Date: Fri, 28 Mar 2008 15:55:31 -0700 (PDT)
From: adm2780 <adm2780@yahoo.com>
Subject: Second Time Around  Chapter Three

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 Three: Second Time Around

After the talk with my sons, I continued to think of Kevin and the day that
we lay together.  I questioned whether I enjoyed it as much as I
remembered, or if I just wanted to enjoy it that much.  A few days later I
thought of Kevin less and less.  Many times I wanted to kick my own butt
for freaking out like I did, but I couldn't change anything.  That was a
different time and a different place.  Now, I was older and capable of
understanding more.  What I now knew was that, deep down, I wasn't happy
and it was up to me to change things.  When I made the changes I also had
to remember that there were two young men depending on me to support them
while they learned to make their own choices.

Several days after our talk, it was a Friday night and I was already in
bed, I heard someone enter my room.  My back was to him and I waited.  When
Michael called to me, I heard the little boy in him, not the teen, and knew
he was ready to talk.  When he asked me if we could talk, I rolled over to
face him and lifted the covers.  This was the same routine we had followed
since he was a little boy.  If my older son thought he might have done
something wrong, his conscience would not give him any peace until he
confessed.  When he was small, Kathy and I usually knew what he wanted to
confess before he decided to tell us.  As he got older, it was often a
mystery, but the end result was the same.  We let him know that he was
loved and we would always be there for him.

As he slipped into the bed with his back to me, and moved so he touched me,
I felt the warmth of a naked boy.  He lifted his head and I moved for him
to use the crook of my arm as a pillow.  My hand touched him and he lifted
his right arm so I could wrap an arm around his chest to hold him close; we
were in position.  I smiled as he wiggled to find his comfort spot and
settle down; I waited.

"Dad, did you mean what you said the other day?  Will you always be there
and love us, no matter what?"  Normal beginning; I grunted an
acknowledgement and waited.

"Love you," he added.  I shifted and pulled him closer.  Now we had reached
the point for the confession.  Then he surprised me.

"Dad, are you naked?"  That was a first.  Normally he just reached back for
a feel.  Both boys knew it was rare for me not to sleep nude.  I wiggled
for him to feel.  He giggled, then he became very quiet for a few minutes.
I could feel his heart beat and knew he was nervous which said this was a
big one, at least to him.

"When you were little, I mean like first grade little, did you play with
yourself?"  My son was full of surprises.  Neither boy had asked me such
personal questions; there had to be a reason and I was curious.

"Most boys learn from a very early age that it feels good to be rubbed
there.  Parents usually have a challenge getting little boys not to play
with themselves in public.  You were horrible about it."  His body jumped
as he laughed quietly.

"Mom used ta let us sit in her lap and she'd hold us.  There was somethin'
real special when she did.  She'd lean back against the sofa or chair and I
could lay my head on her chest."  He was quiet for a moment and I knew he
was fighting his emotions.  "She felt warm and soft; smelt good, too.  When
she'd be in here or, maybe, layin' on the couch I liked ta get naked and
lay with her.  She never told me 'no'.  If we were on the couch she'd scoot
back a little and turn so I had a place to lay kinda on the couch and on
her.  I'd always get my back rubbed and mostly she'd get some powder and
sprinkle on me.  Her hands were so soft and nice.  Almost always I'd fall
asleep and when I woke up, she was usually gone, but I had her bath-robe
over me.  It was warm and snuggly and smelled good with that bath stuff she
liked.  I liked it when she let me snuggle like that."

I didn't say anything.  My son was hurting for his mom, whom we knew he
would never see again.  He needed those memories and I was glad he had
them.  The warm moistness of his tears fell on my arm and my heart ached
because I couldn't take the hurt away.  We lay that way for a few minutes
when I decided to tell him some of the funny things his mother and I
remembered about him.

"Your mother used to tell me about those times; she cherished them.  When
she talked about some of the things you did, her eyes just sparkled with
love and pride.  You were always our real sensitive one.  You always wanted
to be held and snuggle and, I know you're not telling me the whole thing."
I smiled to myself when I felt him get a little tense.

