From: RNFQ40c@prodigy.com (Mr. Jack Fellowes)
Subject: NEW STORY: "SEDUCTION OF SAM" (M/t)
Date: Mon, 16 Feb 1998 04:37:47 GMT
Approved: moderated.stories@bigfoot.com
Keywords: xmt

NEW STORY: "THE SEDUCTION OF SAM" ( M/T )
by Jack Fellowes
("I had a sordid youth, and he kept coming back for more!") 

[USUAL DISCLAIMERS, ETC.--TOO YOUNG, TOO ANAL, TOO
HYPOCRITICAL, ET AL., GO AWAY! DON'T READ THIS.]


Part One - Setting Up the Target

"Oh, Sam, if you'll please just watch Jackie for me this
weekend, I'll love you forever!"

That promise from my ex-lover's sister hardly helped sway me 
toward saying "Yes" to her request. She was working me. She 
knew it. I knew it. She knew I knew it.

True, I considered her son, Jackie, to be like my own
flesh-and-blood nephew. After all, I was there when Sandy
went into labor while visiting Teddy and me at our first
apartment in Springfield, and I was there trying to be
helpful when Jackie popped out while Sandy was sprawled on
our living room floor, waiting for the ambulance. And I
always considered the permanent stain on our then-new beige 
carpet (a birth mark!) a sort of lasting reminder of why I
was glad to be gay.

"Sammy? You know Jack wants to get back together with me,
and this weekend in Las Vegas might just do the trick." Why 
Sandy (whose ex-husband, Jackie's hopelessly homophobic
father, divorced her in the first place because three of her 
five brothers were gay) wanted to get back with that jerk
was beyond me. I did have to admit he had been much more
civil the last couple of times I'd seen him with her. And he 
had to know that at least one of her gay brothers would be
in Vegas, too.

Besides my gorgeous, studly ex, Teddy, and her son Jackie,
Sandy was the only other member of the Dortman family I
could tolerate being around for more than a few minutes. The 
oldest two brothers, Danny and Jimmy, were totally
self-centered queens who thought nothing of getting between 
lovers. They tried with me, but Teddy tore each of them a
new asshole--literally.

Teddy still made my toes curl and my dick stand up, even
though he'd been through three--or was it four?--replacement 
partners since we broke up almost four years ago. I always
knew in my mind that he was a user: sexy, gorgeous,
charming, witty, and insatiable, but nevertheless a user... 
and I'd still drop everything and run to him if he asked me. 
It would be a helluva run now, since he'd signed on with one 
of the top revues in the country out West.

Sandy was a user, too. About the only time I ever saw her
anymore was when she wanted something. At least she wasn't
devious about it, and I did get to visit with Jackie more
than I ever expected after Teddy left. I had to admit I
liked the attention she gave me at those times.

Jackie was a story of his own. I really loved that kid, and 
when he was visiting he was never more than a step behind
me. When he was small, he'd climb up in my lap, nestle into 
the crook of my neck, and fall asleep while I watched
television. What I remember most and best is the heat his
tight little body radiated and the way he'd dash out the
door and down the street buck-naked if someone didn't keep
an eye on him all the time.

The problem now was that he was no longer small. He was only 
12, but he was almost six feet tall, slender as a
supermodel, and a hell of lot prettier and sexier. He looked 
a lot like Teddy when I first met him at the Gaiety Club.
Jackie wasn't around me that often anymore, but when he was, 
I really had to keep myself on a short leash. He had always 
been very physical, touchy-feely, and when he touched me, I 
felt it in all the wrong places! I always seemed to be
running off to another part of the house on some urgent
errand that couldn't wait another second.

Another problem with Jackie was that he was and wanted to be 
like Teddy in too many other respects. In everyday clothes, 
my ex looked for all the world like a soap opera stud. And
then he went to work... and became one of the most beautiful 
and talented drag queens you've ever seen. Teddy did a
better Tammy Wynette than Tammy herself in her prime, and
his Connie Francis (singing Brenda Lee's "I'm Sorry") was a 
show-stopping hoot. But it wasn't just comic satire or
travesty. He was believable, whether as a funny caricature
of a famous female or as a sultry torch singer. His natural 
tenor became a convincing alto, and nobody noticed that he
was singing an octave below the women he impersonated. He
was now working in one of the classiest revues in Vegas, and 
more than anything else, Jackie wanted to follow in Uncle
Teddy's showier-than-life footsteps--and he already wore the 
same size come-fuck-me pumps!

"Sam, you'll do it, won't you? Jackie promised me that he
wouldn't be any trouble. All you have to do is let him dress 
up for you, and he'll be happy."

"Sandy! That's all I need--to spend the weekend with another 
Junior Miss Thing! Are you sure you can't take him? He ought 
to spend more time with his dad, anyway."

She gave me that look. I knew that even when he was married 
to Sandy, Jack Spencer, Sr., wasn't much of a father to
Jackie. He didn't abuse him or anything. It was just that
when it came to being a role model for his son, Jack knew
that he couldn't compete with the glamour and
excitement--SHOW BIZ!--that Teddy offered. Besides, I think 
Jack was afraid to be alone with his own son. I always
thought he was a closet case, anyway.

I, on the other hand, an out-of-closet case, was never
afraid to show Jackie real affection when he was a kid. Now, 
though, I guess I too was afraid to be alone with him, for
my sake as well as his. More mine, really. Jackie was just
too sexy and sophisticated for a youngster just at the hump 
of puberty. His mother--helplessly open and honest about
everyone's sexuality, no matter how offbeat--hadn't been any 
kind of moderating influence. Hell, she was too hot to get
that horse-hung ex-husband of hers back in the sack on a
permanent basis to worry too much about Jackie's sexual and 
emotional development.

