Date: Fri, 05 Jan 2001 20:51:02
From: Ganymede
Subject: Merry Christmas (PART 3)

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. PART 3. 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 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 3. By Ganymede



DECEMBER 26, 1999



I sent Grant off to start getting cleaned up and dressed
while I rinsed the two mugs. It was only when I was in the living
room that I heard the shower running, and over the sound of
splashing water, his high-pitched voice. "Hey, Dad? Hurry up." I
smiled, thinking of Grant. It did not take a lot of imagination
to realize what he wanted. He wanted me in the shower with him.
It would not be the first time that we had showered together, and
it certainly would not be the last time. Instead of answering I
followed my intuition, followed the sound, followed his
invitation to join him. Despite my occasional admonition to close
the shower curtain, he had not done so. I saw him even before I
entered the bathroom. He grinned the instant he saw me, promptly
turned around, and mooned me. With each of his hands grasping a
cheek, he split his buttocks wide apart. Other than the leather
cord around his waist, nothing appeared out of the ordinary.
Then, suddenly, there was a bright red ball peeping out of the
darkened ring of his anus. Needless to say, it was quite a sight.

"Hey," I laughed. "It looks like you're about to lay an
egg."

A moment later the hole closed again and the red ball
disappeared from sight. He straightened up, smiling.

"Pretty cool, huh?"

"Very cool. Doesn't it hurt? Doing that?"

"Nope. It feels funny, kind of like I'm about to have a
really big poop."

"I can imagine. Do you want to share the shower with me?" I
asked.

Grant nodded and made room for me by moving to one side as I
stepped over the edge of the bath. He passed me the soap.

"Wash me," he instructed confidently.

"Wash yourself," I said as I returned the bar of soap to me.

The look on his face changed. His bottom lip pushed forward
glumly.

"Why not?"

"Because I am starving hungry, and if I wash you, it will
lead to something else,"

"So?" he whined playfully.

"So, before we know it, it'll be lunchtime. So you wash
yourself while I do my hair."

Grant smirked. "Okay, on one condition."

"What's that?"

"I get to wash him first," he demanded pointedly. He looked
downward, emboldened.

"It's a deal," I answered. "But you have to behave yourself.
No silly stuff."

It took all my self restraint that morning not to take
advantage of the situation. It would have been very easy. He held
my penis like it was the most precious thing in the world. Then,
with the soap in his other hand, he proceeded to run it up and
down the length of my sex organ, again and again until it was
slippery and foamy white. Within the space of a few seconds, my
penis was hard enough to chip the tiles off the wall behind me.
He cradled it between his fingers, rubbing his thumbs ever so
gently along the shaft. I shifted uneasily. This was not mere
masturbation. This was the height of physical stimulation. It was
deliberate, intense, shameless exploration. Hot, soapy,
slithering fingers, squeezing my most sensitive place. my
buttocks tightened, anticipating orgasm in the immediate future.
It was all I could do to watch and breath, gaze in fascination as
he rinsed away the foam, still working his hands rhythmically as
he took advantage of the water that cascaded over us.

"Can I suck him?" Grant whispered.

"Can you what?" I managed to squeak out.

"Suck him? I want to suck your dick. Can I?"

My mind went into shock, conflicting thoughts, a paroxysm of
unrealized needs. Adam Render had sucked my penis. Only Adam. My
wife had never done that. And now my son was offering that
special joy to me. His face was innocent, yet the words he spoke
were not innocent.

"Ah, um, I don't think that's a good idea," I managed to
reply after I had taken a deep breath.

"It's,... ah not that I wouldn't like you to," I added as he
became crest-fallen. "Why not?"

"Um,... because,... well,..."

"But you want me to. I know you do," Grant interjected. "And
I want to, as well," he added boldly.

"Yeah, well,..."

Grant giggled. "What are you worried about?"

"I'm not worried about anything," I retorted. "I'm not sure
it's something you ought to be doing, that's all."

"Why not?"

"Because,... well,... um,..."

"Because I'm a boy and you're a man?" he asked. "It gets
messy sometimes," I answered.

"I don't mind."

"I don't think you understand, Grant."

"There's lots of your semen already in my butt, Dad. Why
does it matter if it goes in my mouth as well?"

"Because,... ah,..."

Again I groped for the words. Grant had a point. I could
hardly tell him that it was different. Butt, mouth, was there
really any difference? A quick downward glance was enough to see
that he was aroused. Hard, eager, pointing towards me.

"It's different," I added meekly.

"So? I'm not afraid. I can always swallow it."

I swallowed my surprise. "I'm sure you can. Only I'm hungry
and I'm sure you are too. There's a chance we'll get some more
snow as well, so the sooner we get dressed and in the car the
better."

Grant acquiesced, which a good thing because if he had not,
I would have given in. As he soaped himself up, I shampooed my
hair and rinsed. We exchanged soap for shampoo. Watching a lithe
young boy in the shower, arms stretched back over his head, every
rib line clearly revealed, a flat brown belly with muscles
defined, eyes closed as his fingers kneaded his scalp. Unknown to
him I watched him with silent appreciation, luxuriating in the
warm water, abandoned to self-indulgent sensuous pleasure. His
body curved live a bow, his penis sticking straight out like a
arrow ready to be launched. This beautiful creature before me was
the epitome of boyhood.

We dried off quickly, using the big fluffy towels that Sue
always preferred to buy even though they took forever to dry
afterwards. he darted off to his bedroom to find some clothes,
reappearing a minute later with an armful of blue jeans and
sweatshirt. I watched him dress, fascinated by his deft movement
and the inherent agility of youth. I watched as he pulled his
feet through the tattered ends of his jeans, pulled the zipper up
to cover up was now a substantially bigger bulge than I had
previously been aware off. I watched him put on his sweatshirt,
covering his slim smooth torso until there was nothing more to
see. He grinned.

"Well, I'm waiting. You better hurry up old man or I'll
leave without you."

"You're going to drive the Jeep into town?" Grant beamed.
"Can I?"

"Hardly. Maybe in a another six years," I answered. "How
about in five years."

"Huh?"

"I can get my driver's permits and stuff in five years if we
lived up here."

I smiled back at him. "What the law allows and what I allow
are two different things. Maybe five years, maybe six years. I'll
decide that when the time comes, Gee-Tee. Either way, you had
better start saving your money so you can buy yourself a car," I
teased.

I ruffled my hand through his mussed up hair and gave him a
friendly shove towards the bathroom. He took the hint and ambled
off to brush his hair while I finished dressing.

It was warmer outside than I expected. Indeed, there had
already been some melting going on since the sun rose that
morning. Still at the rate it was going, it was likely that the
snow would remain until the next week. But it was beautiful. The
trees were dark silhouettes against the blinding white snow. The
rail fence still had thin lines of snow on the upper surfaces.
Long ice crystals hung from the eaves and sparkled like oversized
diamonds.

On the hill, there were long curved lines pressed into the
snow, twisting and turning, a complex weaving from our two sleds.
The air was fresh and clean. And it was quiet. There was no
sound, except perhaps the hint of air moving through the
branches. It was very different to our house in the city. There,
the snow would have turned into grey slush. It was noisy,
nonstop. And the smell of people was always there. It was thus
that I thought of Grant's comment right before he went into the
bathroom.

"Would you like to live here?" I asked.

"Here? You mean all year?"

I could hear the excited inflection in his voice. It was a
possibility that I had never really entertained beyond the
realities of making a living.

"Yes," I answered.

Grant smiled and started walking towards the Jeep. After a
few paces he stopped and turned around.

"It would be really cool."

"It would be difficult," I said thoughtfully as I caught up
to him and dropped my arm neatly around his shoulders.

"Why? Because of your job? But you always work up here when
we stay during the summer. Why would it be any different for the
rest of the year?"

"Well, I do have to travel sometimes," I answered.

Still it was an attractive proposition and one that I could
have even begun to think about only a day earlier.

"It isn't all that far to the airport. And you always say
that it's easier to fly in and out of than JFK."

"No worse that's for sure. Wouldn't you miss living in New
York?"

"A bit," Grant admitted. "We could go skiing all the time if
we lived up here. We don't even have to drive over to Lake Placid
most of the time, and summer here is really fun, and,..."

"True. You really don't have to convince me."

"Besides you're always saying how hard it is to work at home
because of the interruptions."

"That's also true." I smiled.

He was getting excited at the prospect, and for some reason
that struck a chord within me. Like me, Grant had always
preferred the outdoors. He would live a very different life if we
lived here instead of New York. However, there was an added
advantage. It would be very unlikely for his mother to spend the
time and come all the way to visit him more than once or twice a
year. despite my promise to myself not to depreciate her in front
him, I did not relish the idea of sharing him with her.

"There are some problems," I mused as I brushed the snow off
the windscreen with my gloved hand.

"Like?"

"For one thing there's a problem with finding a school for
you."

"I could go to the same school as Brando goes to," Grant
suggested hopefully.

"You wouldn't mind not going to Lyndhurst then?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I'd miss my friends a bit." He paused,
reflecting. "But none of them means as much to me as Brandon."

I opened the car door and closed it again once he was in. I
walked to the other side, still thinking. It was an interesting
possibility, living here with Grant, surrounded by nature. He
could grow up the way all boys should grow up, with woods to play
in, with horses to ride, with a boy who would be his friend for
life, with a father who loved him.

Luckily, the road into town was in much better condition
that it had been a day earlier when I took Grant to see his
Christmas present. We turned left over the bridge, leaving
Blueberry Pond on our right as we headed into town. It was a
beautiful view that confronted us as we passed lower Saranac
Lake. A veil of mist hung over Eagle Island, giving it both
picturesque mystery and a romantic aura.

The traffic into Saranac Lake was relatively light so it was
only about thirty minutes later when I pulled up in front of
Benton's. There were a few other vehicles parked outside, all of
them pick-up trucks. I wondered where the tourists were for there
were always a few who ventured into out of the boutiques and into
real life.

We took a booth, midway along the front window so that we
could watch the passing parade. Our waitress was young, probably
not more than six years older than her youngest customer. She was
nervous, yet attentive. Her eyes flickered at me, then back to
Grant. There was a resemblance, but not one that was immediately
discernible. In my opinion, he simply was far too good looking to
be my offspring. She flirted with him in the teasing way that
teenagers have when they are confronted by someone who is
interesting. She had a hard job concealing her smile, and Grant
blushed a little bit with the uninvited attention. Then, taking
the 'bull by the horns', Grant ordered his meal with surprising
poise, making sure that the waitress understood exactly how he
wanted his eggs cooked. I smiled proudly at the boy opposite me.

Sometimes, moments like this, he seemed to be an adult
already. As the waitress departed he absently began to rearrange
the metal tray containing sachets of sugar and artificial
sweeteners. After a minute of undue concentration, he slowly
looked up and gave me a bashful smile.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Do you think she's pretty?"

"Who? The waitress?"

Grant nodded slightly, his eyes meeting mine. His face was
expressive of his emotions and I often teased him by saying that
I 'could read him like a book'.

I shrugged ambiguously. "Do you?"

"She's okay," he admitted.

"Okay?" I challenged. "You don't think she's pretty?"

He shrugged back at me, looking a little sheepish. "I
guess," he ventured. He hesitated, pursing his lips before he
continued. "Dad,... if I'm gay, I wouldn't like girls, would I?"

"Ah,... well you may not be gay. It could just be a stage
you're going through," I suggested without any real hope that
might indeed be the case.

He thought about that for a moment before during back to his
assigned task of ordering the contents of the metal basket. I
wondered what was going through his mind. He had suddenly taken
on a whole set of problems that the vast majority of boys don't
even begin to deal with until they are well into their teens. I
could only imagine how he felt. Before either of us spoke again,
the waitress returned with my coffee and a large glass of milk.

This time I watched Grant more closely. The waitress was
unquestionably beautiful. Her breasts bulged into a tight white
tee-shirt, emphasizing her femininity as well as her slim body.
For almost any boy, her sheer proximity should have provoked an
erection. Grant glanced at her, smiled at me. Seen only by me, he
raised his eyebrows with a child's clumsy attempt to show
interest. it was all I could do not to laugh aloud. The little
rascal was taunting me. That was the only explanation other than
he was beginning to be appreciative of the opposite sex. He
lifted the glass carefully and sipped, leaving a milk moustache
for a few seconds before his tongue slurped across his upper lip.

"Good?" I asked.

"Cold."

Again we sat in silence. A minute passed before I felt
Grant's leg brush mine under the table. His leg pressed harder,
moved slightly until our feet were together. His leg began to rub
up and down my leg.

"Do you think she's sexy?" he whispered.

"Compared to who?"

"Me."

"Nope."

"But you think she's pretty?"

"Yes."

"I don't get it."

"You will in time." I sipped my coffee, waiting.

Grant looked up at me, his bright eyes sparkling with life.
He smiled, then lowered his head. His foot moved so that it on
top of mine. He looked up again to meet my eyes. There was love.
Not lust, but love. I saw deep love, love that needed me as much
as I needed him. It was a little like looking into adult eyes and
seeing a life-long commitment, yet the sincerity was enough to
sweep my mind clear of any other thought except one. We smiled at
each other. I was content. I had everything that I needed at that
moment sitting a few feet in front of me.

"So what are we going to do today?"

"I don't know. Do you have ideas?"

"We could see a movie?" Grant suggested hopefully.

I nodded. "I was thinking of going skiing for a while. The
on the way back, stop by the Bowman's so you could ride for a
bit."

"Yeah!"

It was relieving to move on to another subject. Yet my mind
stayed where it was, focused on him, taking in a myriad details
of his face as if I had never seen him before. I decided he was
perfect, infinitely more beautiful that our waitress. With him
around, I could never be interested in the opposite sex.

"Hey Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"What's up?"

"Up?"

I was startled at first, and then I smiled. He was too young
to know about innuendo. It was an innocent question.

"I was thinking about you," I answered. "I'm really glad
you want to live with me."

"So am I. Don't forget we have to buy some more, Dad."

"Some more?"

"You know that stuff you used inside me. The Preparation H
stuff."

I was surprised that I had forgotten already, especially
since we had discussed it in the car. There was only a small
amount left in the tube, hardly enough for one more time.

"You want to get it?" I asked. "It's on the drug-store side.
Just bring it back here. I'll pay for it when we leave."

Grant slid out of his seat and headed off. Benton's had two
sections, divided by a wall that had at one time separated two
different stores. I figured it would take him a few minutes to
find it, plenty of time before his breakfast arrived at the
table. I drank some more coffee and accepted a refill. As the
waitress leaned forward and gave me a view of her two pert
breasts, I wondered what she would think if she knew that Grant
and I were lovers. Merely thinking about it was enough to get my
penis growing. If she knew that we had made love until we were
exhausted? If she knew that even at that moment, he was walking
around the store with a home made dildo inside his rectum as he
looked for a lubricant for sex?

"Hi!"

I was surprised to hear Gary's voice and I turned around in
my seat. He walked up, grinning.

"Morning, Gary. You look happy," I commented.

"Brandon's coming back a few days early. I'm meeting him at
the airport in an hour."

"He wasn't supposed to be back till New Year's day?" I
queried. Gary nodded. "Grant will be doing cartwheels. We were
thinking of going skiing afterwards, but he won't want to go now,
that's for sure."

"Don't bet on it. So, where is he any way?"

"Back there," I said as I gestured over my shoulder. "How
come you stopped here?"

"I was wanting some coffee and I saw your Jeep. So,...."

"So sit down and join us," I offered.

He sat down were Grant had been sitting, moving the
partially finished glass of milk to one side.

"How come Brandon's coming home sooner?" I asked. "It must
have cost a fortune for his ticket to be changed this time of
year."

"A couple of hundred, I expect. I didn't pay it." Gary
hesitated. "He got into a fight with his step brother, I expect.
It happens a lot, whenever he's there for a few days. They don't
get on."

"Oh? It's hard to imagine anyone who can't get along with
Brandon."

Gary nodded. "Curtis gives him a hard time."

"Hi Mr. Bowman," Grant said as he approached. He grinned.
"Sorry, Gary."

"That's better G-T. How are you doing?"

"Good." Then Grant smiled knowingly at me. "No, great.
Really great."

"That good, huh?"

"Uh huh."

He slid back into his seat, sitting closer to the aisle than
he had been previously.

"Hey, Grant, I bet you can't guess who's getting back
today?" I asked.

There was only a moment's silence.

"BRANDON!!!!!!"

It was impossible not to laugh at his boyish exuberance. He
was excited and he had a right to shout at the top of his lungs.

"Today?" He looked at Gary expectantly. His question was
confirmed with a friendly nod. "You mean it? YEAH!"

"He's landing at the airport in about an hour," I said. "We
can go meet him after breakfast, if you want."

"Yeah. This is so fantastic. I was worried I would only see
him for a day and a half before we went back home."

"So, what did you buy?" Gary asked.

The question was completely redundant because in his
excitement, he had placed three boxes on the table. One was the
familiar yellow and blue box of ointment. Another box was yellow
and red, and it was labelled 'Hydrocortisone' and promised to
treat 'external anal itch'. The third box was pale blue and
yellow and was labelled 'Cooling Gel' for 'fast cooling relief'.
He certainly had all the bases covered. The look that Grant and I
shared was guilty in the extreme. It was far worse than being
caught with a hand in the cookie jar.

"Somebody got hemorrhoids,... or what?" he added slyly.

"Uh, well,... I've been suffering a bit," I answered
awkwardly.

"You might want to try suppositories too," Gary smirked.
"Especially if the opening is a bit tight."

"It must be itching pretty bad, Dad," Grant teased
gleefully.

"Not like your butt-hole will be itching after I give you
the wedgie of the century," I rebuked good humoredly.

"This century or the next one?"

We all laughed, although the truth was a little too close
for comfort. Then, as the waitress approached again to take
Gary's order, we all fell quiet. The waitress also observed the
three boxes on the table. She looked more than a little
surprised.

"We're trying to decide which one to buy," Gary joked. "Of
course, it's not from the food here."

The look on Grant's face was priceless.

"Just ignore him, Miss. He'll take some coffee, black," I
said to the dumbfounded girl. S

he backed away and then smiled uncertainly, before
disappearing behind the wall that separated the kitchen from the
dining area. We started laughing again. It lasted longer that the
situation merited. Still grinning, with eyes watering, Grant
began picking up one of the boxes at a time and reading the label
aloud. It was enough to promote another round of laughter each
time he did one.

After that, the time rocketed by. We never did come back to
talk about why three different types of hemorrhoid treatment were
necessary. It was Grant's body and he had a right to do what he
thought was necessary to take care of it. We ate heartily, if not
some what guiltily in front of Gary, who was content to talk
while he drank three cups of coffee and to steal food from
Grant's plate whenever he was not watching. It was a game that
Grant was more than happy to play, as he guarded his strips of
bacon with his fork at the ready. All too quickly, it was time to
pay the bill and go to the airport. When Gary went to the
bathroom, Grant tugged abruptly on my shoulder.

"Yes, Grant, what is it?" I asked with amusement at his
apparent urgency.

"Dad,... Um, if we go to the airport to meet Brandon, then
will we still go skiing?" Grant asked.

"I guess. We won't have all that much time, especially if
you want to ride Moonraker afterwards. It really isn't worth the
trip."

"It'd be nice to see Brandon at the airport, but I really
want to go skiing with you," Grant said simply.

He smiled at me shyly, ever the awkward boy when it came to
expressing his feelings, although as I was beginning to realize,
he could also be very emotional at times.

"I was thinking of going to Whiteface," I said with
admiration that he could even consider me over his best friend.

"Whiteface? I love Whiteface. We can do the gondola too,"
Grant said ebulliently.

The last time we had ridden the Cloudsplitter Gondola had
been nearly a year ago. Then, Grant and I had taken the seven-
and-a-half minute ride to the top of Little Whiteface together.
We left his mother at a bar drinking a hot rum toddy while we
went off for the ride of our lives and several hours of skiing.

"Maybe, if we have time."

"Brandon can spend time with his dad and I can spend time
with you."

"That's very nice of you, Grant. Only I really don't mind.
We can go skiing tomorrow if you want. We could take Brandon with
us too," I offered.

Grant nodded. "Only I want you to myself for a while."

And so it was decided. For some reason, perhaps because he
chose to go skiing with me, but I suddenly realized how much I
enjoyed giving Grant the power to choose what he wanted. It was
another big step for him in growing up, in breaking away from
always being subjected to another person's wishes, even someone
who he love dearly. Not that it was very important in the overall
scheme of things, because it wasn't, yet it made both of us
happy.

"That's fine with me," I replied.

"I want to try The Slides this time," Grant said as he
grinned.

"In your dreams. Do you want to kill me? That's back
country. If I run into a tree you'll have to carry me out."

He grinned again and shook his head. "You can do it, Dad,"
he replied. "You're not that old. You just have to be more
careful at your age and try not to take too many risks."

"Any more 'old' wisecracks out of you, young man, and I'll
drop you off at the Bunny Hutch Nursery and spend the day at
Nicolas's."

As Grant burst into laughter, I started towards the check-
out counter, carrying the three boxes of Preparation H.
Ointment', 'Cooling', and 'external anal itch' were almost
antithetical to a pre-teen boy who wanted to ski some very
difficult terrain. he caught up to me as I handed over my credit
card.

"Can we have lunch there?"

"At Nicola's?" I asked. "After the huge breakfast you just
ate, you're already thinking about lunch."

"So? I've been getting a lot of exercise lately," Grant said
with a meaningful smile at me. He made eye contact with the
sixteen-year-old waitress for a second or two before he looked at
his feet.

"Well, if not lunch," he added, "how about dinner then."

"What about Moonraker?" I answered as I signed the form and
returned it to her to tear into separate sheets.

"Geez Dad," Grant said wistfully.

"And Brandon will want to see you, even if you don't want to
see him."

"We could have an early dinner?" he suggested hopefully.
"Right after we finish skiing. Then we could drive to Brandon's
place and we could ride for a while. YOu wouldn't have to worry
about cooking dinner when we got home."

"That sounds like a good plan to me," I replied.

I enjoyed listening to the sound of his voice. There was a
soft mellow tone to it, a hint of soprano that was entirely in
keeping with his age. It was an innocent voice, a voice that had
never known pain, or difficulty, or any of the myriad horrors in
the world. I also enjoyed his suggestion. He preceded me outside,
taking great pains in holding the door open for both Gary and me.
Then, in a display of boyish bravado, and somewhat foolhardy, he
leaped off the verandah, nearly lost it as he spun around. Nearly
dropping to the ground, he slid ten feet across the ice that had
formed on the parking lot. He regained his balance with a twirl
and stood up.

"Taaa-daaa," he proclaimed with a right-handed flourish.

"Very funny," I said dryly. "There's going to come a time
when you end up with a broken leg. Just don't come crying to me
when you do."

Gary chuckled. "Good finish, though G-T."

I gave him a sour look, yet he was right. The agility of my
young son often held me in awe. I just did not like him taking
unnecessary risks, but agility and risk-taking went hand in hand-
-it was the essence of a 'boy', of who and what he was.

"We're going to go skiing," Grant announced as he came up
beside us.

He grinned, possessively placing his hand on my shoulder.

"I thought you would," Gary said. He winked at me. "I'm
sure Brandon will understand. Besides, he and I have a lot of
catching up to do. It's surprising how badly you can miss someone
after only a couple of days."

There was a forlorn note in his voice. If I had any doubt
that he really missed his son, it was quickly dispelled by his
expression. Suddenly, I was very glad that Grant had elected to
go skiing with me rather than interrupt the forthcoming father-
son reunion at the airport.

"If it's okay with you, we'll drop around to your place
around five or six this evening," I said.

Gary nodded and fumbled in his jacket pocket to find his
keys.

"Don't tell Brandon," Grant said simply.

Gary turned quickly, meeting Grant's imploring eyes. "Sure.
You want to break the good news yourself?"

"Uh huh. I'll tell him when we get there."

"Tell him what?" I asked.

The look on Grant's face was disturbing. It was very
disturbing. He blanched, his mouth slightly open. I could not
help feeling that Grant had told Gary about what had happened on
Christmas Eve, and later on Christmas morning. If he had told
Gary is was completely contrary to my instructions, and to his
promise to me never to tell.

"About my pony," Grant said meekly.

It was a lie. A week earlier, even as recently as a few
days, I would not have noticed, or cared. It had taken two days
for our relationship to become so close that I could understand
him almost as if I could read his thoughts. I had to trust him to
use his common sense, but there was so much at stake. Even if
Gary had a sexual relationship with a man when he was Grant's
age, seemed to openly advocate that men and boys should have a
strong relationship, we were still at risk. There was nothing to
stop him from going to the police. No one could know about us.

"Grant,...."

"What?"

"Nothing," I answered glumly.

He glared at me challengingly.

We were quiet for the next ten minutes as I drove through
the town, found Route 86 and proceeded on towards Lake Placid.
The road was well salted and lightly travelled, although the
traffic would increase considerably as it got closer to noon. I
tried to enjoy the scenery. Finally, aware that I had to say
something to break the silence, I glanced sideways at Grant. At
the same instant, his eyes flickered away. Instinctively, I
realized that he had been looking at me, although I had no idea
for how long. Was he feeling the same desperation, the unpleasant
sensation that there was a chasm about to open between us?

"I'm sorry," we both said in unison.

