Date: Tue, 20 Jan 2009 19:47:31 -0800 (PST)
From: Master Terra D <masterterradil@yahoo.com>
Subject: Home for Teenagers, part 2

Wilson's Home for Wayward Homos.

	The nickname was sticking.

	I was dealing with Oscar and Marcus pretty good after a month.

	Marcus was usually only home at night, just a few hours before bed,
with basketball season in full swing.

	Oscar was home more often, but he usually had something to do right
after school, so I didn't see him until 6 or 7 p.m., well after I made it
home.

	They were gone large parts of the weekends, too; Marcus had farm
work and Oscar, it turns out, had a garage band, The Strummin' Hummers,
ironically named after the fact that all four members owned, or their
parents owned, Hummers.

	So it was working, but Oscar's trust fund wasn't the Godsend I'd
hoped. I had to work with a trust liaison. Rent, food, clothes, everything
had to be documented, even Oscar's allowance. It did help defray some
costs, and made it so I could keep Oscar, and Marcus, but that was the
extent of it.

	Oscar had his own Hummer, and he drove himself everywhere, and
sometimes drove Marcus to the farm or rehearsal. Oscar had an ample supply
of condoms. They were constantly going at it. I had to restrict them to
their rooms, or the laundry room in the basement.

	The basement was a full-size basement. Down the stairs went right
into the laundry room, which included the hot water heater, heating system,
and other such maintenance devices.

	Beyond the laundry room, behind two locked doors, were play rooms.

	The dungeon was immense. Sling, fuck bench, leather bed, leather
chairs, St. Andrews cross, shackles, stocks, and a drain in the center for
easy cleaning. I hosted a leather orgy once a month, and made sure the boys
were out of the house for the times I'd had it since joined my
household. I'd kept the boys and my friends separate, although I knew that
couldn't last.

	Both boys were just juniors, and I'd have a summer and their senior
year to contend with dealing with friends.

	The other room was the spare bedroom where I'd either host guys for
some one-on-one fun so I wouldn't mess up my bedroom, or where I'd put
guests I didn't want staying a long time. It had an outside, emergency
exit, and a door into the dungeon, too. It also had its own private
bathroom.

	I'd been considering what exactly I should do. I figured at least
one, maybe two more boys would be under my roof by the end of March.

	I'm a private man. Very private. But I was more concerned with
their welfare than my privacy.

	Right now, it was Saturday afternoon, and I was reading in the
library, in my 1930's Art Deco Club chair, brown leather upholstery, with a
throw to keep the chill off, and a fire in the fireplace.

	Marcus was at the farm, and Oscar had just left for The Strummin'
Hummers weekly rehearsal. The book could have been better, and I was having
a difficult time concentrating on it. Whoever was paid to edit this thing
was overpaid.

	I thought I heard a knock, but ignored it. The house made all sorts
of odd noises. I ignored them unless they were persistent. The doorbell
rang. I picked up my Universal-Phone and used the intercom system I'd had
installed.

	"Who is it?" I asked. The library was to the back, a room from the
front door.

	"It's Aston Martin, Wilson," the voice answered back.

	I hit the lock and said, "Come on in, Aston. I'm in the library."

	Aston Martin was well-acquainted with the house. He'd owned it
about 20 years prior. He was the vice-president of Cardinal Lovington Bank;
in truth, he was waiting for his father to die so he could be the bank's
president. Aston was in his 50s.

	I heard his patent-leather shoe click against the hardwood floors,
a path Aston knew well. He knocked as he entered.

	"Come in, Aston. Pardon my not rising, but if you'll remember, it's
a big house – big heating bill," I said, extending a hand and shaking
his.

	"I remember. It's one of the reasons I sold it all those years
ago. I see you've restored the fireplace in here," he said, taking a seat
in the matching chair opposite mine.

