Date: Sat, 2 Mar 2013 12:22:12 -0800 (PST)
From: Henry Brooks <hankster1430@bellsouth.net>
Subject: My Stepfather's Secret - short story (incest)

                         My Stepfather's Secret
                               Part One

My father was killed in a military plane crash on the same day that I was
born.  Some people have dared to suggest that I am his reincarnation.  I
wouldn't go that far, but it makes for interesting conversation over a cup
of coffee.  Anyway, as a result of his untimely death, my maternal
grandparents did most of my upbringing for the first three years of my
life, enabling my mother to earn her RN degree.  Her profession, and my
father's life insurance, gave her the ability to provide very well for us.

When I was three years old, my beautiful mother remarried.  Her new
husband, my stepfather, was a lawyer and a very handsome man.  Of course, I
didn't realize just how good looking he was until I was older.  He stood
six feet tall, straight brown hair, icy blue eyes, and a torso that
wouldn't quit.  After his first wife died in childbirth, his parents raised
his son until he married my mother.  Sound familiar?  Before he met my mom,
he spent much of his leisure time in a gym working out.  I guess that
accounted for his drop dead handsome body.  He still works out regularly.

Let me introduce you to the cast of characters in my blended family.  My
birth father's name was Capt. John Franklin, USAF.  My mother's name is
Marjorie Franklin, nee Smith.  When she remarried she became Marjorie
Young.  My name is Tyler Franklin.  My stepfather, Thomas Young, has never
formally adopted me, so I have a different name than my stepbrother,
Timothy Young.  Tim's mother's name was Joan Young, nee Carter.

My dad's given name, mine, and my brother's all begin with a T, so Dad (I
call him Dad because he is my dad) nicknamed us The Three Tusqueteers.
Timothy is six months younger than I, and for some reason he has always
idolized me.  I hate that.  I don't know why, but dad and mom never had any
children together.

We boys shared a bed room, and slept in twin beds.  We got along very well,
but in the early years, I was sure that our dad was more affectionate to
Tim than to me.  Tim said that I was imagining things.  Maybe I was.  I
don't know.  If I was wrong, why had he never adopted me and given me his
name?  Early on, he had drawn papers in the courts for my mom to formally
adopt Timmy.  Why not me?  That really bothered me.  When I was about
eleven years old, I finally decided to confront him about that.  I didn't
expect his response.  He grabbed me and enveloped me in his strong arms.
He actually started to cry.

"Good Lord," he sobbed.  "Don't you know how much I love you?  Your mother
won't let me adopt you until you reach your eighteenth birthday.  You are
receiving a substantial pension from the government, and if I do adopt you,
it will stop."

I was flabbergasted.  I never saw the money.  "Where is the money going?" I
asked.

"She has set up a trust fund for you, Tyler.  Believe me, you are well
set."

After that, for whatever real or psychological reason, I never discerned
any difference between how my stepfather treated me, and how he treated
Tim.

Tim and I were in the same year in school because of when our birthdays
fell.  I was glad about that, because except for his overt idolization of
me, we got along great.  That is to say, we fought like animals in a
sibling sort of way, but we truly loved each other like brothers.  Well,
that's not exactly true.  Our love surpassed ordinary brotherly love, and I
should explain that.

It was in early December that things changed between us.  Tim had turned
fifteen about a month earlier.  I was already fifteen and a half.  That
half year is all important to kids that age.  We were now students in
second year high school.  Since both our parents worked, we were what once
was termed `latch-key kids.'  The term originated in the fifties and
sixties when most American families started to become two wage earner
households.  I don't hear that term used much anymore.  The latch-key kids
were given keys to the house, and they took care of themselves until their
parents came home from work.  Many psychologists feared that this practice
would damage the moral fiber of our country.  I think they were correct.

That afternoon, as we got into the school bus, the air was filled with an
icy drizzle.  Halfway home, the bus began to skid and slide.  We were the
last stop on the route, and the poor driver barely made it.  He was ashen
white before we reached our corner.  We had about fifty yards to walk to
our front door.  We only made it home by walking on our neighbors lawns.
The sidewalk was a sheet of ice.

