Date: Sun, 25 Apr 2004 10:05:51 -0700 (PDT)
From: G G <odysseus_polytropos (at) yahoo (dot) com>
Subject: Jack

	Mom was nice, sweet, a beautiful woman, but, Christ, was she
helpless.  When dad took off, she wound up in a pile on the floor that my
brother and I had to pick up and move around for six months.  Dad was and
remains real free spirit; I'm sure that he loved our mother, but probably
just got sick and tired of having to tend to her all the time.  So he left
her to us, but we too tired of the constant neediness and came to avoid
home like the plague.

	After a couple of years of this, when Doug, my brother, was
starting this senior year of high school and I my sophomore year, after a
couple of years of each of us joining, volunteering, assisting, aiding in
every goddamned club and organization and charity and school function and
athletic event that we could, she, mom, finally found someone else to look
after her.

	His name was Jack.  He was thirty-four when they met; mom was
almost forty.  He was an auto mechanic, and he had changed a fan belt for
my mom, asked her out, and the rest was inertia.  Jack was the kind of guy
that needed to fix shit, and mom was a great project for him.  That is, she
would always need fixing in one way or another.  Her demands, as Doug and I
came to find out, would expand to exactly the space allotted for them.  And
Jack had plenty of space.

	We got along pretty well, Doug, Jack and I.  Doug and I were really
close, still are, but we did not have that much in common.  He was not a
total jock but he lettered in a couple of sports and definitely hung with a
different crowd.  I ran and swam but my mind was mostly on school work.
Doug had a lot of friends, and, by virtue of his popularity, I did
also. His friends, mostly as his behest, looked after me.  Doug and Jack
really hit it off.  They would do their football tossing around thing and
watch sports on TV and even went fishing a couple times that year.  Jack
and I were friendly - cordial maybe is a better word.  But he could not
figure me out.  He thought I was like a total braniac, which I am not at
all, but outside of the sports pages and his mechanic manuals, he wasn't
doing a lot of reading.  In retrospect, although he never would have said
anything, I think he was a little intimidated by me and my perceived
intelligence.

	Anyway, months passed, and Doug was just about to graduate.  My
grandparents wanted to see him before he went off to college, and they were
not into travel, so my mom and Doug made the trip to see them.  They were
only gone for a weekend, but that was three days alone in the house with
Jack.

	I was still figuring shit out on my own.  Doug had his girlfriends,
and I knew he had sex with them.  He never told me, and I never asked, but
I overheard his conversations and found a pack of condoms, half empty, in
his closet one day when I was putting away some laundry.  He was kind of a
stud -- still is.  We're the same height and just about the same build, but
he was much more muscular than I.  Brown hair and eyes to my blond and
green - he got dad's side and I mom's.  He had a kind of swagger (still
does) that girls and women find irresistible.  And he's a nice, well
mannered guy too.

	Anyway, I was still figuring stuff out.  I knew I did not like
chicks.  Girls liked me, or so their friends told me, but I wasn't really
into it.  I would take a PBS special over pizza and a movie with a girl any
day.  I found myself drawn to the guys around me.  I had a really good
friend, this guy in one of my classes whom I studied with, and I felt
differently about him than anyone else -- Phillip. Nothing ever went on
between us and we never saw each other after high school, but he was
definitely my first adolescent crush.

	Jack was my second.  Actually it was more than a crush.  My
feelings toward him definitely ran more hot than warm.  My fantasies when I
would masturbate, before Jack came into our lives, were really kind of
amorphous.  Nothing much would pass in front of my mind's eye except for
fleeting images and just the amazing feeling of my hand on my dick.  But
the first night that mom brought Jack home, when I went to bed I gave
myself over to a rather elaborate storyline, kind of a fairy tale in a way
(no pun intended) in which it was I and not my mother who was swept away by
Jack.

