Date: Sun, 13 Oct 2002 01:35:45 -0400
From: Fiddlecub
Subject: Dad's Winter Visit, Part 4

I spent the next week practicing, and not much else. I
thought my recent fuck with Dad at the restaurant might
distract me from concentrating on the violin, but the effect
was just the opposite: I played with a fury, attacking the
difficult passages until I owned them. Being concertmaster,
the first chair violinist, was my goal, not only for the
prestige and experience, but also because there were so many
solos in this year's music. I even went several nights
without jacking off because I was so tired from practice.
Between that and studying for the PSAT's, I had little time
for other things.

The night before the festival started was hectic. Mom and I
ran to the store to get groceries so the fridge would be
fully stocked for Dale, our guest musician. She also dragged
me to K-Mart to pick up board games. "So Dale won't be
bored," she said.

I protested. "Dale and I won't have the energy for games," I
countered, but Mom insisted, so we returned home, armed with
brown paper bags full of groceries and a stack of cardboard
boxes containing fold-out boards and miniature plastic
parts. I helped Mom put away the groceries and slipped into
my bedroom to practice one last time.

I had just picked up my bow when Dad peeked in. "Got a
second?"

"Sure, Dad, what's up?"

"I just wanted to let you know. I am so proud of you. You
are practicing so hard, and you sound great. I am positive
you will be first chair. I know how badly you want it."

I needed those words of encouragement, as anxious as I was.
"Thanks, Dad. I am so nervous, I am shaking, I hope I don't
do that at the audition."

Dad walked over to me and kissed my forehead. Dad saw my
eyes dart around the room, looking for Mom, and he laughed.
"No one is watching, Kevin. Besides, what's wrong with a
father kissing his own son on the head?"

I blushed. I couldn't think of anything else to say, so I
picked up my violin and raised it to my chin. Dad tousled my
hair and left.

I put my bow to the strings and played the hell out of the
Rimsky-Korsakov piece. When I was done, I felt like flying.
Maybe it DID sound gorgeous, and maybe I COULD be the
concertmaster! I packed away my fiddle and flopped on the
bed. The trembling that had been triggered by anxiety before
was now from excitement. I could do it, and I knew it.

I barely knew what was happening the next school day. It was
Wednesday, but it would be the final day of classes for me
that week. The auditions were that night, and the rehearsals
would start Thursday morning and continue with few
interruptions until the Sunday concert. My teachers sounded
like they were from a Peanuts cartoon, jabbering nonsense,
while my mind drifted into billows of lush orchestral music.
When the final bell rang, I didn't even remember eating
lunch. It didn't matter, anyway. I rushed to the band room
and hauled out my fiddle. I stuck my music on a stand and
warmed up with a few scales and arpeggios. Students from
other schools probably wouldn't arrive for a few hours, and
the auditions started at 7, so I had the home field
advantage. There were others from my own school playing in
the festival, but I knew I was the only one who would take
it so seriously as to practice up until that time, so I had
the room to myself.

Eventually I tired of playing in the band room, where the
sound was dry, and I took my stuff to the auditorium. It,
too, was empty, so I walked on stage and enjoyed the sound
of my violin echoing from the walls and filling the hall. I
knew, though, that it was possible to over-practice, so I
put aside the audition music and pulled out the Mendelssohn
concerto I was learning. I didn't practice so much as I just
played; the concerto has such a beautiful opening passage
that I just played the first page over and over again,
glowing with the splendor of the music. My neck was starting
to hurt from my violin pressed against it though, so I
played the first movement all the way through to conclude my
session.

I played the last "E" with a flourish. To my surprise, I
heard someone clapping. I looked out to the rear of the room
to see who it was, but I couldn't make out whom the lone
figure was. I put my violin in its case, jogged down the
steps, and went down the aisle to meet my audience. When I
finally could see who it was, I shrieked.

"Dale!" I cried, and rushed to the end of the aisle.

"That's my name!" he shouted. Even though we hadn't so much
as shook hands last year, I ran up and embraced him.
Nonplussed, he squeezed hard. We hugged for a minute before
we let go, and I looked at him, only to be taken by
surprise. Dale had a goatee!

"Look at you!" I said. "I can barely grow a single whisker,
and you have a face full of hair!"

Dale chuckled. "It took me a while. Even when I grew no hair
at all, I just shaved every day, twice a day. My dad said it
would grow in thicker if I did that, and he was right!"

We chatted nonstop for an hour. Like me, he took his music
very seriously but didn't have anyone with whom he could
talk about it. Neither of our families was musical, so it
was a pleasure and a relief to chat about Mozart and such,
topics that made my parents' eyes spin. Eventually, we were
playing the Bach double concerto, and were still fiddling
when other students started trickling in.