The front door was frozen.  We had to pound on the ice, and chip it away,
to insert the house key.  Once inside, I secured the door, and Tim went to
turn up the thermostat.  I heard the furnace kick in, and the warm air
started to flow from the vents.  Only then did we remove our outerwear.

The first thing we did when we came home from school everyday was to check
for phone messages on the answering machine.  There was usually a message
from our mother with instructions for something or other.  Occasionally,
our father left a message too.  After that we would change into play
clothes, but we did our homework before beginning any actual playtime.
Since there were two of us doing the same assignments together, I am sure
we finished more quickly than other kids.  Therefore we had extra time to
play board games and watch TV, before our parents got home.

We were home about two hours, and had just finished doing our homework,
when the first call came from my mother.  "I am so glad you are home safe.
The streets are a sheet of ice," she informed us of what we already knew.
"I can't get out of the hospital, and even if I could, the accident victims
are coming in like we were in a war zone.  I wouldn't feel right to leave.
I'll probably be here all night.  If you need me, please call me on my cell
phone."

We assured her that we would be fine, and as soon as we hung up, our dad
called.  He told us that he couldn't get his car onto the streets, and the
buses had stopped running.  There was a coffee shop in his office building.
He said that he was going to get something to eat before they closed, and
then camp out on the sofa in his waiting room.  He told us to call if we
needed him for anything.  We wondered what either of our parents could do
for us if we did call.

We turned on the TV to get filled in on the severity of the storm.  Regular
programming had been discontinued, and all we could get were pictures of
the ice storm and the havoc it was causing.  We high-fived each other when
it was announced that schools would be closed the next day.  We only did
that because it was the expected reaction of two fifteen year old kids.
Actually we both loved school, and we sought to absorb knowledge like two
sponges absorb water.

We turned off the TV and went into the kitchen.  The weather was so awful
that the afternoon seemed like night time.  Whichever room we went into we
turned lights on, and of course, we never turned them off when we left the
room.

We found our mother's cookie tin, where she stashed her latest batch of
home made cookies, and we ate more chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies
than we should have, with a glass of milk.  Foolishly we didn't give a
thought to dinner.

Suddenly we lost power, and the house was plunged into semi-darkness.  The
ice was so heavy that it was dragging down power lines all over the city.
There was still enough daylight to see a little, so we finished our snack
and put the glasses in the dishwasher.

We knew that there would be no light to play games by this evening, and
certainly there would be no TV.  Then a miracle happened.  We sat down on
the sofa in the living room and began to have a conversation.  It was
probably the first time anything like that had ever occurred.  We were
actually conversing with each other, tossing real words back and forth.
WOW!  What a concept.

I don't know why we never talked about it before, but we began to discuss
the fact that we both lost a parent on the very day we were born.  We
wondered what the odds were of that.  We couldn't really cry about it.  We
never knew those people, and we were both more than happy with their
replacements.  Poor Tim; he looked so sad.  I wrapped my arms around him
and he rested his head on my shoulder.  It was a very tender moment, and
miracle of miracles, neither one of us was embarrassed by it.

We grew silent, and suddenly I realized that I was getting cold.  Of course
I was; the furnace could not ignite without electricity.  Tim had dozed off
on my chest.  I roused him as gently as I could.  Suddenly he didn't feel
like my kid brother.  He felt like my own little boy.  I kissed him on his
forehead.  He was sleeping lightly and he woke quickly.

"It's getting cold," I informed him.

"Yeah, I can feel it now."

"We'd better do some boy scout stuff," I said.  We bounded upstairs and by
the last light of day, we dragged out every comforter we could find in the
linen closet.  We went to our dresser and pulled out our warmest flannel
pajamas.  We shed our play clothes, except for our crew socks, and put on
the PJ's.  We started to put half the comforters on my bed and half on
Tim's, but Tim pointed out that if we put them all on one bed and slept
together we could keep warmer.  We went through the house and closed every
blind and curtain in a vain attempt to keep out more of the cold.  Before
we drew the blinds in our bedroom, we glanced out on the street.  It was
full dark now, and the street could not be seen.  Not a single light shone
from any house or street lamp.