"Your mom said you would walk up to her and whisper in her face.  The
question was always the same, 'are you asleep' and the answer was always
'yes'.  You'd giggle and then take all your clothes off and climb up next
to her.  She'd wrap an arm around you and pull you close; she always called
you her beautiful naked boy."  He laughed again.  "That's also when you
started sleeping naked.  After a while you didn't bother to come in with
your pajamas on.  When we discovered that the two of you would strip them
off before climbing in bed, we just let it go.

"When you were little and it was time to get out of diapers, you were next
to impossible.  We'd set you on the potty and tell you to stay there till
you did something and you'd stick your bottom lip out at us and look
pathetic.  You acted like we were trying to punish you.  To keep things
easy, in case you decided to use the potty, we had you running around here
in just a diaper for a long time.  Instead of using the potty though, if
you had to go to the bathroom, you'd run into whatever room we were in,
stand in front of us and fill the diaper, grinning the whole time from ear
to ear.  As soon as you finished, you pulled the tabs and dropped the
diaper right on the spot and ran off laughing.  Your mother and I were
ready to trade you in."

"How'd you get me to stop?"

"It turned out to be real simple; one of your mother's friends said she had
the same trouble with her son and told us how she cured it; we tried it and
it worked.  The next time you filled a diaper and dropped it on the floor,
we didn't put another one on you.  You ran around here au natural.  You
always thought it was funny and hardly stopped giggling.  We were in the
kitchen and you came running in, stopped right in front of us and the look
on your face broadcast what you were about to do.  Unfortunately, you
didn't seem to be aware that you weren't wearing a diaper.  You unloaded,
and I mean unloaded, both ways.  It was all down between and behind your
legs.  When you realized what you'd done you screamed.  You didn't cry, you
screamed and reached down to your legs.  You scraped some poop off your
legs and the next thing we knew, you smeared some of it across your front
and then in your hair.  You had a record fit, that time."  I had to stop
the story and laugh myself.

"Daaad, that wasn't funny.  That wasn't nice, neither!" he protested.

"Funny?  We thought it was one of the funniest things we ever saw.  You
would have thought you were dying.  Later, we were just sorry we hadn't
thought about grabbing the camera.  I took you by your little wrists,
picked you up and carried you outside.  After I rinsed you with the garden
hose I carried you to the tub.  You cried through the whole clean-up
process.  Your mother and I laughed through the whole process. Towards the
end you started crying for a diaper and we said no.  We also told you that
when you needed to pee-pee or poop, if you didn't use the potty, you'd get
dirty all over again.  You always ran for the potty after that, but we had
a fit trying to keep clothes on you.  You always wanted to be naked, and we
just sort of gave up the fight and let you run free.  We thought it was
just a phase you were going through and you'd eventually give it up; we're
still waiting."

"Does Frank know that story?"

"No, that was a special memory your mother and I shared.  I don't think she
would mind me sharing it with you. Of course, other family members know
about it, but they wouldn't say anything."

"Do me a favor, Dad?  Don't ever tell Frank.  He'd never let me have any
peace."  I just squeezed him close as a response.

"Dad, didn't you ever like to go naked?  It feels good sometimes ta feel
your package bouncing around.  It's good to let the air flow, don't ya
think?"

"Son, all guys like to enjoy their equipment and feel it floating free
sometimes.  I think you just like it a little more than most, that's all."

"That's 'cause I got more than most," and the little boy giggle followed.
He wiggled and I popped his butt, gently.

"Owweee, that's wasn't nice."  He became quiet and I knew he was thinking.
"'Member the talk you had with me and Frank once?  You know, about sex and
that stuff and playin' with ourselves and exploring and all that?"  I
didn't answer; I waited on the bombshell that I knew was imminent.

