Date: Sun, 10 Aug 2008 11:25:14 -0700 (PDT)
From: adm2780 <adm2780@yahoo.com>
Subject: Second Time Around Chapter Nineteen

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.


Chapter Nineteen:  Second Time Around


One of my habits over the years was to allow thoughts to wander through my
mind, trying to decipher a logical answer to an innocuous issue or problem
most people probably never thought about, much less gave a second thought
to.  A recurring issue to me, particularly when I looked at my sons
sleeping, was to ask when, during the course of growing up and becoming a
responsible adult, do we lose the ability to sleep soundly as only a child
can sleep.  When they were small, which I considered to be pre- adolescent,
they would fall asleep on the floor or in a chair, sometimes even in my
lap.  Picking them up and carrying them to their bedroom, I would remove
their clothes, shift them under the covers, and leave without them even
stirring.  We could watch a television show with one of them in my arms,
sleeping and totally oblivious to the sounds around them.  When do we lose
the ability to sleep that soundly?

Monday night, I placed a training plug in Michael's butt.  He whimpered a
little, squirmed a little, and smiled.  The plug was interpreted as a
signal that I would fulfill my promise to teach him how to have proper sex
with another male.  Curling up, laying on his side, he used my arm for a
pillow while I pulled him into a spooning position.  Not wanting to make
him sore or irritated, I left the plug in for only two hours.  Rolling him
onto his stomach, I reached down and gently removed the plug.  He whimpered
lightly, squirmed a little and turned back on his side, moving back until
he felt the warmth of my body.  The brat didn't even realize that I had
just pulled a butt plug, his favorite new toy, out of him.

When I woke the next morning, he was in the same position as when I removed
the plug.  His head weighted my arm down, and interfered with the
circulation, judging from the tingling feelings in my fingers. Lifting his
head, I pulled my arm free.  Placing a pillow against his back, I shifted
so I could get out of the bed.  He didn't even bother to whimper or squirm.
He didn't miss one 'z'.  Kids.

After brushing my teeth and shaving, my traditional morning routine, I was
enjoying a warm shower when I noticed a shadow pass by the door.  The sound
of water on water left little doubt as to what was happening and most
likely by whom.  Ignoring the interruption, I continued to enjoy my shower,
laughing to myself as I thought about Michael with a plug up his back side,
when the shower door opened and I had an uninvited guest; Michael.  The
look he had said he was at least half asleep and I wasn't completely sure
if he realized that he was in the shower.

"Good morning, sleepy-head."

"Heeeey," he answered while leaning into me and wrapping his arms around
me.  I took him in my arms and rubbed his back.

"When did he get this big?" I asked myself.  Rubbing my hand up and down
his back I felt the strong, hard muscles of youth covered by velvet skin.

"You took it out.  Does that mean you changed your mind?"  I immediately
knew his problem.

"I took it out because I didn't want you to get irritated or sore.  You may
read in stories where guys leave those things in all day and run around
like it's not there, but I wouldn't recommend it.  Change my mind about
what?"

"I thought when you stuck it in me it was ta get me stretched so we could
. . . .you know .  . .so you could take my cherry.  If it's not there, how
am I s'posed ta get ready?  We don't have much longer, ya know."

"I didn't realize we were on any kind of schedule, son.  Would you care to
enlighten me as to what you're talking about?"

"Dad." I could hear the frustration in his voice.  "Don't do that to me.
You know what I'm talkin' about.  You don't understand.  Maybe it's been
too long since you were my age.  I gotta itch; it's more than just an itch.
My butt itches so bad that it almost stings.  I been good, just like you
wanted us ta promise.  I just want ya ta do what you said you'd do.  We've
been real good.  You got any idea how many times I get hit on by girls and
guys wantin' me ta strip so they can admire my body?  They wanna do more
than just look too.  But you wanted us ta promise that we wouldn't, and we
had'n.  But, Dad, I need it . . .bad."

I stood in the shower holding my oldest boy.  It was a toss up which of us
was trembling more; I was.  He was nervous saying these things to me.  I
was nervous just thinking about what he wanted.  I knew that I had
procrastinated enough.  If I didn't do it, he was going to find someone
that would.

