Date: Fri, 4 Oct 2002 06:21:58 -0700 (PDT)
From: chip ster <chipster071053@yahoo.com>
Subject: My Lover's Son

My Lover's Son
By chipster071053@yahoo.com


This story contains some graphic sex between boys and men. If this offends
you, or is not legal where you live, do not continue.

I have two other stories posted on Nifty Archives. The first is in the
bisexual/college section entitled "Weekend In Houston," which is a
basically true story of my first, and only, bisexual experience. The second
is a series called "Camp Clover For Boys," which is a sexual fantasy about
a special summer camp where boys are sent to learn the facts of life. I
encourage you to read both and let me know what you think.

This story is about the relationship between two boys who grow up and how
that relationship transcends generations when one of them dies. If you want
lots of sex, you'll find it, but only toward the end of the story. This
story, unlike the others I have written, is strictly gay.


MY LOVER'S SON


	The phone in my apartment rang and when I answered, I heard the
voice of a young boy.

	"Mr. Donovan," the voice said, "my name is Dirk Colton."

	The memories that flooded into my mind almost overwhelmed me. Dirk
Colton had been my best friend in high school, and unknown to all, my lover
for five years before college pulled us apart.

	I met Dirk for the first time on a Boy Scout campout. He was 13 and
new to the troop. I was 15 and junior patrol leader. Dirk was assigned to
me and we became tent mates. That weekend, we hit it off so very well that
in the weeks to come we became almost inseparable.

	We grew up in a small city, population of about 40,000, and the
junior and senior high schools shared the same campus, so Dirk and I shared
lunch hours together, rode the same city bus to school (different stops),
and even a few classes together that first year. Dirk was smart for his age
and wound up in some freshmen classes even though he was only in 7th grade.

	When I first met Dirk, he was 5'3" and might have been 130 pounds
wringing wet. Dark brown hair, glasses and a cute smile. His body was
slender but not well defined. I was 5'9, 160 lbs with a stocky build, still
working to rid myself of baby fat that would eventually turn into small
love handles that simply don't want to go away.

	We had our first sexual explorations together on one of those Scout
campouts. For reasons that escape me, we'd pitched our tent away from the
rest of the troop and the first night there, thinking Dirk was asleep, I
started to jack off in my sleeping bag, only to be caught. Dirk, ever
curious, wanted to try it, too, and so we jacked ourselves off lying side
by side. When he came, he was horrified. He wasn't expecting it, and
managed to get cum all over his long underwear top and his sleeping bag. I
was surprised by the sheer power and volume of his climax, as he had
managed to get a few shots onto the roof of the tent, probably three feet
above him. He was worried about what his parents would say when they found
the cum stains. I assured him we could get it cleaned up and so the next
morning we did our best to hide the evidence. If his parents ever
suspected, they never said anything to him.

	Our explorations became more venturesome as we got older, mostly
confined to campouts but occasionally in moments stolen from sleepovers and
the occasional empty house. When his mother decided to go back to work
during his freshman year, we were in heaven. We learned to explore each
other, touching, licking, sucking and eventually fucking each other with
youthful exuberance.

	This went on for two years, until I graduated. I went to a state
college about 75 miles from home and Dirk would come to visit me, first on
weekends when my dorm roommate would be going home, then later in a small
apartment I managed to afford from working at the campus bookstore nights
and weekends.

	Dirk grew. By the time he graduated from high school, he was almost
6 foot tall, 180 pounds and had a body to die for. He'd started wearing
contact lenses and his boyish face now showed signs of maturity. Being on
the football team, he had started working with weights and became well
developed with firm pecks, six-pack abs, a slender waistline and tight
buttocks. I, on the other hand, only grew another inch and my weight went
to 185 as I constantly fought with my waistline. But it didn't matter to
Dirk. I worshiped his body, gave it love and he loved me back.

	No, not love. Puppy love, maybe. We had a great fondness for each
other, a closeness that kept us together, that kept our friendship alive
and vibrant. But we both knew we'd not stay lovers together forever. While
I was confident in my gayness, Dirk knew there was more that he wanted. I
encouraged him to "play the other side of the fence," and he frolicked in
that field. Practically every girl in the school chased after the team's
star running back and he managed to conquer more than a few of them, but he
always came back to me, sometimes sharing his tales of conquest, but more
often just for the companionship of someone he felt comfortable with and
trusted.

	During his senior year, Dirk, always the brainier, received a
full-ride academic scholarship to UCLA and planned to go out for the
football team, where he was assured at least a place on the J-V squad. As
it came closer to the time when he would leave for the west coast, we both
knew that our sexual relationship was about to come to an end.

	I saved every dime I could out of my meager salary and rented a
suite at a hotel in a city near my school. I had been going to summer
school, trying to pick up a few extra credits during the summer so I could
graduate early. Dirk had been spending almost every weekend with me,
hanging around on campus while I was in class, getting a feel for the
academic life ahead. He even audited a couple of my classes a few times and
surprised one of my instructors with how much he knew about the subject of
the class.