"After me and Frankie would get our bath we'd stay naked.  We used to get
on our knees on the floor or the bed and sit back on our ankles and play
with ourselves.  Sometimes we played with each other's dicks just ta see
what it felt like."

"I know, I caught the two of you playing around more than once, remember?"

"Oh yeah, I forgot.  Well, we read a story once about Indians and Indian
boys and how they liked to play boy games.  They called it belly rubbin'.
Somebody'd drawn a picture of two cartoon kids belly rubbin' Me and Frank
tried it.  Dad . . . it felt good and we did it a lot after that.  In fact,
we did it one time and Frank thought I peed on 'im." My son had to take
time to laugh, "but I didn't.  That was the first time I shot off and I did
it all over Frank's belly."  Now he was in a full fledged laughing mode.  I
couldn't help but laugh as I pictured all this in my mind.  It felt good to
know that he was comfortable enough to talk to me like this.

"Michael, did it feel good; is that why you liked it?"  He shrugged and I
knew I had only one chance.  "There was nothing wrong with it, son.  You
were boys learning about being boys.  There is something I want you to
remember for me, though.  A man can have feelings from two different
sources.  You know that one comes from the fires burning between your legs.
Another comes from a fire that burns in your heart.  Be careful son, and
know which fire you're fanning."

"Dad, let me have your hand for a minute."  He took my hand and guided it
to his scrotum of all places.  "Hold 'em for a minute.  Feel 'em?  It'n
that weird how they just kinda move around like that?"

I couldn't believe I'm laying in bed with my son holding his testicles.
He's wanting me to feel how they move around in his sac.  He wiggled his
butt.

"Dad?  You're gettin' a boner!" he laughed, and I knew his mind had gone
elsewhere.

I popped him on the butt again and wrapped my arms around him.  I held my
son while I felt his body relax as he drifted off.

                                       * * * *

"Hey, Dad.  Where's Mikey?  He didn't sleep in his bed last night."

My younger son made his morning entrance.  Having been unable to break old
habits of waking early, I had slipped on my robe and was enjoying a cup of
coffee and the headlines in peace.  Frank came in fresh from the shower,
but at least he had a sarong, however brief, wrapped around his waist.

Mornings, particularly on weekends, were Frank's time.  The boys seemed to
have worked out a schedule between them as to who had what time alone with
me.  Since Michael was our late sleeper, Frank claimed the mornings for his
private time.

"Good morning, my son, I'm fine, thank you for asking; and yourself?"  That
earned me an exasperated look.  "He's in my bed; let him sleep in."

"Ohhhhh, I see said the blind man.  One of those, huh?  What's he
confessin' to this time?"  That mischievous twinkle appeared in his eyes.

"Now, would you want me to tell him about the talks you and I have
sometimes?"

"You can if ya want to.  He pro'bly wouldn't understand anyway.  Right?"

"Okay, kiddo, enough; leave your brother alone."

"But, he's so easy to pick on.  He's got buttons that just beg to be
pushed."  I just looked at him; he gave up.

"Would you like some breakfast?  How about a bacon and cheese omelet?"

When Frank wanted to be helpful, he was really quite good.  Of course, when
he wanted to be a pain in the ass, he was good at that, too.  While I
prepared the omelets, he took care of the orange juice and toast.  We ate
without saying too much.  As I finished one section of the paper, he'd pick
it up and read.  Of course, the first section I read was financial; the
first section he reached for was sports.  It was a
generation-responsibility thing.

"I thought that if you and Mike didn't have any plans for the day, possibly
the three of us could go over to the club for an early dinner and then
maybe a movie.  What do ya think?"  My son looked at me and then outside.

"Yeah, that's okay. Looks like it might be a crappy weather day, any how."

"Gee, thanks; should I feel honored?  Do you save only crappy weather days
to spend with your old man and brother?"

"Daa-aad, you know I didn't mean it like that.  Well, actually, as far as
my brother is concerned, though . . . but, you; no, I'd even give you a
good weather day."  That mischievous smile he knew he could use to work his
way out of a lot of messes appeared.

