Date: Thu, 6 Apr 2000 17:03:36 EDT
From: Frodo46888@aol.com
Subject: Becoming a Father

Becoming a Father
by Frodo46888@aol.com

I wasn't prepared to raise a kid.  I was 32 years old, happily divorced (no
children), living in a winterized cottage on a secluded pond, and I had just
landed a technical writing job for an up-and-coming software company.  I
could work at home, dress and eat as I liked, and life was good.

Then my ex-wife's sister died.  She had been raising her son, Seth, as a
single parent after the death of her husband, and now he was an orphan.  My
ex had run off with her latest boyfriend to Alaska and expressed great
disinterest in taking on a new responsibility - no surprise to me - and there
were no other relatives.  The wheels of the State had begun turning to place
Seth in a foster home when his late mother's lawyer produced a letter
requesting me as his guardian.

I had met Seth's mother possibly three times in my life, and Seth not at all.
I couldn't imagine what I had said or done in her presence that would make
her think I would be a proper father to the boy.  Unless, of course, she had
harbored secret hots for me.

I knew there were many good foster homes, but also some bad ones.  I had
never been a parent and that role didn't fit into my present plans, but it
was hard to ignore a mother's dying wish.  Assuming that my hesitation was
agreement, the lawyer FedExed all the necessary documents for me to sign.  A
week later, I was at Logan Airport awaiting Seth's arrival.

He was fairly tall for twelve, just at the brink of puberty.  Any day now,
his slender frame would broaden and fill out, the hint of dark fuzz on his
upper lip would thicken, and his attitude would become impossible.  I
shuddered when I considered my own adolescence.  He insisted on carrying his
heavy bag to the car himself, and I groped for topics of conversation as I
threaded through the traffic and headed north on the Interstate.

By the time we pulled into my gravel driveway, I had learned that Seth was a
good student just completing sixth grade, that he enjoyed surfing the Net,
that he liked baseball to watch but not to play, and that he had few friends.
I also noted from his subtle squirms that he had to pee but wasn't going to
tell me.  He seemed surprised when I immediately pointed out the bathroom as
we walked in the door.

The cottage had once been just a summer place.  It had a large living room, a
small kitchen, two bedrooms, and a bath.  Upstairs was a finished attic, an
odd-shaped affair with two dormer windows.  Since the second bedroom was my
office, I had spent the past week cleaning, painting and furnishing the
upstairs for Seth.  He seemed to like the space as well as the sense of
privacy that being on a separate floor suggested.

After getting him settled in, we walked around the largely-wooded, three-acre
lot.  There were other cottages on the pond, but they were occupied chiefly
on weekends and during July and August.  Mine was one of only two year-round
homes on the pond.  We went down to the patch of sand and the shabby dock at
the edge of the water, where I had a small rowboat.  He seemed disappointed
that there was no outboard engine attached, but by agreement none of the
shorefront houses had them.  This was a place for peace and quiet.

After supper, Seth dutifully helped me with the dishes, and then I led him
into my office.  We had to step around my exercise machine and weights to get
to my primary work area, but he was delighted to see that I had two computers
set up, one a G4 Mac and the other a PC assembled from top-of-the-line
components.  In anticipation of his arrival, I had augmented my meager trove
of games to include some of the latest and best.  I also indicated that I had
a high-speed access line that could handle both computers at once.  He smiled
broadly, the first sign of real pleasure I had seen.

It was the first week of June, and I agreed to delay registering Seth for
school until later in the summer.  On his first full day of residence, I took
him to the mall to buy more clothes, and after lunch I announced that we
should take a swim.  I handed him  shorts that would fit him and went into my
room to change.  He seemed nervous when he came down the stairs a few minutes
later, and he stopped and stared at me for a moment.

