Date: Tue, 6 May 2008 12:05:43 -0700 (PDT)
From: adm2780 <adm2780@yahoo.com>
Subject: Second Time Around  Chapter Eight

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 Eight:  Second Time Around


As a boy, the four weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas took forever to
pass.  As a parent, the four weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas
seemed to pass in the blink of an eye.  From generation to generation, I
decided, some things didn't change; that included how kids behaved.  I
believed that Santa was watching me to be sure I was nice and I acted extra
nice during those four weeks to make up for any possible slips during the
year.  My boys were no different and didn't change as teenagers.  Listen to
them and you'd think they believed there really was a jolly old fat man
that came down the chimney.  The only fat thing around our house at
Christmas was my credit card balances.

Before the first week had gone by, I started finding sales ads, like come
in the newspaper, laying around.  They were usually open to some new
electronic gadget that teenagers go crazy over.  One of the ads, laying on
the entry hall table so I couldn't miss it, was open to laptops.  One of
the units was circled with "nice" printed in the column and an arrow
pointing to the desired unit.  I recognized the writing as Frank's.  Not
one to pass on a good opportunity, I found an ad for plaid shirts, the type
you might see "grandpa" wearing in television commercials.  I circled the
shirt, printed "nice" in the margin and drew an arrow to the picture.
Saturday morning, I left the ad sitting on the breakfast bar where I knew
both boys would see it.  They never missed anything on the breakfast bar.

"Daa-aad!  No way!  No!  You wouldn't do that to us, would you?"  Frank
sounded as though he would go into shock at any moment.  I had to bite my
lip to avoid laughing.

"Calm down, son."  I tried to sound confused and innocent.  "What are you
talking about?"

"Dad, you know what I'm talking about.  You circled the most uncool shirt
any guy could have.  If we wore that someplace, we'd be the laughin' stock
of the whole school.  I mean, that thing is gross. . .DOUBLE GROSS!"  I had
a good time with this one.

"Why are you tellin' me?"  Unbelievable how hard I had to fight to avoid
laughing at that moment.  "I thought you or Mike put that out as a hint to
me for Christmas."

"Put what out?"  My older naturist entered the room sounding innocent;
which he was.

"Mike, you put this out here?" Frank demanded from his brother.  Mike
looked at the picture.

"Oh, God!  They really make shirts look like that?  Poor guy, wonder what
he did wrong ta hafta wear that thing?"  At that point I had lost any
self-control I had left and started laughing.

"Dad, you're pullin' our leg, aren't ya?  This was your idea of a joke,"
Frank commented.

"Better pullin' on your leg than somethin' else I can think of," Michael
giggled, proud of himself.  If I hadn't been on the other side of the
counter I would have popped his butt.

"So, Dad," Frank's normal address, "I'm guessin' we're goin' to Grandma's
for Christmas?  We need ta know so we can figure out how to do our
shoppin'."

"Yeah, and we need some money, too," Michael added, getting right to the
point.

"I was planning on checking on transportation this morning.  If we can get
flights, we'll go.  I'm still thinking about where we'll stay though."

"Can't we stay at Grandma's?" Frank asked.

"We could.  We could also drive her crazy.  I don't want your grandmother
waiting on you two all the time.  One of her privileges is to spoil you.
One of my privileges is to make sure she doesn't work herself to death in
the process.  We can fly down two or three days before Christmas and stay
with Mother.  I'm thinking of staying until after New Year's which means,
after Christmas, we should get a condo on the ocean, or something."

"You mean we're gonna be gone the whole school break?" Michael asked,
looking pained.

"Hey, you catch on quick, bro."  Frank started pushing the buttons.

While we ate breakfast, the phone rang.  Frank answered and handed the
phone to Mike.  It took about thirty seconds of listening to half the
conversation to know it was my quasi- adopted third son, Sean.  Before Mike
asked if Sean could come and stay for the weekend, I told him it was
alright.  It seemed Sean's mom was headed out of town somewhere, and he was
alone for the weekend.  A few minutes later, I had three teens acting like
goof-balls.