"I just thought of something," I told Tim.  "You get into bed and I'll be
right back."

From memory, I made my way back to the kitchen and found the essential junk
drawer.  I opened it and felt for the flashlight that I knew was in there.
I found it all right, but the batteries were dead.  I felt my way back to
our bedroom, and crept into bed with Tim.  In spite of all the blankets,
the poor boy was shivering.  I pushed up against him and wrapped my arms
around him.  Tim pushed his body hard against mine.

"Can I talk to you?" he asked.  "It's real important."

"Sure you can.  Shoot!"

"You jerk off, don't you?" he asked me.  I was more than shocked.  I always
did it in the bathroom we shared, never in our bedroom.  How could he know?
I decided that honesty was called for.

"Sure I do.  How about you?"

"Every chance I get.  What do you think of?"

"You mean when I whack off?"

"Yeah."

"I dunno.  What do you think of?"

Tim held me closer.  He didn't answer quickly.  Haltingly he said, "I
imagine that you are jerking me off, and I'm jerking you off.  Please tell
me what you think about."

"Do you know James the Dummy?" I asked.  James was the handsomest kid in
our school, and possibly the dumbest.

"Yeah," Tim whispered into my chest.

"We've done that together, and that's what I think about."  Tim grew so
silent that I couldn't stand it, so I added, "We've done other things too.
It's a lotta fun."

"Tyler?  Do you think that you and I could do it together?"

"Sure."

Before I could say another word, I felt Tim's hand on my cock.  I jumped a
little, not because I didn't want his hand there, but because I was so
shocked.  He began to fumble with the fly of my PJ's, so I helped him, and
took out my cock.  Immediately, he took his out.

I may have been six months older than Tim, but I was a good year and a half
ahead of him in my maturation process.  I had grown considerably this past
year, but he still had a little weenie.  In spite of that, he was hard and
I could wrap a fist around him.  We were both uncut.  In fact, so was my
stepfather.  I caught a glimpse of him every so often when we were changing
in the bath house at the lake.  To be honest, I had never seen a
circumcised cock in my life.  I had a couple of Jewish friends at school.
For sure, they were cut.  I vowed to see what it looked like.  I hoped they
would cooperate and show me.

Suddenly I remembered something, and jumped out of bed again.  Shit, it was
really cold now.  I ran to the bathroom and brought back a box of tissues.

"For our cum," I told Tim, in case he was wondering.

I got comfortable under the covers again and we reached for each other's
cocks.  At first we just held them and rolled them in our palms, assuring
ourselves how nice it felt.  Then finally we started stroking and brought
ourselves to a climax.  We caught our spunk in the tissues, and I threw
both wads on the floor.  I could clean up in the morning.  I sure didn't
want to get out of bed again.

I was getting shock after shock that night.  When we were through stroking
each other, we wrapped our arms around each other, and Tim kissed me on the
lips.  Man, that felt so good and I kissed him back...hard.  Tim was
fondling me again, so I fondled him.  Eventually we fell asleep kissing and
fondling.  As we dozed off I heard Tim whisper, "I love you Tyler," and all
I could think of was, there he goes idolizing me again.

I woke in the middle of the night.  Small wonder!!! I had gone to bed hours
before my usual bedtime.  I needed to pee badly, but I could see that we
still were without power, and it was freezing in the house.  I sure didn't
want to get out of my warm and cozy cocoon, but I simply had to.  I
literally slithered out of bed like a snake and ran to the bathroom.  When
I got back, Tim had awakened.  As soon as I climbed into bed he wrapped his
body around me, and whispered in my ear, "What else do you and James do?"