	He was about 5'11', shorter than both my brother and me.  He had, I
mean, has curly brown hair that he wore kind of long; dark, dark green
eyes, much darker than mine, almost like army drab; long eyelashes.  He was
the first guy I met who ever looked like he was wearing make-up, not like
in a girly way; he was just very, I dunno, pretty.  He has very nice skin
with a kind of rose tint in the cheeks.  But at the same time he was really
very manly.  He as these big forearms, thick, and big biceps and a great
chest.  He's still, ten years later, in great shape, still a total stud.
So, yeah, he was gorgeous, pretty, like I said, but he was a mechanic, so
he would come home from work all dirty and shit, but like a silver dollar
dropped in the sand, it just made him look that much, I don't know,
shinier.

	Mom and Doug left Friday afternoon for my grandparents.  I was
kicking it at home, reading, of course, when I heard the door open and then
bang against the wall really loud, like somebody had thrown the door off
the hinges.  I went to check it out and found Jack in the doorway, the door
open, and him just standing there.

	He asked me to give him a hand.  He had hurt his back at work and
needed some help getting his shit into the house.  As he tried to step from
the back deck into the kitchen, he let out this kind of low moan, really
painful sounding.  I went over to help him out, let him lean on me, and led
him into his and mom's bedroom.  He lay down on the bed and just kind of
sighed.  I went out the car and got the rest of his stuff and brought it
in.  I went into the bedroom to check on him and found him rolling around,
trying to get his clothes off.  He was not having an easy time at it.  He
asked me to fill the bath with hot water, so he could try to get the muscle
spasm or whatever it was to calm down.

	I did this, got the bath running, and came back into his bedroom.
His shirt was half off him, and he was struggling.  I told him to let me do
it, so he sat up and I pulled it off completely.  He smelled like motor oil
of course, kind of metallic, and this deep warm musky smell that still
reminds me of him in so many ways.  He thanked me, then looked down at his
boots and his pants and gave me this kind of pleading look.  I got down on
the floor in front of him and unlaced his boots and pulled them off.  I
knew that if he could not get his own shirt off or his boots that I was
gonna have to get him totally undressed, My heart began to pound at the
thought of this.

	Anyway, his feet were not smelly at all.  They were a little damp
and there was a scent to them as I pulled his socks off but it was not the
kind of stale, sweaty smell that I associated with the locker room at
school.  He wiggled his toes around and thanked me again.  I helped him
onto his feet and kneeled in from of him again.  His pants were next, dark
blue heavy duty chinos, smeared with grease.  My fingers rubbed against his
belly as I unfastened them.  Zip, and I loosened them and pulled them down
to his ankles.  I was trying as hard as I could to be cool about this, but
my hands were shaking, and I swear he could hear my heart pounding in my
chest.  He didn't thank me this time; he just put his hand on my head and
kind of tousled my hair and smiled at me.  He sat down again, and I left
him there on the bed and went to check on the water.  I had to rearrange my
own furniture once I got into the bathroom.  My dick was pressing against
the fabric of my shorts, so I pointed it north and hoped it would not be
too obvious.  The bath was coming along fine.

	I went back to the bedroom, and Jack was still there on the edge of
the bed.  He asked me to help him into the bathtub, so he wouldn't slip.
His arm across my shoulder I led him out of the bedroom into the bath.  We
stood there for a moment, silently, just kind of staring at the tub.  He
hooked his thumbs into the waist band of his jockey shorts and got them
down to his pubes, but as soon as he tried to bend over to pull them
further down he hissed a breath in through his teeth and looked at me with
raised eyebrows and a kind of funny, almost guilty looking smile.  I was
shaking like it was thirty below, like some old drunk going through the
DT's.  I put my thumbs into the waist of his jockeys and pulled them off
completely.  I had to kind of squat to do this, and Jack put his hand on my
shoulder to steady himself as he stepped, one leg at a time, out of his
underwear.  I was trying as hard as I could not to look at his crotch.  But
I could smell a stronger, more potent version of the Jack smell coming from
that direction.  I discarded his underwear and, as I raised myself back up,
let my eyes follow the length of his body.

