Date: Fri, 3 Nov 2000 10:16:25 -0800 (PST)
From: Ganymede
Subject: Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year (M/b, incest)

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. PART 1. By Ganymede

WARNING

This story contains graphic descriptions of sexual acts between men and
MINOR boys. If the subject of man/boy sex offends you, if this material is
illegal in your place of residence, or if you are under the legal age for
such material, do not read further! You have been warned! Read at your own
risk!

The story is copyrighted under the pseudonym, Ganymede.  Copies been
submitted to this archive. Placing the story in other archives for monetary
gain violates the copyright.  Feel free to post the story to Internet
newsgroups or send it to your friends.  If you enjoy my story, please
contribute funds to a charitable organization providing services for boys.

The story is fiction. Any resemblance to any individual, alive or dead, is
unfortunate.

DEDICATION:

This is the first Ganymede story to have a real dedication.  However, this
is more than a simple "thank you". This story would not have been written
but for Teglin, the author of "Three Weeks to Heaven". To dedicate this
story to him would be nothing short of an understatement of the value of
his friendship and support.  It exists only because of him. He challenged
me to write a romance in the same way I once used to write about boys and
the men who love them. Teglin also introduced me to a remarkable young man
who I will always remember as someone who influenced my life for the
better. Above all, I wish that I had been able to do the same thing for
him.

FINAL WARNING:

If you are under the age of 18, if this material is illegal in your place
of residence, or if man-boy relationships aren't your thing, then exit now
and save yourself from a life of sin!

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. PART 1. By Ganymede

Summer Memories, 1999.

Looking back, I would have to say that it started during the summer, months
before anything really happened. While the four months that followed were
memorable in themselves, as much as a time of growing closer to him and
learning still more of the full depth of his character, it was also a time
of increasing intimacy. Nothing obscene occurred, and certainly it was not
lascivious, yet my nightly back rub was perhaps a little too affectionate.
It was enough to engender sentiments that should not have been there. In
that, it was a gradual lead up instead of impetuously leaping into action.
I should have had time to realize what was going on. There was more than
enough time to stop, to reason, to find the strength to restrain myself.
Yet, when it did happen, it was spontaneous and unexpected, and I could no
more stem the flow of desire than deny that it was something I desperately
wanted. But I am rambling, trying to avoid the looming confrontation of
who, or rather what, I really am. Yet, even with the knowledge of what has
transpired, I know that I love him even more now.

It began on a hot August afternoon, a mere two weeks before my son and I
were scheduled to return home. Upon reflection, and even as I write, I find
that I am more than happy to accept the unchangeable fact of that afternoon
as the starting point, an initiation if you will, yet curiously I also find
myself agreeable to consider other outcomes. Had it started earlier in the
summer who knows what would have resulted? Would I have it different?
However, I am wandering again, or wondering. Perhaps it is equivocation
instead of guilt that plagues me.  It is right for me, but is it right for
him?

By two p.m. I was ready, willing, and waiting for the show to begin. God,
was I ready! I was comfortably stretched out in a leather and plywood, if
somewhat decrepit Eames chair in the living room. I was trying to read,
making abbreviated notes on my writing pad for a plot that had barely
progressed beyond identifying the key characters. I had done very little
work during the last month, but what a month it had been.  My mind was
seldom on my work, and the looming deadline set by my publisher seemed very
far away. However, that hot August day, almost in contrast to the fleeting
days of summer, the time passed very slowly.

My frequent glances out the window to see whether further attention was
warranted, showed my impatience. By mid-afternoon, sometime between two and
three o'clock, the boys were usually naked. Watching them had quickly
become a habit, and a very enjoyable habit at that. It was a side of me
that was disturbing for a reason that I did not fully appreciate, yet also
reassuring in its innocence. My fascination, which I chose to ascribe to an
appreciation of their youthful beauty, seemed to grow stronger every day. I
was being consumed, and the hunger gave every sign of being unquenchable.
Although for the last few weeks, there had been nothing to see except two
naked nearly ten-year-old boys cavorting around the pond, as much as I
would have liked to, I could not deny I hoped for something more. I longed
for something more to happen. Not that two naked boys were not worth
seeing.

They were beautiful. Golden tanned, lithe-bodied, so physically energetic
that it tired me just to watch them play.  And they played for hours at
time, drawing endless fascination from the world around them with a passion
that was all consuming. They were innocent as they charged headlong along
the path of childhood, yet increasingly there was also a sexually charged
overtone to their games. Put any well-built pre-teen boy in a brightly
colored Speedo, and his sexuality is enhanced to the point of arousing
prurient desires in any man, especially if he is already inclined that
way. Grant and Brandon lived in their all-too-brief swimming costumes that
summer. They divested themselves of the skimpy nylon skins only when it was
time to go to bed. It made me wonder what they did at night under the
sheets, when Brandon stayed for the night. During the day, their play was
not in the slightest bit erotic despite their shameless nudity around the
pond. Innocent that it was, it was more than enough to cause lewd curiosity
on my part. At times it seemed that all the boys needed was a gentle push
to send them in the 'right' direction.

However, with only a few days remaining before Grant and I had to return to
the city, time was fast running out for something to happen. Yet what that
"something" was that could or should happen, was nothing more than a vague
and apprehensive acceptance of the sensuality of two young boys in the
halcyon days of late summer. For more than an hour after lunch nothing
occurred that was out of the ordinary. That day was no different to any
other day of the last two months. That was not unusual, there was no reason
why it should have been different.  Despite that, I had a feeling, deja vu,
perhaps. I had a feeling that said something wonderful was imminent. Given
the privacy surrounding the pond, I had yet to understand why the boys
waited before they removed their swimming costumes.  Inhibition perhaps, or
maybe they lacked the motivation, but it always took time before they
stripped completely nude.

That day, dappled with sunlight filtering through the trees, they played
the usual games, spending about as much time in the water as out of it.
Diving for objects on the bottom of the pond occupied them for most of the
preliminaries. Every time either of the boys went down, I was fascinated,
wondering how he managed to stay under as long as he did. Their game
involved taking turns scattering as many as a dozen objects across the deep
section of the pond. Then the other boy dived in and swam underwater to
pick up as many as he could and as quickly as possible. They were evenly
matched in many ways, yet Grant had a clear advantage over Brandon in this
game. He seemed to realize his superiority in and under the water, and more
often than not, when it was his turn to throw the objects, they tended to
land quite close together.  Brandon, on the other hand, distributed his
objects into the most remote areas, and giggled with glee when Grant failed
to get all of them on one dive. He seemed to want to push Grant to the
limit of his endurance, while my son tended to protect his friend.  It was
after more than a dozen such dives that Grant emerged beside Brandon,
shaking his head vigorously as he dumped both handfuls of objects on the
rock ledge that formed the nearest side of the pond. The boys were laughing
and I smiled. They were lucky to have each other. Few boys were able to
enjoy such a good friendship that they became as close as than twin
brothers.  Indeed, if often seemed to me that Brandon and Grant were always
intended to be brothers. They just happened to have different parents. I
watched them through the window, presuming that I was unseen in the
darkness behind the glass wall. Perhaps they knew I was inside watching
them, yet if they did, it did not bother them. Neither boy had ever shown
any hesitation in stripping off in front of me. After long weeks together,
indeed after spending much of the last five years together, the boys
retained few inhibitions, if they ever had them at all. After all, I was
Grant's father, and it often seemed to me that I almost as close to Brandon
as his own father. I presumed the same was true for Grant, since the boys
spent about equal time at Brandon's house.

They were still talking when I glanced back at my research material and
wondered how I would use it in the book without become pedantic. It was
only a matter of a few minutes before I glanced out the window again. The
boys had moved to the near side of the pond and were now much closer to me,
perhaps thirty feet away. They were also in full sunlight, and their young
bodies glowed with health. Brandon was out of the water and leaning back,
supporting the upper half of his lean body with his elbows placed on the
wooden dock. His closely cropped blond hair bristled despite the water that
drained from his body after the last dive. His legs were wide apart, his
feet still in the water.  He was grinning at Grant, who was holding on the
side of the dock with one hand. His legs moved back and forth, giving him
additional buoyancy. Grant seemed to be playing with the cord of Brandon's
brightly colored costume. Then, I smiled, sensing that the "show" was about
to begin. What I did not know at that moment was that this "show" would be
very different to what happened on previous days, although I should have
had an inkling merely from their conspiratorial proximity.

Grant's single long glance towards the house was enough for me to take
action. I immediately slid down into the comfort of the Eames chair when I
realized that they might see me lurking behind the window if they looked
again. Then, nearly hidden from sight, I grinned when I realized that Grant
was actually undressing Brandon. Not only was this a complete break with
tradition, for the boys had always removed their own costumes, but from the
looks on their faces, both of them were doing it with considerably greater
enthusiasm than either of them had stripped in the past. With experience
came greater challenges and experiments. A moment later, Brandon's buttocks
lifted up off the wood planking and Grant began to yank the bright red
nylon down.  Taking off one's wet swimming costume is difficult under
normal circumstances, but taking off someone else's while he's sitting down
must be practically impossible given how the boys struggled and laughed.
However, finally, perseverance paid off and Brandon's Speedo went sailing
high into the air before splashing back into the middle of the pond,
another object to be picked up at a later time perhaps.

There the boys stopped. Although I couldn't see because Grant's head and
shoulders were in the way, there was no question what they were looking
at. I would have given a thousand dollars to know what they were thinking.
I heard muted voices, a garble of muffled giggles interspersed with words I
could not decipher.  It was enough, yet not enough. I caught myself
wondering whether Brandon's penis was erect. Given the attention it was
receiving and the continuing giggles, it seemed only natural. To my
knowledge, erections had never happened before while the boys were naked in
the pond, or at least I had never seen them. This time was very different.
Even from inside the cabin where I could hear very little, even when they
talked loudly, I sensed the specialness of the occasion. There was an
unmistakable feeling that the boys were sharing a secret, doing something
so needing of privacy that they needed to be close together. They had been
best friends since we had built the cabin. That had been more than five
years ago, and it seemed as if we had visited just about every weekend
since.

During this summer, just as we had for the last two summers, Grant and I
spent the entire three months that he was off school at the cabin. With
Brandon and Grant spending so much time together it was only natural for
them to become very close, yet until that afternoon I had no reason to
suspect that they had done anything beyond engaging in a few innocent sex
games. For one thing, I knew that they usually slept in the same bed when
they were together at the cabin, either in their boxers or more often that
not, naked. Grant had not worn pajamas since he was four or five years
old. In fact, he did not own pajamas.  Like me, he preferred being naked at
night. For a lot of parents, that two young boys usually slept naked
together might be troubling, but I ignored it. There were plenty of
opportunities for the boys to have sex together, if that was what they
desired.  They only had to go a few hundred yards into the woods to have
more than enough privacy to do anything that two boys might want to do
together. If they were experimenting sexually, so much the better in my
mind. They were both well-adjusted boys, and I had always considered that
sex-play for children was an important part of their development. Of
course, I had no idea what happened at Brandon's house when Grant stayed
there, but I hoped that his father, Gary Bowman, was similarly open-minded
about what the boys did together.

After a few more seconds of secretive giggling, Brandon reluctantly stood
up. Now there was no question. His proud little circumcised penis was
pointing to the sky. The tip was like a tiny acorn, only crimson instead of
brown. With his hands on his hips, and a lewd grin on his face, he looked
like he knew exactly what an erection was for and that he should be very
proud of it.  His expression perplexed me. In a way it was quite out of
character, yet it was also very reassuring. I silently wished that I had
the foresight to bring the pair of binoculars from the Jeep. The
incongruence of a little-boy penis on a boy-satyr made me smile. It was a
wedge-shaped lever that was slightly more than two inches long. I should
not have been surprised. It was only as big as one could reasonably expect
given the small size of Brandon's penis when it was limp. I had seen him
naked on many occasions and his penis was much smaller than Grant's was. In
the relaxed state, his glans seemed to dominate that short length of his
shaft so that it appeared that it had retracted into his body with only the
tip left outside to show that he was male. Now, he was undeniably male, yet
I still found myself wondering whether the cool water in the pond made his
erection smaller than it would normally be. His scrotum certainly showed
obvious signs of being chilled. His pouch was wrinkled and taut, although
it was still deliciously plump with his juvenile testicles.  Although
puberty was still several years away for Brandon, as it was for Grant, that
part of him seemed larger than normal, at least in comparison to my son. It
was almost compensating for the small size of his penis.

After a momentary glance over his shoulder, as if he was confirming that he
was being watched, Brandon's arms raised into a diving position. He was
brown and beautiful, shamelessly naked, seemingly oblivious to his arousal
as he poised to re-enter the water like a model showing off. As often as
they stripped off and sunbaked during the last two weeks at the cabin, it
wasn't surprising that both of them had nearly lost their tan lines.
Brandon's tan was golden brown from head to toe. Even his buttocks and
groin were suntanned, albeit a slightly lighter shade than the rest of
him. If anything, Grant was the darker of the two because he had spent even
more time in the pond during the summer.

In an instant, Brandon disappeared, leaving only a spreading ripple on the
surface to show where he had entered. He rose to the surface and languidly
swam back to the side. Idly, and unnecessarily, he brushed his short wet
hair back from his forehead and then gesticulated to Grant. I sensed that
he was clearly informing Brandon that it wasn't fair if only one of them
was nude. Through the window glass I could hear Grant's laughter as he
hotly denied Brandon's demands to "get naked too". There followed immediate
wild splashing as the boys tried to dunk each other, or at least that's
what I thought was going on until Brandon shrieked. He darted away, using
one arm to pull himself through the water and out of reach while he
splashed frantically with the other. At the shallow area where his feet
could touch the bottom, he leaped back out of Grant's reach. Grant lunged
forward aggressively, seemingly pursuing his friend with uncharacteristic
aggressiveness. As his foe jumped back I could see that Brandon's other
hand was clamped protectively over his crotch. Only then did I realize that
the boys had been engaged in a "cock fight" and that very likely, Brandon's
exposed genitals had just been grabbed by my son.

This was something that had happened frequently in the pond or around the
cabin, yet it was not that frequent that I suspected that it was more than
two energetic pre-teen boys engaging in horse-play. Of course, I always
turned a blind eye on the basis that it was better to ignore their budding
sex-play than run the risk of them thinking that it was wrong.

While Brandon remained at a safe distance of one or two lengths, they swam
back to the dock. Grant climbed out of the pond. I was always amused at how
easy he made it look.  Both hands on the planking, then straightening his
arms to lift himself higher, then one knee on the dock, barely grazing the
edge, then standing. He grinned at Brandon below him, now treading water so
that he could easily retreat to a safer position if Grant 'bombed' him
instead of doing what he was supposed to do.  Watching the slender lithe
boy standing at the side of the pond, I could not help but think of my son
as a young boy-god. He was perfect in every way. He was sleek and smooth,
and his water- spotted body was vibrant with health. The muscles in his
taut abdomen literally quivered when he breathed.  Momentarily, he stood
there, smiling down as he said something that made Brandon giggle. Then,
with a somewhat nonchalant expression, Grant fiddled with the nylon cord at
his waist. However, instead of removing his red and blue Speedo, something
totally unexpected happened. His pelvis began to sway, his limbs moving
slowly and sensuously. All of his body was directed to a single purpose,
that of emphasizing the small but very obvious bulge in his groin. He was
performing a juvenile parody of a stripper, and while his inexpert motion
was slightly amusing, it was also arousing. I watched, wide-eyed at my
son's sexual display. It was a side of him that I had never seen before.

In the water, Brandon was also transfixed. Casually, Grant began to ease
his swimming costume down. He was not in a hurry, and his frequent glances
at Brandon indicated that he intended to delay the final revealing act for
as long as possible.  Still, his Speedo came down, a fraction of an inch at
a time and always lower at the back than the front as if to conceal
whatever modesty required. He was giggling by the time his buttocks were
half-exposed, visibly enjoying his provocative game.  With his hips still
swaying and gyrating, Grant turned around and 'mooned' Brandon.

"Cute butt, Travers," Brandon shouted. It was loud enough for me to hear
through the double-pane window.

Grant swivelled around, giving me a look at both his lean front and
back. There was a broad grin on his face. He continued to dance, still
smiling, now even wider than before.  His movements had a rhythm of their
own, although there was no music.  Perhaps he was humming, yet I could not
think of any music in his CD collection that was so erotic. One thing was
very apparent. It was clearly not the first time he had done this.

When his penis finally came into view, I should not have been as surprised
as I was. He was fully erect and his

uncircumcised penis jutted out proudly over the front of his taut costume.
It looked bigger than seemed appropriate given his slim body. With a single
swift motion of his right hand, his fingers seeming barely to touch his
rigid sausage-shaped shaft, he retracted his foreskin with startlingly
ease. There it was, like a small, crimson-purple head, peaking at the
sun-filled day for the first time while Grant continued to dance.  Grant's
scrotum was small. Compared to Brandon, that part of him seemed to be
dominated by his erection rather than the other way around. It was
shrivelled and tightly wrinkled, not unlike half a peach seed in both size
or shape.

Brandon didn't say a word. It took nearly a minute before Grant's wriggling
pelvis encouraged his Speedo to fall down far enough to expose the rest of
his glorious anatomy. All the while, Grant was shameless in his
self-absorbed dance, and I was completely entranced. I sighed aloud. I had
seen him naked just about every day of his life, but this was very
different to rushing through the house after a shower, or lying relaxed and
sleepy in the family room in front of the fire. This was a boy discovering
his primal nature. It was intensely arousing. Only a few times during my
life had I experienced such a rush of excitement.