I'm not a handsome guy, but I work out a lot to cancel the effects of my
sedentary occupation.  My chest, shoulders and arms are quite heavily
muscled, and my stomach is still flat.  I also fill out my shorts quite
respectably.  Seth took this all in, and then blushed and ran out to the
screened porch.  I thought it best not to comment on his reaction until we
got to know each other better.

He admitted that he didn't know how to swim as we went down to the tiny
beach, but I said I'd teach him.  For the next hour I worked with him on the
basic strokes, and I was surprised to feel him tense when I touched him to
move his arms and legs.  At one point I noticed that his loose shorts were
tented in front, but remembering that my own teen years were filled with
unexpected erections, I didn't place any significance in the event.

Later we went out in the boat, and sitting opposite each other as I rowed, I
caught Seth staring at my chest and my crotch when he thought I wasn't
looking.  Just a 12-year-old's curiosity, I figured.  Nevertheless, I decided
to employ a little modesty around the house to avoid encouraging any ideas
that might or might not be in his head.

We fell into a routine of chores together, work at the computer for me, games
or surfing for Seth, swimming in the afternoon when weather permitted, TV for
him and exercise for me in the evening.  We also read a lot.  I took him with
me on my weekly trek to Town, and sometimes we went to the movies.  Despite
my urging, he seemed disinclined to spend time with age-mates at the mall or
ballfield.  I hoped this would change once he started school in the fall.

One unusually warm evening, we were sitting on the screened porch, still in
our swim shorts.  I looked up from my book and caught Seth gazing at me.  I
put the book down.

"You like to look at me," I observed.

His blushing was obvious even in the fading light.

"That's OK," I continued.  "I'm no movie star, but I'm glad that you like the
way I look."

He sputtered and coughed.  It was time to deal with my suspicions.  I got up
and sat on the couch next to him, and when our shoulders touched, he trembled.

"So what do you like the best?"  I flexed my bicep and rippled the muscles in
my chest.  "It's OK to touch them if you want to."

Hesitantly, he placed his hand on my arm, then slid it across my shoulder to
my chest.  He fingered the coarse hair, then he snatched his hand away.  His
ears were crimson and he stared at the floor.  I put my arm around him.

"Tell me what you're feeling, Seth.  It's OK to be honest with me."

"I'm all mixed up inside," he replied.  "I know some of what I'm thinking is
wrong, and I don't want you to hate me."

"If it's what you really feel, it's not wrong," I responded.  "And I hope you
know by now that I could never hate you."

Tears ran down his cheeks and he tried to wipe them away.

"I - I - I can't tell you," he stammered.

"I wish you could trust me," I said.  And for several minutes I just held him
as the tears flowed.

And then Seth broke the silence.  "I'm gay.  A queer.  A faggot."

"So you're gay.  Do you think that makes a difference to me?" I asked.  "Why
should it?"

"Everyone else thinks it's bad.  Nobody likes queers."

"A lot of people don't understand homosexuality, and they fear what they
don't understand.  You didn't choose to be gay.  And there are a lot more gay
people than you realize."

"Do you still like me even if I'm, er, gay?"

"Of course I do."  I held him tighter.  "You're still the same Seth, and
there's no reason for me to be afraid of you."

He put his arms around me and squeezed.  "I love you."

"And I love you," I responded.  "I'm not gay, but I'm your uncle and I can
love you that way."

Seth nuzzled against my bare chest.  "And you're beautiful."

I held him at arm's length and looked into his eyes.

"Just remember that I'm straight, I'm your uncle, and you're only twelve
years old.  I could be locked up for the rest of my life if I ever fooled
around with you."

Tears welled up in his eyes.  "Really?"

"That's the law.  It's OK for you to look all you want, but I can't ever
touch you in a sexual way.  When you're older you'll understand that, and
you'll find someone else you can love, someone your own age."

"There'll never be anyone better than you."

I grinned and gave Seth a hug.  Then I stood and said, "Is the inspection
over for today?  Did I pass?"