We looked at each other in surprise. I smiled. He smiled. I
wanted to ask Grant if he had told Gary about us. Instead, I held
my words back. Sooner or later I would have to talk about it with
him. Now was not the time. I placed my hand on Grant's slim thigh
and gently rubbed up and down. I eased off on the accelerator as
we approached the car in front. It was a tourist, at least if the
Vermont plates were any indication. The driver was a young man.
His girlfriend was sitting close beside him, the way people sit
before they get married. From the position, and the fact that he
held the steering wheel with his left hand, it was very likely
that they were engaging in a little foreplay on the way to the
slopes.

"Are you mad at me?" Grant asked softly.

I shook my head, and caressed his lithe leg lovingly.

"You think he's feeling her up?" he asked dispassionately.

"Huh? Where on earth do you learn things like that?" I asked

"School."

"So much for sending you to that expensive private school,"
I replied.

He shrugged. He had never been particularly happy at that
school. For the last year, there were increasing signs that it
was affecting his work. He had even asked his mother if he could
go somewhere else. Given that she was on the Board of Directors,
his request was dismissed with prejudice.

"Do you?" Grant persisted.

"Probably."

"So,.... Are you still hungry?"

"Hungry?"

"You were too hungry to do anything before, remember?" Grant
said pointedly.

"Oh that," I said with pretended vagueness.

"Yes, that." He regarded me patiently. "So,....?" he asked
suggestively.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Promise you won't get mad at me?"

"I promise."

"I want to suck him."

Like the time before, my heart jumped into overdrive. When,
where, how, did a ten-year-old boy learn about oral sex? Still,
it was an interesting possibility. I nodded slowly.

"Now?"

"Uh huh."

Grant grinned a moment before he made an 'O' with his lips.

"I'm not so sure this is a good idea."

"You don't want me to?"

"Ah,... I didn't say that. It's just that,.... well it's
dangerous doing that kind of stuff in the car."

"They're probably doing it," Grant giggled as he gestured to
the car in front.

Some time during the last minute the blond-headed woman had
disappeared from sight. It was a pity in a way because the view
was spectacular as we passed the last turnoff to the Olympic
Village and were confronted by Wolf Pond and Little John Mountain
behind it. I smiled.

"I bet she's sucking him right now, Dad."

"Maybe."

"Do you think it's dangerous to do it while they're
driving?"

"What do you think, Grant?" I queried self-consciously

"Yes. So you had better keep your eyes on the road," he
chided.

I did not expect him to follow through. What he was talking
about doing was such an adult thing that it seemed highly
unlikely, even impossible that he had any idea what oral sex
actually entailed. Perhaps, deep in my mind, where my reason was
still untainted by lust, I did not want him too, but another part
of me wanted him to do it very much. It was all I could do to
wait as he leaned forward and down. I felt his hands at my
crotch, squeezing playfully in the preliminary event to what
would surely follow.

"He's already getting big."

I tried to control my racing mind. I was experiencing
sensory overload, and all he was doing was cupping his hand over
my increasingly large bulge. I could feel it growing longer and
harder with every second. It was all I could do to keep
breathing. Being around Grant was definitely a learning
experience.

"Open my zipper."

The rasping voice did not even sound like mine. I could feel
my chest rising and falling. I tried to concentrate. He was. His
fingers were surprisingly deft as he unfastened my belt, opened
the zipper, tickled the uncomfortably curved shaft of my sex.

"Can I get him out?"

"Sure."

I shuddered as Grant's small fingers pressed in against my
belly, slipped under the elastic waist band, stretching the
cloth. His other hand reached into the gap. His hand was cool,
determined. He tugged my penis out, then pushed the top of my
underpants beneath my testicles.

I risked a quick look down. He gazed at my maleness as his
fingers slowly caressed the length of my shaft. If I was not
fully erect, that simple act was enough to complete the process.
He tilted his head and smiled coyly. His tongue extended a half
inch. He licked his lips mischievously. earlier he had been bold,
but now, he was almost modest. He was not reluctant. I could see
he was excited, building my anticipation of that first hot, wet
touch until it was overpowering. I tried to remember what it felt
like when Adam took my penis into his mouth. Would it feel the
same?

His head came closer, close enough that I could feel the
warmth of his breath on my bare skin. His fingers pinched around
my glans, squeezing the rounded fullness, a fingernail scraping
the opening, the fingers of his other hand gently teasing my
scrotum. Then, the heat settled over me and my penis was bathed
in his precious saliva. For a moment I was uncertain whether he
had merely licked me or whether he had given me a wet kiss. That
question was promptly dispelled as his lips formed a circle, a
flesh band that held my glans captive. My penis was in his mouth
for the very first time. I gasped. His nimble fingers fondled my
testicles. I tried to lift up, to push more inside him. My mind
urged him on, hoping that he could read my mind. He lifted away
and looked up at me awkwardly. "

Good?"

"Good?" I replied. "You're doing great."

"Should I put more in my mouth?"

"Uh, um, ah,... well,... It's up to you."

He giggled. "It's like a big ice-cream. Only it's hot
instead of cold. And he tastes a bit funny right on the tip where
your stuff comes out."

"Sorry about that. I can't help it."

"It's okay. It's just strange. Like it's soapy and salty at
the same time."

Then words were unnecessary. Not that I would have been able
to say anything even if I had wanted to. Not with my penis inside
Grant's mouth, drawing the strength out of me until it was all I
could do to keep the car on a more or less straight line on the
road. The cacophony of sensations that coursed through my body
for the next few minutes were nothing short of incredible.

Think of something so soft that it is almost impossible to
feel, except that you know it is there and it is touching you,
enveloping you, absorbing you. Then think of something hot, not
hot enough to burn, but hot like a living thing. Hot like 98.6
degrees, human warmth. Then, moist and slippery, and a suction
that is mercurial, yet resolute. Put it all together. That was
what my ten-year-old son's mouth felt like. It was that and more,
much more. And then there was his tongue. It was an eel, as
wriggling and flexible, and every bit as strong. The sensations
were overpowering, the ultimate pleasure that a man had to
experience at least once during his life. He consumed me,
allowing me to penetrate deeper. My penis entered of its own
volition, feeding on the impossible hardness within his mouth.

All the while, Grant employed his tongue in a way that no
woman could ever understand. For me, it was the final
consummation of our love. I was aware only of the sounds; the wet
slurping noise he made as he bobbed his tousled head up and down.
I heard the slick sound of his saliva churning, the smack of his
lips against my straining flesh, the distant groaning that seemed
to be coming from me. I wanted it to go on and on forever, yet
every feeling told me that the end was coming quickly and there
was no way that either of us could stop.

The suction and heat increased until my penis felt like it
was the only part of my body that really accounted for anything.
It was the essence of my being. I felt it jumping, hungrily
demanding more. He pushed down slowly, taking me deeper, almost
into his throat. It was tighter there. Then, he would lift up
quickly, backing off when I quaked and trembled. My hand settled
over his head. I wanted to guide him, to help him do what he
needed to do. Leaning over me, so small, so willing to perform
this sacred rite with me. Neither of us would forget. I caressed
his hair, rubbing gently behind his ear. I willed him to go
further, silently urged him to move faster and further.

Adam had sucked my penis a total of half a dozen times, and
then only before we were sexually mature. It did not matter how
often I sucked his penis. I had never been able to coax him to
fulfill that desire after we had acquired the ability to have wet
orgasms. Indeed, whenever I asked, he made it seem depraved. His
denial was no different to my wife, who considered oral sex to be
beneath her. It was yet another way that men subjugated women.
Every time, I suggested the possibility, I received another
lecture on male oppression, on the disenfranchising of the female
sex, on the failure of my gender. It was another way in which I
was incomplete and we were incompatible. My life with her
suddenly seemed very distant, as distant as my childhood memories
of Adam render. I lived only for the moment, for Grant's enduring
happiness. I was secure in the knowledge that this wonderful
intimacy had not been instigated at my invitation. I knew that he
was happy, his entire body liberated and given over to accept my
maleness. It was his destiny, his role in life. It happened
because we wanted it to happen.

It ended all too quickly. I tried to say the words, to warn
him what was about to transpire. Perhaps I did manage to utter
something, but he never heard me. Like me, he was engrossed. I
came, panting, gasping, heaving upward. I came in gushes,
spurting into his open mouth, enough to drown him, or at least
that was how it seemed to me. He stayed there, erratically moving
his head up and down, pumping his fist. I jerked uncontrollably,
groaned as my testicles became tight, felt the ejaculation. I
shared my seed with him. It was the seed that had caused him to
exist in the first place and it seemed entirely appropriate that
it be inside him.

He lifted up cautiously as soon as the last of my fluid had
oozed out. For a moment, we both looked down. My sex organs wet
shiny and wet with his saliva. My penis was still engorged but
quickly shedding its prior stiffness. If there was any question
of where my penis had been it was swiftly dispelled as he sat up.
he was smiling, in a way. I say in a way, because his lips stayed
closed. Then, slowly his mouth opened and his little pink tongue
pushed out. That it was streaked with white really should not
have surprised me as much as it did. It coated his tongue,
hanging in strands, pooling between his bottom lip and his teeth.
I glanced away guiltily, wondering what he would do with it. I
expected him to spit it out. It would have been a normal
reaction.

Instead he swallowed. However, it was just not any 'swallow'
of something that needed to be digested. It was a deliberate
gulp, a gulp that made his Adam's apple bob. It was promptly
followed by swiping his tongue around inside his mouth as he
savored a taste that was entirely foreign but not at all
distasteful to him. Then, with his mouth emptied, he smirked.

"It doesn't taste all that bad, does it? It's a bit like
eating an oyster."

"Huh?"

"Your cum, Dad. It kinda tastes okay,... like,..."

He searched for the word and gave up. He grinned at me and
smacked his lips as his tongue made another trip to find any that
he had missed.

"Just okay?" I teased.

"Uh huh," he replied with barely concealed excitement. It
was obvious that he was trying hard to appear disinterested.
Finally, he beamed at me proudly.

"So how was I? Did you like it a lot?"

"It was okay,.... You have to watch your teeth." His face
crumbled. "It was really nice especially for your first time," I
added sweetly.

"It's pretty messy isn't it?"

"Yes. I tried to warn you."

"I guess I could get to like it eventually," he said
suggestively. His hand brushed over my penis thoughtfully. "But
then again, I might not," he added.

"Hm,... Well, what might help you like it?" I asked
hopefully.

Grant shrugged nonchalantly and straightened up in his seat.
He turned on the radio, glared back at me with a pouting
expression, and turned the dial as he tried to find a radio
station that was playing what he wanted to hear. It was all I
could do not to burst out laughing. After what he had just done,
he wanted to re-exert a measure of control over me. It was
ludicrous, but I played along anyway.

"Well?" I prompted casually.

"Don't know."

He scratched his cheek, pretended to look out the window,
licked his lips again.

"No idea, huh?" I pressed.

"Nope."

"That's too bad."

That got his attention. He turned to face me. "Why?"

"Because you're pretty darn good at it for your first time."

"Yeah?"

"No, make that incredibly good. I came loads and loads."

"You didn't say anything. I thought I wasn't doing it
properly."

I grinned at him. "You thought,... Oh,.... God, I am so
sorry. I didn't say anything because it felt so fantastic, and
you were doing such a great job. I didn't want you to stop."

Grant grinned back at me. "Promise you won't get mad at me?"

"I promise."

"It wasn't my first time."

"Brandon?" I asked. Grant nodded uncertainly. "Lucky
Brandon. I hoped you guys were doing stuff. You're more than old
enough to start enjoying your bodies."

I wanted to ask a follow up question. Had he been a virgin
on Christmas Eve? Would he tell me if he wasn't? Was it any of my
business? Did I really want to know? Was I afraid of the answer?
Perhaps I would never know the answer. I glanced at him. Already
his mind was on other things. he had sucked me to orgasm and his
mind, so fertile and adaptable, had seemingly forgotten that it
had ever occurred. As the next song came on the radio, he started
to sing along.

I listened to his rendition of Frosty the Snowman. It was
far more enjoyable than the Ronettes by themselves, if only
because I loved him and he was sitting right next to me, singing
his head off and happier than I had seen him in a long time. We
both yelled out "STOP" at precisely the right moment. We laughed
together, so hard that he could not pick up the tune again
without bursting into giggles. For the rest of the trip to Lake
Placcid and on to the ski lifts at Whiteface Mountain, we sang
Christmas carols. With the taste out of his mouth, Grant seemed
to suffer no after effects, yet for me the memory was nothing
short of awesome.

There were far more expensive resorts, yet I was always
appalled at how much it cost to go skiing there. I parked in the
lot across the street from the lifts. It was cheaper to park
further away but I was feeling in a lazy mood. I pulled in next
to a highly polished black 911 Porsche. At least I was in good
company and unlikely to get my paint chipped when someone opened
the door. I sent Grant off to the change room while I stood in
line to purchase lift tickets. I was only a few people away from
the window, when Grant came up beside me. He was wearing his new
clothes for the first time and he looked like a young movie-star.
He was dressed in an electric-blue and apricot-colored nylon
jacket and matching bib pants. The clothes were a size too large
for him, but he was at the age where he could grow into them
before the season started. He swivelled around, proudly showing
off.

"Nice," I acknowledged. "In fact, very nice. They look great
on you."

Grant grinned. I was glad that I had spent the extra money
and over-rode his mother's point of view about the colors being
much too bright. After all, she was not 'into' skiing, and the
argument I used was that I wanted to be able to locate him easily
if I needed to.

"Are you warm enough?" I asked.

"Uh huh. Right now I'm too hot 'cause I left my sweat-top on
underneath, Dad. It's really warm and fleecy."

"Okay. Here's my credit card," I said as I handed it over.
"I expect you to use it wisely." That prompted a gleeful giggle.
"Once you get the tickets, wait over there for me," I said
gesturing to side where there were fewer people waiting. "I'll
get changed, take our stuff back to the car, and be right back
with the skis."

"What lift should I get? Do you want to do Mountain Run?"
Grant asked nervously.

"Your decision. I thought maybe you'd want to try something
else this time."

"You mean like Little White?"

"Or Big White, if you think you're up to it," I answered.

Grant smiled at the thought. "Really? You'll let me do The
Slides?"

"No way. You're good, young man, but you're not that good,
and I certainly am no where near good enough. Maybe next year.
However, if you want to go down the Switchback, I'm up for it."

"Cool!"

By my definition, a ten-year-old boy is about fifty percent
bravado and fifty percent courage. What is left is mostly
foolhardiness and stubbornness, so he is always trying to go just
a little bit further than last time, albeit at some danger to
himself. That's why a man loves a boy. He takes risks and lives
life to the fullest. At least, that was one of the reasons why I
loved Grant. It often seemed to me that he existed solely to have
fun, and if he could do that at the same time as achieving
something worthwhile with his life, it was perfectly okay with
me.

"Grant?"

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Um, about,...the er,... thing we,... I,... ah,... put
inside you this morning. You might want to take it out when you
go to the bathroom," I confided.

"Why? It doesn't hurt."

"You get pretty energetic when you ski," I said. "I don't
want you to hurt yourself."

"I won't," Grant said confidently. "I don't even know it's
there unless I try to move it around inside me by squeezing on
it."

"Well, I guess it can't go in any further and it can't get
out. If it bothers you later on we can always find a tree to
squat behind."

"Very funny," Grant giggled. "Honestly, I really can't feel
it more than a bit. It feels nice and big,... a bit like you."

So, after an admonition to keep his eyes on the skis leaning
against the railing, and smiling with the growing recognition
that my son was everything I had ever wanted, I headed off to the
change room. I carried Grant's nylon bag containing his jeans and
shoes in one hand and my bag in the other. By the time I returned
Grant had purchased the tickets and was standing next to the skis
waiting for me. He waved to get my attention.

I passed him his helmet, a purple and green Boeri Ranger
that looked like it belonged on a professional. With his new
Rossignol 9x pro Racing skis, a shaped slalom that were built
like mine, only shorter, he was definitely as well equipped as
any boy on the mountain. However, with his vermilion-polarized
lens goggles with silver frames, he was downright sexy. He
grinned as he completed the rest of his attire, looking rather
like an extra-terrestrial with over-sized eyes.

"Pretty cool huh, Dad?"

"Very cool. Did I ever tell you how incredibly good looking
you are?" I said under my breath. "I had better keep a close
watch on you or one of those little snow-bunnies over there will
try to get their hands on you," I added as I inclined my head
towards three girls who were about the same age as Grant.

"No way. You know I'm not interested in girls."

His voice was matter-of-fact. If he was apprehensive before
about being different to other boys, he had certainly overcome
it. He lifted his goggles up until they were out of the way.

"Hey Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"You can always ask me a question," I replied jovially. "I
might not be able to answer it in public though," I teased.

Grant smiled. He glanced away for a moment before turning
back to face me.

"I'm not sure, Dad, but I think those two guys over
there,.... They were right behind me in the line to buy lift
tickets. They're next to the stairs now,.... they were looking at
me for the entire time you were gone,..."

I turned only a few degrees until I could see them from the
corner of my eye. Two men. The oldest was probably my age, while
the other man was much younger, even close to being a teenager.
He was dressed in black. Black helmet, black jacket, black ski
pants, black boots. He was vaguely threatening at the same time
as he exuded a powerful sexuality. If I was a betting person, I
would take odds on who owned the black Porsche in the parking
lot. His 'boyfriend' obviously liked 'black'.

Even as I watched surreptitiously, I was aware of their
constant glances in our direction. I could think of no reason why
they interested in Grant, except the obvious one. Was it that
obvious? I glanced at Grant, studying him from head to toe. What
made him worth looking at, was certainly obvious to me, but I was
biased by personal experience. He was lithe, lean, slender. He
was so good looking that it took my breath away. He reclined
against the railing, his arms folded over his chest, surveying
the scene before him with a child's innocent eyes while his body
language sent a very different message. In my eyes, he was
incredibly sexy, but did he affect other people the same way?

Already Grant was sending signals, unspoken messages of who
and what he was. It was only to be expected. He was emerging like
a butterfly from a cocoon, unfolding his 'wings' even as I
watched. He was interested, and he could no more control that
side of him, than I could ski The Slopes without breaking a leg.
His eyes flickered to the other side of the balcony. I understood
that he could not help being interested in other males. It was
nature's way, and while there was no ultimate objective of the
survival of the species, he was still responding to the same
instinctive urge. He was beginning to flirt, testing me as much
as testing himself. Did the other men see that side of him?

"Do you think they're gay?" Grant whispered.

"Huh? Oh? Maybe."

"They keep on looking at me, Dad," he said under his breath.
"It's weird."

"Is it?" I replied absently. Grant regarded me uncertainly.
"You're pretty sexy, you know."

"But I'm only a kid," Grant retorted.

"So?"

"Dad, the young guy is looking right at me now." It was
impossible to ignore the urgency in his voice.

"I've noticed. It's really bothering you, huh?"

"Kind of. It's embarrassing."

I nodded. "Well, let's go over and talk to them then."

"No! You're joking?"

"I'm not." I took Grant's hand and winked. "They're playing
a game with you, Grant. It's time we changed the rules."

So saying, I led the way across the balcony. Not in a
straight line, of course, because that would have been too
direct. Instead we approached from the side, a course that took
us along the side closest to the street where there were fewer
people waiting. It was also the path that led towards the change
rooms and toilets. I could feel two pairs of eyes following our
movements.

At the last moment, just before we reached the stairs, I
changed direction again. two paces brought us face to face, or
rather I was face to face, and Grant was standing behind me. I
realized that I liked the idea that I was protecting him.

Hi," I said warmly. "Look I'm sure I know you from
somewhere. I never forget a face. I just can't put a name on your
face," I said as I smiled. "You're not a friend of Bob
Landers,... from Metrocorp,... are you?"

"Uh, ah, no! Don't know him."

"Hm,... then I've worked with you on a project some time. A
few years ago wasn't it?"

"I don't think so."

"Really? Are you sure? I was certain that you recognized me
as well. You kept on glancing over. I was positive you recognized
me."

"Ah, well,.... I don't. I never saw you before today."

I smiled again. The older man was being very cautious, and
probably had good reason to be careful. He rubbed the fingers of
one hand against his gloves. He was nervous. He had to know what
I was doing, yet now he was doing his best to avoid the
confrontation. He wanted us gone. I knew it was because of
Grant's age. He was 'jail bait'. However, that did not keep both
men from giving him the 'once over'. I felt like I was being
examined closely as well, although clearly Grant was the center
of attention. It was time to up the stakes.

"Well, I'm sure,.... No matter. I'm sorry to disturb you. By
the way, my name is Chris, and this young man is my nephew,
Grant." It was a harmless lie, but an important one should my
intuition prove to be wrong.

I dropped my arm around Grant's shoulders and dragged him
out from behind me. My fingers held his shoulder firmly, letting
him know he should play along. He looked up at me, his clear blue
eyes giving credence where his awkwardness did not.

The older man nodded, still hesitant to acknowledge what
should have been less than a passing interest. Yet, there was no
ignoring the way both men were looking at Grant, and the way he
was responding to their admiring, all-too-frequent glances. I
decided it was time to leave.

"Well, have a nice day," I said flatly as I guided Grant
back towards where we had left the skis.

"Hey?"

I turned back. "Yes?"

It was difficult not to smile as I watched the older man
struggle to overcome his reluctance to talk to a complete
stranger.

"I'm John. And this is,... er,... my friend, Ken."

I extended my hand and we shook, awkwardly at first but
nonetheless, breaking the ice. Ken smiled slightly when he took
Grant's hand. Had I not been confident of Grant's love, I would
have been immediately anxious. Ken was very good looking.

"What lift are you guys taking?" Ken asked.

"We're going all the way to the summit," Grant replied
proudly.

"You're doing The Slides?"

Grant glanced at me shyly. "I want to, but,..." He smiled.
"He won't let me."

"It's a pretty difficult run, even for a pro like Ken," John
said.

"Pro? Are you really a pro?" Grant asked enthusiastically.

Ken shrugged, pretending nonchalance, but visibly
appreciative that a young boy was ogling him with fan-like
adoration.

"He's very modest. Ken won the men's Downhill Slalom here
last year, and he's odds-on favorite to win it again this year,"
John explained proudly.

If Ken was humble, John was anything but unassuming. He had
reason to be proud of his boyfriend. Unless I was mistaken, Grant
and I had actually watched him race a year earlier.

"Cool," Grant said. "We're probably going to do Cloudspin
and Switchback."

"That's still a hard trail. It can be a real challenge at
times. You must be a very good skier?" Ken replied with growing
interest in my son.

Grant gave him a disdainful look, which provoked an
immediate smile. I was fascinated. Suddenly, it seemed as if he
wanted the world to know that he was more than capable of the
route he had just proposed.

"I'm okay," he said deprecatingly. "It's not that hard.
We've done it lots of times."

I held back my comment. Twice was not lots of times. Instead
I rubbed his shoulder slowly, deliberately showing affection.

"He's a lot better than okay," I added. "There are times
when he makes me look like a complete novice."

John smiled generously at Grant. It was not difficult to see
that he could easily become almost as enamored of the slender boy
as I was. His eyes had a lust-filled appearance, and the
direction of his gaze was a clear indication that he was
impressed by the lithe young body that stood casually before him.
His eyes flickered back and forth over Grant's middle section.
With his ski pants on, there was not much to see. However, there
was still a small bulge centered between his legs that signalled
there was probably something worth seeing underneath.

"He's a very good looking boy," John said when he finally
managed to break away from staring at Grant. I was glad that it
was not me who broke the silence.

"Thanks." I smiled back at him, waiting.

"He looks like he can be quite a handful at times."

"More often than not," I replied. "Boys his age usually have
lots of energy that they need to burn off if they aren't going to
get fat. He keeps me busy."

The fleeting surprise on John's face was worth seeing. He
recovered in a few seconds.

"It must be very tiring to keep up with him," he chuckled.
"I remember when I first met Ken. He was nearly twelve. I got him
into skiing because we needed another outlet before he gave me a
heart attack."

'Another outlet', other than?.... I glanced at Ken
curiously. At twelve years old he would have been absolutely
adorable.

"Well, just watching Grant ski is more than enough to give
me one," I laughed.

"I'd watch it up on Cloudspin today," Ken said more to Grant
than to me. He seemed to know that Grant would be the one leading
the way. "There was a lot of snow up there the day before
Christmas. With the wind last night there's sure to be some big
drifts."

Grant nodded. He pressed against me a little harder, leaning
inward, making our physical contact even more apparent. If he
wanted them to know who he 'belonged' to, he was doing a very
good job of it.

"Do you come often?" John asked.

I thought for a moment, wondering where he was headed. Was
his comment really intended to sound the way it sounded? It was a
long way short of innuendo, so blatant that it had to be my
misunderstanding.

"We come as often as we can," I answered.

'Come' could mean lots of things, and it should have been
obvious that Grant was still too young to 'come' by himself.

He smiled slightly, his eyes dropping down again to linger
hungrily on Grant's slim body. It was as if he was making a
mental image for later on. He nodded slowly, thoughtfully.

"You're very lucky."

I nearly blushed. Yes, I was lucky. I had Grant. Any man who
loved boys would give his soul to be in my position. I had the
perfect boy as my constant companion.

"I am," I finally managed to say.

"I think that nowadays, a person must be open-minded, don't
you?" John continued. He paused, his eyes lifting deliberately
upward until he was looking at Grant's face. "...To appreciate
what true beauty is about."

I managed a curt nod. He had just told me that he thought
Grant was beautiful, which he was. This was beginning to
backfire. He was beginning to flirt with Grant and it made me
uncomfortable.

"You're a very lucky man, Chris," he repeated.

He winked. The comical nature of that gesture was enough to
make me smile. I needed to say something, but even as I thought,
he started to turn away.