One of the unexplained mysteries in life is the disproportionate burden of
play and worry.  Kids seem to get lots of play with little worry.  Adults
get a little play with lots of worry.  Not needing three goof balls
constantly interrupting me, I offered to take the guys to the mall where
they could see a movie and cruise.  I enjoyed the strange looks they gave
me when I told them I knew they cruised the mall.  It didn't take a genius
to figure out it was the local gathering spot for teens in the winter.  The
part I liked, but never told them, was that the mall management kept extra
security personnel on duty during the weekends.

"Dad, are you trying to get rid of us?"  Frank asked with that grin of his,
again.

"Yes."  Simple answer with no explanation; let them worry about it.

I drove them to the mall and made sure they had enough money for lunch, a
snack, and a movie.  Frank decided they needed extra money just in case
they wanted to do some Christmas shopping.  I wasn't that naïve.

"Christmas shopping or the arcade?"  I asked.

"Well, it could be the arcade or, maybe, both."  The look on Frank's face
said I had guessed correctly.

"Tell you what, here's an extra twenty bucks apiece.  Why don't we just
assume the arcade?"

"Hey, Dad," Michael jumped in before Frank could say anything.  "Where we
goin' for dinner tonight?"  My boys had a habit of making some pretty big
jumps to conclusions I hadn't even thought about.  They hadn't even begun
their afternoon and were worried about dinner.

                                       * * * *

I was happy the boys wanted to hang out at the mall; I wanted a quiet
afternoon to do some thinking and research.  Michael and I had talked about
how he felt and those discussions were not really difficult.  The difficult
questions revolved around why he was attracted to other boys.  The truth
was that I didn't know and told him that.  I also added that some people
are just born that way.  I felt it was important that he understand that
being gay was not a sickness or disease; nor was it a handicap, at least
not in the sense that he was physically or mentally prohibited from some
things.  My biggest problem with Michael was that he had an incredible
analytical mind; he was not going to accept a simple 'just because' type
answer.

Computers were a part of my every day life at work.  I knew how to work my
way through multiple financial sites with no problem.  I was not a computer
guru.  I could not enter a complex set of key words and narrow a search to
a very specific subject.  I wanted to find support sites for teens
questioning their sexuality and for the parents of those teens.  I entered
a simple three-word search: 'gay support group'.  I was surprised by the
return; I was also a little confused.  There were so many sites and links
that I wasn't sure where to begin or how to narrow the search.  I scanned
the listings until I spotted one that had New York in the title, and
clicked on.  That site gave me even more links that were specific to New
York.  I just wanted to scream "help!".

Not knowing exactly what I was looking for, I clicked on the sites and
scanned them quickly.  Most didn't seem to hold my attention until I found
one that linked to a chat room for parents.  Bingo!  Finally, a resource
that could help me learn the right way to support my son.  Who better to
talk to than another parent that had already gone through this experience?
After registering and disclosing more personal information than I normally
prefer to on the internet, I clicked onto the link.  All I got in return
was a blank screen with a few boxes down the right side.  One box was
marked "last activity" and had a date more than six months old.
Disappointed, I moved away from the computer.

Sometimes the best answers or solutions are the most simple.  I got a cold
beer, turned on some music and put a small fire in the fireplace.
Interesting how one can have a very constructive conversation with oneself
when alone.  The obvious answers came to me.  I didn't need a fancy site, a
support group or advice from another parent.  I wasn't upset or freaking
out that my older son had said he thought he was gay.  What I did need was
to be ready to reassure him that I loved him, unequivocally, when he needed
me.  Love, mixed with common sense and understanding, could go a very long
way.

As I sat thinking about Michael, my mind wandered back to my own youth.  I
remembered the fear, the frustration, and the loneliness.  My son was not
going to have to endure history repeating itself.

                                       * * * *

Five minutes before the appointed time, I approached the main entrance to
the mall and spotted three teenage boys acting just as goofy as when I had
dropped them off.  The car had just stopped and I didn't have a chance to
turn around in my seat before all three were in the car hollering how they
were starved.