"You're not mad at me are ya?"

"No, Michael, I'm not mad at you."  I paused and ran my hand over his back.
When did my little boy, the little guy that I bathed and dressed and
carried around on my shoulder, sleeping, grow so big?  "Do you know what's
the hardest, but the proudest, thing in a parent's life?"  He shook his
head.

"It's watching his baby boy grow up and then, the day comes you have to
acknowledge he's not a little boy any more.  Letting go and watching him
grow some more.  That is when a parent is proudest, but saddest."

"You don't have ta show me, Dad," he said, sounding like he wanted to
console me.  His tone was solid, but somber.  "We can figure it out and you
won't have ta know when.  We'll be okay; we can do it."  Spoken with the
innocence and naiveté of a child.  "It's just that . . .well, I didn't want
ta still be a virgin when the new year starts, that's all.  I thought maybe
you were gonna do it last night, but you stuck that plug in me.  Then, I
thought you were tryin' ta stretch me and get me ready to take me today;
but I woke up and it was gone."  The look on his face had me trapped
between feeling like an absolute jerk and wanting to laugh.  He was dead
serious and I could tell this meant a great deal to him.

"I said I would teach you and I will, promise.  It will be one of the
proudest and most loving moments for me, being your father."  He pulled me
into him and held me in almost a death grip.  I could feel him still
trembling.  In my mind I was both excited and heart-broken.  I wondered
what he would think if he knew how recently I had my first anal experience.
My boy was growing up.  He had asked, almost begged me, to take him over
that threshold.

                                           * * * *

I picked Mother and Bonnie up at nine, as agreed.  We had a 9:30
appointment with an attorney.  Mother had decided to do some estate
planning.  I didn't ask what she had planned, if she wanted me to know
before we saw the attorney, she would tell me.  As I parked the car and we
walked towards the offices, Mother did place a hand on my arm as a signal
to slow down.  We waited until Bonnie was a few steps ahead of us.

"Richard," Mother spoke very softly, "there's one thing I want to ask of
you.  I don't think Bonnie will ever be in a position to afford some of the
things that you have acquired and like some of the items in the house.
Would you mind if she received most of the household furnishings?"

"Mother, if it makes you happy, then she can have them all.  I would only
like a few pictures.  But, why are we doing this now?  Is there something
you aren't telling us?"  Mother turned and we walked inside.  She always
did things in her own time.

We were sitting in the waiting room saying nothing to one another.  I sat
there, thinking about Michael and the other boys.  I was running scenario
after scenario through my mind of how I was going to tease him to get him
all hot to the point of begging for it.  Before leaving, I gave Michael the
next sized training plug and told him what he needed to do before inserting
it.  The decision to use the plug would be his and his alone.  I didn't
even consider thinking he might not insert the plug, but grinned thinking
what he might put himself through trying to accomplish his goal.  The other
humorous part was thinking what he was going to tell the boys.

After the attorney explained Mother's estate plan I took the chance of
putting her on the spot.  She had not answered my question in the parking
lot.  Why now?  What was happening, if anything?  Mother told us that we
should always plan ahead because none of us really knew what might come
next.  I knew better than to ask again.

The boys knew that Mother and Bonnie would be over after our appointment.
The plan was to spend the afternoon in St. Augustine, have dinner, and a
carriage ride.  Each year the city celebrates what it calls the Nights of
Lights.  All buildings, trees, and parks in the historical district are lit
by hundreds of thousands of lights.  The celebration runs from Thanksgiving
through the first week after New Year's.  The best way to enjoy the sights
is with an old fashioned horse-drawn carriage ride.

I called the boys to let them know we were on the way home and, after
lunch, would be headed to St. Augustine.  Fortunately, someone had the
foresight to take the cell phone with them while they were out skimming the
waves, or whatever it was called.  The boys wanted to wait and let Mother
and Bonnie see them using the boards before they dressed; a suggestion
Mother readily agreed with.