His prepubescent penis was shaped exactly like mine, although it was less
than half the length. It was about three inches long, not counting a half
inch of foreskin that was now pulled back behind his glans. The extra inch
(and-a-half if the foreskin was included) made it noticeably longer than
Brandon's penis, although they were both about the same three-quarters-of-
an-inch in width. When in that glorious stage of full tumescence, Brandon's
penis was short and fat, while Grant's was long and thin. Finally, when
Grant's swimming costume reached his ankles, he pivoted, removed one foot
and gracefully kicked the other so that the colorful nylon went sailing
into the air. It landed in a sodden lump on the end of the dock. He
grinned, lifted his arms high above his head, and arched his back. I stared
in wonder, not even beginning to question why I felt the way I did.  He was
intensely sexual, in the way that nature intended for boys for to be. He
flaunted his beauty to the world, just as he proudly exhibited his
erection, and I revelled in the sight.  His stomach muscles rippled and he
flexed his abdomen and clenched his buttocks so that they were pinched and
firm. Only then did I guess that he was trying to urinate through a penis
that was rock-hard. If more than a few drips dribbled out it would have
been a miracle. From the water, Brandon was laughing, saying words that I
could not discern but which from his expression looked for all the world to
be encouragement. One thing was certain, Grant needed no encouragement from
his best friend.

My mouth dropped open and stayed that way when he started to masturbate.
Two fingers and the thumb of his right hand clutched his little penis. The
motion was slow yet deliberately engaging the full length of his penis,
from base to reddened tip. His hand movement was enough that his foreskin
slipped back and forth over his glans. He was used to it. I was stunned,
expecting him to demonstrate less expertise at self-pleasuring.  However,
what I witnessed was calculated to excite the very best of feelings in a
preteen boy. he had masturbated so frequently that his foreskin had lost
its tension. Within seconds, Grant was totally engrossed. His hips swayed
slightly in an oscillation designed to simulate intercourse. He appeared
oblivious even to Brandon's shouts. From the beaming smile on his face, I
had no doubts Grant was enjoying it.

"Hey Travers, you dick head! You're going to pull it off if you're not
careful."

"No way, Brando."

"Don't you know what happens if you play with it. You turn into a queer."

"Like you, huh? If I'm a homo, Bowman, then maybe I ought to stick it up
your butt," Grant shouted back.

I smirked when I heard the playful shout, imagining Brandon's reaction.
Although Grant sometimes gave me cause to think otherwise, if either boy
had homosexual inclinations, I was convinced it was going to be Brandon
Bowman. It was not because he acted effeminate. He didn't, at least not any
more that Grant did! Or even because he was overly sensitive. Like Grant,
Brandon was too good-looking for his own good. However, Brandon had fuller
redder lips, lips that made him look girlishly pretty. Not that it was
simply a matter of appearance that clouded my perception. That Brandon had
a 'thing' for Grant was hardly a secret. Whenever he looked at Grant, his
eyes seemed entranced by what he saw. For a while I had denied the evidence
before me, but his infatuation with my son was becoming increasingly
apparent. I suspected that it was not unique to him for Grant also send
unambiguous signals of overt affection for his best friend. I found it
amusing and not in the least disturbing. It had been my own experience, and
not unlike many preteen boys, to go through a stage of prepubescent puppy
love that was directed at another male. In Brandon's situation, it bordered
on obsession. It seemed to me that Grant had been the object of his
affection for as long as I could remember. Sometimes I caught myself
wondering whether Grant was afflicted to the same degree. He was better at
hiding his feelings and thoughts. yet, when he smiled at Brandon, it was
nothing short of captivating. Perhaps it would have been unusual if
anything else was the case. They had been best friends since kindergarten.
After that many years of close friendship, it was not surprising that the
boys shared just about everything. To my mind, or rather my wishful
thinking, it was entirely reasonable that their friendship evolve into
something more. They slept over at each other's houses so often that it
seemed like every other night. They shared just about everything, from
clothes to food. I think they drew the line at toothbrushes because Brandon
had his own toothbrush in Grant's bathroom.

Loud shrieks suddenly re-engaged my attention.

"There's no way you're going to do that, Bowman. No way! I'm not queer."
Grant laughed, pointing his extended penis toward Brandon with the fingers
of both hands.

"You might be one though, Grant!" Brandon retorted.  "You're the one with
the stiffie."

"You were ready to beef someone a few minutes ago yourself, Bowman!" Grant
said flatly.

"Not you, that's for sure!"

What my son said next took me completely by surprise.  "If I did it, you'd
be just like a Big Mac!"

"Why?"

"Because you'd have my ten-year-old meat between your buns," Grant laughed
hilariously. "And you'd be full of my special sauce."

"In your dreams, dick head."

I wondered how the boys had heard the words, learned the humor, and become
bold enough to shout the taunts. Had I been any different at the same age?
Grant's penis stayed pointed out towards his best friend, challenging him
to rebuttal.  With a final jerk of his hand, Grant's buttocks clenched
tightly. Again his body arched, thrusting his hips wildly in the throes of
an imagined ejaculation from simulated penetration of an invisible body.
Words were one thing, but Grant's sexual display had suddenly become very
disconcerting. I was less worried about how he had learned the mechanics of
masturbation than how he had discovered the motions of sex and the
heightened activity that accompanied orgasm. What I witnessed were
obviously pelvic thrusts and they were essential to his achieving climax.
He appeared to have a thorough understanding of what was expected of him in
a few years. I smiled. In a few years, his semen would be spurting into the
pond, but not now. If anything, I was surprised that he did it so openly.
He was shameless. He grimaced, leaving me with the distinct impression that
the rules had changed. It was no longer a game. It was suddenly very likely
that Grant had been close to achieving what passed for orgasm for a
pre-teen boy.

And then his arousal vanished. He dived back into the water, leaving barely
a ripple where he entered. He emerged, next to Brandon and for a few
seconds they tussled before they submerged each other. I sighed. 'Oh to be
young again', I thought. I was envious. Envious of their youth and
boundless energy, and of a friendship that was so close that they had no
inhibitions. 'They could be lovers and no one except me would ever know', I
thought in passing. I returned to my unfinished manuscript, very aware that
my erection was going to take a long time to go down.

That night, the boys very quiet all the way through dinner except for
occasional glances at each other. They shared knowing smiles that suggested
something was amiss. Whatever it was, they had no intention in confiding in
me. There were frequent whispers. That was not unusual in itself because
the boys relished each other's company. Given the slightest opportunity,
they tended to have secrets that they delighted in keeping from me. Since
earlier in the afternoon, I was beginning to understand why they were so
secretive. Now I had evidence for my suspicion that there was more going on
between them than mere friendship.  Although their friendship often
bordered on intimate, so far it never crossed the line, at least not in
front of me.  That night it seemed that the boys were demonstrating their
affection for each other in ways that were increasingly physical and
emotional.  Mostly during the afternoon they had engaged in the same semi-
erotic horseplay that I had witnessed in the pool.  Before dinner I had
watched them wrestling with only underpants on.  Later, while I was cooking
dinner, I observed them sitting so close together that they touched. Once,
I noticed a hug that seemed to last a little longer than it needed to, but
nothing more.

Finally, after they had finished a large quantity of ice cream, sundae
style, Brandon started to giggle. Grant turned and glared at him, his eyes
clearly communicating that the

appropriate behavior at the dinner table did not include laughing
hysterically. I looked at the boys questioningly.

"What's so funny?" I asked after a few seconds.

They moved a few inches apart so they were no longer touching shoulders.

"Um, ah, nothing, Mr. Bowman," Brandon muttered self- consciously.

"Come on, guys," I coaxed. "No secrets now. That's a house rule. Tell me
what's up."

That provoked a round of giggles from Brandon. He was still giggling when
he turned to Grant.

"Why don't you tell him what's up," he said with a sing-song teasing voice.

Grant scowled. Then, he started to blush, but only after a swift downward
glance. From the sudden rush of blood to his face as much as the suddenly
wider distance between the two boys, I suspected that blood was also
rushing somewhere else.  After what I had witnessed at the pond, from their
shared guilt, I had no doubt that `what was up,' was probably Grant's
penis.

"Nothing!" my son growled. "Don't be a clown, Brando!"


However, with Grant's still unbroken voice, the angry lion's growl sounded
more like an angry mouse.

"Hm... Well, why don't you guys go watch some television," I suggested
lightly. "I'll clean up here."

The boys hesitated and then Brandon grinned. "Come on Grant- babe. Let's
play some Nintendo in your room."

When Grant stood up, his aroused condition was clearly

visible. There was no question that the bulge in his shorts had been the
cause of Brandon's amusement. Brandon saw what I saw and he grinned.

"Hey Grant, it looks like something's still up. You have a problem in your
pants."

Grant reddened further after a quick look downwards to

confirm what was showing. Before I could say anything, he gave me a warning
look. His lips pursed, a somewhat grim face that said "don't go there". He
backed away, slightly keeping himself behind the chair, then turned side on
so that I could not see anything.  At least that was the principle. What
Grant did not count on was that being as slender as he was, it stuck out
almost as much in side view as from the front.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about," I admonished gently.  "It's
perfectly normal for a boy's penis to start getting erect around your
age. All boys get erections." Grant glared at me. I smiled back at
him. "It'll go away in a minute. Get used to it.  It'll happen even more
often as you get older. It's perfectly normal and certainly nothing to be
ashamed about," I explained.

Grant still blushed. Quickly, he turned and ran. I smiled and watched them
disappear up the stairs. As they turned into Grant's bedroom I heard
Brandon's voice still tormenting him amid infectious giggles.

"He saw it, Grant! Your dad saw your stiffie!"

Grant was usually quick to rebuke, but now he was on the defensive and he
sounded more than a little embarassed.

 "It's called an erection, you numbskull. Anyway, you heard Dad say it's
perfectly normal."

"Maybe, but he still saw you had a stiffie. "

Then silence descended as the bedroom door closed.  Since the boys had
already helped clean up after the main course, all I had to do was pick up
the three glass bowls, now emptied of ice- cream, and well-licked spoons
and carry them into the kitchen.  Out of the blue, I felt like an after
dinner drink.  Three fingers of twelve-year-old Glen Moray and I was ready
to relax. I went into the living room and took my favorite chair beside the
window. From there, I could watch the fireflies dancing outside as dusk
came. I had not long to wait before the first pin-points of light appeared.

I sipped the whisky, savoring the taste of the Scottish Highlands,
reflecting. It was hard to get the two boys out of my mind, although in
truth, I really didn't want to forget what had happened earlier in the day,
or even a few minutes earlier. The image of Grant standing at the side of
the pool, as naked as the day he born, his fingers clasping his penis in a
parody of sexual ecstasy was something that I would treasure forever.  It
was an unforgettable moment in a boy's rush to grow up. For a few minutes,
my ten-year-old son had bridged the chasm between innocent child and
lust-driven youth. His juvenile sexuality was as evident in his rigid penis
as in his lewd dance.  Although it was still childishly small, that
wonderful part of him had been beautiful to behold. I sighed, thinking of
how quickly he would mature. Perhaps as soon as a year, more likely two or
three, with a lot of luck perhaps four more years before he started to
mature into a gangly pimple-faced adolescent. For the moment, puberty
seemed to be both a long way off, and just around the corner. My little boy
was growing up. I dozed off with a vague thought that dwelled again on how
close the two boys had become over the years. During the last few months it
seemed that they had become close enough to be brothers. Or even lovers?

It was several hours later when I finally awoke. I could not remember
falling asleep, but obviously several hours had passed because it was now
very dark outside. My Scotch was sitting where I had left it, untouched but
for the mouthful I had tasted when I first sat down. The memory rushed back
into my mind, filling my consciousness with a vivid image of the two
suntanned boys, stark naked by the pond. Then fantasy took over, creating a
script where none existed. My erotic imagination began to run wild. I took
another drink and half-closed my eyes, picturing the two boys in bed
together. They were lying so close together that they appeared to be a
single body. Their arms were locked around each other's backs, their
slender hairless legs entwined, feet side by side. Their genitals were
united, although not as nature had intended for reproduction to occur. I
smiled, imagining a first kiss, awkward, hesitating to touch, springing
apart at the first moist contact of their lips. Yet, they would come back
again when the shock passed. The strange taste of the other boy would stay
strong, lingering like a scent that needed to be smelled again if only to
determine its origin. It would be all the encouragement they would need to
begin to move, to rub and hump against each other.

Sleepily, shrugging away the cobweb of an impossible dream, I got to my
feet, taking my glass with me. I swilled it, watching the amber liquid
swirl around the glass. I decided I would check on the boys, reasoning that
they were either asleep, or if not, then they should be. My approach up the
stairs was not intended to be covert, although my socks undoubtedly muffled
any sound on the wooden treads. At the door to Grant's room, I paused.
Always in the past, I knocked before I entered. The door was closed, a
clear sign that the boys wanted privacy for whatever preteen boys wanted
privacy for. I found my hand trembling, reaching out for the door handle,
nervous and driven by an unknown force. My heart pounded. I leaned closer
to the door, listening. Could I hear the boys? There were sounds, but they
were indistinct, muted voices.  Did I hear the rustle of bed linen perhaps,
the squeak of a bed frame or movement on the mattress springs. I opened the
door.

I should not have been as surprised as I was. After all, the boys had
become so close that physical intimacy should have been expected as part of
their friendship. It was only a small step from sharing clothes, and even
eating their food at times with the same utensils, to sharing their bodies.

The lamp next to Grant's bed was on and the sheet had been pushed nearly to
the end of the bed. I saw a physical union of young flesh, of slender
suntanned limbs entwined. From where I stood it was difficult to determine
who was on top and who was on the bottom. At that point, my preconceived
notions of their characters took over. In most things they did together,
Grant was dominant, while Brandon was submissive. Ergo, it was Brandon
playing the passive role underneath my son. However, except for being
underneath my son, he was far from passive. His thin arms were wrapped
around Grant's lean back, his hands moving around in slow circles that
reached from my son's bottom to his shoulders.  His lips were pressed
against Grant's bare shoulder.

"You guys should be asleep by now," I said softly.

"Oh fuck," I heard Grant groan.

"Something like that," I chided. "Your mom may not be here, but you should
still watch the language."

They were a long way from 'fucking', yet something inside me wanted them to
be doing that. I stopped myself from rebuking Grant further. He had a right
to be angry. I stepped through the doorway and walked slowly towards the
bed. I had never heard him use the word before. Indeed, part of me was
surprised he even knew it. However, there were a lot of surprises in store
for me.  I sensed the boys' shame. They were frozen, neither of them even
daring to move, or risk a single breath.

"It's okay with me if you guys want to mess around together," I said
gently. "I think most boys experiment with their best friends sooner or
later."

Grant, suddenly aware that he was naked as he rolled to the side, twisted
quickly away and jerked the comforter that had been discarded on the side
of the bed so that it covered both of them.  I had a momentary glimpse of
his erection, and Brandon's too, before his hand covered it. Because he had
been lying on his back, I saw the vivid red of his blushing face. It nearly
matched the momentary glimpse I had of the crimson tip of his penis. His
lips clenched, while he dragged the comforter further over him with his
free hand.

"I don't care guys," I said. "I'd be lying if I said that when I was a boy
I didn't things with my best friend.  It may have been a long time ago, but
unless I'm mistaken, we did the same sort of things you guys were just
doing."

"You're s'posed to knock," Grant retorted angrily.

"I'm sorry guys," I apologized. "However, now that I'm here, I think maybe
we ought to have a talk."

"I know it's wrong, okay. I don't need a lecture," Grant said adamantly.

"Is it wrong?" I teased, smiling as my eyes continued to take in the boys'
radiant beauty.  Embarrassment seemed to enhance their physical perfection.
"You know, I don't think anything that feels as nice as touching another
boy's body could be wrong."

"It's what gays do!" Grant retorted adamantly.

I shrugged. "I really don't think your touching Brandon's body has anything
to do with you being gay. You're nearly ten.  You and Brandon are best
friends. It's more of a game than anything to do with what gays do. It's
about having fun and finding out what feels good. Besides, if either of
you, or for that matter both of you are going to be gay, you wouldn't know
for sure for a few more years a least."

Brandon sniffed and wiped away a tear that had started dribbling down his
cheek.

"We only touched penises for a little bit. We didn't mean to," he added
apologetically.

"That's okay Brandon. Most boys start to become interested in other boys'
bodies as they get older. They want to see how it feels to rub their bodies
together. It doesn't take very long to find out that it feels very nice
indeed. Touching penises is part of it. If it's something you both want to
do, it won't hurt you, or Grant either for that matter."

"I don't want to be gay, Mr. Bowman."

I nodded gently. "I don't think anyone wants to be gay. It's just the way
they are, Brandon. I don't know when or how it happens. Maybe it starts
before they're born. I expect they find out as they grow up. I don't think
anyone really knows what they want at your age."

"But it's bad. Isn't it?" Grant asked. "Everyone says it's bad. It's what
queers do."

I smiled reassuringly. "What do they say?"

"What we were just doing is gay!"

