Date: Wed, 22 Sep 2010 00:45:26 +0100
From: john aldridge <pegasusunicorn52@msn.com>
Subject: a boy's love

This story contains graphic sexual scenes between males. If material of
this nature offends you then you should not read it. Additionally, if you
are under 18 years of age in most areas you are not to read this story by
law.

     This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or
dead, or to events that may have occurred, is purely coincidental.

     The author claims all copyrights to this story and no duplication or
publication of this story is allowed--with the exception of the web sites
to which it has been posted--without the consent of the author.

Copyright EJA 2010

A Boy's Love

by

EJA


Terry stood beside the swiftly-flowing river and watched its roiling
turbulence from the safety of the bridge. A piece of flotsam caught his
eye; a sheet of paper with tiny characters written on it. He wondered what
the writing said and why someone had thrown it away.
     Suddenly there came the sound of footsteps on the path and the
sixteen-year-old looked up. His eyes widened in pleased surprise and he
gave vent to a shriek that disturbed the birds in the nearby trees. 'Dad!'
he cried and broke into a run. 'You've come back!'
     The brawny man smiled widely as his son flung himself headlong into
his muscular arms and twined his own around the strong neck. 'Hi son,' he
said, his voice husky, 'did you miss me?'
     'Boy did I ever!' Terry said, his own voice as husky as his
father's. 'I hate Mom; she's been even more impossible than ever since you
left. Have you found a place to live?'
     'Uh huh,' Carl said, nodding. 'Wanna go and see it?'
     'Is it far?' Terry asked, glancing at his watch as his father set him
down. 'Don't forget how Mom gets,' the boy reminded him. 'Dinner's likely
to end up in the yard if you're as much as five minutes late.'
     Carl chuckled. 'I remember, son. It's one of the things that used to
irritate the hell out of me. More often that not, I had to work late. I'd
tell her and I'd still find my dinner being eaten by a neighbour's
cat. Anyway, not to worry,' he added. 'My new place is about a five minute
walk once you reach the park gate.' He pointed in the direction he had
approached his son. 'So, you see, we've plenty of time.'
     Terry smiled. 'Let's go then,' he said. 'I'm glad you're close to
where I live. That'll mean I'll be able to visit you often and Mom won't be
able to say a thing--because she won't know!'
     'That was the whole idea,' Carl told him. 'When the judge put you in
the custody of your mother, I knew I had to find a way to get to see
you. So, instead of running to another city like a scared rabbit, I decided
to stick around. After all, my job's here, too, and I wasn't about to give
that up either!'
     The big man and his son made their way along the path that wound
through the trees until finally they reached the park gates. Once outside
the traffic increased exponentially but Carl Woodman remained on the
pavement that skirted the eastern edge of the park until they reached a
junction and a legal crossing. Once they were across the road the big man
steered his son into another wide road before turning into a
cul-de-sac. 'Here we are,' he said, pausing to open an iron gate that
guarded a short flight of steps down to a basement flat.
     'Wow,' was Terry's comment as he negotiated the steep steps behind his
sire. 'Does this cost much?' he asked when he reached the bottom.
     'Just over two hundred a month,' was his father's reply as he inserted
a key in the door.
     Terry had no idea if two hundred was expensive or cheap; all
expenses--save for a small amount of pocket money--was handled by his
mother. 'Is that good?' he queried as he was led into the gloomy interior
of the flat; gloomy, that is until his father turned on the lights.
     'Actually that's not bad,' Carl said. 'The rent includes gas and
electricity. The only thing it didn't include was furniture or food. But,
since most of my meals are provided by my job, all I really needed was
furniture and a fridge--for whatever food I needed for the evening.'
     By now the pair were in the living room which doubled as a dining room
with an upright chair against the table. Carl moved over to the gas fire
and turned a switch. There was a click and a small explosion as the gas
ignited. Seconds later warmth began to invade the room and the pair took
off their jackets.
     Carl guided his son over to the large sofa and they sat down, Terry
climbing into his parent's lap. Their lips met in a long non-father-son
kiss that got both of them as hard as iron.
     Finally the kiss ended. 'Can we go to bed, Dad?' Terry asked, his
voice hoarse. 'I need you.'
     'I need you too, son,' Carl told him as he rose with his son in his
arms. 'You were the only good thing to come out of my marriage to your
mother. I love you more than life itself.' He made to leave the room but
his son stopped him.
     'What about the fire?' the boy asked.
     Carl nodded. 'Good idea,' he said, setting the boy down and turning to
the fire. He switched off the fire and then picked his boy up again but
this time he flung his son over his massive shoulder. Terry squealed with
delight; this was something they had done on many an occasion when the
boy's mother was out of the house.
     Seconds later the pair entered Carl's bedroom and were soon out of
their clothing. Terry stared in awe at his father; in the couple of months
since they had last seen each other, the father had bulked up. He was now
almost three times the size of his son.
    Terry proudly displayed his cock for his father. Carl grinned as he lay
beside his son before rolling on top of him and returning to their
kissing. Finally the pair broke off, each slightly out of breath.
     'You know I've loved you for years. Nothing you could say or do will
make me change my mind about that. Please fuck me, Dad; I need this big
cock of yours back in my ass.'
     Who am I to deny my son anything, the father thought as Terry slid off
his chest at his nod. I suppose I should be grateful to my wife for giving
me this wonderful creature to love--and who loves me. He reached into the
bedside cabinet drawer and extracted the tube of KY jelly he kept
there. Slathering up his twelve-inch pole he then applied some of the gel
to his son's ass, dipping a fat finger inside the tight ring to ensure that
his son would be ready to take him; it had been over two months--ten weeks,
actually--since the pair had been last in this position.
     Terry groaned his approval as his father found and stroked his
prostate gland, making him harder than he thought possible.
     Finally, when he realised that his son was primed and ready for his
latest invasion, Carl Woodman placed the bullet-shaped cockhead against his
son's puckered ring and bore down. Slowly, infinitesimally, the thick cock
opened the way to paradise for the pair until, with an audible 'pop', the
head entered his son's darkness.
     'Ah!' was Terry's response as his ass was invaded in such a
familiar--and exciting--way. For months his ass had been lonely for this
cock--none of the other older men he had sought out for similar, had been
as well-endowed as his father--and he wasn't going to deny his parent his
right to his entire anus.
     He spread his legs as far apart as he could get them then whispered,
'Go ahead Dad, give me all you've got.'
     Carl pushed forward a couple of inches then stopped when Terry
gasped. 'Are you okay, son?' he asked anxiously; the last thing he wanted
to do--after so many weeks without feeling him--was hurt his boy.
     Terry nodded into the pillow. 'I'm okay,' he said. 'It's been so long
since you've fucked me it'll take some getting used to.'
     Incrementally the big man pushed his raging hard-on into the warm
hole, its sides gripping like a vice. Oh God, he thought as his cock was
swallowed by his son's fiery chasm, I can't get enough of this.
     For more than five minutes the man's cock made its way into his son's
warmth without a single protest from either the flesh surrounding it or his
son himself.
     Finally Terry felt the crisp pubic hairs of the man who had made him
against his butt and he knew that the foot-long cock was in the hole where
it rightfully belonged.
     Then Carl began to fuck his son, withdrawing almost to the point where
contact would be lost before shoving it back in. Terry squealed and
squirmed as his father's fat rod explored his hot hole.
     The boy felt over the moon as the fat weapon of his parent thrust
repeatedly in and out of his welcoming crack. With each powerhouse thrust
inside Terry's cock would leak cum as the meat inside rubbed his prostate
gland. It wasn't too long before the sheets beneath the lad were soaking
from the juice.
     Suddenly Carl pulled out and turned his boy over. He placed Terry's
legs against his huge chest and thrust back into his hole. 'I just need to
see your face,' he explained as he began pounding Terry's ass again.
     His boy's face was priceless--at least to the man fucking him. There
was a look of pure bliss on the beautiful golden-haired beauty beneath him.
     Finally, with a groan that he was sure the neighbours in the top flat
could hear, Carl Woodman gave one last thrust and unleashed a torrent of
juice into his son.
     Terry's eyes widened as the scalding-hot cum bathed his innards and
leaked out to drip on the bed-sheets to mix with his own pre-cum.
     Carl collapsed beside his son, his cock securing them in the most
intimate bond ever, and waited for his cock to wilt enough for it to come
out of its own accord.
     While they waited, content to remain this way for as long as
necessary, Carl stroked his son's hip and kissed his neck. 'You know, son,'
he said, 'I've been wondering about us and our future. How would you like
it if we continued to see each other then, when you turn eighteen, come and
live here as my partner--or, if you will--my wife. Would you like that?'
     'Nothing would make me happier, Dad,' his son replied. 'I can't
envision a life without you in it on a daily basis. I would be more than
happy to be your "wife".'
     Carl was as happy as his son. 'Thank you, my love,' he said. 'That's
the best news I've had since I divorced your mother. One thing,
though. You've just turned sixteen and I wasn't around to get you a
present. What say we go to a jeweller and get you a ring--to mark both your
birthday and your betrothal to me. How's that sound?'
     'I love you Dad and am willing to become your wife--or partner,
whatever. There's really no need to spend your hard-earned money on a ring;
although a mark of our relationship would be nice.'
     'Then I'm gonna get you a ring--nothing too ostentatious, you
understand--to mark our love and our commitment to each other.' He pulled
out of his son and slid off the bed. 'Come on, let's get showered and head
for the nearest jeweller. There's still a couple of hours before your Mom
expects you home.'