But I guess he was doing all right on his own, if you can
call a 12-year-old would-be drag queen all right. Give Sandy 
credit--Jackie felt loved. At least he wasn't trying to
commit suicide, or drown kittens, or shoplift at J.C.
Penney's. He was fun to be around, when you didn't have to
resist his raw sexual charms. Damn those Dortman men/boys!

"Okay, Sandy. I'll do it, but I'm going to take him up to
the cabin, and keep him so busy swimming and hiking and
climbing he doesn't have time to change into one his
strapless numbers. And the wigs and cosmetics stay at home!"

"Sam, he'll do anything you say, you know that," Sandy
gushed, trying to show me how grateful she was. "He just
enjoys being around you so much. You're the only man who
doesn't treat him like he's... different."

"Dammit, Sandy, you know that my problem with Jackie isn't
that he's different from other kids, but that he's so much
like Teddy." By agreeing to this mad idea, I knew I had
doomed myself to a really tense weekend.

"Oh, you know you won't have any problems with Jackie. And
speaking of Teddy, is there anything you want me to tell him 
when I see him tomorrow?"

"Yes, dear. Tell the son of a bitch my prostate hasn't had a 
good massage since he left me."

"Oh, Sam!" Sandy pretended to be shocked, but my comment was 
nothing compared to what she'd told me over and over again
about Jack's horse-dick and the condition it left her pussy 
in. She laughed and said she'd be back in a couple of hours 
with Jackie and the stuff he'd need for the weekend.

As I watched her back out of the driveway, I tried to
convince myself that I could make it through one weekend
with Jackie breathing down my neck for almost 60 hours
without incident. Actually, I wasn't trying to convince
myself--it was my conscience arguing with my libido. (And my 
libido fights dirty!)


NEW STORY: "THE SEDUCTION OF SAM" ( M/T ) by Jack Fellowes
(Pt.2)

Part Two - Practice Shots

I was barely listening as Jackie chattered away during the
two-hour drive up to the cabin. I just kept looking over at 
him every few seconds, wondering how a father who looked
like Alley Oop and a mother who looked like a young Ethel
Mertz could produce a son who looked like a Nordic prince. A 
slightly gangly, sweetly pretty prince, but a prince
nonetheless. His hair was the color of golden straw, his
cheeks as pink as Catherine Marshall tea roses, and his skin 
as naturally white and lustrous as pearls. I tried to avoid 
looking into those emerald-green eyes, shaded by long,
fluttering lashes.

The only jarring part of the whole picture (with sound) was 
the occasional squeaking crack in his
soprano-going-to-baritone voice. It reminded me that he
wasn't grown up yet, that he was still a boy just going into 
the last stages of puberty, and that it would probably take 
a while for his psyche to catch up with the precocious
physical changes in his lanky, youthful body.

By the time we pulled up to the gate crossing the lane up to 
the cabin, he was practically leaning on my shoulder, his
longish hair tickling my cheek. I wanted to tell him to move 
over, but I didn't want him to move at all. Asking him to
get out and open the gate was a temporary salvation from the 
feelings that threatened to drown out logical thought.

The short ride up the lane to the cabin didn't give him
enough time to settle into another intimate posture at my
side, and when he saw the cabin, with the sun starting to
set through the trees above the roof, he sat up straight,
radiating the same kind of eager anticipation I felt at
arriving at this place that meant so much to me and to
Teddy, and his family.

It had been my grandmother's property, but it was mostly
Teddy's money that built the small-but-sturdy log house we
called our lovenest in the woods. Believe me when I say that 
a good drag queen can make a fortune in tips when she keeps 
the customers happy--and Teddy always kept them happy. Some 
of them, way too happy for my tastes, but those were the
ones who also showered him in expensive gifts. The same
gifts that he promptly sold, putting the money he got into
our "dreamhouse" fund.

I guess the reason I still love Teddy, and always will, was 
that, when we broke up, he assured me the cabin was mine
free and clear, that he would make no claim on it except
that he never wanted me to sell it, and he hoped he would
always be welcome there. I hate to admit that, after he said 
that, the very night we broke up ended up being one of the
most thrilling, exhausting bouts of nonstop lovemaking we'd 
had in our nine years together. Sometimes I wish life made
sense. Sometimes I don't give a damn, just let it happen.

After we built the cabin, it became the scene of summer and 
holiday gatherings for both our families, more for his than 
mine, simply because there were more Dortmans than there
were Sacketts. Jackie learned to swim in the lake behind the 
cabin when he was four. Teddy and I taught him while Sandy
and Jack sat on the porch, drinking beer and arguing about
money. I sometimes think the only time they really got along 
was when they were fucking, but who am I to judge?

I heard a voice through my reveries. "Uncle Sam?" Jackie
knew I hated that. "Sam, do we have time to swim for a while 
before supper?"

"Let's unload the car, and we'll see. It won't take long to 
make supper, since it's probably going to be beans and
canned sausage--I haven't been to the market yet." It was
still almost an hour before sunset, so I knew we'd have
plenty of time. Unloading the car took about two minutes,
since we each had only one bag.

Teddy and I had made a little sand beach on the shore of the 
lake just about 60 feet behind the cabin, and we had
floodlights in the trees to illuminate the beach and the
rest of the back yard at night. The closest neighbor was
about a half-mile around the lake from us, so we had our own 
little private, 24-hour garden of Eden.