	That weekend with Dirk was filled with lust and passion. We'd never
had sex that often or that good. At times we made tender love. At other
times, we were animals, practically clawing at each other's bodies as we
fucked each other's brains out. I remember the last morning most. We stood
in the shower together, hugging, crying like little babies, and taking
assurance from each other that we'd always be there for each other no
matter what.

	What came two years later? During my senior year, I met a graduate
student who was to become my mentor, and my lover for the next year. He
helped me get a job at the same firm where he was interning and when he
graduated, we worked side by side and lived the same way. Then, I
discovered I had Hodgekins' Disease. The thought of going through that with
me was more than he could handle, and so he left me. I had to give up my
job to pursue treatment and wound up in Kentucky at the UK School of
Medicine, living in an attic apartment across the street from the hospital.

	All through that time, Dirk kept in touch by the cheapest, most
efficient way available. He wrote me two; sometimes three letters a week,
letting me know what was happening with his life. (I was a dismal failure
at that, usually writing a couple of times a month, with an occasional
phone call, but Dirk never said anything about it to me other than that he
was always glad to hear from me.) I could tell by the tone of the letters
that he was happy. He'd been picked for the team and by his sophomore year,
he was on the varsity squad when his football career was suddenly ended by
a severe knee injury during the second game of the season. He took it well,
though, and went on to be one of the team's student managers.

	Dirk had also found a girl, the one he believed to be the one he
was destined to spend the rest of his life with. So sure of it was he that
she remained a virgin until their marriage, and he never strayed from her
side.

	When word reached Dirk of my condition (through my parents to his;
I was trying to keep it from him until I knew the outcome of the
treatments), he came to my side. I found him standing at my bedside when I
awoke from the exploratory surgery they had done to determine the severity
of my condition. He stayed until I could leave the hospital, then spent the
first two weeks of my radiation therapy with me, helping me get to my
appointments, helping me get settled until he finally could stay no
longer. While nothing physical happened between us, it was still apparent
to both of us that the bond of friendship between us was still strong.

	Fortunately, my Hodgkin's had been caught early enough that after
two series of radiation treatments, the disease had gone into remission,
later determined to be permanent. I got back to my life, found a good job
and lived alone for several years, not wanting to tie myself back down to a
long-term commitment.

	I was best man at Dirk's wedding. He and his lovely bride Karen
were so happy together, but over the next few years Dirk and I drifted
apart, probably because of the responsibilities of family life he faced
following the birth of his first, and only, son, who they lovingly named
Dirk, Jr. I found myself buried in my work, proving myself worthy of the
promotions I was earning, until I reached the status of youngest junior
partner in the company.

	Then came the tragic news that Dirk was dying. He'd developed some
kind of rare blood disease that sapped his strength, then his very life. I
didn't know about it until he was on his deathbed. It had been his wish
that I not know, but when I did find out through my parents, I practically
killed him for not telling me.

	We spent a few days together rehashing old times, our sexual
exploits together never mentioned but always on our minds, until our last
moments together when he reminded me of that moment in the shower together.

	"I've always cherished that memory," he said to me, breathing
shallowly, and "I've always loved you. You've got to know that. In spite of
how things went, I've always loved you."

	"I know," I told you. "Remember what I said to you that morning
before we got out of bed?"

	"Yes, I'll never forget it. You told me that I wasn't a
Colton. That reminded you too much of a little pony. You said I'd always be
more like a Stallion to you," and he tried to laugh, ending up with a
wracking cough.

	The silence after that was unbearable. His eyes closed and he
drifted off to sleep. I went outside to comfort his wife and I held their
12-year-young son in my arms for the first time as she went into the room
to spend the last few minutes of his life together. She said he woke up and
told her to stay in touch with me and that his last words to her were of
his love for her and of his admiration of her courage through his final
ordeal. Then he had died quietly, holding her hand tightly.

	Karen had remarried two years later, but her life was tragically
cut short by an auto accident, killed by a drunk driver in a senseless
tragedy. Her son, Dirk's only son, had stayed with his step-father, who was
a good man, kind and caring, but not used to the idea of raising a
teenager, especially one who was confused about his own identity, who had
seen his family ripped apart by tragedy.

	Dirk's mother had continued to stay in touch with me, although I
was never really sure why. We were never truly close, but she made the
effort, so I knew about young Dirk's early adolescence as she confided in
me some of the concerns she had about his growing up. When she was suddenly
out of his life, I was very surprised when I started getting letters from
Dirk, Jr.

	And that is how he and I got to this phone call.

	"Dirk, is that really you?" I asked.

	"Yes, sir, Dirk Junior," he answered.

