Date: Wed, 09 Jul 2003 10:41:36 -0500
From: Fredric L. Brothers <flbrothers@hotmail.com>
Subject: Another Lawn Boy Story - Part 4 (Man/Teen)
A Disclaimer: If you don't appreciate gay, intergenerational love
stories (that means man/boy love to the uninitiated or brain dead) or
you are under 18 years old, please leave this site now. Okay? You
have been warned. Enough said!
The following story is fiction. It bears no connection or resemblance
to actual or specific persons and/or any real life situations or
experiences.
ANOTHER LAWN BOY STORY
---------------------------------------
By Fred Brothers
Copyright (c) 2003 Fredric Law Brothers - All Rights Reserved
NOTE CAREFULLY: The following is a copyrighted work and is intended for
private, individual use. It may not be reproduced by any known method,
distributed or posted on additional web sites without the expressed
written consent of the author.
--------------------------------------------------------
Part 4
I complete my programming, but it's not easy. I have great
difficulty working and trying to focus on anything...knowing that Clay
is here - in my house...with me. His presence is a major mental
distraction - not to mention a physical one, too. Just knowing he's
near seems to short-circuit my thought processes. And I keep replaying
and replaying the recent startling events...events that make my heart
rate climb...and my cock fatten. Neither improves my ability to
concentrate.
Finally, I call him into the office.
He's like a colt fresh out of the gate. He's so excited that he
drops things, knocks others off the desk, and has difficulty speaking.
He unrolls the large sheet he brought. It's two sheets. The
first shows what exists - a view of the rear property with the house in
the background. I cannot believe he has recreated it in such minute
detail after what seemed like a cursory look around. The second sheet
presents his vision for re-contouring the property and the new
landscaping design. Both drawings are in beautiful color. I'm amazed,
delighted, and quite honestly, down right stupefied. This boy has a
truly incredible gift and a remarkable genius. When we spoke about the
project last week, I had absolutely no inkling of the depth of his
talents.
"I must say...I'm just...well, just totally bowled over by your
design, Clay. These sketches...and the whole plan...are just...they're
fantastic...fantastic! I'm overwhelmed. Fabulous!"
"You really mean it?"
"Absolutely! They're terrific! The whole design...it's different
...it's beautiful...it's practical and it looks so very functional. I
love it! Your vision is remarkable...how you were able to incorporate
everything. Well, it's just plain extraordinary!"
Clay gets up from the desk and throws his arms around me. "Thanks
Cole." He begins to sob lightly on my shoulder. "Thanks so much." He
squeezes me gently...and I return the embrace and the loving feelings.
"It means ssso much to me to hear you say that."
"You did a terrific job!"
Clay moves back; a big, radiant smile lights up his face. His
eyes sparkle. "God! I'm ssso happy."
"You have every right to be. You're very talented...a very
talented young man."
He looks at the drawing again. "You know, you can put sssome
pieces of sssculpture in a few places; I think that'll look real
great!" He points out three or four locations where he thinks large
sculptures should go.
"You're right. They would be impressive!"
"Yeah. But no angel crap...or gnomes...or Greek statue shit." He
quickly puts his hand to his mouth. He looks both frightened and
ashamed. "Sorry, Cole. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. It ssslipped
out. An accident. So sssorry."
Hey, it's okay. Don't give it another thought. I know how people
speak. I say that shit myself."
"'Kay. Thanks." He refocuses on the drawing again. "Well, I see
some modern things, stuff that reflects lllots of lllight...and energy.
Maybe something kinetic...you know, that moves with the wind? That'd
be awesome!"
"I agree - it would be awesome!"
He opens his arms and moves toward me. I likewise open mine. We
embrace. I rub my hands on his back...and his neck. I rub from his
neck down to the top of his butt. I am definitely getting excited once
again. However, I notice no change from Clay. His breathing does not
vary, whereas mine quickens noticeably. Nor can I feel anything
happening...well, happening down below...at his groin...while I'm
becoming quite stimulated. I guess he has no feelings for...for older
men...for old men...like me.