"Take extra good care of him," he said softly. "He's
special, so special that you need to very careful. He's not a boy
who should be out by himself."

And then they were gone and Grant and I were left standing
by ourselves. 'Special'? So special that he shouldn't be out by
himself. Did it mean what i thought? Had Grant been a willing
party to their game? I frowned. It would be very easy to lose him
if I wasn't careful.

By then I had recognized the older man. In fact, it was
strange I had not recognized him sooner despite his ski clothes.
He was famous, at least in my mind. I had even heard rumors to
the effect that he was a homosexual.

I smiled at Grant. "Do you know who that is?" I asked
quietly.

Grant shook his head, still watching their disappearing
backs. I leaned down and whispered in his ear. For an instant he
was startled, and then he grinned up at me. Being told that he
was 'a very good looking boy' had suddenly taken on real meaning.

"I'll be a lot like him when I'm older, won't I Dad?" he
asked simply.

"Ken? I guess.... I really don't know. It's too soon to
tell."

Grant nodded acceptingly. We began to walk back to where we
had left our skis. I was very aware of having him close beside
me. Father and son. Man and boy. Two lovers. Yes, he was very
special.



Three hours of skiing and a late lunch, or an early dinner
at Nicola's was followed by a long drive back to the Bowman's
place. I parked close to the house. No sooner than I had stopped
the car than Brandon came bounding out of the house, pulling on a
mud-stained down jacket as he went. Talk about infectious
enthusiasm. The boys hugged. Not just any hug, but a warm embrace
that they would never do in public, but which was perfectly
acceptable in front of Gary and me. I smiled at Gary who remained
standing on the verandah. He waved and shouted an instruction to
Brandon as they galloped towards the barn.

Side by side, they were an exercise in contrast. One boy was
the star of the ski-slopes, immaculately dressed in the latest
St. Morritz fashion. With his hood off, Grant's hair glistened in
the late afternoon sun like a model under studio lights. On the
other hand, Brandon was the perfect farm-boy. He wore dirty blue
jeans and mud-streaked work boots, and a woollen cap that
completely covered his hair. Side by side, it was almost
impossible to choose between them. Together, they made a dynamic
pair,

When the barn door was closed behind them, I made my way up
the stairs to join Gary on the verandah.

"Well, did you two have fun on the slopes?" he asked
jovially as he opened the door for me.

I stomped off the snow that had collected on my shoes.
"Yep," I answered.

He closed the door after us and we ambled across to our
accustomed seats before the fireplace.

"You look a whole lot happier now that Brando's back home
again," I said.

Gary smiled and nodded. "God, I missed that boy so much it
hurt," he admitted.

"Thanks for keeping Grant's pony a secret, by the way," I
said absently. "I know he wanted to be the first to tell
Brandon."

Gary looked at me questioningly. "Huh?"

"Wasn't that what you and he were talking about, right after
breakfast? He asked you not to tell Brandon about something."

"Uh?" He stared at the fire for several seconds. Finally,
when it was obvious that I was not going to elaborate, he added,
"Yeah, I guess it was."

"Is there something you need to tell me?" I asked awkwardly.

Again, silence. The fire crackled and Gary leaned forward to
adjust the logs with a poker. A shower of orange-red sparks
danced into the air. It was like watching a private showing of
fireworks. He settled back in his seat, crossed his legs, folded
his hands in his lap.

"Isn't there something you need to tell me as well?" he
responded boldly.

Now, it was my turn not to answer. I needed to deflect his
question without arousing his curiosity. My thoughts turned to
wondering what Grant had actually told him.

"Sue and I are getting a divorce," I said flatly.

"I'm sorry. Is that the right thing to say?"

"I guess."

"Then I should say I'm happy?" Gary quipped.

I laughed. "You'd be a hell of a lot closer to the truth."

"Then I'm glad."

"I'll have custody," I said hopefully.

"I hope so, Chris. He'll be a lot better off with you."

"I hope so. I'll be able to spend a lot more time with him
that she will."

He pressed his thumbs together, reflecting. "If you want to
know what I think, I'm sure it will be the best thing that ever
happened to you. It's unpleasant at first, Chris. If what
happened with Brandon is any indication, Grant will be very moody
for a while. He'll always miss his mom, no matter how close he is
to you, now."

"Yeah, I guess," I said glumly.

"What are your plans? Are you going to keep the place in New
York or move up here full time?"

I sighed. "I haven't worked it all out yet, Gary. Our place
is a bit on the small side if we were going to live there full
time. Of course, he'd have his own space in the loft, and all,
but it would be so cramped." I sighed again.

"So what's the problem? You can always add on a few rooms."

"I may have to. He made it very clear that he wants to live
here."

"Because of Brandon?"

I nodded. "Yes."

I pursed my lips, thinking of the main reason why I wanted
to live away from New York. His mother would be far less likely
to visit. I did not want to see her again.

"Why don't you tell me the truth?"

"Huh?"

"I've known you and Grant now, for how long,.... seven
years? It's been at least that long. Don't you think it's time
you started trusting me?"

"I do trust you," I replied. How much had Grant told him? I
was suddenly nervous.

"Do you?"

I did not answer. I stretched my legs out, then sat up
again. The warmth from the fire was enough to melt the soles of
my ski-boots. I silently prayed that Grant had not been so naive
as to tell either Brandon of his father about what we had done
during the last few days.

"Do you ever worry about Brandon and Grant being so close?"
Gary asked after a few minutes.

"Not really."

I knew what he was trying to say. If I harbored any doubts
about their emerging sexual interests, the long embrace that the
two boys shared outside in the snow was more than sufficient to
confirm a father's fears. They were far more than best friends,
just as Grant and I had become more than father and son. I could
sense love reflected in Grant's eyes, I could see it in his shy
smile, I could hear it in his voice. Yet, the more I thought
about it I realized that it did not bother me. I loved both of
the boys so much that they would have to commit murder before I
rejected them.

"They've been having sex, Chris," Gary said cautiously.

He leaned forward and prodded the logs again, this time more
carefully. There was still a flurry of sparks,

"Since when?"

"Since summer. You know they've started sleeping together."

Not a question but a statement of fact. I nodded awkwardly,
accepting the inevitability of our sons becoming lovers. Had I
known that would happen when I talked to them in Grant's bedroom
that night? Had I even encouraged them to satisfy their budding
urges and natural curiosity?

"I told them it was okay," I said cautiously. "They're so
close,...."

"It's not wrong," Gary finished. He smiled. On the surface
he appeared to be as accepting of their relationship as I was.

"You knew about it? You knew about my talk with them?" I
asked.

"Yes. Brandon told me after you talked with them. I think
you did the right thing, by the way."

I smiled and shrugged. "It seemed like the right thing to do
at the time. I didn't want to make a big deal out of it. A lot of
boys go through a stage where they like boys more than girls."

"Only it is a big deal when you're ten years old and you
have a crush on someone. I know from first hand experience just
how big a deal it is."

"You were doing it with a man and his son. It's different
when it's between two boys," I interjected.

"Is it?" Gary smiled. "Have you talked about it with Grant
since then?"

"Not really. I don't want to embarrass him. Besides,... "

"He'll probably grow out of it," Gary finished. "He might,
and so might Brandon. Only I don't believe he will, Chris."

"No. I was going to say that they're old enough to make some
decisions for themselves."

"Does that include having anal sex?"

My mouth dropped open. "Huh?"

Gary regarded me in surprise. "He didn't tell you, did he?"

"Tell me what?" I demanded.

"I'm sorry. I thought you knew, Chris."

"About what?" I took a deep breath.

"How much do you know?"

"I know about them having oral sex."

"Yes?" Gary prompted.

"Grant told me today. I didn't realize that they were that
far along."

"Never underestimate a ten-year-old boy's libido," Gary
joked. "They may be shootin' blanks, but they can still point the
gun and pull the trigger."

"Maybe you ought to tell me what's been going on," I
suggested.

"Hm,... well, if you promise not to be angry. Grant is
worried about it enough as it is."

"I promise."

"Okay, here goes. Not that it makes any difference, but so
far it's been what you might call 'one-sided'."

"How long is so far?" I asked cautiously.

"A while now. They've been doing it since the night they
stayed at your place."

"Oh?" I said awkwardly. "That long."

What had happened during the night after I left them alone?
I half-closed my eyes, thinking back. They were both naked, as
bare and beautiful as the day they had entered a hostile world.
They had been rubbing their penises together, simulating
intercourse, or having what passed for intercourse for ten-year-
old boys. The possibility of them doing more than that seemed
both very distant and very close.

"I didn't,..."

"I'm sure Brandon was willing," Gary interrupted. "Unlike
Grant, he's a natural bottom. He's a bit like me in that
respect," he added with a smile.

"Uh,..."

Gary laughed. "Don't be embarassed, Chris. Your boy is a
real stud, at least according to my son."

"How,... how did they,... I mean,... If Grant's been doing
that with Brandon, how did they figure out what to do?"

"It's not all that hard to figure out."

"Maybe not, but they're still kids."

Gary shrugged. "I've stopped worrying about it. They may be
kids but they've only been doing what they need to do, Chris. If
you must know, I caught them in the barn trying to do it the next
afternoon. They had pretty much figured the friction thing out
for themselves by using spit."

"Oh?"

"Spit is nature's lube for a horny boy," he chuckled.
"Anyway, I told them about using something to lubricate
themselves. They're better off with Vaseline at their age. You
wouldn't want them to get sore."

"I guess," I said uncertainly. "You mean,... Grant actually
puts it,...."

"In Brandon's butt?" Gary finished smugly. "To answer your
question, yes, he does."

"It doesn't bother you?"

"Of course not. Your boy's dick isn't that big yet, although
there's always a chance he could do some damage if he wasn't
careful at the start. But he is, Chris. He's very careful. The
last thing he wants to do is to hurt Brandon. He couldn't have a
better partner. Your son's got more than enough between his legs
to make him feel good."

"Well, I guess I was the one who told them that what they do
together is their business," I said flatly.

"I'm glad you did. I don't want Brandon growing up with the
same hang-ups as I did."

I was envious, yet the reason why I was envious, eluded me.
Jealous of Grant? Of Brandon? Of Gary? Suddenly, I was finished
with this conversation, yet as I gazed into the red coals, I
remembered what had happened on the mountain. It seemed like a
long time ago, although only a few hours had passed.

I nodded again, thinking back. All day I had barely been
able to suppress the need to tell some one. With sudden insight,
I realized that Gary was the only person I could tell. I needed
to hear his point of view, even if it only served to confirm my
own.

"You know, the place they call 'Easy Street'?" I said
hesitantly.

"Huh? Oh, you mean on Big White?" Gary answered. I nodded.
"We've skied there a few times. It's pretty advanced for
Brandon."

"We met a couple of guys before we got on the lift," I added
hesitantly. "We talked for quite a while. I didn't recognize them
at first. One was Ken Gruen."

"The downhill guy? That's cool! Grant must have peed his
pants."

"Just about. The other guy was John Hammond," I added. Gary
looked at me quizzically. "The author," I explained.

"Sure. You mean Hammond and Gruen were,.... together?"

I nodded. "It was pretty obvious they're gay," I committed.
I breathed out slowly. Was I convinced? Did I find intent where
there was none? Was I mistaken? "They were giving Grant the eye,"
I added.

Gary grinned. "You're joking. They were looking at Grant?
You mean as in LOOKING?"

"Yes. It worried me a bit at first."

"I can imagine, although I'm certainly not surprised. He's a
very good-looking boy. So, how did he take it?"

I shrugged uncomfortably. "A hell of a lot better than I
did," I admitted with a timid smile.

Gary burst into laughter. "I can imagine. So, how it did
feel, seeing other men going goggle-eyed at your son?"

"Not too good." I sat forward, resting my elbows on my
knees, holding my head in my hands. "There's a reason why I'm
telling you all this. I think he was interested in them as well,
Gary."

"Oh? Ah, I see. Um,... Are you sure, Chris?"

"I have no doubt about it. When we went over to talk with
them it made him feel uncomfortable, but he was excited, too.
I've never seen him like that. I could feel him shaking all the
time he stood next to me."

"Scared?"

"Who? Him or me?"

Gary chuckled. "It's obvious that you're still scared. Are
you worried that he's gay?" he asked concernedly.

I breathed out. "Honestly?" I shook my head. "I just want
him to be happy."

I rubbed my thumb against the palm of my hand. I tended to
do that when I was worried about something. I was worried about
Grant, about telling Gary, about how I felt.

"And?" Gary prompted.

"Do you know what Grant asked me today? He asked if he would
be like Ken in a few years."

"What did you say?"

"I wasn't sure what to say at first. Then I told him he was
already halfway there." I glanced guiltily at Gary. "I meant
because he's only about half of Ken's age. Only it didn't sound
like that. It was like,... like I knew already,... and so did
he,... and,... that was how it was supposed to be for him. Hell,
Gary, I don't know what to think any more."

And then I thought about the other things that had happened
on the mountain. They were waiting for us a short distance from
the ski lift. John waved, beckoning us over. For a few seconds,
Grant hung back, dragging his feet through the fresh snow.
However, his face brightened the instant that Ken called to him.
Unlike earlier, when he hid behind me, Grant reached them well
before I came up. His previous reluctance to speak to strangers
had vanished. Within a minute, Ken had convinced us to do the The
Slides with him. I was not particularly happy about it, but there
was not a lot I could do about it, short of saying 'no'. Grant
was so excited. He had the opportunity of a lifetime. He had the
chance to ski with a professional. I caved in, ever the captive
of my son's infectious enthusiasm. I hoped I was not going to be
carried off the mountain on a stretcher.

In no time at all, we were ready to go. I checked Grant's
bindings, gave him a hug that was not nearly as much as I wanted,
and sent him on his way after having extracted a promise to be
very careful. John assured me that he could not be in better
hands, but I was not relieved. I don't think I had ever been as
nervous as I was that afternoon. All I could think of was the
handsome young man who was leading the way down the mountain.

Within a few seconds I realized that Ken was among the best
skiers that I had ever seen. He was exactly the kind of man a
ten-year-old boy idolized. He radiated youth and vitality, world-
class expertise, and what could only be called 'presence'. If
Grant had to pick someone besides me to idolize, Ken would be my
odds-on favorite.

Grant also had style. Certainly, he was dressed with flair,
and he moved with an easy grace that made a person want to look
at him. He skied much better than I did, and what he lacked in
experience, he made up for with daring. It was because of that,
that Ken took it easy. He seemed to know Grant's abilities, and
while he pushed him to the limit he was careful never to go
beyond it. However despite that, both he and Grant certainly made
the Slides look effortless.

With the new snow that had fallen during the night, we had
to work a bit harder. Without any direction from me or his newly
adopted hero, Grant widened his stance a little, and bounced up
whenever he needed to initiate a turn. I wonder where he had
leaned that trick. It gave the skis a little extra lift out of
the snow, while the wider stance provided for powerful turns. As
I took off after him, I heard John calling from behind me. I
heard something about Grant having potential as a future junior-
champion. He performed a couple of tight-radius turns on cue,
that were both fluid and balanced. He was even taking advantage
of counter-rotation, although it did slow him down slightly. It
was another trick he had learned along the way. And then, without
the slightest hesitation, he followed Ken into one jump after
another. I stayed back, following a less challenging course,
always keeping Grant in view as he rocketed back and forth in a
sparkling shower of white crystals.

On and on they rushed, all the way through the Slides, all
the way down to Easy Street. There they stopped, and waited for
half-a-minute until John and I caught up. I was breathless. Grant
was grinning, his goggles pushed back, his face tinged pink from
the cold air. I waited for the inevitable wisecrack about being
an 'old man'. Instead, he pulled off a glove, opened the zipper
to his pants, extracted a very small, pale-hued penis that looked
like it was mostly foreskin, and urinated. He seemed oblivious to
the others watching him. His chardonnay-colored stream arced,
steam rose, splattered onto the snow. He shook the last droplets
off the tip, pushed his penis back into his pants, and closed his
zipper.

Still grinning at me, he said loud enough for all to hear,
"Boy, I sure needed that!"





"Happiness means different things to different people,"
Gary said. "If you can accept that people are different, it's not
going to be a problem."

I looked up sharply, still hearing my laughter, the other
men's ribald comments.

"Sorry. I was thinking of something else," I admitted. "I
really don't know how I feel about it, Gary. I know I'll always
love him. It doesn't matter to me if he's gay."

"That's important. He needs you now more than ever, Chris.
And not only because of the divorce. Brandon is the same way.
He's struggling as well, reaching out, trying to find out who he
is. Grant needs you like he's never needed you before. Just being
there for him, no matter what, is the most important thing in the
world to him."

"It doesn't bother you that the boys,..."

"No, of course not. I've already said it doesn't bother me.
In fact, I've already told them that it's okay, just so long as
they're careful. I wouldn't want them doing it with anyone who
came along, you understand. I know they won't. I trust Brandon to
use his common sense. He knows that being in love comes before
having sex."

"I'd like to think Grant would never,... But I'm not so sure
any more. You should have seen him earlier today. If I wasn't
there,..."

Gary coughed, then cleared his throat. "Did you ever think
maybe he was playing a game with you, Chris?"

He stood up and stretched his limbs. I waited for him to
explain, yet I realized there would be no explanation. Gary had
told me nothing that I did not already know. The fire crackled
and hissed. I needed time to think.

Before I could say anything, Gary spoke again. "It's getting
dark outside. We had better get them back inside the house before
they freeze to death."

I started to stand, but he gestured for me to sit again.

"There's no point in both of us getting cold again. I'll be
back in a few minutes. Chris, there is one thing," he added
slowly.

He stood with his back to the fire, warming himself before
taking on the outside cold one more time.

"Yes?" I prompted.

"Don't tell Grant about what I said about him and Brandon.
I'm sure he'll tell you in his own time."

"Okay," I agreed. "Gary,... thanks. I'm glad you're so
understanding."

That provoked a smile. "No problem. I've had enough time to
figure out what to do. You know Chris, if he is gay, he'll want
you even more."

"Huh? What's that supposed to mean?" I asked guiltily.

"He needs you as a friend now, maybe even more than as a
parent," Gary answered quickly. He looked at me with eyes that
seemed to say something else. "Don't be afraid to talk with him
about it, Chris. He's about to go through a very difficult stage.
You've always been very close to him, but now you've become the
most important part of his life."

"I guess so," I said warily.

I scratched behind my ear. Grant had become more than the
most important part of my life. My entire existence revolved
around him.

"What's bothering you?"

"Huh?" I looked up. "Oh, I was just thinking."

"About?"

"Has Brandon,... er,... you know,....?" I muttered.

Gary guffawed. "You want to know if Brandon has done the
back-door deed with Grant? As far as I know, your son is still a
butt-virgin, at least as far as my son is concerned.... I
wouldn't want to take bets otherwise,..." he smirked.

He let the sentence hang, the statement unfinished. I
regarded him thoughtfully. A 'butt-virgin'? Not any longer, I
wanted to say. Instead, I was even more worried than I had been
earlier in the day. Did Gary know about us? He had to know,
didn't he? That was what he was telling me. There were only two
ways to find out. One way was to confront Grant directly. The
other way was to probe the matter further with Gary.

"I wouldn't mind if he did," I offered honestly. If there
was anyone I could willing share my son with, it was his best
friend.

"And if they keep on doing it?" Gary posed.

"It's okay."

"They have a thing going, you know, Chris. You haven't seen
Brandon since Thanksgiving, but he's been growing his hair longer
as well."

"So has Grant."

"I've noticed. It's kind of a pact between them. They're
expressing themselves, Chris."

"Frankly, I couldn't think of anyone I'd rather he was with.
Brandon is a great kid and they are so close they might as well
be brothers. If Brandon does it to him, I have no problem with
it."

"Well, there's no worry on that score," Gary laughed. "At
least not with Brandon."

"Meaning?"

"I think it would have happened by now, if it was going to
happen."

"Oh?"

Gray shrugged dispassionately. "He's like that, Chris.
Brandon's the same as I was at that age. I was always on the
bottom and I liked it hard and fast."



The noise level went up by ninety decibels when Grant and
Brandon returned with Gary. They whooped and shouted, and
demanded hot chocolate. The request was promptly fulfilled
despite the fact that it was close to dinner time for Brandon,
and Grant and I needed to be on our way before the snow started
again. The boys exchanged presents, or rather Brandon gave Grant
his presents since there were still three unwrapped gifts under
our Christmas tree.

The first present was a book about horses. I concealed my
smile. I was surprised that Brandon had been able to keep the
secret that his father had entrusted him with. The second gift
was also in that vein. Actually, it was two gifts in one. Without
my knowledge, Gary had ordered saddlebags to match the saddle
that I had given Grant. Inside the hand-tooled leather was a
Navajo horse blanket. And the third present? It was beautifully
wrapped and addressed to both boys from 'Santa'. Inside was a
two-man tent. It was enough for my ever-exuberant son to give
both Bowmans a prolonged hug.

It had been dark for nearly two hours, almost seven o'clock
before we managed to effect a departure.

"Did Brandon like your pony?" I asked after we had been on
the road for a while.

Grant grinned. "Yeah. A whole lot. He's the best present
I've ever had. I wanted one so badly, and I hinted an awful lot."

"Yes, you did," I said happily.

"Only I didn't think there was even a hundred to one chance.
Brando and I can have so much more fun now."

"Especially if we live here instead of New York," I said.

"Yes." Grant stared out the window. "Dad,... if we do move
up here,... I won't see Mom very often, will I?"

I breathed out, trying to find the words to tell him the
truth. And then, I realized that he knew the truth, that his very
question was his way of telling me that he knew, that it was
alright.

"I'm sorry. You'll always be able to visit her whenever you
want," I said glumly.

"But she won't want to come up here, will she?"

"Probably not."

Silence again. A very long silence.

"Dad?"

"Yes, Grant."

"You don't want her here, do you?"

"What makes you think that?"

"I don't know. You don't like it when I talk about her."

"I,... I can't help it. The idea of being in the same room
with her,... Not now. Not after this. I'm sorry, Grant."

"You don't love her anymore, do you?"

"Probably not. It's different now."

"Are you going to get married again?"

"Probably not." I wanted to say 'definitely not'.

"Why not?"

"Why do you think?"

"Because of me?"

I smiled, slowing the car down as I approached the turn off
to our house. I was in love with him. My own son. I loved my son
in the same way that a man loved a woman. A few days earlier I
would have been shocked at the thoughts that were now running
through my head. No longer unsettling. Demanding. Arousing.

"Can I sleep in your room from now on?"

"Huh?"

"Can I sleep,...."

"I heard you the first time. I don't know. I guess so, if
that's what you want. I'm not going to make you do something you
don't want to do."

Grant grinned sheepishly. "So,... like,... are you mad at
me, Dad?"

"Why would I be mad at you?"

"Because of what happened when we went skiing."

"Oh that!"

Grant glanced at me surreptitiously. "Are you mad?"

"Not really. But I won't say it didn't bother me a bit."

"Sorry," he said in a sing-song voice. "I'll make it up to
you, Dad."

"How?"

"I'll find a way."

Again, sing-song, teasing, sensual. It was impossible for
him to disguise his excitement even if he wanted to.

I pulled up as close to the house as possible and we hurried
inside. With the door closed behind us, we stood face to face.
Waiting. Feeling the urge become stronger. He was so beautiful
that I could not look away. His eyes were flashing a silent
message. I could feel myself being seduced. Just by looking at
him. By being close to him. Knowing what he was thinking. The
growing sensation. Hardening. Becoming hotter. Every time he
breathed his little nostrils flared. His chest rose and fell
rhythmically. His eyelids fluttered. I loved the ridge between
his nose and lips, the way his hair curled over from behind his
ears.

"Well,...." Grant said softly.

There was an urgent note to his voice despite the calmness.
I smiled. Did he understand what was happening? At that moment,
it seemed as if he had a better grasp of the situation than I
did..

"What do you have in mind?"

Had I really said that? Had my voice actually trembled? I
breathed deeply. His eyes had not strayed. He was gazing at me
intently. Eyes so blue and innocent that it took my breath away.
I sighed. I was completely under his spell.

"Hm,... we had better take our boots off first...."

I slowly eased down onto my knee. Were my hands really
shaking so much that I could barely undo the thick red laces to
his ski boots?

"... we don't want to track snow everywhere,....."

One boot undone. Then the other. I was still fumbling. There
were butterflies inside my chest. I was finished. One small sock-
covered foot out. Then another. His brightly colored socks were
thick and fuzzy, and warm.

".... it felt funny riding Moonraker,....

Next, my boots. Each breath deliberate. God! His hand
brushed my head. I was bowed before him. Paying homage. A
supplicant.

".... especially when he trotted. It kept moving around
inside me....."

I had forgotten about the home made dildo. It was still
inside him. Then one foot was free. Pushing my snow-encrusted
boot to the side. Changing position onto the other knee. Fingers
struggling to undo the laces of my other boot.

"....they kept making this clunking sound every time I sat
down,...."

I stood up. My penis was standing up. He was suddenly quiet.
He wanted me. I wanted him. My hand settled on his small
shoulder. It was still inside him, stretching, strengthening,
getting him ready.