"It's nothing to be ashamed about." I leaned forward and tucked the
comforter around Brandon's shoulder. It was a good way of showing them that
I did not mind them being in the same bed.  "Okay. let me try to put it
another way. Why did you two do it?"

Brandon shrugged. He huddled under the comforter. It was his protection
against answering a question whose answer, even in the third grade would
subject him to ridicule. His best friend's father had caught him having sex
with his son. His life was ruined. What he did not know was that I could
understand and sympathize, even appreciate. I wanted him to know it was not
the way he thought.

"Listen guys," I began. "It's okay. Really, it is.  You've been best
friends from the time Grant and I started coming up here. That's been at
least five years. If you two didn't play around together I think I'd be
surprised."

Grant regarded me stoically. "Why?"

"Being friends as close as you guys are, is really a wonderful thing. Most
boys don't get to be as close as you two are. You share something very
special," I explained.

"My dad says we could almost be brothers," Brandon said. He licked his
bottom lip uncertainly.

"Only you're not brothers are you?" I responded. I smiled again. "For one
thing, most brothers don't like each other the same way you guys do."

I paused for a few seconds, letting my words sink in and to give the next
thing I had to say more importance. I took a deep breath. "I want you to be
honest with me."

Grant and Brandon looked at each other nervously, obviously wondering what
I was going to ask them.

"I want you to tell me how you feel about Brandon, Grant?" I asked gently.

"He's my best friend," he said simply and honestly.

"I know that. How do you feel about him?"

"I like him, of course."

I smiled. "Of course you do. How much do you like him?  Just a little bit,
or a whole lot?"

"A whole lot," Grant answered guilelessly.

"If Brandon went away to live in another city, how would you feel?" I
continued.

I saw a dark forboding flicker in Grant's eyes.  Perhaps he knew where I
was heading with my questions. That was why he was taciturn.

"I wouldn't be very happy about it," he answered.

"That's all? I think I know you well enough to know you'd be really sad,
Grant. How would you feel, Brandon, if you weren't going to see Grant
again?"

Brandon looked at me awkwardly. "I don't know." He breathed out slowly.
"I'd miss him so much, I think I'd want to die."

Grant nodded his head slowly, showing me that his friend had also expressed
his own feelings.

"Okay. It sounds to me as if you two guys are so close that you'd rather be
dead than to be apart." I smiled reassuringly.

There was a slight movement of a tousled head. "I guess," Grant ventured in
turn.

"That's what I mean by a special friendship. You don't have to tell me that
you think about each other all the time, because I know you do. Grant talks
about you non-stop, Brandon. He gets very excited every time we're due to
come up here.  It's because he loves you, and because you love him back."

There, I had said the dreaded word and I waited for their reactions. Could
pre-teen boys even begin to understand that it was possible for one boy to
love another? I hoped they would not reject what was patently obvious to me
and anyone else who took the time to watch them together. There was a long
silence. The boys glanced at each other again, recognizing in a single
shared look of understanding that what I was saying was true.  They did
love each other. They had never uttered the words only because they did not
need to. Although it was impossible to determine when friendship had been
exchanged for love, I had no doubt that they had loved each other for
years. Until now, they just had not realized it.

"Now, I want you to continue to be honest," I continued.  "When Grant
touches your body, and especially when he touches your dick, how do you
feel?" I asked Brandon.

"I feel,... funny."

"How do you mean funny?" I asked.

"You know, funny!"

"He makes you feel good inside, doesn't he?" I said when Brandon seemed at
a loss to explain further. "It's nothing to be ashamed about. What else
happens?"

He swallowed, glancing nervously at his feet under the comforter.  Was it
my imagination or did all boys think that the answers to difficult
questions could be discovered by looking at their feet?

"You mean other than my dick gets bigger?" he giggled.

I grinned at him. "That's an important part of it.  Your dick is supposed
to get stiff when it feels nice. That's they way they all work. In fact, it
would be strange if it didn't get stiff when you're in bed with a naked
person," I added as Brandon shifted uncomfortably.

"Or when you play with it," Grant interjected.

"That too," I grinned back at them. "Does that bother you?  Your penis
getting stiff?" I asked gently.

"I guess not. It sure feels okay," Brandon agreed quietly.  He looked at
Grant uncomfortably.

"Just okay?" I prompted.

"No! It's just,... I don't know. What if I like it more when someone else
plays with it?"

"That's the way it's supposed to feel. And Grant? What about you?" I asked.

 My son nodded, visibly uncomfortable with admitting something that most
boys were scared to death of. His movement was barely enough to show he was
in agreement.

"Be honest. Do you like touching Brandon's dick?" I prodded persistently.

Grant hesitated, increasingly resistant to admitting the true nature of his
feelings for another boy. Slowly he pursed his lips, thoughtfully.

"Yeah, I guess I do. It gives me a boner, and it makes him feel good, and
he wants me to," he answered vaguely.

"Good!" I said. "So there's really nothing to be ashamed of, now is there?
You both love each other more than brothers, and it feels good to touch
each other."

"What if we do stuff, you know, down there?" Brandon mumbled.

I smiled reassuringly, though very uncertain about what 'stuff' actually
entailed. 'Stuff' encompassed a very wide spectrum.

"Then especially. There's an old saying about boys being boys. Most boys do
what you call 'stuff' down there.  If they do it with their friends so
what? I did it when I was a boy. I'm not ashamed of it. But if no one else
knows, so much the better.  Maybe it's best that parents don't know about
it, but that shouldn't make a difference one way or the other.  Maybe
you're ashamed, but you shouldn't be. It's quite natural when you stop and
think about it."

"How?" Grant demanded.

"Well, Brandon taught you how to ride a horse, didn't he?"

"Yes," Grant answered. I could hear the suspicion in his voice.

"And you pretty much taught him how to swim?"

"I guess. So?"

"And I know that you've taught each other lots of things besides how to
ride and swim over the years." Both boys nodded uncertainly. I smiled. "So
you see a lot of things you guys know how to do, you've discovered by
playing together. You learn and teach other things that are very
important. I don't see why sex play has to be any different. When you get
right down to it, all you're doing is discovering how your bodies work."

"I guess," Grant said reflectively.

"Like I said, I did much the same things with my best friend when I was
around your age, Grant. Once we'd figured out what our dicks were there
for, we had a lot of fun," I said with a sudden and very pleasant memory
from my youth. The two boys exchanged a guilty glance. "I only wish my
father had talked with me the same way I'm talking with you two. We had an
awful lot of questions."

Brandon giggled. "Go on, Grant. Ask him!"

"Brandon! Don't be dumb," Grant retorted. He gnawed at his lower lip the
way he did when he was very nervous.

"Don't be embarassed, Grant," I prompted. "I bet there's not a single thing
you can ask me that I didn't want to know when I was the same age as you."

"You ask him, Brandon."

"Grant, I can't understand why you're blushing," I teased.

"Is there a bone inside it?" Grant gushed.

I grinned. "A bone? Inside your penis? Because it's sometimes called a
boner?" Grant nodded slightly. "No, there's definitely not a bone inside
it. Although it feels like it when it gets hard. It's really your blood
filling up what's called erectile tissue. It's a bit like a balloon filling
with water. It gets bigger and harder the more water you put inside it."

"Until it bursts," Brandon said. Suddenly a look of consternation passed
his face. "Can that happen to a guy's dick?"

"Of course not. You brain tells the blood to stop flowing when it's hard
enough."

 "Hard enough for what?" Grant asked.

"Hard enough so you can put it in a girl, or if you're gay, then the other
place," Brandon answered with a smirk.

"Oh!" Grant reddened further.

"You've got the basics pretty much figured out, haven't you Brandon" I
teased.

He grinned. "I grew up on a farm, remember."

"Well, I haven't seen too many gay horses or cows," I laughed. "But you
have the right idea for males and females. It's all a matter of
experience."

The boys shared a quick look that suggested something was lurking in the
backs of their minds.

"Have you guys done it?" I began cautiously.

A quick glance at Brandon's guileless face seemed to confirm my suspicions.
Although Brandon understood the mechanics of breeding animals, he had yet
to apply it to himself beyond simulating the humping movement with Grant.
His innocent look, and the comments I had heard during the afternoon while
the boys were playing, left little room for doubt in my mind that the boys
had taken discovery in a direction that was appropriate for them.  They
just had not taken it all the way.

"Have we done what?" Grant asked shamelessly as he intuited that silence
was an answer in itself.

I laughed, playfully slapped his buttocks, and stood up.

"You'll have to figure that for yourselves. Good night guys.  Try to get
some sleep before morning."

I started towards the open door. Brandon giggled. I was certain they would
not go to sleep for at least another hour.  They could always sleep in the
next morning.

"Dad?" Grant called softly. I turned back. "Thanks."

"Have fun guys," I said. "Don't stay up too late."

"We won't."

"Go on, Grant. Ask him about the other thing?" Brandon

urged.

"What other thing?"

There was a slight hesitation before Grant spoke. "My dick's different to
Brandon's."

"Sure. We've talked about that before. He's circumcised and you're not."

"Yeah, but well,... They look so different. His looks like a helmet on the
end and mine, well, it sorta looks like a banana.  Does it make any
difference?"

"Other than appearance?"

"Yeah?"

I smiled. "You'll have to figure that one out for yourselves," I said as I
closed the door behind me.

 Friday, December 24, 1999

We arrived just before lunch after a slow drive most of the way from when
we left the Interstate. The roads into the Adirondack mountains were
already covered with several inches of snow, and from the lead-grey sky
over the vicinity of Lake Champlain there was clearly more snow on the
way. As we neared the cabin, the snowflakes flurried. Clouds of white
swirled past the car as I navigated the narrow bridge and began to follow
the creek for the last few hundred yards of gravel-surfaced road. I pulled
up as close to the cabin as possible and turned off the engine. With a
blanket of snow covering the wood-shingle roof and clumped on the tall
dark-green cypresses, it certainly looked like it was Christmas Eve.

"Thank god for four-wheel drive," I said to Grant. It had not been overly
dangerous, although there were several times when I had lost all traction.
The thought of losing control and ending up in a ditch by the side of the
road was not a pleasant one.

He grinned. "It isn't even that deep yet," he acknowledged disparagingly of
my driving skill.

"But it's slippery as all heck," I commented. "It was sliding back there a
few times. Well, you better get your coat on so we can get out."

I dragged my down jacket out from the back seat and pulled it on with
difficulty. It was a lot easier for Grant but only because he was much
smaller than I was. Finally, with our jackets zipped and buttoned, I opened
the door. Freezing cold wind made me want to get back into the car and
start the engine again, but the way the snow was falling it seemed unlikely
that we would be able to get back to the Interstate. I tried to prevent the
car door from slamming. With typical energy, Grant was already halfway to
the cabin. He reached the stairs, or at least where the stairs were
supposed to be. He clambered over the snow drifts that entirely covered the
first three treads. He turned back, holding onto the handrail, and he
grinned.

"Hurry up!" Grant shouted.

By the time I reached the stairs, Grant was at the front door. He stomped
his feet, dropping lumps of snow on the verandah. He moved aside so that I
could open the door.

Inside the cabin, the air was faintly musty, not surprising since the cabin
had been closed for more than a month.  I closed the door behind us and
breathed out with a sigh of relief. It would take at least a dozen trips to
bring in the clothes and supplies for a week's stay and I was not looking
forward to it.  The first order of business as a fire. Leaving wet
footprints on the hardwood floor, I went over to the fireplace.  Everything
was as we had left it before we departed last time, a week or two before
Thanksgiving. Even the fireplace was ready to go with kindling laid out and
enough split logs to last at least until the next day. The fire flared and
blazed within a few seconds, crackling and throwing out enough light to
make the cabin seem more comfortable even if it did not raise the
temperature immediately.

"That's much better," Grant said.

He sat down on the bricks of the raised hearth, stripping off his insulated
jacket.

"Maybe you should leave it on. It's colder than a witch's tit in here," I
chided. "I don't want you catching a cold for Christmas."

He shrugged and smiled. He was always very independent. He had been that
way for as long as I could remember.

"So I'll sit close to the fire for a while. It doesn't take that long to
get warm in here."

He was dressed in blue jeans and a red woolen sweater over a white
turtleneck so he was probably warm enough for a few minutes, I decided. he
was a very good looking boy, taking most of his features from his
mother. Indeed, with the exception of his interest and ability in writing,
there seemed to be very few signs that I had provided the other half of his
genes.  He even had his mother's small nose and full lips. With the
firelight reflecting in the golden strands of his light brown hair he was
beautiful. At ten years old, he was fast approaching the quintessential
period of boyhood, a half-a-dozen glorious years that would end with
adolescence. He briskly rubbed his small hands together.

"You left your gloves in the car?" I asked. Grant nodded. "I swear you'd
leave your head somewhere if it wasn't attached permanently.

He grinned and nodded. Forgetfulness was another attribute that he had
inherited from me. There was a photograph of the three of us on the mantle
that had been taken the previous Christmas. It was a disturbing reminder
that this was the first Christmas that our small family of three had not
been together.  Not for the first time, I regretted that Sue's invitation
to go to the conference in Hawaii with the president of her company had not
included Grant and myself. Certainly, Grant had been disappointed. It had
happened quickly, too quickly for us to get tickets even we had been
invited. Instead, Grant and I had come up to the cabin by ourselves,
continuing a family ritual for the holiday season that was all of five
years old. With the fire burning rapidly, I placed a log in the center.
Grant and I would stay until January 2nd, when we had to return to the city
in time for school to start again on Monday. We would be together for more
than a week, and if the snow kept up the way it was going it was very
likely that we would spend most of the time in the cabin. On reflection, it
seemed to be a strange way to greet the new millennium, yet it offered the
opportunity of spending time alone with Grant. That alone was enough to
make me happy.

"You miss your mom?" I asked absently.

Grant glanced at me. His expression was strange. He was thoughtful, a
little sad. Slowly, there was a hint of a smile.  His big brown eyes met
mine.

"Yeah, but mostly I'm glad I'm here with you," he said

honestly.

"So am I," I agreed. "I love you, Grant," I added.

Perhaps it sounded like an afterthought. He did not reply.  Instead he
turned back to the now-glowing fire, toasting his face and hands by holding
them out before the warmth.  Neither of us spoke for the next few minutes.
I assumed that Grant was thinking about being away from his mother. At ten
years old, a week was a long time. The thing that bothered me, was that the
same thoughts were not in my head. I was looking forward to a week without
Sue's constant self-aggrandizement almost as much as being with Grant. At
times, it seemed to me that he was growing up very quickly, perhaps too
quickly. He needed to slow down and cherish the years of his youth before
responsibility and maturity consumed him.

"I guess I had better empty the Jeep before the snow gets so deep I'll need
to put skis on," I said when the room temperature began to hover in the mid
forties.

"Do you want me to help?" Grant offered.

I glanced at him. I smiled. I appreciated the offer but my heart was warmed
even more by his delicate features.  Not for the first time, I caught
myself thinking that he was beautiful, and boys weren't supposed to be
beautiful, and certainly not so beautiful that they took a person's breath
away.

"There's no point in both of us freezing. What would help is you taking the
things from me when I bring them to the door so I don't bring snow inside."

"Okay!"

My estimate of a dozen trips was right on the money.  There were two
suitcases of fleecy clothes and cardboard boxes full of food and other
essentials, from candles to the Christmas tree ornaments that Grant had
insisted on bringing. There was even a large jar of vaseline for chaffed
lips and hands that we were certain to have if we spent too much time
outdoors.  There were enough books to read if we were snowed in the entire
time, my laptop computer, and five bottles of champagne and a couple of
dozen bottles of beer. Grant met me at the door with every load, opening
and closing the door quickly to preserve what little heat was accumulating
inside the cabin. Sometime between the fifth and sixth loads he started a
fire in the other fireplace.  It was soon a lot warmer inside than outside,
and I looked forward to the rush of warm air when the door opened.

"You must be freezing, Dad," Grant said when I came in with the last load.
He giggled. "You look like the Abdominal Snowman."

"I think that s'posed to be abonimable I think," I grinned.

"Who cares. You know what I mean. Anyway, I got the snowman part right."

I hastened over to the fireplace, kicking off my boots on the way. I could
not feel my toes. Behind me, I was aware of Grant still putting things
away. He was good at taking the initiative. By the time my blood was
lukewarm, most of the things had been stored and he joined me in front of
the fire.


"Thanks for the help, tiger," I said. "I think if we'd

waited any later to leave we would be stuck somewhere out near the
Interstate," I said. "It's still snowing pretty badly out there. There must
be a foot on the ground by now."

"Is it okay for me to go out?"

I laughed. "I can guess what you're after. It's still cold for you to go
out and sled. Give it a while. I think the snow will stop soon. We'll go
sledding in a bit."

"Cool!"

"Not cool! It's just plain cold, Grant! Just think of your mom in Hawaii.
It's probably ninety degrees there right now."

"I'd still rather be here with you. It's comfortable now."

The temperature was in the mid-sixties. He had already

removed his sweater.

"You put some more logs on," I observed.

"I knew you'd be cold when you came in. I could get you a beer?" he
suggested.

"Okay," I smiled. He jumped to his feet and came back with a bottle. "I
guess you want a sip too?" I teased.

He nodded eagerly and took the bottle once I had unscrewed the cap. He
drank with surprising gulps until I forcibly removed the bottle from his
delicious red lips.

He giggled. "I was thirsty."

"So I see. Your mom would kill me, if she knew I gave you beer."