Soon enough, the hall was full of young musicians, some
traveling with their parents, some, like Dale, being driven
by their school music teachers. The auditorium was filled
with the din of trumpets, oboes, and strings, all of us
aspiring to be first chair.

7 o'clock rolled around soon enough, and Mr. Lyle, my own
band teacher, announced the auditions. We were all being
chosen randomly in our individual sections, so every student
would audition in front of 2 or 3 regional music teachers.
Different classrooms were set up as audition rooms, so Dale
and I went to the room assigned for first violinists and
read the clipboard.

"Shit!" Dale said, "I'm first!"

Sure enough, Dale was first to play. I scanned the list for
my name. In a cruel coincidence, I was last! We both
laughed, knowing how tough it was to be first; they didn't
announce what passages from the music would be used for the
audition until the auditions began, so all of us would be
huddled around the door listening to Dale play so we knew
which passages to expect. Last could be worse, as the
adjudicators would hear 20 other violinists before I played.

A teacher opened up the classroom door and called Dale in.
"Wish me luck," he whispered, and went into the room.

The rest of us huddled silently around the door. Most of
what we heard we expected: The fluid solos from Russian
Easter Overture, some difficult pages from Hanson's Second
Symphony, and the fun first notes from Gershwin's An
American in Paris. The last passage stunned us all: a slow,
serene moment from Barber's Adagio for Strings. Dale handled
it all gracefully, with a beautiful sound and nary a
technical mistake. When he emerged, his forehead glistened
with sweat but he was smiling. I clapped him on the back and
said, "That was terrific, guy!"

The rest of us played, some worse than others. When it was
my turn, I gulped and shakily entered the room. The 5
minutes in there was a swirl in my head. When I had left the
room, I was shaking. I had no idea how well I did. Dale, on
the other hand, was stammering excitedly.

`You were great!" he said. The others that had stayed to
hear were all nodding. I was stunned; I hadn't heard a note
of my own audition. Now that it was over, though, I just
wanted to go home.

There was still one final, important moment left: the
placement announcements. As always, the first violin section
was last to be announced, so Dale and I sat while the
players were called up onto stage one by one to take their
seats, some thrilled, some disappointed. Finally, they began
calling out the names for our section, and we held our
breath.

When they got to number five in the backwards countdown, I
thought I would burst. Number five. Wasn't me, wasn't Dale.
Number four. Wasn't me, wasn't Dale. Number three. Not me,
not Dale. I was ready to shit my pants.

When Mr. Lyle announced Dale's name as second chair, we both
yelled excitedly, and he rushed up to take his seat onstage.
I was the only one left sitting in the auditorium, but I was
glued to the seat. I wanted to hear my name announced. I
wanted to know it was true, to believe it.

I was concertmaster.

After some final announcements, we were let loose. By this
time, there was a crowd of adults in the back of the room,
most of them local parents there to pick up their guest
students. Dale and I looked at each other for a moment and
shouted with glee again. Not only was I first chair, but my
best musical friend would be sitting at my side!

We ran to the back of the auditorium, our instruments in
tow. Dad and Mom were both there with huge smiles on their
faces.

"We heard the announcement, congratulations!" Mom gushed.
Dad's face was red with pride, and I hugged them both.

I almost forgot about Dale. I hurriedly introduced him to my
parents, and they gave him a hug too. The air was thick with
exhilaration, and we all climbed into the car, talking all
the way back to the house.

When we finally got to the house, Mom served us some cookies
and ice cream. We chomped on cookies and told my mom and dad
all about our night.

"I can imagine you guys are pretty exhausted," Mom said, and
I breathed a sigh of relief, glad that she wouldn't force us
to play board games.

"I know I am," Dale said, surprising me, since he didn't
seem tired in the least. "I am ready to hit the hay."

"I guess I am a little tired too," I said. We both stood.
Mom and Dad both came to be with more hugs and kisses.

"I am so proud of you, kiddo," said Dad. His eyes twinkled
and he embraced me tightly. "I love you, Kev," he whispered
in my ear. "So much."

"I love you too Dad," I whispered back, and we let go. I
gave Mom another kiss, and said goodnight. Dale and I went
to my bedroom and I shut the door behind us.

I only had one bed in my room, and we didn't have a spare
room, so I had laid out a twin mattress on the floor and
fitted it with fresh sheets and a soft pillow. Dale began to
unpack, and I sat on the bed. I marveled at his new goatee.

"Dude, your goatee rocks," I said. "I can't wait to grow
one."