	"I haven't seen you since your mother's funeral. I'll bet you've
grown, haven't you," I said, still surprised to be hearing his young
voice. He sounded so much like his father had at that age.

	"Probably," he answered. There was a long pause.

	"My dad told me before he died that if I ever had a problem that
was too big for me to handle that he thought I could always come to you,"
he said hesitantly.

	"Your dad was my best friend, Dirk, and he believed that, then I
have to believe he knew what was best for both of us. How can I help you?"
I asked.

	"I need to talk to someone. There's something going on in my mind
that I have to sort out, and I need help getting through it. I think Dad
would want me to talk to you," he said.

	"What about your step dad? Can't you talk to him? I know he loves
you," I said.

	"Not about this. I can't explain it on the phone, but can we meet
somewhere? Dad left you a letter and he told me when the time came I was
supposed to deliver it to you personally. I really need to see you," said
Dirk, almost pleading with me.

	"OK. Let me talk to your Dad and see if I can arrange something," I
told him. "I'll call you back tonight."

	That evening I talked with his step father, Richard, who confessed
he was confused about Dirk. I told him I was even more lost than he was,
not having children of my own, but reassured him that I knew he could
handle it, whatever the situation.

	"I appreciate it," he said, "but I think that's where you might be
wrong. Dirk and his father were very close, not like he and I have been. He
says that whatever this is, it has something do to with you and his dad and
that he has to talk to you about it."

	"If that's the way he feels and that's what he wants, then I'd be
glad to talk with him. How do you want this to work? Should I come there?"
I asked.

	"Would it be possible for me to send him to you? I don't know why,
but he seems very uncomfortable even talking about this around me. Maybe
being with you would give him the privacy he needs for whatever this is,"
Richard answered.

	"Well then, let's fly him down here. Make the arrangements and I'll
meet him at the airport. Plan on him spending the weekend if you want,
that'll give you some time, too," I told him, and he seemed grateful.

	Dirk got on the phone, and I explained to him that his step dad
would be letting him come down to visit me, if that was all right with him,
and I could hear the excitement in his voice. Obviously we'd made the right
decision.

	"That's wonderful! Thanks, Mr. Donovan. You'll never know how much
this means to me," said the boy.

	"I'm looking forward to it, and please call me Cliff," I said. He
put his step dad back on the line and he assured me he'd either call or
e-mail me with the trip plans as soon as he had them.

	The next day, I received a e-mail from Richard telling me that I
could expect Dirk at the airport around 6:30 that following Friday
evening. I prepared for a three day stay by this child I barely knew who
for some reason desperately needed to talk to me, to confide in me
something, the big mysterious "what" I didn't know, nor would I have ever
guessed.

	At the airport that Friday afternoon, I was able to get through
security and go down to the gate to meet Dirk because of his age. I almost
died when I saw young Dirk come off the plane. He was the spitting image of
his father at 16. I had the most overwhelming desire to rush over and hug
the boy, but we met with a friendly handshake and went off to baggage to
claim his tote bag.

	On the drive home, I asked him what he'd like for dinner, and like
a typical teenager his choice was fast food, so we stopped for a burger and
fries and I started trying to gently probe, wanting to see what it was that
weighted on his mind so heavily that he had to travel over a thousand miles
to talk to a man he hardly knew.

	Slowly the boy began to open up. He told me that his father had
left something with him before he died and said that someday he should give
it to me for safekeeping. Dirk's dad told him that only he would know when
that time would come.

	"Dad wanted you to have something of his that he considered very
special and he said we should talk about it when the right time came,
Cliff. I think this is the right time," said the boy, opening the travel
bag he'd brought along with him.

	Dirk pulled out three spiral bound notebooks; the top one had the
logo of our old high school on the cover. Until that instant it never
dawned on me that Dirk, always the writer, had kept a diary.

	Dirk slowly slid the notebooks across the table to me. I sat there
stunned.

	"Do you know what's in these?" I asked.

	"Yes," he said softly.

	I reached for the books and opened the front cover of the one on
top.

	"Today I start 8th Grade. This will be a journal of all I do in the
months and years to come as I go through junior and senior high school," it
started in Dirk's distinctive, very neat handwriting. It was the kind of
thing a lot of kids that age write on the first page of a diary that winds
up empty. But not Dirk. The three notebooks in front of me attested to
that.

	We sat in silence together for the next half hour as I flipped
through the notebooks. I found the page that noted our first meeting.

	"Just got back from my first Boy Scout Campout," it said. "The
assistant patrol leader was my tent mate, a guy named Cliff Donovan. He's
two years older than me and knows a lot about camping and Scouting. He was
really nice to me, not like the other boys who like to pick on the new
Scouts. I like him a lot. Hope we get to tent together again."

	I saw notes about classes and classmates, achievements and
heartbreaks, and several more entries about me and our times together, some
pretty graphic. He'd put in photographs, too, taped to the pages. I saw one
of him and me at a Scout Board of Honor when he'd been given his First
Class patch.

