Date: Fri, 26 Aug 2005 13:07:42 -0700
From: Joseph Farrin <bigblaise@hotmail.com>
Subject: JOE

When schools starts, in September, Joe will be a student of mine but
right now he is just staying with me. I'll explain that later. Right now I
cant.  I'm too excited.

I just came home and evidently he didn't hear me.  I opened the
bathroom door to take a piss; he's sitting on the toilet, stretched out
almost horizontally, legs spread apart, body tense and his big, teen cock
all wet and slick. He's smearing his cum all over it.  He's still
masturbating.  He's trying to shoot a second load.

My God but he's hung, not that that mattered.  He's so fucking cute;
that's what mattered.  I would want him if his dick were the size of my
little finger.

Sorry, I'll be right back. Got to go to my bedroom and wank.  Can't wait.

Luckily I don't think he saw me.  I hope not.  It would just put too much
pressure on me for the remainder of the summer.  It's early June and
he's only been here three days.  God, what am I in for?

Whew!  I had barely started but I climaxed big time.  Catching him
beating his meat really got to me!

So, let's see, where was I?

Oh yeh, how come I have a teen-age boy living with me for the summer?

To explain, Joe's full name in Joe Carlton and mine is Richard Stone.
Joe's father died about a month ago and he and his mother, Carol, are in
process of moving from Gaylord County, Kansas to McCray, Nebraska,
a small town in the western part of the state, where I live.  I have known
him a long time.  My parents lived on Sixth Street, next door to his
mother's sister, Dorothy Page.  In fact Dorothy is the reason Carol wants
to move; she is her only relative.

Originally it was planned that Joe would move in with Dorothy's family for
the summer, so he could get acquainted a little before he started his first
year of High School in a new town. Too, Carol thought the whole moving
process would be less upsetting for Joe if he were not around to see it
happen day by day.  It was a good idea except for his moving in with
Dorothy and her family.

Dorothy just didn't have the room for a14 year old boy to spend the
summer in the same house with five girls, aged 18 down to 9 and she
soon realized that part of the plan was a recipe for disaster.  Dorothy
called me to see if I'd mind having him for the summer.  I jumped at the
idea; I was now living in my own two-bedroom house on Fifth Street, a
block from the Pages, a house I'd bought with part of the proceeds of the
sale of my parents' house.  It was a nice house, despite being small.  It
had a finished but not partitioned basement which took away some of
the disadvantages of being small.  I had some of my mother's furniture
stored down there and my desk and computer were both down there. My
parents had both died while I was a student at the University of
Colorado.

After what I'd just seen in the bathroom, I realized what Dorothy's
sudden panic attack was all about. If something had happened, her
husband, John, would have gone on a rampage.  Too, it would have
been Joe's fault.  You know how that goes – it's always the boy's fault –
never the girl's.  Then, too, maybe I can turn the girls' loss into my gain.

Now you know why I'm living with a teen-age boy.  But, while I'm on the
subject I may as well elaborate a little more, so you'll have an even
better understanding.

I know a secret about Joe.

Neither Dorothy nor my mother were gossips but they were good friends
and one day, I was a student in Junior High at the time, Dorothy had
confided in my mom that Joe's father was black.  Mom told me.  She
knew I had a black friend and a kid from Mexico that I hung with; she just
wanted me to know so I wouldn't, inadvertently, say something that
would upset Joe.

Then, I have my own secret.

When I went to enroll at the University of Colorado, where I had a
scholarship, I went a few days early to find a place to live and though the
housing office found there was a vacancy in a rooming house where 8
male students shared 4 rooms on the upper floor of a woman's house
and the arrangement included breakfast.  It sounded good.  I had a look.
The lady that owned the house wanted references. I said I didn't have
any.  She asked where I was from, I told her McCray, Nebraska.  She
said she'd forgo the references, if you couldn't trust a boy from McCray
Nebraska, there wasn't anybody left in the world that you could trust.  I
didn't know just what she meant but I was glad to get the room, it was a
large room at the back of the house where street noise was minimized
and it had a lot of morning sunlight streaming in which made it cheerful.
After collecting my stuff and getting unpacked I decided to shower then
go out and get something to eat.  There were 3 shower stalls, all in a
row.  When I got out to dry another guy stepped out and started drying,
too.

