Date: Fri, 27 Oct 2006 20:37:16 -0700
From: Joseph Farrin <bigblaise@hotmail.com>
Subject: COMING HOME

I left home twenty-six years ago when I graduated from
high school in 1980.  I'm now forty-five years old, was
raised by foster parents and hitched to LA right after I
graduated.  The last set of foster parents were the best I'd
ever had -- they were approved to take me despite their
age because they were responsible and financially able to
provide for me.

I grew to love them, took care of the yard in summer and
shoveled walks in winter, cleaned the basement and
helped Matt load pipe on his truck plus other things to
help out.  Matt was a plumber. My foster mother was
graying and her name was Alice. I'd visited them four or
five times on vacation, wrote and called once in a while
and sent them cartons of fruit whenever I saw some in a
magazine that you could order from, if it looked extra
special, along with other things.

Before I forget my manners entirely, my name is Joey.

Lately, moving back home crossed my mind with
increasing frequency. Don't ask because I don't really
know. I'd done really well in LA working for a general
contractor as a carpenter and had a sideline making
vitrines (small, glass faced cabinets for displaying
collectables) but the area had grown so crowded, so big,
so expensive, so everything and I spent so much time
driving the freeways to and from work that it had just
gotten on my nerves to the point that I thought even the
climate no longer compensated for all the down side
things.

It seemed almost providential when an attorney called me
early one evening, informed me Matt had been sick for a
while and had died three months ago.  Alice never
adjusted to it and she too had died last week.  It was a
real shock to me.  The second shock was that I was their
sole heir -- although the house was the main asset.
Money wise they'd left a few dollars over 6,000.  It was
totally unexpected and I felt so humbled.

Millie's funeral had taken place three days ago, but if I
could, the attorney thought I should come home to see if
wanted to dispose of the house and what furnishings I
might want to keep. I asked why he hadn't called me
sooner.  He said he'd just gotten back from vacation and
apologized.

My only reservation about moving home was sex. In LA
anyone can find sex- no matter how offbeat, not that I'm
into the far-out stuff.  I just like love, pure and simple, as
long as it's with a boy.  I kinda thought it out that, after I'd
spent some time getting settled, I'd get three telephone
lines -- a regular, listed number, a broadband Internet
connection for my computer and an unlisted number.  The
last number I'd write on toilet stalls in parks, service
stations, Interstate rest stops, bars and other places as
follows:

I SUCK - 540-3606 -- 2417 (for example)

If worst came to worst, I could always drive to Denver and
spend a weekend gorging on cocks through a glory hole
in a video arcade or in a gay, steam bath.  I liked boys but
in dark surroundings age wasn't any more important than
the state of erection.

The attorney let me park my small, pickup truck in his lot
and drove me to Denver so I could fly back to LA.  I listed
the house, packed what I wanted in the way of furnishings
(I liked some of mine better than Matt and Alice's), some
possessions, had one big yard sale one weekend and
drove back in a rental truck

Being upset about Matt and Alice, I neglected to tell you
that since I'd been back on home on vacation, the house
had been remodeled and added on to.  Originally it was
an L shaped structure -- part one story, part two. Now it
was all two stories and the stairs had been moved to the
front of the house -- a U shaped stairs at the end of the
dining room closest to the living room. There was also a
kitchen, breakfast nook and a few stairs down to the back
door that continued on down to the basement.  Upstairs
were a 12'x24' bedroom and a 12'x16'one in the new
addition.  Matt had gone all out on the bathrooms, both
had tubs and walk-in showers, really nice plumbing
fixtures and tiled wall and floors.  The L shaped front
porch had also been enclosed and new windows installed
throughout.  It was so great, so well done and so homey.
Best of all was the two-car garage with an attached area
the same size Matt used for storing plumbing supplies --
he worked out of his garage -- ideal for a workshop.

I was moved in and in and anxious to convert the storage
area into a workroom for making vitrines as the catalog
company that marketed them was on my ass to resume
production.  Their stock was running low and they wanted
a big supply on hand for Christmas sales.

