Date: Mon, 5 Jun 2000 20:21:15 EDT
From: Hidden12@aol.com
Subject: Eric Chapter 16 (M/t)

Note:  I won't claim this is a "chapter," more like a collection of pieces.
As always, I'm interested in your comments, good and bad, as they feed the
writing process for me.  You may also realize I'm without my proofreader.  I
appreciate his services in the past.  I hope you enjoy.  It is my intent to
rework the entire collection, adding and subtracting as need be to knit the
individual stories into a more coherent work.  Enjoy.

(Home)

Something bothered me.  I'm not sure what it was, but I put my book down and
looked around for minute.  Following dinner I'd settled down into my usual
chair reading a report from work.  Eric had gone off to finish some homework,
then I'd seen him walk through the kitchen.  All was quiet in the house, save
the churning of the dishwasher and the muted sounds of the winter's northwind
gusts.


Pushing myself from the comfortable leathery depths of my chair, I went from
room to room looking for something.  Finally looking through the arched
doorway into the inky darkness of the library office, I spotted Eric on the
couch, bathed in the narrow yellow light of an adjacent table lamp.  Dressed
in his familiar worn sweats, Eric sat with one leg folded under the other
paging through a familiar tome.  I could tell by the color of the cover and
its size that he was paging through the first of several scrap and photo
albums we'd put together.  This one in particular, was the one that held the
remaining memories of his life before me.


Watching quietly as he slowly turned the pages, I could see small changes of
emotion register on the face of the young man I now called my son.  Brief
smiles punctuated a generally stony face.  Usually a cheerful, if quiet,
young man, seeing Eric like this bothered me.  I knew he was looking at
pictures of not only himself as a child, but those of his parents.  I knew he
would see images of his parents wedding day, and those of their last shared
vacation together.  I waited quietly, waiting for him to come again to what
else I knew to be in the book.


Finally, the page turned, and his jaw set, color seemed to drain from his
face.  Hearing a deep sigh flow from him, I stepped into the room and came to
stand in front of him.


"You OK?" I asked.


"Yeah." A flat reply.


"Can I sit down?"


"Sure."  Eric closed the book, straightened his leg and moved over a bit on
the couch.


Sitting down, I turned to watch my boy for a moment.  Eric turned to look out
the window, eyes full.  Pulling gently on the book held loosely in his hands,
I slid it over until it straddled both our laps.  Opening the cover to the
first page, I saw the smiling face of his mother as a woman in her early
20's.  Throughout the next twenty or so pages, I saw memories shared by both
of us.  While Eric only knew of his parent's wedding through pictures, I
could recall it first hand.  Although overseas at the time of his birth, I
knew, in one anonymous picture, those were my disembodied arms cradling a
tiny newborn.  I stopped for what seemed like a long time to gaze at the
clipped article describing the deaths of my friends.  That was the last page
I knew Eric had gotten through.


Taking his hand in mind, I squeezed his otherwise still flesh, wrapping my
other arm around his shoulders.
"They were good people Eric.  I'm sorry."


Eric's eyes glinted briefly, full but not quite teary, as he first looked at
me and then back down at the book lying between us.


"Yeah, I know;" finally came his soft reply.


I deliberately took his hand in mine to turn the page, in so many ways
marking a new beginning for us both.  A scared child delivered into a
familiar, but still foreign household.  For me, a bachelor presented with the
responsibilities of a young boy grieving at the loss of his parents.  That
next page held pictures of two smiling people, one 12 and the other much
older, taken to capture the moment by the odd passerby drafted where ever we
were.  Together, we'd made it policy to go out and have some fun, somewhere,
doing something, every week.  That summer we saw Ellis Island and the Statue
of Liberty, watched Cadets parade at West Point, had gone swimming in the
Atlantic, and even rattled off a few frames of bowling before giving it up in
favor of ice cream.


Several pages later, the atmosphere was much lighter, a smile on Eric's fair
face, the language of his body much more relaxed and animated as we enjoyed
reliving our shared memories.


"Who is that skinny thing?" I asked pointing to a late summer picture of
Eric's sandy 12-year-old face looking up from a deep hole dug in the beach
sand.  We had gone to Nantucket Island for a week to check out the old
whaling center, the lighthouses, and generally be away from the world for a
while.  That week seemed to have been the first time Eric had been happy for
more than a fleeting instant since the death of his parents.


"Ha!  I wonder.  Makes me wonder who's that pasty dinosaur he's hanging out
with!"


I jabbed Eric in the ribs with my elbow in retaliation for being called a
pasty dinosaur. Together we looked through the remaining few pages, mostly
pictures of this house being built.  A long time dream of mine, I'd brought
Eric into the design and review process deliberately, partly to show him we
could be partners, and partly so that this place could be his home.  Closing
the book slowly and sliding it back onto his lap, I looked up to see him
gazing over the other 3 volumes, each representing a year together, lined up
on the shelf next to the inky black hole where this one belonged.


The next hour seemed to rush past until I looked up to see 10:35 on the dial
of the mantel clock.


"Time to go to bed studly." I told Eric.  We had been talking our way through
the next two scrapbooks.  Each picture a shared memory, and usually either a
laugh or silent gaze while reliving the event.


"Hey! Remember this one?" Eric asked as I got up, pumping my right arm up and
down to force the blood back into it, otherwise choked off from being draped
over Eric's shoulders.


Peering into the offered book I was confronted with a gray underlit picture,
calm waters mirroring the trees of the distant far shore.  A picture of the
lake in Canada where we had our cabin.  The real item of interest was a
single canoe with two people paddling, one looking back at the photographer.
All in all a marginal picture at best, but one loaded with hidden meaning.


"Remember those two?" Eric asked.  "I thought they were gonna flip that
canoe!"


The memory of the incident flashed into my mind causing me to laugh.  "Oh
yes.  How could I forget that?"  It had been a relatively early morning,
before breakfast in fact.  Eric and I had only been up a short while when I
saw him standing naked on the deck in the cool morning air, watching the mist
lift faery like from the water.  Bringing him a steaming mug of hot
chocolate, I joined him, pressing my body close to his from behind.  While I
drank my coffee using one hand, the other alternated between delicately
caressing the curves of his young body and pulling him into my rising cock.
"What do you remember of the whole thing?" I asked with feigned innocence.


"We'd gone out on the deck, and the next thing I know I'm on my back, towels
under my butt, ankles on your shoulders and you're banging away at me.  I
think I heard 'em before you did, a paddle banged against the side of their
canoe.  We'd seen what?  Three other boats on the lake the whole three weeks
and none of them before noon.  So there we are, I'm trying to twist my head
around so I can see what's going on, and you're still going at it."  Eric
laughed, his animated face turned red reliving the embarrassment of the
moment.  "I finally look out to see what must have been a kid and his father
staring at us from not more than 30 feet out in the lake.  The man didn't
know whether to paddle away, jab his kid to quit staring and keep paddling,
or just sit there and stare himself!"


"I remember seeing you look away, so I looked up myself.  Seeing those two
looking back sent me over the edge, my dick demanding I fuck you deep and
cum.  So here I am, pumping my cum into you, with a shocked audience watching
me rear up for the final act." I said standing and returning the volume to
its place. "By the time I got a hold of myself they were around the point and
gone from sight.  I bet they won't paddle through the equivalent of people's
front yards anymore."


Turning the lights out, we both left for the bedroom arms wrapped around each
other, playfully bumping into the other with our hips.


"You must have run and gotten the camera pretty quick to catch them from the
backside of the island.  Probably still my cum oozing out your ass."


"You wish pervert.  I've learned by now how to keep your stuff inside me
without making a mess."