My hands rest on Clay's hips. Incredible how comfortable they
feel there. I give him a little squeeze and he giggles and squirms
away. "Ticklish?"
"Yeah, very." Then he gets serious. "Did you really mean what
you said? You're not putting me on...are you? Or jerking my chain?"
"Of course, I mean it. Absolutely! We're going to go with what
you designed. And it's going to be the talk of the whole town."
He begins to sob again. "Sorry, Cole. Sorry I'm blubbering like
this? Nothing this great...it's the best thing to ever happen to
mmme."
I give him a gentle squeeze. "You are amazingly talented. You
are, you know! And I'm very happy for you...and for me too."
He blushes. "Thanks. Thanks so much. But, you know, nnnobody
knows...nnnobody at all. That I can even do this stuff. Well, except
for gramma and grampa." He takes a deep breath. "But they will...they
will when we're finished with this...when it's all done! Won't they?
And you've got the best looking property in the state." He turns to
me again. "You know you'll need to get a contractor to dig up those
crappy terraces and bricks and re-grade the whole back."
"I realize. I'll start getting estimates on Monday."
"This is totally awesome!" He's the most excited I've ever seen
him. He can't stay still. "Can we gggo...you know, gggo this weekend
...around...uh...I mmmmean can we go to sssome nurseries this weekend to
...to look at plants and ssstuff?"
"Do you know any? Nurseries?"
"I know them all. Every one in fifty miles."
"Then we'll go. If the weather's good."
"Thanks ssso, so much."
I laugh and nod. "You certainly seem to know your business,
Clay."
"I try to...I really do. I take this very seriously." He looks
at the drawings again, moving his prosthetic hand over the surface.
"Do you ttthink...you know, that it's possible...to fit in...maybe...a
sssmall greenhouse?"
^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^
Clay and I have dinner together. I'm delighted (more accurately,
I'm ecstatic) he's able to stay.
He calls his grandmother to get permission. I agree to drive him
home after dinner and tote his bike. That's no problem - my large SUV
can accommodate the bike easily. My only uncertainty is that I'd
probably have to meet the grandparents. I know it'll happen sooner or
later - and I much prefer it to be later.
I grill a couple of beautiful veal chops and made a great Salade
Nicoise to accompany the potatoes au gratin and corn bread. I drink a
nice California Cabernet - Clay drinks sparkling water. We eat
heartily, enjoy the other's company and talk about things - television,
movies, baseball, my work, his school. Truth is, I really don't know
if Clay likes my company or not, but I sure as hell know I enjoy his!
He chides me for watching him eat. I can't help it - I'm just
fascinated by his every action. "What's the matter? Didn't you ever
see a one-armed guy eat before?"
"Actually, Clay, no."
"Well, we eat like everyone else. Honest."
"Truth is, I never saw a handsome, talented, tall, redheaded, one-
armed teenager eat at my dinner table before. Sorry." He gives me a
lovely grin and turns red. "Oh! Did I forget to say cute? Yes, I
believe I did. And very cute, too."
He giggles at my last remark. There's that marvelous sound again.
"It's no big deal. After all, by this time I'd better have all the
movements down...or I'd starve to death."
Does he realize I'm actively flirting with him? I honestly think
not...not really...I...peg this kid...as being quite naive. I may be
wrong, but I think not.
He manipulates his knife and fork easily and without incident -
never dropping either. He butters another piece of corn bread and I'm
compelled to ask him a question that has been foremost in my mind since
we first met.
"Clay, I notice you seem to do most everything with your right
hand...the one with the prosthetic...your hook. Isn't that a little
unusual."
"Oh. You've noticed. Yeah, lotsa people comments on that."
"Why didn't you switch to your left hand when you lost...uh...you
know, after the accident?"