I had some parts in storage, but they were elaborate, gold
foil covered and antiqued, cut glass doors with a brass
knob and a gold colored braided cord with a gold tassel
hanging from it.  I made good money from the sideline,
even when the distributor had sales.  I needed to find
local distributors for the glass and a painter to do the
gilding.

So, I started on the project right after a weekend sex
respite in Denver.

The very first day a young guy (he said he was eighteen)
came up the driveway in an old car with an Oklahoma
license plate and wanted a job, saying he was a
carpenter's helper. His name was Brad Allen and I hired
him, agreeing to pay him under the table so he wouldn't
have to report it as earnings.  I hired him before I found
out he was eighteen, he looked older and before I found
out he had a drinking problem.  I'd have hired him
regardless as I hired him because he was so fucking
good looking -- almost blonde, blue eyed, skinny, had a
pigtail and a sexy southern drawl.

After a week he started dropping by in the evenings.  It
was June and the days were long, so after a microwave,
or a restaurant dinner, I sometimes worked late.  He'd
visit, go to the fridge and get beers -- or sometimes
bourbon.  He was friendly and very expressive with his
hands, used a lot of gestures and was actually touchy at
times during horseplay-- depending on what he was
talking about -- like pussies and fucking (his seemingly
favorite topics).  Yuck!

One evening he brought his wife, Billie over to meet me.
Billie had the cutest face I'd ever seen and the fattest
body.  She must have weighed close to 200 pounds.
We always sat on the front porch until one Saturday night
I was already to drop down to one of the local bars when
they drove up the driveway and it was immediately
obvious to me that I'd never see the bar tonight.  It was
Billie's first time inside the house and she had to have me
explain where I'd gotten each piece of furniture, where I'd
found the paint colors for the walls -- everything.

She drank, but nothing like Brad. They arrived around 8
o'clock and by midnight Brad had had it and I began
thinking I should get rid of them and try the bar.  I always
got a little aroused around Brad -- especially when we
were both drinking. It took both of us to get Brad upstairs
to bed.  Billie wanted to stay, too but I nixed that idea,
saying "No way.  I have only one set of bed linen
unpacked and I'm not going to a motel.  You've had only
a few beers and are able to drive."  She still wanted to
stay, but I told her I was not sleeping in the same house
with her and having Brad accuse me later of seducing
her.  She left; I locked the doors and turned out the lights.

Shit, I was nervous as a new bride.  I knew I wouldn't be
able to behave myself once I was in bed with Brad.  I'd
been fantasizing over him, how big his dick was, etc.,
since the first time I laid eyes on him.  He was slightly
older than my liking but he was a man, had a cock and I
was curious -- among other things.

He was on his back, so I left the bathroom door open a
crack for light and after I stripped down to my boxers, I
unbuckled his jeans, unzipped them and spread the fly as
open as I could get it and succeeded in wiggling his jeans
down two or three inches then reached in his jockeys and
fished out his genitals.  I about cremed at the first sight of
them eventhough he was small in the cock department.

I gave it up for a while, in case I'd disturbed him too
much, to give him a change to settle back down as I
looked at his male treasures and played with myself.  He
seemed totally out of it, so I fondled his balls and his
penis, got it semi-hard, sucked on it a while and got it
totally erect but couldn't make him cum, so I held it in an
upright position with my left hand and masturbated myself
with my right, moved down so our cockheads were
touching and I shot my juice all over his cute, little fucker.

With that I dropped off to sleep but awoke around 3 AM
when he got out of bed and went to the bathroom.  When
he came back to bed he'd left his pants and jockeys in the
bathroom and he threw an arm around me feeling, looking
for tits or a patch of pubic hair on a cunt.  His roaming
hand encountered a big hard cock instead and I felt his
erection poking me between my ass cheeks.

"Where am I?"

"Brad, you passed out and Billie went home without you.
Go back to sleep, I'll take you home in the morning."

In response, he started poking his finger around my
asshole.  I said, "Brad, don't."  He replied, "I need some,
I've got a hard-on, I just had a fuck dream and didn't piss
it off!"

