and kiss it...and hold on to him tightly and passionately.
Instead, I reach for my sleeping pills. I most definitely need
pharmacological assistance tonight. I take two.
The End of Part 10
(To Be Continued ... )
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You've just finished Part 10 of my latest story. Thank you so much.
I appreciate anything you may have to say about my stories. Really!
Anything! I'm at: flbrothers@hotmail.com Please remember to put
the name of the story on the subject line of emails.
Thanks again.