	On into the second volume, I started seeing stories about his
football career, club meetings and, there they were, even more very
detailed notes about our times together, some sexual, some just two guys
hanging out together, going to the movies, camping, doing homework
together. Our discussions about our sexual preferences and how he wanted my
permission to start dating girls, as if he ever needed it. It was all
there.

	In the third volume, I found entries written after I'd left for
college. I read about some of the girls he'd dated (and bedded), I saw our
weekends together, I read the joy in finding out about the scholarship he'd
won. And finally, the last entry in the journal detailed our final weekend
together in great detail, almost stroke-by-stroke, as if he never wanted to
forget a moment of the time we spent that weekend. It ended, "I know we'll
never be together again like this, and I will grieve that fact for as long
as I live, but our lives were never meant to be spent together, and I will
move on, cherishing the last five years as the happiest of my youth."

	I looked up and into the reflection of the face of my boyhood
lover.

	"I know all about it, and so did my mom. She knew where the
journals were, but I don't think she ever read them," said Dirk,
Jr. "Richard doesn't know, and I don't see any reason for him to, either."

	Another pause, then Dirk continued. "He gave me a letter to give to
you, too. Do you want it now?"

	"No," I said, "wait until we get back to my place."

	The 16-year-old across from me waited quietly until I started to
get up, then he reached for the notebooks. I reluctantly pushed them toward
him and he put them back in his bag.

	On the drive to my loft, I said, "I hope you don't think less of me
for what your father and I did when we were your age. I never thought
anyone would know about us, much less you and your mother."

	"It's OK, Cliff," he said. "From what Dad told me, it sounded
beautiful. Two guys who loved to be around each other like you two did, who
shared so much, who cared so much about each other. I wish I had that kind
of a friendship."

	"Is that why you're here, Dirk? Do you have questions about your
dad and me and what we did?" I asked, glancing at the boy to my right.

	"Yea, something like that. Dad and I had long talks before he died
about you two, and he tried really hard to let me know how special you were
to him," said Dirk. I noticed a tear in the corner of his eye.

	"Cliff, I think I'm gay," he blurted out, sobbing. I pulled over to
the side of the road and reached for him, putting my arm around him and
comforting him, just the way I did his father. "Dad and I talked about it a
lot before he died. He said then that I was probably too young to be sure,
but that either way he'd still love me. We talked about it with Mom, too,
and she knew what I was going through in my mind. I still talked about it
with Mom before that stupid idiot killed her, but I've never talked to
Richard about it. I don't think he'd understand. I needed to talk to
someone about this and Dad always said he thought I could talk with
you. That's why I'm here."

	It had all come rushing out of the boy. I pulled him closer and
held him tight, feeling the sobs rake through his body. He threw his arms
around me, and suddenly I found myself crying, too.

	We sat there for a few minutes just holding each other. I gave him
little kisses on his cheek, just like I had given his father hundreds of
times so many years ago.

	Finally, I pulled away from him and slid back behind the steering
wheel. "Dirk," I said, "I want to talk with you, too. Let's get home."

	He looked at me and smiled, the same kind of killer smile his Dad
gave me when he was really happy. I may have been wrong about it, but I
felt like I could read this boy like I had his father and I suddenly felt
very, very close to both of them.

	When we got to my loft, which was a big, open room in an old
warehouse, I helped him carry in his things and settled him into a room I
had partitioned off with some dividers. I showed him around, which wasn't
difficult since everything was there to see, and we settled in on the
sectional sofa in front of the open fireplace that set in the middle of the
room. He handed me the letter.

	The legal-sized envelope had my first name written on it and
nothing else. It was still sealed. While Dirk, Jr., watched, I opened it,
took out the two page letter inside and began to read:

	"My dearest friend Cliff,

	"If you are reading this, then two things have happened. First, I'm
no longer living. That being the case, and I never had the chance to tell
you in person, I want you to know that I have always considered you my
dearest, closest friend, even though we've drifted apart because of the
ebbs and flows of life. I always cared for you, and though we both knew it
wasn't love, those feelings ran deep. I've never forgotten our life and
times together, nor did I ever want to, as the diaries Dirk has for you
attest.

	"Second, Dirk has reached a crisis point in his life and needs to
turn to someone he can trust. While Karen and I discussed the possibility
that she would remarry after I died, neither of us knew what life would
hold in store for them. We had both agreed that if the time came when Dirk
needed to discuss this subject with someone, that you would be that
person. I always trusted you, and I now trust he can feel the same with
you. If Dirk felt the same about his relationship with a stepfather, then
you'd never be reading this.

	"I hope that you'll forgive me for the journals. It's probably the
one secret I kept from you in all the years we've known each other. I've
never gone back through them, nor did I ever feel the need. All of the
memories were burned deep into my mind, as vividly as if they had each just
happened. Maybe I kept them for you. Something inside me just felt it was
right, and I hope you'll agree.