He said, you're new, you must be my new roommate; I saw someone
had moved in as I undressed to shower.  He introduced himself as
Morgan Lockley.  I'd seen cocks in showers, but I'd never seen a cock
like the one that hung on Morgan.  It was long, had a nice head and, like
his body, was super smooth.  It looked like 7 inches and I figured it might
not get much bigger hard but it did.  It got fatter and his dickhead
enlarged.  It was the first cock that ever made me spring a boner.  I was
glad that I was finished drying myself off.  I held the towel in front of
me.
I was embarrassed.  He asked if I wanted to go grab something to eat
with him and I replied, "Sure".

When I had time to look at Morgan more closely, he was great looking
from head to toe.  He was in his senior year, 21years old.  I was 17 at
the time.  One evening, 3 three weeks later, around 10 PM, I took a
break from my studies, grabbed a "Times" magazine and was reading it
when he came in from the shower, naked as usual, asked what I was
reading, bent over me from the back so he could see and his big cock
just laid right over my shoulder against my neck.  Before 15 minutes
passed he had it in my mouth and before the end of the week he had it
in my ass.

Morgan was so warm and loving and I liked having sex with him so much
that soon I had no doubt in my mind that I was gay but I still didn't know I
liked boys, too.  Sex with him became my favorite pastime and I couldn't
get enough of it, especially sucking his cock.  God, how I loved to suck
his cock, make him climax and swallow his love juice.  Additionally, he
was like the big brother I'd never had.  I loved him and I loved his cock.
Until then I never realized someone could love a cock.

After I obtained my Masters Degree, the Superintendent of Schools in
McCray wanted me to teach there.  I decided it would be OK for 2 or 3
years and then I'd move somewhere to a larger town.  It wasn't until I
started teaching that I knew I liked boys.

Living and teaching in my hometown left me paralyzed, though.  I was
afraid to do anything about my desires, although there were two
sophomore boys that I think would have liked to do something as much
as I would have.

So that's how I ended up living with Joe for the summer.

He has a beautiful complexion, somewhere between pale and dark, a
high forehead, black hair, medium length with a straight hair line along
his forehead, dark eyes, a wide but thin mouth, beautiful teeth, a square
jaw and a dimple in his chin.  What more could one kid have?  Well, as
I've already mentioned, he'd been blessed with a sizable endowment.
We got along well, after the first morning I'd left the house at 5AM to go
jogging, he wanted to go with me, so I bought him shoes and shorts and
we jogged together.  He wanted to know how I picked the route, which
was 6 blocks west and back to where we started then 6 blocks east and
back to where we started and we'd jogged two miles.

I explained it - being McCray was on a hill, gently sloping south, it was a
level route; you could go half way and quit if you needed to, or you had
the option of repeating the route for another mile or another two miles.
He got into it fast. We swam at the community pool 2 or 3 times each
week; I got him interested in reading novels.  I let him pick the TV shows
he wanted, which were not the same as I would have selected.

Everything was going well except I wasn't getting into his pants. I often
found wadded up Kleenex, stuck together, under his pillow or on the
floor under the edge of his bed and occasionally a cum stain on his
bottom sheet.  I knew he was masturbating quite often and his
carelessness with the evidence made me think he wanted me to know.
For that matter, I was jacking off a lot, too.  Jesus I wanted to have sex
with that kid, but I didn't want to be the one to initiate it.

Then it happened.  We had dinner with the Pages every Sunday and
again on Wednesdays.   I cooked the rest of the time, or we went to a
restaurant or I'd fix a salad and order a Pizza, which Joe really liked.