Guiding him back. Where? The bedroom? Here on the living
room floor? My heart is pounding mercilessly. We have waited all
day for this. Lifting him up. His legs locking around my hips.
Clinging. Through the doorway. Down onto the bed. Is he
trembling? Am I trembling? It's dark. Just enough light spilling
through the doorway. What is he doing? God! Pulling down my
zipper. Pushing my underpants out of the way. His hand is cold.
God! He's getting my cock out. Help him. Unfasten the buttons of
his pants. He's gasping. He's holding my cock! Warmth meeting
coldness. How to do this? He's on his back. Lift his legs up. He
knows what to do. Now, pull his pants down from behind. His
underpants as well. So beautiful. God, he really is still wearing
it after all this time. Ten hours. Pulling at the leather thong.
Untying it. Pulling gently. Harder. Tugging. Difficult to get
them out. He's holding back, keeping them inside.

'Pop,...Pop,...'

"Oh my god!"

'Pop,....' No longer pulling.

"Oh!"

'Pop,... Pop,....'

"OH GOD!"

One more. Just one ball is still inside him. The others are
shiny and red. They look wet, oily. Big. The smell is nice, like
the forest floor, or a moss-covered tree. His smell. Pull it out
gently. A bit like pulling out a cork. It doesn't seem to hurt
him. It feels like he's pulling back against it.

'Pop,...'

"Put him in now, Dad."

Settling closer. Leaning over him. His buttocks are wide
apart. His hands are holding his legs behind his knees. He's
nodding at me. He must think I need encouragement. Nudging his
anus. So big. Much bigger than the last time. Wide open. Pushing
gently. His eyes are wide open. He's smiling. He feels it going
in. He likes it. It doesn't hurt at all. God, he's groaning. He's
pulling against me. He wants it inside him. I don't want to hurt
him. Go slowly. Don't be an idiot and rush it.

"More."

"Are you,..."

"More."

Demanding me. Filling him slowly. So hot. So incredibly hot.
It's like driving a steel stake into him. He's so loose. He's
pushing down onto me. Must be at least half-way by now. I should
have used some lubricant or something. He's so slippery inside.
We're joining together. God! This can't be happening. Tell him I
love him. Kiss him. He's squeezing on my cock. Whispering he
loves me. We're kissing. His tongue is so soft. Pushing gently.
Deeper. His arms around my neck. Further. This is impossible. It
isn't tight at all. Groaning. Far enough. Stopping.

I gazed down at him. He smiled slightly, wincing as a sudden
spasm passed between us.

"Does it hurt?"

"No. Not really. He feels so big, Dad."

"You feel so loose."

"I am."

He grimaced, his body still finding the strength to resist
with a sudden contraction. It didn't last more than a few
seconds.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." He breathed deeply, slowly. "Give me a moment,
though. I just need to get used to him again."

"He's in a long way."

"I know, Dad. I can feel him back there. He feels kinda
funny and good at the same time."

"I love you."

"You just want to put him all the way inside me."

"No. I don't,... well I do,... but I really do love you."

"I know. Can I sleep here with you afterwards?"

"If you want."

"I want. You can go a bit further now if you want."

"Are you sure?"

"Uh huh. Just go slow. He feels so good."

"It's going in much easier this time."

"Yeah, I know. It doesn't feel nearly as tight."

"It's not hurting?"

"A tiny bit. Not bad."

I eased slowly down, nearly lying over him. His ski pants
bunched up, separating his thighs from my belly, keeping us apart
while we were physically joined in another way. His body grasped
my maleness, held it, embraced it. I was inside him. My rigid
throbbing flesh was part of him. Just a little bit further. I
pushed carefully, firmly, testing his resistance. There was less
than two inches to go and I had reached the limit. A resilient
barrier stopped my advance. Each time my penis levered against
it, Grant winced. I backed away slightly and he groaned softly.
He nodded slightly, giving permission, wanting what I wanted.

I began to move my hips in a timeless rhythm. Slowly, ever
so slowly probing, withdrawing, penetrating an inch, two inches,
three inches, into that hot lush cavern within him. It was a
tube, a wonderful, tube of living, clutching flesh. It was hot,
slippery, incredible soft, deliciously hard. The first inch of
the tube was tight, but not as tight as it had been previously.
It clasped my penis like a small fist, making me even harder.
Beyond that muscular band, tightness gave way to the open void of
his rectum. Yet, it was not emptiness that flowed around me. It
was succulent and spongy, and far, far better than any vagina.

I crooned to him, whispering in his ear. Words of endearment
and encouragement. In return, I heard the garbled sounds of
passion, of a boy tortured, subjected to exquisite pleasure,
giving willing, accepting everything. Deeper. Deeper, until my
penis could go no further. His cheeks, firm rubbery mounds,
pressed around my scrotum, cradled me as I thrust cautiously.

"He's all the way," I said softly.

"I,... know,.... In me,... all the way,.... so good,....
slowly,...."

I lifted away, rising to my knees, splayed wide to bring my
groin close to his buttocks. I looked down, saw the miracle of
our love. My sex was hidden. All of it. All eight thick inches
gone from sight. His anus was stretched tightly around it, a
thin, almost crimson line, a dimpled ridge around my darker,
veiny penis. I pulled back and watched in amazement as it
slithered out, sliding on the slick film that had come from
within him. More and more came into view. So long. So thick. My
glans was still burrowed inside him, concealed behind his anus.
Impossible that so much had gone inside him. I heard him
groaning, pleading, begging incoherently. I pushed again,
gripping his bony pelvis with my hands to hold him in place as I
re-entered. Another long gasp as the air was forced from his
lungs, and then I was inside him again. His hands and knees were
shaking, his eyes closed to mere slits. It was unbelievable that
anything could feel so good. Every few seconds there was an
incredible pressure against my penis, pulling, squeezing,
gripping. The sensations became stronger every time, until I knew
the agony of ecstasy.

"Oh God!" I gasped.

Grant grunted, releasing my member from his muscle. I jerked
back, trembling, trying my best to stave off an imminent orgasm.
It was like trying to hold back a flood. My testicles were pulled
up beneath my penis, taut, wrinkled. Throbbing. Throbbing so hard
that it hurt. Trying to hold off a few more seconds. Rising.
Rising up over him. Pushing hard. Deep. Inside again. Faster than
before. His eyes opened wide. Squeezing. Giving up. Surprised.
Awed. Possessed. Jerking back, suctioning loudly, feeling him
clamping down, fighting. Yielding immediately when my penis
stabbed back again. Both groaning. Both straining. My thighs
pulverized his buttocks as I slammed against him. Wildly. Wild
animals rutting. Rising. White-hot lava erupting. He shrieked.

We came together. Simultaneous orgasms. I pumped
frenetically, with the mindless objective of depositing my semen
inside him, of making him mine, of giving him pleasure. I was
aware of him struggling beneath me. He bucked frantically, his
arms pushing, then pulling at me, wanting more. Wanting that last
bit of me, beyond human endurance, that one last powerful thrust,
that final part of passion. Then still, unmoving. Still deep
inside him. Feeling the heat surround me, engulfing, claiming me.
Knowing we could never turn back. He was weak. I was drained.
Between us, it was hot and wet. Oozing fluids. Slippery. Hard to
breath. Hard to look at him. Not guilty or ashamed. Just knowing
it was right for us.

I gradually eased back, continuing to withdraw despite the
expression on Grant's face that begged me not to. Then, resting
on my haunches, I dared to look down. His hole was gaping open
and I looked into him, into his body, into a reddened passage
that finally closed into a dark recess. It was bigger than seemed
humanly possible, bigger than the rest of his body could
naturally account for. Foamy slime covered his scrotum, his
perineum, the insides of his buttocks. There was an unmistakable
wet streak on the ripstop nylon of his ski pants. My penis and
half of my scrotum glistened with a slick wet sheen. My pubic
hair was plastered to my groin. I wondered where it had all come
from. Perhaps some was my semen from the last time, but the rest?

Exhausted, I dropped down beside him. It was still difficult
to breath. I was panting. I was smiling. I was triumphant, again.
I turned onto my side and placed an arm around him, curling
against his still trembling body. There was no need to speak.
Words would never be enough to describe the bliss I felt.

"What happened?" Grant whispered.

"Well, I'm not sure, but I think I just fucked your ass,
Grant," I joked.

"Very funny, Dad."

"You okay?"

"I guess. It feels all funny inside me. It's like I'm
shaking."

"I can't imagine why."

"It felt different,... better. When you were doing it I kept
getting looser too."

"Well, you were much looser to begin with compared to the
last time," I explained.

"You didn't use any of the stuff either, and it was still
nice. It feels gooey, like stuff is seeping out."

I smiled and lovingly caressed his slim brown thigh.

"You know why, don't you?" I asked.

"Because of the dildo thing?"

"I think I just invented the ultimate boy dildo. It's
especially designed for the active boy who is always on the go,"
I laughed.

"Well, it sure feels empty back there now," Grant admitted
with a smirk.

"How does it feel?"

"Okay. It feels strange. Kind of numb, but it's a nice
feeling. Its like it's a whole lot bigger."

"You were incredible by the way," I said.

"So were you, Dad. I never realized it would be like that.
It kept on getting better and better. At the end it was just
sliding in and out and not hurting even a little bit," Grant
sighed wistfully.

"Well, if we keep doing it on a regular basis, that's the
way it should be from now on."

Ruefully, he stroked my now limp penis. "You should've left
him in me for a bit longer, Dad."

I kissed his forehead affectionately. "Well, like they say.
It's not over till the fat lady sings."

"Huh?"

"Don't worry about it. You'll find out soon enough. Let's
take our clothes off and get you cleaned up for now."

He lay still as I pulled his thick socks off. I loved his
feet. Still boy-sized, still smooth, still perfect. I remembered
reading that one of the first signs of approaching puberty was
the growth in a boy's feet. I was glad Grant's feet were still
size six. His toes wriggled as I brushed my lips against them and
inhaled the sweaty scent. It was not an unpleasant smell by any
stretch of the imagination. Kneeling back, I gently tugged his
ski pants and underpants down, all the way off, threw them into
the corner near the door. Silently, I straddled him. I was
dominant, the powerful male poised above the submissive boy. Both
of us were more than ready to resume. Grant smiled wantonly,
reached one hand out to touch my penis as it dangled impotently
downward. However, already I could feel the surge, the rush of
blood, the growing need to exert my manhood again.

I took a deep long breath. I needed to see him naked, to
revel in his beauty, to press my bare skin against his. I pushed
his ski jacket higher, exposing the smooth skin of his flat,
still-tanned belly. My hands travelled along his sides, thumbs
following that marvellous contour that only preteen boys seem to
possess. There was no puppy fat, just the lines of ribs, the
firmness of lithe young muscle, the precious whorl of his navel.
And there in his absolute center, that perfect part of him, the
essential part of a boy. Small, yet not small. Had mine ever been
like that? It was difficult to think of myself as a boy. Potent,
yet impotent.

For the first time, I understood the meaning of the word
"potential". Grant's manhood was latent, his immature penis and
testicles appearing dormant while still conveying the future
lurking within. It was his 'potential', that part that would
eventually make him 'potent'. At the same time, he was far from
sexless. That part of him functioned. It grew hard, provided
pleasurable sensations, even achieved orgasmic heights. Yet,
manliness was abeyant. That was what I loved about him. I
finished taking off his clothes. Then, as he scrambled under the
comforter into the warm zone, I hurriedly undressed and slid in
next to him. His arms, smooth, slender, surprisingly strong,
locked around my neck, hands gripping my shoulders. His mouth
moved towards mine, lips seeking, finding, engaging tongues. We
kissed for a long while. His tongue came all the way into my
mouth, swiping over my teeth, slipping back and forth, thrusting
in its own 'fucking' motion. His mother had never kissed me like
that. I wondered where he had leaned to do it. Brandon?

Then apart, our passion temporarily spent, I stroked his
bare hip. Lying on his side, his body seemed very slender. He
appeared so narrow that if I placed both of my hands on his
pelvis with thumbs together on his belly, my fingers would be
able to press into his buttocks. He wore jeans with a 26 inch
waist, and if he had not eaten in a while they were so loose that
they dropped to his hips. If the ideal measurements for a woman
were 38-24-36, then the ideal measurements for a boy had to
include a 25 inch waist.

I glanced down, seeing my now limp drooping penis, already
drying and losing its previous sheen. And yet, although it was
soft, it was still very large compared to Grant's small
appendage. How that slim young body could so easily accommodate
my thick penis was beyond my comprehension. Truly, it was one of
nature's miracles.

"I hope so," Grant said softly. "Dad?..."

"Yeah."

"About what happened today?"

"Yeah?"

"You're not mad, are you?"

"Don't worry about it. It's okay."

"Would you be, you know, really angry if I did something
with someone else?"

"Probably. That's a difficult question to answer, Grant. It
really depends. That's not much of an answer. I know I certainly
wouldn't like to share you with anyone."

"I kind of liked Ken a lot. You did too, didn't you Dad?"
Grant said candidly.

I could tell he was teasing me. I resolved not to smile.

"Yes. But liking someone doesn't mean you should have sex
with them."

"Yeah, I know that, Dad. I wasn't thinking of having sex
with him." He smiled slightly. A moment later, he pursed his lips
thoughtfully. "But what if I loved someone,... you know, the same
way I love you now?"

"Hm,... Like you and Brandon for instance?" I queried.

"Yeah."

He smiled again, still shy, still trying hard to hold back
his true feelings.

"Remember what I said that night when I found you two guys
together?"

"Not really." He looked at me smugly. "Well, I do remember
that you said it was okay in Brando and I,... you know,... did
stuff together. You said you'd be surprised if we didn't play
around together."

"You have a good memory," I remarked. "I also said that it
was a wonderful thing that the two of you are as close as you
are. It's true. You are closer to Brandon than if he was your
brother. Most boys don't get to be that close. It's very
special," I added.

"Meaning I love him?" Grant asked, his head inclined to the
side.

"Don't you?"

"Yeah, I guess!"

"He loves you too, Grant."

"How can you tell?"

"The way he looks at you, for one thing. He's practically
drooling every time he sees you," I teased. "He gets an erection
whenever you come within a few feet of him.

"Brandon?"

"Duh! Of course, Brandon." I laughed at the shocked
expression on Grant's face. "You mean you haven't noticed?" Grant
shook his head, turned a shade redder. "And he's not the only one
who always seems to have a bulge down here," I added as I cupped
my hand over Grant's genitals and squeezed firmly.

"I,... I,.... don't!"

I grinned at him. "Yes you do. I think it's sweet."

"Dad?"

"Yes," I answered patiently.

"If Brando and I,... you know,... did stuff,... like if we
went, you know,... all the way,... If I,.... well,... did it to
him,..."

"If you mean putting your penis in his bottom, why don't you
just come right out and say it?" I teased.

"Okay, if we did that. If I fucked him in the butt, would
you be angry?" Grant asked nervously.

"What do you think?"

"I don't know. That's why I'm asking."

"Well," I began. "It would be the most wonderful thing you
could do to him, in my opinion. Mind you, your mom would probably
cut your dick off if she found out you were doing that."

"She'd have to cut your's off too then, Dad," Grant
guffawed.

"And she'd do it with great pleasure, believe me," I added.
"Listen Grant. I don't want you to be worried about being
Brandon's,...." I searched for the right word. "Boy-friend. I'm
actually very happy you've started having sex with him. I'm very
fond of him."

"He loves you too, Dad. Nearly as much as I do," Grant said
proudly.



DECEMBER 31, 1999



Before we knew it, it was New Year's Eve. The days and
nights had become a blur. The days, the wonderful memorable days,
we spent at any number of outdoor activities, but always
beginning or ending at the Bowman's farm so Grant could ride his
pony. More often than not, from dawn to dusk, all six of the
balls were hidden inside my son's body, stretching his rectum and
strengthening the muscles within him. At night, we made love. If
the days were memorable, the nights were unforgettable.

Finally, when I could not longer find reasons against it,
Grant spent a night at Brandon's house. I was never so lonely. He
telephoned shortly after nine o'clock. While he talked, I
masturbated. That amused him, and in hushed tones, he gave
encouragement. Teasing, giggling, asking how close I was,
suggesting I pretend that he was sucking me. However, hearing his
voice was almost enough to make me cry aloud. I ejaculated onto
the pillows we shared at night, pretending it was Grant's slender
body. He giggled when he heard my heavy breathing, the stressed
groan, the sigh of relief.

I had resolved, a few days early for a New Year's
resolution, that I would not interrupt Grant's friendship with
Brandon. Not only was their relationship important to me, but the
boys needed each other. They needed to spend time together, time
to strengthen the bonds, time for love to grow stronger. I don't
know how I found the ability to share something and someone so
precious to me that my life revolved around his very existence.

The next night, it was only fair that Brandon stay the
night at our house. If he knew about our changed relationship, he
did not show it with more than a knowing smile. He had a strange
way of looking at me, and then quickly averting his eyes when he
realized I was aware of his interest. Occasionally, we made eye
contact and his eyes lingered with curious interest. I wondered
what was going through his mind. Each time I looked at my son, he
smiled back, a secretive, almost angelic smile that flitted
across his face.

The boys had sex that night. I watched them. To put it
simply, it was like watching a sacred rite of passage. I was not
a participant, at least not at first. I was not a voyeur. I was
just there, accepted, acknowledged, largely ignored. They had no
inhibitions, or if they did, none that I was aware of.

I did not know how it started. I presumed it was mutually
desired, even if one of the boys had been the instigator at
first. There was no reason why it should have been otherwise. I
went up to Grant's bedroom to say good night after giving ample
warning of my impending visit by calling from the bottom of the
stairs that I was on my way. I even delayed my arrival by
stopping in the bathroom. It was there on the shelf. That little
cream-colored jar of Vaseline. All perfectly ordinary, except
that the lid was off and there was a depression where a small
finger had scooped out some. I smiled. No wonder it was quiet in
the room next door. Pocketing the jar, I continued on my way.
Even if the boys did not need it, I certainly would when I was in
my bedroom, alone with my dreams and fantasies.

I called out again, another warning just in case they had
not heard the first one. I hesitated outside the door, listening
to nothing except the empty sound of silence. It was like that in
the house. Always quiet when the boys were asleep or away at the
Bowmans' house. I stepped a single pace that framed me in the
doorway, a dark silhouette. It was like deja vu, except that I
had seen it before, months before, during a warm summer night.

They were lying together, face to face. The down comforter
lay over them but I could still see enough to know what was
happening. They were barely moving, but moving nonetheless. They
were kissing, not tentative kisses, but long open-mouthed tongue-
swapping kisses. I stopped, watched, memorized. I was enthralled.
The first time I had experienced shock. Now, I was shocked again,
although it was hardly comparable. Then, Brandon had been kissing
Grant's bare shoulder, and while the boys had been naked for all
the world to see, there was no passion. It was about two boys
exploring their friendship, discovering the potential of their
bodies to give them pleasure, about having good old-fashioned
fun. Not any longer. This was what love was about. They kissed
with more enthusiasm than I would have liked, but not enough to
unduly disturb me. The slim arms that were wrapped around Grant's
back were devoted, yearning. If before, they had been exploring
their sexuality, now they were seeking fulfillment.

I approached the bed quietly. I stopped a few feet away.
Looked down. They knew I was there. Nothing changed. Still the
same gentle rocking, moving their hips, undulating waves under
the comforter. Still kissing, the sound of wet lips, the click of
teeth, the wet sounds of tongues wrestling together. I breathed
deeply, thoughtfully. Every moment of this all-too-brief period
in their lives was precious. Precious to me. Precious to them. It
was fleeting. It was innocent, yet charged with unbridled lust.
If they had been close before, they were inseparable now. They
seemed to be even breathing together.

And Grant? Was this the same boy who I had made love to
every night but one since Christmas Eve? This beautiful lithe
boy, who made love to his best friend as I watched? I sighed,
content merely to be there, to witness what love was in its
purest form. One of the boys, I don't know which one it was,
groaned. Brandon's small hands slid lower and out of sight, under
the comforter and into a region that I knew all too well. The
comforter revealed what I could not see myself. The shape of
hands, grasping, kneading, rubbing over two small buttocks,
encouraging greater movement that would necessarily stimulate the
two penis that were obviously pressed tightly together.

"Ahem," I coughed softly. "You guys want me to leave?"

"You can stay if you want to, Dad," Grant conceded shyly.
His voice was soft, yet urgent. Excited.

"No!"

Brandon's muffled voice took both Grant and me by surprise.

"Huh? Don't be silly, Brando. He knows, okay? Why can't he
watch us?"

"Cause,... I want you to,... you know,...."

I stifled a laugh. 'A natural bottom', his father had called
him. I had to agree, even if I was a little bit jealous of him at
that moment.

"It's okay, Brandon," I said gently. "If you guys want some
privacy, I understand and I really don't mind." I started to
leave.

"Dad?"

"Yes." I turned back hopefully.

"Don't go! He's just being a dick head. Sometimes he gets
silly when he wants me to do it to him."

"Grant!"

"Well you do, Brando." Grant giggled. I heard him whisper
something to Brandon. "You know you do."

"I don't want him to know."

"Well your dad for sure knows we do it, and he doesn't mind
at all. And my Dad's known for a long while that we do other
stuff together, so,...."

"It's different."

"Why is it different?"

"It is!," Brandon said adamantly. "Don't be dumb, Gee. You
know why as well as I do."

"It's just the same, Brando."

"It's not!"

Grant smirked at me over his shoulder before he looked back
at the boy lying beneath him.

"I was exactly keen on it the first time either, but I
did.becuase you wanted me to, so.... It's only fair."

Brandon thought about it for a while. I could tell that he
wasn't happy, but he also knew that his best friend had a point,
the exact meaning of which confounded me. It sounded as if the
boys had 'done it' in front of Brandon's father. The possibility
both irked and excited me.

"Okay," Brandon submitted.

It was entirely in character for him to give in. He almost
always gave in to Grant's requests.

"Are you sure?"

It was also usual for Grant to be careful not to make his
friend do something he did not want to do.

"Yeah. I'm okay with it, I guess."

"You want to do it now?"

There was no hiding the surge of excitement in his voice. I
smiled, feeling a similar excitement and very glad that the boys
could not see that I was quickly becoming aroused. My sweat pants
concealed and revealed at the same time. I wondered whether the
boys would actually go through with it. If they did, what should
I do? Sit on the bed and watch? Move further away so that I
wasn't breathing over their bare bodies? Perhaps they would do it
under the covers and I would not get to see anything other than
the movement of their bodies? I remained standing, eqivocating,
torn between moving away to the window seat, or sitting on the
far end of the bed.

Neither boy spoke. I assumed that is was as difficult for
them as it was for me. I was not going to pressure them. If they
both wanted me to see them having sex, that was one thing, but if
Brandon was reluctant, I did not intend to force him. I started
to turn away again.

"'s okay," Brandon said softly. He hesitated, still nervous.
"You'd better go get some more Vaseline, Gee. I think it's mostly
rubbed off our dicks by now."

"That's okay," I said.

I took the small jar out of my pocket, held it out, my
offering to secure their devotion. They shared a silent look,
expressing their longing. They were anxious. I breathed out,
recognizing the moment for what it was. Few boys experienced such
adoration. Their minds and bodies were melding. This was an
enduring love. It was very apparent that the boys shared more
than mere infatuation. This was a long way beyond puppy love.
They worshipped each other. Their staunch friendship had
blossomed. Loyalty and emotional attachment had given way to deep
sexual yearning. It was all of that and more. In silent
admiration I watched them change positions.

Grant lifted away, kneeling between Brandon's out-stretched
legs. Grinning, he turned back to look at me. He was proud. He
was in control. He was the 'man' now. Yet, instinctively, he
accepted my authority, signalling with a single downward glance
what was expected of me. I had a special privilege. Eagerly I
opened the jar of Vaseline and gouged out a dollop that was big
enough to lubricate a truck. There was no mistaking the boys
enthusiasm. Gary had called my son a 'stud' and rightly so. His
penis stuck out like a door handle. And Brandon? The expression
on his face was wanton, hungry, even desperate. My right hand
grasped my son's small penis, already hard enough to snap off. Up
and down, slowly, smearing the Vaseline until it was a greasy
film on his penis and scrotum. Even as my hand moved down,
Grant's foreskin remained in place. There was still enough skin
projecting beyond the glans to form a tiny teat of skin.

I wondered whether I should also apply some of the lubricant
to Brandon's body. However, I knew that I had no right to do
that, despite his supine position. There was certainly no sign
from either boy that I should do so. I tested Grant's penis with
my fingers. It was very slippery. I hoped there was more than
enough to do the job. As a parting gesture, I pulled the little
flesh-lever down between this thighs, released it, let it slap
back against his firm lower belly.

"Be careful. You don't hurt him with it," I chided. "It's
hard enough to split firewood."

Grant giggled, but even before his giggle passed, he turned
to the serious task at hand. He reached down to take hold of
Brandon's ankles. He needed no guidance from me. Boys were like
that. He knew what to do. So did Brandon. It was a partnership.
They positioned themselves. Brandon with his feet beside his
ears, his hands grasping his thin ankles. His knees were wide
apart, barely an inch or two from touching the bed. He looked up
at Grant from between his splayed legs. He accepted his role,
content to be the passive one. I did not have the chance to even
catch a glimpse of his crack before Grant came forward to block
my view. I saw his back, the line of bumps of his spine, the
ripple of young lean muscle. I saw his buttocks clench. I saw his
hips jerk, driving inwards. A single, short, hard thrust. I heard
Brandon gasp. It was so easy that I was envious.

However, he stopped there with some undetermined length of
his penis embedded inside Brandon. He smiled as he looked down at
his best friend. Sharing thoughts, feelings, the sensation of
being joined. And Brandon? Non-resisting, but not resigned.
Acquiescent. Quiescent. Waiting for muscle to relax, to accept.
Wanting, needing what Grant possessed. The short spike, so
important to being male, so necessary to their mutual
nourishment. I waited, contented just as the boys were contented.