Some kids are born athletes while some kids need to work a little harder.
Then, there are those that, no matter how hard they tried, it just wasn't
meant to be.  Frank was a natural athlete.  Sean and Eric put forth a
little more effort and did well.  Michael, well, he did have a very high IQ
and he did keep trying.  We could only hope that his body could continue to
take the abuse.

We spent a few minutes watching the boys ride the skim boards.  Michael
even managed to get a couple of good rides and was very happy with himself.
I did notice that when he took one of his falls, he showed a pretty strong
grimace.  As the boys came in and I headed them off to shower and dress,
giving them a thirty minute time frame under threat of their Grandmother
coming in to help, Michael motioned for me to follow him into my bedroom.

"What's up, kiddo?"

"When I fell on my butt, it hurt . . .I mean it HURT!."  He gave me a look
as though he was waiting for me to respond and I wasn't sure what he
expected from me.  Usually, when someone falls onto the hard sand, on their
butt, it could hurt.

"Are you saying it hurt more than normal?"

"Well, yeah!  Usually, it's not so bad, but when you're moving around with
a plug up your butt, it hurts."  I had to take a deep breath and let it out
slowly.

"Mike, you're telling me that you have a plug in you and, knowing that, you
went out there and rode your board?  Son, doesn't that seem just a little
unreasonable to you?"

"Why?  You gave me the plug and said I had to wear it to stretch out before
you'd pop my cherry.  In fact, ta hurry things along I didn't use the one
you gave me.  I have the next size up in me.  It hurt like all get out
puttin' it in, too."  Mike now changed to his silly kid tone to make light
of what he did.  "Frank and Sean and Eric thought it was funny when I
hollered some puttin' it in; they're sadists."

While he talked, Michael took off his shorts and was prancing around my
room naked.  He found a full length mirror on the inside of the closet door
and, while he accused the other boys of being sadists, he was pulling his
cheeks apart, trying to see what the plug had done to him.  All I could
think of was that, about a year earlier, a friend at the bank had advised
the boys were at the right age to trade in on new ones before they could
give me too much gray hair.  I should have listened.

"Mike, stand still."  I knelt behind him to remove the plug and see if he
had done any damage.  The plug did stretch him; in fact, I was surprised
that he wasn't complaining about the discomfort he had to be feeling.
Fortunately, there didn't appear to be any damage.

"Son, do you have any idea what could have happened if this plug had been
pushed all the way inside you?  I would have to take you to the hospital
where the doctor would have probably cut you open from your balls all the
way up to the top of your ass crack.  After that, he would have had to sew
you up solid.  What do you think of that?"  I wanted to scare a little
sense into him since talking didn't seem to work.

"Ooooooooo," there was that silly little boy tone and snicker again, "I'd a
been one tight little piece of ass then.  Huh?"  I just glared at him.
"Ooops.  I need ta get a shower real quick before Grandma comes in.  Huh?"
He ran for the bathroom before I could grab him.

I wondered if I could still place an ad in the paper.  Free idiot to
unfortunate individual.

                                           * * * *

The boys seemed to have a real good time in Ripley's Believe It Or Not
Museum.  A lot of the things they saw, they thought were fake, others more
than just a little weird.  Mother, Bonnie and I stayed together and let the
boys run off.  We could hear them saying something so only they could
understand and then giggling.  Mother thought they sounded like a bunch of
silly kids just having a good time.  I didn't want to know what they were
saying.

The museum consisted of four floors.  Each floor had multiple displays
arranged by subject matter.  When we got to the area showing torture
devices, I could hear some of the things the boys said to one another.  The
iron maiden was not one of their favorites.  All the boys thought it could
do some severe damage to important boy parts.  As they progressed through,
looking at the stocks and whips, I had to laugh at some of their antics.
When they reached one particular display, I heard some gasps and saw them
step backwards.  Curiosity got the best of me.

The boys were standing in front of a chair.  I heard a comment about a
rough way to lose your cherry.  When I looked over Eric's shoulder I saw a
very sturdy wooden chair with leather straps fastened to the arms and legs.
That wasn't the bad part.  Just a little behind center of the seat was a
wooden spike, a big wooden spike, that could only go one place.  After the
boys recovered from their initial shock, which took something around less
than a minute, they started making jokes about getting splinters caught
inside the body cavity.  I patted one of them on the shoulder, I don't even
know which one, and walked off.  When Bonnie looked at me as though she was
expecting an explanation, I suggested she go see for herself.  She didn't.