"How can you be starved?  I gave all three of you plenty of money for food
and games."

"Yeah, but we blew most of it on the games," Michael volunteered.  "We
wanted ta save room for the good stuff."

"And a second movie," Sean offered.

"Oh, really.  What second movie did you go see?"

"You askin' 'bout the one we bought the tickets for or the one we saw?"
Frank asked and three boys howled.

"Yeah, Dad, you shoulda seen this movie."  Michael sounded excited.  "These
guys were in the Marines in boot camp.  Some of 'em were really buff, too.
I gotta work on my pecs some more."

"Your tits are already big enough; ya need a bra."  Frank started pushing
the buttons.

"Bite it, bro!"

"Alright, you two, time to settle down."  I needed to stop this one before
it went too far.

"What's for dinner, Dad?"  Frank asked the right question.  I wanted to
answer 'kiddie menu' but thought better.  Besides, I was in the mood for
barbeque.

Without saying any more to the three delinquents, I headed straight for the
restaurant.  When feeding teenage boys, the best bet is to order the
all-you-can-eat special.  This restaurant served family style with four
different meats, including ribs, so everyone could satisfy their appetites.
During dinner I heard all the fine details of both movies and found out the
second movie was rated 'R' due to some brief nudity.  The boys laughed when
they found out the nudity was a brief fight scene in the shower with about
five or six naked guys.  I had to laugh with them.  It wasn't as though
seeing naked guys was anything new to these three.  During all the story
telling, they managed to eat the restaurant into a loss on that meal.

I was always amazed at how teenage boys could act like polite, responsible
young men one moment and then become silly kids the next moment.  It was
like someone flipped a switch.  These three were just kids out to have a
good time.  I was the parent enjoying watching them have that good time.

                                       * * * *

Barbeque and I had always had a basic conflict.  It tasted too good and I
ate too much.  The only cure was a two parter.  The first part was a
generous helping of Tums and the second part was exercise until the
bloating went away.  If I didn't apply both parts, there was no restful
sleep that night and you didn't want to stand behind me.  When we got home,
the boys were still bouncing and headed for the video games.  I loaded up
on Tums, got naturally comfortable, and hit the pool.

Laps were not always my favorite form of swimming.  I wasn't the best
swimmer around, but I wasn't bad either; I was average.  I didn't swim for
time; I swam for exercise and relaxation.  That meant I could swim a few
laps with the backstroke, swap to the butterfly, try the crawl, and
sometimes, I just floated on my back and kicked my feet.  The water always
felt good as it glided over my body.  I'll have to admit I also enjoyed the
feeling of the water coursing between my lower cheeks and my legs.  I liked
the natural feeling and the freedom.  I knew why the boys enjoyed running
around natural so much.  After a number of laps, I happened to glance to
the side and saw Frank sitting on the edge of the pool.

"Hey, kiddo, what're you sitting there for?"

"Waitin'," came his simple reply.  "I didn't wanna disturb you.  You had a
good rhythm going."

"I thought you were with the other two playing video games."

"Yeah, I was.  I didn't really feel like it though."  He paused a moment
and I could see he had a pensive look.  I waited.  "You and me used ta swim
together a lot.  Remember?  I thought it might be fun ta try again."  My
younger son wanted personal time.  Frank was my 'Mr. Independent' who could
always handle things by himself.  If he wanted personal time, something was
up.

Frank slid into the pool and we swam a few laps together.  There wasn't a
race and we didn't care about timing the laps; it was easy swimming for
relaxation.  I let Frank pull a few feet in front so I could watch him.
One thing he really did well that I could never do was the somersault and
kickoff on the wall at the end of each lap.  To him, it was effortless and
smooth.  To me, I was lucky I didn't inhale enough water to drown myself.
As he came out of one of his kickoffs, I dove under and, as he passed over
me, grabbed him by the waist and pulled him down.  That started the
grab-ass games and the laughs.