Grant shrugged. "What she doesn't know won't hurt her.

There's lots of things I don't plan on telling her."

I wondered whether he was alluding to something that he did with
Brandon. His voice had a definite sexual tone in it. I polished off most of
the rest of the bottle, leaving a half-inch in the bottom. I handed it back
to Grant. His eyes widened and he swallowed the last of it in a single
mouthful.

"Any more and you'll be drunk you little monkey," I teased.

"Me?" He hiccupped loudly and sat down on the hearth next to me.

"Yes, you."

I ruffled his hair lovingly. With his mother around it was hard to be as
affectionate with him as I wanted to be.  Already, Sue had told me in a
momentary lapse of concern that she thought Grant was going to be gay. That
was nearly a year ago and at the time, I had denied it hotly. Yet much
though I tried to ignore the obvious, there were signs that he was
different to other boys, Brandon excepted. They were little things most of
the time, but they were there nonetheless. Sometimes it seemed like there
was something inside him that he was keeping hidden.  That part of him
disturbed me for I recognized I also concealed something.  However, I was
older when I began to understand how I felt about my friends. When Sue made
her disparaging comment, Grant was only nine. At that young age, a boy's
sexuality is as much about curiosity about his body and the world around
him as anything else. When I said much the same thing to Sue, she had given
me a knowing look that suggested I did not know what I was talking about. I
resented her comment and the implication that I was responsible in some
undefined way.

"I'm glad it's just us," Grant said absently. "I like having you all to
myself."

I looked down at the top of his head. I wondered why he had said it.
Perhaps the fact that his mother had abandoned us for the Christmas-New
Year break had induced some resentment in him.  It certainly had caused me
to think less of her. Not that it bothered me not having her with me, but
because I knew that Grant had been looking forward to spending the holiday
with both of us.

"No? What about Brandon?" I teased.

Grant shrugged. "Him too!"

I gave him an exaggerated look of surprise. He ignored me.  Again, for what
had to be the thousandth time, I found myself thinking about what had
happened during the summer. I remembered Brandon's beautifully nude body
and the disturbing thoughts that had left me very confused about how I
felt. Had I had the same thoughts about Grant, only to force them from my
mind?  Although I had been barely aware of it at the time, I could not deny
the underlying feeling that I was also sexually attracted to my own son,
perhaps even more so. It was enough to give me a chill.

We sat there for nearly an hour, until the snow storm finished and the
cabin had become so warm that it was comfortable enough not to need a
sweater. Sitting directly in front of the fireplace, it was warm enough
that a person could be naked and quite comfortable. It was difficult to get
up and go outside again.

By the time I had put my boots, down jacket, and gloves on, Grant was
already outside. He was sitting in the sled on the top of the crest. I was
greeted by a loud "wheeeeee" as he came rocketing pas the cabin. He crested
the road with a five foot jump that landed him in the middle of a snow
drift only yards before he ended up in the creek. The spare sled was
sitting on the verandah. I followed him back up the embankment and together
we climbed the several hundred yards to the top of the hill. We lined up,
nose to nose, about four or five feet apart.  "On the count of three!"
Grant shrieked. "One, two,..." Before he reached 'three' he was off and
sledding. I followed a few feet behind. He gathered momentum on the steep
decline, shifting his weight so that he took the route that lead away from
the cabin and towards the woods. It was considerably more dangerous that
way, but there was the added thrill of screaming past the trees until he
reached the road. Then, a sudden turn to the right brought him onto a
parallel course with the creek until his sled came to a slow stop. He stood
up, brushing the powdery snow from his clothes and face.

"That was absolutely totally fantastic!" he laughed.

I stood there, grinning wildly, totally enchanted by him.  How could Sue
ever think that this handsome little daredevil was going to be anything but
straight? Only ten years old and he was fearless. Yet when he smiled at me,
and I saw the boy's much-too- pretty face I shuddered. His eyes sparkled
with merriment. His cheeks flushed with the cold and unbridled excitement.
He was so good looking that I found it difficult to think of anything else.

We clambered back up the hill again, and repeated the reckless race. This
time we were neck and neck, racing side by side all the way down. We were
about equally matched because Grant had the advantage of weight for sliding
across the snow while I had the benefit of gravity. We sweated and toiled
to climb the hill, struggling for many minutes at a time for fifteen or
twenty seconds of thrilling ride. We sledded until our hands were grey and
numb inside our gloves, until our clothes were wet from melted snow and
perspiration, until I was nearly exhausted.  I left Grant dragging his sled
up to the top of the hill and went off to find a suitable candidate for a
Christmas tree.

Although there were pine trees in abundance surrounding the cabin, I never
enjoyed cutting a tree just for the purposes of decorating it for a few
days. However, digging a tree out of the ground was totally out of the
question. I selected a small tree from the side of the hill and used a saw
to cut it close to the ground. Even from that distance I could hear Grant's
frequent whoops and shrieks of delight as he completed one wild ride after
another. With the tree in one hand, I started back to the cabin.  I waited
until he was nearly out of sight on his way back up the hill before I
retrieved his Christmas presents from the back of the Jeep where I had
hidden them under the blanket several days earlier. There was another
present, actually two presents, but I had arranged with Gary Bowman, our
neighbor to take delivery of one, and put the other in the closet in the
main bedroom. His mother might be in Hawaii, but this was going to be one
Christmas that Grant would remember for the rest of his life.

It looked as though there was more snow on the way so I called a halt to
Grant's fun shortly before four p.m.  He grinned widely, his face flushed
with exertion and cold, yet showing no sign of ever getting tired. Back
inside the cabin, Grant stripped off in front of the fireplace while I
filled the bath with steaming hot water. Stark naked and shameless, he ran
back and forth between the fireplace and the bathtub, trying to get warm as
he watched the tub filling slowly. His body was very slender and a delight
to look at. He had the vestiges of what had several months earlier been a
nice summer's tan. With the goose pimples that covered most of his body,
summer seemed a long way away.

I concealed a smile as I watched his juvenile penis bobbing back and forth
against his thighs, his wrinkled little scrotum still contracted from the
cold and pulled up well out of the way.  Both his penis and scrotum were
tiny, not surprising considering the long exposure to the cold temperature
outside. His scrotum was so shrivelled that it showed no sign of his
testicles.  Compared to me, his boyish parts were barely large enough to
show that he was male. The size of his genitals seemed to be something he
had inherited from Sue's side of the family.

Finally, when the water reached the halfway point, I called him over.

"In you get Tiger," I ordered brusquely. "You're starting to turn
blue. Much longer outside and I'd have had to chip ice off your dick."

"It's all shrivelled up," Grant observed without any trace of shyness. "Why
does it do that?"

"Because it doesn't like getting cold. Getting in the bath will fix that
pretty quickly."

Grant grinned and looked at me without any inhibition.

"You're shrivelled up too. You better get in the tub too."

"I'm not the one who's shivering," I observed.

"You can get in with me if you want," he offered graciously.  "There's
plenty of room for both of us."

It had been several years since I had gotten into the bath with
Grant. Suddenly, I shivered involuntarily. Was I that cold?

Grant grinned. "You're always saying we're both guys so there's nothing to
be ashamed of," he added. "So get in! It'll be fun."

I chuckled. "I'm not always saying that. I think I said it that one time
when you didn't want to pee when we were out in the woods."

"Only because Mom was there," Grant rebuked. "I don't like girls seeing
me."

"So? She couldn't see you, and even if she could, it wouldn't matter. She
changed more than her share of your diapers.  Besides, your body is nothing
to be ashamed about."

"Are you ashamed?" he asked with pretended casualness that did little to
conceal where he was going.

"Of course not," I retorted quickly.

"Then why don't you get naked as well, Dad?" Grant giggled.  "You always
say t doesn't matter if we see each other because we're both guys."

"You better get in the bath, young man," I said awkwardly.

"Only if you will too," he giggled. "Come on, it'll be fun together. I
promise to behave myself."

His giggle was infectious. I would never have undressed if his mother was
in the cabin with us. It would probably have provoked a comment about
provoking his sexual urges, about me being sick and depraved, or something
equally derogatory.  Instead, I was confronted by a beautiful boy who
apparently not only had no problem being naked, but who actually seemed to
flaunt it as he danced around the cabin. When my eyes were irrationally
drawn back to his genitals for another look, Grant's only reaction was a
shy smile when he saw me looking at him. He glanced away quickly when I
started to undress. He darted out into the living room like a sprite on a
mission, tossed another log onto the fire and returned before I had my
socks off. He grinned and deliberately winked. After a few seconds he
climbed onto the side of the cast iron bath to sit with both feet idly
splashing. However, he quickly turned around again, his eyes dropping for a
fleeting glance when I finally managed to extricate my feet through the
snow-soaked blue jeans.  His eyes lingered. He was curious. He was
attentive. He was staring at my crotch, heedless of the invasion of my
privacy. What was unsettling was that he seemed to be trying not to hide
his curiosity.

I was very glad I still had my briefs on. I tried to ignore him, yet I was
very aware that his constant gaze amounted to something more than merely a
child's inspection of an adult body.  The tension grew until it seemed as
if I would have to say something to divert his attention. Before I could
open my mouth, he suddenly turned away. I left my clothes in a sodden pile
next to Grant's clothes. I felt a strange sense of deja vu.  I had no doubt
that Sue would have had a fit if she knew I was about to get into the bath
with Grant, that I had let him watch me undress for more than a minute and
his eyes had never left my groin.  Would she say that I was trying to 'turn
him on' by letting him see me naked? Suddenly, I had the impression that
Grant's interest extended so far beyond boyish curiosity that I had been
turning him on. I tried to reason with myself that I was doing nothing
wrong, that it was perfectly normal for a father and son to take a bath
together, that there was no reason why he should not see me naked. At the
same time, I felt excitement unlike any I had ever known. My heart seemed
to be pounding faster and harder with every second. It was very disturbing.

"You get in first," I said quickly, worrying about whether I would start to
get an erection in front of him.

Grant slid to the side to make room for me. "No. I'll take up all the room
if I do. You get in first, Dad."

"You'll have to squeeze in wherever you can," I warned.

He laughed. I stepped past him and eased myself down into the invigorating
heat. "Mmmmmm,... That feels so good," I sighed with relief.

I lay back, submerging my legs and most of my abdomen into the steaming
water. "I have to poop," Grant announced.

I gave him a wry look. "Oh NO!" I shouted. "You'll stink up the bathroom,
maybe even the entire cabin. We could die. They won't find our bodies until
Spring. They'll wonder how we died until they find the paint peeling off
the walls."

"I don't smell when I poop."

"Yeah, right. Silly me! They'll put that on the gravestone.  'He thought
his poop didn't smell.'"

Grant guffawed. "Well, I don't smell like you do, that's for sure."

I laughed with him. He sat down on the toilet. I assumed a defensive
position with my fingers holding my nose. He continued to giggle.

"I can't go. You're making me laugh too much."

"I'm just trying to save my life."

"Stop it!" he commanded impotently. "I gotta go, bad."

"Then go outside!" I joked.

"No way! I'd freeze to death. You're going to die any second now!" he
threatened.

"Help! Help! Anyone? Help!"

"Ahhhhhh!" he grinned, making a face of contentment.  "Smells just
like,... roses."

"Yeah! Dead, rotting roses," I countered.

I watched him strain, his eyes closed to mere slits.  There was a faint
smile on his face as much from relief as the somewhat pleasurable sensation
of a bowel movement.

"I bet that feels better now?" I teased.

He nodded, still straining. After a while he relaxed.  "Uh huh, much
better. See you're still alive. It doesn't smell bad at all."

"It was probably all that exercise on the sled," I laughed.  He stood up,
visibly weaker. He glanced down into the bowl. He smiled slightly. "Wow! I
had to go a lot," he announced.

"Gross me out why don't you! Next time you're getting an enema," I teased.

"You wouldn't dare. Hey, there isn't any toilet paper."

"Oh shit!" I said. Grant guffawed. "I knew we forgot something. It was on
the list. I'm sure it was!"

"Okay, so what do I do now," Grant asked uncomfortably.

"Don't worry about it. Get in the bath. If there's anything there, it'll
wash off quickly enough."

He walked to the tub and awkwardly straddled the side until his right foot
was securely placed in the space next to my leg.  Then he lifted the other
foot up. For a moment he stood over me and I gazed up the full length of
his naked body. I watched his belly pull in with each breath. From an
underneath perspective, his scrotum seemed smaller. From where I was
sitting I could discern the two jelly-bean-sized shapes of his testicles.
His little penis swung to and fro, bumping against his inner thighs.  He
carefully lowered himself into the water and sat across my legs. Most of
his body was out of the water. Reaching behind him, he splashed some water
over his buttocks.

"Scoot up here, and I'll wash you properly," I offered.

"Huh?"

"Just do it, poopy-butt" I laughed. "We're both guys, remember?" I chided.

Grant slowly came to his knees and crawled forward until his buttocks were
within my reach. I cupped both of his small firm cheeks and pulled him
still closer.

"Now lie down on top of me," I commanded.

Meekly he obeyed, positioning his head on my chest and his hairless legs
draped on either side of my thighs. I could feel the spongy softness of his
sex organs pressing into my lower belly, my own penis lightly brushing
against his perineum.  Lovingly I soaped the smooth insides of his
thighs. I felt the firmness of young muscle, from the backs of his knees,
reaching all the way along his slender thighs to the start of his
buttocks. There the skin was even softer. I caressed his cheeks, cupping
the delicious curvature in each palm to hold him still.  He wriggled again,
as if trying to find a more comfortable position on top of me. The fingers
of my right hand dipped slightly into his crack, yet there was no sense
that I was doing anything wrong. It seemed only natural for me to take on
the job of cleaning him. He stopped moving, poised above me, waiting for me
to be done and he could sit back down again. I could feel his chest
expanding and emptying with each slow breath.  His head nestled closer. He
felt loved and contented, vaguely aware of the pleasant sensation that came
with each gentle stroke of his buttocks.

I brought the soap back from where it had sunk into the tub.  I soaped his
back, slowly working the white foam towards his bottom. It make my fingers
slippery, adding a wonderful lubricious softness. I felt Grant's breathing
slow, taking long deep lung fulls of air. He wriggled again, lifting his
buttocks slightly so that my fingertips were within his crack.  Perhaps it
was my imagination but it seemed deliberate. I caressed him gently, working
the soap along the full length of his crack.

"I'm surprised. It doesn't smell too bad," I teased.  "Not like a boy's
butt at all."

Grant sighed softly in response. "Very funny," he murmured.

My fingers worked the soap into a lather, then added still more by rubbing
the bar of soap back and forth between his cheeks. Each time my fingertips
passed his anus Grant seemed to quiver, his entire body tensing for an
instant before he relaxed against me again. His tiny opening was
unmistakable.  It felt hotter, like a little button that became softer
every time I touched it.

"Okay. I think that's clean enough," I muttered self- consciously aware
that my heart was suddenly beating very fast.

"Don't stop!"

I was shocked. Grant's words burned in my ears. I felt a thrill unlike
anything I had ever known. It seemed impossible that he wanted me to
continue, yet I had no doubts that he was enjoying every second of what I
was doing to him. It certainly felt good to me, but in his position, I
suspected that the feelings were infinitely better. He was beyond stopping.

"It feels nice, huh?"

"Uh huh. Very."

"I won't stop until you tell me, okay!"

The voice sounded distant and very unlike my own. I rubbed slowly,
centering my finger on the target to circle the boy's tiny hole. The
opening was relaxed even before my finger dipped into it for the first
time. I felt Grant tremble slightly when I penetrated, but he did not pull
away. If anything he seemed to tense, resisting the urge to break
contact. My finger was inside nearly to the first joint. I felt his anus
nibbling on my fingertip. He lay very still.

"Seeing you couldn't wipe, I probably ought to clean inside," I
stumbled. "You don't mind, do you?"

His head shook marginally. My finger seemed not to belong to me anymore. It
moved of its own volition, pushing gently before easing back out of the
slick pulsing hole. It was alive, hot, vibrant, almost hungry. I pressed
the bar of soap between his cheeks, working the pointed edge directly
against his anus. My finger crept back, playing in the soapy film that
remained behind.

I found his anus again, hesitating, waiting for rejection.  His silence was
reassuring. I pushed gently yet firmly. I felt Grant tremble again,
spontaneous spasms in his legs as his synapses fired off a volley of
sensations that were entirely new for him. My finger was barely inside him,
yet he felt so loose that it seemed as if one good push would be all that
was needed for it to go all the way into him. I should have stopped there
and washed the soap away. I should have laughed, and slapped his butt, and
tickled him until he erupted in giggles. I still could have convinced him
that I was merely washing his behind. But before I could convince myself to
do anything, Grant's knees closed against my hips. His buttocks lifted up,
instinctively aligning with my finger. I had waited a moment too long.
Still time. My finger was poised to penetrate deeper, yet I resisted the
temptation. Instead I rubbed the soap bar back into the now- parted crevice
again. He slowly eased downward, obviously enjoying the feeling from the
larger mass each time it stroked against his anus.

Between us, I could feel my penis swelling, growing to full size. I
wondered whether Grant could feel it under his belly. If he did, he gave no
sign of it. He had to feel it.

"Are you getting cold?" I asked softly.