Ripley's museum did have some very strange exhibits.  Apart from the spiked
chair, there were two more the boys thought were very intriguing.  One was
a display about the Siamese Twins, Eng and Chang.  The boys thought it was
"cool" that both twins married and fathered twenty-two children between
them.  After hearing a couple of comments about a cluster-fuck or an orgy,
I walked away from that one.  The other "hot" display was a circus act -
the sword swallower.  After Michael observed the guy was swallowing a flat
piece of metal and the sword wasn't as big as Little Mikey, I again walked
off; choosing not to hear any more.

We toured one of the colonial interactive life-style exhibits.  While
watching a couple of the boys work a bellows for the blacksmith, while the
other two carried firewood, my cell phone rang.  I stepped away from the
scene involving the four boys doing manual labor.  When I rejoined the
group, mother asked me if that was the call I had been expecting.

"Mother, how did you know I was expecting a call?"

"Richard, don't you remember me telling you that if you wanted to know what
was happening to ask the children.  Children talk to one another, not to
adults.  I know that you interviewed in St. Petersburg and you also had a
talk with Frank and Michael about moving back to Florida.  You talked to
Frank and Mike.  Frank and Mike talked to Eric.  Eric talked to Bonnie and
Bonnie talked to me.  Did you know that there is a pool going as to when
you will make the move?"

"Do you want to tell me the dates that are in the pool?"

"No, that wouldn't be fair.  After all, I put my ten dollars in the pool
and I don't want to influence your decision.  I will tell you that Frank
has already lost.  He thought you might be back before Christmas.  We
haven't reached the date I picked yet."  Mother looked at me and then
turned away with a very satisfied grin.

After we left the colonial life exhibit, we were walking down Georges
Street when Michael came running back to me.

"Dad, look!"  He was excited about something and I looked in the direction
he pointed.  He had to explain what I was supposed to be viewing.  "See
that guy in the black shirt with the long hair?  That's what I want to do
with mine."  I looked at him like he had to be crazy.  That guy's hair was
half way down his back.

"Why on earth would you do that?"

"It's cool, Dad.  It's what they call the Fabio look.  You know, the guy in
the commercials that says 'I can't believe it's not butter.'  He just says
it with such a strong accent that you have a hard time understanding, but
he has really cool hair.  Can I let mine grow like that?"

"Let me think about it."  My typical answer when I hoped he would forget
about the idea.  Mother laughed.

Touring the historical district all afternoon, the boys had managed to
expend a good bit of energy while enjoying themselves.  I was most
entertained by watching Mother being entertained by the boys.  I knew that
she heard their comments on more than one occasion and I was ready to get
onto the boys.  She stopped me and said to let the boys be boys.
Fortunately, I didn't hear any more about Fabio's hair.

You can't tour a historical tourist area without picking up a couple of
souvenirs.  The boys went in and out of several shops, most of them
carrying the typical cheap t-shirts.  When I thought they wouldn't get
anything, they walked out of the shell shop, each wearing a necklace made
of some kind of shell.  The necklaces looked like the type I'd seen
pictures of surfers wearing and I thought were just popular with boys their
age.  It was interesting that Frank and Eric wore identical necklaces, and
Sean and Michael wore identical necklaces.

Dinner was at the Santa Maria on the docks where the boys again
entertaining themselves by tossing uneaten pieces of shrimp and hushpuppies
in the water or up in the air and watching the sea gulls dive for the
treat.

By the time our little excursion ended and we dropped Mother and Bonnie
back at Mother's, it was a little after nine when we got home.  Personally,
I was a little tired and ready to settle down.  It had to be a generational
thing, because four boys had somehow managed to get recharged during the
ride home.  When we arrived home and settled down some, what I noticed the
most was the look Michael kept giving me.  He didn't want to say anything
in front of the other boys and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure
out what he had on his mind.  I helped myself to a beer and thought for a
few minutes, trying to push old feelings out of the way.  Finally, I looked
at Michael, and with a simple nod and tilt of my head he got his answer.
Without saying anything, he headed to my bedroom.  I told the other boys
not to stay up too late, and followed.

