Date: Wed, 10 Mar 2004 17:28:40 -0800 (PST)
From: chuck scott <nwbare2003@yahoo.com>
Subject: Mr. Dickson

Part of the following story is absolute fiction.  However, many parts are
completely true.  I'll leave it up to the reader to decide which is which.
Secrecy is a major part of my life, so as you bear that in mind, why don't
you read about my relationship with a special man.

His name was Samuel Dickson.  He changed my life in ways I can barely
explain.  I meet him the summer I was 15.  He lived a couple of houses down
my block.  I was out looking for neighborhood jobs lawn mowing and doing
odd jobs and decided to try his house.  I had never met him before, having
only seen him sitting on his porch or walking in his yard.  I gave it a
shot and knocked on the door.  When it opened, a nice man, with the
broadest smile I'd ever seen, looked down at me.

"Hi, I'm Robbie Snider, I live two doors down the street."

"I know you, Robbie.  I've seen you playing with your friends.  What can I
do for you?"

I told him I was looking for summer jobs.  He smiled even more and said
he'd recently hurt his back and was actually looking for someone to take
care of his yard and garden.  He had a large yard and huge garden, so he
explained it'd be almost a full time job.  He added, he'd pay well.

I told him it sounded good and if he wanted, I could begin that afternoon.
He did and I went home to change.  Once I began working, I kept noticing
Mr. Dickson sitting on his porch, drinking ice tea and looking kinda sad.
After I finished several hours work, he paid me and asked if I wanted to
come back in the morning and get in a full day.  I could use the work and
agreed.

The same thing happened the next day.  For most of the day, as I trimmed
and dug in the garden, he just sat on the porch, with a sad expression.
When he paid me, I took a chance and asked him if there was anything wrong.
After a few sniffles, he admitted what was wrong.  This was the second
anniversary of his lovers death.  I choked back a sob and told him I was
sorry.

"You must have loved her quite a bit," I told him.  He smiled.  "Oh, it
wasn't a woman," he said without the slightest bit of embarrassment.  "I'm
gay and I'd been with Tommy for many years."

I really didn't know what to say, so I let out a very weak, and I'm sure
very stupid, "Oh, I see."

"You're very kind, but I can tell from your reaction, you really don't
see."

He was right.  Mr. Dickson was very handsome, tall and muscular, with dark
hair.  I'd never talked with a gay man before, at least not that I'd known,
but he didn't look like he'd be gay.

"I'm sorry if I was rude," I told him.  "If you want, I won't come back
anymore."

"Don't let it bother you.  I didn't take it as rude."  He paused and got a
distant look in his eyes.  "I shouldn't have said anything," he finally
continued, "but on days like this, I just get to thinking about him.  Then,
I..."  He trailed off into thought.

I watched him for a moment, then took a chance.  "Sir, I know it's none of
my business, just being a kid and all that, but if you'd ever like to
talk."

"I would," he said quickly, "and don't think of yourself as just a kid."
He pulled out a chair and nodded toward it.

I sat, getting the idea he was ready to talk, but he said nothing.

Finally, I said something, to break a growing silence.  "If I'm not getting
too personal, how'd he die?"  I expecting the answer to be HIV.

Mr. Dickson sighed.  "A drunk driver.  Cut across three lanes to hit his
car head-on.  Tommy died instantly.

"Shit!  That's..."

Yes, my thoughts too," he said, then added.  "As you were working in the
garden, I was just thinking back to the last time he and I sat out here on
the porch.  It was warm, just like today."

Mr. Dickson got a broad smile, then turned to me and whispered.  There was
no one within two hundred feet, but he still whispered.  "We liked to put a
towel over the railing, so no one on the street could see what we were
doing up here.  To anyone passing by, all they could see was my face and
shoulders.  With the towel up, Tommy would crawl over and suck me off, very
deep and very slowly."

I sat back.  I felt my face turn red.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to shock you."

"I guess it kinda came out of nowhere.  Please keep talking."

"Well, if it won't frighten you."

"I'm not scared," I said quickly, too quickly.

He smiled very broadly and winked.  I saw his eyes glance down at my lap,
which I could feel was tented.  "So, I see."