"Would my younger son care to tell me what's been going on in his life
lately?"

"Nothin's been goin' on.  It's the same-o, same-o at school and stuff.
Actually, dad, it's been kinda dull."  In other words he didn't want to
tell me.  Frank was always Mr.  Independence.  He'd tell me he was about to
fall into a cess pool when he was almost there and had no life lines left
to grab; that's why he worried me the most.

"Hey, dudes!  Wha'sup?"

I recognized the voice and knew son number one had made his entrance.  I
wasn't the least bit surprised to look up and see him come bouncing in to
some tune only he could hear in his head.  He was running a comb through
freshly washed hair, dripping because he was only half-dry, and in his
birthday suit.  It was a normal beginning to the morning for him.

"Michael . . ."

"Ooooooo, Dad called you Michael.  You're in a world o' shit now, bud.
Little Mikey there looks kinda red; he been up or somethin'?"  Frank
couldn't leave it alone.  I looked at him.  "Dad, it's like I said, buttons
just begging to be pushed."

"Shut-up Frank!  What buttons?  Hey, Dad, watch this.  Now watch and listen
close and tell me what you see."  Mike could fuss and refocus faster than
anyone I knew.

My older son stood at the entrance to the kitchen, spread his legs about
shoulders width apart, leaned forward a little and began to swing his
boyhood from side to side.  I just looked, dumbfounded.

"I know!"  Frank suddenly yelled out, and before I could stop him, "It's a
big dick swingin' a little dick, right?"

"Noooo!  Dad, make him stop bein' such an ass!  See?  I'm swinging it in
time to the grandfather clock. Tick-tock, tick-tock.  It's almost as long
too, huh?" and he giggled as only Michael, fifteen going on five, could.
That boy was definitely regressing.

"Still looks like a big..." I heard Frank begin to mumble and stuck the end
of my middle finger in his ribs.  "Ow!"  I had to turn away to avoid them
seeing me laugh.

"Michael, as fascinating as we both find it to sit here, trying to eat our
breakfast and watch you swing your pride and joy around, do you think that
maybe you could find something else t focus on?  Get something on and I'll
fix you a bacon and cheese omelet, okay?"

"Okay, just for you guys for breakfast."  He answered as though the entire
statement was perfectly normal.  "But no bacon or cheese on the omelet; too
fattening."

Frank almost choked on his food, laughing, and I wondered what I did to
deserve all this.  How could two human beings, drawn from the same gene
pools, be so different?  They were my boys and there's no way I would have
had it any differently.  I watched Michael turn around and bounce back down
the hall, with his little bubble butt bouncing like two globes of Jello, to
the tune only he heard.

I had to laugh to myself as I remembered that Kathy and I had agreed that
if some poor girl ever married that boy, on their one month anniversary we
would send her a sympathy card with a letter of apology.

"Gee, Dad, just think; what would you have done if I'd turned out like that
too?"

                                       * * * *

There comes a time in every parent's life that they realize two things.
First, their children are getting older, approaching the point of being
grown and there are so many things they wanted to do with them, share with
them, but didn't.  Second, their children are getting older, soon will be
grown, and there's only a limited amount of time to make up for all the
wasted time.  My sons were fifteen and fourteen, growing up way too fast,
and I knew that before long they'd have lives all their own.  The only time
I would hear from them was if they needed money, were in trouble, sick, or
hungry; that last one more often than not.  Other than those four things,
any teenage boy can tell you he's a man and can take care of himself!
Before my boys reached that point, I wanted time with them.

The idea of an early dinner at the club was intended to give me some of
that time.  If we did an afternoon dinner, the boys could wear casual
clothes and relax more than at a more formal evening dinner.  I wanted them
relaxed, and happy.  Either before dinner, or after, there was a game room
with billiards and other games we could enjoy.  If there was a good ball
game on, there would be others there to share in the excitement and good
times.  Several weeks earlier I had made myself the promise that my boys
would be first priority at the club, not business.