I went into the pantry to turn on the outside lights. The
next thing I knew, a whitish body, naked as Adam himself,
went flying out the back door toward the lake. "Where's your 
suit?" I called after him.

"Forgot it!" he yelled, never missing a step until he
plunged into the cool water of the spring-fed lake. I howled 
when I heard him shriek. I knew his balls had probably
pulled up inside him so fast they were bouncing around his
ribcage. The cold water was fine on a hot July or August
day. But on a late September night it was a damned good idea 
to wear a lined swimsuit for your manhood's sake. I bet his 
voice wouldn't crack again for at least a couple of hours.

I took my time putting my clothes and toiletries in my
bedroom, and I put his overnight bag on the guestroom bed. I 
turned up the thermostat on the electric water heater and
started a small fire in the fireplace. Then I put on a pair 
of cutoff insulated sweats, got a couple of beach towels out 
of the bathroom closet, and sauntered out to our beach. In
the fading light just before dusk, I saw Jackie swimming and 
splashing about 40 feet out in the lake. I'm sure most of
his constant motions were just to keep himself warm.

As I spread out one of the towels and settled down on it to 
watch the human porpoise at play, I remembered how hard it
was to get Jackie to wear anything at all when he was small. 
I realized that I hadn't really had a chance to see him
naked since he was about eight years old. After about 20
minutes of his splashing and diving, I knew that the long
dry deprivation would end in the next moment, because Jackie 
found his footing on the lake bottom and turned, starting to 
high-step through the shallow water toward me.

Daylight was fading, but I could still see an ample pendulum 
of flesh swinging between his thighs. Hell, if I were coming 
out of that chilly water, no one could possibly see anything 
between my legs except a little nub, shriveled with cold and 
tucked well up into my groin. As Jackie walked into the ray 
of light from the floodlight that shone across the beach, I 
had a shock of recognition: oh, god, he looks more like
Terry than I thought! The same lean muscularity, that
boyish, almost feminine grace to his movements.

Then another shock: he's got his father's cock! I mean,
Terry was well-hung, about four-and-a-half inches on soft,
and a healthy seven-and-a-half thick cut inches on hard. But 
Jackie, after just emerging from the frigid water, was
hanging thick and long, about five-and-a-half or six inches! 
I tried to focus on his face as I reached over and grabbed a 
towel to toss at him, but I could tell that he had seen me
sizing him up, so to speak.

I had to push my mind away from the dangerous thoughts that 
were overtaking me. So I hopped up, grabbed my towel and
started back toward the back door, calling over my shoulder, 
"Better grab a quick shower and put some warm clothes on.
I'll start warming up supper."

About 15 minutes later, I was dishing up a couple of plates 
of pork and beans with Vienna sausages, over some toasted
bagels I found in the freezer compartment, with applesauce
on the side. It wasn't fancy, certainly not healthful, but
it would be filling. When I turned to grab the whistling tea 
kettle to pour a couple of cups of hot cocoa, Jackie walked 
into the kitchen. He was wearing a loosely tied short kimono 
and a pair of flip-flops. I had hoped he'd put on jeans and 
a T-shirt, at least!

While I was pouring the cocoa, he came up behind me and put 
his arms around my shoulders, his chest touching my back
and... well, I felt something push against my buns. He still 
put out a lot of heat! "Thanks for bringing me up here,
Sam," he said, giving me an affectionate squeeze. "I don't
know anyplace I'd rather be, or anyone else I'd rather be
with."

The blood veins in my temples started to throb, and I felt a 
sharp pang in my lower abdomen. I knew what my next physical 
reaction to his closeness would be, so I shrugged him away, 
saying, "Better sit down and dig in, boy-o, before the blue 
plate special gets cold."

Just so he didn't think I was rejecting his affection, I
gave his departing butt a playful little flip through the
silky fabric of the kimono. But that didn't help me--I could 
tell he wasn't wearing briefs under the short, clingy robe. 

We didn't talk much while we ate. Apparently Jackie had
worked up more of an appetite than even he thought. I ladled 
out seconds for him, plus a little more. I stopped after one 
plate full, and then began puttering around at the sink with 
the few dirty pans and utensils.

When he finished he brought his plate and fork over to the
sink. "I'll finish washing the dishes," I told him. "Why
don't you go turn on the TV and I'll be there in a couple of 
minutes."

He was sitting in the corner of the couch, at the end
farthest from the recliner I always sat in, as I came into
the front room. When I sat down and stretched out, he
twisted around to face in my direction, pulling his legs up 
to his chest. Even though he tucked his kimono around his
knees, I still could see, very clearly, his flaccid cock
hanging down between his slightly spread thighs over his
long ballsack. I looked away determinedly.

We talked sporadically while we watched television, mostly
making plans about what we would do tomorrow: a quick food
run, more swimming, a few games of horseshoes, and a hike
around the south side of the lake to the little mineral
spring where we stocked up on drinking water.

Every time I looked over at him to say something or answer a 
question, his eyes were boring into mine, and a quick glance 
downward (I couldn't help it!) showed that his cock was
filling out more and starting to lift up a little off his
balls. I refused to acknowledge it, and tried desperately to 
keep my eyes on his face when I looked at him.

Finally, after "The Tonight Show" came on, he started to nod 
a little. "Hey, bud," I said, causing him to jerk awake,
"Why don't you go on to bed? We can get an early start on
the day tomorrow."