After playing around for a while, I got out of the pool.  There was no way
that I was going to try to keep up with him; I didn't have his level of
energy or stamina.  There was a separate entrance from the pool area that
opened into my bathroom.  While I planed water off, I noticed him doing the
same but not moving.  The lost puppy look he had let me know what he
wanted.  Without saying anything, I put an arm around his shoulders and we
walked into my bath.

Frank moved as though we were connected.  There was no thought on his part
that we wouldn't shower together.  I turned the water on and turned around
to see my little boy again.  He looked just like he did those years not
long ago when he thought getting a bath with his dad was a big treat.  I
gave him his treat; mine, too.

"Dad," Frank spoke in a low, relaxed tone, "I remember when you'd let us
get in the shower with you and we thought it was special . . . . Ya know
what? . . . .It was . . .This is nice, too."

Frank stood with his back to me, leaning into my chest.  His head lay back
on my shoulder.  I had my arms wrapped under his arms and around his chest.
Using plenty of bath gel, I lathered him up thoroughly, being sure to take
my time and let him enjoy himself.  I remember those times Frank talked
about with fond memories.  My hands told me this one had changed a lot, he
was no longer a little boy.

He used to be the little kid with the bean-pole body that felt soft and
silky smooth.  Now, he had definition that I could feel with my hands.  My
palm crossed his nipple and I felt him take a sudden, deep breath.  My
fingers traced the outline of firm, but not too large, pectorals and then
moved to bump over each well-defined rib.  My son was lean and muscular.
He had the kind of natural body a lot of boys worked very hard to develop.
I enjoyed letting my hands glide over his smooth skin. I enjoyed teasing
him when the second finger of each hand traced the crevice where thigh met
torso; my thumbs lightly scratched the sides of his scrotum.  He whimpered
like a delighted boy.

He turned around and leaned into me.  The only effort he put forth was to
stay on his feet and enjoy the pleasurable sensations of being pampered.
Again, applying plenty of body gel, I felt the strong muscles in his back.
My hands, gliding down his sides felt the firm taper from broad shoulders
to narrow waist.  He was all boy.

Kneeling to wash his legs, my hands moved up and down the front and back of
his thighs.  As I moved down to clean his feet and the calf of the legs, I
felt his hands on my shoulders for balance.  Frank had a light dusting of
hair on his legs; more accurately, it was a dusting of fuzz.  As I drew my
hands up, one cleaned the outside of the thigh, while the other cleaned the
inside.  My hand glided up until it touched his torso; my hand wedged
between leg and scrotum.  He drew a sharp breath between clenched teeth.

Standing, Frank leaning into me almost like a wet rag, I could feel that he
was getting semi-stiff; we both ignored what was a natural reaction to
touch.  Again, I spread bath gel over his broad shoulders and allowed my
fingers to trace the ridges in his backbone, from his neck to the top of
his bubble butt.  After brushing my palms over his cheeks, I then pulled my
fingernails over the bottom part of each cheek.  Frank whimpered and
stiffened his body as he squeezed me tighter.  I smiled to myself and then
placed the second finger of my right hand at the top of the valley.  My
finger moved down, slowly but steadily.  Frank whimpered again.  I allowed
my finger to travel the full length and depth of his crack, and enjoyed
each whine and whimper.  As I shampooed his hair, I felt, more than heard,
him laugh to himself.

"Do you remember when I was real little and you used to bring me in the
shower with you?  I'd stand there and try to brace myself by holding onto
your legs while you bathed me.  For some reason, I don't remember exactly
why, instead of holding on to your legs, I started holding on to your dick.
Sometimes you'd start ta get hard and I'd ask ya what your thingy was
doin'.  You always told me it was looking up so it could thank me for
keeping it warm."  He laughed and I did remember.

"I remember.  You even told your mom about it once."

"I don't remember that.  What'd she do?"

"After she got over laughing hysterically, she got on the phone and told
all her friends about it.  I heard about it for a long time."  And we both
laughed.