	Aston was married, distinguished, thin, tall, but had the profile
of a bird. He could have afforded a surgery to fix his nose, but he was not
a vain man. Aston was one of four members of a reading club we'd formed a
few years ago. We met monthly, right here in my library. I wasn't sure why
Aston was paying a visit; the last meeting was two weeks ago.

	"I'll get right to the point, Wilson," Aston started, "We've known
each other several years, shared dinners at each other's places, the
reading club, community organizations..."

	He paused.

	"You know my oldest boy, Randolf..." He let it just hang out there.

	"He's gay?" I offered, hoping I was wrong.

	"What? Oh. No. No, sorry, with what you're dealing with... Sex is a
difficult subject for some people."

	I was lost. Not only had he not gotten to the point, but he'd
forgotten he had one.

	"Aston, you had a point?"

	"Randolf knows a boy in school that's gay; not the two you already
have," Aston put forth. "It's Terrill's son, Abe."

	Abe Geffries? I didn't see that coming. Terrill Geffries was a
member of the reading club. Terrill owned the local lumber mill, and his
son, Abe, had grown up at his father's side. Terrill was a tower of a man,
and married a tall woman, and Abe had inherited every inch, standing nearly
7 feet tall. He wasn't thin, either. He was packed with muscle, and was one
of the football team's best players. He was a wrestler, too. A big, burly
kid.

	"Are you sure, Aston? I've seen the girls on Abe's arms. Literally,
three hanging off one arm." I was serious. The boy was constantly
surrounded by girls, and a few older women, some married who embarrassed
themselves in public lusting after him. "Abe has a reputation."

	"Maybe he's bi. Terrill asked me to come here."

	"Terrill knows his son is gay?"

	"No. But he thinks he might be. Randolf saw Abe with another boy
after a wrestling match last week. He wasn't sure what he saw, but it
sounded sexual."

	"If it'd been a girl, would anyone care?"

	"If it'd been a girl, Terrill would have castrated him. He doesn't
want him getting a girl pregnant. He's even considered having Abe fixed."

	"I'm not really set up for a fourth person in the house, Aston."

	"What? No. All Terrill and Maggie want to do is know if he's
sexually active with other boys," Aston was turning red. "They were
wondering if one of your boys could ask?"

	"My boys? The `randy' twins? They don't ask; they fuck. It took me
four weeks just to get Marcus to wear underwear around the house.

	"I don't think it's a good idea."

	The doorbell rang. I spoke into the remote. "Who is it?"

	I took the remote off.

	"Why isn't Terrill asking me to do this?"

	"It's George Patterson," the voice said.

	"Terrill planned to, but he had to go to the hospital, and didn't
want to ask over the phone."

	"Do you know who George Patterson is?"

	"Isn't there a Patterson on the basketball team?"

	I stood. "Please wait here, Aston."

	"I need to go, Wilson. Just give me a call when you make a
decision."

	We walked to the door together, and I opened the door.

	"Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Martin," I said, shaking hands, Aston
making a departure. I turned to my next guest. "Mr. Patterson?"

	"Yes. I hope I'm not interrupting?"

	"Mr. Martin was leaving. What can I help you with, Mr. Patterson?"
I motioned for him to enter, but just inside the door. We stood, although I
kept two chairs in the front hall to receive guests, if needed.

	"I have a son, Joe, on the basketball team with Marcus Harnass."

	"I thought I recognized the last name. Has there been a problem?"

	"Is Marcus here?"

	"No, he's out at his family's farm, Mr. Patterson. Did you come
here to see him?"

	"I came to see you. Sorry, I'm not sure how to approach you on
this."

	"Let me. Gay son?"

	"Yes."

	"Want me to take him off your hands?"

	"Yes."

	"There's rent to be paid, and clothes, and food, and...This isn't a
charity, Mr. Patterson."

	"Sounds like a whorehouse."

	"Sounds like a hateful father. Why don't you leave, Mr. Patterson?
Maybe you should have sent your wife...Oh, sorry, she cheated on you,
right?"

