Date: Sun, 05 Dec 2010 14:30:50 -0500
From: bigmoh@post.com
Subject: Surrogate Father

SURROGATE FATHER

PART ONE

Dave Hopkins and I were buddies.  We grew up together in
the same neighborhood and were almost inseparable.  We both
played football in high school although he was a starter
and I spent much of my time on the bench.  Academically,
neither of us was very good but we squeaked by with passing
grades because we often studied together, cramming for
quizzes and exams.  We were like brothers.

It was in high school that I struggled with a forbidden
urge to do more with Dave than pal around together.    I
had always been fond of him as a playmate when we were
little and as a very good friend in our teens.  But a
completely different attraction to him developed.  Since
puberty, I suffered the worry and guilt of my fascination
with guys.  It took a few years to admit to myself that I
was gay but only an instant to realize that I could not
reveal it to anyone -- not to my family since they were
obviously homophobic and certainly not to Dave because it
would surely ruin our friendship.

The time in the football team's locker room and shower were
the most troubling.  It was the first time I had seen Dave
nude since we were very young.  We had always been close
and never shy with each other so he wasn't at all modest as
we showered and dressed.  His muscular body was, to me, a
thing of beauty ... and its effect on me bordered on lust.
Frequently, I couldn't cope with the sight of his
impressive manhood and had to hide my hardening cock.  I
don't think he noticed my reaction.  At least I hoped he
didn't.  If he did, he didn't say anything.

I was absolutely certain Dave was straight because, in
moments of candor, he told me of the girls at school that
he had fucked and those he wanted to.  He asked me once
whether I had gotten a piece of ass or two and, to conceal
my real interests, I lied, "Just a couple of times."  He
wanted to know more so I changed the subject.  Later, he
wanted to double date but I made some lame excuse because I
was afraid it would end up in sex.  The thought of fucking
a girl turned me off and I was afraid I wouldn't even be
able to get an erection.

After high school graduation, Dave went to work in his
dad's machine shop and I got a job delivering bread and
bakery goods to grocery stores.  I saw much less of him
then because he was spending most of his free time with a
girlfriend, Sherry.  She was quite attractive (for a
female) and I figured she must have been a good fuck since
that was important to Dave.  I was best man at his wedding.
Six months later, Sherry gave birth to a little boy that
they named Corey.

Dave was a loyal husband and I'm sure he loved his wife.
He was also a good father by spending as much time as he
could playing with the little guy.  He took great pride in
his infant son and kept me informed on his development and
cute behavior.


When Corey was five, Dave's National Guard unit was
deployed to Viet Nam.  He had mixed feelings.  A few days
before he left, he and I sat in my apartment downing one
beer after another.  He told me he was proud to serve his
country but hated to leave his wife and son.  After too
many beers, he wondered aloud what would happen to his son
if he came home crippled or didn't come home at all.  Who
would play ball with him?  Who would take him fishing?  A
boy needs a father, he insisted.  It was the first time
since we were very little that I saw him cry.

Dave came home a year later.  In a casket.

Sherry took it hard but the effect on Corey was tragic.
After a few days of tears, the six-year-old withdrew into
himself.  He had trouble sleeping.  His first-grade school
work suffered.  He had no interest in playing with other
children.  He refused to talk during several interviews
with the school psychologist.  He even had episodes of bed
wetting.

Sherry returned to her job as a receptionist in a doctor's
office, leaving her widowed mother to watch Corey after
school.  His grandma was a nice enough person but her
persistent nagging for Corey to go out and play with the
neighborhood boys only served to alienate him from her.

Sherry was at wits end when she called me.  "Mike," she
began, "I know you and Dave were very good friends.  Corey
likes you a lot, too."  I listened as she tearfully told me
of her son's depression and how neither she nor anyone else
could lift him out of his funk.  I had seen Corey's sobs at
the memorial service and I cried for his pain but I hadn't
known of the turmoil he had been suffering through for past
two months.  "I have a huge favor to ask of you," Sherry
went on.  "Maybe I'm grasping at straws but I thought if
you talked to him ... if you maybe took him somewhere,
anywhere, for the day ... it might take his mind off losing
his father ... even for a little while."

"Consider it done!" I said without hesitation.  "I'll pick
him up Saturday morning.  I don't know yet what we'll do
but I'll try to fill his day with fun stuff."

I rang the Hopkins doorbell at seven Saturday morning.
That was quite early but it was an almost two-hour drive to
the Cedar Point amusement park where we would spend most of
the day.  Corey greeted me politely but unenthusiastically.
In the car and on our way, I tried to engage the young boy
in conversation but all I got was grunts and short answers
to my questions.  Twenty minutes into the trip, he fell
asleep.  I had to wake him when we arrived at the park.  He
was drowsy but compliant when I said, "Let's go have some
fun!"

Two hours into our visit, Corey's mood improved
considerably and I think he was starting to enjoy the
rides.  By mid-afternoon, he was more like what a six-year-
old boy should be like, occasionally laughing and rushing
to the next ride.  As we got in the car for the drive home,
he said, "Thanks, Mr. Davis, it was fun."

"I enjoyed it too," I said.  "But why don't you call me
Mike.  Friends usually call each other by their first
names."

"But Mom says I should always call grown-ups Mister," he
objected.

"That's a good rule, Corey, but I'm sure she would say it's
okay to call me Mike.  We are friends, aren't we?"

"'Spose so," he said.

The closer we got to home, the moodier he became until
conversation was almost entirely one-sided.

For the next several weeks, I spent my Saturdays with
Corey.  Sometimes we would have a special excursion but
much of the time was spent in my apartment, playing board
games, watching TV, or just hanging out.  Gradually, he
grew comfortable being with a grown up.  I was not a total
stranger because I had visited with Dave and his family
often and that no doubt helped build the rapport between
us.  Sherry told me that he looked forward to our "play
dates."  I did too.  But the boy's behavior during the week
had improved only slightly.

The only down side to my Saturdays with Corey is that I had
to hide my magazines and video tapes.  Still, I wouldn't
change a thing about our time together.

The tipping point came, I think, when I started taking him
to his T-ball games.  He enjoyed playing ball and even made
friends with some of the other boys on the team.  When he
outgrew T-ball, I took him to Little League games and it
was then that he really came out of his shell.  He was more
willing to talk about his dad -- and without tears.

After one of his ball games -- he was twelve at the time --
we stopped for our regular ice cream cone before I took him
home.  He had played exceptionally well that day and I
complimented him on his effort and skill.  He got suddenly
quiet.

"Something wrong?" I asked.

"Nah," he sighed.  "I just wish my dad could have seen me."

"What makes you think he didn't?" I asked.  "He was
probably looking down on you and is thrilled that you
played so well."

"Think so?" he asked with a quizzical expression.

"I'm pretty sure of it, Corey.  I think he's proud of you."

"I hope so," he said and finished his ice cream.

<><><><><>

Over the next few years I spent a lot of time with Corey.
I thought it was a healthy sign that he wanted to know what
his dad was like as a boy.  I was happy to tell him
although it revived my suppressed attraction to Dave and my
frustration that I didn't dare tell him how I felt.

When Corey was fifteen, his mother had to be in the
hospital for surgery.  His relationship with his grandma
had deteriorated to the point that he refused to let her
watch him, claiming that he was old enough to stay alone
for a few hours each day.  Sherry only had to ask; I was
glad to let him stay in my guest room until she was home
and recuperated.  Corey was delighted with the arrangement.

Everything went very well.  Corey was old enough to stay by
himself for the two hours between the end of school and my
arriving home.  I fixed breakfast and saw that he had lunch
money but he always had dinner ready when I got home.  I
made sure he did his homework and reminded him to call his
mother every night.  We had settled into a comfortable
routine ... until ...

One evening he was in the shower while I watched TV and
heard him call, "MIKE!"

I sensed panic in his voice and rushed down the hall.  I
hesitated at the closed bathroom door, not wanting to
invade his privacy in case he was not dressed.  I called
out through the door, "Is there a problem, Corey?"