A slow smile crept over his face, but my crotch, which was just as his eye
level, received a long gaze.  I cupped my hand over the mound and said, "I
suppose now you want to see the good stuff."

He nodded, turning red once again.

"You can look, but you can't touch," I announced as I slid my shorts down.

My cock was somewhat firm but not erect, and it thrust out from its nest of
thick, dark hair.  My balls were relaxed and hanging low.  Seth was entranced.

"You never saw a man's equipment before?" I inquired.

Seth shook his head.  "I saw a guy going to the bathroom in a park once," he
replied, "but I wasn't close enough to get a good look."

"It's the same as yours, but just grown up and hairy," I commented.

He shook his head.  "Yours is different from mine.  The end is covered."

"That's because, like most kids around here, yours is what they call
circumcised.  They cut the skin back when you're a baby because it's easier
to keep clean."

I rolled my foreskin back to expose the head.  "See?  It's just the same
inside."

"But it's all so big!" Seth exclaimed.

"Yours will grow, and I think it's going to happen soon."

"As big as yours?"

"Maybe.  I think I'm on the high side of average for size, but as long as it
all works, the size isn't any more important than the size of your nose."

After another moment, I pulled up my shorts.  "Show's over for tonight.  Any
questions?"

Seth thought for a bit and then asked, "Sometimes mine gets real stiff,
especially if I rub it.  Does yours?"

"Of course it does, and it's supposed to.  No one ever gave you the 'birds
and the bees' talk?"

He shook his head.

"We'll save that for another night," I said.  "You have enough to think about
right now.  If you come up with any more questions, you know you can ask and
I'll answer as honestly as I can."

Seth got up and gave me another hug.  "I'm glad you're my uncle.  You're the
best uncle in the world."

I held him, and then I realized that it was completely dark outside the pool
of light on the porch.  "One game on the computer and then it's time for
bed," I announced.

During the next couple of weeks, Seth had a lot of questions.  He asked about
masturbation, he wanted a complete description of a heterosexual sex act, and
then he asked how gay men had sex.  I answered each question as thoroughly
and honestly as I could, using terms he would understand.  He seemed to be
more relaxed and to smile more now.  I hoped he was beginning to accept who
he was.

It was clear that Seth still had a crush on me.  One warm afternoon, I was
stretched out on the dock soaking up some rays.  Seth sat down beside me and
ran his hand over my chest and abdomen, then without warning he slid it under
the waistband of my shorts and wrapped his fingers around my cock.  I grabbed
his wrist and sat up.

"You know I can't let you do that," I said sternly.

He burst into tears and I held him.  "Not ever?" he asked.

"When you're eighteen we'll talk about it," I replied.

In the first week of September, Seth started seventh grade in the small,
local middle school.  I drove him to his bus stop every morning and picked
him up in the afternoon.  We had agreed that it was too soon to reveal his
orientation, and he became adept at the role of a typical teen-age boy.  To
improve his confidence, he had begun an exercise regimen under my
instruction, and in October I volunteered to coach a middle school basketball
team.  This seemed to make him more popular with his classmates, and he began
to enjoy their companionship.

At least he had me to discuss his feelings with.  He could tell me that a
particular boy was cute or hot, and he often asked more details about sex.
I let him visit a few of the gay sites on the Net, with me sitting beside
him to help sort out what was real and what was not, and to steer him away
from the truly obscene and gross.

By the end of eighth grade, Seth was nearly six feet tall, with broadening
shoulders and good musculature.  He had started to shave, and I clearly
remember when he had his first ejaculation, which he described to me the next
morning.  He continued to be a good student, and he now participated in most
sports.

His first experience in a group shower was initially an ordeal, but with a
few words of advice from me he managed it without embarrassment.  As time
went by, he was able to appraise his showermates' attributes without a
revealing hardon, and to discuss them with me when he got home from school.
He identified several boys that he believed were gay, but they didn't
interest him.