His head moved urgently, shaking in denial almost like he was intoxicated.
My fingers returned to his anus, finding it even larger than I had left
it. It seemed to be stretching by itself.  I pushed with two fingers close
together. His anus opened to let me in, both fingers. Tighter than before,
but not impossible to achieve entry. My hand felt like it was shaking.
Perhaps my entire body was shaking. Then like a rubber band his anus closed
around them and held both digits tightly. A spasm rippled between us, his
sphincter gripping, then relaxing. I felt his legs jerk, his knees clamping
my sides. I pushed again, a little harder and my fingers entered still
further. It seemed as if he would not or could not stop me. I could do
whatever I wanted. Then I felt the start of something beyond, a looseness
opening inside him. I was beyond the inner sphincter. The taut constriction
of his anal tube gave way to a larger chamber that rippled with soft
undulations. It felt remarkably like a women's vagina, only smaller,
hotter, more alive. I pushed firmly, still working the soap into his crack
with my other hand, moving my two fingers back and forth into his body.
Each time my fingers slipped out his now-dilated anus the sound of sloppy,
soapy wetness came from deep inside him. At the same time he jerked
slightly, gave a guttural moan that ended in a quick breath.

Slowly, legs shaking slightly, Grant crawled higher up my chest, until his
head was next to mine and his genitals were squashed against my stomach.
Some time during the last few minutes his breathing had become very ragged.
He whimpered as my fingers drew back all the way to the tips, circling
around the tender flesh before slowing sinking back inside him. I closed my
eyes, panting moistly against his cheek. I kissed him, his forehead, his
cheek, his eyes, his ears, not daring to touch his lips. I could feel his
pelvis pushing insistently, making erratic jerking motions against my
fingers in an effort to force them deeper into him. Guiltily I moved my
hand away, down and back from his gaping orifice. I was shaking from fear
and excitement, very aware that Grant was experiencing feelings that were
highly inappropriate for his age, that I was doing something that could
cost me the rest of my life in jail. For a few seconds, he remained very
still. I felt his small hand reaching down, felt it close around my penis.
He squeezed deliberately, exerting a surprising amount of strength. I
wanted to tell him to stop but it was impossible to speak beyond a a
groan. The shock of being touched there by my son was intense. My heart
pounded frantically, stiffening my penis to an almost painful degree. It
felt like I would ejaculate if he did anything at all, even let go. I knew
that I would never forget, that we were beginning something that would
change us forever. The urge grew inside my mind, becoming stronger,
overwhelming reason until it all but defied my willpower. There was nothing
I could do to stop him.  There was nothing I wanted to do to stop what was
happening.

I felt his body moving, repositioning. I closed my eyes, trying to block
out what was happening, wondering why I was so powerless to intervene, why
my mind was willing him to do what he seemed to want to do, hoping he would
do what I wanted him to do.  I felt his naked heat against the tip of my
penis, the soapy softness of his firm small buttocks embracing my bulging
glans like a lover's kiss. I was overwhelmed by his closeness, by the sheer
sensuality of his slim body against mine, by the knowledge that my penis
was pointed directly at his anus and ready to enter the core of his
being. He pushed down slightly, down and guided the hard bulb directly into
the hot loose target. I wanted to tell him to stop. Instead I groaned.
Again he pushed, not hard, just enough. The tip of my penis burrowed deeper
into his softness, yet still not enough to penetrate the tiny mouth.

"Don't," I gasped.

Grant gazed at me side on. He looked strangely at ease, content, yet not
contented. There was no smile, just a familiar, intense concentration that
told me he was only doing what he wanted. Despite that, I knew what I was
doing, or allowing him to do, was not only illegal but reprehensible and
irresponsible. At the same time I felt an overpowering sense of sublime
joy. It came from knowing our bodies were slowly but surely joining
together. A very special bond was in the process of forming. It was
something that I needed to do, and the amazing thing was that I thought I
could see the same need in Grant. He kept pushing down, never letting up
even for a second. The pressure seemed infinite. I knew I would remember
the shared yet wonderful uncertainty of this afternoon, the Christmas Eve
of 1999 when he gave me his virginity. His expression changed, suddenly
quizzical, uncertain, anxious. At the final moment, he was suddenly
nervous. I wanted to be part of him in a way that I had never imagined
possible. I surrendered.

"Don't stop," I whispered at last.

His hips pushed down with an inexorable need, suddenly forceful. My penis,
already just within the reach of his anus, slid slowly upward and into
him. I felt him gasp, fighting his body's instinctive reaction to pull away
from something that was unquestionably painful.

It should not have happened. It should not have even been possible given
the size of my penis and the fact that he was a ten-year-old boy. It
happened because we wanted it to happen.  Desire defied nature. He stopped
pushing. He was panting slowly, surely, deliberately controlling. He looked
away, towards the tiled wall, unable to meet my eyes. Was there shame in it
for him? I stroked his flanks, slipping both hands over smooth sleek skin,
tracing his ribs, my thumbs hooking into his armpits where I had so often
tickled him. He quivered almost as if expecting another attack. His pelvis
rotated, settling back down again. He was very relaxed, using both small
hands to hold the shaft of my penis close to the base, guiding it into him
with conscious intent. I felt the pressure increase, the force downward
building until the rim of my glans broke through the ring of muscle. Grant
stopped when it hurt too much to continue. Then he tensed and winced and
slowly breathed out. By then, more than two inches of my penis had entered
him. Those first few seconds were

frightening, yet they were more exciting than anything I had ever done. It
would have been easy for me to push him away.  Instead I lifted him up into
a position that opened his buttocks wide apart. It was a position where he
did not need to push down for my penis to penetrate. I lay under him,
grasping his thighs to hold him still. Neither of us spoke. Gravity and
nature did all the work. The slim boy squatted above me, resting on his
haunches and grimacing uncomfortably while he felt my fullness gradually
expanding into his rectum.

Again and again his sphincter clamped with irrational strength, yet each
time he stayed in position fighting back with a surprising amount of
self-control. He whimpered when the pain flowed through him, becoming
quieter and subdued again as it slowly began to fade. After a minute he
tried again.  He looked at me and I smiled back at him and nodded. There
was no need to say anything. Indeed I don't know what I could have said.  I
should have stopped him, but my own urge was irresistible. He glanced away,
looking beyond my shoulder, summoning his strength to finish what he had
started. He shifted slightly, finding a better position. He looked back at
me, even more intently.  His eyes were questioning, seeking approval. Again
I nodded. He smiled shyly.  Each time our eyes met after that, and they did
frequently, I no longer saw his mother's face. Instead I saw a beautiful
little boy with damp hair, his eyes open wide, anxious yet accepting.  His
face was contorted from sensations that were both new and awful for him.

It would be easy to convince myself that nature intervened on Grant's
behalf to make what should have been physically impossible, possible. There
had to be some explanation for why it was able to happen in the first
place. Something had to explain the ability that allowed his anus to expand
far enough that my engorged penis did not rupture him. The entire thing was
remarkable from beginning to end, but it was made truly wonderful because
it was the first time for both of us. Inch by inch my penis eased into that
fabulously hot tube inside his slender abdomen. Each additional fraction of
an inch elicited a subdued whimper, until finally Grant could take no more
of it.


With my penis about halfway in him (four inches) I realized that a boy's
anatomy offered an exquisite pleasure that was unlike anything I had
experienced with a woman. He was so different to his mother that I was
amazed. Not only was it tighter, and that was to be expected because of
Grant's age and size, but the muscular movement of his sphincter was simply
incredible. Without any action on his part beyond breathing, Grant's rectum
was alive. I felt the smooth muscular lining squeezing, pushing, pulling,
even pulsing against the shaft of my penis. His young body produced
feelings in my throbbing penis that bordered on insanity, provoking
disbelief that anything could feel so good. His rectum was slippery, with
what felt like an unyielding band at the opening. Beyond the muscle, his
body flowed around me, pressing, clasping, sometimes gripping, but more
often than not loose spongy tissue cradled my penis. It felt like an
embracing slickness coated the end of my penis. Beyond, it seemed that
there was greater lubricity. It hinted at an even more pleasure if I could
only get my penis deeper inside him. I wanted to. I experienced nothing
less than an overpowering need to try to complete that union.

Fortunately common sense ruled, or rather I retained some self control
because it would have been very easy to hurt him if I had not exercised
restraint. Gently I placed my hands on Grant's narrow shoulders and eased
him forward and down until he was lying on top of me again. I was careful
not to push up at the same time, knowing that if I went even a little
deeper in his body I might injure him. I thought I could feel his heart
beating in his chest as well as through his tightly stretched anus.
Perhaps the latter was really my pulse, because it was impossible to
determine where his body ended and mine began.  Grant's little anus was so
tight that it felt like it was restricting the blood flow through my
penis. My penis was harder than at any time I could remember. Was it the
sheer excitement of doing 'it' with a boy or the constriction of his
anus. Either way, there was a throbbing sensation that began deep inside
Grant and spread through me, consuming my willpower until it was all that I
could do not to start thrusting frantically into him. Inside him felt so
hot and alive that my penis seemed to become even bigger and harder. Then,
a faint smile came to me when I thought of his anus as a "cock-ring", not
of metal or plastic, but of living flesh.

Before I could move, Grant made a decision that changed everything between
us. His first movements were both instinctive and tentative, testing how
far he could move without causing greater pain. He winced, tried again,
took a quick breath, pulled away about an inch, gasped, pushed back again,
shuddered. Once started, it was impossible to stop. For good reason, it was
a slow cycle, but it was not my imagination that each penetration seemed to
be a little easier than the last. His anus stretched quickly, becoming
loose enough after a half-a-dozen times that he was able to move a little
faster, then huffing as his hips began an increasing rhythm of their
own. Almost immediately, orgasm overwhelmed him. It was startling, both in
how fast it came, and how short it lasted. He sucked in air, filling his
lungs full in what seemed to be one endless frantic gasp. His sphincter
clamped down hard, squeezing tightly. For a few desperate seconds, he tried
to pull away. He ended up shoving his rear end back at me as he lost
control. It seemed like every muscle in his young body quaked while his
bowels grasped and clutched at me.  And then motionless. He lay very still,
breathing rapidly with irregular gasps. He had climaxed without touching
his penis, making what had happened even more miraculous. He had given me
his virginity.  In another way, he had also taken my virginity. Animal
instinct took over me. I knew what I had to do to complete the act of
love. Holding Grant tightly by the hips, I lifted up against him, ramming
deeper into his bowels than common sense permitted. Too deep! His eyes
closed, his fists balled, his teeth clenched. I lifted him nearly out of
the water as I humped upward and into his already drained body.

His rectum swallowed even more of my swollen penis, going well past the
halfway point before I stopped. His entire body trembled erratically. He
was impaled, imprisoned by a cacophony of nervous spasms, and he knew there
was no escape.  The thing that was now jammed up inside him was simply too
big for him to get away from. A moment later, just long enough for him to
realize relief was possible, not so long that I could resist my hunger, and
I dragged him bodily upwards and away from the fleshy shaft I had speared
into his little bottom. The soapy fluids inside him and covering his
buttocks sucked frantically and noisily when I pulled away the next
time. Again, and then again, taking what was left of his innocence with
each forceful puncture. I heard a faint whimpering sound. I knew it was
coming from Grant. I knew I was hurting him, and still I thrust back into
him, back into that juicy, all encompassing heat.  Again and again, each
time torturing his soap-filled bowels with my penis until he began to
shudder uncontrollably. His head limply sought my protection, finding a
place on my shoulder where he could smother his groans into my breast. Was
I hurting him, or finding that intense joy that borders on pain? His
whimpers grew louder.  Not crying. He was gasping for each breath. His
fingers grasped my shoulders. He was shaking, grunting, pleading
incoherently. It did not seem possible that he could orgasm again so
quickly, but his body began to jerk violently. The frenzied contractions
around my thrusting penis drove me to the brink of insanity.  Faster and
faster, deeper and deeper, driven on by the bursting pressure inside me,
until I started to pump out several weeks of pent-up semen. I released all
of it into his rectum, flooding the narrow canal with my thick hot
man-juice. I came in exploding bursts, spurting with each powerful
contraction of my testicles.  Then I was still.

 I felt Grant trembling, barely aware that he was no longer whimpering,
that he was suddenly very quiet. I was completely overcome by an
ejaculation that I would always remember as my most powerful. And it had
occurred with a little boy?  Even before the last of it was out, I
panicked. The horror of what I had done sank undeniably into my
consciousness like a lead weight that pulled me down into the depths of
post-orgasmic despair. There was no sweet bliss, no lingering delight of
knowing my semen had entered another person's body, so sense of
accomplishing something so special with my lover that it had no equal. The
most wonderful union I had ever experienced was nothing short of a
Shakespearian tragedy. Despite my self-hatred, part of me persisted in
enjoying the triumph. My penis stayed harder longer than it ever did with
my wife. It was all I could do not to resume thrusting into him. He felt
both loose and tight at the same time, and hot enough to melt human
flesh. I lay still, unable to speak as feelings of remorse and guilt
overwhelmed me.  After a minute or more, my erection diminished, slowly
pulling back from the semen-filled depths of Grant's ravaged rectum to
lodge behind his sphincter.

I felt his body tugging frantically on my penis, then the pressure vanished
as it sucked out of him. Suddenly, his slender body seemed incapable of
containing the massive girth of my penis. It flopped back on my belly,
still half-erect with the veins swollen and dark and streaked with a muddy
film that washed away as water sloshed over my groin. The weight on my
chest lifted away. I closed my eyes, silently begging Grant not to hate
me. I knew I could not look at him after what I had done to him.

"I'm sorry," I groaned. "God, I'm so sorry."

I heard water splashing. When I opened my eyes, Grant was already getting
out of the bath. His slender legs were shaking so hard that he had to hold
onto the tiled wall to prevent himself from collapsing when he reached for
his towel. His legs were bowed, like they were still being forced apart by
a penis that was embedded inside his pelvis.

"Grant,..." I tried again.

He glanced at me. His face was a peculiar mixture of fear and
embarrassment. There were tears running down both cheeks. He huddled in the
shelter of his towel, pulling it tightly around him to hide his nakedness
from me. He looked very small and frail. His penis had shrivelled to a tiny
stub that was barely male. It was no bigger than it had been when he was a
baby.

"God, I'm sorry,... I couldn't,...stop,..."

He turned and bolted, going as fast as a recently fucked boy can move. He
seemed very unsteady, almost wobbling with the effort of adjusting to the
sensations that continued to pervade his distressed bowels. I heard his
bedroom door slam.  I groaned aloud. I lay there for several minutes in a
daze. It seemed like a dream, or a nightmare depending on how I looked at
it. Either way, it did not seem real. I felt like I had stepped outside
myself, become a different person for,... how long had it taken?  A few
minutes at most. It had not taken very long at all. Then, as the true
nature of what I had done sunk in, I hated myself.  Although most of the
mess had washed away, at least there was no blood I could see. That would
have been worse. I shook my head, wanting nothing more than to change what
had happened.

When I finally climbed out of the bath, towelled myself dry, and dressed,
it was getting dark outside. I went in search of Grant with trepidation
that he hated me as much as I hated myself. I knocked on his door
gently. There was no response. I tried again, not loudly, not angrily.

"Grant? Grant, Honey, I want to talk with you. Can I come in?"

Again there was no response. I opened the door and saw him lying curled up
on the bed. He was dressed in a red track-suit, clothes that I had bought
for his last birthday. He was curled up on the bed, his face buried into
his pillow. I crossed the floor and carefully sat down on his bed next to
him.

"Grant?" I began nervously. "Can we talk about it?"

He nodded slightly, yet kept his head pressed firmly into his pillow. His
voice, when he finally spoke, was muffled and very upset.

"I'm sorry okay? I couldn't help it," he sobbed.  "Please don't tell Mom.
She'll kill me if she finds out what I did."

I shuddered, wondering why he was so afraid when it should have been me who
was afraid. "Don't worry, I'll never tell anyone, especially your mom. What
do you mean, you couldn't help it?"

"I couldn't. When I was lying on top of you and you were rubbing my butt,
it felt so good. And then, when I sat up and I was sitting over it, I
wanted to find out what it felt like,...  if,.... I did,... I didn't
think,.... then,... I wanted to feel it inside me so badly and,... I
couldn't stop myself.  I don't want you to hate me," he blurted out.

"Hate you? Grant, listen to me. I could never hate you. I love you."

"But what happened in there,... in the bath," he choked.  "I'm sorry. I
didn't mean to..."

"What happened in the bathtub, well was the most wonderful thing that two
people can do," I explained reassuringly.

"We had sex," he said in a fearful voice.

"Yes, I know. People have sex because they love each other a lot, and
because it feels good for them."

He looked at me curiously, swallowed, pressed his lips together in grim
determination.

"I'm sorry," I said sadly. "I'm really, really sorry."

For a few seconds there was dead silence and I was very afraid of what he
would say next. His words were calm and very surprising.

"It felt so good." He hesitated uncertainly before he mused absently as if
what had just occured was a long way away. "At the end, I thought I was
going to die or something."