"Okay, Sam. Good idea. I am pretty sleepy." He stood up, and 
his robe fell open at the front. He took his time covering
up, giving me enough time to see that his cock had expanded 
to what looked like eight inches of three-quarters-rigid
manmeat. He walked over to the recliner, a silk-covered lump 
leading the way. He sat down on the arm of the chair and
leaned over to give me the usual goodnight peck on the lips 
I'd come to expect. I didn't expect him to press his lips
firmly against mine, hug my chest tightly, and stay in that 
torturous position for what seemed like minutes. When he
finally broke the kiss and stood up, he gave me a crooked
little grin, and said, "Goodnight, Sam.  See you in a
while."

As I watched him walk to the hallway that led to the
bedrooms, I pushed my own hard dick, which seemed to be
straining to grow past its maximum six inches, down against 
my belly and unconsciously flexed my sphincter muscle. I
exhaled noisily, and let my head drop back against the neck 
cushion. I told myself, I'm not going to make it! This
weekend is going to be tough! I wondered if the little
country market down at the crossroads sold saltpeter.

Oh, hell, I thought, I'll just beat off tonight until I
can't come anymore! I reached into the drawer of the lamp
table next to my recliner and pulled out one of my favorite 
skin mags and a crusty old cum rag.


NEW STORY: SEDUCTION OF SAM (MT) BY JACK FELLOWES PT.3 

Part Three - Close Counts in Horseshoes and...

I woke up because the morning sun streaming through the
bedroom window seemed especially hot. I was sweating.
Slowly, I realized that it wasn't the sun that was heating
me up, but a very warm body under the covers with me,
huddled spoon-fashion against my back. I couldn't move, I
couldn't even think what to do. Gradually, I realized that
the source of greatest warmth was a very stiff fleshy object 
wedged into the crack of my naked ass. I had to move away... 
Oh, god, it felt good! But I had to move away without waking 
him.

His left arm was draped over my waist, his hand hanging just 
an inch or so from my crotch. The sensations of his
heat-radiating body touching me so intimately were having
the expected effect, and the slimy head of my uncut
cock--which should have been too tired from last night's
workout to revive so quickly and so fully--was sliding out
of its foreskin and stretching toward the sleeping boy's
dangling hand. I HAD to move away from him!

Faking a big wake-up stretch and yawn, I twisted out from
under his arm, and slid out from under the covers and across 
the bed. As I swung my feet down to the floor and reached
over to the bedside chair to get my shorts, I heard Jackie
stir behind me. I quickly scooted into my shorts, then
looked over my shoulder at him. Even with tousled hair and
squinty, sleepy eyes, his face looked both provocatively
beautiful and sweetly innocent.

I tried to make light of the situation, which obviously
troubled me much more than it did him. "You weren't here
when I went to bed. How'd you end up in here this morning?" 
I asked.

He gave me that little-boy grin and said, "I heard some
strange noises last night, and I got scared. I just wanted
to feel safe, so I could get to sleep." He tossed the covers 
back, revealing a huge hard-on pointing up toward his chin. 
I quickly averted my eyes, but the image was indelibly
engraved on my consciousness. It had to be at least nine
inches! Where does a young kid get a man-sized cock like
that? And what does he do with it? (Dumb question, self!)

"Well," I said, "you'd better hit the bathroom first. I'll
go make some coffee." And I rushed out of the bedroom toward 
the kitchen.

I heard the toilet flush and bare feet padding down the hall 
between the bathroom and the bedroom while I stoked up the
coffee maker.

A few seconds later, he appeared in the kitchen doorway,
wearing nothing but his flip-flops and a pair of black nylon 
running shorts. Obviously nothing between him and the thin
shorts. If that swollen monster I'd seen earlier was a
piss-hard, pissing had done little to shrink it down. He
poked out provocatively. If someone dressed like that had
walked past me in a disco when I was in my 20s, I would have 
thrown him to the dance floor and raped him on the spot, let 
the crowd be damned!

I got him a cup out of the cabinet and poured him a mug of
hot, black coffee. "About time you got out of the bathroom. 
Here," I said, handing him the mug. "Sorry, no milk or
creamer." I virtually dashed to the bathroom. I had a
quickly growing hard-on to get rid of, and it sure wasn't a 
piss-hard!

I went into the bedroom and dressed completely before going 
back into the kitchen: a new jockstrap, 501s, a flannel
shirt, wool socks, and hiking boots. Jackie gave me that
funny little grin when he saw what I was wearing. I poured
myself a mug of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table
across from him.

I took a sip, looking at him watching me. "Why don't you put 
on some jeans and a T-shirt, and we can go into town for
some groceries and stuff?"

He smiled sweetly. "Why, would it embarrass you if I went
like this?"

"No, but I'd be upset if Mrs. Donaldson dropped dead of a
heart attack after seeing you dressed like that," I shot
back. I was glad to see the brazen little tart could still
blush.

He finished his coffee and went to change clothes. He came
back wearing a white fishnet cotton sweater and a pair of
Levi's he should have thrown away last year, both because
they were full of worn spots and holes, and because they
were definitely too tight to hold what he had stuffed into
them. I figured it was hopeless.

I mustered up my best sarcastic tone, and said, "Oh, that's 
MUCH better!"

Jackie almost doubled over with laughter, a musical mix of
girlish giggles and raspy boy-man hee-haws. The little snot 
was yanking my chain something fierce.