When I entered the room Michael was just standing there, waiting and
looking like a little lost puppy.  Walking up to him, I cupped his face in
the palms of my hands.  Looking into his teared-up eyes through my own
watering eyes, I asked him again,

"Michael, are you sure?"

"Yes, sir," he replied, without hesitation, in a low voice.  "Dad?  I'm
shakin' all inside and I don't know if it's 'cause I'm scared or excited,
but I'm ready.  I'm just waitin' for you ta tell me what ta do."

As we spoke, I could hear the other boys in the living room. They were
making snide remarks and joking about what they knew Michael wanted.  I
kissed Michael on the cheek and told him to get undressed while I saw to
the other boys.  When I approached them, they knew that I wasn't a happy
person.

"Boys."  I placed my arms on the bar and leaned forward.  "I've made a big
mistake.  I thought all of you had reached a stage of maturity where you
could appreciate what you know is about to happen.  Your crude jokes, snide
remarks, and snickering, show disrespect for both me and Michael.  If it
was you in there with me, and all of you have already asked to be there,
how do you think you would feel listening to what you guys are saying and
how you're acting?"

All three boys became very solemn and looked at the floor, too ashamed to
look me in the face.  When I stopped and didn't say anything for a moment,
they wanted to apologize.  I told them I wasn't the one they should be
apologizing to.  All three quietly retired to their bedroom.  I returned to
take care of my first born.

When I entered the room for the second time, Michael was still standing in
the same spot, still looking like a little lost puppy, only, this time, he
was naked and shifting his weight from one foot to the other.  I approached
him slowly and wrapped my arms around him in a loving embrace.  He needed
to know that he was loved and could feel safe.  Then, I led him into the
shower where we talked as I bathed him.

"Michael."  I paused while I waited for him to look me in the eyes.  "I
need for you to promise me something; okay?  If at any time you change your
mind, you let me know and we stop.  Don't feel that you have to keep going
because you're worried what I might think or the other boys might say; they
won't say anything."  His head nodded a little and I could see both the
excitement and anxiety in his eyes.  "When I begin the penetration, if it's
too uncomfortable, you say stop and we stop."

"Yes, sir."  He paused a moment and then asked, "Dad, is it gonna hurt
much?"

"Not if I can help it, son.  I'm not going to lie to you; in the beginning
it will hurt.  However, if you relax and we take our time, the pain should
give way to a feeling of pleasure greater than anything you've ever
imagined.  The second time someone penetrates you, you may still feel some
discomfort.  Remember, the sphincter is a muscle; it has to be stretched
and trained.  So far, you've done well training other muscles.  Think you
can train this one?"

He smiled. "Yes, sir.  I'm ready; what do I do?"

While we talked, I bathed him.  While I bathed him, I took particular care
to play with his ears, tease his nipples, and even slipped a finger down
his crack.  The goose bumps forming on his body told me the teasing was
having the desired effect.  When we had both showered, that was when I let
him know there was one more step to be taken and it was done to show
consideration to his partner.  Michael received a thorough, but not
particularly appreciated, flushing.  When we finished, I enjoyed wrapping a
towel around him and rubbing him dry before I led him to the bed.  I saw
him look at the K-Y sitting on the nightstand.

He lay on his back.  I was on his right side, propped up on my elbow.  We
talked about a lot of things.  Why he wanted this.  What made him think he
was gay.  What did he want to do when he finished college.  While we
talked, I ran my hand up and down his tight, satiny body.  Teasing Little
Mikey and making it jump around, he giggled.  I loved the sound of his
'that's nice' giggle.  He was in the middle of telling me something, I
wasn't really listening, when I lightly touched the tip of my forefinger to
his lips.  My finger traced the outline of his pouty lips as I moved in and
kissed him.  At first, he closed his lips and I felt his body tense.  I ran
the tip of my tongue over his lips and heard him whimper like a puppy as
his lips parted and my tongue entered.  He whined and wrapped his arms
around me, pulling me into him as he tried to push his tongue into my
mouth.  I gave way and let him explore.  His whines became stronger, more
like pleas for attention, as I pinched and twisted his nipples.  His hips
began to move as he tried to rub his throbbing boyhood against my abdomen.
The bad case of anxiety seemed to be waning.