"I did...for a while. But when I got the nnnew arm, I just seemed
to naturally go back. Don't know why...and nnneither do the doctors.
Just happened. I'm more comfortable this way even though it can be a
real pain in the ass sssometimes." He giggles again. "Guess I just
have a very strong bent to being right-handed."
I nod, acknowledging the statement - and his very curious choice
of the word "bent." I'm also very glad to hear he's loosening up
around me and speaking more freely...and naturally.
"Let's have dessert in the TV room," I say as I drain the last of
my wine. "Okay?"
He helps clear the table, we load the dishwasher, and he carries
his drink into the other room. Again, I stare at his every movement,
even the smallest ones. He catches me a few times, but says nothing -
only acknowledging my spying with an almost imperceptible grin.
I hand him dessert and he looks at it quizzically. "What's that?"
"Haven't you ever had Boston Cream Pie?"
He shakes his head while continuing to stare at it. "It doesn't
look like a pie."
"It isn't. It's a cake."
"So why do they call it Boston Cream Pie?"
"Ah! You have to be born in Boston to know that. It's a secret
and they never, ever tell." I lower my voice and say in almost
conspiratorial tones, "If someone does tell...then he or she is...never
...ever...heard from...again."
He laughs loudly. "So what's in it?"
"It's yellow cake, filled with a vanilla custard and topped with
chocolate. Try it."
He digs in, puts a large piece in his mouth, then gives me a
wonderfully large smile. "It's great! Boston Cream Pie, huh? I gotta
ask gramma about it." He takes another large bite. I have forgotten
just how delicious it is to watch a teenage boy eat. They do it, as
everything, with such gusto. Nothing by halves. "You make it?"
"Sure did."
He's surprised. "Really?" I nod. "You gotta be kidding?"
"No, I'm not. I made it this morning. I love to bake and cook.
For me, it relieves stress, relaxes me, and sometimes helps me think
more clearly. And, the results are always delicious."
"This sure is!" I smile at him. We both continue to eat. Clay
requests a second piece.
"I've been meaning to tell you, Cole. Your earring there looks
great."
"Thanks." I raise my hand to touch the small, solid gold, double
hoop in my left ear. "I like it."
"I do too. It's so beautifully shiny."
"Solid 18 karat gold. I got it in Italy about fifteen years ago."
"You travel a lot?"
"Had to. My business required it."
He face takes on a slightly sad, dark look. "Are...are you
gggoing to be traveling again soon?"
"Not much - and no foreign travel in my current plans. I'll be
out in California in August for two weeks, New York for a week in
October and maybe Atlanta in November. But nothing like I've done in
the past. Sometimes I'd be away for months at a time."
"Gee! That must've been real hard...I sssuppose."
"Tell me about it! However, when I was in great cities like Paris
or London or Hong Kong...well, that compensated. You know, I could
never have a pet because I'd be away so much. Before I moved here I
was in Berlin for eight months."
"Wow! Was that nice?"
"Absolutely! It's a great city. They have three large opera
companies there."
"You like opera?"
"I hate it. But they have three companies I could avoid."
He laughs enthusiastically. I pull out the DVD of "Independence
Day" for us to watch.
"Cole, I need to tell you something. I think I should take off my
...uh...you know, my leg...before you ssstart the mmmmovie. It's been a
long ddday and I can feel...uh...you know, the stump's ssstarting to
hurt. Do you mind?"
"Of course I don't mind. Do whatever makes you comfortable."
"Thanks. Uh...could you get me a towel...please? I'll need it."
I do as he asks.
He stands near the sofa and drops his pants. The bright red
boxers he has on have cute cartoon figures of skateboarders printed all
over. I forget that he's still a kid at heart.
Clay uses his big hand to wrap around the upper part of the
prosthetic and I hear a click. The leg slides off. "Now I have to
take off this liner," he says.
"Liner?"