I quickly turned around, scooted down and took his young
manhood into my mouth.

"Holy shit, what are you doing?"

Without verbally responding I kept working his dick and
he gave me a huge, violent, pulsating reward.  Damn, that
was it -- a parting of the ways for sure.  So I was totally
surprised when he pulled me up in the bed and kissed
me.

"I'm sorry Brad."

"I'm not.  That was great and the first of many, I hope!"

"But you're married."

"But so what? I like to get serviced by a cocksucker every
so often.  I guess I was just a little surprised that you're
one. I teased you once or twice, but you didn't seem to
take the bait."

He sure did like to get serviced, and more than every so
often.  We left the garage door facing the alley for loading,
installed a long line of windows facing the back yard and
under the windows built a carpentry table with tool
storage drawers below.

I'd already decided to cut him in on the vitrine business
because he was so generous to me in letting me suck him
off.  Every day after lunch, he'd drop his jeans and
underpants to the floor, flash his dick at me and I'd get on
my knees and blow him as I jacked off.  He really was a
horny little bastard and his dick seemed to need frequent
servicing.

Finally, it came time to make the rounds of the places I
wanted to write my unlisted phone number.  I told Brad
what I was going to do and he said he'd write them in a
couple of the sleazy beer joints, including those that kids
recently released from the juvenile detention home
always hung around if they were looking for a fuck or a
blow job, saying maybe he and I could work together.

It took a while.  It was a real education in and of itself.  I
was more nervous than the clients at first.  In fact, as they
showed up, I'd answer the door, invite them in, point
toward a chair, tell them I'd be with them in a second,
then watch them for a couple of minutes as I appeared to
be winding up a conversation on my cell phone.  I'd get a
visible erection though anticipation and observe their
reaction.

Some would stand up and take it out; some would raise
their butt off the chair and scoot forward to display their
sex organ assets or that which they wanted fucked.

Some, once we got started, never shut up -- guessed
maybe they were nervous.

Some were high school kids out of school in the
afternoons, some were motorists that had stopped at the
local Interstate rest stops and some were drunks from the
bars at night.

It was a small town and not a brisk trade, although I did
develop a few high school regulars.  One was a twenty-
two year old, first year high school teacher who taught in
a small town fifty miles east who first read my invitation at
the Interstate rest stop, and came every Saturday evening
thereafter. We'd go to a bar, come home and throw some
blankets and pillow on the floor in front of the fireplace,
get naked, drink beer and have sex, drink beer, have
more sex, drink beer and have more sex.  He was as
cock crazy as I was.  He had a big one and he was also
the first to ever get in my back door pussy.

Some of the young kids just released from the juvenile
detention were really hot and horny and some of them
stayed overnight, Brad managed to fuck some of them,
and I always gave them some money to replace that
they'd spent in the beer joints so they could get home.
I felt sorry for a lot of them, especially one young kid that,
after I started sucking him and Brad was fucking him, kept
reaching down and gently caressing my cheeks while he
talked to me, calling me "Daddy". To this day I wonder
what the kid could have possibly done to deserve
incarceration.  He was only sixteen years old.

One high school sophomore, fifteen years old, with an
uncut cock way bigger than a kid his age should have
had, became one of my most frequent, young regulars --
at least two afternoons a week after school and
sometimes he bicycled over on Saturday afternoons.  I
really had to be careful with him.  He would have been all
too easy to fall in love with.

Brad, however, turned out to be the totally unexpected
surprise of my moving back to my hometown.  I told you
he was married, but he began getting drunk on Saturday
evenings sooner than usual and, after Billy went home,
had a miraculous sobering up.  He'd faked the whole bit.
He just wanted her out of the way.  About the third time
he did this was in autumn, we closed the window blinds,
turned out the lights, lit a fire in the fireplace and got
naked, as I'd been doing with the schoolteacher.   Before
I had a chance to suck him he got in my ass.  It was my
first time for getting fucked by Brad.  It hurt; he wasn't as
big as the teacher but he wasn't as gentle, either, but I
didn't object too strenuously because he'd been asking
me over and over and, besides, this time I'd been drinking
as much as he had.  By now you've probably guessed I
was more than infatuated with him and on the verge of
being in love.