Another thrust. Another sudden gasp. I watched Grant's
buttocks pinch tightly as he drove inward relentlessly. Stopping
absolutely still, motionless in that taut tube. Waiting again.
Slowly withdrawing. So far back that he had to be poised on the
very threshold. There was a momentary look of bewilderment on
Brandon's face. Then astonishment as Grant surged forward,
driving with all the power in his slim thighs. Muscles rippled,
tendons became taught. A gasp became a groan. Deeper than before.
I could see it in Brandon's eyes. Wide open in amazement, of
knowing he was being impaled. Again, Grant pulled back, grunting
slightly as the other boy's rectum tried to strangle his penis,
anxious to keep him inside. Again, in the momentary hiatus,
dismay on Brandon's face. Again, Grant lurched forward, spearing
his squat maleness deeply before he yanked it out.

This time, perhaps because of his eagerness, he pulled it
out all the way. It twitched, jumping with every heart-felt
throb. Somehow his foreskin had retracted. His glans was exposed.
Shiny, purple-red, glowing like a little bulb, a perfect cherry.
He grinned, crudely held his glistening penis between one finger
and a thumb, teasingly rubbed it around and around the waiting
opening. Brandon whimpered. Whimpers became soft moans. Ecstatic.
Grant was obeying a single demand, that of pleasuring his best
friend. I breathed deeply, wished that I could see more, get even
closer, witness that intimate massage of penis and anus. He
stabbed again and immediately re-established the connection.

"Uhhhhhh."

Both boys groaned aloud as they merged, so close that it
would have been next to impossible to pry them apart. Brandon
raised himself, pulling his ankles well past his ears to lift his
rear off the bed. Again, Grant disengaged. Again, the blunt tip
of his rigid member poked at Brandon's hole.

"I'm going to make a baby in you this time, Brando," Grant
teased.

I smiled. It was obvious that he enjoyed his role and was
not against tormenting Brando a little as part of their sexual
activity. Brandon ignored the harassment. He waited. He didn't
have to wait very long. Without warning, Grant's hips and thighs
bucked, driving hard and deep. Almost as soon as his penis was
ensconced within Brandon's rectum, it was jerked out again. All
the way. Poised for re-entry. Breathing quickly, short shallow
gasps. Buttocks and hands clenching and unclenching from over-
stimulation. Toes curled up and digging into the sheets, trying
to find purchase. A thrust so hard that Brandon was pushed a few
inches higher in the bed. I heard the 'whack' of thigh muscle
slapping hard against firm buttock flesh, then a small penis
suctioning out of a wet soft hole, of one boy grunting from the
sheer effort of controlling his motion, of another boy groaning
in euphoria.

It suddenly became faster, much faster. So urgent and
powerful was the need that there was no way that either boy could
hold back. They were intoxicated by physical sensation. Grant
thrust in a violent frenzy. Brandon in rapture, accepting each
thrust with maddening pleasure. Whack! Whack! Whack! Again and
again. I was elated, barely cognizant of the rush to finish, to
complete the joyful act. I wished I had a camera.

All too soon it was over. They were huffing by then. One
boy, my boy, was wildly humping. Brandon was no less frantic in
his need. Time and time again, Grant's small penis escaped when
he failed to keep his fingers close enough to Brandon's anus to
make sure he was on target. A few times, the slippery, slime-
covered shaft eluded his grasp and the boys struggled to get it
back inside. It was both amusing and intensely arousing. They
came to the pinnacle without me knowing it was so close. Grant
stopped moving. Suddenly calm, trying to hold back the inevitable
climax. Too late. He was beyond stopping. Almost serene, as the
immediacy of orgasm hovered before the otherwise agitated boy.
His throbbing penis pulsed, preparing itself to ejaculate
nothing. It made no difference. It was a losing battle. His
buttocks clamped again, shuddering as the brief spasms racked his
loins.

He stayed there for a few more seconds and then, as
imperturbable as ever, he backed away. His penis slid out of
Brandon's body, still quivering. He glanced calmly down at it,
ascertained that it was still there, that it was still part of
him. He turned slightly, glanced back at me, smiling shyly,
proudly. For a few minutes he had been a man. He moved back on
his knees, allowing me to see.

For the first time, I saw Brandon's anus. Like Grant's
opening after sex, it seemed unduly large, a gaping hole into a
slender young body. Yet it was also different. For the last few
days I had been accustomed to seeing a dark ring around Grant's
anus. It was more than an inch in diameter, brown-purple in
color, the color that occurs with a bruise, of flesh that had
been tested beyond its elastic limit. It was sight that made me
particularly uncomfortable because I was responsible for it, but
it the natural result of our love. By contrast, in the startling
glimpse of Brandon's dilated orifice, there was no bruising, just
a somewhat reddened appearance that could easily be explained by
the overly energetic treatment it had just received.

Silently, Grant backed away further and eased down to lie
alongside his friend. Brandon released his ankles and
straightened out in the bed. I had seen what they had wanted me
to see. They slipped an arm around each other's backs, embracing,
bringing their naked bodies into full contact, continuing the
intimate closeness that they had just shared. I recognized the
lingering smell that rose up from the bed to greet me. It was the
same smell that Grant exuded. Earthy, yeasty, yet entirely human.
It was the smell of our love, the smell of male sex. His penis
had been inside Brandon's bowels and all I could think of was how
proud I was, of him, of Brandon, of the love they shared.

That aside, I still felt like an intruder. I had witnessed
intimacy of a magnitude unlike any other I had ever seen. It was
equalled only by my experience with Grant, and even then, I was
so engaged in fulfilling passion, that I was barely cognizant of
what was happening. I appreciated their relationship with a new
awareness, if slightly apprehensive that it would intervene in my
life at some point. Intuitively, I realized that there was a very
high probability that they would continue to be lovers as they
grew up. I expected that there would come a time when Grant would
want to spend his life with Brandon. I smiled, a little
reluctantly, but also very happily.

It was with great caution that I sat down on the bed next to
Grant. I had no desire to disturb them, yet the urge to be closer
was irresistible. I loved both of them. Lovingly, I stroked
Grant's bare back. It was firm, smooth, strong, hot, slightly
sweaty. I smiled. No wonder he was hot. No wonder he was
exhausted. For a few minutes, not nearly long enough, they had
rutted like wild animals, pumping frenetically with the single-
minded goal of achieving mutual ecstasy. He had taken Brandon to
the pinnacle of human experience, using all of his strength to do
it. There was no mistaking their orgasmic fervor, the intense
calm that followed. They had climaxed at the same time, sharing
the one thing that bonds two people inseparably together.

I had good reason to be proud of these two boys. One was my
son, the other almost equally as close to me. They loved each
other. It was written on their faces, their smiles showing so
much more than mere affection that it took my breath away. This
was what Gary had been trying to tell me all along. Our sons were
in love, and while we also loved them, we had to accept their
love as primary.

Dreamily, I thought back to my own youth. I pictured Adam as
he had been when I was a boy. Wonderful, sweet, adorable,
beautiful Adam. I loved him dearly. I loved everything about him.
And yet, as much as I loved him, there was always a nagging
suspicion that he did not feel the same way about me. I would
have given anything for him to look at me in the same way that
Brandon now looked at Grant. His eyes flickered, conveying
infatuation. However, this was not an unreasoning and transitory
attachment. In his liquid eyes, I saw obsession, not implying
fixation but deep adoration that gave way to worship. Grant would
always be happy with Brandon beside him.

It was with great surprise, therefore, when I felt a small
hand settle onto my crotch. The fingers fumbled momentarily.
Locating, ascertaining, gently squeezing my penis through the
soft cloth of my sweat pants. I glanced down, breathing out,
feeling shame. At the same time I was anxious, excited, very
aware of how good it felt. It was Grant's hand, his left hand.
Familiar, yet strange. He awkwardly groped my groin, following
the length of my hardness with a boy's curiosity. I wondered
whether he wanted to give me what I needed so badly. His fingers
clumsily peeled away the front of my sweat pants, reached under
the waistband, clamped around my aching penis, pulled against the
skin to make a temporary foreskin as he withdrew it. Then holding
it, with a boy's merciless grasp, still not understanding that my
penis was as sensitive as his was. It was a grip that was tight
enough to restrict the blood flow. It was all I could do not to
groan aloud. I did not want Brandon to know what Grant was doing
to me, his own father. However, that did not stop me. I lifted up
from the bed, pushing my sweatpants downward before sitting
again. My son's small hand promptly returned, possessively
reclaiming me, eager and ready to give pleasure.

Moving slowly, ever so slowly, down to my pubic hair. Up
again, ending with a playful tug. His thumb swept over my glans,
smearing the mucus until it was slippery. Then lifting away until
only the tips of his fingers and thumb held me, squeezing,
massaging, extracting delightful sensations that were enough to
make my heart pound. When, where, how had he learned to
masturbate like that. Not with Brandon. Boys did not masturbate
like that. I looked beside me. Two right hands were moving, each
boy holding his partner's penis, moving with a slow enduring
rhythm. So natural. This was mutual pleasuring at its finest.
That was what it was, nothing more. They were intent only on
feeling good. I risked a groan and realized that the boys were
almost unaware of anything but each other.

They masturbated differently. Already they were well used to
the fundamental distinction between a circumcised penis and one
that was still hooded. Brandon's hand used the extra skin on my
son's penis to great advantage, pulling down until the tip peeked
through, not far enough that it was unveiled. The entire length
of Grant's penis still glistened, shiny with greasy wetness. In
the other hand, Brandon's penis, shorter, fatter, but no less
stiff, was being subjected to abuse of an entirely different
kind. Up and down, Grant used his hand so lightly so that it slid
as much as pulled against the skin, keeping away from the
sensitive head for a half-dozen stokes for every one that grazed
the end. So deliberate. So caring. So wonderfully captivating. I
wondered why he treated mine differently.

Minutes ticked by, long fabulous minutes of watching the
boys engage in a timeless pursuit. At the same time, Grant's
maladroit left hand, haltingly, deliciously inept was locked
around my manhood. His other hand, placed less gauchely in front
of him, was deft, its motion graceful to the eye. And Brandon? He
also showed the signs of accumulated skill. Both boys were
absolutely rigid, their small penises glowing with a healthy
ruddy sheen. No sign of embarrassment. Here, they were the
experts. Their slender bodies moved as well to heighten the
stimulation. Hands, hips and thighs worked in unison, manual and
automatic. Instinct had finally taken over. This was teamwork
engaged in sport in and of, and for itself.

"My hand's getting really tired."

I suddenly came to life, recognizing the whispered voice as
Grant's, the implied threat that he would soon be stopping. I did
not want him to stop, not now, not ever. However, it had to be
difficult to reach behind himself for this long. No wonder the
movement of his hand was awkward. I readied myself for the
inevitable. I would soon be abandoned. I would have to find
relief by myself. It would not be nearly as satisfying.

"Let me do it."

Four words, from a voice that was cool yet sensuous,
thundered through my consciousness. My mouth opened in disbelief
that Brandon had suggested what I had heard.

"Sure. Just do it up and down, you know, kinda the same way
as you do yours, only rub the tip more. That's how he likes it
best."

Again, I tried to voice my inhibition, shocked from the
apparent ease that my son gave instructions to another boy about
handling my sex organs. All that came out was a strangled moan as
I felt the boys changing position. To undertake what he had just
offered to do, Brandon had to move to my other side. He did so,
languidly, curling closer so that his warm bare flank was against
my back. And then I felt the softness of his hand, smooth and as
hot as Grant's but with a grip that was less intense. For a
moment I had the distinct feeling that Brandon's hand was much
more experienced at pleasuring an adult part. It was the way he
held it, comfortably, naturally. It was almost as if he had spent
a lifetime doing it.

He used his right hand. Four fingers braced against his
thumb, still barely enough to cover a third of my extended organ.
His hand glided down, my penis slipping through his enclosing
digits until I trembled. He stopped there, close to the base,
feeling the pulses as I flexed my penis hungrily. His hand slid
up again, dragging slightly over my skin as he tugged the full
length of it. His hand floated over the tip, squeezing his
fingers behind the swollen hot bulb of my glans.

"He's big."

I heard the awe in Brandon's voice. They giggled together,
shamelessly, crudely enjoying something new.

"Uh huh. I told you."

"Can I finish him?"

"Sure, if you want."

"He's really hard, isn't he?"

"He's messy too," Grant chortled.

Brandon started doing it faster. I was unable to stop him.
He wanted to do it. I wanted him to do it. Hadn't I said that it
was okay if they wanted to do sex things? Wasn't this something I
had wanted to do for as long as I could remember? I groaned,
closing my eyes, praying that it wasn't a dream, praying that it
was.

Faster. How did he know I wanted it faster? That thumb
again! Sliding everywhere! It feels so incredibly fucking good.
It's drooling everywhere. He's much better at this than Grant is.
His hand is so soft. It feels like it's floating. Don't stop! For
God's sake, don't stop! Oh God! Don't let him put it in his
mouth! It can't be his mouth. I can't do that to him. Not with
Brandon. He's looking at it. Scared? I don't think so. He's
licking his fingers, making his hand slippery. Back again. How
does a ten-year-old boy learn to do it like this? Going faster.
His hand is jerking so fast I can barely see it. Much more of
this and I'm going to die.

Looking to the side, skewing my head to look over my
shoulder. I can't believe what Grant's doing. He's sucking
Brandon's penis, all of it, all the way down. I can see it,
stubby and incredibly hard, pushing his cheek out. He's pushing
three of his fingers into Brandon's anus. So easily. He's doing
what I want to do. How can he know my terrible thoughts?

I felt it rising long before it spurted out. It was heralded
by pressure, like searing heat, intense painful contractions in
my testicles, grunting as I searched for air to fill my lungs. I
wanted my penis all the way inside Brandon's mouth. That was
where it belonged, at least for now. Getting hotter. Aching.
Closer. Faster. Impossible. Lunging. Getting faster. Up and down.
Pumping with all his strength. Both of us shaking. Both gasping.
Unable to look down now. My eyes see nothing but blackness, a
yawning hole that is swallowing me, pulling me down, down,
bottomless. Then light. Intense, sparkling flashes of delirious
spasms. Then wetness encompassing me, flowing along my shaft. So
hot. So soft. Spurting. Thick. Gobs and gobs. Everywhere. His
hand is still stroking, pumping, slowing down, getting all of it
out. Erratic. No longer rhythmic. His entire body is shuddering.
He's had an orgasm as well. Stopping. Both of us are trembling.

I heard Grant's voice. Like a voice out of the past, asking
the question that all boys ask sooner or later.

"Was it good?"

Good? Such a bland statement despite its boldness.
Everything summed up as 'good'. Nothing more, nothing less. My
incredible ejaculation was reduced to 'good'. It was
disconcerting. I could not begin to explain to two immature boys
what I had just experienced.

"Yes, it was good," I muttered.

The boys giggled. Teasing, taunting laughter. Peals of
giggles.

"What's so funny?"

"Ah,... um,... nothing."

I glanced at Grant. His lips were wet, full and crimson red.
Passionate lips, lips that only moments earlier had been around
his best friend's penis, sucking him into mindless oblivion,
giving him the penultimate pleasure. Yet, despite his broad grin
and the saliva glistening on his chin, his face gave nothing
away. On the other side, Brandon regarded me shyly. He was not
embarassed. Rather he seemed curious as he inclined his head.
Savoring the moment, perhaps? His eyes shone brightly, still
eager, still interested. Insatiable boy. He glanced away, down,
looking at his hand. It was covered with milky streaks, creamy
lumps clinging to his fingers. There was so much of it that even
I was surprised.

For a moment I wondered whether I needed to beg his
forgiveness, explain what the messy fluid was, plead with him not
to tell his father what I had done to him. And then, from the
corner of his mouth I saw the dribble. Still milky. Not a lot of
it, but at least some of it had actually gone inside his mouth.
He smiled again, no longer shy as he casually wiped his fingers
over his lips, smearing it to a wet semi-circle on his chin. He
swallowed. His tongue licked his bottom lip, still tasting my
emission. His eyes met mine. For the present, this was our
secret, Brandon's, Grant's, and mine. Yet, a voice within me said
that it was a secret that would not last the year out.



The lights in the loft bedroom were not turned off until
sometime during the early hours of the morning, although I had
wandered off to bed soon after we had orgasmed together. I left
them kissing, stroking small penises that did not appear to loose
any noticeable degree of stiffness despite that they had just
done. I was glad that they were together. I masturbated again,
this time alone, thinking of Grant and Brandon, remembering in
vivid detail the hurried slamming of their young bodies, thinking
of two animals rutting furiously. The act so essential to human
nature, was even more remarkable because they were unable to
conceive. This was not sex for survival, but sex for the sheer
pleasure of it. Then, as my urgency increased, I replayed my own
ecstasy, jerking savagely as I thought of the one small hand, and
then the other hand that had found its way to my penis. The boys
had given me pleasure that I would never forget. They whispered
when I left. It was obvious that they would not go to sleep for a
very long while that night.

Despite that, the boys did not seem unduly sleepy when I
went in to wake them up at 10.00 o'clock. They were both naked,
and both asleep in the same bed. It seemed perfectly ordinary to
me, no necessary after what I had witnessed during the night.
Grant's mother would have 'gone ballistic' had she been there.
Instead, I served them breakfast in bed, and delighted in their
shameless nudity while I drank coffee, contentedly sitting in the
nearby window seat.

They consumed a breakfast that was international in scope.
Belgian waffles. Italian sausage. Canadian bacon. While the
calories and fat were phenomenal, after the night's strenuous
physical exercise, it was probably harmless. I partially redeemed
myself with Hawaiian pineapple. It was all I could do to resist
both temptation and invitation as they cavorted on and under the
covers. For a change, it was not sexual. Instead, they wrestled,
had pillow fights, tumbled and jumped, and burned off as many
calories as they had just consumed. Finally, when they were
breathless, and my erection was at the point of bursting, I sent
them off to shower.

The respite was brief, just long enough to put away the
breakfast tray and straighten the bed. They emerged from the
shower as I went into the bathroom to hurry them along. Needless
to say, they were still naked and quite wet. Both boys had
towels, flipping at each other and darting out of the way while
screaming in pretended agony when the towel hit certain sensitive
exposed parts. I told them to finish getting dried off and to put
some clothes on.

Grant grinned at Brandon slyly, sharing a knowing look that
made me wonder whether they had planned something in the
bathroom, something that I was not supposed to know about.

"Daaaaad,..." Grant began slowly as he finished drying his
butt and the backs of his legs.

"Yesssss?" I asked with drawling hesitation to match his
own.

Grant grinned cheekily. "I want to get a bigger one," he
demanded flatly.

"A bigger what?"

"You know! What you made for me the day after Christmas.
Only bigger."

"Oh?" I looked at Brandon guiltily, hoping that he had no
idea what Grant was talking about.

He smiled slightly, a little too knowingly for comfort. It
seemed that another secret had been shared. There were no secrets
between these boys. I swallowed awkwardly, feeling the sudden
rush of heat up my neck. He knew about us. I could see it in his
eyes, calm acceptance, detached amusement. Did that also mean
that his father knew about us? I averted my eyes. He continued to
look at me with his quizzical interested eyes. Was he thinking
what kind of man would have sex with his own son? I swallowed
again, feeling an overwhelming sense of dread.

"You don't have to worry, Dad. It's cool."

"It's cool?" I muttered.

"Yeah. It is. See,.... Brandon's got one too, Dad," Grant
added with a smirk.

"Got what?" I asked nervously.

"A butt-plug!" he blurted out with a bold laugh. "What? What
on earth are you,...?" I began in amazement.

Grant grinned shamelessly. "You know what I'm talking about,
Dad! It's what he uses to make his hiney hole bigger."

I looked at him pointedly. I took a deep breath, let it out
slowly, realized that the cat was out of the proverbial bag. I
glanced at Brandon quickly, then looked away, wondering why he
would have a 'butt-plug'. It could not be for the reason that was
foremost in my mind.

"Oh! Um, well,... Ah!"

"Only his is different to mine."

"Huh?" I swallowed. After last night, nothing should have
been able to surprise me. "Different how?" I managed to squeak
out.

My nervousness produced an instant grin. "It's way bigger,
Dad."

"Bigger how?"

"Well, it isn't as long, but it's much thicker, Dad." His
grin extended to his ears.

"Um, well,.... so why?"

Brandon guffawed but managed to cover his mouth before he
burst into laughter.

"It would make my butt looser," Grant answered with as
straight a face as he could manage. "And you did say I was kind
of tight back there."

"Uh,... um,... well,... I was only teasing about that, you
know," I replied uncertainly.

A sideways glance at Brandon left me less perturbed. He was
idly playing with his penis, coaxing it into erection by
caressing himself. Unlike Grant, his scrotum was very visible. It
hung almost as far down as his penis and was already egg-shaped
at the bottom. When he was older, he would definitely be in the
'small cock-big balls' category.

"No, you weren't." Grant smirked.

I took the bull by the proverbial horns. "Ah, so,.... Um,...
You want one that's bigger, huh?" I asked. Grant giggled
temptingly. "Well, I think it would be pretty unlikely that
Arneson would keep them in the store," I teased, referring to the
general store about three miles down the road.

"Probably not."

"So what brought this on?" I asked nervously.

Grant giggled again, glanced quickly at Brandon, looked back
at me. They smiled at each other again, sharing another secret.

"'cause."

"Because why?" I asked.

"Just because, Dad."

"'Because' isn't a reason in this family. You ought to know
that by now! You have a much better chance of getting what you
want if you tell me why," I said, trying very hard not to laugh.

Despite my playful seriousness that was intended to mock his
mother, Grant raised an eyebrow, trying to communicate what he
didn't intend to say in words. It was a simple gesture that could
have been interpreted to mean almost anything, but to my mind, it
was an unequivocal announcement that there were no longer any
secrets.

"You know why, Dad!" he said with exasperation.

"I don't know why. You're going to have to tell me, Grant,"
I teased relentlessly.

Brandon laughed boldly. "Geez! Cut it out you guys. If Grant
wants to make his butt hole bigger, why shouldn't he?"

I glanced sideways at Brandon. While almost totally out of
character, for the years that I had known him, I was quickly
beginning to appreciate his newly discovered lack of inhibition.
It was truly remarkable what a difference a few hours and a
single sexual experience could make in a boy's personality.

"Okay, I'll make you a deal, Brandon. If you really have
one, and it's as big as Grant makes it out to be, then I suppose
he can get a bigger one. Of course, you'll have to prove you've
got one."

Brandon's eyes darted to Grant and he nodded quickly in
agreement. "Okay."

Slowly he smiled, and then Grant began to giggle as well.
"You have to now, Dad,... 'cause he's already wearing it."

Both boys laughed. It had been all too easy and I was caught
in my own trap. Just knowing that Brandon was standing only a few
feet away and wearing a butt-plug sent adrenaline charging
through my body. My heart went into overdrive. The boys seemed to
have everything planned. What was even more interesting was that
they were carrying it out with unnerving cunning. "Um, well,
you're still going to have to prove it to my satisfaction," I
grinned lasciviously. "However, I have to be honest. I have
absolutely no idea where I could get you one around here, Grant."

Brandon was shameless. "He can borrow my new one if he
wants," he said gleefully.

Everything had changed. Only a day ago, the very thought of
anyone else knowing that Grant and I had sex, that we were lovers
in the full sense of the word, would have been devastating. And
yet, here we were, talking about two preteen boys doing something
that could mean many things, but to me I meant only mean one
thing. It meant that Gary and Brandon had a relationship that was
no different to what I shared with Grant. I was hopeful at the
same time I threw caution to the wind. Suddenly, the idea of the
two boys wearing butt-plugs back to the Bowman's house was enough
to make my penis grow to full erection in seconds. I felt it
bulging, incredibly hot and hard into the front of my jeans. I
had never achieved arousal so quickly.

With the rest of the day still to go it would make for two
very stretched boys. I had no idea what was going to happen. It
was New Year's Eve. It was the start of a new century and a new
millennium and if ever there was a reason to celebrate, this was
it. I fantasized about what might happen without knowing of
anything that had been planned for the night's celebrations.
There would be a dinner and snacks, of course. Champagne for both
of us, and some for the boys as well. Beyond that, I had no
inkling. Yet, my mind drifted, constructing a fantasy of watching
midnight approach, slowly becoming inebriated, losing
inhibitions. I could only imagine what might transpire if my
intuition was correct. If Gary and Brandon were,...? If
they,....? Knowing nothing for certain, depending entirely upon
my instincts, it seemed entirely appropriate that the boys have
some advance preparation. With them close on my heels, I led the
way back into Grant's bedroom.

"Okay! It's fish or cut bait time," I chuckled. "Why don't
you show us, Brandon?" I suggested.

"Yeah, show us your's, Brandon," Grant teased, suddenly
switching sides and reinforcing my opinion that ten-year-old boys
were notoriously fickle, even with their best friends.

Brandon smiled. The towel dropped to the floor and he stood
before us shamelessly naked. This was my first chance to closely
examine Brandon's penis, and I took advantage of the opportunity.
I had the distinct feeling that I was looking at forbidden fruit.
Seeing him naked affected me in a very different way to my son's
nude body. Grant had a familiar acceptance of being naked around
me. However, it was more than unfamiliarity. There were other
differences that when seen close up and in the full light of day,
made me very excited. My penis reached the pinnacle of erection,
beyond which further stiffness was impossible. It was so hard
that it ached.