	I had never really noticed his legs before.  They were solid, and I
remember on the calf, running along the inside, on both legs, was this vein
that was so apparent under the hair.  His thighs were big and very defined
and the hair started to thin out higher up the leg.  The hair started up
again at his crotch.  It looked fairly orderly, like he trimmed it there,
and his balls looked almost totally hairless.  It was a warm day and
certainly warm in the bathroom with the tub running, so his balls were
hanging really low, like soccer balls in pillow cases.  The skin there
looked so soft with the folds in the skin.  As I raised up his body moved
slightly and his balls kind of rocked back and forth.  I had never really
seen an uncut cock before like Jack's.  The skin hung over the head quite a
ways, like a turtleneck that you unroll and bring over your head.  It was
thick, and I could see the outline of the head of his dick through the
skin.  His pubes were the same color as the rest of the hair on his body
and his head, and they trailed off into his flat stomach with its subtle
ripples of muscle.

	When I stood up, he was looking at me kinda funny.  I think I might
have taken too long on the way up, might have taken too much in during that
second and half trip back upright. I felt the tub water.  It was hot but
not scalding, and I told him that it was ready.  With his arm back over my
shoulder I helped him get one foot into the tub.  He drew in a breath but
did not yelp, so I knew it was not too hot.  But then he took his foot out
immediately and put it down on the bathmat again.  Of course, he had to
piss now; the hot water had done it to him.  I helped him turn around,
lifted the lid on the toilet, and he leaned on me in front of the pot.  His
thumb and forefinger, still kind of dark from the motor oil, pulled the
foreskin back from his cock head a little.  I was amazed.  I had never seen
anything like that.  His piss slit appeared as he rolled the skin back; he
sighed deeply and let fly with a strong stream of pale yellow liquid.  I
could feel little tiny droplets hitting my shins as his piss hit the bowl.
He must have had to go really bad cause for about thirty seconds he kept
this up. Then finally it slaked off and he shook his dick around and slid
the skin back and forth over the head of his dick.

	I turned him back around to the tub, and he climbed in, slowly. He
bent his knees and sat down and I saw, as he closer to the water, his ball
sack, still hanging like crazy, touched the water before his ass or the
back of his thighs.  He gasped again and threw me this look, like he knew I
knew what he was feeling.  He settled into the tub and thanked me.  I told
him that I would be in the living room if he needed anything.

	I went back into the living room, and my mind was reeling with the
image, the scent, the feel of Jack - it was crazy.  I could not focus on my
book, so I switched on MTV, of all things, and just kind of vegged.

*************************************

	"Chris!  Chris!" I heard from the bathroom and was awoken from a
little snooze populated with dreams of Jack in and out of his work wear.
He was calling for me from the bathroom.

	"Hey, you ready to get out?"  I asked him.  There was no more steam
rising from the tub.  He probably had not put any new water in it.

	"Yeah.  I'm done with the bath, but I still need to get cleaned up.
Can you, um, help me in the, uh, shower?"

	"Like help you get in?"  I asked.

	"Well, yeah, but I don't think I will be able to really get clean
by myself.  I think I'm gonna be laid up the whole weekend, and I don't
want to let this oil set into my skin."

	"Uh, sure - like you need me to help you, uh, scrub . . . and
stuff?"

	"I don't think I can do it on my own, guy.  I know it's . . .well
anyway I'd really appreciate it."

	"Yeah, no problem."

	I helped Jack stand up again and pulled the plug in the bath.  The
water was kind of murky and left a slight ring around the edge, nothing a
little Comet wouldn't take care of.  I stood up as the water drained and
there was an awkward moment, with Jack standing there, wet, a little
helpless himself, naked, his balls hanging even lower than before and his
dick looking a little fluffier.  I watched the water circle down the drain,
and Jack kept looking back and forth between the drain and me.  I was
really shaking now.  I did not know how I was going to do this.  I guess I
would start the water and get a washrag and stand there and just, I guess,
scrub down Jack, from head to toe.  The last of the water disappeared down
the drain, and I was caught in my reverie.