Resigned to his shameless display, I kept us moving for the 
rest of the morning, first loading up with groceries at the 
store, where we scarfed down a half-dozen of Mrs.
Donaldson's home-made apple tarts with a couple of pints of 
chocolate milk, then packing away our provisions when we got 
home. The groceries put away, I gave him a couple of empty
five-gallon containers to take to the mineral spring and
fill with drinking water. I knew he'd have to take the
little red wagon with him in order to pull them back.

I have to admit I was a little surprised that Jackie didn't 
whine about doing it. Teddy always did--he loved the water, 
but he expected me to go fetch it. He always told me he had 
to save his energy for the really important things, and off 
I'd go, knowing that the reward would be worth it. Oops, I
chided myself, that's the wrong thing to be thinking now.

I was setting up the charcoal grill on the back deck when
Jackie came back around the lake, tugging the wagon with the 
jugs of water behind him. "Good man," I said, when he
plopped down on the bottom step, panting in an exaggerated
fashion. "Why don't you fill up the water bottle in the
fridge while you're deciding what you want for lunch?"

"I know what I want," he said. "Food! Food! Food! I'm a
growing boy and I've worked up an appetite." He picked up
one of the water jugs, slung it up to his shoulder, and
stomped across the deck to the back door.

I blinked. Oh, god, I hope you're not *still* growing, I
thought. The world isn't ready! But I smiled at him and
said, "Then it's Sam's special super sirloin burgers with
all the trimmings. And how about some corn on the cob?" I'd 
already husked four ears of corn, brushed them with
margarine, and wrapped them in foil to put on the back of
the grill.

After lunch--Jackie ate three burgers with double cheese,
three ears of corn, and a big bowl of Mrs. Donaldson's
butterscotch-banana pudding--we brought the portable TV out 
on the deck to watch "Days of Our Lives." He was as much of 
a fan as I was. That was the great thing about being a
freelance graphic designer who worked at home--I could
schedule my day around my favorite soaps and quiz shows.

When the show was over, I started puttering around again,
dumping the ashes and cleaning the grill. I was becoming
very good at "puttering" this weekend. Jackie headed into
the cabin, and in a few minutes I heard some of his favorite 
dance music reverberating from the stereo. I stretched out
in the chaise to soak up a little of the afternoon sun that 
peeked out between the fluffy clouds in the autumn sky. The 
temperature had climbed into the high 70s, and the humidity 
so near the lake was high. I soon became drowsy.

A voice calling my name woke me up. "Sam? Sam? Can you come 
in here? I want to show you something. When I went into the 
living room, he was out of sight around the corner in the
bedroom hall. "Sit in your chair and turn on the stereo when 
I tell you."

I sat down and leaned toward the stereo, resting my finger
on the "play" button. I take orders well. "Okay. Now," he
said. I pushed the button and winced as I immediately
identified the song from its opening phrase. Oh, no, I
thought, "I Will Survive," one of Teddy's hottest numbers.

At that moment, a stark, almost black-and-white figure
appeared in the doorway. It was Jackie, his blond hair
pulled back in a severe bun, eyebrows penciled into sweeping 
arches, long mascara-ed lashes capping dark-lined green
eyes, and pouty lips painted purple-red. He--she--was
wearing a sleek tube of tight black satin, strapless and
stopping at mid-thigh. This really beautiful character
strutted into the room on patent leather pumps with squarish 
six-inch-high heels, swinging a luscious behind in time to
the staccato beat.

A jumble of thoughts assaulted me: I should have helped
Jackie pack.. It was Teddy all over again... *She* was
exquisite... Jackie's really good at this! Meanwhile, this
tall, gorgeous, sexy woman-creature was slinking, strutting, 
and spinning around my living room, bringing the song right 
to me with every gesture, every look. When the song ended, I 
stood up and cheered and applauded, but Jackie just posed
there and flipped a long index finger with a black-painted
nail at me, indicating I was to sit down again.

The next song started just as I sank back into my chair. It 
wasn't disco. It was "I Wanna Be Loved by You"
(boop-boop-be-doop), and it was a sexy, funny, slow-paced
recording of Teddy doing his Carol Channing voice. Jackie
was playing it to the hilt, cocking his head saucily to one 
side and then the other, coyly shrugging his bare white
shoulders, and swiveling his slender body back and forth. He 
kept moving closer and closer. Like Teddy used to do when I 
sat in the front row at one his shows, Jackie dropped into
my lap and threw his arms around my neck just as he came to 
the closing lines, singing them into my awe-struck face: "I 
wanna be loved by you alo-oh-one, boop-boop-be-doop!"

Then he kissed me again. I couldn't help it. I kissed him
back, my tongue snaking between his painted lips, my arms
sweeping him into a tight embrace and kneading the smooth,
soft flesh of his back. He pressed back against me, his
tongue chasing mine and seeking the depths of my mouth.

When he shifted in my lap, I felt a sharp pain as his soft
but firm bottom bent my unyielding erection in the wrong
direction. Oh, god, I thought, drifting between panic and
uncontrollable passion, it's going to happen. I shouldn't
give in, but I want to, I need to! I need HIM!

I still had a chance to save myself from taking the final
step. After I picked him up without breaking our kiss, I
carried him to the bedroom and threw us onto my bed. Wrapped 
in each other's arms, we rolled, writhed, and rubbed...
twisting, pressing every part of our still-clothed bodies
against each other. We took frottage to a new level,
caressing hair and groins and arms and asses, and sucking
the breath from each other's lungs. We were both
passionately, hopelessly, thrillingly out of control!

