Date: Sun, 16 Mar 2008 15:08:22 -0700 (PDT)
From: adm2780 <adm2780@yahoo.com>
Subject: Second Time Around  Chapter One

All rights reserved.  Other than downloading one copy for personal
enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted by any
means, except for reviews, without the written permission of the author.
As in real life, the sexual themes unfold gradually and are kept to a
realistic level.  If you are looking for sex on every page, then this is
not the story for you.  Comments on the story are appreciated and may be
addressed to the author, Dwight Wilson, at adm2780@yahoo.com

This story contains descriptions of consensual sexual contact between
males, adult and minor.  As such it is homoerotic, designed for the
entertainment of mature adults.  If you are not of legal age to read such
material, or if the subject matter would create irresolvable personal moral
dilemmas, please exit now.

NOTE: Special thanks to Matthew for his time and efforts proof reading and
editing the chapters.  Want to read a couple of good stories?  Try "Never
Take Love For Granted" or "One Gift To Give".  They are both excellent and
Matthew wrote them.


Chapter One: Second Time Around

I looked at the young man standing on the corner and couldn't help but
laugh at myself.  Compared to him, and a lot of others, I had to be the
most naive person around.  Day after day I watched him stand on that corner
flipping something from one hand to the next.  I had no idea what he was
doing until one of the younger guys in the office told me that flipping
coins from one hand to the other was the street sign for panhandling.

A young fella in Key West, America's piece of paradise.

 I couldn't help but wonder why panhandling, and what else was he doing,
and where's his family?  He looked young, but the massive tattoo running up
his left bicep and under the edge of the sleeveless shirt said he had to be
at least eighteen.  I knew that no responsible shop would give an under
aged boy a tattoo without parental consent.  When I looked at him close
though, his face barely showed signs of peach fuzz; this kid had probably
never touched a razor.  He was a walking contradiction.  Oh, another thing
he walked around with, a white rat that sat on the back of his collar.  And
those eyes . . .

This is the story of how a not quite middle-aged man who lived his life for
many years as was expected of him, decided to make a change and find the
life he wanted, needed.  This is the story of denial, awakening, discovery,
and support from the most surprising of places.  This is my story of how I
found a life.

                                       ****

One of the advantages of working for a large bank is the ability to choose
where you work.  That doesn't mean an employee can suddenly decide they are
tired of working wherever it is they are, such as upstate New York in
January, and move tomorrow to the Sunbelt.  It does mean there are more
opportunities available when the time does come.  It's usually just a
matter of being patient.  I had always thought of myself as a patient
person and I was definitely tired of shoveling snow.  There was something
else I was tired of, too; the same-o, same-o routine, day after day.

As a wealth management loan officer, I had what many considered a good life
style.  I belonged to and attended the right country club.  I played golf
and I swam.  There were parties to attend two or three times a month,
usually on weekends, and I had a nice expense account to entertain clients
in all the right places.  I wore the right clothes and I drove the right
cars.  The clothes came from Joseph Banks and the cars were a Cadillac and
a Lincoln.  Now, most people would say a Lexus or Mercedes was the right
car, but the Cadillac was really a spare.  It was a year old DTS model that
said the owner had arrived without being overly ostentatious, and the
bucket seats and console helped take it out of the old-fogey market.  The
right car for me was a 1957 Lincoln Mark II, my pride and joy.  The country
club even had a special parking spot for it, just to make sure it didn't
get scratched.  Everyone at the club knew the car, and knew who owned it.

There's one thing I didn't have – a life of my own.  I worked almost
everyday, including my days off.  Going to the country club on weekends is
not relaxing when you have to be dressed right, eat right, and see or be
seen with the right people.  After trudging through all the daily crap I
looked forward to going home and facing the challenges that could only be
presented by two teenage boys.  Thank God for a little sanity, or was it
the insanity, in my world.

Why do I rant like this and put most everything in the past tense?  Because
that's the way it was until the day came that this patient sole decided it
was time for a change.  I was tired of my ultra-boring 'right' life and
wanted, no needed, a change.  It was time for me to tell everybody, except
my sons, of course, to just plain fuck-off!  I needed to get a life before
I was too old to enjoy it!  Oh, one other thing I needed, I needed to
discover who and what I was!  I just had no idea how long it would take me
to get there.