His words were reassuring, and like a ray of sunshine among lead-grey
clouds to me. I smiled and slowly breathed out. There was no doubt in my
mind any longer. Grant was gay. He had been trying to tell me that in his
own way for a long a time. Sue was always right when it came to judging
people it seemed.  Looking back, it was apparent that she knew our son
better than I did, at least in some ways. It had only been an occasional
comment, nothing more than a hint, yet it was enough to suggest he was
different. Perhaps it was a mother's intuition, or a recognition that
something was not quite what it was supposed to be. Not that it made it
right, but if Grant was gay then what had happened wasn't as bad as I
thought. I tried to push that perverted thought into the recesses of my
mind but it immediately bolted back into my consciousness. Certainly, if I
wanted to, I could rationalize that I had done only what he had wanted me
to do.  And, if I stretched reason, I might even convince myself that it
was far better that I did it instead of some strange man in a public
toilet. Another question suddenly formed in the back of my mind and it left
me cold. Did Sue also know I was gay?  I had never given her more than an
inkling. One mistake, a book of Victorian etchings was sufficient grounds
for suspicion. I placed my hand gently on Grant's small shoulder. Honesty
was always the best course of action.

"It felt good for me too," I said gently. "It felt very good,... it was
wonderful. I'm sorry I hurt you. I shouldn't have pushed so hard."

"I,... I'm really okay. It didn't hurt that much. It scared me at the end,
that's all. I was afraid you were going to hurt me."

"I should have stopped."

"I didn't want you to stop."

"It was wrong."

"I knew it was wrong too, but I couldn't stop myself.  I felt like I was
exploding."

I nodded, then aware that he could not see my head, I said, "Sometimes a
man gets like that. He loses control. I couldn't stop myself either."

"We did a bad thing, didn't we?"

"Maybe. I don't know. I don't think it's a simply matter of right and
wrong, Grant."

Grant turned slightly so that his face was side on.  "Why did you do it in
me?" he asked simply.

"I wanted to. No, that's wrong. I had to. I couldn't help it either. That's
the way some people are. The feelings become so strong that I couldn't stop
myself."

He nodded slightly, wise beyond his years. "Not that.  I couldn't stop
myself either. The other,... I felt you peeing inside me at the end. It
felt strange,..."

"I didn't pee inside you."

"Well it felt like you were peeing in me."

"Oh! That. You see when a man gets excited like I was with you, the stuff
that makes babies comes out of his penis."

"You put it in my butt?" Grant asked uncertainly. "I can't have a baby, can
I?"

I grinned. "No, of course not. Boys can't have babies."

"Will it hurt me?"

"No! Of course not. I would never hurt you. It's just semen.  It's really
pretty harmless, assuming it's not going into a vagina, that is."

The incongruence of my claim never to hurt him left me cold as soon as I
said it, but Grant did not appear to notice it.

"What we did,... Isn't that what gays do?"

I smiled and nodded reassuringly. I wondered how much he knew about
homosexuality. Probably not much. What he had learned in the playground, I
surmised, would do little to help him understand how he felt. I suspected
the subject would come up again and again while we were together. I gazed
at him, trying to imagine how he would deal with it as he grew older and

experienced the painful jibes of his peers.

"Are you mad at me?" he asked nervously.

"Why would I be angry with you?"

"I don't know. You look like you are."

I sighed. "I'm not. I'm mad at myself if anything. Do you know what it
means, being gay?"

Grant gave me an uncertain look. Slowly he licked his bottom lip. "I guess
they don't get married," he answered awkwardly.

"Yes. But do you know why they don't get married?" I asked.  Grant shrugged
and shook his head. "You see, when a guy's like that, gay and all, well
he'd much rather be with other guys, so he can't get married."

"I don't like girls so I guess that means I won't get married," Grant
announced without regret.

"Well, at your age, it's really way too soon to tell whether you like girls
or not," I replied. "Besides most boys your age don't like girls anyway."

"There's a boy in my class. All the girls like him.  He,...  ah,..." Grant
began awkwardly. He hesitated. "Promise you won't tell?"

"I promise," I said, wondering what he was going to say. I knew it would be
good.

"He said he did it with his sister. She's in the next grade up from us."

"What did he do?"

"He,... did it with her,... you know,... he put his thing in her." Grant
hesitated, unwilling or unable to say the words we both knew that he would
have used without any hesitation with his friends.

"Mmmmm,.... well ten is pretty young to be doing that, but I guess some
kids start earlier than others." I smiled.  "You included, for that
matter. What we did in the bathroom is something most boys don't do until
they're much older."

Grant smiled slightly. "Does it make me bad?"

"Bad? No, not bad. It might be bad for you because you're so young. Does it
hurt a lot?"

"My butt? It's mostly okay. It feels funny, a bit sore that's all. It
doesn't hurt."

"That's good," I said with relief. "I expect being a bit sore afterwards is
normal, but I'm sorry I hurt you."

"You didn't hurt me that much."

Gently I rubbed the length of his leg, feeling his narrow thigh until I
came too close to his groin for comfort.  I moved my hand onto his hip, and
then lower until I caressed his buttocks.

"Do you worry that you're not like other boys?" I asked after a while.

"You mean not liking girls and all?" Grant asked awkwardly.

"Yes. I'm not talking about the boy who had sex with his sister, of
course," I joked. "For one thing you don't have a sister. But girls
generally."

He smiled shyly and shook his head slightly. "It's okay, Dad. I know what
you mean. I know I'm different."

"Does that bother you?"

"Not really."

"Do you like girls at all?"

"Girls are okay, I guess. I don't know," he added vaguely.  "I'm not,... I
don't know why,... I like them in a way,...  girls,... and I do talk to a
few of them at school...  only,... I don't know. I don't really like them.
Not like some guys. They're always talking about the girls who have boobs.
And about having sex with them." He took a deep breath. "What happened in
the bathroom, doesn't it mean I'm gay?"

I shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. You might be gay, Grant. Then again, a lot
of boys your age experiment with other guys.  Remember what I said about
when I found you and Brandon messing around together last summer? It
doesn't mean very much at your age. It's part of growing up."

"I know. You said it was just a way of having fun and showing our
friendship," Grant interjected. He smiled weakly and I wondered whether he
actually believed it. "Promise you won't tell mom," he demanded
insistently. His voice revealed

unwarranted fear.

"I won't tell, if you don't," I teased confidently.

"I won't," he confided and regarded me secretively.

"Do you feel like getting up and decorating the tree?"  I asked.

Grant nodded. He rolled onto his back and sat up slowly.  "Sure. It really
feels funny back there," he announced. "Do you think I damaged something
inside me?"

"You're probably a bit tender. I guess you got stretched a fair bit. I
expect it'll go away in a while," I said.  "I'm really sorry I hurt you,
Grant."

"It doesn't hurt bad or anything. It just feels,...  well sore and kinda
funny." I held out my hand and his fingers slipped between my fingers. He
looked up at me and smiled shyly. For a moment I thought that it was
forgotten. We were father and son again. He followed me into the living
room, still walking more than a little bit unsteady and clearly trying to
accustom himself to the soreness that remained, a lingering reminder of
what had been deep inside him. I helped Grant install the pine tree, soon
to be Christmas tree, in the metal support and we placed it in front of the
window overlooking the pond. I left him to it and turned my attention to
getting dinner made. Every few minutes I checked on his progress. From what
I could see and hear from the kitchen, he did not seem to be overly
bothered by what had happened in the bathroom. He turned on the CD player
and inserted the Hanson Christmas CD he had received as a Christmas present
for the previous year. He moved a little less gracefully than he normally
did, yet he was still an artist creating a work of art as he placed each
ornament.

With a growing awareness that I found him very sexy, I

watched him dancing, in so far as a recently fucked ten-year-old boy can
dance. That his slim body had so recently born the brunt of my adult organ
made his movements even more erotic.  At times, when he swayed and smiled
slightly, it seemed that he was relishing the tenderness, enjoying his
discomfort as a reminder of what had happened in the bath tub.

Then, when he turned around my mouth dropped open.  There was a dark round
mark on the seat of his sweatpants. I stared at it in amazement,
momentarily thinking it was blood before I realized it was semen draining
out of him. Instantly my penis responded.  At the time, I thought I had
filled him. It certainly felt like the biggest ejaculation of my life. The
proof was there in Grant's pants. If he knew it was there, it did not seem
to bother him unduly.

It was about seven o'clock when I carried the presents to the tree and told
him dinner was ready. He grinned happily and skipped around me, insisting
that I dance with him. It was more like prancing as he bounced and gyrated
his way around the room, singing at the top of his lungs. Finally I grabbed
him around his narrow waist and slapped him playfully on his uplifted butt.
Again, I noticed the wet mark on his pants. It was slightly bigger than it
had been earlier. He giggled as I bodily carried him over to the table
where dinner waited and was getting colder by the minute.

After dinner we settled by the fireplace and took turns opening presents.
At least we took turns for the first three times. After that, mine were
finished. I did not care that my wife had thought to send only a book for
me because it was a lot more fun watching Grant open his. Finally, amid
scraps of wrapping paper, bows, and ribbons Grant opened the last present.
He bubbled with happiness, again his normal effervescent self.  Clearly
there were favorites. Again and again I watched him returning to the same
ones, anxious to play with the radio- controlled car, or test out his new
baseball glove.

"I'm sorry you didn't get very much," he said awkwardly.

"I've got you," I said. "That's more than enough."

I sipped the last of my champagne. After drinking an entire bottle by
myself, I was incredibly happy. It was impossible not to be in a good mood.

"Besides you gave me an incredibly wonderful present earlier," I quipped.

"Huh?"

"You gave me your virginity, Grant."

"My what?"

"Your virginity. That's what it's called. You lose your virginity when you
have sex for the first time."

He looked at me uncertainly, vaguely aware that 'sex' was something that
adults did and that he had changed somehow as a result.

"Sex?" he asked awkwardly.

"That's what it's called," I explained. "When people do what we did."

"But? I thought you had sex only with girls."

"A man and a boy can have sex," I said simply. "When you had sex with me
you lost your virginity."

"Lose it? How did I lose it?"

I laughed. "It's hard to explain. Before we did it, you were a virgin. Now
you aren't. That's why you've been walking bowlegged. The soreness will go
away in a while.  However, that's one of the side effects of a boy having
sex with a man."

"Okay, if I'm not a virgin any longer, then what am I now?"  Grant asked
curiously.

"Hm,... well, what we did in the bath was something very special," I
answered awkwardly. "I put my penis inside you,....  and now you know what
happens between two guys, and,... well I guess you aren't an innocent
little boy any longer.  So, I'd say you were sexually experienced."

He grinned at me. "And you put the stuff that makes babies inside me as
well," he said gleefully.

"That too," I agreed.

"Is that why I'm not a virgin any more?"

"Hm,... in a way I guess. It's mostly because my penis was inside your
butt." I ruffled his hair playfully. "The sperm is a small but very
important part of it."

"It's fun not being a virgin," Grant said.

His comment took me by surprise. "Why do you say that?"

"Because."

"Because isn't an answer. You ought to know that by now," I chided.

Grant smiled shyly, unable or unwilling to say more. I had a sudden and
very unsettling thought that he would have said 'okay' had I suggested
doing it again.

"Well, it's getting late," I said after a few moments of silence. "I think
it's time you were in bed."

"Awww," he groaned. "Please, can't I stay up for a bit

longer. I can sleep in tomorrow."

"No! Bedtime is right now. It's already ten-thirty."

"Can I sleep in your bed?"

It was the one question I had been hoping he would not ask.  Part of me
wanted to say yes. However, I knew that I could not take the risk. After
what had happened earlier, I could no longer trust myself. If given the
slightest chance, I would do the same thing again. I sighed, bending to
common sense and self-imposed abstinence. Whenever Sue was away on
business, it was usual for Grant to sleep in my bed. Not that I slept with
my wife because we had not shared the same bed for more than a year.  Her
displeasure aside, it did not seem right to have him there when she was
home. He was a good bed companion. He was soft and warm and he cuddled
close. Sometimes it was all I could do to keep my hands to myself.

"No!" I answered awkwardly. "Not tonight, Grant. I'm too sleepy."

"Okay!"

 Saturday, December 25, 1999

I woke up thinking about Grant. It was a nice dream, a memory of Grant and
Brandon swimming naked in the pond during the hot hazy days of summer. I
smiled, my eyes still closed with sleepy images of two boys cavorting in
the water, then lying on the bed together. My penis was rock-hard and my
fingers casually brushed against it in preparation for eliciting even
greater enjoyment from my organ before I got out from the warmth under the
down cover. My thoughts immediately closed in on Grant, remembering what
had occured during the night. The desire was unrelenting.

"Hi Dad! Merry Christmas!"

"Hi yourself. Merry Christmas," I answered sluggishly.

"What are you doing?"

"Huh! Oh! Nothing! Just stretching," I lied self- consciously, quickly
taking my hand away.

Grant was lying in the bed next to me, his eyes wide open as wriggled
closer. He grinned.

"It got cold during the night so I got into bed with you."

"Oh!"

"You were smiling while you were still asleep."

"Was I?"

"Uh huh! I think you were dreaming."

He wriggled even closer and I felt his hot bare feet against my
legs. Without the slightest trace of peach-fuzz hair, his skin felt very
soft. I reached over his side and pulled him bodily towards me so that we
were 'spooned' together. His little butt pressed firmly against my erection
so that it fitted into the gap between his bare cheeks. It was only then
that I realized that neither of us had anything on under the blankets.
Unlike me, Grant had gone to bed in a tee-shirt. We were both naked.

"You feel good," Grant murmured.

"So do you," I returned, giving him a loving hug.

"I can feel your dick, Dad. It's stiff."

"Sorry."

"It's poking in my butt."

"Pretty disgusting huh? Sorry!" I said apologetically.  I started to move
back from him, but Grant squirmed against me, maintaining the intimate
contact with my erect penis.

"I don't mind."

"Maybe I do, Grant," I said gently.

"You were playing with him, weren't you?" Grant giggled. He moved closer
until he felt my engorged penis rubbing against his small buttocks. "That's
why he's so big, isn't it?"

"Ah, hmm,... I guess it is sort of," I answered awkwardly.  "Guys often get
hard-ons in the morning."

"Mine gets like that too in the morning," Grant admitted with innocent
glee. "Only he's not as big as yours, of course," he added.

"Well, you're still a little boy. You'd look pretty funny if you had one as
big as mine."

"I guess," he said tentatively. He grinned impudently.

"Mine's way bigger than Brandon's, but it's still really tiny compared to
yours. I wouldn't mind having one as big as yours."

I laughed. "Well you probably will. Only you'll have to give it a few more
years yet. Once you start puberty it'll start getting bigger. What happened
to the tee-shirt you went to bed in? I didn't know you were turning into a
little nudist," I teased.

Grant smirked. "It got wet so I took it off."

"It got wet," I repeated with surprise. "You wet the bed?  You haven't done
that for years."

He shook his head. "Don't be a dick-head, Dad. Of course I didn't. It was
you who got it wet!" he replied pointedly.

I looked at him quizzically. "I did?"

"The baby stuff you put inside me, I guess it leaked out while I was
asleep."

"Oh!"

"You must have put a lot of it inside me," Grant said accusingly. I
smirked. "I guess I must have."

"It felt yucky."

"I can imagine. I saw some leaking out while you were decorating the
tree. I'm sorry!"

"I don't mind. It's just kind of messy, that's all."

"Well, anyway," I added, lifting back the blankets, "I guess it's time to
get up."

He sat up quickly for a better look. As he did so, the

blankets fell further away, exposing his genitals to my view. It was
impossible not to look. Like me, he made a visual comparison of our sex
organs. My son's penis was also erect. It was small, but what it lacked in
size it made up for in stiffness. "Do you really think mine will be as big
as yours when I'm older?" he asked curiously.

"Maybe," I said absently. "It's pretty cute the way it is.  There's no
rush. I'm glad you still have a few more years yet before it starts to
grow. Right now, it's perfect.  Anyway I think I like small ones more than
big ones."

Grant shrugged with suddenly diminished interest. He quickly lost interest
in anything that was even a few weeks away. With a shy smile, he reached
out. I felt his hot small hand grasp my penis. He tugged gently, squeezing
with his fingers.  It was enough to make me gasp with pleasure. He moved
his hand up and down slightly. The sensations were overpowering. His hand
was soft, deliberately sliding across my skin rather than moving the skin
against the shaft of my penis. It was calculated, intense, and so gentle
that it exacted the most exquisite feelings. I felt like I would climax
within seconds if he did not stop.

"I don't think you should be doing this, Grant. We better get up," I said
awkwardly.

He regarded me uncertainly. "Why? Is it wrong?"

"Ah, yes. In a way," I said without confidence. "Some people would say so."

Grant tilted his head to the side and was thoughtful for a few seconds.
"But during the summer, you said it was okay if Brandon and I did it. Is it
because you're a grown up?"

"Yes, that and because you're my son. I don't think you should be doing it,
that's all."

"Oh! I'm sorry."

I smiled and shrugged. "There's nothing to be sorry about.  Come on, let's
get a fire going and have some breakfast," I said, pulling my dressing gown
over my shoulders.

I was not about to tell him that I thought he was incredibly beautiful even
when he was pouting. Neither would I tell him that it was all I could do to
stop what was happening. It took all my mental strength to deny the urge
inside me and get out of bed.  What I wanted to do to him was very
frightening.