I couldn't hold back. The sensations mounted higher and
higher. I was going to cum in my jock, and I couldn't stop
it. I pulled my face away from his, gasping in mouthfuls of 
air and moaning loudly as I hit the peak. I felt his body,
stretched atop mine, lurch. I looked into his face--his eyes 
clenched shut, his mouth gaping open, his head thrown back. 
His whole body jerked and undulated against mine as his
orgasm followed my own by only seconds. I felt his wetness
soak down through the dress and my Levi's onto the skin of
my hip. He collapsed limply onto my exhausted frame. We held 
each other closely and quietly, falling into the arms of a
rescuing sleep.


NEW STORY: SEDUCTION OF SAM (MT) By Jack Fellowes  Pt4 

Part Four - Adding Up the Score

I woke up alone, and for a moment I was uncertain whether
anything had really happened. Had I dreamed it? Then I
examined my disheveled, stained, sticky self and sniffed the 
unmistakable aroma of sweat and cum all around me. The scent 
of sex!

I finally heard the shower only when the water was turned
off. The connecting door to the bathroom shared by both
bedrooms opened, and a tall, naked teenage boy walked into
the room. He was massaging his long, water-darkened hair
with a bath towel, and his eyes were partly covered as he
rubbed. His fair skin glowed with a just-washed ruddiness
like polished pink marble, and his long, limp cock flopped
carefreely from thigh to thigh as he crossed the room.

He realized I was awake, and he stopped to look at me,
smiling broadly. "Hi, uh, I was kind of a mess!" he said.
"Had to clean up."

I stopped trying to hide my visual appraisal of this
irresistible youth, but I knew some things had to be said
before anything else happened. "Yeah, I need to shower and
change, too," I said. I checked my watch. It was just past
five o'clock. "While I'm in the bathroom, why don't you get 
dressed and wait for me out on the deck?"

He looked a little crestfallen, but said, "Okay, Sam." He
pivoted around and walked back through the bedroom to get
something to wear. I followed him, closing the door to his
bedroom behind him, then turned on the shower before I
undressed.

By this time I smelled like Ivory soap instead of sex, I
thought I could face him and say what I had to say. I had to 
take responsibility. I had to let my head rule, and not my
appetites and emotions. I pulled on a fresh sweatsuit,
slipped into my suede moccasins, and headed toward the back 
door.

He was half-sitting, half-sprawling in the Adirondack chair 
beside my favorite chaise, and clearly fidgety. He was
wearing terrycloth shorts and a cotton sport shirt. He
smiled, but without the usual radiance. "Sam..." he started 
to say.

"No, Jackie," I shushed him, leaning over to give him a
reassuring peck on the forehead before sitting on the side
of the chaise facing him. "We have to talk about this. And I 
need to explain why it's important."

He looked down at his bare feet as I continued. "Jackie,
what happened in there shouldn't have happened. I'm pretty
sure you wanted it to happen--you may even have planned for 
it to happen. And I want you to know, if things were
different, if you weren't 12-year-old Jackie and I weren't
40-year-old Sam, that I'd be shouting my happiness from the 
rooftop. I love you, and it seems you love me." He perked
up. "But it's wrong. We can't do this not now, not yet."

I was trying to let him down but every other sentence seemed 
to be leading him on. "Jackie, what happened or almost
happened is illegal. I could go to jail."

Desperately, my strongest argument: "Your mother would hate 
me. She'd never let me see you again."

"No, she wouldn't," he murmured.

"What?"

"She wouldn't hate you. She knows I love you, and she knows 
you want to love me. So does Uncle Teddy."

My jaw dropped. "What do you mean? What does she know? And
what does Teddy have to do with this?"

His normal bravado and flirty manner were subdued, but he
went on, speaking quietly yet deliberately. "I told Uncle
Teddy how I felt, and he said I couldn't have picked a
better person to love." My heart hiccuped. "And he took me
to Mom and we talked about it. Teddy told her that, no
matter what people say, it's not the same with boys as it is 
with girls."

Where was this going? "What did he mean by that?"

"He said that boys don't have to worry about getting
pregnant, and that sex can be a game for boys or a way of
expressing what we feel about someone, and it's how we show 
friendship and love, as long as the boy wants it."

"But a man can take advantage of a boy. You're still so
young and innocent..." I was struggling to remember the
usual arguments.

His giggly, smart-alecky self came back in an instant. He
spread his thighs apart and groped the big lump between
them. "Sam, do you really think, with something like this to 
play with, that I could still be innocent? I bet I've had
more sex in the past month than you've had since Uncle Teddy 
left!"

When I thought about it, I admitted to myself that it was
probably true. "But it's different when boys play with each 
other than when they have sex with a man..."

He looked exasperated. "Sam," he said, in a grown-up
I'm-going-to-explain-it-you manner, "I've had sex with men. 
I asked Uncle Danny and Uncle Jimmy to teach me. They taught 
me how to be a bottom. And then I showed Uncle Teddy what
I'd learned, and asked him what you liked. He taught me how 
to be a top."

I was shocked, but I couldn't resist asking, "You mean Teddy 
let you..."

"No, silly!" he giggled. "He made Uncle Danny be on bottom."

I couldn't believe I was part of this conversation. Where
had I lost control? "But your mom.."

"She knows I'm not too young to know what I want. She said
Uncle Teddy knew he was in love with you when he was 13, and 
he proved he was right when you two finally got together."

"But I didn't even know Teddy until he was 18!" I protested.

"He knew you. He was in the art class you taught at the YMCA 
right after you started college," Jackie said, "and he came 
home after the very first class and told Mom he'd met the
man he wanted to marry. Mom said she teased him about it,
but he kept telling her that he would get you."