Michael was no longer the little boy that I used to pick up and toss
around.  When he was born, he was premature.  He was so small that his
little butt would fit in the palm of my hand.  Now, as I massaged and
squeezed a handful of one cheek, he was still my boy, but he was no longer
little.  He was a maturing adolescent with physical and emotional needs.
He yearned to know the pleasures his body could naturally give to him.  He
hungered for the touch and feel of another warm, throbbing body.  The goal
now, his goal, was for every nerve in his youthful frame to feel everything
it possibly could and explode in feelings of bliss no person could imagine.

Rolling back onto the bed, I hovered over him as I broke the kiss.
Smiling, I leaned down and nibbled his ear before sticking my tongue in as
far as it would go.  He whimpered and whined as his body twisted and turned
under me.  He pushed like he wanted to get away, but, first, had to feel it
just one more time.  Moving down his neck, I licked and sucked, knowing he
might have a mark in the morning.  He tilted his head to give me better
access as I felt him trying to hump his pelvis into any part of me he
could.

"Dad," he whined, "I gotta blow.  Ohh Gaaahd, my dick's gonna bust
open. . . .  mmmmpppphhh. . . .uunnnggghh. . .uuuunnngghh. . .ohhhhhh
. . ..aaaahhhhh!!"

He cried out, not caring who heard his need.

"That's okay, son, let it go.  Shoot your load.  I plan on letting you
enjoy several this night."

And he did.  He humped, whined and whimpered.  I never ceased teasing his
neck, moving from one side to the other.  My hands held his arms down while
my body, slick now with our sweat, slithered over him.  I felt his eruption
as it shot over us and then onto us.  When he finished shooting, I slowed
down to let him enjoy his orgasmic high and catch his breath.  I didn't
stop completely as I rubbed the palm of my hand over first, one nipple and
then the other.

As his breathing evened, I rolled to my side, pulling him to face me.  He
opened his eyes and I saw the smile.  We kissed.  This time it was more
passionate, with him taking the lead.  He broke the kiss and began teasing
me just as I had teased him.  He was learning.

Mike surprised me.  I thought he would mimic what I had done to him.  He
tongued my ear, leaving his tongue inside and rolling it around.  I began
to whimper as he moved down my neck.  He didn't pause, but kept moving down
until it felt like my nipple was being sucked by a vacuum, a vacuum strong
enough to tear the nipple from my body.  When I looked, I saw that Mike had
his lips over his teeth and was biting down on my nipple and was pulling
it, hard.  While he tortured my nipples, his hips moved in a cadence, in a
circular motion.  He looked up at me and I could see the twinkle in his
eyes; he never stopped thrusting his hips into my groin.

He let go and quickly attacked my other nipple.  This time he formed a seal
around the edge and sucked it into his mouth.  I moaned as his tongued
flicked and danced over the sensitive tip; my hips began to move up and
down, matching his rhythm and pushing into him.  Something warm wrapped
around my shaft and squeezed, then released; squeezed, then released.

Michael sat up, straddling my hips.  He grinned like a kid with a new toy
or one who had just discovered a new, fun game.  He looked down at me as he
slowly leaned down and nibbled my bottom lip.  Where had this kid learned
all this?  He claimed to be a virgin!  As he nibbled my lip, I wrapped my
arms around his shoulders and pulled him down, holding him tightly against
me.  My middle finger slid down his crack.  He spread his legs and I used
my finger to begin a rhythmic thumping of his anus; he whimpered and lay
his head on my shoulder.

Gently, I massaged the sensitive opening, urging the muscle to relax and
grant me entry.  Michael forgot about trying to tease me and became totally
engrossed in the feelings emanating from his bottom.  Slipping out from
under him, I concentrated on what he needed to achieve his ultimate goal.
Every few minutes I let my finger slip down and massage the perineum.  I
had to smile as he squirmed, clenching the sheets, his legs shifting as he
rolled his body from side to side; he was beautiful.  Substituting my thumb
for my finger, I pressed gently against his anus to test the resistance; he
began to relax.