	I'd suddenly remembered with whom I was dealing. This guy was a
jackass. Owned the grocery store, well, one of them. Caught his wife
cheating, but wouldn't let her divorce, and made it so the other guy had to
leave town.

	I opened the door.

	He almost said something, then thought better of it. He left.

	I tried to place Joe Patterson. Most of the boys on the team were
still growing up. Few of them were appealing to me. But I couldn't place
Joe. I'd ask Marcus when he got home.

	I returned to the library, kind of pissed.

	I picked up my book, and returned to its pages.



	I woke to Marcus standing over me, wearing his underwear.

	"You going to fix supper?"

	"What time is it?"

	"Some time after 8 p.m. They fed me at home, but I'm still hungry."

	"I'm sure the microwave works. And I know you can always fry
something, Marcus. I'm not your maid."

	"You're staring at my chest."

	"Yes, I am. You have a nice chest. Very model worthy. Hey, do you
know Joe Patterson?"

	Marcus' eyes got big. "Maybe."

	"There's only about 15 guys on the team. Let me rephrase this. His
dad came by today. Tell me about Joe Patterson."

	He started to sit in the leather chair.

	"No! Pull the throw off the footstool and cover the chair, then you
can sit. You know better."

	"You have a lot of rules, dude."

	"Fewer if you'd wear more clothes, dude. So tell me about Joe."

	"Joe. Poor Joe. His dad pushes him relentlessly. He's never good
enough for his old man."

	"Is he gay?" I asked.

	Marcus blushed. That was new.

	"Yeah, he's gay; well, bi. Not everyone knows. His parent do. A few
girls and some of the guys.

	"He likes to find a girl into three-ways, and have her get the
other guy. While the guy's fucking her, he slides up behind the guy and
takes his ass."

	We sat in silence a minute.

	"So, Mr. Patterson was here?"

	I nodded, then stood, motioning toward the kitchen. Marcus
followed.

	"How's Joe's home life?"

	"Pretty bad. His dad essentially hates him. His mother's
indifferent to the point of siding with his dad. No siblings, so he is the
total focus of his parents' hate," Marcus said. "Last year, Joe started
asking to stay over night with anyone who'd let him. During the school
year, he's fine, but no one wants to deal with him during the summer, or
Christmas vacation or any extended times like that."

	He opened the refrigerator as I grabbed a stockpot.

	"Grab the beef on the bottom shelf, and throw it in a skillet," I
ordered, opening the pantry and pulling out assorted vegetables. Beef stew
was going to be the meal of the evening, and much of tomorrow.

	I was teaching both of the boys how to cook, at least the basics. I
opened a jar of Mrs. Harnass' canned tomatoes and dumped it in the
stockpot. I handed an onion to Marcus, then started boiling some potatoes.

	"Thinking about having Joe stay here?"

	"I can't really afford him, Marcus. You know how challenging it's
been since both of you moved in," I said.

	"I know. Thanks for swinging the new clothes, too. How did you
manage that?" he pried.

	Both boys had been let in on the finances, what it took to keep a
house going, grocery bills, utilities, everything. They'd need to know all
that stuff in a year or two anyway.

	"I have a few connections, and I'm a shrewd buyer," I grinned. "Cut
up some peppers after the onion, add a little garlic, put it all in the
pot."

	"Joe should be here," Marcus pushed.

	"Unless his dad's willing to pay rent like Oscar's trust fund, then
I don't know how I could swing another boarder," I said. "Which one is Joe,
anyway? I haven't been able to match a face to the members."

	"Statistician."

	The basketball team's statistician was hot. I don't mind admitting
it. The boy is hot. Movie star hot. Marcus was handsome, cute, etc., but
Joe was my type. Chiseled, square jaw, jet black hair, kind of Tom
Selleck-Pierce Bronson-Tom Cruise all rolled into one. I'd asked why such
an athletic boy was taking stats instead of playing.