Brandon's half-erect penis was much smaller than Grant's
penis for one thing. It appeared to be more than an inch shorter
in length. His bigger testicles hung lower, seeming
disproportionately large but still without the increased growth
that marked the onset of puberty. It definitely had a manly
appearance despite its size. Perhaps I was used to the
streamlined look of a boy's longer, thinner penis, and a smaller
scrotum, a scrotum that looked like a half a walnut, and that was
without the shell attached. Unless Grant lifted his penis out of
the way, or nature lifted it out of the way for him, it was
difficult to see that there was anything underneath.

"Promise you won't laugh, Mr. Travers?" Brandon admonished.
"You want to see it?"

I looked up quickly, aware that both boys had been waiting
for me to return to Earth. I smiled, grateful that they did not
comment on my obvious arousal. Grant and I nodded in unison and
he squatted, taking a position that was akin to defecating.
Without saying a word, but very aware that we were watching him
closely, Brandon reached one hand behind him as he strained down.
It appeared to hurt him, and for a moment his teeth clenched and
his brow furrowed as the stress built up within him. It was
almost impossible not to laugh as it 'popped' out with a wet
gurgling fart following it. Slightly embarassed, he shifted to
his knees, circumspectly examining the glistening plastic object
that has been lodged inside him. I wondered how long it had been
there. Obviously the boys had placed it there some time during
the night.

"Can I see it again?" Grant asked gleefully.

Brandon grinned and held it out for our inspection. Grant
took it gingerly. It resembled a golf ball in diameter at either
end, but not in the center where it narrowed to about an inch and
a half wide. It was clean, smooth, and glossy with a sheen of
oil. Grant was correct. It was very different to what I had
started to refer to as Grant's favorite toy. That crude but
highly effective assemblage of colored balls and a leather cord
measured just over six inches long and was just over one inch in
diameter.

"It's different to my other one," Brandon said came to his
feet.

He appeared to be completely unperturbed by the fact that
the object that had previously been lodged inside his rectum was
now lying in his best friend's hand. He reached into his
overnight bag and fumbled around among his clothes and other
things.

"Different how?" Grant asked curiously.

"My new one is well,... it's tapered more for one thing, but
it's even thicker. It's shaped a bit like a real cock, I guess.
It feels a lot bigger."

"Your new one is even bigger?" Grant said with a trace of
envy.

"'Least it feels bigger around than what I'm used to with
this."

Brandon held out a pale-pink cone-shaped object for our
inspection. The taper extended from the pointed end almost to the
knob on the other end. Overall, it was no wider than the one he
held in his other hand, but the groove that accommodated his anus
was almost the same diameter as the widest part of the cone. It
had a small nylon strap that could be used to keep it in place.
More than an inch and a half wide. It was man-sized! In a boy! I
understood, or at least I thought I understood a lot more.

"It looks like it would be easier to get it in," I observed.

Brandon nodded. "Sometimes with the old one I have to push
pretty hard. I like the way my new one is pointed."

"Okay boys," I chuckled. "Let's get this show on the road.
We're already a couple of hours behind schedule. If we don't get
a move on we won't be at Brandon's place before it gets dark."

Brandon handed Grant his new plug and took the other back in
return. I couldn't help smiling as my son picked up the jar of
Vaseline from beside the bed. It was bigger than he was used to,
but he was brave. He had no qualms about what he was about to do.
Grinning from ear to ear, he slathered a two-inch long bead of
gelatinous oil over the pink plastic, smeared it with his finger,
and promptly squatted. I had the distinct feeling that he was
pretending he was sitting above me. We had done it in that
position several times and I was impressed how easily my penis
was able to enter him. His eyes met mine, grinning
enthusiastically as he positioned it. Then his eyes closed,
concentrating as he pushed both upward and downward at the same
time.

With my penis, he knew when to stop, easing back once the
glans had penetrated far enough into him that it could not slip
out by itself. The plug was different. The taper would be easily
pushed out if he exerted pressure on it. However, he kept a
different pressure on, upward and inward, forcing himself to
adjust to the increasing width of the tapered plug while he
stifled his body's attempt to reject it. He reached the point of
greatest thickness. From his strained, discombobulated
expression, I knew that his anus was stretched wide, but it was
probably not a lot more than he was already well used to. He
paused, feeling it bulging between his split cheeks. His
sphincter clutched and he winced, swallowed, then slowly,
deliberately pushed it home, so that the anus circled the groove.
He took a deep breath. He looked exhausted. Only seconds passed
before he slowly stood up again, now moving awkwardly. He smiled
slightly as he felt it adjusting inside, stretching, stimulating.

"Turn around so we can have a look," I suggested
lightheartedly.

He turned slowly, placing his hands on his still-clenched
buttocks. He squeezed slightly, tightening his bowels around the
intrusion. It would take him a minute or two to get used to it,
but it was obviously not too painful.

"Cool," Brandon said admiringly. "Very cool. See, it went in
okay. I told you it was really easy to get it in."

"Feels okay?" I asked.

Grant nodded. The plug was seated properly, its symmetrical
penetration reaching just to his prostate. The pointed end was
too small to overstimulate him, while the other end would cause
his sphincter to dilate fully. The pink circular knob of the
other end was all that was visible and it lay snugly between the
pale mounds of his cheeks, encompassed by the dark ring of his
well-stretched anus. With his briefs and jeans on, there would be
no sign of what was lodged within his slender body.

"Now you, Brando," Grant demanded as he looked at his
friend.

Brandon grinned back at him and bent forward. Holding his
still warm plug at his rear in one hand and parting his cheeks
with the other, he wriggled. Grant watched with interest while
Brandon eased back against the object held firmly in his hand.
Brandon's hips squirmed, rotating over the ball again and again
until it was forced through. Without the benefits of a taper, his
anus was forced to its maximum opening before there was any
relief. There was a momentary cruel pain visible on his face when
it passed beyond the point of no return.

"Shit!" Brandon complained. "That hurt."

"You ought to have a smaller one," I teased.

"No! He needs a bigger one," Grant chortled, "the same way I
need a big one."

Grant fastened the strap to Brandon's satisfaction and
walked over to the chest of drawers that held his clothes, moving
awkwardly as the plastic cone continued to change position within
his rectum. Getting dressed provoked visible discomfort,
especially when he had to bend to put his clothes on. He sat down
on the side of his bed to pull his briefs and jeans past his
feet. His gasp was audible as the wedge was forced higher and
took the load under his bottom. He looked up and smiled at me,
feeling the pointed end lodged against his prostate.

His anus was stretched as wide as it could go. It was as
thick as my penis, bigger than he needed. I had no doubts that
the plug's full hardness was filling him up to the point of
discomfort. It was bigger than our home-made apparatus. It felt
like my penis was halfway inside him, incredibly hard and unable
to control. I imagined it could be difficult to get out if the
restraining strap was not there to keep it in place.

A few minutes later we left the house, carrying our
overnight bags and ready for a night of fun. The four of us would
welcome the New Year together. After what had happened in Grant's
bedroom I harbored a vague suspicion and a unrelenting hope that
at least for part of the time all four of us would be together.
The idea excited me greatly.

The snow had started as flurries, but the overcast sky
suggested that more was on the way. It dimmed my good feelings. I
expected the snow would get worse as the afternoon continued. For
a moment I ruefully considered whether it would snow all day,
continuing right through the weekend. There was a possibility
that we might get snowed in. If we did, the next few days would
probably be spent indoors, and then I thought of spending the
time with three people who I loved. There was even a chance of
having some time alone with Brandon. The mere thought was enough
to provoke another erection.

"What car are we taking?" Grant asked as we entered the barn
behind the house.

"The truck I guess," I answered. "We'd better bring some
more feed for when you bring Moonraker back here."

"Yeah, the truck!" Grant exclaimed excitedly.

He grinned at me, leaving me wondering why it seemed that
the afternoon had just become much more interesting. With boyish
enthusiasm, they climbed in the same side of the pick-up truck,
put their bags under their feet, and fastened their seat-belts
while they giggled and whispered conspiratorially. I had no doubt
that a prank was being considered. Like true boys, they were
oblivious to the mess lying on the front seat and on the floor,
but then, most of the mess was their's anyway. There were
wrappers from fast food snacks and empty drink containers, a
multitude of receipts for farm purchases that my accountant
needed, more than a few magazines, and newspapers from several
weeks ago.

"On the count of three!" Grant giggled from his seat beside
me.

"Now what!" I challenged. "What do you two have planned?"

Brandon and Grant laughed hysterically. They shrieked in
unison. "ONE! TWO! THREE!"

Four hands unfastened belts, buttons, and zippers. They
paused, laughing as they both glanced to me for approval. It was
impossible not to encourage them. I nodded, grinning at what they
were suggesting, encouraging what should not have been
encouraged, but unwilling to stop them. They were incorrigible.
They were boys, and boys will always be boys. Jeans and briefs
were shoved hastily downward to their knees. Needless to say,
both boys were sporting erections, yet again. I stared, excited
by their proud display of their young aroused bodies. I was
beginning to realize that Grant was even more uninhibited with
Brandon around.

"Come on guys," I chuckled as they flaunted their nudity at
me and flipped at their penises, getting them even stiffer until
they bounced against their bellies.

"Only Brandon can't come," Grant giggled.

"Neither can you, dick head," Brandon retorted gleefully.

"But he'll wear it out trying," I laughed. "You too, spunk-
boy," I added with a playful wink at Brandon. "You give a great
hand job by the way."

Brandon responded with a wink of his own.

I started the engine and began to reverse out of the parking
area in front of the house. As soon as I was on the road, I
looked over at the two boys beside me. Despite everything, I had
often thought that size accounts for almost everything, but
Brandon's noticeably shorter but fatter sex organ excited me in
the same way that Grant's 'torpedo' genitals did. 'Nothing quite
like a penis with a boy attached', I mused to myself.

"You better get your jeans up before we get to the bridge,"
I chided.

"Aw, Dad," Grant whined. "Don't be a spoil-sport."

His fingers stroked the very tip of his penis, teasing the
opening in his foreskin as he flexed his little shaft. Although I
was disturbed by the possibility that someone would see them as I
began to drive down the snow-filled tracks that were now the only
indications of the road to Gary's place, I reasoned that they
would be largely hidden from sight because of the height of the
vehicle. I still worried that a truck driver might see them and
report my license number to the police. What was worse, while the
prospect of an accident was remote on the short stretch of back
road, I would be distracted if the boys did not behave
themselves.

"What if someone sees you?" I demanded. "Do you want to get
me arrested?"

The boys shared a guilty glance. "No one will see us!" they
said together. "Except you, Mr. Travers," Brandon smirked. "And
you don't count."

"It's Chris from now on Brandon! Once you show a guy your
dick you can call him by his first name," I laughed. "Besides,
what do you mean, I don't count?"

"'cause you're like my dad now," Brandon giggled. "And
you've already had a good look at it."

"What if we have an accident?" I returned, wondering what
'like my dad' really meant. Did it mean what I wanted it to mean?
And if it did, what did that imply?

"You have to pay attention to the driving, Dad," Grant
answered swiftly. "Keep your eyes on the road and don't look at
us," he taunted with endearing boldness.

"Hmmmmm. You're a little sex-maniac, did you know that. No
wonder Brandon calls you 'dick head'?" I taunted.

"Uh huh!" Grant grinned. "And you like it, too. Anyway, I
know how to keep your eyes on the road, Dad."

He twisted in his seat and reached behind him, into the
'black-hole' that contained three years of junk displaced from
the front seat. He retrieved a blanket that badly needed a wash.
He was still grinning widely as he settled back in his seat.

"Don't worry. If we think someone can see us, we'll put the
blanket over us, okay?"

"Can you put the heat on? It's cold in here," Brandon asked
with a playful smile.

"Use the blanket," I guffawed.

Unlike me, only a few moments later the boys lost interest
in being naked. Their erections all but disappeared by the time
we had crossed the bridge and turned onto the road. For the time
being, they were 'normal' boys instead of 'sex-maniacs'. They
started to sing. They had singing voices that left a lot to be
desired, although their screeching to mock the Hanson brothers'
Christmas CD was pretended most of the time. I stole frequent
glances, peeking at their smooth young bodies. Despite my
familiarity with Grant, I still committed each precious detail to
memory.

It was the stuff of fantasy, and either boy was the perfect
fulfillment of a boy-lover's longings. Grant's lean thighs
touched only at his knees and next to his crotch, the curve of
his still-suntanned belly followed a 'v', narrowing from a dozen
fine folds of skin around his navel down to his sex. Precious,
immature, a delectable boy-morsel that was displayed like a
treasure. His penis was limp, was cushioned sleepily on his right
thigh. Unlike Brandon, his loose testicles were still too small
to weigh his scrotum down or fill it out. Brandon was still a
long way from starting puberty and fleeting down the path to
adulthood, but his balls appeared succulent, or maybe just suck-
able. The boys' giggling brought me back to reality.

"I think Brandon's got a question for you, Dad?"

"Yes!" I answered immediately.

"I saw the jar next to the bed so I assume you guys use
Vaseline right?" Brandon asked gleefully.

I nodded, considered inventing a poor excuse like chaffed
skin, and then resorted to the truth. I was certain that Grant
had told Brandon everything. It was time to take responsibility.

"Uh huh."

"We used to use it too. Then we switched to Eros. Do you
know what that is?"

'We?' What did he mean? Brandon and Grant? Brandon and Gary?
I took a deep breath and tried to control my excitement.

"Huh? Oh? Eros?"

If I had any doubts, the name alone was a dead give away. I
swallowed. I tried to think about changing the topic. I gave up.
Sooner or later it would all come into the open and there would
be no secrets.

"Yeah, I know what it is," I replied awkwardly as Grant
squealed with merriment.

"You can't buy it around here, but you can get it on the
Internet. It's really slippery," Brandon stated, suddenly the
expert. "And you only need to use a tiny bit each time so it
doesn't make a mess like Vaseline."

He reached down into his overnight bag and pushed his
tangled collection of clothes back and forth as he searched. I
wondered whether Brandon had remembered to bring his toothbrush,
before I concluded that the boys probably shared Grant's
toothbrush yet again. After a few seconds of rummaging around, he
retrieved a half-full, though quite small bottle. He held it up
so that we could see. It was innocuous in appearance, not unlike
glycerine at first glance. However, the label's claims of 'oil-
free', 'water-free' 'hypo- allergenic', and 'tasteless' suggested
that a purpose that was far from being innocuous.

"What else do you have in there?" I laughed.

"Lots of stuff!" Brandon grinned.

"Were you planning on having an orgy, Brandon?" I asked as
my penis lurched in yet another enthusiastic rally.

"Orgy? What's that, Dad?" Grant smirked as he gazed at me in
pretended innocence.

"Probably what happened in your room last night after I
left, Grant," I laughed.

"What else do you think we did, Dad?" Grant answered. He
smirked gleefully. "No, don't answer that!"

Brandon regarded both of us with a self-satisfied look, his
eyes lingering on Grant as they shared yet another secret
message. Another plot was underway and I was being dragged along
with them.

"There's Dad's pick-up," Brandon chimed as his house came
into view over the rise. "He must have left town earlier than he
expected."



"Hi Gary. We would've come over sooner but I didn't know you
were back already," I said when the front door opened.

Gary grinned. "I left town early. With all this goddam snow
I wasn't taking the chance of getting stuck there for New Year's
Eve. Hell, I've been sitting around here with nothing to do but
watch television since ten o'clock, and wishing that I'd stopped
by your place and brought the boys back with me."

I smiled, turned away and beckoned to the boys to hurry up.
In seconds they had finished pulling their jeans up and were out
of the cab, slamming the door loudly before they darted across
the snow-covered grass. Brandon led by only a matter of inches
despite the fact that he had a head start because he was sitting
next to the door. He carried his bag in one hand and used the
other to wipe the snow from his face. They stopped beside me,
breathless and grinning.

Grant looked sheepishly at Gary.

"Hi Gee-Tee," Gary said with not-surprising affection. "Glad
to see you."

"Hi Gary," Grant replied with a shy smile. "How has my pony
been getting on?"

"He's doing fine. How about you?" Gary asked with a voice
that was veiled with innocence.

"Okay!" Grant answered quickly.

"You didn't come over to see Brandon until late yesterday. I
was beginning to wonder whether you two guys were still best
friends."

I wondered whether something had happened, something I did
not know about. There was something in his tone, in Grant's
sudden response, in the way he changed feet and did not meet
Gary's eyes. Grant had spent the previous night at Gary's place,
ostensibly sleeping with Brandon, but from personal experience I
suspected they had done more than sleep. He was more than capable
of keeping a secret from me if he wanted. Brandon and Grant
shared a quick glance. I felt like an interloper, divorced from
this relationship and unable to take part in the conversation.

"Yeah, of course we are," Grant said as he looked down at
his feet. His blushing nervousness caused Gary to smile.

"He's a lot cuter when he's embarassed, isn't he Chris?"

I shrugged uncomfortably.

"So what say you guys go do some sledding for a while. The
way the snow is starting to come down we'll probably have a
blizzard by evening," Gary suggested. "Hell, from the weather
report I just heard, we may even be snowed in for a few days."

The boys grinned and bolted outside again. We followed them
to the verandah, stood there silently watching as they scrambled
up the slope. One run followed another. It was free
entertainment, and it was very entertaining. We could hear their
screams of laughter even though they were several hundred yards
away. It was good to see them having fun as only young boys can.



"How have you and Grant been doing? Everything going okay?"

"Okay," I replied awkwardly.

"You know, I think I finally figured out why I like boys,"
Gary quipped.

"Really? Knowing you, I think I can figure it out," I said
cynically.

Despite everything that had happened since Christmas Eve,
part of me was still uncomfortable with the idea of men and boys
being lovers. Perhaps it was guilt. Whenever Gary and I talked
seriously, or in jest, it seemed that the conversation was always
steered back to that topic. Each time, I felt a surge of
excitement, yet something within me reacted against it. Even now,
knowing that I was Grant's lover, knowing that the boys had been
intimate since the summer, knowing that there was a very strong
likelihood that Gary and Brandon also had been having sex, I
struggled with my desire. Was it as wrong as society treated it?
I shifted feet, hoping that the conversation would take a
different direction.

Gary grinned, reached over and brushed the snow from my
jacket. "Don't worry, Chris. It has nothing to do with s-e-x.
Just being around them makes me feel like a boy again."

"I must say just watching them sledding is pretty
invigorating."

"Every time I look at your boy, Chris, I think life is worth
living. He's a boy's boy. He speaks a mile a minute. He has so
much energy it tires you just to watch him. Hell, he redefines
the word 'dare-devil'."

"I have to agree with that. My heart is palpitating just
looking at him. I keep wondering how long it will take the EMS
guys to get here."

"Ten minutes and twenty-five seconds, in good weather," Gary
replied with a smile. "I happen to know that because I had them
here a year or so ago when Brandon was thrown from his horse. But
stop worrying. Boys like our two are virtually indestructible.
All Brandon got was a mild concussion." He laughed. "I think it
helped rather than hurt him."

"Damn. Look at them now. They've moved from the safe slope
over into the trees."

The forest area was a lot steeper--which was about a one in
two slope (very steep). Apart from the trees, and there were a
lot of them, there were also branches everywhere and a lot of
fallen tree trunks. It promised a wild and fast ride from the
back of the barn a couple of hundred yards to the creek-where
there was a ten foot drop.

"Maybe we ought to call a standby ambulance just in case,"
Gary joked. "Look at what Grant is teaching my boy to do now. You
ought to be glad I'm not the litigious type."

They were taking a running start, leaping onto their plastic
sleds, going full pelt down the slope to pick up speed, and then
jumping a series of fallen logs. On one or two of the jumps they
went a few feet into the air and maybe eight feet in distance
before they bottomed out with a spine jarring thump. My hands
clenched, resisting the impulse to shout. There were a few logs
that were so close that almost as soon as they came down they had
to jump the next one. My belly churned. I waited for the scream
of agony as young bones were fractured. I had a mental picture of
blood stains seeping into the snow.

"Wow! Look at that," Gary said admiringly. "If I was doing
that, I think I'd fill my pants."

The sleds were pretty much out of control at that point, so
it was only to be expected that one of them would get flipped at
the next jump. It happened exactly as I predicted. Only it was
not one boy, but both of them. They slewed to the side and rolled
through mud, leaves, sticks, snow, and God only knew what else
for twenty feet before they just managed to stop themselves
falling the ten feet into the creek.

"If it wasn't so dangerous you would die laughing," I said
stoically.

Gary laughed despite the seriousness of the situation. "You
know, I think Grant is sweet and a really good friend for my boy
to have. If anyone gets into Brandon's pants I want it to be
Grant. I think he'd make a great lover as well as a best friend."

I regarded Gary uncertainly. We were back to 'that topic'
again. "Yeah, that sounds great,... if he doesn't kill him
first."

Gary shrugged. "So? It's a bit dangerous. But boys will be
boys, Chris. I wouldn't have it any other way. They thrive on
taking risks. It's what being a boy is all about. Sometimes I
wish Brandon was more like Grant in that respect."

"Boys can also do some really dumb things too," I said
nervously.

I watched Grant clamber back up the slope to pick up his
sled. Brandon was a few feet behind him. Both boys were laughing
their heads off. They were intoxicated by the sheer excitement of
what they had done. Except for the mud on their clothes, neither
seemed to damaged.

"On one of those tree trunks there's a branch sticking out."
I pointed. "It's right at the level of his head."

Gary nodded in agreement. "I see it, Chris. There are
probably other branches you can't see where if they lost control
a moment earlier, it would be ideally placed to tear off a much
needed body part."

"And you don't worry about them?" I asked critically.

Again, Gary shrugged nonchalantly. "To be honest, I'd
probably worry about that, if I had to worry about something.
It's my favorite part of a boy after all. If I wasn't so cold,
I'd join them. Talk about boy-fun!"

"well, not me. I'm ready for some coffee," I said. "Maybe we
should make them move back to the grass slope. If they start
higher up they could jump the driveway instead."

"It's not as good a jump as the logs though, is it?" Gary
remarked with good humor. "You have to let him make his own
decisions sooner or later, Chris."

I wanted to say that he already had made his own decisions,
the really important decisions that would affect the rest of his
life. Instead, I glanced down at my feet. If Grant or Brandon was
hurt, I would never forgive myself. Someone had to show some
common sense. The boys made the decision themselves. Even as I
opened my mouth to call out, Grant and Brandon dragged their
sleds away from the trees. They were safe for the present, but it
would be only a matter of time before they felt the need to
repeat the exercise.

"Hey Dad," Grant bellowed at the top of his lungs. "Watch
this! Standing up is way cool."

He did the same running start, only when he leapt onto the
sled he remained standing, half crouching, riding his sled like a
snow board but without the feet restraints.

"That boy has a mean sense of balance," Gary observed.

"Awesome," I commented. I was still nervous, but I could
live with this. "I've seen him do it before. Watch when he jumps
the driveway. When he lands, it's all he can do to stay on."

Grant picked up speed before he came to a snow mound that
was big enough to lift both boy and sled into the air. Even as
the sled came down, Grant leaped off and rolled over and over
into the snow. He came to his feet, brushing off clouds of
powder, grinning as only a boy can.

"It's time for some coffee," Gary laughed. "Our little
adrenaline junkies will be out here for a couple more hours, if
I'm not mistaken."

Two hours became three. When they finally came to the door
they were red-faced with cold, shivering, and wet. They looked
exhausted as they shook of clouds of snow and lumps of ice from
their boots. The snow had increased from flurries to a steady
accumulation. The possibility of being snowed in for a few days
was increasingly likely.

Gary smirked. "Well come on in and get your clothes off. The
wet ones, I mean,.... You had better leave your undies on. You
guys get dried off before you go upstairs for a hot bath," he
added, gesturing for the boys to follow him into the living room
behind him.

He stood to the side. Once they had all trooped past him, he
closed the door behind them and fastened the dead-bolt. It seemed
like an inordinate amount of security given that nothing ever
happened in the area. The neighboring farms were more than a mile
away as the crow flew. But something was going to happen later in
the evening, and all four of us knew it. He had locked the door
to ensure privacy.

Memories of what I shared with Grant filled my mind. That he
probably did the same, or similar things with Brandon, reinforced
my arousal. We were men who loved boys, and everyone in the room
knew it. What would happen? I knew what I wanted to happen. I
gazed about the room nervously. Grant stood awkwardly next to
Brandon, aware of my discomfort and his own complicity. When I
met his eyes, he quickly looked away. What was going through his
head? was he thinking what I was thinking? What would he do
if,...? Then, without saying a word, as confused as I had ever
been, I turned away and ambled back to the fireplace where I had
been sitting since we had come inside.

A few minutes later, I heard the sounds of laughter, the
slap of a hand on a firm young buttock, the noise from two nearly
naked boys as they disappeared up the stairs. Gary joined me and
took up a position beside the fire. He regarded me curiously. In
his right hand he held a black video-tape.

Gary studied me without speaking for several seconds. His
voice was thoughtful, yet confident.

"Okay. I guess they'll be gone for a while. There's time for
us to talk, Chris."

I looked at Gary. There was something on his mind. The same
thing that was on my mind. Did I trust him enough to tell him
about us? The answer came even before I asked the question.

"I trust you more than I trust anyone else. If I show you
this video, Chris, I want you to promise me you'll never tell
anyone.... No one!" he added insistently.

I tensed as his demand reached my befuddled brain. Fantasy
was becoming reality. What was on the video? I could guess. There
was only one thing that he would demand such secrecy for. My body
trembled suddenly as adrenaline blasted along my arteries. I
nodded as I assented.