I scoured my memory, and I could barely see a gawky
adolescent with blond hair and watery green eyes. I
remembered he had a flair for color, and he loved to listen 
to music while he drew. Why hadn't I ever remembered that
before? Was I so uptight about my feelings that I shut it
out? Why hadn't Teddy ever said anything about it later?

"He told me it took him several months to get your attention 
after he graduated from high school," Jackie said. "He said 
you were 'a tough nut to crack, so to speak.'" He grinned at 
me, and I blushed. "But he said that once he got you
trained, you were his most perfect lover."

"Why'd he leave me, then?" I asked.

"He said it was because *he* wasn't perfect for *you*."
Jackie paused, and then added, in barely a whisper, "But *I* 
will be." Then, looking as if he'd just made a momentous
decision, he stood up, grabbed me by the arm and pulled me
to my feet, and started dragging me back into the house. I
don't think I had the energy, or the courage, to resist. He 
pulled me into the bedroom and over to the bed, where he
made me sit down facing him as he stood a few inches away.
He started to unbutton his shirt, but stopped. "No, this is 
your job," he said, grasping my hands and bringing them up
to his chest. Automatically, I began to undo the buttons.
Once his shirt was open, I pushed it back off his shoulders. 
Without a pause, he said, "Now the shorts."

I might as well have been a Stepford slave. Arguments and
ideals and options were crashing around in my mind, but I
could do nothing but what he told me, expected me to do...
and what I knew, deep down, I desperately wanted. I eased my 
fingers behind the waistband of his shorts at each hip and
stretched the elastic outward and then downward. Something
resisted, and I realized that his massive erection was
caught up in the fabric at the front. I pulled the shorts
out further to clear the massive obstacle.

I really looked at what I was uncovering, for the first time 
with total concentration. The thing that obsessed me, that
Jackie realized he could control me with, was nearly nine
inches long and standing almost straight up along his
belly--only about an inch separated the pulsing head of his 
cock and the puckered skin around his navel behind it. I saw 
no trace of a circumcision scar. The skin was like ivory
parchment lined with fine blue veins. The tube along the
underside was plump and prominent, yet the shaft was wider
across than from top to bottom--it was almost flat on top.
There was very little flare at the edge of the bell-shaped
head. It looked like an Atlas rocket ready for launch.

I let his shorts fall to the floor and grasped his rigid
organ, touching him for the first time in this intimate
place since I had bathed him as a toddler. I could barely
pull his rod down away from his flat belly. It was like an
iron bar covered with thick satin. The little mouth at the
tip gurgled out a bead of clear pre-cum.

I felt both of Jackie's hands intertwine behind my head and 
pull me toward him. "Taste it," he commanded. "You'll love
it, and you'll want more... and more... and more..." He
pulled me forward until my lips touched the moist drop. Of
its own accord, my tongue lashed out and captured the bead
of male nectar, which I savored noisily.

"That's enough for now. Stand up!" he said. I did, and he
untied the drawstring at my waist, letting my sweatpants
fall, while he pulled the bottom of my sweatshirt up over my 
head and off my upraised arms, and tossing it away. I too
was now totally exposed to him. My cock stood pointing up at 
a sharper angle than usual, the foreskin half retracted and 
a string of pre-cum drooling from the tip. He caught the
strand in the palm of his hand as he groped the head of my
stubby, veiny cock with a twisting motion. He brought his
hand to his own lips and tasted my juice with the tip of his 
tongue.

"M-m-m," he said, "I'll have more of that later. But now,
it's what you need," he said. Teddy had taught him well.
Jackie's hands on my shoulders pushed me to my knees, facing 
his pulsing fuckstick. "Get it wet," he directed, "and then 
get on the bed on your hands and knees."

As I said, I follow orders well, and I already knew this
routine. When he pressed his broad, blue-steel cock to and
past my hole, it was as if he had punctured a balloon. All
of my guilt and numbness, all of my doubts and questions
were released and drifted away. What was left was me, the
sensual, sexual flesh-and-blood me, and I began to respond
to this primal connection with certain passion and the pure 
joy of feeling, of being touched to my essence by the
sensory probe of one whom I loved, and to whom I could give 
myself, without reservation, for the first time.

I fell flat on the bed as he plunged in to the hilt. I
gasped at the dithering mix of sharp pain and deep pleasure, 
farther inside me than I had ever felt it before. He cried
out and shuddered breathily for several seconds, pressing
against me and holding his rod at the deepest spot inside me 
that he could reach for as long as he could endure the
sensation.

Slowly, we each began to move. He started the age-old
thrusting of animal lust, and I matched each stroke with a
compression and relaxation to slow the withdrawal and speed 
the insertion of the sword I served as scabbard. He sped up 
to a pace I thought would see the pointed head of his weapon 
emerge from my belly.

At the depth of his next downstroke, I suddenly reached back 
with one hand to press his taut buttocks downward, until
there was no gap between his front and my behind. With the
other hand, I pulled his shoulder down until we started to
swivel in opposite directions, but never losing the deep
connection between his cock and my asshole. A coating of
sweat on both our bodies allowed me to pivot around beneath 
him, doubling one leg back until I could slide it between us 
and across so that we ended up front to front. As I rocked
my pelvis upward and locked my legs high around his slender 
torso, I could feel the tip of his rigid organ slip in more 
deeply than before.

Now looking into my masterful young lover's eyes, I begged
him to start again. "Fuck me, Jackie, fuck me hard! Please
fuck me!"