He continued.  "Tommy could take me all the way down his throat, without
choking or gagging.  It took a lot of practice on our part, but you know
what they say about practice and making perfect.  Well, it was worth the
effort.  People would walk by and wave, without ever knowing that Tommy was
sucking me off.  One time, Mrs. Everdale stopped to talk about my flowers
and we had a nice conversation while I came in his beautiful mouth.  I
gasped once, but just told her it was because I loved my roses so much."

"She never knew?" I asked.

"I don't think so."  Then he added, "When no one came by, I would have
Tommy intentionally gag..  With a wink and a smile, Mr. Dickson said, "I
loved to hear him gagging.  I knew he didn't have to, but it made me feel
so much in charge.  So, he put on an act for me."

"Sir," I stopped him, even thought I didn't want to, "it's getting late and
I really should get home."

He looked sad.  "I did embarrass you.  I'm sorry."

"No!  You really didn't.  I really liked hearing you talk about that."

"If you did, would you do me a favor?"

I swallowed a gasp.  "I... I really can't.  I-"

"Oh, God, not that.  I was just wondering if you would mind sitting with me
for a while more.  If it won't bother you, I'll keep talking to you while I
stroke myself until I cum.  I have a towel in the front room, to block the
view.  I'm not asking you to do anything, except listen to me and watch
me."

The thought of Mr. Dickson jacking off was exciting, so I nodded.  When he
stood, I saw he was already hard.  As was I.

When he came back, he spread the towel over the railing, then sat back and
slid off his pants.  He wasn't large, but considering that it was the first
hard cock I'd ever seen, other than my own, it was beautiful.

He began talking.  "I would hold Tommy's head and force his mouth all the
way down.  That was when I loved to hear him gag.  Occasionally, especially
at night, he would stop just before I came and he'd get on his hands and
knees, and let me fuck him.  He'd grunt and groan like a school boy on his
first time.  And I knew those noises were real."

Mr. Dickson stroked himself faster.  His legs stuck out straight.  One hand
went under his shirt and he began pulling his nipples.

"Tommy loved to empale himself on my cock, then push back as hard as he
could.  That sweet boy would cum, on his own, just from the pressure of my
being inside him.  He would work up such a sweat, he'd...  he'd..."

Mr. Dickson never finished.  He grunted, then shot several long streams of
cum into the air.  They landed on his stomach and shirt.  With a deep
breath, he fell back in the chair.

I was so fascinated, all I could do was watch his cock soften in his hands.
Then he started to clean up with the towel.

"Wait," I heard myself tell him.  "I want to touch it, please."  This was
new to me, but I had to feel the cum.

"Sure, Robbie.  I'd like you to run your fingers through my cum."

I put my fingers on his the cum.  It was warm.  "Oh," I groaned.  "I like
that."

"I'm glad.  Do you want to taste it?" he asked.

I jerked my fingers away.  "No.  I just..."  I stood, looked around, then
said, "I gotta get home."

"After a few steps, he called to me.  "Robbie, you won't tell anyone, will
you?"

"Oh, no," I said and left.  Several more steps, I turned back.  "Sir, I
ah...  er...  Would you mind if I came back tomorrow afternoon?  We
could...  Ah, we could talk some more, or what ever."

"Robbie, I'd love that.  Especially the what ever."

"Two o'clock?" I asked.

"Fine."

I went home and played basketball for a while, then ate dinner, did my
homework and went to bed.  That night I jacked off three times as I thought
about his cock shooting those long streams of cum.  I remembered how warm
his cum felt as it pooled in his belly button and ran down his stomach..
For a moment, I was sorry I didn't taste it like he'd asked.  In bed, the
last time I came, I caught it in my hand.  I wanted to taste cum, so I
slowly touched my tongue to my own cum.  It was salty and thick.  But, it
was good.  So, I licked it off my hand.

The next day, I showered before going over to his house.  He was already on
the porch when I reached his house.

"Good afternoon, Robbie," he said as I came up his walkway.  "I was
worried," he continued as I sat, "that what happened yesterday may have
scared you away."

"N-no, sir," I managed.  "In fact I thought about it for a long time last
night."

"Well, good.  Then what would you like to talk about?"

"I'd like...that is if it wouldn't be... I mean..."

"What is it, Robbie?  Tell me."

"I'd like to hear more about you and Tommy."

"You mean the sex.  Don't you?"

I blushed and nodded.

"Well, let's see.  One time you might find interesting was when I met him.
It was at a party and he was...  How should I put it?  Tommy was one of the
entertainment toys."

"Entertainment?"