The ninth grade gym class proved to be less pleasant.  The high school was
very small, and Seth was assigned to a co-ed PE class with only a female
teacher.  As a result, the boys' locker room was unsupervised, and there were
bullies in the group.  One of the students whom Seth had thought to be gay
was tormented one day, and Seth gave me a full report that night.  The
following morning, I volunteered to be an unpaid assistant at the school, and
I suggested that I might help with gym classes.  I had established myself as
a popular coach at the middle school the previous year, and they were
delighted to have me.

Many of the boys knew me, and some of the less aggressive ones seemed
relieved to have me in the locker room at the beginning and end of class.
The principal bully, a big, beefy kid with lots of pimples, gave me resentful
looks, but because of my size he behaved himself.

I acquired other duties at the school.  I tutored in the special education
room, and when there was increasing disorder in the lunchroom, I showed up to
help monitor that.  By Christmas vacation, I seemed to be regarded as a full
staff member and the person to whom they referred their worst discipline
cases.  Most problems I resolved through listening, counseling and sports
activities.  My methods were sometimes unorthodox, and perhaps illegal, but
they were effective and that's all the school administration cared about.

I did most of my technical writing at night, which meant that I had less time
to spend with Seth.  But he was proud to have me at the school and didn't
seem to mind.  It was a demanding schedule, but I managed it.

One afternoon, I arrived late at the gym class.  As I opened the locker room
door, I heard my prime bully heckling one of his victims.  I stood quietly on
the other side of the partition and listened.

"Ya know why I rule?  Ya know why I'm the man?  It's 'cause I got the biggest
fuckin' cock in this whole fuckin' school.  Your stinkin' little prick
doesn't count for shit.  My cock rules, and you'd better do as I say, ya
faggot!"

I stepped out from behind the partition and the bully hastily tucked his
penis into his jock, but not before I appraised it as substantial, but not
extraordinary.  Bigger than these 15-year-olds, perhaps.  The boys quickly
got suited up and the class proceeded normally.  When we went back into the
locker room at the end, I announced, to no one in particular, that I was
really sweaty and needed a shower myself.  The boys were initially shocked as
I stripped off all my clothes and padded into the shower with them.  Not a
word was said as I purposely stood next to the bully, in full view of the
class.

I've acquired good control over the state of my penis, and it displayed
itself in all its glory, though not truly erect.  Even though the bully
flipped his to increase its size, mine was a bit longer and dramatically
thicker.  When he stepped forward to leave, I took his arm and asked softly,
"Who rules here?  Who's the man?"

He looked down at the floor and mumbled, "You are."

"Say it louder, please."

He grew red, but then shouted, "OK, you rule.  Now let go my arm!"

For the rest of the year, there were no problems in the locker room, whether
or not I was present.  At the end of the year, I was called into the
Principal's office.  The Superintendent and the Chairman of the School Board
were there, and I wondered if a parent had complained or if I were to be
disciplined or even sued.  The Principal shuffled a pile of papers in front
of her.

"Mr. Walker," she began.  "I have here more than a dozen letters from parents
and several from our staff."

My heart pounded and my stomach knotted.  Sweat broke out on my brow.

"Every one of them," she continued, "is insisting that we put you on the
salaried staff.  Every one of them says that you have done more for this
school and the students than any other staff member."

The Principal looked up at me.  "You seem to have earned everyone's respect,
and you've certainly done more about maintaining discipline than I could have
done.  You really should be in this chair rather than me."

I was dumbfounded.  During the next hour, I agreed to sign a contract with
the school as a teacher/counselor at a modest salary.  It was far less than I
earned with the software company, but I had to admit it was far more
rewarding.  I figured I could still do some writing in my spare time.

The next three years flew by.  I was constantly on the go at school, rushing
from crisis to crisis and getting to know all of the students.  Seth grew to
a full six feet, and his build nearly outshadowed mine.  Girls followed him
around in mobs, and his male classmates respected his athleticism and sought
his friendship.  He dated occasionally and never gave a hint as to his true
orientation.