	"And finally, Karen knew about us. I knew from the moment I met her
that she was my one true love in life, and I wasn't going to keep anything
from her. She knew long before we were married and accepted that it was a
part of my past, but that she, and the family we hoped for, were our
future. Together.

	"Little Dirk knew, too. When he first told me of his struggles, I
told him about us. I shared with him the way I felt for you and told him
that if anyone in the world could understand how he felt, you could. I went
through those struggles with you, too. I was there when you came to
recognize your sexual identity and appreciated your encouragement when I
went to find mine.

	"As I write this, I believe that he can come to you for help, and
that is what I'm asking for as one last favor, Cliff. Help my son find
himself.

	"If I've gone to a place where I can watch over you two, be assured
that I will be there, as close by your sides as I can possibly get. If love
can transcend death, then know my love surrounds you both. I know you will
take care of him.

	"With all my love, forever, Dirk."

	Dirk watched me as I closed the letter, tears flowing from my
eyes. This time it was his turn to give comfort, and I held his head to my
shoulder as my grief came pouring out. He understood. He'd been there, too.

	I asked gently if I could go wash my face and he pulled away from
me so I could stand. I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on
myself and stood for a few moments staring at myself in the mirror. I'd
never realized how much I had repressed the grief I had from losing Dirk,
first the distance I had let grow between us, then the knowledge that I'd
never be close to him again. But now I had to face his son, a virtual copy
of my own best friend, and help him confront the feelings he felt he could
only confide in me.

	I went back into the room and found Dirk flipping through the pages
of the notebooks. "He really loved you, didn't he?"

	"Yes, he did, and I loved him deeply, too," I said.

	"When did you know you were gay?" he asked, his eyes holding the
question his lips had asked.

	"When your dad asked if he could start seeing girls," I
answered. "I knew that kind of relationship wasn't something I was
interested in developing. I also knew your father wasn't gay, either."

	"That's what Dad said. He told me that what you two had between you
was special, that he loved you more than just sexually, but that he was
longing for someone to spend his life with, someone to raise a family with,
and you'd both agreed that it was something you'd never want or be able to
do together," said Dirk. "He told me that sex with you was always great,
but that he had no desire to ever be with another man. He always felt that
you were destined to find your love with someone of the same sex."

	"That's a nice way to put it, and your father always knew the right
words. He once told me that I was going to wind up an old fag gumming on
some young kid's cock, but that he'd be there to help me put my teeth back
in when I was done."

	That broke the ice, the tension in the room and Dirk, for the first
time, started laughing, and just couldn't seem to stop.

	As he calmed down, he said, "That sounded just like Dad. Oh, Cliff,
thank you so much for letting me come here this weekend. I have so much to
talk about and I just know you can help me."

	"What about you," I asked, "What makes you think you're gay?"

	"The feelings I get when I'm around some guys. The way I catch
myself looking at the other guys in the gym locker room. The things I
fantasize about when I jack off at night. Never girls, always guys who turn
me on. Girls don't turn me on. I have lots of girls who are friends with
me, but I don't have a girlfriend. I don't feel a sexual attraction for any
of them."

	"Maybe you haven't found the right one yet," I said. "After all,
your Dad didn't start dating for four years after we starting hanging out
together."

	"Yea, but Dad knew other men weren't attractive to him the way you
were. You were the only man he ever wanted to be with in bed and that never
changed his whole life. He told me that he never even thought about other
men that way. I don't. I can't. I see a cute guy, I get horny. I see a
good-looking guy naked in the shower and I start to pop a hard-on. I can
look through a whole straight porno magazine and never even get a rise out
of it! That's why I think I'm gay!"

	"Well here we set then, the old queer giving council to the young
one," I said with a chuckle. "Come on, it's late and I know you have to be
tired after the trip you made today."

	I showed Dirk to the bathroom, a modern open room with a large,
open shower in one corner, a few tall plants along the side to deflect
water. To my surprise, Dirk started to strip before I could leave. "Can we
talk while I take a shower," he asked.

	"What do you want to talk about," I answered as I sat down on the
commode.

	"Just about how you and Dad knew what you were doing was
right. Weren't you ever afraid of getting caught?" he asked as he turned on
the shower.

	"All the time. Back then, queers weren't acceptable to society the
way gays are becoming now. We both knew that there was a chance we'd be
caught and carry that brand with us all the way through school, so we were
extra, extra careful. We never showed affection in public, we never tried
to do anything that might be really dangerous..."

	"Like give each other blow jobs under the bleachers during a game?"
Dirk butted in.

	"Oh, you read that part, huh? Well that was just stupid and we
never should have done it, and I'll tell you what else. We never tried it
again!" I said.

	"I don't think my grandparents ever knew about you two," the boy
said as he lathered himself up. "If they did, they never told Dad."