"Yeah, and he knew how to entertain.  I got to the party late and he was
already walking around the room, naked and glistening with oil.  I saw him
from behind and couldn't believe his fantastic bubble ass.  He turned
around to show me the most beautiful eight inch cock, rock hard and
bouncing like he was conducting a symphony.  On his stomach and pubic
hairs, globs of cum were beginning to drip down,"

Hearing Mr. Dickson talk about Tommy got me hot.  My cock was hard, but
this time I didn't try to hide it or feel embarrassed.  I rubbed my crotch
and listened.

"It was then," Mr. Dickson continued, "I saw the nipple clamps on his tits.
A man standing next to Tommy was playing with the clamps and squeezing
Tommy's tits.  As the man twisted one of the clamps, Tommy gasped.  I could
see it hurt, but I also saw that Tommy liked it.

Normally," Mr. Dickson said, leaning over to me, "that type of exhibition,
while exciting, would have made me stay away from the person HIV and all
that shit.  But, over the next couple of hours, I noticed that everyone who
fucked him, and there were many me fucking him, used a condom.  Everyone he
sucked off, and there were also many, came on Tommy's chest, stomach or on
the floor."

Mr. Dickson smiled as he continued, "Tommy must have seen me watching from
a far, because near the end of the evening, he walked up and asked if I
wanted to do anything.

"I told him no, but I added that liked the show he put on."

By this time, Mr. Dickson's story had me rubbing my cock real hard.  The
head was sticking out from the top of my shorts.

He saw it, dripping pre cum, and reached over to touch it before I knew
what was happening.  I shuddered at the light touch of another person's
fingers on my cock.  Electric bolts seemed to shoot through my body and I
almost came.

"Don't worry," Mr. Dickson told me, "no one can see you.  That's why I have
the towels over the railing.  If you want to, go ahead and jack off."

I wasn't thinking at that point and I quickly slipped my shorts down and
began stroking.

I closed my eyes and was floating away with the absolutely fantastic
feeling of jacking off in public, combined with the images Mr. Dickson was
producing with his story of him and Tommy.  Suddenly, Mr. Dickson's fingers
were under my shirt and were lightly pinching my nipples.  I gasped loudly.
Luckily no one was passing by on the street or sidewalk, or they would have
heard me and instantly known what was happening.

The sensation was too much and I shot a long stream of cum into the air.
It landed between our chairs.

"I... ah, I'm sorry," I began.  Then Mr. Dickson stopped me with a finger
placed on my lips.

"Shhh.  Don't be sorry for being young and full of energy.  Tommy used to
do that too.  He loved his tits played with, just like you do."

I was embarrassed, not to mention totally spent.  "Mr. Dickson," I said as
I stood, "I really should go now.  I have some chores I gotta do before Dad
gets home."

"Will you be back any time soon?" he asked.

Despite the fatigue that had overcome me, I smiled and said, "Same time
tomorrow?"

"I look forward to it.  And, Robbie," Mr. Dickson added with a half smile,
"why don't leave the underwear at home?"

I'd heard him, but for some reason, it didn't register right away.  I
stared at him.  This was getting to be a lot more than I ever thought it'd
be.  I was coming over to his house to be his sex buddy.  I admit I like
it, but shit this was putting right out there.  I blushed and I looked
away.

"Robbie?  I didn't mean to shock you."

I walked away without speaking.  On the way home, I kept up an argument
with myself.  I did like what happened, but a man had just played with my
cock and I'd cum.  I wasn't drunk.  I knew what was happening and I let him
to it, so what did that make me?  I knew the word.  I'd joked about it
during gym, but never thought it might be me.

Was I a fag?

As I opened my bedroom door, I shook my head at the thought.  But God damn,
I really did like it.

I forced those thoughts from my mind and got to my chores.  That night, I
fell asleep remembering the electricity shooting through my body as
Mr. Dickson pulled my nipples.  The force of the orgasm I'd had played over
and over in my mind.

I dreamed that night.  It was a vivid dream of men, unknown men, men
without faces, men playing with my cock and tits, men using me as their
play toy, like their whore.

The men had me on a bed, surrounded by at least five of them, maybe more.
They were being very rough on me.  One of them were sucking, biting and
twisting my tits.  Another man was squeezing my balls.  One man was jacking
me off.  And the last man was fingering my ass, deep and hard.

I'd played with my own ass before, but this felt real.  I could actually
feel a stranger's fingers ramming deeply into me.