"Yeah.  I dropped a bottle and it shattered all over the
floor.  I can't get out of the shower without cutting my
feet.  Can you help me?"

"Just a minute," I called out and went to get a broom and
dust pan.  Upon returning, I asked, "Okay to come in?"

"Sure," he replied.

I opened the door, expecting to find him behind the shower
curtain or discretely covering himself with a towel.
Instead, I had a full frontal view.  I should have
controlled myself but it was beyond my power.  My eyes
scanned from his broad chest, down across his flat abdomen,
and landed on his crotch where they stayed too long.  He
was remarkably well-developed for a fifteen-year-old with
profuse pubic hair, a long cock, and pendulous balls.
Tearing my attention away from his body, I busied myself
sweeping up the broken glass, accompanied by Corey's
apologies.

"Thanks!" he said as I exited the room.

I returned to the living room where I pretended to watch TV
but my thoughts were dominated by the image of a very
masculine young teen.  The resemblance to his father was
incredible and re-awakened my disappointment over not
having been intimate with Dave in High School.  My thoughts
were lustful but focused not on Corey but on his father as
a young man.  The only thoughts I associated with Corey
were pure wonder at the masculinity of my young friend.
(That innocent type of thinking would change later.)  I
caught myself thinking of what he might be like in three
years at eighteen and legal -- the duplicate of his muscular
father.  He would surely be the fantasy companion of most
of the girls in school and perhaps the target of their
advances just like his dad had been.

He came into the living room with only a towel around his
waist and apologized again for his clumsiness.  Once more I
admired his physique and recalled doing the same as his
father showered in the high school locker room.  I assured
him it was a trivial accident and complained that they
shouldn't put shampoo in glass bottles.

"When you first came in, Mike, you looked pissed off."

"Not at all," I disagreed.  "I guess I was just surprised
at how you've grown up."

"Maybe that explains why you stared at me."

I hesitated before responding.  It was certain that he saw
my lingering look at his genital region -- a definite no-no
among men and particularly with teen boys.  I tried to
think of some way to explain away my lapse of judgment but
with no success.  My hopes of disguising the real reason
were dashed when he cocked an eyebrow and said, "Or maybe
there's another reason."

"Another reason?" I asked, perhaps with panic evident in my
expression.

"That's the way Jeremy looked at me in the shower after gym
class.  He's gay ... or at least we all think he is.  But I
don't think you are."

If I were openly gay, I'd have corrected his impression of
me.  But I'm very much in the closet for a number of
reasons: family, friends, career, cowardice, whatever.
Therefore, I tried to steer the conversation away from me.
"Do you or any of the other guys tease Jeremy about being
gay?

"Some do.  I think it's okay.  I don't know if it's his
choice or if it's hard-wired into his genes but as long as
he doesn't hurt anybody why should I hurt him?"

"That's an admirable attitude, Corey.  There's too much
hatred and persecution in the world ... and I don't mean
just gays."

He turned and walked down the hall toward the guest room,
much to my relief.

<><><><><>

Near the end of Corey's junior year in high school, he
telephoned me and asked if he could come over for a visit.
"Actually, I need some advice, Mike.  Do you have some
time?"

"You're always welcome; you know that," I said.

When he arrived, he looked worried.  I asked him if
something was wrong.  "That's what I want to talk to you
about, Mike," he said.  We sat in the living room and he
seemed hesitant but said, "I think you're the only one I
can talk to.  I may be wrong but I think you're the only
one who would understand."

He hesitated some more so I asked, "Understand what,
buddy?"

"First," he began, "let me tell you something.  Remember
when I stayed with you when Mom  was in the hospital?"  He
didn't wait for an answer but continued, "A buddy had
loaned me a videotape of a movie that I wanted to watch.  I
didn't think you'd mind so I turned on the VCR.  There was
already a tape in it so I took it out.  It was a porno tape
and ..."

"Shit!" I blurted out, mentally cursing myself for being so
careless.

"It was a bit of a shock to think that you'd have a gay
video.  It probably meant you're gay.  But, of course, I
couldn't be sure.  You've never said or done anything that
would indicate you're gay.  Now, the bit about my breaking
a bottle in the shower.  That was an accident and I did
need help.  But I took the opportunity to test my theory.
I stood there naked, showing you everything.  Your reaction
seemed to confirm my suspicion.  I tested you some more
when I told you about Jeremy in the shower.  You didn't
confirm anything but you didn't deny it, either.  So here's
my question.  Are you gay?"

I could lie.  I'd done that often.  But this was Corey
asking -- Corey -- a boy I loved as much as if he were my own
son.  Somehow, I couldn't lie to him.  "Yes," I replied.
"Does that upset you?  Do you think less of me now?"

"Absolutely not!" he said forcefully.  "In fact, I admire
you more.  You seem to handle it extremely well.  Not once
have you said or done anything that was ... well ... queer.
Even after you saw me naked, you've never come on to me.
That must take a lot of self discipline."

Tremendously relieved, I said, "Thanks.  But enough about
me.  You said you wanted some advice."

"Yeah.  How does a guy know for sure he's gay?  I think I
am but I'm not sure.  I mean, is it just a phase I'm
passing through?  Will I grow out of it?  And if I don't,
what can I do about it?"

"Do you think you might be gay?" I asked.  "And does it
worry you?"

"Yes and yes," he said.  "But please don't tell anyone.
Okay?"

"Not a soul, Corey.  IF -- and I mean IF -- you're gay,
coming out will have to be your decision.  So what makes
you think you're gay?"

"Simple.  Girls don't interest me.  Guys do.  It's really
tough for me in the shower after baseball practice or a
game.  I have to force myself to think of other things and
not look at the other guys.  When I jack off at night I'm
usually thinking of naked guys, not girls.  At first, I was
ashamed of myself.  What would my dad think?  But I can't
help it, Mike.  What can I do?"

"I'm no expert, Corey, but you're seventeen.  I suspect a
lot of kids your age go through a curiosity phase, checking
out other guys, wondering -- or hoping -- that your equipment
will be as good as the next guy's."

"But it's more than that!" Corey objected.  "Why did I get
hard watching your video tape?  Yeah.  I watched it.  And
had to jack off before it was over.  Why do I think of guys
instead of screwing a girl when I jack off?"

"Okay," I had to admit.  "It's possible -- but not certain --
that you're gay.  That doesn't make you a pervert or a
sinner.  Homosexuality is not common but neither is red
hair or left-handedness.  You're different; you're not a
bad person."

"When did you know you were gay?" he asked, changing the
subject somewhat.

I had to think about it because it was twenty years ago but
replied, "About fourteen, I suspected it.  At fifteen, I
was pretty sure.  By sixteen, I knew.  But I've never told
anyone that I'm gay.  And I hope you keep my secret just
like I'll keep yours."

"Did you and my dad ever...."

"NO!  I wanted to.  But your dad was straight as an arrow."

"I guess my dad would be disappointed with me `cause I'm
gay.  Or angry."

"I don't think so, Corey.  Your dad is in a place now where
there's no hatred, no bigotry.  I think he'd understand and
still be proud of you."

"I hope so, Mike.  At least I know you don't disapprove of
me.  I mean your being gay yourself, you know what it's
like.  You know how I feel.  You know what gay sex is
like."

 "You're half right," I said.  "I know how it feels to be
gay but I don't know what gay sex is like.  I've never had
gay sex with anyone.  I'm a thirty-five-year-old virgin."

"That's awful," Corey said.  "Will I end up that way, too?"

"That's up to you.  You asked for my advice.  Here it is.
Wait.  Wait a little longer until you can be sure that
you're gay.  Here's another piece of advice.  Don't come
out until you're ready to accept the consequences, both
good and bad.  There's a lot of bigotry in the world and
you will suffer discrimination and even persecution.
Consider what the news will do to the ones you love.  But
at the same time remember that you've got your own life to
live and you should do what makes you happy.  Finally -- and
this is the most important piece of advice I can give you --
if you are gay and decide to live as a gay, don't go to bed
with every Tom, Dick, and Harry just for the thrill of sex.
Find someone you're willing to share your life with."