	"Neither did mine, although they both knew I was gay before they
died. They thought it happened in college and that a graduate student I
lived with had seduced me or something. They never suspected your dad and I
were having sex on those nights he slept over with me," I told him,
beginning to stare at Dirk's body under the spray. Our eyes both fell to
the same thing.

	"See, this is what I mean," he said, gesturing to a boner that
looked surprisingly familiar. "I get to thinking about two guys having sex
and I get so hard that it hurts!"

	"Want me to leave you alone so you can take care of that?" I asked,
finding myself hoping that the answer would be 'no.'

	It was. Without hesitation, Dirk began to jack himself off as he
continued to ask questions.

	"What made Dad decide to be the one to suck you off first?" he
asked, his hand lazily stroking himself.

	"I don't know, but I'll bet he wrote it in his diary, and I'll also
bet you know the answer, don't you?" I said.

	"He said he'd seen a porno mag one of the other guys had on one of
the campouts that had pictures of girls sucking on guys dicks. He saw how
turned on the picture got you, so he wanted to do it so you'd see what it
was really like," Dirk answered. "He wrote down that when you came in his
mouth he couldn't decide whether to swallow or spit it out at first, but
that you tasted so good that he swallowed it all."

	"I remember that, too. He sucked so hard it almost hurt me, but he
was determined that I was going to cum. And I sucked him for the first time
that same night. If anyone had gone by our tent, there would have been no
doubt what was going on inside!" I remembered.

	"He said you fucked him first, too, for the same reason. One of the
guys had found a gay magazine and they were making fun of it. He said he
could tell you were getting turned on by the pictures, so he wanted to try
it with you."

	"I told him he could do me first, but he wanted me to do the
honors. It hurt like hell, for both of us, and I don't think either of us
walked right for a week, but we took each other's virginity that night,
right there in my bed, with my parents on the other side of the wall. I
don't know how we managed to do it without screaming our heads off, but,
boy I remember that well," I said, then added a chuckle.

	"I guess a guy never forgets when he loses his cherry, does he?"
asked the naked boy.

	"No, I guess not. Have you ever, ah, you know..."

	"Been fucked? No. Never. In spite of my raging hormones, I've never
even touched another guy's cock. This is the first time I've ever jacked
off in front of anyone," he said, beginning to stroke a little faster.

	"How do you feel about it, doing it in front of me?" I asked.

	"Really, really weird, but kinda good. I'm getting excited just
knowing you're letting me do it. I don't think Richard would never let me
do anything like this!" said the horny boy.

	"Just do what you feel," I said. "I'm not watching you, I'm
watching your dad right now. I hope you don't think THAT's weird."

	"Naw. Mom always said I reminded her of dad shrunk down, and I
don't mind," he said.

	As the young teen began to gyrate his hips in rhythm to his
stroking, I started to become mesmerized. He continued to pelt me with
questions.

	"What drew you to my father?" he asked.

	"At first, it was his enthusiasm and his playfulness. Then it
became his curiosity and eagerness to learn, and the way he could make me
interested in the things that interested him," I answered.

	"Like sex?"

	"Yea, that was part of it. Even though he caught me jacking off
first, his curiosities lead us to some interesting places. He was the first
to give a blowjob, he was the first to get fucked, and I think he might
have just seduced me. But it wasn't just that. Because of him, I became
interested in lots of things like going to see movies that weren't just
action films, reading great literature, and sports. He loved sports and I
loved sharing them with him."

	"He said he used to love showering with you."

	I felt like I was falling under a spell. This young, naked boy was
exciting himself in front of me, bringing back memories of the lover I used
to share my body and soul with. In my mind, I found I wasn't watching this
boy, I was watching his father, my Dirk, once again.

	"He told me how he used to love the way you would hold him while he
did this. He said you used to caress his chest and play with his nipples
while he came closer and closer to his climax. He said you had the most
magnificent hands."

	I found myself fingering my stiffness through my pants.

	"And he loved to have you nibble and give little butterfly kisses
around his neck and shoulders," the boy was writhing now, his eyes closed
as he imagined what he was saying.

	My hand was involuntarily pulling down my zipper and I quickly had
my cock in my hand, stroking with his rhythm. His eyes suddenly opened, he
looked at me and I saw a twinkle I had not seen in twenty years.

	"Cliff, come hold me," said Dirk.

	My clothes were off in a flash, piled next to his, and I stood
behind the boy who reminded me of my young lover. I began to run my fingers
over his abs the way I had done so many years ago, kissing his neck,
nibbling at his earlobe, tweaking his nipples lightly as he continued to
stroke himself. His breathing became more erratic and I felt the shudders
begin to go through is body.