One Tuesday night after Pizza, not that the pizza was necessarily the
culprit, I woke up with Joe frantically calling my name. There was a night
light in the bathroom and Joe was on his knees, head halfway down the
toilet bowl and barfing like crazy. I immediately flushed the toilet and
supported his head with one hand on his forehead just as my mother
had always done for me.  Then I reached behind me with my free hand,
found a clean washcloth on the towel rack, ran water over it and
squeezed it dry, again with one hand, and wiped his face and mouth.

After a couple of dry barfs, I assumed he'd emptied his stomach, closed
the lid of the toilet down and told him to sit down, keep quiet and I'd be
right back.   I ran to the basement and came back with a large, oval,
plastic tub that I used for a dirty laundry basket and some garbage bags.
After filling the plastic tub with 3 inches of water (It was so heavy I
could
hardly lift it out of the tub), I put it atop a garbage bag on the floor
beside
Joe's bed, told him to rinse his mouth out with cold water and helped him
back to bed.
I was half way back to my own bed when he called out, "Rich, please
some back and sleep with me."  So, for the first time since he'd come to
spend the summer with me, we ended up in the same bed – both naked!
It took Joe one more, slight case of dry heaves in the plastic tub and
about an hour to get back to sleep.  I knew I'd never dare to go to sleep
but I did, to awaken a few hours later with his arm around me. I froze.
Nothing happened, he remained very still, obviously asleep and after a
while rolled over and onto his other side.  In the morning, I awoke.
Sometime during the night we'd kicked off the top sheet.  I was on my
back and my cock was pointing to the ceiling.  I looked over to check on
Joe.  He was sitting cross-legged on the bed looking at me and said,
"Good morning, sleepy head, it's 10 o'clock.  We missed our jogging."

I had to piss too urgently to respond.  I went to the bathroom, came back
and flopped back down on the bed, feeling drugged from lack of sleep.

Joe said, "Thanks for helping me last night.  I'm sorry about the all the
ruckus I caused."

"Don't be.  You couldn't help it."

He bent down and kissed me, open-mouthed, right on the lips and I felt
his hand wrap around my cock shaft, which still had not fully receded.
My body jerked, but he held his ground, still kissing me and still
squeezing my cock.  I was beyond myself.  I reached over and wrapped
my hand around the shaft of his erect boy cock.

Suddenly, he moved, ending the kiss, scooted around, took my erection
into his mouth and shoved his body toward me until his boy cock was
within inches of my lips.  I followed his example.  He had no trouble
taking care of an adult cock; I was obviously not the first man he'd
sucked off.  For me it was unbelievably good, unbelievably exciting, I'd
wanted him for so long.  I hoped it was good for him, too.  The only
problem was time passed as though it were on fast-forward.

After we both climaxed, one right after the other, he turned around again
and got atop my chest and started kissing me again.  Shit where had he
learned this stuff?

"Oh, Rich, that's always how I thought it would be like to love a man, not
just have sex with him but to make love with him.  I love you Rich."

"I love you, too, Joe.  I'm glad this has happened."

"Really?"

"Really!"

In all my excitement, I forgotten it was Wednesday, the day Dorothy had
us over for dinner.  It was my turn to be sick; it was something else than
the pizza for sure, so I blamed the swimming pool water, the heat,
everything else I could think of.  Joe went alone and came home with a
neighbor boy of Dorothy's.  He was going to sleep over with Joe.  I knew
him but not well.

His name was Andy Allison.  Shorter and slimmer than Joe, had wavy,
blond hair that extended down to his eyebrows, a thin face that tapered
down to his chin and bright blue eyes that sparkled like jewels.  They
came into my bedroom and asked if they could watch TV.  I said "Sure"
and went back to sleep.  After midnight, I was beginning to feel better,
eventhouth I hadn't barfed like Joe had; so I got up went into the Living
Room, turned on a lamp and picked up my book, opened it at my
bookmark and started reading.  I knew unless I stayed awake a while I'd
never sleep through the night.

About an hour later, I heard the toilet flush, and Andy stuck his head
around the door from the hall and said "Hi, Mr. Stone" I replied, "Rich
please."  He asked, "Can I join you for a few minutes?  I can't get to
sleep."