When we got out of the shower, Frank just stood there waiting for me to dry
him off, just like he did as a small boy.  I pampered him and really did a
rough drying job on his hair; something he always enjoyed.  He didn't waste
any time or wait for me to say something, either, before he went straight
to my bed.  I knew what he wanted and I wanted to do it for him.

I reached for a fresh hand towel and the light massage oil.  Lying beside
Frank, I sprinkled a little oil on his chest and abdomen.  He closed his
eyes and I could tell he was totally relaxed.  We talked mostly about
nothing while I rubbed him down.  I did tease him a little and laughed when
I knew I had found a ticklish spot.  When he rolled onto his stomach, I
decided to approach the point.

"Frank, is everything alright son?"  I felt him tense up.

"No." His voice sounded almost like he was whining. "I lied, Dad."  He
became quiet and I remained that way, letting him choose the moment.
"Remember when you talked to Mike, Sean and me and asked if any of us had
ever let somebody fuck us or if we ever fucked somebody else?"

"I don't think I expressed it quite like that, but I know what you're
referring to."

"Well, I don't think I'm really a virgin no more; I kinda fucked somebody.
I really didn't mean ta lie to ya, Dad.  I just couldn't admit it in front
of Mikey and Sean.  Understand?"

"I understand that you might not want to say anything in front of the other
boys, but you still have me confused on the 'kinda' fucked somebody?  How
do you just 'kinda'?"

"It wasn't too long after school started.  There's this girl that came up
to me and wanted ta know if what she heard about me and Mikey was true.  I
didn't understand what she was talkin' about.  She said for me ta meet her
behind the gym right after I ate my lunch and that's what I did."  This
really wasn't making a lot of sense to me, but I knew I needed to let him
tell this his way.

"Anyway, I wanted ta find out what it was she heard about us; so, I just
ate a couple bites and went out to behind the gym.  She was there when I
got there.  Soon as I walked up to her, she kinda pushed me backwards
against the wall.  Next thing I know she's grabbin' my dick through my
jeans, and buried her mouth in my neck.  Next thing I felt was her pinchin'
and twistin' my nipple.  Oh, yeah, she was squeezing my dick, too.  Dad, I
knew I shouldn't be there, but when she stuck her tongue in my ear, things
just got kinda crazy.

"I'm not sure when she did it, but next thing I knew, my shirt was on the
ground and so were my jeans and underwear.  I was standing behind the gym
in just my socks holdin' a tit in one hand and suckin' on the other while
she played with my nips.  She kept sayin' stuff to me like 'take me, big
boy' and 'shove that big dick in me, show me you know how ta use it'.  Dad,
next thing I knew she was hangin' on my neck and slidin' down on my pole.
I layed her on the ground and she locked her legs around me and started
buckin' worse'rn a rabbit we saw in science class.  I was so horny then
that I didn't care if I was naked and we were behind the gym.  She wanted
me ta fuck her and I started poundin' her.  The more I pounded her, the
more she yelled to do it faster and harder.  I started sweatin' like crazy
and was breathin' like I'd run five miles.  I just heard her beggin' for it
and my dick ached so bad . . .well, anyway, I did it; I fucked her."

Frank got quiet and I decided to let him rest a moment while I continued to
rub his back.  He had turned his face away from me, but I could still see
the tears running down his cheek.

"Dad, I ddin't really mean ta lie, it's just . . ."

"Shhhhhh, I understand.  Let me ask you something.  Was that your first
time with a girl?"  He nodded.  "Did you like it?"

"No. . . not really.  It wasn't anything like I thought it was gonna be."

"I'm sorry, son.  I'm sorry you missed out on one of the great pleasures in
life; discovering sex with someone that really means a lot to you.  I think
what happened to you was more like consensual rape.  She wanted to find out
if you were well hung and didn't mind giving herself up to do it.  She knew
exactly how to get you so worked up that you'd do just what she wanted; and
you did."

"I found out a few days later that she told a bunch of people she knows
that I had a big package.  She went and told people 'bout what we did!
She's known at school as the 'yes girl'".

"Frank, I wish it could have been a better experience; it should have been,
but we can't change it now."