Applying K-Y to my fingers, I let my fingers dance down the inside of his
crack.  His whimpers were becoming more high pitched as he sank deeper and
deeper into pure lust and need.  When I felt the time was right, I applied
pressure and my finger slipped inside.  His head came up and I heard the
hissing of breath drawn through clenched teeth; the hissing gave way to the
sound of mewing like a little puppy being pampered.  Light on a thin sheen
of sweat, accentuated the rippling muscles in his back.  I felt his anus
clenching and releasing my finger.  The prostate massage continued.

"OOOHHHHH! . . .gaaaahhhhhhdddd," he at first almost screamed, and then
barely squeaked out his exclamations.  "AAAAAAHHHHH
. . .AAAAAAHHHHHH. . . .I gotta! . . .Oh FUCK!! . . .. uuunnngghghh
. . .uuuunnnggghhh . . .yyeeeaahhhhh. .  .uuunngghh."

He was trying to push his butt back into my hand as he began a rocking
motion.  Pushing his right leg up almost ninety degrees to his body, I
rolled to my left side, pulling him with me.  He reached for my free arm
and held tightly as I felt him begin the first spasms of his orgasm.  He
continued to whimper and cry out as I massaged that magic little spot that
brings joy to every male.  Finally, his body jerked and he cried out again
as his strong body expelled another large load of his juices.  This time, I
didn't slow down but massaged even harder and faster as his body erupted.
He was coated in sweat and begging for more when I finally stopped to let
his breathing settle down.  I held him, spooned into me, as I removed my
finger.

When his breathing slowed, I reached for more K-Y and coated two fingers.
Slipping my index finger into him, I rolled it in circles and then moved it
from side to side.  My middle finger joined the first and I flexed them in
a scissors motion.  Michael responded again, pushing his butt back into me
and whimpering.  I felt his anus clenching, almost trying to pull all of my
fingers and my hand inside.  Rolling him over some, I placed him about
three-quarters on his stomach with his right leg pulled up.

"Now," he whined, "now . . .let me feel you in me . . .please?"  His voice
had changed.  There was the sound of the boy in need, the sounds of lust,
of wanting . . . of needing.

"Michael, are you sure?"  His head nodded vigorously and I heard a grunt of
disgust.  He didn't think I should ask; just do it.  "If it hurts, you say
so and I stop, . . .okay?"  Again, his head nodded.

Placing the tube of K-Y at the opening, I squeezed more lube into him and
spread it around with my fingers.  As he again began to whimper and plead,
I greased my own manhood and positioned myself behind him.  Leaning over
him, I supported my weight, but restricted his movement.  My greatest fear
was hurting him and him reacting by jerking away and hurting himself.
Pressing forward, his body refused to let me enter.  He whined.

"Michael, push out, push like you're trying to go to the bathroom.  It'll
help open you."

I could feel when he pushed and the pressure eased up.  I pushed as he
pushed and the head popped in.  He yelped and his head flew up. He grabbed
the pillow with both hands and pulled it to him, burying his face.  I
remained still, more frightened than he was and hurting in my own way.
Soon, he began to move his butt around.  I thought he was trying to get
accustomed to the feel; then he pushed again from inside.  Pressing
forward, I could feel the inner ring.

"Michael, this may hurt a little.  Say stop if it gets too bad."

Rubbing his back with my left hand, he held my right arm and pulled me to
him.  My hips pressed forward slightly, then back and forward again.  I
could feel myself moving into him.  His face remained buried in the pillow.
I could hear him crying.

"That's enough, Mike.  You're not ready for this."

"No!  It hurts.  You warned me."  He paused to catch his breath.  "It's
gonna hurt no matter when and I want it now.  I need for you to do this
. . .please?"