	"OH CLIFF! YOU'RE MAKING ME CUM! THANK YOU! OH GOD THIS FEELS SO
WONDERFUL!" the young boy almost panted. With one final moan, I watched as
he released his youthful cum in powerful bursts, shooting across the
room. Wrapping my arms around him tightly, I held him close as he continued
to have orgasm after orgasm.

	I hadn't realized what I had done. I found myself naked with this
young teen, fantasizing that he was his father and that we were once again
sharing youthful play together. I reached my hand down to his cock and
began to fondle his balls as he continued to slowly jack on himself.

	His head turned slightly and our lips met. We began to kiss as he
slowly turned around to face me, his tongue starting to intertwine with
mine in a way that felt strangely familiar. His arms went around by back
and he pulled me close. I felt my cock poking into his abdomen and I
started to rub up against him.

	His hand went down and grasped my throbbing cock. I turned to putty
in his hands. I couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop. I felt like I was
making love with my Dirk again.

	Without a word, he sank to his knees and took me into his
mouth. With the skill of an expert he began to excite me in a way I hadn't
felt in a long time. I couldn't help but think that this was MY Dirk making
love to my cock. His tongue rolled around the head of my shaft and sent
shivers up and down my spine. I began to ache for release.

	He pulled his mouth off of me and slowly stood, giving my body
kisses and probing with his tongue as he stood. When he reached my face, he
took my head in his hands and kissed me deeply.

	"Take me, Cliff. Fuck me the way you fucked my father. I want to
see how he felt when you put your cock inside of him. I want you to take my
cherry the way you took Dirk's," whispered the boy.

	"Not here," I said softly. "I want to take you into my bed and
explore you. I want to go where I had thought I could never go again."

	"Yes!" he cried. "Tonight let's be lovers the way it used to be!"

	I reached for a towel and gently dried both of us off, exploring
his body with my tongue as I did. When we were both left with only a slight
dampness, I picked up the boy and carried him to my bed.

	We fell onto the bed and kissed passionately for what seemed hours,
and then I began to again explore his young body with my tongue. I
occasionally found myself remembering things I had done to this boy's
father to get him excited, and found the same things worked with him.

	I rolled Dirk over onto his stomach and spread the cheeks of his
ass, sliding my tongue into probe the pucker. I was surprised by the very
familiar taste that only made me want more.

	I heard him moaning, calling my name, just the way his father had
when I licked his asshole. I got the boy wetter and wetter with my tongue
in preparation for what I knew would be coming next. I didn't have to ask.

	"Cliff. Fuck me. I want you so much; I've waited so long for
this. I've dreamed about having you inside me. Please Cliff, fuck me," said
the boy.

	I rolled him over onto his back, lifted his legs and put the tip of
my cock to his puckering hole. As I slowly pushed forward, I watched his
face for signs of pain, but there were none. Just a gentle smile that never
went away as I slid inside him.

	Without taking a moment to get used to what I knew was his first
penetration, he began to buck beneath me, urging me to move my hips and
thrust forward.

	"Cliff. That feels so good. It feels like I've always had you
there," he said, smiling at me. "It feels like you've fucked me a hundred
times before."

	"Are you having any pain, because if you are we can rest for a
moment," I told my youthful lover.

	"No. No pain at all. Only pleasure. Lots and lots of
pleasure. Cliff, fuck me slowly. Fuck me deeply. Fuck me hard," begged
Dirk.

	And so we did. All night long I fucked. He fucked me. Sucked each
other and kept each other hard all night long. I hadn't had that kind of
stamina in years, but he kept coaxing me back time after time until we both
collapsed in the wee hours of the morning, covered in each others cum and
sweat, our tongues having practically tied into knots together as we kissed
deeply and passionately between orgasms. At times, I could almost imagine
that it was my Duke I was again with. The realization that I was fucking
his only son never entered my mind that whole night. We feel asleep
together, Dirk in my arms exactly the way his father had layed with me in
our youth.

	The next morning as the light crept into the windows of the loft, I
laid awake, running my fingers through young Dirk's hair as he softly
buzzed beside me. A twinge of guilt had swept across me as the reality of
what we had done settled over me. Had I seduced this innocent child, or had
he me? I was a willing partner, and so had he been, too.

	I felt Dirk begin to stir in my arms and his head rolled toward me
as his eyes sleepily opened, a slight smile across his lips.

	"Good morning, Cliff," he said sleepily.

	"Good morning, Dirk." Pausing, I added, "You know we have to talk."

	He lifted himself up on one elbow and looked into my face.

	"You can talk all you want, but I know what we did was right. Right
for me, and probably right for you, too. I've wanted to know how Dad felt
in the arms of someone who truly loved him and knew how to please him. All
night long, I knew you were making love to my father. I expected that. I
hoped for that. And you didn't disappoint me. Last night, I wanted to be
your lover, I wanted to be my father, and you made it possible," said Dirk.