As I went into the living room to get the fire started

again, Grant headed of to his bedroom to get dressed.  There was no
question in my mind that Grant was acting like I had rejected him, because
I had. He was more than bright enough to figure out how to get back at me
by himself. It was not a matter of sulking, it went far beyond that. Not
only was he was giving me the 'silent' treatment, he averted his eyes
whenever I happened to look at him. That in itself was disturbing if only
because I was worried about the reason why he had touched my penis.  Was he
ashamed? Was he angry that I had stopped him? No matter what way I
considered what had happened, I was left with a single conclusion that was
necessarily tainted by my earlier experience in the bathroom. Grant was
trying to get me sexually aroused.  Equally as worrisome was the fact that
I had stopped him when I wanted him to go on almost more than I could stand
it.  His juvenile attempt at seduction had nearly worked, would have worked
if I had stayed in bed for a minute longer. My mind churned on the
inevitable result. 'I should have fucked him', I said to myself.

I started to prepare my morning coffee in silence.  After a minute, when
the beans were ground and the first water began to trickle out, I started
to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Grant demanded petulantly.

"We are!"

 "How?"

I grinned. I wanted to say that he possessed a unique skill, an ability
that even his mother did not have. After only a few slow strokes on my
penis he had been only moments away from producing an orgasm in an
adult. Quickly I tried to change the subject.

"Why are you sulking?"

"I'm not sulking!" he retorted indignantly. "I'm just not in a good mood."

"Well, I am. It's Christmas, in case you've forgotten."

"So! I don't care," he grumped moodily.

"Humbug, huh?"

"Something like that."

"What do you want for breakfast? You can have anything you want. Scrambled
eggs, omelette, waffles, you name it," I offered.

I almost said 'sausage and two eggs, but I stopped myself in time. The
reference to that special part of his anatomy was a long standing joke
between us. It was usually accompanied by several minutes of wrestling
together while I pretended to bite his penis and testicles off.
Occasionally I got my mouth on one morsel or the other, sometimes even both
at the same time, but never for very long. I always managed to retain
enough control to break off the contact before taking a bite. The
interesting thing was that in all the times we had done wrestled, he had
never pushed me away.

Grant smiled slightly, his resistance breaking down as his bad temper
disintegrated.

"Something special, okay. But only if I get to help."

"It's a deal. Now what do we cook?" I answered. I stepped back from the
sink and held my arms out to him. He regarded me with a shy reluctance that
was out of character.

"Sausage and eggs?" he mouthed, with a voice that was barely loud enough to
travel across the room.

"In your dreams," I laughed. "And my dreams too."

A moment later Grant was in my embrace, his own thin arms wrapped around my
waist as he buried his head in my chest, his belly pressed into my groin.
After a while we parted.  We went through a number of favorites from
previous breakfast extravaganzas. We were hungry and we both wanted to cook
something tasty. We settled on crepes that contained ham, three types of
cheese, avocado, and tomato. Half an hour later, with two plates loaded
with english muffins and crepes, we moved to the dining room. I placed
another log on the fire and sat down to enjoy Christmas breakfast.

 "I think you have one more present to open. It's from

Santa, I believe," I said when both of our plates were emptied.  "Now Dad!
We both know there's no Santa Claus," Grant said with exasperation. He
smiled, put down his glass of milk, and looked at me. "But I'll believe in
him if he keeps bringing me presents.  So where is it?"

"You have to close your eyes and count to sixty very slowly.  Absolutely no
peeking, Grant."

He started to count. "One mississippi, two mississippi, three,...."

By the time he reached twenty, I was back in the room, with my arms
full. Any further I would have had to take a rest.  Carefully I placed the
badly wrapped present on the floor next to him.

"Okay, Grant. Santa's gone now so you can open your eyes," I laughed.

He grinned the instant he saw what was lying on the floor next to
him. There was no way of hiding its shape, beyond putting it in a large
box. "It'sasaddle," he gushed.  "It'sasaddle!Youboughtmeasaddle."

"A saddle? No! It's not a saddle. I think it's a leather- covered computer
that fell out of the sleigh and got a bit banged up on the way down the
chimney," I laughed.

I watched him tear the paper away from the orange-brown leather. It was the
first time I had seen the saddle other than as a picture on my computer.
Gary Bowman had taken delivery of the mail-order saddle for me, even
attempted to wrap it up. It was western-style and made in Brackettville,
Texas, fully hand tooled with a design of oak and acorn leaves and silver
trim. It was sized for a boy with a 12 inch suede seat. Gary had taken the
time to attach the stirrups, although they were still wrapped in soft white
foam. Draped over the saddle was a set of reins and a matching headstall.

"It's beautiful. Is it really mine?"

I nodded. "Yes, it's really yours. You'll have to learn how to take care of
it though."

"I will. I'll polish it every day. I promise. It's the nicest thing I have
in the whole world," he bubbled effusively.  His fingers stroked across the
leather and suede, following the contour of the seat. "It's beautiful."

"Once a week will be enough," I said with amusement.  "I'm really glad you
like it."

There was also a cream-colored palomino pony that Grant had yet to see. It
was a three-year-old thirteen-hand gelding that had been in a stall in
Gary's barn for the last two weeks. Of course, where there was a saddle,
there had to be a horse.  Slowly, the boy began to realize that there was
even more to his present. His face broke into a broad grin. Grant climbed
onto me, pushing me back into the cushions and giggling with happiness.

"You got me a horse too, didn't you?" he demanded.  "Didn't you, Dad? You
did, didn't you? Please say yes.  Please?" he implored. "There's no reason
to buy a saddle if there's no horse.  I want a horse so bad. You know I
want a horse. You said you'd buy me one when I was older."

I growled playfully, brushing my hand through his tousled hair and then
kissing him on the top of his head. "I thought we'd buy the horse next
Christmas," I teased.

"What do I do with the saddle until then?" he laughed, playing along.

"Hm, well we can put it on the fence and you can practice using it."

Grant hesitated for a few seconds, and then he started grinning
again. "Okay, where is he?"

I shrugged. "Geez, Grant, I forgot where I put him. I wonder where he is."

He jumped up, indignantly putting his hands on his narrow hips. "Okay,
enough funny stuff! I've wanted a horse for ever and ever and you and mom
kept on promising 'one day when I'm older'.  I want to see him, NOW!"

"Don't you think you're acting like a spoiled brat?" I said.

Grant stopped. He breathed out and for a few seconds, pouted silently. He
bit his bottom lip thoughtfully. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be,... It's
just that I've dreamed about having my own horse for so long. You promised
I'd get one. Please?"  he implored. "I just want to see him."

"When we've cleaned up the stuff from breakfast," I said patiently, "and
it's a bit warmer, we'll go over to Brandon's place so you can see him."

"Can I ride him?" Grant asked happily.

"There's a foot of snow outside," I replied. "What do you think?"

"Aw! I guess not. He'd get cold. But,... Damn! A horse of my own!"

I smiled, not bothering to give the disappointed boy the long lecture on
using appropriate language that his mother would have insisted on. Instead
I accepted that Grant had expressed his frustration in the same way as most
boys his age. He was excited, and there was no holding him back when he was
like that. He carried out the plates and cups, rinsing them thoroughly
under the hot water before setting them aside. I heard the rattle of
cutlery, the banging of the frying pan, the opening and losing of cupboard
doors and drawers. About five minutes passed before Grant reappeared in the
doorway.

"It's all cleaned up! Are you ready to go?"

"That must be a record, even for you," I laughed. "Is it really cleaned up
properly?"

Grant nodded. he came over, grabbed my hand and dragged me into the kitchen
behind him. Admittedly, the counter had not been wiped off properly, and he
had left a few things out, but he had done his best. I laughed and gave in.

"Okay. Go put on some jeans and a heavy sweater. You can't go out dressed
like that," I said, gesturing at his fleecy tracksuit.

He darted off, leaving me to put away the rest of the things before I went
to get changed myself. Gary expected us to arrive after breakfast, and
nine-thirty was after breakfast, wasn't it?

The temperature hovered in the low forties when we left the warmth of the
cabin. Already there was some signs of snow beginning to melt, but at that
rate it would be several days before the roads were in a condition that
made it safe enough for Brandon and his mother to come up. He was supposed
to spend the last half of the week with us. The interesting thing, I
realized, as we plodded our way out to the Jeep, was that Grant had not
mentioned Brandon one time. I wondered whether the boys had had a fight
before we left.

Considering that there was more than a foot of snow in some places, the
Jeep handled the roads very nicely. It was in four- wheel-drive the entire
way to Gary's farm, of course, and there were some stretches where the
night chill had left the roads covered with a glistening sheet of ice above
the snow.  Still, it was a fairy-tale land, snow-covered trees and fences.
Gary's house and barns were made even more picturesque by white roofs. I
parked close to the house, and Gary, who had watched my slow crawl up the
hill, came out to greet us. His breath was fogged as he stomped across the
virgin snow, leaving deep footprints.

"Mornin' guys," he puffed. "Merry Christmas!" He held out his hand and
Grant and I shook, exchanging our own Christmas greetings.

"Hi Gary," I replied.

"Brandon said to say merry Christmas, too, to both of you," Gary said.
"Reckon we got us some Christmas snow, Grant."

Grant grinned back at him and nodded. It was impossible not to like Gary
Bowman, particularly so given that he was Brandon's father.

"Looks like you got a saddle in the back of that Jeep?"

"Yes sir," Grant beamed.

"Well, I got a pony in the barn. I wonder if it'll fit him."

Gary winked at me. He was so good with boys that it made me slightly
uncomfortable to have him around Grant when I wasn't there. Not for the
first time did I catch myself wondering whether Gary and I had more in
common than sharing a fence and having ten-year-old sons who were best
friends. I watched Grant run through the snow to the car. Even in the snow,
he was remarkably agile. He opened the rear hatch and struggled back to us
with his arms full of saddle. With a weight of nearly thirty pounds, it was
quite heavy for him.

Gary and I followed Grant as he led the way across to the barn. He was
inside the barn door and out of sight before we were halfway there.

Gary chuckled. "Nothing quite like the thrill a boy gets when he gets his
first horse. Hell, it's probably better than losing his virginity."

"I don't know about that," I laughed. "It probably depends on who he loses
it with."

"Reckon that's true enough. I've seen a lot of women over the years I'd
never do it with, even if you paid me.  That's some horse he's got. A fine
animal! Palominos must be the prettiest horses around. A beautiful creature
like your boy deserves a good-looking horse like that."

Although it was not the first time that Gary had been complimentary about
Grant's good looks, my mouth still dropped open. Perhaps he had merely
confused beautiful with good-looking.  Perhaps he had meant to say it
exactly the way it came out. I shuddered involuntarily. Perhaps there was a
reason why Gary Bowman was no longer married. Indeed, thinking back, Gary
had told me very little about Brandon's mother, other than that the
marriage had not worked out. He had never told me what caused them to break
up.

"I'm a bit worried," I said after a few seconds.  "Thirteen hands is still
a big horse for him. I'm afraid Grant won't be strong enough to control
it."

"It's not a matter of strength. That boy of yours may be young, but he's a
natural rider. He's plenty smart enough to get that pony under control. And
he's got the balls to take advantage of him."

Gary opened the barn door and I followed him into the gloom.  It was a
different world inside. The equine smell was strong but not unpleasant. The
smell of hay added a scent to the air that was familiar. Strangely, I
remembered a Christmas five years earlier when I had taken Grant to see a
manger-scene at the local zoo. Even then he loved horses. There was enough
light to see Grant in the fourth stall on the right. he was crooning to his
pony, making friends with hugs and soft-spoken words.  Every few seconds,
Grant would kiss the horse on the neck and nuzzle his ears. The horse
seemed oblivious.

"Wouldn't mind some of that myself," Gary joked.

I looked at him sharply. Gary smiled.

"I get a bit lonely with Brandon gone to his grandparents for the holidays.
It's just me and the horses," he added. "I guess I need to find a woman
who'll put up with me."

"Yeah, right," I laughed. "How about the Daly woman?"

"Jesus! What a way to go. She's one of the women I was talking about a
minute ago. You couldn't pay me enough. She'd nag a man dang near to death.
That's gotta be how her last husband died."

"I hear she's a good cook," I joked.

"So is Brandon." He winked. "Who needs a woman when there's a boy like
Brandon in the kitchen. I hear Grant's pretty good with a skillet too."

I smiled as we came up beside the stall where Grant was administering
affection to his pony. With his arms still locked around the horse's neck
as if he was afraid that someone would take him away, he turned towards me.

"He's really beautiful, Dad. He's the bestest horse ever. I love him so
much."

I smiled back at him. "Merry Christmas, Grant. I'm glad you like him. What
are you going to call him?"

"Um,... I don't know. Does he have a name already?"

"Let's see, they did tell me what it was. Wasn't it Moonraker or something
like that, Gary?"

"Yeah, that was it. Sounds a bit like the name of a space ship to me," Gary
laughed. "Moonraker?" Grant said pensively.  After a few seconds, he
smiled. "I like it. It suits him, too."

"Because he's the color of the moon?" I suggested.

"Not when it's silver, but when it's yellow and you see it over the pond,"
Grant said. "Moonraker? Hm,... Yes, it suits him."

"I think it was the title of a James Bond movie," I suggested.

"Oh, okay! I'll leave him as Moonraker. Can I put the saddle on him in
here, Dad?"

I grinned back at him proudly. "I think you better ask Mr.  Bowman."

"Can I? Please, Mr. Bowman?" Grant asked excitedly.

"I don't see why not," Gary chuckled. "But no more calling me Mr. Bowman,
from now on. I've known you since you were this high," he added, holding
his hand disturbingly close to his groin. "If Brandon can call your dad,
Chris, I don't see why you can't call me Gary?"

Grant grinned back at him. He was radiant with happiness. He lifted the
saddle up as high as he could. Even then, it was all he could do to get it
over the horse's back. He had to stand on tip toes to position it on the
pony's withers. It was then, with his back to me, with his arms full of
saddle, with his small buttocks deliciously defined under his tight blue
jeans, that the thought came to me. He was incredibly sexy, there was
simply no other way of describing him. The denim covered him, but it also
revealed his boy's body in a way that only denim can.  I saw the curved
depression of his cleft, accentuated by his lean legs and narrow hips. I
immediately recognized the thrill I felt as lust, yet I could not look
away. I feasted my eyes on his pert bottom with an enjoyment of knowing
what lay underneath. The promise I had made myself only hours earlier,
suddenly seemed very far away.

With his pony saddled, Grant opened the gate and led him out. I gave him a
leg up by locking both hands together and lifting him up and into the
saddle. The stirrups needed to be shorter, and the cinch strap could have
been a hole or two tighter, but he looked like he belonged in the saddle.
He was a perfect little cow-boy. Grant grinned from ear to ear.


"You look real good," I said with more admiration than the situation
demanded.

"Darned if that's one boy who don't look more beautiful than his pony,"
Gary agreed with a grin.

Grant giggled, his usual infectious giggle that was music to my ears.
gently he nudged the pony with his heels.  Moonraker started to walk down
the length of the barn.

Gary smiled. "He's a cutie, that one," he said quietly.

"The boy or the horse?" I asked cynically. I knew what he was going to say
before he said it.

"The boy, of course."

I regarded Gary without saying anything. He smiled, meeting my eyes with
unnerving silence. I had a strange feeling that he knew my feelings for
Grant were not the fatherly feelings that I was supposed to have. The funny
thing was that I sensed that he felt the same way. "Brandon and Grant are
really close," Gary acknowledged as Grant made his pony turn and begin the
trip back to where we were standing. "Very close," he added with emphasis.

"I guess they are," I agreed uncertainly.

He nodded. "It's good for boy like Brandon to have a friend like
Gee-Tee. He's very lucky."

It was the first time that I had heard Gary use a familiar form of my son's
name.

"So is Grant," I replied dryly. "He couldn't have a better friend."

Grant drew abreast of us, still grinning from ear to ear. I don't think I
had ever seen him so happy. I turned back to Gary, momentarily shocked at
the thought that had gone racing through my mind. I had actually wondered
whether it hurt Grant to sit in the saddle given what I had done to him in
the bath-tub.

"You know, Chris, when two boys are as close as our two, they are
lucky. There's no other word for it," Gary said thoughtfully.

"I couldn't agree more."

"I remember when I was Brandon's age. My best friend was a kid by the name
of Johnny Frean. He was good-looking, not in Grant's league of course, but
still cute. I did things with him, that,... well if my parents had known
they probably would have killed me and him both."

"Boys will be boys," I said vaguely. "I was probably pretty much the same
way. Most boys go through a stage where they're more interested in boys
than girls. I think it's normal. In fact I think that's why I give Grant a
lot more slack than most father's would."

Gary smiled. "Man, when I remember what I used to do with John I think it
was a bit more than just a stage I was going through. I was lucky I didn't
get caught. I don't think my father would have been as understanding as you
are. I remember one time,..." He smiled. "Well, I better not go into that."

"Go on," I laughed. "You can tell me. I probably did more or less the same
things with my best friend, maybe worse."

Gary laughed, stepping back out of the way so that Grant did not have to go
between us and the adjacent stall.

"Well, there was one time,... you've got to remember now Chris, that I was
only about ten or eleven. It was the hottest damned summer in years. I
didn't know that much about anything, and sex? I was completely innocent. I
knew how animals did it, but it never dawned on me that people could do the
same thing.  God only knows how anything managed to happen given how dumb I
was. I was a real innocent."

"That sounds exactly like me."

"Well, like I said, John and I were best friends and we went camping
together, just overnight and never that far from where we lived, but far
enough that we could pretend we were in the wilderness and a long way from
anyone. After lunch it was so hot we got our clothes off and
skinny-dipped. Of course we did that all the time in summer, but this day,
well it was different.  Maybe it was the heat. We swam at a place about a
mile down the creek. Right where your place is now. You know where the big
pool is?"