Then Billie got pregnant, went home to Watson,
Oklahoma (wherever that is) to have the baby.  When she
was close to her due date Brad went to Watson to be with
her but came home alone. The baby lived less than two
days and she said she didn't want anything more to due
with Brad (as it turned out they were just living together
but not legally married).  I felt sorry for both of them but I
couldn't bring myself to blame Brad.  She was four years
older than he was, therefore an adult who had picked up
with a teenager. Somehow, in my warped mind, that
seemed worse than when a man picks up with a younger
man.

Right after my little speech on morality, the next part of
my story will probably shock you.

Remember the kid who called me "Daddy" when I was
sucking his teenage dick and Brad was fucking his tight
little ass?  Soon after Brad returned from Oklahoma, the
doorbell rang one evening just as I was thinking about
going out somewhere to eat.  When I opened the door, he
was standing there and said, "Remember me?"

I said, "Sure I do."

"Can I come in?"

"Sure you can!"

"Can I stay awhile?"

"Sure you can, my house is your house."

It was cold outside, he was cold, I wrapped him in my
arms and he began to cry.  I patted his back and
caressed his cheeks and continued to hold him close until
he said, "I'm sorry."

"I'm happy -- happy that you're here."

"Really."

"Really, but you know I don't even know your name.  The
night you were here, we never got to names."

"It's Joey."

"Oh no! So is mine.  You're going have to be Joey 2"

"Could I call you daddy? I've always wanted a daddy."

"Sure you can."

Why did I keep repeating, "sure you can" in response to
everything I said to him. His arrival was so unexpected.
I'd thought of him so often, and now we were standing
plastered together with our arms around eachother.   I
couldn't think of anything else to say.  I was on the verge
of tears.  All I could do was to keep holding him, as if he
was going to leave again.

I had to believe Brad was telling me the truth, when a
couple of days later he asked if he could move in, too.  He
was lonely living all by himself.

I looked at Joey, he looked at me and I said, "Sure you
can."  A few days later Joey said he didn't see why we
were eating frozen dinners or going out all the time.  He
knew how to cook everything but baking pies and cakes.
The very next day Brad and I took him to a supermarket
and thereafter mealtimes became healthier and more
enjoyable.  With the exception of a few Friday nights,
pizza deliveries and Kentucky Fried Chicken takeouts, we
ate every meal at home except lunch when Joey was in
school.  In fact, meals became something we looked
forward to, and befitting steak, pork chops or a roast, with
all the trimmings, I started setting the table in the dining
room with Alice's table linens, china, silverware and,
occasionally candles.  Brad cleared the table and loaded
the dishwasher.  We were beginning to live like normal
people.

At first we were flipping around between the two
bedrooms and switching beds during the night, until one
day Joey suggested we built a platform with raised edges
that would support three twin bed mattresses, side by
side.  We did and it worked like a charm except we
couldn't find blankets to fit.  Twin bed, bottom sheets, a
king sized top sheet and two down comforters, sewn
together, solved the problem -- for the most part.

We had some torrid 3-way gay sex parties together.
Learned to sleep with someone's hand holding your cock
or an arm around your chest and a hand tucked in your
armpit. Learned to like showering together, waking in the
wee hours of the night or early hours of the morning on
the verge of climaxing into someone's mouth, working
together, sharing problems together and becoming
dependent upon one another.

	The only person who ever shared our bed was the
young teacher.  Joey and Brad grew to like him a much
as I did and enjoy his Saturday night romps with us.

	It took a while, but Joey and I finally lost our fears
that our relation would not last.  Brad finally came to the
conclusion that it was not wrong and our sex life was as
natural as his with Billie had been.  We seemed to have
found a magic mixture of love, respect and friendship all
expressed very often, in many ways, big and small,
including through the sex we had together.

Finally, we'd all come home.

It's a strange world isn't it?

Thanks for reading my story.  Hope you enjoyed it.