"Yeah. See this soft plastic covering with the spike-like thing
on the end? It's what keeps the leg on...attached to me." He rolls
the liner down toward the end of the stump and pulls it off. He dries
it, and the socket, then slips the liner and leg together.
"Could you please put this over by the chair?" he asks. I take
the leg. It's heavier than I expected. My arousal begins as soon as I
grasp it.
It seems so surreal, carrying another person's body part. The
sneaker, on the foot, seems huge. "This is quite a large sneaker,
Clay."
"Yeah. It matches my real foot...a size fifteen."
"That is large. Of course, you are quite tall, so...well, it goes
together.
He rubs the stump lightly with his one hand. "All done." He
moves his leg remnant slightly - wiggling it. It is pointing straight
out in front, perpendicular to his body. I cannot believe how exciting
I find this...and his appearance...and how stirred I am by what he's
doing...and what he's showing me.
Clay's amputation is at the mid-thigh level. The stump is
beautifully formed - tapered, thin and pleasing to look at. It is not,
as I had anticipated, repulsive or gross. The boy's total appearance
has me almost in paroxysms of sensory overload.
"Cole? Do you happen to have any lotion? You know, hand or body
lotion?"
"Yes. Let me get it." I return with a bottle of lotion I'd
bought in London. He's still massaging the leg stump.
"I like to put some kinda lotion on. Keeps the skin soft." He
spreads the towel on the couch, and then sits on it.
He points the stump up and squeezes some of the lotion on the end.
Be begins to rub it all over...and it's no surprise that I'm getting
harder and harder. His leg of his boxers has fallen away, and rests
near the trunk of his body. I am becoming uncomfortably aroused. He
glances up at me standing there, gawking at what he's doing. "Would
you like to help?" he asks in a sweet, almost seductive voice.
"Huh?" is my rather indelicate reply.
"Help me? You know, rub in some lotion?"
"Uh...yeah. Thanks for asking."
I kneel in front of him. He puts more of the lotion on and I
begin to rub very lightly. "Do it harder. No need to be too gentle or
delicate. Get it worked in good. And the massage is good for the
circulation." I increase the pressure and can feel the scars on the
surface and the muscles beneath the skin. I am panting slightly and am
fully erect. Anything concerning this boy seems to stoke my libido. I
don't think Clay has noticed because he's sitting back on the sofa and
has his eyes closed.
And for the first time, I see Clay's entire leg stump...all the
way up to the hip joint. To me, it is a thing of beauty...and extremely
sensuous. I'm sure others would not. But for me, it is a fabulous
treat and I love what I'm seeing and doing. His skin is incredibly
soft...and very pale.
I move my hands slowly down the leg, until I am finally massaging
the full length. I apply good pressure and Clay responds by breathing
heavily and moving his head from side to side.
"Put a little more lotion on." I do as he asks. "Mmmmmm. This
feels so good. God! You're doin' such a great job...on me, Cole. Oh,
yeah...this is the best one I ever got." I increase the pressure.
"Oh, yeah! So, so good!" He starts moaning lightly. "I gotta hire
you to be my...my personal stump massager."
"Anytime, Clay...anytime at all." He opens his eyes slightly and
gives me a beautiful smile.
"That should do it...for now," he says in a rather cheerful way.
I stand up slowly and take the bottle from him and return it to my
bathroom. When I re-enter the room he is standing on his one leg,
preparing to pull up his pants. I marvel how well he balances - and
how beautiful and sexy the leg is. The pale creamy color, the smooth
unknotted muscles, the lower part very lightly covered with the
most gorgeous redish/blonde hair. Breathtaking!
He notices me staring at the stump. "Pretty ugly, isn't it?"
I'm having some difficulty breathing...and, consequently, speaking.
"No. Not really."
"Well, I think it is." He stares at it "It's scarred up. See?"
He pulls the leg of the boxers all the way up and I can see almost to
his hip bone. He cups his genitals in his hand, moving them sideward.