"Thanks, Mike.  I don't know what I expected you to say but
I like what you said.  As for being gay, there's no doubt
in my mind that I am.  As for the consequences, I guess
I'll have to consider them before making up my mind about
coming out.  And I agree with you that casual sex is
dangerous and maybe selfish.  Hopefully, I can find the
right guy.  If I do, you'll be the first to know.  Maybe
the only one to know for a while."

When he left for home, I think he was still a little
troubled and confused but was decidedly more cheerful than
when he arrived.

<><><><><>

Over the following three years, we had several
conversations about homosexuality: the source of society's
prohibitions, safe sex, and (here I could offer little
help) how to find a life partner.  I was flattered that he
trusted me enough to talk so openly but, two things worried
me.  I was afraid that I wasn't giving him all the help and
support he needed.  More troubling was that I was regarding
him less as a boy and more as an adult, a young man who had
matured mentally and socially, and a carbon copy of his
father.  The little boy had grown to be handsome and -- let
me be honest -- desirable.  It was increasingly difficult to
conceal my attraction to him and to maintain the innocent
friendship we'd had since he was a little boy.


He had just turned eighteen and was nearing graduation when
he stopped by my apartment on a Saturday morning.  "Got
time to talk?" he asked.

"Always time for you, Corey.  Come in.  What's up?"

He got right to the point.  "I think I've found the right
partner.  His name is Jacob.  We've been friends since
fifth grade.  For the last couple of years, we've talked
about sex but I've never let on that I'm gay.  Last week
we'd had a few beers and he told me how much he liked me.
That was no surprise `cause we've been good friends for a
long time.  The surprise was when he kissed me.  Not a peck
on the cheek but right on the lips.  It was wonderful!
Before long we were fondling each other and kissing like
mad.  Believe it or not, I came in my pants.  He laughed at
me.  It made me feel foolish.  Then he wanted to fuck me.
He said he had to get his rocks off.  I got scared.  He's
got a big cock and I was sure he'd hurt me.  I talked him
into letting me jack him off.  But he's still talking about
getting together so he can fuck me.  Before you say
anything, I'm sure it's not just for the sex; we really
like each other."

"Do you like him enough that you want to spend your life
with him?" I asked.

"Absolutely!  We've always gotten along well together.
Finding out we're both gay is like a dream come true."

"Well," I said.  "If it's more than casual friendship and
it's what you really want, I suppose you can do it.  Not
that you need my permission, mind you.  You're mature
enough to make that decision on your own.  Unless he's at
least eighteen and legally an adult.  Sex with a minor is a
felony, you know.  That would be a serious problem."

"Oh, he's eighteen.  His birthday is just a week after
mine.  There's another problem.  He wants to fuck me.  And
I want him to.  I also want to fuck him.  But what if he
hurts me?  What if I can't take it?  What if I make him
stop?  Wouldn't that disappoint him?  Maybe screw up the
best chance we have to be real partners?  I'm scared, Mike.
I'm scared of losing a relationship before it even gets
started."

"I don't think you have to worry about that," I said.  "As
long as you both want the relationship to continue, I'm
sure he'll understand.  But, to avoid the problem of pain,
you can ask him to go slow and prepare you for it.  Have
him loosen you up with a finger, then two, then three if
necessary.  Be sure to use a lubricant.  Do the same to him
before you fuck him.  Even then there may be some pain but
be patient; it'll go away as you get used to him inside
you."

"That's all fine and good," Corey replied.  "But I have
another idea."

"And that is?" I asked.

"I'd like to know what it's like before he fucks me.  It'll
be easier for me if I know what to expect.  I've thought
about it and decided that I'd like you to fuck me.  Hear me
out before you say anything.  The first reason, as I've
said, is that I want to know what to expect.  The second
reason has to do with something you told me once.  Don't
have sex with just anyone, you said; make sure it's someone
you like.  Well, I like you.  You've been almost my dad for
years.  To tell the truth, I love you.  The third reason is
that I want to do something nice for you.  You've said that
you're a thirty-five-year-old virgin.  I can imagine how
much you've wanted somebody.  I'm your guy, Mike!  Even
though it'll be just one time.  We'll both be doing a favor
for each other.  How about it?"

My instincts told me to decline his request.  Maybe I'm old
fashioned but I've always thought that one should not
surrender his virginity until he was sure that it was the
start of a lasting union.  In addition, I had been fighting
to contain my lust for Corey for a long time, especially
since he turned eighteen.  I had developed a habit of
squelching, even disliking, any thoughts of sex with him.
Even though he was legal, I regarded him as more of a son
than a potential lover.  On the other hand, most of his
arguments were persuasive.  It may or may not help him in
his first sex with Jacob but he obviously felt strongly
that it would.  Could I perhaps boost his confidence and
make his first sex with his boyfriend more pleasurable?  I
was flattered by his second argument that he loved me and
pleased that he took my advice seriously.  But, by itself,
it wouldn't persuade me.  His third argument, to give me
something I wanted was very considerate.  There's no doubt
I wanted to enjoy his body.  It was that thought that
tipped the scales.

"Before I agree or decline, Corey, I want you to tell me
the truth.  Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?
Because if you're asking mostly to be nice to me, I assure
you it's not necessary.  You don't owe me any favors.  I've
enjoyed being with you as you grew up and I'm
extraordinarily proud of what you've become."

"Scout's honor, Mike.  The main reason is to find out what
to expect so I don't screw things up when Jacob fucks me.
That you might enjoy it is just frosting on the cake."

"In that case, Corey, what are you doing the rest of the
day?"

"Going to bed with you!" he exclaimed with obvious delight.

"Not right away, pal!" I said.  "First, I have an errand."

"Can't it wait?" he said, obviously eager to get started.

"No, it can't.  Get in the car and come with me."


PART TWO

Corey was obviously disappointed, maybe even upset, that we
couldn't go straight to bed but he obediently followed me
to the car.  Before we pulled out of the parking lot, he
asked with undisguised impatience, "Where're we going? And
why does it have to be done right now?"

"One.  We're going to the store.  I have to get an enema
because I don't have any at home.  Two.  It has to be done
right now because it's important that you clean out your
bowels.  There's nothing quite like a bunch of dirty,
smelly shit smeared all over on your dick.  Kinda ruins the
experience.  I'll get some extra so you and Jacob can use
it before you fuck.  I'll pick up some condoms, too."

"Why?" he asked.  "I don't have an STD.  I'm sure that
neither you nor Jacob does."

"I'm not worried about that.  You ought to use a condom
anyway.  For the same reason.  Even though you use an
enema, there may be residual stuff left in your bowels.
I'd rather take off a slightly smeared condom than wash the
shit off my cock."

I bought three enemas, three boxes of condoms, and some
lube -- enough for us to use and a "starter kit" for Corey
to use with Jacob.  Back in my apartment, I handed him an
enema and told him to go to the bathroom, follow the
instructions, and let me know when he was ready.

While I waited, I wondered if I was doing the right thing.
Yes, I concluded.  I wanted to do it.  He wanted to do it.
Maybe needed to do it to build his confidence.  Besides, I
couldn't back out now; he would be seriously disappointed.
And so would I!

It wasn't five minutes before he came back into the living
room wearing only his boxers and asked, "Can you help me?
I'm having a little bit of trouble."

I thought the instructions in the package, especially with
the illustrations, would be more than sufficient to guide
him through the process.  After all, he was a bright kid.
In addition, I suppose I was still clinging to the notion
that something like using an enema should be done in
private.  Never mind that we were going to get naked and
have sex.  That belonged in a different category.

"Okay," I said and followed him back into the bathroom.
Inside, I said, "Drop your drawers.  Better yet, take them
off."