"Well, I'm pretty lucky," he said. "Dad says I am blooming
early." He took off his shirt and I almost fainted at the
sight. His chest and belly were covered with beautiful,
light brown fuzz. I hadn't been masturbating much at all the
last week, and I could feel my dick get plump. I shifted,
not wanting Dale to see my reaction, and looked away.

"Besides," he continued, "I bet you have more body hair than
I do."

He pulled down his pants at the same time I turned to look
at him again. His statement was an invitation to compare, so
I looked at his furry legs. "I.. I'm not sure," I said.

He was wearing boxers, so I couldn't see the outline of his
cock, which was just as well, since my hormones were raging
at this point. I swallowed and pulled off my own shirt.

"Do you mind if I sleep naked," he asked, and I winced.
"Only with me," I thought to myself. "Uh, no problem, I
guess," I said aloud. It was all I could manage.

I did my best to look away, but I just couldn't. Dale
slipped his underwear down to reveal a beautiful, cut penis,
hanging about 5 inches down, surrounded by a mound of
light fuzz. His balls were bulky and pushed his cock out a
little.

"Hey man," said Dale, "This is your house. Why not be
comfortable?"

I considered this, but I didn't want Dale to see that I was
now raging hard. "I don't think I should.." I started.

"Aww, man, fuck that!" he said. "It's just us guys, right?
Besides, if we can play the Bach double together, what's
wrong with being comfy?"

It sounded strange to me, but I nodded and pulled off my
shirt.

"Holy shit!" he exclaimed. "You have a crapload of fur!"

I smiled. "I take after Dad," I said. Oops. I needed to be
careful what I said about my father.

"Well, you are lucky. I just got this light fur. I got it on
my face, though."

Dale wasn't bothered by any of this, so I felt bolder. I
pulled off my socks and unbuttoned my jeans. Curious to know
if he was watching me, I stared at him while I removed my
pants. His eyes never met mine; they were, however,
following my legs as I uncovered them.

Only my white briefs remained, and I saw his eyes roam to my
crotch. My throbbing boner was now obvious. I cleared my
throat, startling Dale, and he looked at me.

"Oh, sorry," he mumbled. "Just staring into space."

I looked down at his cock. It no longer rested on his balls
but was beginning to swell and twitch. He looked at me, then
followed my eyes to his dick. He looked back up and our eyes
met.

"Sorry, man," I said. "I haven't jacked off in so long, I
think I am swimming in sperm!"

We laughed, and this seemed to break the tension.

"Dale."

"Yeah?"

"You don't have to sleep on the floor. This is a queen bed,
plenty big for both of us."

He smiled and stood up. His cock was at full mast, and it
seemed huge. It was thinner than mine, but stuck a good 8
inches from his pubes. I slid over and patted the spot next
to me. He hesitated, and then got in bed. I wrapped my arm
around him and held him tightly against me.

Dale's stiff muscles relaxed while we embraced, and he
started to rub his hands up and down my back. I tousled his
hair like Dad did with mine, and then held his head in my
hands and turned his face to mine. In a flash, we were
kissing voraciously, our tongues dueling, passing spit back
and forth, our hands roaming up and down from our heads to
our asses. We pushed our crotches against each other, and I
could feel his naked hardness through my underwear.

Finally, we pulled apart, and Dale scotched down towards the
end of the bed. "Kevin," he said, "I have thought about this
for a year. I want you so bad, I've got to try this. I never
did anything with another guy, or a girl, ever. I have
always wanted to suck a cock, and I want you to be the
first."

"I want you to suck it," I said. I lifted my ass off the
bed, and Dale pulled my underwear off. I heard him gasp.
"It's so thick!" he said, surprised. He chucked my briefs
across the room. He tilted his head until he was face to
face with my piss slit. Clear pre-cum oozed from the eye,
leaving a shiny clear trail from my dickhead all the way
down to my balls. His breath was hot and steady on my cock,
and I waited patiently. Finally, he opened his mouth, and
slowly wrapped his thinly mustached lips around the head of
my cock.

"Shit!" I moaned. He was less forceful than Dad, but his
tenderness was wonderful. He sank his mouth slowly down to
the base of my prick until his nose rested against my pubic
hair. If he had never sucked a cock before, he must have
practiced, because he didn't even gag. His lips pressed hard
on my shaft and he licked his tongue up and down inside his
mouth. "That feels fucking fantastic."

Dale groaned and began to slide up and down on my throbbing
pecker. He reached up and tweaked my nipples while he
sucked, twisting them both in unison, and I rubbed my hands
slowly through his hair. He was so loving, so attentive. He
wanted to please me by making love to my cock.