	"Uh, Chris, it's getting cold in here."  Jack had grabbed hold of
the shower door for support, his underarm visible to me, and the beautiful
arc of his bicep and the little cleft between the two.

	"Oh, right, sorry."  I started the water running again and found a
nice temperature, a little warmer than the bath water.  I moved the level
on the faucet, and water started to flow from the shower head.  Jack kind
of shuffled under the stream, and I directed the head more on him.  He let
the water run over his face, exhibiting now the faint shadow that he got at
the end of the day.  I went to the cupboard and got a washcloth for him,
which I wet and got all soapy and began the task of bathing Jack.

	Within ten seconds my shirt was soaked, and there was a bug puddle
of water on the floor, and I was having trouble with the mechanics of the
whole thing in general.

"Look, Chris," Jack kind of barked and startled me.  "Why don't you get in
here with me.  I think that's the only way we're gonna get this done right,
okay?"

	He was giving me a different look now, kind of impatient, probably
cause of the pain.  I did as he ordered and began to get undressed.  He
watched me the whole time, and I found myself unable to look away from him.
Off came my shirt.  I was slim but not skinny and years of swimming had not
only given me a nice shape but also had not made me shy about taking off my
clothes in front of other guys.  But this was different.  My shorts were
next and then I slipped off my boxers.  I had lost my erection thankfully,
but the tumescence remained.  I had what I considered to be a larger than
average dick, and it was looking thick and hung against my balls which
were, like Jack's, pretty low by this point.

	Jack was still looking at me, silently scanning me up and down and
I lay my clothes on the back of the toilet.  I felt really naked at that
moment and quickly climbed into the shower behind Jack and started to scrub
his back again.

	He was making this low grumbling noises, not unpleasant, as I
rubbed his back with the wash cloth.  I worked down further, admiring the
shape of his back, the muscles running along his scapulae, the taper of it
down to his waist, his lats, which gave him this great V-shape.  It was all
kosher at this point (I guess!) cause I was just using the washrag on him
and wasn't really like touching his skin at all.

	"Chris, my arm's getting tired.  Can you help hold me up, while you
do that?"  He looked over his shoulder at me.  "Maybe like put your arm
around my waist or something?"

	So I did exactly that.  My around his waist, I began to rub his
upper arms with the rag.  Then under his arms.  He tensed up there, and I
could feel the twitch of the muscles.  My chest was pressed against his
back as I scrubbed down along his ribs to his hip then back around to his
ass.  This I did not really know how to handle, so just tried to by pass
it.

	"Hey can you get in there with that washcloth?"  He asked.  So
still supporting him with my arm and upper body I began to wash his ass,
which was beautiful and firm and slightly paler than the rest of his body.
I focused on the cheeks at first but knew what the 'in there' meant, so my
hand and washcloth parted the two halves and disappeared into his crevice.
I scrubbed it up and down and in so doing the cloth slipped a little and
for a couple of stokes my bare fingers were in his crack.  He tensed up
again and kind of chuckled and made a little "Woo!" sound.  He felt my
fingers too apparently.  I quickly reordered the washcloth and finished up
the job.  Down the back of his muscular legs, his calves and the tops of
his feet.  He lifted one and then the other so I could clean his soles, and
he kind of giggled as I did this.

	"You're really good, Chris.  You should do this for a living."

	"Shut up, jerk," I told him and laughed to.

	After I had finished his backside, Jack began turned around and
faced me.

	"I wanna wash my hair, so you're gonna have to support me again."

	"I'll do it if you want."  I loved Jack's hair and of course had
never had the opportunity to run my fingers through it.  This was my
chance.

	"Sure," he responded and kind of smirked at me.

	I got a big glob of shampoo in my hand and rubbed it into his
thick, curly hair.  His eyes were shut and a smile was on his face.  I
really got into it, used my nails on his scalp and everything.  He was
holding onto the shower door.  There were scant inches between us and I
could smell his breath - sweet and warm - on my face.  I was giving his
head a good scrub and he was kind of doing that pleasant grumbling thing.
All of a sudden his eyes popped open and he gave me this look.