One of the men came up to my face, with his hard cock out.  He rubbed over
my lips, softly, teasingly.  He stroked my face then put his fingers into
my mouth.  With deep strokes, he finger fucked my mouth.  Then he pulled
his fingers out and pressed his massive cock head against my lips and
teeth.  The man on my tits pinched and I gasped.  As I did, the cock
entered my mouth.

I woke with a start, shaking violently.  My underwear was down at my knees
and I was holding my cock.  Warm cum covered my hand and stomach.

It was then I realized two things.  First, I loved what I'd dreamed and I
wished it was real.  I also realized that the fag I was concerned about
being, I was.

I jacked off again and fell to sleep.

The next morning, after I did my chores, I rushed over to Mr. Dickson's
house.

"Well, you're here early," he said, with a broad smile.

"Yeah, well you see," I began but couldn't quite say what I was feeling.

"Are you still upset by what I said yesterday?  I really didn't mean to
bother you."

"No, no," I said.  "I... I'm not wearing any underwear, like you asked."
I'm sure I didn't have to tell him because I could feel my cock was rock
hard and was sticking straight out, tenting my loose shorts.

He smiled.  "Maybe you should come inside, rather than sit on the porch,"
he said as he guided me inside.  He sat me on a couch, then knelt in front
of me.  "Robbie," he said, "you're the sexiest thing I've seen in a long
time.  I just can't wait.  Do you mind?"

I wasn't exactly sure what he meant, but I knew I wasn't going to mind
whatever he did, so I agreed.

He pulled my shirt over my head, then slipped my shorts down my legs and
off my feet.  I could tell he was in total control of what was going to
happen.  In one gulp, he nearly swallowed my cock.  For several seconds he
sucked me.  It was like nothing I'd ever felt.  He licked, sucked and
nibbled.  I was about ready to cum, when he pulled on my nipples.  I gasped
loudly as my cock exploded.  I threw my head back as I shot my cum into his
slurping mouth.  I was moaning.  He was moaning.  It was a good thing we
weren't on the porch because everyone in the neighborhood would have heard.

My cock got real sensitive and he paused and just held me in his mouth
until that sensation had passed.  Then he kissed me, a warm cum kiss right
on my mouth.

Mr. Dickson stood and it was then I noticed his pants were down and his
cock was out.  Without a word, either of encouragement from him or protest
from me, he guided my head to his cock.  I froze when the head brushed over
my lips, but I let it pass through.  Within seconds, he was long stroking
my mouth.  He went deep into my throat, until I gagged, then all the way
back out he took me.  Over and over, he abused my mouth and throat.  I knew
he liked to hear gagging, but my gagging was not faked.  I was gagging and
coughing with each stroke.  How I managed to keep my lips even partly
tight, I still can't figure out, but I did.

He was like a wild animal, pumping and grunting.  I loved the feel of his
balls slapping my chin, so I grabbed them.  Every time he pulled out, I
gave his balls a tug.  That must have driven him crazy, because each time I
did, he groaned.  Then it happened.  He tightened up and began cumming.
I'd never imagined I could catch this much cum, but it kept squirting and I
kept swallowing.

Several loud grunts told me he was done.  I felt bad as he pulled his
softening cock from my lips.  As he fell onto the couch, next to me, I
savored the salty/sweet taste lingering in my mouth.

I think we both fell asleep, because the next thing I knew, he was standing
above me, with his hand out.  I fluttered my eyes for a moment as I tried
to focus away my sleeply vision.

"Damn, you beautiful thing," he said softly.  "You are just so cute and
sexy."

"Thanks.  No one's ever tole me that."

"Well, that's a shame," he said and extended his hand even farther and
added.  "You want to take the next step?"

"Next step?" I asked, but was pretty sure what he was asking me.  After a
pause and hard swallow, I whispered, "I think so."

He grabbed my hand pulled me to my feet.  "Thank you.  It's been so long."

Mr. Dickson lead me to a bath room, where he had a hose hooked up to a
faucet.  He turned on the water and when it was warm, had me bend over.  He
spread some cream on the hose tip and then onto my ass.  That was the first
time anyone had ever touched me like that, and I couldn't hold back a loud
gasp.  Then he slipped the tip into me and turned on warm water.  As my
belly filled, he played with my nipples and my tits.