"Brandon and Grant swim there all the time," I replied. Gary raised an
eyebrow with an unspoken question. I smiled.  "And they go skinny dipping
too. I hope that's okay?"

"Okay? Of course it's okay. Jesus, I'd be surprised if they didn't do it,
as close as those two boys are. So, there we were, John and I. We were
stark naked and it started to rain. Man, it poured. By the time we were out
of the water our clothes were soaked. There didn't seem to be any point in
putting them on, so we got into the tent naked."

I smiled knowingly. "And boys will be boys," I prompted.

Gary nodded. "Exactly. Things kind of got out of hand after a while. I
didn't know anything could feel that good.  It wasn't the first time I had
a hard-on but it sure was the stiffest."

"Better than a woman?" I teased.

"I wouldn't go that far, but when you're ten or eleven you've got as much
chance of getting some pussy as flying to the moon. With John, well,... I
guess I wasn't a virgin anymore," Gary laughed.

He looked at me nonchalantly, as if the concept of a boy losing his
virginity to another boy was nothing to be surprised about. I took a quick
breath and shrugged to show that I was not perturbed.

"We did it lots of times after that needless to say. I don't think any of
them were as good as the first time.  Sometimes I think it changed me
forever."

"It must have been something to see. Two horny boys in a tent together and
the rain pouring down," I said softly as Grant and his pony came past me
again.

"It was. I'm quite sure you're right when you said most boys go through the
same thing. It's like a rite of passage, getting it off with your best
friend. Did you? It sounds to me like you played around a bit."

I smiled, reminiscing about a slim brown-haired boy who I once believed I
was in love with. Adam Render. He was twelve years old and very good
looking. For nearly eight months we sucked each other's penises every
afternoon on the way home from school. His garage, or mine, it made no
difference. We would take turns dropping our jeans or shorts while the
other would kneel down and perform oral sex until the inevitable
ejaculation occurred. After a while, we stopped backing off and started
swallowing. And then, without any warning Adam discovered girls and I was
discarded.

I sighed. "Yeah, I guess I sucked my share of boy-dick," I admitted
wistfully. Like me, Adam was circumcised. His penis was a fraction under
four inches and he was far enough into puberty that there was something to
get out. He was still small enough that I could fit all of in my mouth
without difficulty. After the first few times, I even liked the taste. By
the end of the first week, I longed to feel his jerking member embedded in
my mouth, using my tongue to embrace his thrusting penis, slurping on the
slippery tasty fluid, absorbed by the sheer naughtiness of what we did as
much as captivated by the pleasure of it.  When he spurted into the back of
my mouth I felt strangely happy. I was content, as if there was no higher
pleasure.

Gary regarded me curiously. "You think what you did then is bad now?"

"Bad? No, not really. Mostly I think it's just a stage that boys go through
when they're entering puberty. Like I said, it's probably fairly normal and
not a problem unless people make a big deal out of it."

"For a long while I was worried it made me gay," Gary confided. "You know,
back then, maybe I was scared I was going to be gay. A lot of the kids I
knew were playing around with other boys, but I was different. I couldn't
get enough cock.  Later on, maybe when I was fifteen or sixteen, I lost
interest in boys my own age."

"Same here," I said vaguely.

Gary shrugged. "So, do you think our boys are doing it?"

His question took me completely by surprise, although it was entirely to be
expected under the circumstances.  Suddenly I had a terrible sinking
feeling that Brandon had told his father everything that had happened at
the end of the summer!


"I expect so," I said awkwardly. After a moment's hesitation I added with
as much disinterest as I could muster, "I don't think it would bother me if
they did. It's not something I would be worried about."

Gary smiled, his eyes following Grant attentively as he made the turn at
the far end of the barn.

"You want to know something, Chris? Frankly, I'd like to think I was
open-minded enough to encourage them to do it. My best memories are when I
was growing up. I'll never forget the nights I spent with my best buddy in
our tent."

I smiled, imagining what had happened between Gary and his friend. He had
said that he lost his virginity with John. When you got right down to it,
there only one way for a boy to lose his virginity with another boy. Had
Grant and Brandon done something besides having oral sex? I had always
wondered about doing that other intimate act with Adam. Once I had heard
the jokes about 'queers' it did not take me very long to figure out that a
penis would probably fit inside an anus. I was willing to try it. However,
while Adam was very willing to have his penis in my mouth, he was somewhat
reluctant to suck mine. That was the worst we ever did, leaving no question
in my mind that he would reject me if I suggested doing something else. I
was perfectly happy to offer my own behind to get him interested in the
idea, but the opportunity never arose. Even in my relative innocence I
realized that anal sex was a little 'extreme'. It was the one despised
thing that other boys made fun of and proved a person to be 'gay'? It was
for that reason that I resisted temptation.  However, every time Adam
Render wore tight jeans or a swimming costume, or I saw his firm little
behind unclothed, I fantasized about his cheeks squeezing my penis as I
pushed into him.

"Well," I mused, feeling something akin to relief, "I guess most boys get
up to similar tricks. I wouldn't be surprised if our two boys did play
around a bit. Brandon's a great kid," I added.

"If your boy wants to stick it in Brandon, I'm all for it," Gary chuckled.

My eyes opened wide in disbelief. "Uh, um,... well I'm not sure I'd want
them to go that far," I muttered self-consciously.

"Why not?"

"What? Why not? God, I don't know. It's just,... well they're still so
young and,... that stuff,... anal sex and all, is so,..."

Gary laughed again. "So grown up, or do you mean gay?  Hell, John and I
used to do it all the time. I bet you tried the back door once or twice
with your friend too, didn't you?"

I swallowed. "Um,..."

"Well, did you?"

"IT's not something I want to talk about," I mumbled self- consciously. I
could not tell, not after all the years I had kept my unsatisfied desire
secret.

Gary winked at Grant as he rode up to us again on his umpteenth lap of the
barn.

"Lookin' good. That's one gorgeous creature. God would be proud," he said
teasingly.

Again I was uncertain whether Gary was referring to the pony or my son. The
possibility that he was flirting with my son was very unsettling. Grant
swung the pony around again with barely the slightest pressure on the
reins. He grinned triumphantly.

"I reckon you could ride that pony all day, Grant," I laughed. "You'll be
walking bowlegged from now on."

Grant gave me a very strange look, strange until I remembered what had
happened less than twenty-four hours earlier.  He had walked bow-legged for
quite a long time, at least from when he got out of the bath tub until he
sat down to eat dinner.

"I don't mind," he said. "He's a beautiful horse, Dad.  Isn't he awesome,
Gary?"

"I'm glad you like him. He suits you, Grant," Gary answered pointedly.

However, that Grant had called Gary by his first name had not gone
unnoticed. Gary glanced at me after a moment, meeting my eyes and silently
challenging me to say something about it. Given what we had been talking
about it was not surprising that there was a gnawing unease in the pit of
my stomach. They were close.  Even Brandon did not call me by my first name
in front of his father. The closest he came was calling me "Grant's Dad".

After a watching Grant for a few more laps of the barn, I walked back to
the house with Gary. There was still a half a pot of coffee left. Gary
filled some mugs and sat down at the kitchen table, stretching his legs out
like me to warm them before the old cast iron stove. We sat in silence for
nearly a minute. I wondered what Gary was thinking about. I certainly knew
what I wanted to talk about.

"You heard from Sue over the holidays?" Gary asked dryly.

I looked up quickly. "Sue? Not yet! She was supposed to call last night,
but she didn't. I was wondering whether the phone lines were down with the
snow."

"They're not! At least they were working when Brandon called me last
night. I guess it was about nine p.m. He was on the phone for nearly an
hour. His mother will be darned near ready to kill him when she sees the
bill."

"She can't be that bad," I commented without enthusiasm.

"She can. She's worse. God only knows how I was dumb enough to marry her.
The only good thing that came out of my marriage to her was Brandon. I'd be
personally happy if I never saw the woman again."

That bad?"

"Absolutely. Brandon, well he really doesn't understand what it was like
for me. The woman is a real bitch. He only heard the fights we used to
have. He used to cry himself to sleep most nights because we were too busy
tearing each other's throats out to pay any attention to him."

"Poor kid!" I sighed.

Until that moment I had no idea that Brandon's home life had been so
miserable before his parents' divorce. Sue and I had the occasional fight
but we always made sure that Grant was not around when we argued. The
problem with my marriage was that the fun had disappeared, if it had ever
there. Our sex life had diminished to the level where we had separate beds.
Increasingly, I was suspicious that Sue was looking outside the marriage
for something that I was either not providing or not able to provide for
her. I wondered how much longer it was going last.  If anything, the sudden
trip to Hawaii with her boss was a confirmation of my suspicions.

"Anyway, that's all in the past now," Gary commented without
bitterness. "We're both better off."

"That's good," I said. "I imagine it was pretty hard on Brandon."

"It was for a while. It got better quickly when she moved out. Damned hard!
Did you ever wonder whether it was worth the hassle?"

"Whether what was?"

"Marriage. Except for Brandon, it was a waste of seven years of my life."

I smiled, "Well, there's always the sex."

"Not even the sex was worth the effort. I would have been better off with
my hand," Gary laughed. "My dick would have been sore, but I wouldn't have
been arguing just about every night.  Now I have a lot more fun jerking off
with a few magazines from Denmark."

I shrugged, wondering what sort of magazines came from Denmark and suddenly
understanding why I was more disenchanted with my marriage than I had ever
been. I had also taken to masturbation to get relief. My fantasies were not
about her. More often than not they were about Adam. Things had been
getting worse between my wife and me over the last year, but I always
managed to forget just how bad it was. It was going to end, I had no doubt
of it. It seemed like the end was getting closer and closer every day. I
wondered whether Sue's suddenly announced Christmas trip to Hawaii was the
last straw. Was the trip necessary for her job? She said it was and I
wanted to believe her. The timing was terrible, however her career was very
important to her. Listening to Gary, I began to think about divorce as
being something I should seriously think about.  However, I had decided one
thing a long while ago. If we were going to get a divorce, Grant would
never suffer from not having me around. If I didn't get custody, I would
take as much access as the judge could give me. Understanding the impact of
divorce on children, I also wanted Grant to know that divorce was not my
idea. For his sake, his mother would have to take the first step.

"Is Grant taking it pretty bad? What with his mom being away for Christmas
and then not calling to wish him merry Christmas?"  Gary persisted.

"Not really. She'll probably call later this afternoon. He's a patient
kid. He understands a lot more than he lets on. Why do you ask?"

"No reason. It just seemed,... like he was really,...  well he just seemed
a bit quieter this morning than usual, that's all."

I could not help but look guilty. I knew why he was quiet. A boy does not
lose his virginity and start a homosexual

relationship with his father without being affected by it. I took a quick
breath and pretended nothing was wrong.

"Are we talking about my Grant being quieter than normal. I don't think
he's ever been quiet during his entire life. If he was quiet, I think I
would have noticed. I don't think I've seen him this excited, at least not
since we were up here for the summer."

Despite my conviction, I glanced at Gary surreptitiously. He was always
very observant, particularly with regard to people.  Had he noticed
something?

"He just struck me as being a tad subdued, that's all."

"Subdued how?" I asked after a few seconds.

"Well, for one thing he's taken to giving me a high-five every time I see
him, but today,... Maybe he was just too excited." Gary grinned.

"I think that's probably it," I replied.

"I've got to say that I have really taken to him. I was very glad when he
started spending every minute of the day with Brandon. This last summer I
really started thinking of him as a second son."

I shuddered involuntarily. I had an unpleasant feeling that Gary intended
for me to feel uncomfortable. And I did feel uncomfortable. There was a
squeamish sensation in my stomach. It came from not knowing what happened
to bring them into a relationship that made Gary consider Grant as his
second son and allowed Grant call him by his first name in front of me.
What was even more upsetting was that I now realized that something had
happened between them, something that Grant had not mentioned to me.
However, upon reflection, the same was true for me. Brandon was also like a
son to me.

"Brandon too," I said absently.

That produced a smile from Gary. It was a knowing smile, though what he
knew escaped me. It was as if he sensed that I loved Brandon. My discomfort
did not go away. We sat quietly, toasting our held-out hands in the
radiated heat from the stove.  Minutes ticked past.

"You ever do it with anyone besides someone your own age, I mean when you
were a boy?" Gary asked without warning.

I swallowed a mouthful of coffee. I knew what he was asking.  It wasn't
enough that I had enjoyed a sexual relationship with another boy. It seemed
that Gary was prying further into my life than he had reason to. I sat
there sullenly, trying to escape the memory that suddenly filled my head.

"I used to do it with John's father," Gary said slowly.

I glanced at him. He stood up, walking to the stove to get more coffee from
the pot. He filled his cup and then added more to mine. He smiled and
nodded thoughtfully.

"I did, you know. It seems like so long ago, but I still remember exactly
what happened the first time we did it. I was only eleven when I had sex
with my best friend's father," he chuckled. "I was one horny little kid at
the time. I guess I knew what I liked, even then."

I was shocked, disbelieving, awed, excited.

"What did you do?" I asked.

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.  There was no way
that I could conceal my curiosity.

"The better question is what didn't I do with him?"  Gary admitted with a
sly grin. "There were a lot of opportunities back then. The Hendersons used
to have farm next to ours.  Your place was part of what used to be the
Henderson farm, before they sold out. The recession in the early nineties
just about killed farming in these parts. In fact, I was going to buy the
land that you've got, and not only because it's top-grade farmland for the
most part. I had some great times down by the pond with John and his
dad. However, it didn't make a lot of sense unless I take up full-time
farming."

"You'd give up teaching?"

Gary nodded slightly. "I enjoy teaching, I really do.  For the last few
months I've given a lot of thought about home schooling Brandon and farming
full time. The only problem with buying the Henderson place was that the
bankers were asking way too much."

I smiled. Gary always enjoyed telling me that we had paid too much for the
land. I drank some more coffee and barely avoided having some of it spilled
down my shirt when Gary continued.

"My ass might have been sore afterwards, but it was the best sex I ever
had."

I could not contain myself. The words spilled out of me, even though I
suspected I knew the answer to my questions.

"You did that? You and John right? Or you and John's father?"

"Both! Most times it was all three of us. Pretty kinky huh?"

Gary's answer was not what I expected at all. I stumbled when I tried to
respond.

"Yeah, a bit."

"I suppose a person might think something like that," Gary laughed. "But
like I said, it was a long while ago and I was a horny little kid. I
couldn't get enough back then."

He looked at me curiously. I wanted to say something.  Instead I swallowed
nervously. Was he trying to tell me that he knew I had sex with Grant? The
very idea send a cold chill down my spine. "Sometimes I wonder if Brandon
isn't the same way."

I continued to return his look in silence. I was not surprised. Indeed, the
suggestion held a certain attraction for me. Prior to the last summer I had
not thought of Brandon as a sexual boy. However, during the summer I
realized that he was very sexual.

Unlike Grant, Brandon exuded an undeniable something that left a disturbing
question about what he was thinking.  How many times during the summer had
I observed him looking at me with his searching eyes? When I did
acknowledge that I knew I was the object of his attention, his look changed
immediately. At first it was uncertain and he quickly turned away once eye
contact became established. However, by the time Grant and I departed it
had become disquietingly arrogant, challenging me to be the first to break
the unspoken bond between us. It seemed as if he was playing a game with
me. The strange thing was that at the time, I had not considered his
interest in me as anything more than a by- product of what was obviously an
intimate relationship with Grant. I assumed it was part of his coming to
terms with himself and how he felt.

"He certainly has the look for it. He's still a bit younger than I was but
I don't think I'd mind he was sexually active with Grant."

I looked up quickly and put my thoughts aside.  "Active?"

Gary winked. "What boy doesn't start getting active around puberty."

"With Grant?"

"It's harmless at that age," he replied confidently.  "I'd be surprised if
they weren't already playing around."

I nodded, remembering what I had said in Grant's bedroom one summer night.
Had the boys been doing more than I thought. What had they done after I
left the room?

"Probably," I ventured.

"Just probably?" Gary asked. "What boy doesn't suck his best friend off if
he gets the opportunity? I don't have to ask to know you did that. I did it
with John and his father all the time. I expect Brandon will do it
too. Grant's the natural partner for him."

Just when I was about to respond to Gary's observation I caught the
movement of his eyes towards the door.  There was no opportunity to
continue the conversation. We both turned around as the kitchen door swung
open. Grant hurried inside, after stomping his feet to get the snow and ice
from his shoes. His cheeks were flushed both from cold and unbridled
excitement. His grin seemed to go from ear to ear.

It was time to go home and I found myself relishing the opportunity to be
alone with him. As we struggled out to the car, my excitement grew
quickly. We were alone together. He looked at me as soon as we got into the
car and closed the doors. He smiled. There was no need for him to say
anything. I could see love in his eyes. His appreciation of my Christmas
present was boundless. I smiled back at him. He leaned forward, bringing
his lips to mine. It was a momentary kiss, almost chaste, yet it was unlike
any other kiss we had ever shared. It felt like a hand had reached into my
chest and squeezed my heart. It was a small hand with a very tight grip,
just like the small hand that had held my penis earlier in the morning. So
far, it was a very Merry Christmas and the day was far from over.


END PART 1. (And yes, there is a Part 2)