	"Look, Chris, I hope you . . . I mean, sorry, I seem to have . . ."
He smiled a little and looked down.  I followed his eyes and saw that his
uncut cock was kind of at half mast, the foreskin pulled back a little and
as I continued to scrub his head, his body moved and his thick unit was
swaying back and forth.

	I just went back to work and pretended not to notice anything.
Jack closed his eyes again, still smiling, and all the control that I was
trying to keep over my own dick was slipping from me.  I could feel it
tingling and filling with blood.  I moved Jack back a step under the shower
head and helped him rinse. I had to learn forward a little to do this and
when I did so our dicks rubbed up against each other.  His eyes popped open
again, looked straight into mine, and I tried to focus on his hair.

	Once rinsed I got the washrag again and began on his chest.  He
would not take his eyes off me, as I rubbed the cloth across his pecs.  His
nipples got erect as the terrycloth passed over them.  I went further down,
across his belly, and to his waist.

	There was, needless to say, an elephant in the room that I was
trying to ignore.  As I rubbed lower down on his belly Jack's dick started
its rise again, putting on a little show for me as it began its jerking,
halting ascent to full blown erection.  His dick was huge and fat and the
foreskin was snaking back across the head of his dick.  I did not know what
to do.  My dick was responding in kind.  Luckily I knelt down so he could
not see.  I did not know what he was thinking, and I did not want him to
see me getting hard.  I could kind of understand why he was hard; I mean
was rubbing his body all over.  I had no idea that he was just as turned on
by the sight of me, naked, in front of him, as I was by the sight of him.
I was on my haunches again to finish up his legs and his cock was wagging
right in my face.  I looked up at Jack, and he was just staring at me,
mouth open slightly, eyes wide.

	"Allrightee then," I said as I finished his legs and began to get
up.

	"Wait," he said and put his hand on my shoulder, keeping me down in
front of him.  "Can you clean - uh, down there for me.  Just like you did
in my crack."

	I moved the washcloth up his leg and began to scrub gently under
his ball sack, which was rubbing against my hand, his perineum and back
again toward his pucker.  His dick could not have been any harder, and it
was kind of bobbing up and down in time with his heartbeat.  His ball sack
was still hanging, and it too looked to be in motion.  I noticed that it
was starting to draw up toward him.  I had a moment of bravery and wrapped
the wash cloth around his sack and rubbed it gently, pulling slightly.  It
felt good when I did this to myself, so I figured it felt good to him.  I
was right.  He moaned hoarsely and out of the slit of his penis a slick,
clear drop of precum emerged.

	"U . .  .under, under my skin, Chris.  Can you clean under my
foreskin for me?"  He followed this request with an audible gulp.  My dick
was rubbing up against the inside of my thighs, throbbing.  I had never
ever felt anything like this, never done anything like this.  I was . . .I
don't know, overwhelmed, I guess.

	"I don't know how, Jack.  I don't have any.  I don't know how."

	"Just pull the skin back all the way and clean around the head,
gently please.  Just rub the washcloth lightly around the head with the
skin pulled back."

	As I had seen him do earlier, I took my thumb and forefinger and
for the first time in my life touched another man's dick.  It was
. . .amazing.  I mean, it felt like mine, thicker maybe, but the
consistency of it was remarkably similar.  I slid the skin back, feeling
the ridges under the skin.  His head popped out, darker than the rest of
his dick.  Precum was really starting to flow now, as I lightly placed the
head into the palm of my hand and the washcloth and with a barely
perceptible motion, barely perceptible that is except to Jack, began to rub
around the ridge of his cock helmet.  The noise he made when I did this
sounded like a scoff, like when somebody says something to you so
unbelievable that you have no choice but to let him know that he is full of
shit, like if somebody had told me a day before this that I would have
Jack's hard cock in my hand.

	Anyway, Jack makes the scoff noise and his knees appear to buckle
slightly, but he catches himself and kind of thrusts his hips forward a
little and his dick is right in my face.  This startles me, spooks me
really, and I let go of his dick and start to get up.