"It's all the evidence they'll need to put me in jail for
the rest of my life, but I'm sure I can trust you," Gary said
with a hint of a smile.

He pushed the tape into the player and turned the television
on.

"What you're going to see may come as something of a shock,
Chris, but then again, maybe it won't. I think you've pretty much
guessed about Brandon and me by now, just as I know what you and
Grant have been doing."

There was no need to respond. I knew. Gary knew. I breathed
out. In a way it was reassuring more than relieving. I was glad.
I wanted to talk to him, another adult, an understanding ear,
someone who had been through the same turmoil. There was a
momentary wait. The screen was blue with only a single white
arrow to indicate that the tape was running. Gary sat down on the
adjacent couch, leaned back and crossed his legs at the ankles.
He was very relaxed, a long way from where I was, sitting on the
edge of my seat. I knew what was coming, or at least I thought I
did. Seconds passed. I could feel my pulse quicken and the flow
of blood building in my groin.

The video started innocently. The video had been made in the
same room we were now in. It was a pleasant room if a little old
fashioned with its high ceilings and elaborate plaster moldings.
Across the room I could see the same couch that I was sitting on.
Brandon, beautiful sweet Brandon, was playing the piano, the same
piano that stood in the corner opposite the fireplace. I did not
recognize the music, but I immediately decided that he was very
good. The music was haunting, and it was made even more dramatic
because I sensed what would follow shortly. He was attired in a
loose-fitting shirt that hung more than a foot below his waist.
In all likelihood, it was his father's tee-shirt, and it was
startlingly erotic. I thought of Grant, beautiful Grant, wearing
my clothes as he had recently started doing, just my tee-shirt
with nothing on underneath. Was Brandon also naked from the waist
down? His hair had been neatly brushed. Despite the fluid
movements of his long thin fingers, he was anything but relaxed.

"I'm a boy-lover,... but then you already knew that didn't
you?" Gary said, breaking the brief silence.

I nodded slightly, thoughtfully. 'Boy lover'? The two words
were innocent until they were put together. 'Boy lover', the one
thing that modern society loathed. It was the one thing that no
man wanted to be. It was the one thing that I had managed to
avoid until a few all-too-brief days and nights ago. I was a 'boy
lover'. Sitting across from me, the father of my son's best
friend, was another one.

"The only trouble with loving a boy is that it's a fleeting
thing. You might call it a passing passion, an entire lifetime
that has to be forced into a year or two,...." Gary added
passionately before his voice faded.

He was sad, but he had a reason to be sad. The music was
sad. Being a 'boy lover' was also sad. Nearly a minute passed
before he spoke again. The music carried me effortlessly, leaving
the impression that I could listen to it forever.

"It's the saddest love of all."

"You sound like you know what you're talking about," I
murmured.

His words had struck a chord within me. At that moment, I
was thinking of how fast Grant would grow up. The very thought
was painful. It was, I realized, such a very short time to be in
love with someone. I understood what he was feeling, trying to
express in words. At ten years old, there was at best only a few
more years before Grant started puberty. Some boys started even
sooner, even as young as ten. My attraction to him would end at
puberty or shortly after. I knew it would, no matter how much
either of us wanted it to continue. The end would be both sad and
relieving. A boy-lover lived in constant fear of discovery until
the fleeting love ended abruptly.

"It,... it's just a matter him growing up. It has to
happen," I added sympathetically.

"Yes, it does. It doesn't make it any easier."

"I think a person has to accept it as part of loving a boy.
You have to take what you can get, when you can, assuming he's
willing to give it, of course."

"With Brandon, being willing is not a problem. He's
special,... Like Grant is special," Gary murmured. "I know I
don't have to tell you that, do I?"

"He's gay?"

"Yes!"

"So is Grant,... I think."

"I expect he is. Actually, I'd be surprised if he wasn't."

On the television, Brandon was becoming increasingly nervous
with frequent glances over his shoulder as the camera continued
to record his wonderful music. Still, he looked away from the
camera and I guessed that someone was holding his interest
captive, that someone who was standing next to the photographer.
Intuitively, I knew that the person was Gary. The photographer, I
could only guess at, but reason said that it had to be Grant.

"It's difficult enough, but when the charming boy becomes a
youth," Gary continued. He glanced at me quickly. "That's what I
worry about most with Brandon. How it ends." He sighed. "I know
he'll want other men after I lose interest in him. I don't want
him hurt by it. The best thing that could happen to him,....
well,... I'd like to think it was Grant who took over from me."

I nodded understandingly. "I expect so."

"Either a boy shrugs it off and turns to girls, or when his
man friend begins to lose interest, he had better find someone
else. Any way you look at it, a broken heart is left behind."

"I never thought of it like that."

"It's true, Chris. It's going to be the same with you and
Grant, you know. The last time you were up and Grant stayed with
us, during Thanksgiving,... when this video was made, we talked
about it. I think we all wanted to preserve the moment,....
everything,.... you know,... It's so special, this period in a
boy's life, while he's young and carefree. It's beautiful, you
know what I mean, Chris? Not just physically,... that too, of
course. Brandon is beautiful and so is Grant. But it's more than
that, a lot more. The whole thing, of being in love, having the
feelings for the first time, of being held close, knowing he's
loved, and loving back too, that's what's important. To keep that
moment forever, that's the whole point. It brings something into
your life, knowing he's happy,..." Gary stopped and took a deep
long breath. "God, I'm going on, aren't I Chris?"

I nodded again. "Maudlin?" I suggested, then slowly shook my
head. "I feel the same way about it, Gary. Sad yet happy. Every
moment is precious at Grant's and Brandon's age."

One minute passed in silence. Then Brandon finished playing
and my attention was riveted on the television. Slowly he stood
and turned away from the polished wooden bench he had been
sitting on. I anticipated a bow. Casually he lifted his arms up,
drawing his overly-large tee-shirt upwards, then past his head,
pulling his arms through. He smiled slightly, pausing
uncertainly. I gazed upon his nearly naked body, enraptured. He
wore black briefs, low-cut and tight fitting. He paused for a few
seconds as the camera focused. There was a dull sheen on the thin
silk cloth that covered his prominent pre-pubescent bulge. It
looked like silk.

He peeled the covering away. His squat stiffness seemed
expected. When I had seen him by the side of the pool, in Grant's
bed, in the bathroom that morning, it was puny even when it was
erect. It was still small, although it stood proudly to
attention. Its owner gazed at the camera with a distant
expression, as if he knew the thoughts of the person who was
witnessing his undressing, as if he could look into my mind and
see my appreciation. Yet I felt remote, remote like a voyeur
who's role will never extend beyond that of a hidden observer.

Both my own son and another man were there with him. I had
known Gary for five years. He was a man with whom I had only
started to share secrets, just as Brandon was sharing himself in
the video. I wanted to participate, to walk forward into the
camera's field of view and join the beautiful nearly naked boy,
to complete what had been started during the previous summer. I
could do that by bringing all four of us together.

What happened was that Brandon pushed his briefs down to the
floor, stepped from them, and put his hands on his hips. It was a
beautiful sight. I watched in silent awe, captivated by a lean,
smooth body. From behind the camera, Gary slowly walked forward.
He was naked. Although he was photographed from behind, I
realized he was like me, erect. Beyond him, I watched Brandon
smile as his eyes lowered. My imagination filled in what I could
not see. Gary approached the boy who was waiting beside the
polished black piano. The contrast between them was startling and
overpowering. Except for his buttocks, Gary was pale. He was also
quite hairy. Beside the darkly tanned yet soft-skinned boy, he
was very masculine. Perhaps that was why some men liked a boy to
be younger, at least a year or two before they had suffered the
ravages of puberty. Was it a boy's pretty face and glistening
hair, a smooth hairless body that bordered on feminine? There was
a long pause while father and son looked at each other, clearly
contemplating each other's bodies, obviously deriving
satisfaction just from looking.

Gary coughed and I glanced at him quickly, afraid to miss
even a single second of the video. In the passage of only a few
minutes it was as if it held the meaning to my own existence.

"He's beautiful isn't he?" he said softly.

"Yes he is," I mumbled self-consciously. "He's very
beautiful."

"I want him to be happy." Gary sighed. "He is. He is so
happy, now. I just wish the time we had together was longer,..."

"I know how you feel," I muttered self-consciously.

"People say love should come before sex," Gary said
awkwardly. "Living the way Brandon and I have lived, it's
different. Love and sex go hand in hand. You can't have one
without the other. You start with love and then you have sex. And
then the love grows even stronger."

I looked away, back to the television. Gary had stepped
closer, obscuring part of Brandon's body. Close enough to touch
him. I saw his shoulder flex, his arm move. He was caressing the
boy's flank. I swallowed. I could feel the silky smooth skin,
radiantly warm yet sleek. My fingers tingled.

"Loving freely," Gary mused. "That's what it really is
about, you know. Loving who you want, not someone who society
says is appropriate. It's about loving without fear of what other
people think or expect. I want my son to know what it means to be
free like that. It's what I experienced when I was a boy. I want
Brandon to be free to do what he chooses. If it means giving
himself into a another man's embrace, loving him and being loved
in return, so be it. It isn't that great a sacrifice, not if he's
happy. It's Brandon's choice. I've never forced him. It always
has been that way with me."

I risked another glance, curious as to why he continually
referred to 'sacrifice'. Who was he alluding to when he talked
about Brandon 'giving himself into another man's embrace'? Gary's
eyes met mine. His expression was very serious.

"They're both lucky boys," I said softly. "It sounds like we
are both very understanding."

He regarded me curiously, eyes narrowing. He smiled
slightly, almost thinking aloud.

"Of course, if he does, I know it's always going to be more
than just a kiss and a hug," Gary ventured. "However, I can live
with that. I don't want Brandon to be promiscuous, but I
certainly don't want him to be inhibited either. If a boy is
going to be gay, it's only natural for him to want a man's
affection. I don't know about you, but I fully expect it to be
sexual."

I nodded vaguely, thinking of Brandon and Grant and what had
happened during the previous night, wondering why he referred to
me in the way he did.

"Of course, having one partner is certainly better for a boy
than changing every night, but if that's what Brandon wants, I
won't go out of my way to stop him. I might make him pay for his
own rubbers out of his pocket money, though," Gary laughed
cynically.

"You're pretty open-minded."

"Am I?" he asked. "I'm just being a realist, Chris. I've
always believed that a person's sexuality is nothing to be
ashamed of. Brandon's entire life has been spent on a farm. Maybe
that's why he's more open about sex than most kids. He's grown up
with it. Sex is part of nature after all, and being gay is just
another option."

I shrank away from his words, suddenly terrified of my
feelings and a realization of what they intended. I loved Grant
with all my heart, but Gary seemed to be talking about how I felt
about Brandon. He seemed to know what had happened during the
night before.

My eyes were pulled back to the television. Brandon's arms
were around Gary's neck, pulling his head down even as the boy
reached up on tiptoes. Kissing. The room seemed claustrophobic,
the air redolent with the odor of something I could not describe
beyond that it seemed very familiar. I shuddered. I needed to get
away, to confront what loomed before me. Until now, my desires
had been directed to one boy, my own son, with only a vague and
undefined attraction to another boy. Sometime, recently, Brandon
had become the object of concealed lust. My secret thoughts,
thoughts that I had never shared, not even with Grant, were
rising to the surface and becoming real. Loving Brandon was a
hope that I had nearly rejected. I watched intently, fascinated
by the boy's sexuality. The kiss went on and on, their bodies
pressed tightly together now, rubbing front against front, Gary's
arms locked around the boy, urgently lifting Brandon up into the
air. Man pressed against boy, belly against belly, penis against
penis. Brandon's legs wriggled, his feet hanging freely. My sex
throbbed disturbingly as I stared. Another question demanded an
answer, despite the fact that the answer I heard would not be
what I wanted to hear.

"You're the photographer?" I asked quietly.

My voice was shaky. I wanted to think that they had set the
video camera up on a tripod even though I saw the instability of
hand-held recording.

"Of course not." Gary smiled as he hesitated. "Grant is. I
thought you knew?"

"No," I said. "I guess I shouldn't be too surprised."

"You didn't know what happened when he stayed here the night
after Thanksgiving? He's pretty good at using a camera, don't you
think?"

"I suppose so," I agreed glumly.

It was obvious then that Grant had kept secrets from me. I
wondered whether he had been given a role in the video beyond
operating the camera. It was an unpleasant thought, but I was not
so easily diverted. When Brandon's feet touched the floor again I
could not help but smile. Instinctively, his hand came back to
wipe the wetness from his lips. Boys would be boys and kissing
would always meet with the same reaction. Grant was no different.
He didn't like spit on his lips either. Still, Brandon grinned.
Then his hand dropped down to his belly, again wiping away more
wetness.

My own copious pre-seminal fluid was leaking into my briefs
and my penis ached with bulging hardness. I imagined that the
boy's belly would have been slick with Gary's excretion. I
realized that I had been seconds away from ejaculating during the
all-too-brief time they had embraced. Now, I felt relieved.

"It looks like you made a bit of a mess on him," I ventured
with a smile. "But it also looks like a hell of a lot of fun."

"It's good for boys like Brandon to be close to a man.
People might not like to hear me say that, but it's true." Gary
hesitated. "I'm surprised you didn't know about the video. I
thought Grant had told you about it."

"No, he didn't. You make it sound so normal for men and boys
to be together."

Gary laughed. "It is normal, or at least it should be. You
know something, although you might find it hard to believe,
Brandon has even tried pussy. Only once as far as I know. It
happened when he was about six. There was a little girl who lived
about a half mile down the road. She was about eight. A real
little vixen."

"Poor Brandon probably didn't know what hit him," I
chuckled.

"I think it shocked him. He had a nightmare that night and
wet the bed. Now and then, one of the girls at his school still
gets interested in him. It doesn't last very long. Sooner or
later they figure out that he's not interested in them in the
same way."

"You make it sound like Brandon isn't interested at all in
girls."

"He's not!"

"You sound so certain."

"Well, let's just say that up till now he's only been
interested in his own sex. Your Grant is the same way, isn't he?"

"I guess so. There have been times when I wondered if he
might be gay. He has friends who are more like boyfriends. I
tried to tell myself it was just a stage he was going through."

"One of them being Brandon?"

"Uh? Yes,... I guess."

"It's nothing to be ashamed about, Chris. A boy's going to
be straight or gay, or somewhere in between. As soon as I was
sure about Brandon, I knew someone would have to teach him what
he needed to know," Gary admitted with a smile. "Living out here
in the country, there was no one else. It had to be someone I
could trust. There's too much at stake."

"So you took over the role of teacher?" I asked. Gary
nodded. "It looks like you were a good teacher," I commented.

Gary laughed. "I did my best. And Brandon enjoyed his
lessons too, believe me. If you want proof, just watch this next
part!"

The camera zoomed in for a close-up shot, from just above
Brandon's knees to his navel. His small genitals were in the
center of the picture. A boy could not be more perfect, I
decided. His penis was fully erect and it was still less than
three inches long. His scrotum was fully contracted and had
become a fat rounded mound formed by his testicles. It was quite
the opposite of Grant's flattened scrotum. Like my son, he was
absolutely hairless. 'Unparalleled beauty' I thought to myself.
Well, almost 'unparalleled. Brandon had only one equal among the
many boys who I had come to know while raising Grant. That one
boy was my son.

Gary dropped to his knees, his back still to the camera. He
leaned forward and Brandon's hands moved to hold his head. Gary's
head moved slightly as licked the delicate morsel that was
offered to him. Then Brandon's thighs jerked with a sudden push,
leaving no doubt in my mind where his penis had been relocated.
At the same time, Gary's hands reached around Brandon's buttocks
and held him tightly.

"Yum," I mused aloud. "Pretty tasty, huh?"

Gary laughed. "Very tasty. It gets better."

I watched silently, jealous of Gary, yet incredibly excited
by his lewd act. Lewd? hadn't I done exactly the same thing to
Grant so often during the last few days that I had lost count.
>From it outset it was clear that it was mutual. Like Grant,
Brandon was giving himself and taking what he wanted, making his
own decisions and moving freely.

Over the period of the next minute or more, Gary manoeuvred
Brandon until he was sideways to the camera. The boy was humping
with what appeared to be experienced thrusts. He was certainly no
stranger to oral sex. With each forward thrust his little
buttocks clenched into taut, pinched mounds, ramming his short
but proudly extended sex into Gary's mouth as far as it could go.
The camera wandered, from one face to the other, from roaming
hands that caressed excited nipples, to the source of pleasure,
now rigid, wet and throbbing in the hot luxury of Gary's mouth.
The motion varied, at times slow, then a rapid rhythm, then
erratic. The camera moved around them, focusing, zooming,
shifting back and forth from faces to feet, downward to show
Brandon's legs twitching, his toes curled up. I watched in
amazement that such ecstasy could be captured by a boy who had
probably never used a video camera before for more than a few
minutes.

"It's,... it's incredible," I admitted. "It really is
beautiful."

"Yes it is," Gary agreed. "Each time I watch it, I'm
surprised. Brandon is so happy, you can see it in his eyes."

"Uh huh," I smirked. "You looks like you're having some fun
too," I chuckled.

"Actually it's mutual, but then it always is when you're in
love."

I sighed as I saw another close-up of Brandon's face. His
eyes were wide, his lips slightly apart as if waiting to be
kissed again. His joyful expression was momentarily disturbing,
then suddenly realizing how much Grant was a part of Brandon's
life, I felt a terrible sadness brought on less by jealousy than
by the insight I gained from watching the video. It was
impossible that Grant had not tasted the forbidden pleasure for
himself., He taken advantage of the opportunity presented to him
by two of his most favorite people in the world. My treasured
memory, of taking Grant's virginity in the bath tub suddenly
seemed rather ridiculous. It was impossible that he had been
untouched given what he had witnessed at first hand. He had been
part of everything that I was only now seeing. Yet, reason
intervened just as I became convinced that Grant had done the
same things with Gary that Brandon was doing on the television.
My mind turned to think that perhaps Brandon had even video-taped
them together. Another movie featuring Gary and Grant? Was it
possible? Was there another video-tape that recorded my son's
loss of innocence? The thought rose up and stymied my reason,
insight became jealousy and in turn gave way to loathing. It was
too late to change what had happened.

However, despite how much I wanted to hate him, I knew that
Gary would never do anything to hurt a boy. Like me, Gary was a
boy lover, and that meant he would have respect for a boy's best
interests. He would never pressure Grant to do something he did
not want to do. Despite what I was now watching, I knew Grant
also would never do anything to destroy my trust in him. I also
trusted Gary to resist his natural impulses.

Yet that impulse was the strongest of all desires. It was
overpowering every time I looked at Grant. It was no less
threatening when I was confronted by his best friend. Until the
previous night, I had not done anything sexual with Brandon, but
I had not been very far from it just about every time I saw him.
When the opportunity finally presented itself, as it had the
night before, I knew that I would risk everything.

"God, he's sexy," I said quietly.

Gary turned swiftly. "You understand then, Chris? Grant said
you would understand,... I'm glad. I really am. I wanted you to
know about us,... but I couldn't tell you. Now, we both know. I'm
glad because you're the same as me. It's good to be able to talk
to someone who understands what it's like."

"Huh?"

"I guess this sounds weird. Until Brandon and I,... well,...
started doing it, I hated being a boy lover. I loved him very
much, but I couldn't touch him the way I needed to." Gary's voice
was wistful. "There's something about a young boy. I don't know
what it is exactly. He's so, so incredibly beautiful. But I could
never do anything. It wasn't just a matter of having the
opportunity and breaking the law. I could never do it to him. Not
unless he loved me back, and not like a son. I was surprised when
it happened. It was almost unexpected."

"Me too. It changed everything."

"Same here. Brandon's still my son, but, he means so much
more to me now."

I understood. My own feelings for Grant were no different. I
sank into silence, focusing my attention on the television.
During the few seconds I had looked away, the scene had changed.
I recognized nothing except the actors. Gary carried Brandon, his
hands supporting Brandon's buttocks, the boy's arms and legs
wrapped tightly around the man's body. They beamed at each other.
>From the double bed, I presumed that the room was Gary's bedroom.
In all the years I had known the Bowmans, and the many times I
had visited their house, I had never been upstairs.

For a few seconds, the camera panned the room. The
furnishings were plain and lacked a woman's touch for pattern and
balanced tone. Yet, the room was erotic. Bedspread and curtains
were bright hues of red, vividly contrasting with a deep blue
carpet. If I had any doubt about Gary's sexual proclivities, the
metal framed picture of a dark-skinned and nearly naked
prepubescent boy confirmed the obvious. The camera stopped at a
polished brass bed. Gary laid Brandon down and stepped back.
Brandon smiled radiantly, his eyes following his father as he
brought a tube of lubricant from the chest of drawers back to the
bed.

I sighed, thinking of Brandon and Grant. Grant was
everything I had ever wanted, and more, so much more that I
seriously doubted that I could ever be happy without him. I
wondered how deeply Brandon loved Gary, and then, without
thinking, whether Grant loved Gary the same way that I harbored a
secret affection for Brandon. I wondered whether a boy's love
could ever transferred to another person, perhaps even among the
four of us. There was no question in my mind that Brandon did not
love Gary. It was written all over his face. His pale blue eyes
were bright and intense, and full of joy. I had witnessed the
same look of absolute devotion on Grant's face every time I
kneeled over him.

"He loves you a lot, doesn't he?" I asked as I risked a
quick glance at his father.

Gary nodded. There was no need to acknowledge what was
patently obvious. It was a mutual love, or had evolved to become
that as the boy became accustomed to his role in a relationship
that most people presume to be one-sided. Brandon grinned
gleefully as Gary straddled him, reaching up with both arms to
pull the man's face down to his. They kissed, exchanging hugs
while their mouths were joined together. Then Gary sat back on
his haunches and removed the cap from the tube, squeezed some
out, a silvery bead. Brandon dabbed several of his fingers in it
and began to smear the glistening lubricant over the man's penis.

It was the first time that I had the opportunity to see
Gary's manhood. I had a long look at it. He was of average
length, perhaps even smaller than average, but like his son, the
girth of his penis was sufficient to give the appearance of a
solid, thick stake. Using both hands and fingers to form a
sleeve, Brandon began to rub, grinning lewdly as the fat reddened
cock-head pumped through the open end. The camera zoomed in. Gary
was excreting abundant fluid, his penis glistening and wet on the
tip. He reminded me of a satyr, slightly evil, incredibly horny.
A big droplet oozed out of crimson slit in the bloated glans.
Brandon's tantalizing thumbs circled the head, coaxing even more
out. Gary watched, Brandon watched, Grant watched, and I watched.
Slowly the force of gravity made itself known. The droplet hung
for a moment by a silver thread, then descended to Brandon's
narrow brown belly.

They gazed at each other, the bonds between man and boy
clearly wrought by close familiarity over many years. They
communicated desire without words. Gary settled back onto his
knees as Brandon's legs lifted up and were held in place by the
crook of his arms. It was a special moment, each offering what
the other needed to be complete.

"I still can't believe I'm actually watching Brandon and me
do this," Gary breathed out. "It seemed so distant at the time,
and when I see us now,... well, it's truly remarkable."

"Yes it is," I agreed.

Brandon nodded and Gary held out the tube of lubricant
again, this time dipping his own finger into it. The gel-covered
digit disappeared from view. The sudden smile on Brandon's face
revealed what Gary's finger had found what it sought. He grinned
mischievously, pulling his legs closer to his chest and lifting
his rump higher off the bed. The camera captured the momentary
shock, the surprised gasp as Gary's finger pierced his little
hole, penetrated far into the sanctuary that its sanctity was
violated. His eyes fluttered, blinking rapidly as the strong
finger pushed hard and slid further into his anus, then began to
enter his rectum. It was no simple foray and it was no laughing
matter. He seemed to tense, doing something unseen with all his
strength. Immediately, he jerked, lifted up, then promptly pushed
down again as Gary's finger probed for the necessary gland. He
stayed there, rigid, an expression of uncertainty. Only his eyes
moved, searching for Gary's, demanding attention, seeking
acknowledgement. It was obvious that the man was ravaging
Brandon's bowels with expert manipulation of an immature
prostate. The boy's smile vanished. Within seconds, Brandon
looked very serious, concentrating. Without warning his immobile
determination was replaced by ecstatic trembling. His face
contorted with each spasm of delight. He clutched his legs,
wagging his head eagerly as the man's finger began to stab
rhythmically.

"God!" I whispered.

"It gets better," Gary said reassuringly.

It was impossible to tell for certain whether Brandon
experienced orgasm, yet within a few seconds he had bucked and
heaved as if he was close to exploding. Grant acted much the same
when he peaked. However for prepubescent boys there was no way of
knowing that climax had been reached. Even masturbating Grant, it
was hard to tell without feeling his penis jerking with spasms of
dry ejaculation. For most of a minute Gary kept him there,
tottering on the brink of insanity, nearly hysterical while the
finger plunged back and forth. His euphoria was truncated
abruptly, yet briefly. I watched in silent amazement as Gary
knelt over Brandon, guiding his erect penis to replace his
finger, or fingers, because by that point it was hard to tell.
Gary's fingers glistened with a wet slimy sheen, the same shiny
wetness that now covered the inside of the boy's buttocks and the
rear of his scrotum. The close-up ended as the huge penis touched
the tiny opening.