Without answering him, I leaned down and brushed the sweat soaked hair from
his face and kissed him on the cheek.  Time meant nothing.  If it took all
night, I would help him, if that's what he wanted.  Gently, I pushed into
him and backed up, pausing to let him get accustomed to the pain and
pressure.  My hands never stopped rubbing or caressing his body.  All the
while I whispered in his ear and let him know how beautiful he was and how
much I loved him.  Finally, with both of us soaked in sweat, I was about
three- quarters into him; that was enough.  Remaining still, I waited for
him to signal he was ready.

Wiggling his butt, he looked over his shoulder and whispered in a demanding
tone, "Make me beg for it."

I smiled and began short, slow strokes while he adjusted to the feelings
inside his body.  He was nothing short of beautiful.  There was a special
glow about him that you could both see and feel.  It hurt him as I moved in
and out in those short strokes.  His muscles kept contracting and relaxing
as he learned to control them.  He played with his muscles, experimenting,
learning what felt good and what he enjoyed.

"Longer strokes . . . .and faster." He demanded.  "Make me know you're
there.  It don't hurt so much any-more.  I don't know why, but it hurts and
still, it feels awesome.  I wanna feel my body bounce every time you push
into me."

Listening to him, I did what he wanted.  This was his time; he should be
able to direct how he wanted to lose his virginity.  Rolling to my side, I
took him with me.  Reaching down, I draped his right leg back and over my
legs.  It changed position enough that, with each stroke, I massaged his
prostate.  He cried out with each thrust; he grunted each time I pushed
forward and he tried to push himself back into me.  Michael was definitely
not a quiet sex partner.  I laughed to myself when I realized the other
boys were probably laughing and having games of their own as they listened
to Mike crying out his passions.  I knew I wouldn't say anything to them if
they teased him, knowing Mike would relish the attention.

As I pushed myself in and out of him, he exerted more and more effort at
helping me give him pleasure.  Each time he pushed back and his body met
mine, he would grunt.  It was a grunt that came from deep within his being;
it was a grunt of raw pleasure.  He kept whispering in rhythm to the
thrust, "fuck me . . .fuck me . . .yeah . . .fuck me .  .mmmmppphh."
Suddenly, he tensed, reached back, and tried to wrap his arm over my body
as he erupted for the fourth time, and not quietly.  I lay still as I felt
his ring tighten and release my throbbing member.  My body was worked up
also, and it took concentration to control my lust.  He wanted it hard, and
I wanted to give it to him, but I also knew he could easily be hurt and he
wasn't ready.

When he settled down, I resumed a gentle stroking, mixing long and short,
varying the number of each.  Again, I massaged his sensitive little
chestnut and he whimpered.  I could tell he was almost completely
exhausted.  This time, as the feelings increased, I didn't try to control
myself, but let the pressure build inside my own body until I could feel
that tightening sensation all men know.  Finally, I came.  I came harder
than I could remember in a long, long time.  As my body shot out it's own
juices, filling Michael's insides, I pulled him back into me and held him
tight.  We both whimpered as he used his muscles to milk me.

"Oh Gaaahhhd, that feelin' when you're shootin' inside me is awesome.  That
felt almost as good as you strokin' me."

Both of us were covered in sweat, and other bodily juices, and panting.  He
had to be worn out.  I lay behind him holding him against me; his head lay
on my arm.  Running my fingers through his hair I told him how much I loved
him and how beautiful he was.  When I tried to back out of him, he
whimpered and reached back to keep me from moving.  I knew I would be soft
soon and most likely slip out of him, so I remained still and waited for
him to drift off to sleep.

There are many special moments in every parent's relationship with their
children.  There are some that can be considered as extra special.  This
was one of those very special times when, laying there holding him, there
was no way to verbalize the feelings coursing through me; feelings of love,
pride, concern and even a little loss.  He was growing up.  Then, he pulled
one of those special stunts only a kid can pull that just blows the whole
moment.

"You never did answer me." He said softly.

"Answer you about what?"

"'Bout me lettin' my hair grow long like that guy I showed ya this
afternoon."

Flabberghasted, because he had just spent hours rolling around on the bed
and losing his virginity, and he's worried about growing long hair!  He
really popped my bubble!  I popped his butt; good.

"OW!!  What'd I do?"

End Ch Nineteen
To Be Continued

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