	"Wait, Chris, please . . ."  He holds me down with his hand on my
shoulder again. "Please, I really . . . I want you to keep doing that.  But
don't use the washrag, just your hand."

	I was . . . incredulous.  I was beginning to get the
picture. (Teenagers are all na^'ve, now matter how cool they act.)  I wrap
my bare hand around his dick, close to the head, and begin to move it back
and forth slowly and gently.  The foreskin passes across the ridge of his
dick.  He puts his hand on mine and shows me how to do it.  His hand on
mine, putting all my fingers around it, tightening the grip, speeding up a
little.  I look up at him, up across his flat, ribbed tummy, the underside
of his pecs and his nipples standing at attention, at his gorgeous, face
and his smile, but still looking serious.

	He's fucking smiling at me the fucker.  His hand has left mine
alone now, but he continues to smile at me, like he's got some inside joke
on me here, on my haunches in the shower in front of him.  He knows that I
am a slave to this moment, to him at this moment.  His cock was so fucking
fat in my hand and warm and thick.  His helmet head flared and red and kind
of angry looking.  The precum really gushing out now, like a steady stream
of appreciation onto my hand.  His cock looks so bad, so mad, but so soft.
I want to feel it elsewhere, want to taste the texture of it.  Reading my
mind, Jack pushes on the back of my head, and his fat cock brushes against
my cheek as I continue to stroke.

	"Put it in your mouth, Chris.  Please.  Just for a minute.
Please?"

	I look up at him again, the slick heat of his precum on my cheek,
and he is no longer smiling.  His eyes are burning.  His silent, unsmiling
face is demanding something of me that I have never delivered - something I
have dreamed of but never offered to another man.

	"Just open your mouth and let me slide it in.  Please."

	Without looking at him again, my jaw falls open and my pink teenage
tongue emerges slightly from my mouth.  As his cock approaches my mouth, my
mouth widens to accommodate it.  His cockhead hits my tongue as it works
its way back into my throat.  In a few seconds I can feel and taste his
precum on the back of my tongue and in the back of my throat.

	"Now just close your mouth a little.  And suck on it.  Suck on my
cock, Chris."

	Inveterate cocksucker.  Born to do it.  It's in my nature.  These
things dawn on me as I take the first of many cocks into my mouth on that
late may evening of my sixteenth year.  Jack has lost himself in the
ecstasy of a young boy's mouth expressing his young boy affection for the
older man's cock.  I move from a squat to kneeling in front of Jack.  He
keeps a grasp on the shower to support himself, his other rubbing the back
of my head affectionately.  I want to feel the thickness of his cock.  I
move my hand to the base, to the veined base of his fat fucking cock.  With
this added pressure he moans audibly, and I swear the output of precum like
doubles.  His hand moves from the back of my head to my hand, on his cock.
He moves my hand closer to the head, so that I am stroking his cock while I
suck him.  I am pulling the foreskin back and forth across his cockhead as
I suck on his swollen shaft.  This continues for only a moment, before I
feel his cock swell, feel his hands grab onto my hair, hear him draw in a
deep breath.  He rises on his toes slightly, makes a sound almost like he's
crying.  Then he floods my mouth with his semen, his hot funky spunk, down
my throat, into my belly. I swallow instinctively but pull away as a
secondary reflex.  His cum is on my lips on my cheek, still spurting on my
smooth chest.  My hand retains its motion, though, milking the rest of the
juice from this amazing tool that points at the hole it had just used to
get off.

	"Oh, fuck," Jack says, his body still convulsing. "Oh fuck.
Amazing.  OH FUCK!  You're sixteen!"

	I stare up at him.  He gazes at me in horror, stupefied.  He turns
to step out of the shower, but is paralyzed by pain.  We are both aware
that for the next two days it is just he and I, alone in the house, with
this rapidly darkening current running between us.  I swallow the remainder
of his spunk and rise to meet his gaze and realize that I am taller than he
is.