	Joe had no athletic ability. He lifted weights, but his hand-eye
coordination was not that good. He threw the ball to the wrong players, ran
out of bounds, couldn't hit a baseball. As much as he wanted to, he just
wasn't an athlete.

	He was a math whiz and had the team stats done before the lights
were shut off in the gym.

	"Someone popped wood," Marcus observed.

	"Is Oscar home?" I asked, totally ignoring his comment.

	Marcus dumped the beef in the pot along with everything else. I
covered it and let it simmer.

	"Na, he's got a gig tonight," Marcus whispered in my ear. He was
standing right behind me, and I felt I wasn't the only one hard. I was
wearing lounge pants, so it was no wonder Marcus had noticed my excitement.

	Marcus hands caressed my hips and wrapped around to the front.

	"Marcus," I began to protest.

	"Fuck that shit! I'm legal, your horny, and I'm interested," Marcus
growled. "Besides, when the last time you got any."

	I leaned my head back onto his shoulder.

	"Last night," I hissed, then spun around and tackled him into the
backroom, onto the couch. I loved the backroom off the kitchen. I stored
everything there that didn't work in the rest of the house. Made the rest
of the house look good. Most people thought it was a pantry.

	Marcus was 6'1", tight muscles, and a shaved smooth body. He had
definition I'd seen in episode 8 of Legend of the Seeker. I'd never seen
shoulder blades with muscles likes that. He had blonde locks. Of course, I
knew the boy was hung; he'd run around a few weeks naked in the
house. Oddly enough, it was when I started teaching him to cook that he
started wearing underwear. Oh, that's right, splattering grease.

	Marcus sported a 9-inch hard cock, cut. Oscar said it made a nice
hand hold, and I had to agree. I liked hung bottoms. I hadn't talked much
about sex with the boys, but I figured Marcus and Oscar were both
versatile. As I'd later learn, in about an hour, Marcus could be versatile,
but he really liked stuff up his ass.

	I locked lips with Marcus and started massaging between his legs. I
am an ass man. I could feel he was shaved smooth there, too. I slipped the
fuck finger of my right hand into his mouth as we dueled our tongues, then
used that natural lube to slide inside his muscled buns.

	"Yeah, finger me, Mr. Kerry," he sighed.

 	"You can call me `sir', boy," I growled, moving down and sucking
his chin.

	My finger was slid all the way into his tender hole, and I began to
work his prostate. His back arched and I moved lower, biting into the flesh
of his neck.

	"More," he hoarsely said.

	"More what?" I wondered and said.

	"Fingers. Work my ass, sir!"

	I slid two more in and felt his cock grinding into my abs.

	"You are a little ass slut," I commented, working down to his left
nipple.

	He started screaming out, clawing at my body, and pushing his ass
further down on my fingers. As he flailed about, I noticed his arm pits
were shaved, too.

	"Fuck!"

	I felt his warm cum streaming onto my chest and watched it coat his
abs.

	"Leave those fingers in, sir," he sighed, coming down off his
orgasm.

	I let him rest a while, my fingers warmed by his ass. As he
relaxed, I moved my cock to his face.

	"Suckle on that, boy."

	He dutifully opened his lips and swallowed my member, coating it
with his saliva and heating it orally.

	"I could sleep like this," he sighed.

	He sucked on my cock for a good 15 minutes, then I pulled
everything out of him and washed up at the prep sink.

	"I need to get your second dinner in order. Oscar should be hungry
when he gets home, too," I said. "We'll talk more about this in the
morning, Marcus. Go get cleaned up, and set the table."


To be continued

Chapter 3 will introduce Joe to the household, and maybe others.


Men and boys, thanks for your comments. If you send something, remember to
put something sensible in the subject line (do not leave it blank), or I'll
think it is spam and delete it.

Master Terra D

masterterradil@yahoo.com