Without a moment's hesitation, he stripped off his boxers
and stood facing me.  It was the second time I'd seen his
manhood but it was no less awesome than the first.  As my
eyes drank in the remarkable sight before me, I unwittingly
muttered, "You're beautiful!" He grinned as though he was
complimented (as, indeed, he was).  My heart was pumping
and my cock was well on its way to rigidity.  He let me
admire him for a few moments, no doubt proud of his manly
body and flattered that I was awed by it.

Reluctantly but necessarily, I forced myself to think of
the immediate task -- the enema.  "Turn around," I said.
"Bend over and grab your ankles."

"But the instructions say to lie on my side on the bed," he
objected.

"Right!" I said sheepishly.  "I suppose I can be forgiven
for not remembering that.  It's just that ...  well ...
you're so gorgeous."

"Thanks," he said with an impish grin.  "You're pretty
good-looking yourself, you know."

He led the way to my bedroom, affording me a marvelous
chance to study the smooth movements of his butt as he
walked.  Smooth skin clinging to firm cheeks that were
slightly smaller than his muscular frame would suggest --
matching exactly what I preferred.  I had to secretly
adjust my hardening cock from its awkward and increasingly
painful position.

He lay on the bed on his side just as the printed
instructions had shown.  I sat beside him with the enema
bottle, hesitant -- I don't know why -- to proceed.  Only
after convincing myself that I must behave as a clinician
would, did I dare to place my hand on a cheek and pull to
open the crack in his ass.  I almost lost my pseudo-
professional demeanor when his pinkish rosebud, framed with
thick, black hair came into view.  I had to admire it for a
few moments, unable to think of anything except: there's
the hole that will welcome my cock and my seed.

I heard him say, "I'm ready," which brought me back to
reality.

My hands were trembling as I very gently inserted the
bottle's nozzle into that virgin hole.  I couldn't hurt him
because he had already expressed his fear of being hurt.
Also, I dared not do anything that would prevent my
granting his wish to fuck him.

The bottle was empty.  I withdrew it and said, "Done.  Now
wait until you have a strong urge to empty your bowels."

"That was easy," he said.  "But probably a lot easier then
having a fat dick go in me."

"True," I agreed.  "But I think if you do it right, there
will be very little if any pain when Jacob fucks you."

"We'll see," he replied, seemingly unconvinced.

He was lying on his left side with his right leg bent and
brought up in front of him, concealing his manly cock.  I
suppose that was a good thing because it eliminated a
distraction and enabled me to talk to him about Jacob.  I
wanted to assure myself again that he and his boyfriend
could be partners and not just fuck-buddies.  Corey spoke
affectionately of his friend and expressed confidence that
theirs was more than a sexual interest in each other.

I saw him jerk and grab his stomach a few times before he
exclaimed.  "Gotta go!  NOW!" He leapt from the bed and
dashed into the bathroom, not taking time to close the door
behind him.  The sounds were unmistakable; he must have
dropped a huge load.  One of my thoughts was that I was
glad it went down the toilet and didn't end up on my cock --
or on the bed sheets -- but that thought was immediately
replaced by anticipation of the pleasure ahead of me.

I heard the toilet flush (a second time) before he
wandered, somewhat unsteadily, back into my bedroom.  He
seemed pale and I was more concerned with him than with
what was bobbing between his legs.  "You okay?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said.  "It's just that I haven't shit so much
since I was a little kid and had diarrhea.  Do I have to do
that every time Jacob fucks me?"

"It's a good idea.  And you should insist that he does it
too.  I'm convinced you'll be better off than putting up
with a mess after you fuck."

He lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling as though he
had lost interest in the favor he had asked of me.  I took
the opportunity to undress.  It caught his attention.  "I
said before that you were good-looking, Mike.  I was wrong.
Now that I see you naked, you're a freakin' stud!  You may
be thirty-five but you've got an amazing body!"

"Enough of the flattery," I said.  "We're here to let you
find out anal sex is like.  Are you ready?"

"Ready and eager," he grinned.

It started out as a tutorial (insofar as I was able since
my only knowledge had been gleaned from gay magazines and
internet stories).  I began by stressing the value of
foreplay to heighten arousal.  I took the opportunity to
demonstrate, which was partly an excuse to explore his
remarkable body with my hands and tongue.  It would be hard
to say which of us enjoyed it more.  His soft moans were
evidence that he liked it.  For my part, I was relishing
the chance to caress every part of his body, a body that
was offered to me willingly, a body that was as near to
masculine perfection as it could be.

As much as I might have enjoyed worshiping Corey's body for
hours, it was time to move on.  I emphasized the importance
of lubrication as I smeared some on his hole.  I explained
how to gradually relax the sphincter as I gently finger-
fucked him to loosen up his hole.  I'm not sure how much he
was listening to what I said because he was obviously
enjoying everything I did.  I sank my finger deeper and
found his prostate.  He jumped when I started massaging it.
I had to explain what that "hot button" was.  His only
response was a plea to keep doing it.  His precum was
flowing freely and forming a pool just below his navel.

I progressed from one to two fingers and then to three,
alerting him to what I was about to do at each step along
the way and watching his face for any sign of discomfort.
If he felt any pain, either he didn't show it or I was more
successful than I gave myself credit for.  I withdrew my
fingers and slipped a condom on my aching erection.
Quickly covering it with lube, I pressed the head of my
cock against his hole, telling him what I was doing.  Very
gradually, I penetrated him.  He winced once and I
immediately stopped to ask if he was okay.  He assured me
that he was and urged me to keep going.

Several minutes later, I was in to the hilt.  I could only
imagine the sensations he felt but I was extremely aroused
by his tight hole gripping my cock.  I started slowly to
piston in and out.  At that point, both of us yielded to
primal sensations.  Instruction time was over; we were in
carnal overdrive, driven exclusively by our sexual arousal.

It was, without doubt, the most intense orgasm of my life.
I felt every one of the eruptions of cum and (as he later
told me) he did, too.

My cock stayed hard for a surprisingly long time but
eventually softened and slipped out.  I lay beside him and
asked, "So how was it?"

"Far, far better than I'd ever dreamed it would be," he
cooed."

"So are you concerned about Jacob hurting you?"

"No.  I guess I made too big a deal out of it but I really
was scared.  I can't thank you enough, Mike."

"Yes, you can," I said.  He gave me a confused look.  I
grinned and said, "Let me suck your dick.  And swallow your
cum.  It's the one and only chance I have to do it but it's
a memory that I'll treasure forever."

He chuckled and said, "Go for it!"

It was the fulfillment of many a fantasy I'd indulged in.
I licked his hairy balls and rolled each on in my mouth.  I
licked from the base of his cock up to the helmet, causing
it to twitch.  I flicked the tip of the wondrous shaft with
my tongue, which amplified the twitching.  When my lips
encircled his manhood, he gasped.  It was only then that I
realized it was his first blow job and that redoubled my
resolve to make it memorable.  I teased him to what I
suspected was the brink and returned to suckle on his
balls.  That seemed to have the effect I sought; his
arousal soared and he was beginning to squirm in
anticipation.  I'd planned to do that once more but my
timing was off and he bucked his hips, pushing his cock
deep into my mouth and firing several volleys of hot cream
down my throat.


We talked for a while and I tried to steer the conversation
to his relationship with Jacob but he continually returned
to what a fantastic experience we'd just enjoyed.  I felt I
had to make a point.  "Look.  We both benefitted from what
we did.  But let me be clear.  It can't happen again.  If
your relationship with Jacob is to survive and grow, you
MUST be faithful to him."

"I understand that.  But I'll always be grateful for what
you've done for me.  And I don't mean the sex we just had.
You've always been good to me.  You've been almost my dad
for years.  I love you.  And I always will.

When he left for home, I hugged him and said, "Remember.
Enema -- maybe two or even three until nothing but clear
liquid comes out.  Use a condom and lube.  Go slow to
prepare each other for penetration.  And then enjoy.
You're going to be fine."

"I will, Mike.  Thanks to you."