Just one week before graduation, I had an open house for Seth's birthday, and
I was astounded at the number of his friends that showed up.  Fortunately, I
had prepared enough food and stocked huge quantities of soft drinks for the
occasion.  They ate, drank and swam, and it was one of the happier moments of
my life, as well as Seth's.  Sometime after midnight, when the last reveler
had left and we were cleaning up, Seth grabbed my arm and said, "I'm eighteen
now.  We have to talk."

For a second I was puzzled.  Then I remembered my statement from six years
ago when we were on the dock.  We went out on the screened porch and sat
together.

"For all these years I've loved you," Seth began, "and for all these years
I've wanted to have you be the first person I make love to."

Tears flowed down my cheeks, and when I looked at Seth, I could see that his
cheeks were wet, too.  Wordlessly, we held each other and cried together.

"I'm so proud of you I could burst," I said.

"And I love you so much I could burst," he responded.

We sat there in a powerful embrace for a long time.  When our tears had
finally dried and all we felt was an overpowering warmth, I said, "My bed's
bigger."

Hand in hand, we walked to my room, and without a word, we stripped off our
clothes and left them piled on the floor.  We stood on opposite sides of the
bed and looked at each other.  Impulsively, I laughed.

"You sure know how to make a straight guy horny," I remarked with a grin.

"And you're a gay guy's dream," he responded, his smile lighting up the room.

We slid onto the bed and wrapped our arms around each other.

"Nothing up the ass or in the mouth," I admonished.  "But anything else is
fine."

"I can't tell you how many times I've jacked off fantasizing about this
moment," he said.

Our embrace was intense, and our rigid cocks dueled for space.  I had assumed
I would have to force a response, but Seth knew all of the parts to
stimulate.  His probing fingers raised me to a level of excitement I had
never achieved in four years of marriage, and within seconds of each other we
were pumping onto the sheets.  We fell back to gather our senses, but we
never let go.  In minutes we were caressing each others' bodies anew, our
cocks again hard, our hearts pounding.  Our mouths and our hands searched
every inch.

My past experience had found joy in softness, in pliant flesh and smooth
skin.  This time, I was dealing with power and muscle and bristle, and the
sensation was overwhelming.  My belly was sticky from our juices, and I shot
again as our cocks were trapped between us.

We lay back, our hands clasped, unwilling to let go of each other.

"I've dreamed of this for so many years," Seth murmured.

"Anything that feels so good can't be wrong," I replied.

"I love you," he said as he rolled to me once more.

We held each other for some time, feeling our hearts beating together and
soaking up each other's warmth.  And then his renewed hardness tickled my
groin and we were again thrusting against each other.

I don't remember how many times we spurted, but as the pearly light of dawn
crept though the windows, I ached and throbbed with the most delicious pain.
Completely exhausted, we fell asleep with our fingers intertwined.  We
crawled out of bed at noon and showered together, sending a mutual sticky
trail down the drain.  It was midafternoon before we got ourselves and the
house reassembled, and we sat at the tiny kitchen table over coffee.

"We've both turned a corner," I stated.  "From here on, our lives have to
take a different track."

Seth's eyes were wet.  "I know that."

"You'll be off to UNH, and I hope you're going to meet someone."

"Maybe so," he replied, "but last night will be the best night of my life."

"I'll treasure it.  I mean that.  I never thought I could do what I did with
another man."

"I love you as my father, and I love you as my partner.  There will never be
anyone that I can love as much."

We held hands, committing this moment to indelible memory.

I worked at the high school for another year, then I resumed my technical
writing.  Seth met Jeff in his freshman year, and they now live together in
California.  Life is good for both of us.  I fly out to celebrate Christmas
with them, and my heart swells with joy when I see the man I consider my son.
If I should die tomorrow, I will know that my purpose has been fulfilled.