When they walked into the jeweller's shop Terry's eyes went straight to a
ring with a single diamond set into the body of the ring, rather than above
it. He pointed to it. 'That's the one, Dad,' he said. 'It combines the
stone of an engagement ring with the gold band of a wedding ring.'
     His father approved and asked the hovering salesman if his son could
try it on. The elderly man opened the cabinet and withdrew the ring. He
handed it to Terry who quickly slipped it on the third finger of his left
hand.
    To all three men it was a surprise that the ring fitted as if it had
been specifically made for Terry's hand.
    Carl left the shop a few minutes later considerably poorer than when he
went in. But, seeing the expression on his son's face, the expense was
worthwhile.

Epilogue

Terry continued to see his father on a regular basis for the next two years
then, on the day he turned eighteen, said goodbye to his mother and moved
in with him. For the next fifty-one years the pair were blissfully happy.
     Carl and Terry became successful authors but published under
pseudonyms to avoid any unwanted attention. Their collection of erotic gay
spy novels a la James Bond became runaway best sellers. It wasn't very long
before they were awash with cash and able to purchase a small island off
the South of France where they could go each summer and walk nude when they
wanted to.
     Carl died of natural causes just after Terry turned sixty-nine. He was
ninety. His body was interred at the highest point of the island and a
simple cairn of stones marked the spot. Terry stopped writing--he had
enough money to last several lifetimes, anyway--and retired to the island
so he could be near the man who had been his whole life. In his will Terry
left the bulk of his fortune--and his father's--to a charity with the
single instruction that, when his time came, that he be buried beside his
father and in the same manner.
     Terry lived for another fifteen years before he joined his one true
love in the afterlife.

THE END

Story by EJA copyright 2010 pegasusunicorn52@msn.com