<><><><><>

The following Saturday, just after lunch, I was reading a
mystery novel when incessant ringing of my doorbell
startled me.  I hastened to the door and opened it.  Corey
burst in, seized me in a vice-grip embrace and began
sobbing.  I knew it would be pointless to ask him what was
wrong until he regained enough control to speak.  I held
him -- or, rather, we clung to each other -- for what seemed
a very long time.  When his trembling stopped and his sobs
settled down to crying, I guided him into the living room.
We sat on the sofa with his head on my shoulder and my arm
around him to show my support.

Eventually, his tears stopped.  He raised his head and
looked me in the eyes.  I'd never seen such anger in
anyone's face.  His words came in disjointed torrents.  "It
could have been so wonderful.  It should have been.  He
wouldn't listen to me.  I said he had to get me ready.  All
he wanted was to fuck me.  No foreplay.  No preparation.
He didn't give a rat's ass about my feelings!  He was out
of control.  BASTARD!  It wasn't right!  It hurt.  Hurt
like hell but he wouldn't stop.  It was cruel what he did.
The goddamn son of a bitch!"

The shaking and tears started again as he wrapped his arms
around me in a hug that almost took my breath away.

I was appalled at what he had said.  I could hardly believe
what I heard.  It was such a contradiction to everything
Corey had told me about Jacob and their friendship.  I
didn't know what to say to comfort him.  All I could do was
to be there for him until he was able to tell me what
happened.

After several minutes, he said, "I'm sorry, Mike.  For
crying like a baby.  I'm sorry for barging in on you.  But
I didn't know what to do.  What can I do, Mike?."

"It's okay, buddy.  I'm glad you came here.  I don't think
any less of you for crying.  I'll always be here for you.
Now, can you tell me what happened so I'll understand?  The
whole story.  Maybe I can help."

"It was awful," he said.  "It should have been wonderful."

"Start at the beginning," I urged.  "What happened?"

"It was this way.  Jacob called me and said his parents
would be out of town for the weekend.  He wanted me to come
over.  We'd have the whole house to ourselves and could do
whatever we wanted.  I knew what he had in mind.  I cleaned
myself out like you showed me.  I told him to clean himself
out, too, so we could both be ready.  He just laughed and
said, 'See ya Saturday.'

"I got to his house this morning and we started kissing
right away.  He was a little aggressive but I thought he
was just exceptionally horny.  He took me to his bedroom
and said, 'Strip!  Let's get to it.' So much for romance!
As soon as we were both naked, we kissed and hugged for a
little while.  Then, he sat on the edge of the bed with his
legs apart.  He pulled me down to my knees in front of him.
He told me he'd been waiting all week to be together.  He
wanted me to suck him.  He didn't ask, he told me to suck
him.  There was no foreplay like you showed me, Mike.  He
wanted to get right to the sex.

"I figured I might as well; maybe later we could do it the
right way.  I mean the massaging and caressing and stuff.
I was working on his dick and, to tell the truth, enjoying
it -- probably as much as he was.  But he stopped me.
'That's enough,' he said.  'Now I want to fuck you.' He
didn't ask.  He just announced what he was going to do.

"I thought, 'Okay.  I'll let him fuck me and then it'll be
my turn to fuck him.' I got up on the bed on my back.  'Not
that way,' he said.  'Roll over on your stomach.' I didn't
like the way he ordered me to do it.  I guess I could have
predicted what was coming but I was too stupid.  I asked
him if he was going to fuck me first and he said, 'Of
course, silly, but you're not going to fuck me.' I was
surprised.  I thought we would fuck each other.  I started
to question him but he said, 'Listen, dumb ass.  Nobody,
not even you, is going to use my ass for a cunt.  Now shut
up.' He started to shove his cock into my hole.  I told him
to wait, to get me loosened up first, to use some lube.  He
just laughed and said, 'I'm going to fuck you, Corey, like
it or not.  If you don't let me fuck your brains out, I'll
tell the whole school you're a fag and you tried to get in
my pants.  What'll it be? You can get fucked now or let
everybody know you're a homo.'

"What could I do?  I couldn't let the whole school know I'm
queer and I did want him to fuck me even though it might
hurt.  Now, I wish I'd fought him off and gone home.  No
prep.  No lube.  He forced his way in.  The pain was
intense.  I screamed.  He just said, 'shut up' and kept
going.  The pain never stopped.  He bit my neck when he
came inside me.

"As soon as he got off me, I grabbed my clothes and got
dressed.  It was then I noticed I was bleeding on my neck
and from my ass.  I couldn't go home.  Not in the state I
was in.  I came here.  You're the only person I can trust,
Mike.  You're the only one I can talk to.  You're the only
one who might understand."

"Let me see how badly you're hurt," I said.  He turned his
head and showed me the bite on the back of his neck.  "Come
with me," I said.  "We should put some antiseptic and a
bandage on your neck."  He followed me obediently into the
bathroom where I cleaned off the wound, applied some
antiseptic, and put a bandage on.  "Okay, buddy, now I need
to see how bad your butt is."

With no hesitation, he pulled down his trousers.  I could
see his briefs were stained with dried blood and cum that
had leaked out.  I washed away the dried blood from the
skin surrounding his hole.  I tried to be gentle but as I
cleaned his hole, he winced and jerked with pain.  I could
see torn flesh just inside the pucker of his anus but it
was no longer bleeding.  The sight of it made me furious.
That beautiful little rosebud that had welcomed my cock and
given me so much pleasure had been inexcusably abused.
"Goddam monster," I muttered.  I sat on the edge of the tub
and pulled him down to sit on my lap.  He snuggled into me
and we embraced.  "You didn't deserve what he did to you,
buddy.  It was cruel, selfish, and intolerable.  He hurt
the young man I love and I'm mad as hell."

A bit startled, he looked at me for a moment and said, "Did
you mean that?"

"Of course I did!  You're right.  He's a bastard."

"No, Mike.  I mean the part about `you love me'."

"I meant that most of all!  I've loved you since you were a
little boy."

"But you never said you did," he countered.

"I certainly should have," I admitted.  "But I'll tell you
again.  I love you, Corey Hopkins.  More and more all the
time."

He squeezed me, buried his head into my shoulder, and
started to cry.  Blubbering through his tears, he said, "I
love you, Mike Davis.  More than anybody.  I love my Mom,
sure.  But I love you in a different way.  I thought I
loved Jacob that way but no more.  How could we be loving
partners if he won't let me fuck him?  I can't even be
friends with him anymore after this morning."

I'm not always the sharpest knife in the drawer but I
sensed a message buried in what Corey said.  `I love you in
a different way.'  Did that mean...?  I would have to
verify my suspicion later; at the moment, he needed to be
held, to be comforted, to be loved.


PART THREE

Corey had not had lunch so I fixed soup and a sandwich for
him.  While he ate, I noticed him squirming on the wooden
kitchen chair.  "Still painful down there?" I asked.

"Yeah, it is.  How long will it take to heal?"

"I don't know but I've been thinking.  I want to take you
to a doctor at the urgent care center.  He may want to
stitch it up or at least put some ointment on it to soften
the pain and prevent infection."

"Oh sure," he said sarcastically.  "And what will the
doctor think?  That I'm a fag who got fucked too hard in
the ass.  And of course I'll have to give him my name and
address, which means he'll contact my mother.  Won't that
just thrill her!"

"First of all," I said.  "The doctor is a professional and
won't make any judgments about your sexual interests.
Secondly, he won't have to contact your mother.  She gave
me medical power of attorney when you were little in case
something happened when you were visiting me.  I can give
permission for any treatment you need.  Third, that seems
to be a small tear but it's in a very sensitive place and
could get infected very easily.  Finally, it will create a
paper trail."

"Paper trail?" he asked.  "What for?"

"Just in case we need it.  I guess I need to explain that.
I assume that your relationship with Jacob is over for
good."

"Absolutely," he said.  "If I never see the bastard again
it'll be too soon."

"And he threatened to tell everyone that you're gay?"