He began to move slowly, thrusting inward and withdrawing
almost to the head, in and out, in and out, picking up
speed, lifting my pelvis higher and higher above the
mattress as he seemed to be trying to push his whole body
into mine with each stroke. The pace mounted, faster and
faster, until all I was aware of was the physical jolt and
the obscene, pornographic sound of flesh slapping flesh when 
he reached the downward limit of each stroke.

His thrusts became spasmodic. He slipped out of me, but
impaled me once again, almost drilling a new hole. Pushing
upward against his invading strokes, I began to feel the
muscles in my belly and in my thighs and buttocks tremble
sharply. Fresh sweat made us slide against each other,
making me twist beneath him. Each time it happened he
touched a new place deep within me.

Suddenly he reach the point where his thrusts both speeded
up to an impossible rate, and shortened to just a few
inches. On the out-stroke, he was halfway out of me, and his 
public brush barely tickled my buttocks on the in-stroke.
The one constant was the pounding he was giving to my tender 
prostate. Each pass of his thick shaft stirred up little
lightning strikes of pleasure-pain that shot out from my
groin to my legs and arms and lungs. I thought I would
simply vibrate to pieces, and crumble beneath him.

He dropped from resting on his hands at each side of my
shoulders, to leaning on his elbows and gripping my upper
arms. He plunged his mouth into the side of my neck, sucking 
and chewing hungrily at the flesh over my jugular vein. That 
sensation, added to all the others I was absorbing, was too 
much. I began to chant a mantra of explosive moans, louder
and faster, until no more volume or speed was possible. And 
then I erupted. My explosion of cum sprayed more slickness
between our bellies as they continued to slide together
under his relentless stroking. He bit sharply into the flesh 
of my neck and his fingernails dug into my shoulders. He
reared his head up and released the deepest sound I had ever 
heard from him, the triumphant roar of the conquering beast.

He came. And came. And kept cumming, losing control of his
movements. No longer thrusting of his own free will, he was 
jerking in and out, side to side, as the frazzled nerves in 
his muscles fought back against the draining workout they
endured throughout Jackie's rise to the heights of physical 
pleasure.   


NEW STORY: SEDUCTION OF SAM (MT) By Jack Fellowes  Pt5

Part Five - And the Winner Is...

Time had stopped. I held him, and he held me. We caressed
each other as if we were outside our bodies and were
directing the movements of our hands like puppets on
strings. We slept. We woke and began our intimate, loving
explorations once again. We dozed again, needing to store up 
the energy we would need to absorb and understand the
incredible passions we had experienced in those... minutes? 
Hours?... of sustained lovemaking.

Once, when he was sleeping and I was awake, I looked at his 
beautiful face. There was no turning back. The love that was 
always there in me had asserted itself, and I could not now 
let it crawl back into the dungeon of fear and shame where I 
had confined it for so long. I brushed the hair from his
sleeping brow and kissed it lightly. He smiled, but did not 
waken.

My boy, I thought. More man than I, more wise than the world 
we must live in. He got what he wanted, and made me see that 
I wanted it too. I kissed him again and drifted off into
dreams of being carried aloft by angels and cradled in
fluffy clouds awash with moist, warming breezes...

The ringing phone woke us. Jackie leaned across me to answer 
it. "Hello," he said. "Oh, hi! How's your trip? Get any
yet?" I poked him in the tight flesh of his flank, and he
laughed. "It's Mom," he said. I knew that. "You wanna talk
to her?"

I shook my head no, not sure I could handle talking to Sandy 
at that moment, so he continued talking for a while, then
listening. Finally, he looked at me, smiled, and said into
the phone, "Oh, it went great. Just the way we planned."

I snapped my head around and looked up into his face,
questioning.

"Yeah, at first," he said, "but then I used Uncle Teddy's
argument, and he gave in."

I poked him in both sides and mouthed at him, "You little
shit! I'm going to get you!"

He stifled another laugh, and kept talking. "Yeah, I'll tell 
you all about it on Monday. Be sure to tell Uncle Teddy it
worked. Love ya. Bye."

I started to unleash a flood of indignation, but he put his 
hand over my mouth, reared up about halfway, straddled my
chest, and blurted, "It's been a long time since lunch. You 
hungry?"

"Yeah, I guess I am," I said after I relaxed and he took his 
hand away.

"Good!" he said. "Because I've got something here to feed
you." He straightened up the rest of the way and scooted up 
my chest until I felt something very stiff poking under my
chin. I looked up at Jackie, and he broke into a peal of
laughter.

"Do a good job with that and I'll cook breakfast tomorrow," 
he said, grinning.

I adjusted my pillow, grabbed his buns in both hands, and
pulled him up so the head of his pulsing cock was resting on 
my lips. "Well," I said, swabbing the underside of the head 
with my tongue, "if I like tonight's supper in bed, maybe
I'll just have tomorrow's breakfast in bed, too."

He raised up a few inches, pried open my mouth with his
fingers, and plugged it firmly with his cock. He slapped
both my cheeks to make me tighten my oral grip, and began to 
seesaw in and out of my mouth. "Oh shut up and suck!"

I did. And he did. And I did. And we both did.

And we never looked back, except with love.



(Send comments, helpful criticisms, and especially all sorts 
of gushing praise to: jwhstloo@handy-man.com. Although the
story's all fiction, I made myself think with it... and
laugh and cry, too. The thoughts are real. I've thought them 
from both sides of this situation. How about you?)

(END PART FIVE -- END OF STORY) 
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