My name is Richard Geoghagan; Rick to friends and family.  I'm a widower
and a father.  I married my college sweet-heart, Kathy, but lost her seven
years ago to breast cancer.  Kathy was a truly beautiful girl who always
had a smile and was the most supportive wife anyone could ask for.  She was
also the only girl that I ever had sex with, so I couldn't say she was or
was not better than average in bed.  I can say that it was okay.
Unfortunately, I also learned with her that it was possible to love
someone, to love them to the point of knowing you would never do anything
to hurt them, but not be 'in love' with them.

When Kathy died I didn't have time to feel devastated.  I had two sons,
ages twelve and thirteen at the time, to raise.  Frank, the twelve year
old, going on twenty-five, and Mikey, or Mike or Michael depending on his
mood, the thirteen year old going on six, were a handful.  They were also
great kids.  They were far from perfect, regardless of what most people and
their grandparents thought; I knew better; they were boys!  They could get
into a little mischief, but it was never anything harmful or destructive.
I used to tell them that if a kid didn't get into a little trouble once in
a while, that kid either had a very dull life or was a great liar.  Mine
got into trouble, and they got punished.  When they were little the
punishment was to hurt their feelings by warming their little backsides.
As they got older and were supposed to have the ability to reason, notice
that I said 'supposed to' because it was highly debatable sometimes, they
were grounded or lost privileges.  I didn't always let them know that I
knew they had been up to something they should think twice about.  If it
wasn't harmful, I felt a kid needed to be able to get away with a little
something once in a while.

One day, several months, actually a little over a year, after their mother
died, I came home and found the house quiet.  That was a definite worry.  I
looked around, knowing the boys should be there, but didn't find them.  I
walked down the hall and heard sounds coming from the bedroom they shared.
The door was almost closed, but not quite.  Being a normal parent I looked
through the crack.  I was surprised at first, and then had to bite my lip
to avoid laughing, when I saw my two boys, their mother's absolute perfect
angels, on their knees facing each other, stark naked, discovering and
enjoying the pleasures a lot of boys their age enjoy; they were
masturbating.

I watched as each boy worked himself into a frenzy, jacking away and
playing unabashedly with his brother's nipples.  The boys shot off all over
one another almost simultaneously.  Both boys nearly fell over from their
exertions.  Imagine my shock when I watched them use their fingers to
scrape the essence of their youth off their brother and then feed it to
him.  I debated over whether to talk with them and just what to say and
how.  After much debate, I decided they were just boys being boys exploring
the gifts nature gave them, and decided this was one of those incidents I'd
know about and be one of those things they got to get away with once in a
while.

That decision also helped me deal with the guilt I felt for standing there
in the first place, spying on them, not to mention the anxiety I felt at
trying to figure out how to talk to them without them thinking I was giving
them a free ticket to masturbate and shoot off all over each other and feed
one another their cum.  I reinforced the decision with the knowledge they
would do it anyway, with or without my free ticket.  I also knew, being
honest with myself, that I wished I could have been that comfortable at
their age and felt a slight pang of jealousy.  I decided that I needed a
beer and headed for the kitchen. After chugging the first bottle and half
the second, I called out to let them know I was home.  Soon, my angels
appeared, acting sweet and innocent.  Both of them should have received an
Oscar.

>From the time the boys were born, Kathy and I decided we wanted to be
liberal with them.  She and I both came from very conservative backgrounds
and felt as though we missed out on a lot because of a lack of self
confidence.  Both of her parents worked and dedicated themselves to their
family and their church.  As conservative Baptists, strict rules were
imposed on dress, dating, and partying.  She wasn't allowed to do many of
the things her classmates enjoyed.  My family, or at least the part that
was religious, was staunch, hard-core, fire and brimstone fundamentalists.

My grandmother drove by the school one day when I was playing baseball in a
pick-up game.  I didn't expect anyone to see me and, like most of the boys,
I was shirtless.  She stopped and I panicked when I saw her; it was too
late.  All the kids heard how I was going to burn in hell for all eternity
for indecent exposure.  My parents were upset and didn't approve of my
grandmother's actions, but my friends had witnessed my embarrassment and
the damage was done.  Only when going swimming or to the beach did I remove
my shirt after that incident.  At school, I found a private place to change
to gym clothes.  I rebelled later through my boys.