"Yeah."

"Okay.  We need to prevent him from doing that.  Here's my
thought.  I don't know the details yet but hear me out.  I
go talk to him.  I tell him to keep away from you.  I make
it clear that if he spreads any vicious rumors, you will
file assault charges against him.  There will be three
witnesses: you, me, and the doctor.  If, however, he leaves
you alone ... and doesn't say anything to anybody about
your being gay, you'll consider the matter closed."

Corey pondered my half-formed plan for a while and said,
"That's blackmail, isn't it?"

"You can call it that if you want.  I would call it
negotiating from a position of strength.  But even so, it
isn't nearly as bad as what he did to you.  It will protect
you from him in the future and protect your reputation at
school.  Seems to me it's the only thing to do under the
circumstances."

"Can we pretend that you have medical records when you talk
to him?  I really don't want to see a doctor and answer his
questions about what happened."

"I insist, buddy.  The immediate concern is your health.
That injury MUST be taken care of."

"What can I tell Mom?" he asked.  "She expects me home this
afternoon."

"I would never tell you to lie to your mother.  Except in
the most extreme situation.  This is that kind of
situation.  Phone her.  Tell her we're going to a movie or
something and you'll be home later."

Corey took some time to consider and eventually agreed with
me but added, "Will you be with me in the doctor's office?"

"If that's what you want, yes."

There was an awkward moment when we arrived at urgent care.
After asking routine questions--name, address, payment
information--the receptionist asked, "What's the nature of
your visit?"

Corey looked around at the patients in the waiting room and
then anxiously at me.  In a soft voice I said, "My nephew
has an injury in his colon."

"Oh," she replied with no discernable expression and
proceeded to enter information onto the admission papers.
"Have a seat.  The doctor will see you shortly."

We sat away from the others in the waiting room and I said,
"See?  I told you everyone would be professional."

"So far," he said, pessimism dripping from his words. "And
what's with the `nephew' bit?"

"Precaution," I said.  "They're might be more likely to
treat you if a relative brings you in."

"It's going to cost a lot, isn't it?" he asked.  "I'll pay
you back.  I'm sorry, Mike.  I've not only caused you a lot
of trouble but it's costing you money."

"Hey!" I replied.  "What are good friends for, anyway?"

The opening interview from Dr. Patel was routine and
impersonal until Corey nervously explained how the injury
happened.  The doctor glared at me menacingly.  Without
hesitation and while maintaining his stern surveillance of
me, he asked, "And who did it, young man?"  His
confrontational tone unnerved me.

"A friend at school," Corey replied and quickly added, "A
FORMER friend!"

"And the friend's name?" the doctor asked.

Having apparently regained his courage and assertiveness,
Corey said, "I'd rather not say.  He hurt me but I'm not
going to hurt him.  Revenge won't help anybody."

"How old are you?" the doctor asked.

"Eighteen."

"And how old is your friend?"

"Eighteen."

"And was the sex consensual?"

Corey glanced at me.  I nodded and he said, "Yes, sir."

The doctor softened his tone considerably when he said, "I
hope you understand, young man, but I would like to see
some proof of age.  If you're under the age of eighteen,
policy requires that I report the incident to Children's
Services."

His comment frightened us both.  Neither of us had
anticipated legal implications.  Corey (smugly, I thought)
took out his wallet to show his driver's license.

"All right," the doctor said upon seeing the ID.  "Let's
take a look at the injury.  Please lower your pants and
underwear.  Mr. ... ah ..." (checking the admission papers)
... "Mr. Davis, you can wait outside, please."

"I want him to stay," Corey said forcefully.

The doctor agreed and proceeded to examine the injury after
taking note of the dried stains on the briefs.  I cursed
myself for not loaning him a clean pair.  "Not too
serious," he reported.  "It looks like someone has cleaned
you up a little."

"That was Mike ... my uncle.  He insisted I come here."

"Good," the doctor mused.  "It won't need any stitches but
we'll have to prevent infection.  I'll give you a
prescription for an antibiotic cream.  You'll have to apply
it to the wound in your colon four times a day AND
immediately after every bowel movement.  Do you think you
can do that?"

"Yes, sir," Corey replied and started to pull up his briefs
and trousers.

"Just a moment," The doctor said.  "We're not finished yet.
I have to collect a sample of the semen.  It's required
procedure.  I assure you, it won't hurt."  He reached for a
cotton swab.

"Why is it required," I asked.

The doctor looked me in the eyes and said, "In case there
are criminal charges, we must have a sample of the semen
for DNA analysis."

I didn't like what I interpreted to be a suspicious
expression on his face but I knew that any denial of having
anal sex with his patient might magnify his doubts about my
role in Corey's injury.


Back in my apartment later that day, Corey said, "I've been
thinking ... about Jacob and your idea to warn him not to
trash-talk me.  You can deliver the warning; it'll be more
effective coming from you but I want to be there, too.  I
want to tell him what a cruel bastard he was and our
friendship is over.

"Are you sure you want to face him so soon?  Can you
control your anger and hatred?"

"With you there, yes," he assured me.  "And it's better to
do it right away.  His parents are away and we can confront
him in private--before school on Monday.

"Okay," I said.  "Is he at home now?"

"I'll find out," he said as he picked up the phone and
dialed.  "Hi, Jacob.  It's Corey.  I'd like to come see
you.  Will you be home for a while? ... Good.  Be right
over."  He hung up and said, "Let's go."

Corey seemed a bit nervous as we rang Jacob's doorbell.
For that matter, so was I.  It was hard to tell how the
confrontation would turn out.  A scantily dressed and very
handsome young man opened the door and said, "I figured
you'd be back for mo...."  He cut himself off abruptly when
he saw me standing on the porch.  "Who's that?" he said to
Corey.

"That's my uncle Mike.  We need to talk to you."  With
that, Corey walked into the house without being invited in.
I followed.  Jacob, now thoroughly confused, closed the
door.  We stood in the entry hall as my "nephew" launched
into a very assertive monolog that, it seemed, he had
thought through carefully on the way over.  "First of all,
Jacob, I want you to know that you hurt me--physically and
emotionally.  I expected our first real sex to be beautiful
because I was very fond of you.  You were selfish and
cruel.  You didn't care at all for my feelings.  All you
wanted was to fuck me.  Well, I found out what you're
really like, you son of a bitch, and I don't want you as a
friend--not even an acquaintance.  So you can forget about
ever fucking me again.  I don't want to talk to you or have
you talk to me ever again.  Is that clear?"

"I'm sorry," Jacob said not very convincingly.

Corey interrupted.  "Apologies don't cut it, bastard.  Just
stay the hell out of my life."

Corey was about to lose his cool so I stepped in.  "Listen
very carefully, young man," I began.  "Stay away from
Corey.  And don't even think about spreading rumors about
him at school.  If you mess with my nephew or try to get
revenge by claiming he tried to seduce you, you'll find
yourself in court on assault charges.  Do you know how they
treat young men in prison?  It isn't pretty.  You'll be
everybody's little bitch.  You'll be the victim of a lot of
strong, horny men just itching to stick their fat cocks in
your ass."  I knew the threat was hollow because it would
be difficult to prove in court that the sex was not
consensual.  However, I was completely willing to let Jacob
believe that he was in jeopardy if he didn't agree to my
demands.

"You can't threaten me, mister," Jacob blurted out
defiantly.

I grabbed his shoulders and pinned him against the wall.  I
got right in his face and said, "I can and I do, shit-for-
brains.  One wrong step, one thoughtless comment, and
you're burnt toast.  That's sure to happen, dickhead.
There would be three people testifying at your trial: me,
Corey and the doctor who treated the damage you caused.
What will clinch your conviction is the DNA evidence the
doctor collected.  You got that through your thick skull,
twerp?  Leave Corey alone and never say anything bad about
him."

"Okay, okay," he said, his attitude suddenly subdued.