Soon, all too soon, I could feel myself coming close. I
pulled him off my dick and he looked at me with big, puppy-
dog eyes, his eyes and mouth watering.

"Let's do this right," I said, and I pulled him up to the
head of the bed. I kissed him sweetly, then turned around so
we were in a 69, and pushed my cock back into his face. He
gobbled up my sticky cock immediately, bobbing up and down
excitedly. I grasped Dale's rod and he moaned, his hips
instinctively pushing his cock to my lips. I opened up and
invited his dickhead inside. Dale groaned and sucked harder
as I slid my face back and forth, sucking his long cock in
earnest, trying to swallow it whole on every stroke.

While I sucked his pulsing dick, I reached my arm around and
grabbed his ass. He responded with a muffled groan and a few
pumps with his hips, so I traced a line from his hip to his
asshole. I gently inserted my finger between his cheeks and
touched his asshole. Dale moaned again and began fucking my
face. He must have wanted to get my asshole into the action
too, as he wrapped his arm around me and pressed his finger
against my hole.

We were both fucking the other's face recklessly, and I knew
I would be shooting soon. I pressed my finger into Dale's
ass up to the first knuckle and pushed his ass towards me
while I slid it further in. I felt the soft walls of his ass
squeeze gently, and he began to squeal with his mouth still
working my cock. His prick throbbed and thickened, and I
felt his asshole vibrate. He pulled back one last time,
thrust forward, and let go.

"Mmmmmph!" he groaned, and the first wad of steamy cum
blasted against the back of my throat. I gulped quickly, and
every time I swallowed another mouthful of tangy jizz, he
would replace it with another copious wad. His teenage
asshole snapped around my finger as he emptied his balls
into my mouth. Finally, he had no more cream to spout, and
his dick came to a rest between my lips.

The sweet, salty taste of his jism tasted fresher than
Dad's. I savored the taste while I pummeled his mouth with
my meat. He pulled me over so that instead of being on our
sides, I was laying on top. I was now able to truly fuck
Dale's throat, and I humped madly, ready to give up my own
load.

I spit his dick out and grunted, "I'm gonna shoot my load,
dude, do you want it? Do you want it? I'm gonna give it you,
fucker... get ready, oh shiiit, fuuuck, here it comes, here it
comes, oh fuuuck yeeeah! Take it, fucker, take it all!"

My load began to gush from my cock, flooding Dale's mouth
with milky goo. "Fuuuuuuck!" I still cried, my asshole
fluttering and my balls trembling. I spurted veritable
gallons of semen into that waiting mouth, and still Dale
guzzled. My ass was still fucking up and down, forcing every
last drop from my thick cock. Dale squeezed my shaft with
his lips, extracting every last droplet.

I rolled off, exhausted. I joined Dale at the head of the
bed and kissed him gently. "You were fantastic," I said. "So
are you," he replied, and we held each other for a while,
kissing and touching, sometimes just looking into each
other's eyes.

I reached down and fondled his cock a little. It hadn't
deflated much, and throbbed again when I grasped it.

"Dale?"

"Yeah, Kev?"

"Do you wanna fuck me?"

He closed his eyes and was still for a moment. His eye
flickered open again and he said, "Yes. Kevin, I wanna fuck
your ass."

"Then if you want to fuck it, you have to eat it first."

No more encouragement was necessary. He pushed me onto my
belly and buried his face in my asscheeks. Dale's tongue
slithered into my waiting ass and fucked in and out. I
bucked my ass against him, wanting more of his sweet tongue
in my tight ass. My cock was hard again, trapped between my
belly and the bed, and I humped the sheets, almost ready to
shoot again just from the licking of Dale's velvety tongue.

Soon, Dale pulled his face from my asshole and pressed the
tip of his dick against my pucker.

"Are you ready for my cock, bud? Do you want me to slide it
in?" he asked.

I didn't answer, at least, not verbally. Instead, I pushed
my ass backwards, and his cock slipped into me in one
effortless motion. It wasn't as thick as Dad's, but it was
still long, and it hit a spot inside me that Dad's hadn't
yet hit. I mumbled, "Fuck me, Dale, give me your hot cock!"

Dale didn't pull any punches. His fuck-need was obviously
too great, and he immediately began to slam his cock in and
out of my willing hole. Every inward thrust pounded that
same wonderful spot, and I could feel pre-cum leaking from
my piss-slit.

"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," I chanted. His breathing was
ragged, and I knew he would shoot his wad soon. I
concentrated on the full feeling in my ass, the feeling of
my dick rubbing against the bed with every thrust, and the
sound of his prick sliding in and out of me.