When I couldn't hold anymore, he left me alone to shit it all out.
Afterwards, I cleaned up came out to him.  My head was spinning with
anticipation and fear at what lay ahead for me.  In his bedroom, he lay me
on my back, placed my legs over his shoulders, then lay over me.  Several
deep kisses later, he rubbed more cream on my hole and on his cock.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

I nodded.

"It may hurt, but I'll go slowly and let you adjust to it."

I nodded, held my breath and grabbed the sheets.

The head of his cock touched me.

I shuddered.

He pushed.

I gasped.

With a loud grunt and one mighty thrust, he entered me.  I couldn't believe
what it felt like.  I thought I'd been ripped apart and set on fire.  Oh
God, it hurt so much.  I didn't mean to, but I let a whimper slip out.

I guess he heard me crying because he stopped and held himself over me as I
relaxed.  The pause worked because soon the fire and the pain eased.  All I
felt was that I was being stretched wide open.

After the pain was almost gone, I smiled up at him.  He took the key and he
started fucking me.  Within seconds, the pain had completely stopped,
replaced by the most amazing feeling I'd ever known.  With every stroke
into me, I was filled with a cock.  God, I loved it.  Then, without
realizing I'd begun, I was fucking back.  I pushed up to meet his every
thrust.  I heard a series of animal-like grunts and groans and realized it
was me.  Every push of my ass, every penetration of his cock produced a
guttural moan from my deepest regions.  I felt like a rutting beast.

Wave after wave of excitement passed through me.  I was getting fucked.  He
was fucking me.  I was fucking him.  I loved it.

Within seconds, his body stiffened, he threw his head back and his entire
body started shaking.  He was cumming.  The feel of his warm cum filling
me, sent me over the edge.  Long ropes of my cum shot over my stomach and
chest.

After a deep groan, he dropped onto me like he'd lost all strength in his
arms and legs.  At first, I thought he'd died, but then I felt his chest
moving.  For several minutes, he lay on me.  Between deep gasps for air, he
half whispered, half gasped into my ear, "Thank you.  Thank you, my dear,
sweet baby."

I didn't know what to say.  I sure as hell didn't want to say anything as
dumb as, "You're welcome."  So, I said nothing.

After that day, our relationship grew stronger.  Every day, every meeting,
he became more important to me, and I to him.  We spoke of love and how
much we needed each other, but I could feel a deeper meaning than the words
"Love" would give.  There was something so special that I didn't understand
it.

We saw each other almost every day and had sex every few days.  Sometimes
we would fuck, other times we would do as little as jack each other off.
There were times when he would spend the entire evening watching television
while he played with my tits, pulling and twisting my nipples.

That went on until I was in my twenties and I had moved into my own
apartment.  Then one day after I got off work and came by his house, there
was an ambulance in his drive way.  I drove up just in time to see than
take his body out, a blanket over his face.

I was shattered.  It was if my own father had died.

I went my own way, not knowing how I could tell anyone of my grief and why
I was feeling that way.  He'd spoken many times about how we should keep
the full extent of our relationship to ourselves.  So, I decided to honor
his wish even after his death.  I simply told people who happen to have
asked that we had become friend and that I missed my friend.

A month later, I got the shock of my life.  I answered a knock on my
apartment door, to find a man in a dark suit standing there.  He was
Samuel's attorney.  As it turned out, Samuel had known he was dying, but
he'd kept it secret.  All I knew was that he was sick.

A month before his death, Samuel had changed his Will.  The attorney read a
letter Samuel had written.  In it, Samuel said he was sorry for not being
honest about the full extend of his illness.  But, as Samuel put it in the
letter, he hated sympathy and wanted his last days to be happy.  He closed
the message by telling me that he'd set aside money for an education at any
college I wanted, for as long as I wanted to go.

Another one of Samuel's secrets that I learned that day was that he was
very wealthy.  I'm sure that had I know about his money, he never would
have been secure believing I was there for him and not for his money.

Every day, for eight years, I thanked Samuel for what he'd given me.  I
told him I hoped I was living up to his dream for me.  I finished college
and then law school at an Ivy League school.

Samuel Dickson wasn't his real name.  Robbie Snider isn't mine.  If I told
you our names, you probably wouldn't believe me.  But, if you read the
newspaper during the late 1990's, you know me.  You used to hear about me
everyday.  But, like I said, secrecy is important to me, so I'll keep the
rest a secret.