I released him and said somewhat more calmly, "Do as I say
and we'll leave you alone.  Screw up and we'll have your
sorry ass in prison."  Turning to Corey, I said, "Let's get
out of here.  This piece of shit makes me sick."

Back in the car, Corey said, "Geez, Mike.  You were
concerned about me controlling my anger.  You kinda lost it
in there."

"Okay, I got a little rough," I admitted.  "But he deserved
it.  Besides, I had to make it clear that we meant what we
said."

"A little rough?  I would never have imagined you could be
like that.  You've always been so kind and gentle."

"Ah," I replied.  "But you've never seen me when somebody
hurts the one I love."

"There's that word again, Mike.  I guess we love each
other, don't we?"

"For sure, buddy."

I couldn't tell him that of the several varieties of love,
what I felt for him was no longer the love of a surrogate
father for a youngster.  It had become the kind of love
that two grown men feel for each other.  However, I knew I
could never act on that.  He was eighteen; I was thirty-
five.  Inevitably, that difference would eventually
jeopardize any partnership ... or so I thought.

<><><><><>

On the following Thursday night, I was surprised when Corey
and Sherry, his mother, came to visit me.  Both seemed to
be upset.  She got right to the point as soon as we had
settled into the living room.  "I understand you took my
son to urgent care on Saturday."

How could I deny it?  "Yes," I said. "He needed immediate
treatment."

"Why wasn't I told about it?" she demanded.

I glanced at Corey, hoping he would give me some clue about
how to respond.  He sat quietly, looking very sullen.  "I
apologize, Sherry.  But at the time I felt it was a ...
well ... very personal matter.  Corey was very upset and I
didn't want to aggravate his stress."

"Damn it, Mike!  I realize that.  But as a mother I have a
right to know."

It appeared that she knew what caused the injury to Corey's
colon  but I couldn't be sure.  How much did she know?

"Again, I apologize." I said.  "There was no conspiracy to
keep it a secret from you.  I assumed that he didn't want
to upset you.  We took care of the problem.  I hope you can
understand that it was not the kind of situation that a boy
would tell his mother about.  It was more of a man-to-man
issue.  I'm just grateful that he came to me for help ...
and proud of him for doing so."

"Yes," Sherry said somewhat belligerently but softened her
tone as she added, "It does make sense that he'd come to
you.  You've been like a father to him for years.  And I'm
grateful that you helped him.  But I'm disappointed and
angry that I wasn't told."

I was still in the dark about how much of the incident
Sherry knew, which made it difficult to choose my words.
The danger would be to reveal more than she already knew
and more than her son wanted her to know.  In desperation,
I turned to Corey and said, "You've been quiet, buddy.
Your mother and I have monopolized the conversation.  Got
anything to say?"

He gave me a deer-in-the-headlights look and I regretted
putting him on the spot.  After a moment's contemplation,
he said, "She knows everything, Mike.  I had to tell her
everything.  She found the ointment in the bathroom and
asked why it was there.  I told her what happened and about
the trip to the doctor.  That's not all.  I admitted that I
was a willing participant because we're both gay.  But it
got ugly.  I even told her about warning Jacob to stay away
from me and not talk about it."

That answered several question for me--how much his mother
knew, how she found out, and, significantly, she knew that
her son was gay.  I was still quite confident, however,
that he hadn't told her about my fucking her son.  In an
attempt to put a positive spin on the situation, I said, "I
guess we've all learned a lesson or two.  I've been
reminded that it's not a good idea to keep secrets from
one's mother.  No doubt Corey understands that better now.
And you, Sherry, have learned that your son is gay.  How do
you feel about that?"

"I don't quite know yet," she said thoughtfully.  "At
first, I was shocked; I never suspected it.  I'm
disappointed because I expected to have a daughter-in-law
and grandchildren.  I worry because I'm sure the life of a
gay person isn't easy.  I think I've accepted the reality
of it now.  It's not what I had hoped for but I love my son
and will always love him."  She turned to Corey and said
with a smile, "But that doesn't mean I won't get mad if you
keep any more secrets from me, buster!"

Her final, joking comment was just what was needed to cut
the tension.  From that point on the conversation was much
more amiable.  She mentioned that she had wanted to press
charges against Jacob but Corey insisted that she not do
that.  He then told me that Jacob had not been in school.
Scuttlebutt was that his parents had sent him away for drug
rehab.  We speculated drugs were the cause of his otherwise
inexplicable behavior.

<><><><><>

I accompanied Sherry to Corey's graduation from high
school.  She was as proud of him as I was.  Moreover, it
was clear that she had accepted her son's homosexuality.
It wasn't exactly approval but it was a remarkable
tolerance.  They had been getting along very well since he
came out to her.  Jacob's name did not appear on the list
of graduates in the program.  We had learned that after his
rehab, his parents enrolled him in a parochial school.
Although none of us had forgiven him for what he did to
Corey, we hoped that he had been able to turn his life
around and stay clean of drugs.

After the graduation ceremony, Corey went to a party with
several of his friends.  Sherry invited me to her house for
"coffee and conversation."  I didn't need the coffee but I
wondered whether she had some purpose to the conversation.

I didn't have to wait long to find out.  After comparing
our joy and pride in seeing a healthy, mature young man
graduate, she said, "Mike, remember that awful night I
confronted you about your secret trip to urgent care."

"Yes," I replied.  "That would be hard to forget.  Let me
apologize once more."

"Something very good resulted from it," she said.  "Corey
and I have had several conversations since then.  We've
shared our ideas and feelings like never before.  I've come
to know my son much better.  The parent-child bond is much
stronger."

"I'm very pleased to hear that," I said.  "He DOES love
you.  He always has."

"I know.  What I didn't know, however, is how much he loves
you.  Sure, I knew that you and he were friends and he
always had a good time with you.  You've been a priceless
part of his life.  He grew up with a mother and a
substitute father."

"It works both ways, Sherry.  I don't have a son and I've
thoroughly enjoyed the time I've spent with him -- playing
ball, nature walks, outings, and just hanging out."

Sherry paused.  I sensed that she was searching for words.
"Do you love him?"

"Of course!" I said immediately.

"In what way, Mike?"

Alarms started blaring in my mind.  What did she suspect?
I opted to be cautious.  "I've loved him much as a man
would love his own son."

"That's obvious," she said.  "But let me speak candidly ...
about a possibly sensitive subject.  You both promised not
to keep secrets from me.  Corey has lived up to the
promise.  He's confided in me, for example, that his love
for you is no longer the love between a child and a
surrogate father, no longer a child's love for an adult.
At the tender age of eighteen, he thinks of himself as a
man now.  A gay man.  His love for you, he claims, is that
of a gay man for another man.  I'm sure you see the
implications of that."

"Indeed I do.  But let me assure you, I've never taken
advantage of your son."

"He's told me there's never been anything sexual in your
relationship.  But then why would there be if you're not
gay?  Or are you?"

I panicked as I realized my immediate and emphatic denial
of improper behavior with her son was almost an admission
of my sexual orientation.  I tried to think of a way to
climb out of the hole I had dug for myself but it was
futile.  I must have hesitated too long because Sherry
said, "Corey has been very open and honest with me lately.
Will you be as open?  Are you gay?"

"Yes," I had to admit.  "And that was the basis of many
conversations with Corey as he struggled with his
homosexuality.  I couldn't give him any expert advice
because I've never had a gay experience but I listened and
tried to guide him through a troubling time.  I'm ashamed
to say that I didn't discourage him from seeing Jacob.  If
only I had known...."

"Thank you for your honesty, Mike.  Now here's the primary
point of my talking to you.  Spoiler alert--Corey has said
he thinks you are the one he wants to live with.  I just
want you to be prepared if he brings the subject up."

"I'm stunned." I said honestly.  "I wouldn't have thought
that he would be attracted to a thirty-five year old man.
Sure, we've occasionally said `I love you' to each other
but I've always thought of it as quite innocent.  I never
thought he would think of me as a life partner."

"The fact remains, Mike, he seems to want just that."