	He bent over and kissed me. Softly. Gently. Lovingly. I kissed
back. Yes, I thought, I had been making love to his father. All the old
familiar feelings had come back as we released passions and lust, giving
him new feelings to experience as he made love with me for his first
time. And I found myself wishing, hoping, that it would not be the last
time, either.

	He pulled away from me and slid off of the bed, heading for the
bathroom. I heard him start the shower. I pulled myself from the bed, still
sticky but not terribly uncomfortable, and walked toward the bathroom to
relieve myself.

	Unsure of what to do next, I asked Dirk if he wanted something to
eat.

	"I'm starved," he yelled from under the warm spray.

	"Why don't we go out to eat this morning," I asked.

	"Sounds wonderful," he said as I watched him washing his beautiful
body.

	"I'm going to go start some coffee while you finish up. Want any?"
I asked.

	"Never had any, but I'd love to try some," he answered with a grin
on his face as he rinsed off his chest.

	I went to the kitchen island and turned on the coffeemaker when I
noticed a card on the countertop. I picked it up and almost dropped it when
I realized the handwriting on the card was the neat script of my boyhood
lover Dirk.

	"Thanks for one more time," the card said. No signature, but the
handwriting was unmistakable.

	As Dirk came into the room, a towel wrapped around his waist, I
motioned for him to come to me, and showed him the card.

	"Did you leave this here?" I asked, already knowing that he had not
been anywhere near the countertop since his arrival the night before.

	"What is it?" he asked, taking it from my hand. As he took it, I
realized there was a smudge on the corner I had released that I knew wasn't
there when I picked it up. The ink was still fresh.

	"That's Dad's handwriting, but I don't know where it came
from. I've never seen it before. Something you had?" he asked, handing it
back.

	Suddenly, I sensed a presence in the room I had felt during the
night but had attributed to old memories being replayed in my mind. I felt
something on my shoulder and a tiny puff blew into my ear. I got goose
bumps as I looked into the face of Dirk, standing there, still holding the
card, giving me a look that was so familiar from so long ago.

	I looked at him and said softly, "Something I'll always have,
Dirk."


EPILOG

	Dirk and I spent the weekend getting to know each other better,
talking about his problems and sharing my memories of his father. We made
love several times, but each time I acted more as a teacher, showing him
how to give and receive the pleasures of sex. Each time was good, but never
quite as good as that first time. But it didn't matter, because for Dirk it
was a coming of age.

	Over the next two years, he came to recognize his own sexual
desires. He found a steady partner of his own, a boy his age who attended a
private school not far from his school.

	I arranged my work schedule so that I could travel and visit Dirk
frequently. Each time, shared with me his feelings and together we worked
him through his growing pains. He also came to visit me three or four times
a year, a couple of times accompanied by his lover. I laid awake at night,
listening to their lovemaking and remembered my youth with his father as
the two boys played out their desires behind the privacy partition that
separated us. I never made an effort to participate in their lovemaking,
nor did they ever invite me to join them, although I would have in a
heartbeat.

	When Dirk graduated, he looked, sounded and acted exactly like his
father. As a graduation gift, I took him to the same hotel where I had made
love to his father for the final time, arranging to have the same suite,
which surprisingly enough had not changed at all. Although I never had the
feeling I was making love to his father again, we had a wonderful time
together that weekend, even taking the opportunity to play a little
tourist, and visit the college campus where my Dirk and I had spent so many
weekends together. Under the guise of being a father and son touring the
campus, I was even able to show him the dorm room where we made love
secretly.

	Dirk and his lover made plans to attend college in the city where I
lived. I told Richard Dirk was welcome to live with me and he readily
approved. By then, Richard was aware of Dirk's lifestyle decision but
wasn't really comfortable with it. He had been a good stepfather to the
boy, had supported his decision, but was glad have me accept the
responsibility of caring for him.

	We divided one end of the loft into three bedrooms so the two boys
could have privacy, but they both slept in the same room together for as
long as they stayed with me. I took the third room to insure their privacy.

	I also found a love of my own. A man slightly younger that me that
I met during my travels now became my companion. He had no problems living
with my youthful roommates and we often found ourselves urged on to the
sounds of their passion. They told us that they often lay in bed listening
to us as well.

	Dirk is now a successful young man, working his way up through a
small consulting business and will probably be a junior partner in a few
years. His lover is still with him, equally successful as a designer
working for an import company. They live in the loft below us.

	Every once in a while I get out Dirk's journals, but I never get
very far into them. I don't need to. Every time I see young Dirk, it all
comes back to me. And every once in a while, I get the most comforting
feeling that my Dirk is standing next to me, watching his son with great
pride.



AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a really strange story. It started with an
unfinished dream. When I sat down to write it out, I had no idea where the
story would go. It literally finished itself as I wrote it. I have no idea
who these characters are, but their names came to me as if I'd known them
all my life. I can't explain it, and I'm not sure I want to try.


Chipster071053@yahoo.com