Our boys were allowed their freedom.  They were encouraged to be themselves
and not be embarrassed by what they did or how they looked.  The Puritans
believed a soul was condemned to hell from the time of birth.  Salvation
was to be had only by living a strict and sacrificial life.  We believed
our children were God's gift, and He would never give us anything that
wasn't pure; and that's what we taught our boys.  After their evening
baths, if they wanted to run free some, they did.  They were not allowed to
run free all the time, just part of the time.  As they got older, I
realized that their 'part of the time' became 'most of the time'; at least
when they were at home.  The idea was for them to be comfortable with
themselves, be comfortable around us, and not be afraid to ask questions or
talk to us.

They took advantage, once in a while, and we knew it.  When they'd grown
out of diapers and could communicate with us, we enrolled them in swimming
lessons; a pool followed, a heated pool.  A favorite pastime for the boys
was to skinny dip, and we let them.  The boys were not the least bit
inhibited about running free around their mother and we knew friends and
neighbors did the same with their children; so it wasn't unusual for me to
come home and find several young boys running free through the house and
around the pool.

I would come home occasionally and hear little sounds coming from their
room.  Sometimes I did stop in the hall and listen.  I knew what they were
up to and had to laugh to myself.  I remembered what it was like at their
age to be curious and to be horny, particularly horny.  There was something
else I knew, if that had been me at their age, odds were my dad would not
just laugh to himself and keep going.  I asked my dad a question the first
time the milky fluid escaped my body.  I was too embarrassed to tell him I
was in the tub letting the water run onto the area behind my sac and loving
every moment.  When the fluids came out I felt light headed, and scared.  I
thought I had done something bad to myself.  It took me three days to work
up the nerve to let him know I had to ask him something.

We went to the bedroom where I sat on the edge of the bed.  My knees were
too weak to support me.  I told him what happened and how I got scared.  He
laughed at me.  I'll never forget it; he laughed at me.  Worse, several
days later I went to work with him and he told some of the men what I did.
They all laughed at me.  It was the most embarrassing time of my life.  I
never asked him another personal question.  I never shared another secret
with him.  I never got over it.  When the boys came along I swore they
would never have to be afraid or embarrassed to ask me anything.  I kept
that promise.

As all children do, my boys became curious about their bodies and started
asking questions.  Kathy and I agreed that when that time came we would
answer the boys honestly and there would be no talk about the cabbage patch
and such other things adults sometimes use to confuse their children.  The
time came and the boys were given the opportunity to ask their questions.
I don't know, at the time, who was more nervous, me or them, but now, I'm
sure it was me because I didn't have a good experience with my father to
relate to.  They asked and we discussed the proper names and the slang
names for parts of their bodies.  They asked why their 'thingy', which I
then insisted they call by its proper name or a street name, not a baby's
name, got hard.  The answer was simple and honest.  Each question was
answered the same.  If their expressions said they needed more explanation,
they got it.  If they asked for more information, they got it.  My boys
were not going to grow up as ignorant and naïve as I did.  The talk only
lasted a few minutes and they left smiling and laughing.  I got a beer,
then another.

As time went by, the boys seemed to adjust fairly well to their mother
being gone.  I knew that they missed her and sometimes would sit around
thinking about her, and, sometimes, shed a few extra tears.  I remembered
people telling me how resilient kids were and the boys proved it.  They did
better than me.  They spent their time being kids and enjoying themselves.
I spent my time working and worrying if I was doing what I needed to do for
my boys.

A few months after the mutual masturbation and feeding incident I arrived
home and followed my usual routine of heading straight for my bedroom to
change into what I termed my lounging scruffies.  They were old clothes
that Kathy always got upset over me wearing out anywhere, but they were
comfortable.  Passing the boys' room, I heard some familiar sounds that
gave me cause to stop for a moment.  I wasn't completely sure, but I could
guess from the sound of sharp breaths and muffled moans what was going on
behind the closed door.  Reminding myself of an earlier promise, I gave the
boys their privacy and space.  After taking a deep breath, I headed to the
family room to find my paper.