I can see no hair at the top of his leg - and none near his private
parts. "And I have this bbbig ssscar on the end...where the rest of my
leg used to be. Pretty it isn't. I know." He raises his hook. "I
lllive with it...and with this arm. It isn't easy."
I feel so sorry for him. He's absolutely tugging at my
heartstrings. I want to hold him and cuddle him and tell him that all
is well and that he doesn't need four limbs for me to adore him.
Propriety prevents me from doing anything...except looking sad...and
being concerned for his well being.
"Oh, I should have asked. Do you want to remove...uh...you know,
take off your arm...your arm prosthesis...too?"
"Nah. Not necessary. It's comfortable."
He pulls his pants up and relaxes on the sofa. I look at him, and
we nod to each other. When I sit down, he stretches out, putting his
leg on the sofa and leans against me. I'm thrilled...and extremely
comfortable...and comforted. The empty pants leg drapes over the side
of the sofa.
Once or twice during the film, he moves even closer to me - sort of
like cuddling in. At one point, he rests his head on my shoulder. I
take this as a very positive sign - a sign of acceptance and, possibly,
of growing affection. I put my arm over his shoulder, my hand draping
down his chest. My fingers lightly touch one of his nipples. He
flinches at first contact, but then turns to look at me. A wonderful
smile gleams on his face.
During the credits, he speaks for the first time since the film
began. He changes his position on the couch, now facing me. "Can I
ask you something, Cole?"
"Certainly. Remember this house is a `forbidden-free' zone."
"Yeah, I remember. But...uh...it's personal...maybe a little
embarrassing."
I laugh. "Personal and embarrassing for who - you? Or me?"
"Well, both, I guess."
"No problem. Go ahead...ask."
"Okay." He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Earlier,
right after I get here, you're nnnice...nice enough to let me look
close and see your nnnipple piercing?" He pauses. "By the way, it's
real beautiful. I lllove it! Anyway, I nnnotice...when I'm looking at
it...and touching it...that...that you haven't gggot any...any chest
hair."
I nod. "That's true."
"And...and...I also nnnotice that...uh...you've got a real great
chest."
"Thank you."
"You look very strong...and mmmuscular. And your biceps also look
super. You've got a nnnice...a real nnnice bod."
"Again, thank you. And thank you for noticing."
He blushes. "So, as I say, I also nnnotice that you haven't gggot
any hair...in your armpits...either."
I nod. "True again."
"Do you...uh, do you ssshave...I mean, ssshave your body hair?"
The question takes me by surprise. However, I want to be honest
with him. It's a legitimate question, deserving a straightforward
answer. "Yes I do Clay."
"You do? Honest?"
"Yes."
"Oh, wow! I mean...that's cool. Uh, how often do...uh...do you
do it?"
"Once a week."
"And...and...how long does it take - I mean to shave yourself?"
"Not long. I'm not hairy, so maybe ten minutes, and since there's
nothing on my back, it's fast and easy."
"Neat!"
"That's the reason I do it."
"Huh?"
"That's the reason I shave my body - neatness."
"Oh. Yeah! I get it." He laughs slightly. "If you don't mind
me asking, how mmmuch do you ssshave? I mean...uh...how much do you
take off. And where?"
"I don't mind you asking. I shave all of it."
"All?"
"All!"
He smiles broadly. "You...you ssshave everything?"
"Right! Everything!"
"Even...um, you know, even ddddown...dddown THERE?"
I nod. "Yes, Clay, even down THERE!"
"Hey! That's great!"
"I shave every hair on my body...below my eyebrows."
"Wow! Cool!"
He gives me a lovely, shy smile. I see his eyes begin to water
slightly. And I don't quite understand why.
The Endd of Part 4
(To Be Continued...)
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If you have any comments to make about this or any other story of mine,
please send them to me at flbrothers@hotmail.com I appreciate all
emails - ALL! Thanks.