"I should be flattered," I said, "but I don't think it's a
good idea.  He had a terrible experience and may be
grasping for a healthy relationship.  It's only logical
that he would think of me because I'm a good friend ... who
happens to be gay.  He's blind to the difference in our
ages.  I'm afraid I'll have to discourage it if he asks."

Sherry then said something that I would never have
expected.  "Don't make up you mind so fast.  Give it some
thought.  I don't approve of Corey being gay but I've
accepted it.  And that means I'll have to accept whatever
partner he finds.  Frankly, I would be happier if it were
you rather than some stranger.  Why?  Because you and he
have always gotten along so well together, you've been
considerate and loving for many years.  I know you.  I
respect you.  I'm confident that you won't hurt my son.
Yes, I recognize the age difference.  But what matters to
me most is Corey's happiness.  Of course if you don't want
to be burdened with a partner that will surely influence
your decision."

"Burdened?" I asked.  "I've wanted a partner for a very
long time.  If I were twenty years younger, Corey would be
exactly who I would want.  But twenty years is a huge
difference."

"Just think about it," she said earnestly.  "Think of
yourself.  Think of Corey.  And don't worry about me.
Okay?"

I had much to think about when I returned home.  I recalled
a few things that Corey had said recently.  Were they clues
to the young man's attraction to me?  I couldn't deny my
attraction to him now that he was no longer a boy.  I had
always enjoyed his company but found it difficult lately to
constrain my lustful thoughts.  Were they pure lust?  Or
were they my hope that I could show my genuine love in the
most intimate ways?

<><><><><>

Corey worked in a warehouse after graduation.  He was hired
as summer help but hoped that he would be offered a full-
time job.  He'd been on the job for about two weeks when he
called me and asked if he could take me to dinner to
celebrate his first paycheck and to thank me for "all the
help you've given me."  I accepted his invitation mostly
because I hadn't seen much of him lately and missed him.

After an extremely pleasant meal, we returned to my
apartment since his mother had a church committee meeting
that night.  I should have expected it but I was surprised
that, after an hour or so of casual conversation, he grew
serious and said, "I want to ask you something.  You know I
love you but you may not know HOW I love you.  You've
always been there for me as a kind of father and I loved
you for that.  Now, my feelings are quite different.  I
love you as a man, a man I want to live with, a man I want
to spend my life with.  You've said you love me but I want
to know if you love me in the same way I love you now.  I
want to know if you would consider being my partner."

Although I had tried to prepare for that moment, I was
torn.  My emotional side longed for a companion and Corey
was just the sort of person that I knew would make me
happy.  My rational side, however, had to acknowledge the
age gulf between us.  "That's a high compliment, buddy," I
said, "but I'm old enough to be your father.  Think of your
own future.  Think about what it would be like in ten or
twenty years when I'm an old man and you're still vigorous.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it ... maybe 200
years from now."

"Be realistic," I insisted. "Wouldn't it be better for you
to wait and find someone your own age?"

"I tried that with Jacob," he countered.  "You know how
that turned out.  What I want is someone like you--
considerate, wise, and, by the way, very handsome.  I love
you, Mike, and I'd be extremely happy if we were partners."

"I'd like it as well," I said.  "But there's still the
problem of the difference in our ages."

"That doesn't bother me," he said earnestly.  "In the
meantime, we'll share our lives and our love."

"There's another issue," I said.  "How would your mother
feel about your living with an older man?"

He chuckled.  "No problem!  She's already approved of the
idea ... sort of.  She said that as long as I found a
partner who I really loved, who loved me, and would not
hurt me, she would not object.  Well, I love you, I know
you would never hurt me, so the only question is whether
you love me the same way I love you."

"There's no doubt about that, buddy."

His broad smile lit up the room.  "FAN-DAMN-TASTIC!" he
exclaimed and immediately grasped me in a bear hug.

"Another little detail," I said.  "Are you expecting to
move in with me?  What would your mother think about that?
We can't ignore her feelings."

"I'll ask her," he said and optimistically added, "I'm sure
she'll be okay with it."  He looked at his watch.  "She
should be home now.  I'll go tell her the good news."

An extremely happy young man kissed me goodbye and left.
Shortly after that, my phone rang.  "Mike.  It's Corey.
Can you come over for a little while?  Mom wants to talk to
you."

"Problem?" I asked, fearing that Sherry might be having
second thoughts -- even after her words of encouragement.

"No," he replied.  "I don't think so.  She seems okay with
the idea.  But she wants to talk to you."

I hurried over to the Hopkins house, trying to anticipate
what Sherry had to say.  Corey answered the door and
ushered me into the living room where his mother was seated
on the sofa.  She greeting me cordially, which dispelled
some of my anxiety.  "Thanks for coming, Mike.  And
congratulations.  Corey told me that you're going to become
a couple.  I'll bet you're expecting a lecture about taking
good care of my son.  I'm not the least bit worried about
that.  But I want to talk about the living arrangements.  I
have a concern.  You may think I'm old-fashioned but hear
me out.  Will you do that much for me?"

"Of course," I said, curious as to what lay ahead.

"First, let me assure you that I accept the fact that you
both are gay and want to cohabit.  I may not approve but I
accept it.  But if Corey moves in with you, there will be
talk.  I don't want to face the questions that are bound to
be asked by members of my church -- why is your son living
with a man?  And I don't want to even think about the
gossip that would go on behind my back.  But I have a
solution ... a little weird but one that I think meets
everyone's needs.  I had the basement converted into an
apartment with a bedroom, sitting room, bathroom, and
kitchenette.  At the time, my mother was getting frail and
I anticipated she would come live here with me.  But after
her stroke, she went straight to a nursing home so the
downstairs is not being used.  Suppose -- and think about
this before you laugh at me -- suppose you and I have a
simple wedding at my church.  You move in here.  I hasten
to add that the marriage will be nothing more than a
façade.  It will, however, prevent any talk of a scandal.
You and Corey will have complete privacy in the apartment
downstairs.  Come and go as you please without any
interference from me.  There's even a separate entrance to
the basement from the back yard.  We'll live our separate
lives.  I'm sure you and Corey will be happy and I won't
have to suffer the intolerance of my so-called friends at
church.  What do you think of my idea?"

Corey rushed over to hug his mother and thank her while I
sat trying to absorb the unusual plan and all of its
implications.

"I don't know what to say," I finally said.  "You presented
the plan as though it was primarily to protect your
reputation.  Some might call that selfish but I call it
magnanimous.  And ingenious.  It's obvious that a major
motivation is Corey's happiness in spite of your misgivings
about our relationship.  You're a truly remarkable person."

"Thanks," she said, "but are you willing to be my fake
husband, live here, and be Corey's lover?"

"Say yes!" Corey pleaded.  "Say yes!  Please."  Sherry and
I grinned at the eager young man.

My answer was obvious, "How can I say no to the young man I
love?  Thank you Sherry."

Corey then rushed to me and, with no sign of embarrassment,
gave me a hug.

<><><><><>

The wedding was small and simple with only a few close
friends in attendance but enough to ensure that our
marriage would be "public domain information" within days.
I moved into the Hopkins house, leaving four months unused
on the lease of my apartment.  I insisted over Sherry's
objection to pay a fair rental on the downstairs apartment.

My "honeymoon" night with Corey was nothing less than
euphoric.  No "here's how it's done" nonsense that
diminished much of my enjoyment of my first sexual
experience with an incredible young man.  No reluctance or
guilt about improper behavior with a surrogate son.  No
sense of loss when he left to go home.  We were at OUR
home.  Together.  Devoted to each other.  Making love
passionately and endlessly.  Neither of us were concerned
about the age difference that had worried me.

I would accompany Sherry to obligatory church socials to
maintain the pretense of our marriage but my real
"marriage" was to her son, a marriage that I would cherish
and protect at all costs.

<><><><><>

Acknowledgement:  My profuse thanks to Iatia for his
valuable suggestions to improve this story and for his
continuing support and encouragement.