He was grinding against me voraciously. "Dude, I am gonna
spew. I'm gonna give you my juice... you ready for it?"

"Give me your cream," I shot back. "I want it inside me.
give it up, baby, give it up!"

Dale pulled back and pushed in again. His whole body
trembled, he shouted "fuuuuuuuuuuuuck!" and I felt his dick
erupt into my hole.

"I can feel it, I can feel your cum!" I grunted, and he just
pushed hard against my ass. His dick throbbed and thickened
as it spurted hot wads of sperm into me. My own dick was as
hard as steel against the sheets, but I didn't spurt.

Dale finally finished emptying his second load into me, and
then fucked back and forth a few more times, as if to prove
a point. He pulled his cock from my pummeled ass and rolled
onto his back.

"Man, you are something else," he said. I rolled over and
kissed him again. We were both breathing hard. I wrapped my
arms around him and pulled him close, and he draped his arm
around me. We both dozed off.

I woke up just a few minutes later when I heard Dale
snoring. I had to piss badly after our fuck session, so I
slid from underneath his arm and padded to the bathroom,
still nude but not caring, since I knew Mom slept like a
log. I pulled open the bathroom door to find Dad sitting on
the toilet, flogging his thick cock and rubbing his balls.

"Dad!" I said. "Sorry `bout that." I went to leave, but he
stopped me.

"Did you have a good time?" Dad asked. I looked at him,
worried that he would be upset, or worse, jealous. Instead,
he cocked his head and grinned. He still stroked his cock.

"Yeah," I said sheepishly. "I was trying to be quiet, I
guess we got carried away."

"Kiddo, our bedrooms are too far away for us to hear
anything. But I'm not dumb, I saw how he looked at you. Boys
will be boys, as they say."

I hadn't cum from Dale's fuck, and my cock was throbbing still,
jutting out in front of me.

"You need some help with that?" he asked. I nodded, and he
reached forward and grabbed my cock, pulling me towards him.
As soon as my dick was in front of him, he pushed his head
forward and took it into his wet mouth. He sucked me
confidently, with more urgency than Dale had. I grabbed his
head and pulled it on and off of my meat, almost ready to
shoot. Dad had picked up where he had left off, his hand
whipping up and down his veiny shaft. I watched his purple
cockhead flare wide.

"Dad, here I cum. I'm gonna shoot, fucker, here it comes.
SHIIIIT!" I grunted, and squirted my second load into my
Dad's gulping throat. Simultaneously, Dad moaned around my
dick and shot his own wad. It flew into the air, hung there
for a moment, and then splattered back down onto his belly.
Spurt after thick spurt landed on his stomach, flowing down
into his navel. My own cock sprayed its load forcefully, and
soon Dad had trickles of semen dripping down his cheeks from
the jets he couldn't swallow.

"God, that was great, son," Dad said. My cock was red and
sore by this time, and I pulled it from my father's mouth.

"Dad, I have got to piss so bad, it hurts."

He stood up, but when I moved forward to pee, he grabbed my
dick and led me to the tub.

"Lie down," he commanded, and I did so. The porcelain was
cold against my ass.

"Piss," he said.

Easier said than done. I had never pissed on myself, so it
took some straining, but soon I had a trickle seeping from
my dick. When I felt the hot piss against my abdomen, I
grunted and let loose, covering myself with a hot, pungent
deluge of yellow nectar. In the meanwhile, Dad positioned
himself over me and let loose his own stream. I watched the
piss gush from my father's cock. He aimed it at my crotch
and sprayed, causing more piss to flow from my own cockhead.
Overwhelmed, I opened my mouth and aimed my own gusher
there. It spurted onto my tongue and for the first time, I
tasted the pungent stuff. It wasn't bad, tangy and salty,
but not gross, like I thought it would be. Dad watched my
gulp my own pee and aimed his stream at my face, adding his
own piss to my own. I licked and gulped hungrily.

When we had shaken the last drops out of our pricks, Dad
grabbed a towel from the cabinet and threw it to me.

"You'll want to clean up," he said. He slipped out the door and
left me holding the towel.

I dried off but didn't bother to take a bath. This was one
of those times where I wished we had a shower. I put the towel
in the hamper and returned to my room.

Dale was sleeping, still in the same position, and still
snoring. I got into the bed and pulled the covers over us
both.

I didn't dream of cock, or ass, or piss that night. Instead,
I dreamt of playing Bach with Dale. In the dream, we were
both playing the double concerto. When we finished, the
audience stood, erupting in applause. There, in the middle
of the crowd, beaming brighter than anyone was my dad. I
watched him turn to the woman standing next to him, saying,
"those are my boys!"