I patted the seat of the couch where I was sitting, he sat at the far end,
leaned against the arm so he was facing me, rested one leg against the
back of the couch and the other foot on the floor.  I could see right up the
leg of his boxers and he had the cutest little, cut cock I'd ever seen.

"What are you reading?"

It's a mystery about a murder in Los Angeles.

Later, after more conversation had passed I asked him if he'd mind
getting a couple of bottled waters out of the fridge. He asked why two
and I told him I thought he might want one, too. He said he didn't want a
whole bottle but would bring back a glass and swipe a little of mine.

"Rich, I think Joe forgot to tell you something.  His mom is coming for the
Forth of July weekend."

"Well that's good news?"

"Rich, Joe also told me something that I want to ask you about."

"What' that?"
"Will you let me 69 with you?"

"That little shit, I should go wake him up, throw him outside and lock the
door behind him."

"I didn't mean to upset you.  We've told each other a lot of personal stuff.
It wont go any further, whether you agree or not agree to do it."

His cute little dick was now sticking out of the fly of his boxers.  It was
hard as a rock, all four inches of it.  My anger at Joe somehow got mixed
up and forgotten in my lust for Andy.  I reached over, clasped his hand
and he moved over, we took off our boxer and time went into fast-
forward again.

I had him turn around and get on my chest, as Joe had done voluntarily.
After a lot of hugging and a lot of kissing, he returned to the subject of
Joe's mom.

I guess Mrs. Page found a house listed for sale a block down the hill
from you that she thinks Joe's mom should have a look at.

Next weekend, Carol did look at the house and asked me to go with her
and Dorothy.

It was an old house, empty, owned by an elderly couple and had been
divided into two apartments, each having an exterior door leading to a
long, front porch.  It was sound, but showed neglect, except for the rental
unit.  The house actually faced west toward one side of the lot; with the
apartment forming an L shaped building.  The best thing about it was the
rooms were all large.

We inspected the apartment first, entering a living room with a kitchen to
the left and a bedroom beyond.  The bathroom opened off the bedroom.

The front part was the owner's space and you entered into the living
area of a living-dining room.  It had glass, French doors leading into a
nice bedroom, facing east and it was the only room in either of the
apartments that was wallpapered, with what looked like new wall paper.
The bedroom and dining room both opened into a kitchen which was an
inside room, backed on the east by an enclosed porch.  The kitchen door
to the porch had a half glass and a good-sized window above the sink
also looked out into the porch.  You had to go through the porch to go to
the bathroom or, by lifting a large, trap door, go down into a very small
basement where the furnace and hot water heater were located.  There
was a long, paved driveway from the street to a double garage near the
alley. The roof  looked good but the exterior needed painting. The lawn
was a mess.

Joe's first question was "Where would I sleep?"  His mom responded
that they'd have to buy a twin bed and make it up with bolsters and a
cover that hung to the floor so it would pass as a couch during the day.
He wasn't too enthused.

Carol liked the idea of having income from an apartment, as it would
help her until she found a job and got settled.

I told her she should respond to a classified in the paper by a new
Ramada Inn under construction that was hiring employees.

It was hot and humid.  We thanked the realtor, went to my house and all
drank a beer.  Carol immediately asked if Joe was teasing me for a beer
when I had one.  I told her he was but I wouldn't let him have one, which
was a lie.  Once or twice a week he did wheedle one out of me.  We
talked about the house; she asked if I could refer her to someone who
did house cleaning and someone who did painting.

"I told her I knew some people who did both."

"She asked who"

I answered, "Richard Stone and Joe Carlton."

"I'd love that, but I'd want to pay you,"

"We would love to do it for you, but we would not love you if you insisted
on paying other than for materials."

Carol asked Joe if he was agreeable.

"Sure, mom, I'd love to and I bet Rich can teach me a lot."

(The last few days before the weekend, Joe and I had been having sex
twice a day.  He was teaching me a few things, too.)

Carol and Dorothy called the realtor and left for her office to close the
deal.