"Are you upset with me for not tellin' you before?"

"Look at me, son."  I had to place a finger under his chin to get him to
look at me.  "I think it says a lot about you that you were willing to come
and tell me now.  You could have kept the secret.  I'm very proud of you."
I kissed him on the forehead.

"I had ta tell ya.  If you found out some day then you wouldn't trust me
any more."

I didn't say any more to him and we never discussed the event again.  I
continued to massage his back.  I straddled his butt and really worked his
back over.  Sliding down I massaged each globe and marveled at the feel of
his skin.  Sliding off him and moving to his side, I let my middle finger
enter his valley and rubbed all the way down to the perineum.  When I
reached the perineum, I massaged him there and he opened his legs to give
me better access to his sensitive parts. Like his brother, or any boy, he
squirmed and whimpered as I teased his erotic zones.  Moving my finger up
and back into his crevice, I thumped over the most sensitive of openings.
After my finger thumped him a few times, he relaxed and I rubbed my finger
in a circle.  He turned into a whimpering puppy, quickly surrendering to
the heat.  I smiled.

He rolled over and looked up at me.  I moved my hand so he could get
comfortable and then gently cupped his orbs, rolling them with my fingers.
The look in his eyes said nature had taken over and he just wanted to enjoy
the pleasure coursing through his young body forever.  Resting my weight on
my elbow, I used my fingers to tweak his nipple.  Flicking a fingernail
over the sensitive nub, I then pinched the nub between finger and thumb.  I
watched him, but not in lust or with any sexual desire.  I was watching my
own son enjoy the pleasures that his own body could give him.  He was
sweet, he was innocent, he was my beautiful baby boy.

"Dad," his voice almost sounded as though he were pleading.  "Dad, I need
ta shoot.  My balls are gonna bust wide open. Ohhhhhh, shit!"  I let the
tip of my finger penetrate the small opening and rolled it around before
returning to the perineum. "Dad. . .please . .  .ohhhhh fuuck!!"  The palm
of my hand traveled over his sensitive head.

My son looked me in the eye and then wrapped his arms around my shoulders,
pulling himself into me.  He began to hump into me.  His whimpers and moans
told me he was lost to the release his body demanded.  Without warning, he
reached between us and gripped my stiff tool and drew it up between us.
Wrapping a leg over my leg, he began to hump into me like a boy possessed.
Grunting and whining with each thrust I let him seek his release.  He bit
into my shoulder, moaning.  Just before he found the relief he so
desperately wanted, he let me know he was going to cum.  I pushed my finger
into his rectum to the first knuckle.  He cried out and thrust into me as I
felt his muscle clamp down on my finger.  With each spasm his muscle
relaxed and then clamped down again.  His juices shot between us; I shot
right behind him.

When we both stopped shooting, I held him close while he enjoyed that
magical high every boy loves.  Silently, I thanked god for allowing me to
have two such beautiful boys and for the opportunity of experiencing their
growing up.  I could only wish that I could have had the same experiences
as I was growing up.  When his breathing started to calm down to normal, I
rolled him onto his back.  He looked up at me and smiled as I kissed him on
the forehead.

His eyes had that magical look to them.  It was a look full of trust and
love.  The kind of look you wouldn't trade for the world.  Slowly, his
expression seemed to acquire a suggestion of mischief.  The grin that
spread across his face confirmed the look as he reached down with two
fingers and scooped up some of our mixed juices which he then spread over
my lips.  When I opened my mouth to say something, he inserted his finger
and used my teeth to scrape the juices off in my mouth.  Grinning, I did
the same to him before using the towel to clean us off.

He settled down as I lay on my back.  He had an arm and a leg draped over
me while he lay his head on my shoulder.  I wrapped an arm across his back
and held him.  I felt like the luckiest father in the world.  Then, he
broke the silence.

"When I'm ready to lose my cherry, I want you to be the one ta do it.  When
I'm ready."

I didn't share with him the concern I had.  There was no need to frighten
him that night.  We would talk again, later.

God!  I wish I had a beer!

End Chapter Eight