The biggest problem with lofty goals as a parent, is that the children
don't always share them.  I shouldn't have been surprised when I walked
through the family room and found Mike lying on the sofa with a book in one
hand and the telephone in the other; nor should I have been surprised to
know it was Sean on the other end.

"Hey, Dad!  Sean's home all alone; his mom's out to some function."  Mike
said 'function' like it was a dirty word.  "He can come to the club with us
and the movie, right?  Can we pick him up and what does he wear?"

"No. No. And because of the first two, it don't matter."  Frank popped in
with his opinion.

Frank understood how I felt and was letting his brother know in his own,
not so subtle, way.  Frank also knew I wouldn't say no as I glared at him.
Why did he feel such a need to pick on his brother that day?  Like he could
read my mind, Frank started pushing imaginary buttons in mid-air.

"Yes, Michael.  Haven't I always said that Sean is welcome to join us
whenever he can?"  I really wanted to choke on that one, but what can you
do?

"Hey, dude, get ready and we'll pick ya up before long, okay?  See ya."
And I watched my plans sail out the window, unbeknownst to my innocent
number one son.

When we arrived at the club, the normal routine began to repeat itself.
The boys quickly spotted friends and drifted off to the rooms that were
setup for teens.  Randy, a fellow loan officer at the bank, called out to
me to join him and some friends.  The friends turned out to be potential
clients, so my resolution to not engage in business, but enjoy my boys,
dissolved involuntarily.

One thing I did salvage for myself that day was using the Mark.  I didn't
normally drive it anywhere I had to park it, except to the club.  I was
just in the mood to bring it out; it had been a while and needed to be run.
A lot of people make the mistake with an old car of thinking if they let it
sit up they don't have to worry about wear and tear.  A mechanical thing is
meant to be used and must be used to keep it running properly.  Besides, I
didn't buy it to decorate my garage; I bought it to enjoy.

As with most parents of teenagers, I accepted what they gave me.  I heard
the boys laughing and having a good time and just enjoyed that they did.
They didn't leave me completely out.  About an hour or so after we arrived
they came looking for me and invited me to join them -- in the dining room;
they were hungry!

It was no surprise to me that Sean joined us for the rest of our weekend.
It seemed that his mother had a full schedule and he was on his own.  When
the three boys were together they could either act more mature than I
thought possible, or just plain silly.  That weekend they chose to take
silly to an extreme, but they had a good time.  As soon as we hit the house
they ran to the boys' room and appeared three minutes later, stark naked
and headed for the pool.  Go for it guys; have fun.

After their post-dinner snack, or possibly their third post-dinner snack,
they stayed in the boys' room.  They never bothered to put any clothes on
again and I could hear them giggling even though the door was closed.  I
thought back to some of the stupid things we did as teenagers and the
stories we told or other things we talked about.  Once, as I headed to my
room I heard something about 'measure mine' from one of them.  I stopped a
minute, looked at the door and then decided to keep going.  They were happy
go lucky boys, enjoying the discoveries of being boys.  Of course, I did
wonder who was getting measured and what the measurement was.  Also, I
couldn't help but wonder how it compared to mine when I was their ages.

Lying in bed, I thought about Michael.  He wanted to tell me something and
I knew he wasn't there, yet.  I worried about him, but I knew he would be
back to cuddle and be cuddled.  He would let me know when he was ready, and
I knew him well enough to know it wouldn't be long.

The house was quiet and all the lights were out.  I lay in bed listening to
soft jazz on my radio.  As I relaxed and slowly drifted off I felt the
covers move and my bed bounced.  Without saying a word or making a sound I
had a naked boy lying half way on top of me.  His arm draped across my
shoulder and his head rested on my chest and shoulder.  I wrapped an arm
across his back and rubbed it gently.  As I ran my fingers through is hair
and kissed the top of his head I felt him take a deep breath and relax.  My
younger son had appeared to claim the rest of his time.

End Ch Three

To Be Continued

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