Joe and I decided we'd best start with the cleaning before we did
anything else.  After we'd quit, I'd always put the car in the garage, leave
the back door open, turn on the attic fan and go out to the front porch to
check the mailbox.

A week passed, it was Monday and there was a letter, without stamp
and without postmark, in the box; obviously placed there by someone
other than the mail carrier.  I opened it and found a sheet of paper with
large block letters in the middle reading "I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE
DOING."

I didn't know what it was all about but wondered it was referring to Joe
and me.  I believed Andy that he'd keep our secret.  Nevertheless, I
didn't mention it to Joe; I just put the letter in the back of my desk
drawer.

Thursday was another one – "I DO NOT LIKE WHAT YOU ARE
DOING."  I thought about it some more and wondered if it was
connected to us working on Carol's house – a housepainter, or some
other tradesman.  I added it to the first one at the back of my desk
drawer. Joe and I worked through the weekend.  Nothing came next
week and it was Saturday before another one appeared. " I WANT YOU
TO STOP WHAT YOU'RE DOING."

This one worried me more than the first two.  I wasn't a threat but I felt
it
was certainly an ultimatum, even a warning. I'd lived in McCray all my
life.  I knew a lot of people here and had no enemies that I knew of.  I
began wondering if I'd pissed someone off that I didn't remember but I
couldn't come up with anyone.

What was I doing?  The notes never mentioned Joe.  They always said
YOU, which seemed to indicate me as an individual, nobody else.  I
decided to give it one more week and I'd take the notes down to the
police station.  I knew the Chief of Police.

Monday we got at it hard and heavy.  The rental apartment had
carpeting.  The owner's apartment had a good quality knock off of
oriental rugs that badly needed cleaning.

Joe and I carried them, one by one, out to the concrete driveway
scrubbed them and rented a carpet cleaner.  Someone had told me to
forget the cleaning fluid sold especially for rugs and use Oxyclean, or
similar produce to clean them, rinse them and then rinse them again with
a diluted vinegar solution.  It worked like magic, the carpets looked like
new, dried fast outdoor in the sun and we managed to clean the rental
area's carpeting the same way.

Joe liked using the cleaning machine, so I cleaned the 2 fridges and the
2 ranges, bathroom fixtures and other stuff.  Ranges, if abused are a
nightmare, but I succeeded.  They looked like new.

Saturday evening, we just drove around town for an hour with the AC off
and the windows open to get some fresh, cool air.  Back home, Joe
turned on the TV and I was a about to go to the fridge to grab a couple of
beers.

We were just settling down on the couch to watch TV when we heard a
gun shot, and a bullet whizzed overhead and hit the wide, old-fashioned
woodwork over the door to the kitchen.  I ran to the front door, opened
the screen, which had a hole in it, turned on the light and saw the
taillights of a car turning the corner at the end of the block.  Porch
lights
came on in the neighborhood, one by one.

I dialed 911 and the person on the other end of the line said the incident
had already been called in twice already and the police were responding.

Joe said, "I know who did it."

"Who, for Christ's sake?"

"I'll tell you, but not until the police leave.  Please, let's both play
ignorant."

I didn't like that.  I thought maybe our lives were in danger.  At the same
time I realized I not only loved Joe but I trusted him as well.  In fact,
with
no trust love would end.

Joe and I went outside to stand on the walk, along with everyone else in
the neighborhood.  I finally got through to the neighbors that the shot
came through my screen door and imbedded itself in the woodwork
above my kitchen door.  Two policemen appeared, lights flashing, no
sirens, no ambulance

"Which house was shot at?"  I motioned to mine and waved at them to
go on in.  Joe and I followed behind.  They were a pair of clowns to
behold.  One was pushing such a big stomach it made you wonder how
he could push it ahead of him, how he ever got on the police force and
even wonder if you were really gay after all.

Stomach's first question was, "Do you have any Idea who shot at your
house?

"How could I, all we heard was a gun shot?  We didn't even see him, let
alone have any idea who he was!"

TO BE CONTINUED