The door to the boys' room opened and I could hear them laughing and acting
silly as teenage boys sometimes do.  Frank came bouncing out and I had to
look as he yelled out a greeting.  I don't know why, but I took the time to
look at my boys.  I don't mean glance at them, but really look at them.  I
was accustomed to seeing them run around the house au natural and usually
ignored them; not this time.  Frank had grown.  He had curly, dirty,
strawberry blond hair that came from his mother's side of the family.  His
eyes were a deep blue and seemed to smile just about all the time.
Straight white teeth with a big smile framed by dimples, he was the essence
of what most teen girl's fathers didn't want to see around their house.
Frank was athletic and had the build to prove it, with solid muscles, slim
waist, and minimal fat.  He was also gifted in the brains department; an
asset I will take partial credit for.  In addition to brains, he could
apply some good old-fashioned common sense.  Sometimes I would sit around
and listen to the boys and how Frank was able to lead Mike around without
Mike even knowing it was happening.  Barring any absolutely stupid moves on
his part, Frank would do well.

Following Frank on this little escapade was Michael, a year older than
Frank in some ways, and far behind in others.  Mike was a natural blond
with deep blue eyes like his brother's, and a smile to melt your
heart. Both boys knew how to use their boyish charms on family, teachers
and friends.  Mike wasn't athletic, but he was really into weight- lifting.
He had a build like a junior Mr. Universe and I had pictures of him posing
in front of a mirror admiring himself.  If he knew where I had them hidden,
he would destroy them.  My plan was to have them blown up poster size for
the bachelor party he would have one day.  Mike was also gifted
intellectually and thought anything below an 'A' was failing.  He had
absolutely no common sense and was known to lose his shoes in the house.
It had to be difficult, but he was the one that could pull it off.

Besides their good looks, brains and personalities, the boys had one other
thing in common; they were what one would term 'well endowed'.  Like most
boys going through school, I worried in junior high and high school if I
could measure up to my peers.  Yes, I looked, and yes, I discovered that I
was larger than most and smaller than some.  At their ages, my boys had me
beat by a long shot.  Neither boy was circumcised, but just hanging
natural, Frank had to be a good five inches and had respectable width.
Mike had to be between five and a half and six inches and was twice the
width of Franks'; Mike just flat had a log bouncing around.  Sometimes I
teased Mike about exercising one particular muscle more than the others.
Anyone seeing them naked would think they were sex gods.  When I looked at
them all I could think was 'Michelangelo, eat your heart out'.  If these
boys had been around then, there would never have been a David.

Behind my two boys came Sean, their best friend.  I didn't even realize he
was there until I heard, "What's up, Mr. G?"  Fatherless and with a mother
who spent more time on the social ladder than home caring for her son, Sean
was like an adopted member of the family.  Sean was a tracker. I think he
did sprints and short distance stuff.  Not being into track, I really
didn't understand except that he liked it.  Not surprisingly, he was as
naked as my boys.  With shoulder length black hair, minimal muscle
definition, and hardly any tan, Sean didn't compare to my two.  The boys
had given him the nickname of "stump dick", something I wasn't supposed to
let on to Sean that I knew.  I looked and didn't think he was that small.
He wasn't as big as my boys, but he didn't need to be ashamed either.  The
three boys passed on through, laughing and playing grab-ass until I heard
the familiar splashing sounds.

Suddenly it struck me, what I had just done.  I had admired my sons, their
bodies, assessed their attributes and classified them sex gods; I perved
their best friend.  So what?  They were good looking boys and I had the
right to feel a father's pride.  Then I remembered the sounds I heard
coming from their room earlier.  Sean was in there.  Did I hear two voices
or three?  Were they fooling round like I thought they might have been, or
was my imagination out of control?  No, I know I heard the familiar, but
special, sounds of a boy reaching a peak; but there were three of them.  I
looked outside to see three happy go lucky boys having fun.  What were they
doing earlier?  I thought about it a few more minutes and felt my heart
begin to pound.  Were my boys having boy-boy sex with other boys?  I
decided they probably were experimenting a little.  I headed to the kitchen
to begin dinner for four; but first, I needed a beer.  Boys could
definitely be a challenge.

End Ch One

To Be Continued
Comments Welcome: contact Dwight Wilson at adm2780@yahoo.com