Brandon nodded and he took a quick breath. Then Gary moved
closer and closed the gap between them to a matter of inches,
barely the length of his squat penis. I expected Brandon to cry
out, to give some indication of pain, but like Grant, it seemed
very easy. It looked as if Gary's swollen penis slid into the boy
without difficulty. Gary stopped pushing as soon as the glans
penetrated his anus. Brandon shuddered, closing his eyes. He
grimaced as he felt the fullness of the man-sized organ
burgeoning within him. Gary hesitated, biding his time until
Brandon nodded again.

"God Almighty," I muttered. "I can't believe I'm watching
this happen."

"And it gets even better," Gary replied evenly.

And it did get better, much better. In fact, it defied
nature. Again the view shifted to another close-up. I gasped
aloud. Gary's cock looked huge when it was beside Brandon's
shrivelled little dick, but it was frighteningly big when it was
up against his anus. It looked like there was no way Gary's
swollen red glans was going to pass through the narrow opening
without rupturing his son's sphincter. But it did. The camera
stayed there, focused on Brandon's anus, on the stake of swollen
flesh that demanded entry through the tiny portal. Then slowly,
inevitably, it began to disappear from sight.

I held my breath in disbelief. This was the stuff of a boy-
lover's fantasy. That it did so with nothing more than some minor
discomfort made it nothing short of a miracle. There was no sound
as they joined. A silent mystery, of giving and taking. I made a
mental note to be more appreciative of Grant's accomplishment
when he took my penis without the slightest complaint. Then, with
several thick inches inserted, they held their positions, waiting
patiently for nature to work its miracle. Brandon's body adjusted
slowly. His expression, somewhere between pain and pleasure,
changed to a gentle mysterious smile as he began to appreciate
the sensations. It was exactly like watching Grant. Gary's penis
was buried about halfway, perhaps more. His fat hair-covered
scrotum was very taut, rippling the flesh into a hemisphere,
bifurcated by a line that reached up from his crack and ended
only where his penis disappeared inside Brandon. Perhaps what I
witnessed was wrong. Certainly there were enough laws to stop me
in fulfilling my own desires if I gave them any thought, yet I
put that fear aside every time Grant and I were together. I
revelled in Gary's happiness, setting aside my feelings for
Brandon. I should have felt envious, but I did not. I recognized
the love between them as they gazed at each other. They shared
their bodies, neither questioning that they should not be joined
as one, accepting the other's needs, and giving freely.

Gary and I had become close friends over the years I had
known him, but we had never shared our deepest secrets until now.
As I watched the video, I was learning that my own failing, what
I had considered to be a depraved sickness of the mind, was no
simple aberration. Many men were boy lovers. Most hid it from
view and resisted the impulse for physical affection, but a few
men like Gary lived their fantasies and were better for it.
Internet porn and masturbation were poor substitutes for contact
with real human flesh and the expression of meaningful love.
'Love', was the root cause of what I was witnessing, I reasoned.

"You'd have to be blind not to see Brandon's in love with
you," I finally acknowledged.

That I could do so without hoarding the words with jealous
regret made me feel proud.

Gary nodded. "But you know something. It's even more than
that. I loved him before any of this happened. By now he knows
what he wants. He knows he'd make any man very happy, but what he
shares with me is very special. Real love is different. I think
it has to be experienced like this to be real love. It's more
than just the thrill of having sex, though that was a big deal
for him when we first started doing it. I think that even helped
Brandon accept the divorce a bit easier. He didn't need his
mother or anyone else for that matter. He had me."

"Still,..."

"I always worried when we were together, you know. I'm
supposed to be his father, but I'm also his lover. I'm worried
he'll tell someone. I was worried about you finding out. Hell,
Chris, I've even tried to stop. I thought I could just ratchet it
back a few notches, take it easy and avoid going all the way."

"I think that would be hard with a boy like Brandon," I
suggested lightheartedly.

"Hard is an understatement," Gary laughed. "It's impossible.
I've given up trying to stop. However, I can't help afraid
someone will find out. If it's not that, then I worry that I'll
hurt him. I tend to be pretty active during sex as you'll see on
the video. I used to worry that, you know, when I was doing it
with Brandon, I'd rupture him or something. I don't think I'd be
able to live with myself afterwards, knowing I'd hurt him."

I shuddered, imagining my terror if that had occurred with
Grant. Now, Gary rocked gently, gazing down at Brandon with deep
affection. I could see the love they shared. It was deeply
spiritual as much as physical. Each forward motion elicited a
soft whimper. It was, I realized, a sacred rite equal to any of
religious importance. It was also intensely erotic in a way that
made me want Grant almost more than I could stand.

Gary moved deliberately, slowly, steadily. Each powerful
thrust into Brandon's slender body was cautiously calculated to
give the maximum pleasure to both of them while minimizing the
risk of pain and injury. If his groans were any indication, he
took his pleasure on the out-stroke, pulling Brandon slightly
with him until the friction ended and his penis moved freely on
the film of lubrication. I quivered with the thrill of watching
them, joined together, each focused only on the other, their
bodies reciprocating in a single united rhythm, trembling
uncontrollably from the overload of their senses. It was like a
musician playing an instrument that had been tuned perfectly. The
message was clear and unambiguous as Gary's body lifted up and
away from the boy beneath him, then settled back down over him
until he could barely be seen. No words had been spoken and yet
Gary understood Brandon's need. His pace increased, not too fast,
just enough to make Brandon shudder slightly. Then he slowed
until Brandon groaned for more. I felt the dampness growing in my
briefs, a pressing need to extract my own throbbing organ and
obtain relief.

"You and Brandon are pretty darn good at it," I murmured.

Gary nodded, smiling. "Practice makes perfect, I suppose.
Watch this next part and I think you'll see how much practice
we've had."

Brandon's feet, up till now resting lightly on Gary's back,
suddenly moved downward. His legs were no longer hooked over
Gary's shoulders but locked around his father's thick waist. With
Brandon's arms locked around his neck, Gary rolled to the side,
bringing the boy to a crouching position above him. The video
tilted uncertainly as it was moved to a different position, this
time directly behind them at the bottom of the bed.

I gasped. Only Gary's glans was still inside Brandon. His
small buttocks were split apart, his crack opening wide, but not
wide enough. The sides of his cheeks bulged where the man's penis
entered. It looked like it should have been very painful. There
was a momentary pause when Brandon settled back on his haunches,
pushing back at the thick stake that arched upward to meet him.
His small penis was limp and dangling impotently between his
thighs, his scrotum shrivelled up like a little rounded walnut.
The difference between his boy-sized sex and Gary's mature penis
was startling. For the first time since the video started I heard
Gary speak clearly from the television.

"Go slow, babe. There's no need to rush. Remember you have
to concentrate on feeling good."

"He feels so big," Brandon whimpered softly.

"Does it hurt?"

"No. It's good. It just hurts a little bit like this."

"I can feel you squeezing, Brandon. You're getting a lot
bigger back there now. You're not nearly as tight."

Brandon hesitated a moment, seeming to summon his strength.
Silently I pleaded for him to get off. At the same time, I wanted
him to push down and take all of it. The mere thought of that
man-sized penis going into Brandon's slim body made me tremble. I
wondered what it would be like to have someone else watching
Grant and me, to be captured on video-tape, to see it again and
again on the television until every detail was memorized. My
brain raced, caught up in the excitement and begging for more. It
was even more thrilling because at that very moment, the boy I
was watching was with Grant in the bathroom directly above us. It
was very likely that they knew what we were doing downstairs. I
wondered what they were doing upstairs.

I risked a quick glance at Gary. Like me, he was also
watching the television with avid interest. My eyes darted back
with shameless enthusiasm. Gary's erect penis slid in again, very
slowly, very easily. At least Brandon made it look easy. It took
him three attempts until all that could be seen was Gary's wire-
like pubic hair brushing Brandon's small rump. The contrast
between man and boy was startling. Brandon's brown, hairless body
was joined inseparably with the paler, hair-covered man. It was
made even more remarkable because there was no sign of Gary's
penis. It was all the way inside! If I had not seen the proof and
had first hand experience that such a thing was possible I would
never have believed it. All movement stopped and Brandon rested,
sitting down against the man's loins.

"You okay, babe?" Gary intoned from the television.

"Uh huh.... It's in all the way, Dad. I can feel him right
up inside me."

"Does it hurt, babe?"

"A bit. I think I put it in too fast."

"Just rest a while. You're stretched pretty wide, Brandon.
You need some time to get used to having all of me in you."

"Don't take him out!" Brandon said adamantly.

"Who me?" Gary chuckled. "I don't think I could even if I
wanted to, babe. Man I can't believe you're still so tight after
this morning. I must have fucked you for an hour before we got
out of bed."

After a minute or two passed Gary turned to me and smiled.

"I must have watched this a dozen times and it always
surprises me, this next part."

As if I needed further encouragement, I took a deep breath
and readied myself. I watched with avid interest, mesmerized by
their fluid motion, the pace varying from fast and furious to
slow and gentle. Gary lifted Brandon's hips up, pausing a second
as his penis withdrew to leave only an inch inside him. A
momentary close-up revealed the head of Gary's penis was all that
remained hidden. The boy's anus was fully dilated, like a little
open mouth searching for something to eat. Excess lubricant had
been smeared between them so that the flesh they shared glistened
with an oily gloss. The small hole seemed impossibly large, and a
lip of skin circled where it had been breached, a tender anus
stretched to a thin dark border around the man's tumescent,
crimson sex.

They grinned at each other for several seconds before Gary
allowed Brandon to slowly slide back down again. Brandon squirmed
as he was lowered, adjusting his position and doubtless his
internal organs as his father's penis went even deeper. When
gravity was impeded, his legs strained and he pushed down to
impale himself, meeting Gary's upward motion. He trembled when
the thickness rammed quickly through his sphincter, resuming his
position with his buttocks hard against Gary's groin.

"God," I whispered.

After a few more times of being 'deep-dicked', Brandon began
to move easier, relaxing, taking over the active role while Gary
lay back on the bed. His narrow pelvis rotated and undulated,
expertly working the thick shiny shaft that was lodged between
his buttocks. The sound became wetter, not unlike a slushy
suction one hears when walking through mud. There was no question
that the full length of Gary's penis was moving easily inside
Brandon's anus, because he was grinning. I had seen the same look
of ecstasy, of being abandoned to strange overwhelming sensations
on Grant's face often enough to know what it meant.

"You'd think a boy his age would be a lot tighter," I said
in growing arousal.

Gary nodded. "It's one of nature's little surprises, that a
boy's body can get like that. Brandon can do everything back
there that a woman does in front, in some ways even more. It
feels a hell of a lot better too."

Brandon's hand lifted up to brush the hair back from his
forehead. Clearly he was stressed, but he did not seem to be in
any real pain. His expression was curious. He was focused
intensely, his eyes no longer happy but full of concentration as
if he was trying to remember every sensation. I tried to remember
Grant's face, yet all I could imagine was a blur of features,
contorted in intoxicated pleasure. Brandon had the same look, an
expression that communicated what it felt like to have something
big, alive and hot moving inside one's bowels. After several more
thrusts the expression of Brandon's face changed perceptibly. His
mouth was tight, grimly desperate, and his eyes were closed to
mere slits. He was close to the edge. Barely breathing, then
sucking air urgently, the same way Grant did when his orgasm was
closing in. His hands seem to shake with each jab as he was
buffeted back and forth. His feet squirmed, toes curling, heels
digging in to Gary's legs for leverage as his thighs strained.

But the real change was more audible than visible. The sound
I heard was sloppy, squelching flesh that sucked against Gary's
penis. Brandon groaned, a low guttural moan each time the huge
penis sunk into him, clenching his buttocks and binding his grip
against the thing that taken over his bowels. Frequently, I
glanced sideways at Gary. He said nothing, merely staring at the
unfolding passion with relentless concentration. I felt like a
voyeur, as much from what was being revealed on the television as
from seeing his fascination with Brandon's sexuality. It left me
with an anxious disquiet and a strange sense that he knew exactly
what I was feeling for his son. I felt as if it was me who was
inside Brandon's body. Gary breathed in short, deep gasps,
exactly as his son breathed. Indeed, even his hips undulated. It
was an erotic simulation of Brandon's increasingly frenzied
humping.

Gary's penis was moving quickly when Brandon had his first
orgasm. His legs tightened and locked around his father's thick
waist as he strained against the iron-hard member. He grunted,
then gasped, then groaned. He stopped moving, sitting astride
Gary's pelvis with his buttocks pressed all the way down. From
behind, all that could be seen was the distortion of his cheeks
caused by Gary's penis, and the roundness of his scrotum. Then,
as the first wave passed, Brandon eased away. Like a long
slithering snake, Gary's penis reappeared. Only the glans
remained hidden inside him. While Brandon remained on his
haunches shaking with intense spasms, Gary pushed up and back
into him with more speed than seemed prudent. Brandon whimpered
as his anal cavity was filled by hard man-cock.

I took a deep breath. It was not hard to imagine Grant's
excitement while he filmed them together. Perhaps the boys and
Gary had even masturbated together while watching the video.
Perhaps they had watched it before,... I preferred not to think
about it, but the video certainly consumed my interest and
aroused me so much that I had difficulty in restraining myself.
If would have been very different if Brandon was not experiencing
pleasure, but he clearly was. Their sheer unbridled joy was no
different to what Grant and I experienced.

With his sphincter fully relaxed, Brandon's dilated anus now
offered only minimal resistance, a mere token of its former
tightness. When the video camera shifted to Gary's face, there
was no doubt he was almost mad with lust and barely able to
control himself. Yet he showed restraint, understanding that
Brandon needed time to recover. With his mouth half-open, his
eyes nearly closed, Brandon was in seventh heaven. Father and son
continued to move together, mutually sharing each other's body
amid muffled words and loving caresses. It was sweet, intimate,
and very loving. I also knew that it would not last very long,
just long enough for the heightened sensations to pass. Less than
a minute and the previous hectic pace was resumed.

It became impossible to tell who was fucking who. Was
Brandon deliberately impaling himself down and onto Gary's
erection? Was Gary pounding forcefully up and into Brandon's
slender body? Now it was far more than mutual pleasuring,
although the pleasure was definitely mutual. They were two
selfless animals rutting, engaging in the most natural of all
actions. It was a wonderful sight. Brandon's jerking movements
were exactly controlled to balance his father's powerful thrusts.
At the same time, Gary's body was dedicated to the sole purpose
giving his son the ultimate pleasure. And the looks in both of
their faces were awe-inspiring, simultaneously wonder and
ecstasy, as only lovers can when share when climax approaches for
both of them at the same time.

For the first time in my life I began to understand why a
man and a boy had to experience anal sex for them to become true
lovers. For Grant and me, and for Brandon and Gary to really love
each other, we had to join like this. This was the only way that
we became one being, not only physically and emotionally, but in
a way that I had only dreamed about with my wife. This was a
union of two souls, the final junction that sealed love and made
it sacred. This love would last forever, long past the time that
sexual attraction had faded. Another glance at Gary confirmed
that he was as captivated by the scene as I was. His eyes were
unmoving, the fingers of one hand rasping together furiously as
if the heated friction could some how induce a pleasure similar
to his son's. I realized that he would be masturbating feverishly
if I was gone. It was all that I could do to restrain myself.

"Yes," he muttered softly. "Do it babe! Yes, son! Yes!
You're almost there again. Do it! Fuck yourself on that big dick
of mine!"

His words of encouragement were not intended for me to hear
them, but they might as well have been. Although the sight was
amazing in itself, that I had experienced the same triumphant joy
with Grant, made it truly awe inspiring. In a way, I was watching
myself. Like Gary and Brandon, my penis penetrated to the core of
Grant's being and filled him to overflowing with my manhood. If
only for that reason, I appreciated his son's sexuality in a way
that was emboldening. However, it was more than mere admiration.
I as infatuated. I wanted to enjoy the beautiful body for myself,
participating with his father in celebrating his youthful
sexuality.

"Jesus. He's amazing," I said candidly.

"Yes he is."

"Hard to believe."

"Even on tape."

"It's hard to tell when he's actually having an orgasm," I
observed.

We were both caught up in the urgency of the moment, yet
Gary answered me.

"Not really. About now, Brandon's having them non-stop."

"I figured he's like Grant. He can't cum yet, but he sure
has fun going through the motions," I replied breathily.

"Oh! Of course! They're much too young for anything else.
Not that it matters. Hell, it's an advantage in a way. He's
cumming again and again. He couldn't do that if he wasn't
shooting blanks."

I nodded. "He's sure got one fantastic little ass."

"It's incredible to watch, isn't it?" Gary asked. "Enough to
turn a man off women for ever."

I nodded, finding it increasingly difficult to breath.
Perhaps this was why man-boy sexual relationships were against
the law. Once experienced, there would be no alternative except
to do it at every opportunity. If I had not been jealous of Gary
up to that time, in an instant I envied him. The depth of the
love that he shared with the beautiful boy was something I would
never share with Brandon no matter how close I was to him, just
as I would never share Grant with Gary.

"He looks so happy," I murmured.

"Yes, I know," Gary agreed softly. "He makes everyone around
him happy too."

"Grant for instance?"

"Especially Grant." Gary looked at me with something akin to
amusement. "They're in love, you know. Of course they haven't
realized it yet, but it's just a matter of time until they do.
I've watched them so often I can see it in their faces. I don't
know why people think this is bad when it's only natural."

I smiled uncertainly. "I think I'm jealous of Grant," I
said.

"Don't be. I don't have to the only person who loves him.
With boys, there's always plenty of love to go around."

Brandon's head came forward, bowing his torso over his
father, Strong arms wrapped around him, embracing the slender
chest, pulling them still closer. With a sense of desperation,
they began to jerk with wild abandon. The thrusting became even
more erratic, both grunting, slamming buttocks against groin,
sharing the most intense experience of their lives. For a few
seconds they seemed too exhausted to continue, yet it was only a
momentary pause. They shuddered together, quaking as Gary's fluid
finally spurted out and the boy's body took it in. A moment
later, all movement ceased. Time had stopped, or had become
timeless. The union was completed. Gary's fluid had been shared,
the most special gift than a man can give. In return, it was as
if Brandon had drained his father's manhood at the same time. I
knew that I had witnessed something very special, the same thing
that had occurred between Grant and me. A bond had been forged
that could never be broken.

With surprise, I realized that my penis was throbbing with
an urgency that ny entire body shudder uncontrollably.

"That was incredible!" I murmured.

"Yes, I guess you could say that," Gary smirked. "The
question is, now you've seen this, what are you going to do about
it?

I don't follow," I countered awkwardly.

"Hm,... now that you know about us?"

"Meaning?" I asked uncertainly. "I won't tell!" I added
flatly.

"I know that. If I thought there was even the slightest
chance of that, you would never have seen this." He paused. "Now,
are you going to tell me about you and Grant?"

At least he came to the point quickly. I swallowed, briefly
returning his questioning look with obstinate eyes before I
turned back to the television. Gary knew my secret, probably had
known it for a few days, maybe even since Christmas Day. I
thought quickly, my mind still fully absorbed by the scene before
me. It was over, but even in their post orgasmic bliss, Gary's
hands stroked Brandon's body lovingly. I could hear their muted
voices, although the actual words were indistinct. Three words
were clear and they was often repeated. They were the same words
that conveyed my feelings afterwards I was lying in bed with
Grant. 'I love you'. I loved Grant the same way that Gary loved
Brandon.

"What about Grant?" I muttered at last.

Gary chuckled. "You need to make a video of him and you."

"Huh?" I muttered as my face became a bright shade of
crimson.

"There's nothing to be ashamed about. You love him, don't
you?"

"Yes," I answered quickly. "I love him. I love him so much
it hurts."

"I thought so. It's nothing to be ashamed of. And Brandon?
How much do you love him?" Gary asked patiently.

"Honestly?"

Gary smiled. "Of course."

"A lot more than I should," I answered.

Gary smiled warmly. "I'm glad."

"Not as glad as I am," I joked feebly.

"It's difficult being a boy-lover. Once you've been there,
there's no going back," Gary said softly. "I know exactly how you
feel. I'd like to ask you one thing, though?"

"Yes?"

"While you were watching the video, you found yourself
pretending you were me, didn't you?"

I nodded awkwardly, wondering how Gary knew what I had been
thinking. "It was hard not to. He's such a beautiful boy. It's
hard not to want him."

"And so is Grant for that matter. The feeling is mutual,
Chris. Let me be honest with you. Even though I love Brandon more
than I can stand, I would be lying if I didn't admit that there's
nothing I wouldn't give to have sex with Grant. Just one time."
Gary smiled. "Does that shock you?"

"No, not really. I think I kind of expected it." I paused.
If ever there was a time to be honest, this was it. "It's
probably the same for me with Brandon. No, not probably.
Definitely."

Now Gary nodded, though not with my uncertainty. "Then you
ought to have sex with him."

"You're joking."

"I'm not. He's only young once. I won't stand in your way if
you want to get to know Brandon better," Gary said, choosing his
words carefully. "Hell, I think it's good for a boy to try new
experiences, especially when he can do it safely and with someone
he loves. From what I've heard about you from Grant, the worst
thing that can happen is he'll have a sore butt for a few days."

"You want to swap too, don't you?" I asked boldly.

Gary grinned. "Don't you? The boys want to. I know they do.
It's no secret. I've talked with both of them. Grant's curious
about what other men are like. So is Brandon. Maybe it'll only be
for one time. More likely I think we'll find out that we love
each other's sons as much as our own flesh and blood. However, if
we don't try it we'll never know for sure."

"You said the boys want to as well?" I queried.

"What do you think?"

"I,... I don't know. I,... Brandon looked at me earlier
today like he was in heat. Last night,..." I paused. "Last night
he jerked me off."

"I'm not surprised. That boy is always in heat. Grant too,
except he's not as far along."

"Huh?"

"You've only just started fucking him."

I hesitated for a few seconds. "The first time was Christmas
Eve," I replied.

"Yes, he told me about it. He's probably still hurting a
bit. It takes a while to get used to having something big in
there. Give him a few more weeks to get used to it and he'll be
so interested in getting off you won't be able to sleep more than
a few hours at a time."

"He's been pretty horny the last few days," I admitted with
a smile. "How long have you and Brandon been,..."

"Well, I told you that Brandon's been doing it with Grant
since the end of summer. They'd been playing around for a while
before that I expect, but after he tried the back door with
Grant, it changed things for him. He knew what he wanted. He and
I started right after that. I guess he liked it, being closer to
me. Mostly, I wanted him to be happy. One thing led to another."

"I didn't know for sure, but I kind of expected that was
what happened," I laughed.

"They were very close at the end of summer. They were
curious. It was me who told them about anal sex."

"We talked about sex stuff too, but that didn't come up."

I remembered the boys lying in bed together on a hot summer
night that now seemed so long ago. That had been the first time
that I was actually aware of my feelings for them.

"So I heard," Gary chuckled. "Brandon said you had an 'huge
hard-on the whole time'. Those are his words, by the way, not
mine. I've always had a suspicion or two about you, because you
get on so well with the boys, but that was the big giveaway as
far as I was concerned."

"Oh!" I grinned. "I didn't think either of them noticed
my,... ah,... problem."

Gary grinned. "They're not blind. They both noticed. Brandon
thought it was very interesting. He's fascinated by men's bodies.
When he starts puberty I'll have to keep him locked up in the
barn."

"They both talked about it with you? "

"Uh huh! Of course we talked about it. Grant was a bit shy
about it at first, but then he,..."

"He what?"

"He opened up after a while. He told me you got 'stiffies'
all the time." Gary paused and smirked. "Especially when you
wrestled with him." he smirked. "And you were always hard when
you were giving him a back rub."

"The horny little bastard."

"Not wrong! I'm not surprised he noticed your hard-ons. That
boy of yours is every bit as aware about sex as Brandon is, but
then I guess you know that by now. At Thanksgiving, while we were
making the video of Brandon and me, I came right out and asked
Grant if you had ever done anything with him. He was very funny
about it. His answer took me a bit by surprise. He said you
hadn't, but he was working on it. I could tell by his voice that
he really wanted to have sex with you," Gary added with a knowing
smirk.

"He said that?"

"yes he did. I asked him if there was any progress when he
called Brandon to say that the two of you were coming up for
Christmas."

"And?"

"He said he was still working on it. He'd pretty much
figured out what to do when you started rubbing his butt whenever
you gave him a back massage."

"Did he elaborate?" I asked with growing fascination. I was
beginning to wonder who had seduced who.

"If you must know," Gary winked, "Grant told Brandon he had
a plan to get you in bed. He had it all worked out for Christmas,
because his Mom wouldn't be here. In fact, he even said he wanted
you to screw him before the next millennium."

"The little sex-maniac said that?"

"Yep! It's not all that unusual, you know. A lot of boys get
sex-crazed well before their hormones start flowing. Brandon's
the same way. Puberty is still a few years away for him as well,
but he's already hotter than most teenagers. Maybe it's the
inhibitions of youth. Put that together with a father who's
getting hard-ons around him, well, it's only natural to start
experimenting. Isn't that what they mean by 'like father, like
son'?"

"Maybe," I ventured.

"And when the boy's as smart at Grant he usually figures out
what he wants and how to get it pretty quickly."

"So I'm just now finding out." I sighed, smiled, and slowly
shook my head.

It was impossible not to be swept along with what Gary was
saying. Once the idea had been planted in my mind, any resistance
became futile, and both of us knew it.

"Okay. How do we plan to go about this little New Year's
orgy?"

"We? We're not going to plan anything. We'll leave this one
up to the boys. It'll be more fun that way. I'm sure they'll be
very creative."


END PART 3