"I'll show you."  I ducked under the covers and found Tim's hardening cock.
I took it in my hand and guided it into my mouth.  I pumped his rod with my
lips, and slid my tongue up and down his little shaft.  His whole body
began to buck.  He put his hand on the back of my head as if bidding me not
to let go of him.  He began to mewl, and then I felt his jism filling my
mouth.  I swallowed all that I could.  His boy cum tasted so good to me.

"What else," he asked eagerly.

"I'll show you in the morning.  We will need lubrication, and it's too dark
right now for us to look for it."

Tim was silent and I thought we would resume our sleep, but instead I felt
his moist tongue and mouth bathing my cock with his spittle.  I got ramrod
hard.  Man, Tim was good at this.  It didn't take me long to cum either.
He swallowed everything he could, just as I had.  Finally he was satisfied.
He hunkered up to me and we fell asleep, thinking that this was the best
day of our lives, and knowing that without a shadow of a doubt, greater
days were coming.  We had passed way beyond brotherly love.

                              *********

Tom Young tossed and turned on his office sofa.  He just couldn't get
comfortable, not even after he stripped to his boxers, and used his
overcoat and his suit jacket to cover himself.  There was no power in the
office and it was getting colder and colder.  He finally dozed off about 1
AM.  About three hours later, he was awakened by bright lights.  He had
never shut the lights in the office when the power went off, and now it had
been restored.  He looked out of a window, and he could see the moon and
some stars.  The ice rain had finally stopped.  He could also see and hear
sand and salt trucks spreading their loads on the streets.  He dared hope
he could get home soon.  He dressed, and changed the message on his
answering machine to inform anyone who called, that he was closed for the
day.

When he got to the parking garage in his building, he was pleased to see an
attendant on duty.  "I'd advise you to wait until daylight before driving
out there," the attendant said.  "I've been listening to the police radio.
They expect to have all the streets sanded and salted in another two or
three hours.  The coffee shop is open if you're hungry.  It never closed."

Tom went to the shop and ate a slow leisurely breakfast.  During breakfast
he called Marjorie's cell phone.  She said that she was working the day
shift also because so many nurses couldn't make it in, but she hoped to be
home about 4:30 in the afternoon.  Tom thought about calling the boys, but
he decided to surprise them instead.

                               **********

Tim and I had no desire to get up, or make breakfast, or do homework, or
whatever.  The power was still out; at least it was out in our
neighborhood.  Again I slithered out of bed and got a jar of Vaseline from
the master bath room.  I told Tim to lie on his side and I applied a
generous amount of goo to his cock.  Then I greased my ass real good and
told him to go for it.  We were lying on our sides under the covers,
nesting together.  It was the only way to survive the cold.  I reached
behind me, and guided Tim's greasy cock in.  He was small and entered me
easily.  I decided not to ask him to reciprocate, at least not today,
because I was afraid I might hurt him.

Tim was lying perfectly still.  "What now?" he pleaded.  I started to laugh
at how naïve he was.

"Pump in and out," I said and I started pumping also.  I swear he came in
less than a dozen strokes.  When he did, he started to cry.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said.  "Tyler, I love you.  Please, now you do that to me."

"I think I may be too big for you," I said.

"Please, let's try."

We repeated the whole process, and I was shocked that I went into Tim
rather easily.  Well, we had used almost the whole jar of Vaseline to
grease us up, so I shouldn't have been so surprised.  I was blissfully
pumping away, going slowly, trying not to cum, and Tim was whimpering, "I
love you Tyler," when suddenly I heard a muffled sound.

"Ahem," I heard a voice utter.

Tim and I froze.  I became instantly limp and fell out of his ass.  We
looked to see our father standing in the doorway with a very stern
expression on his face.  I knew we were about to be grounded for life.

I wanted to yell, "We can explain," but I was mute.  Tim was clutching my
hand.  He told me later that he was extremely frightened because he had
initiated the whole thing.  He wanted to tell Dad that it was all his
fault, but he was as mute as I was.

What happened next left us even more awestruck.  Dad stripped quickly and
jumped into bed, nestling between us.  As he did I got a glimpse of his
fat, eight inch, erect love rod.  I nearly fainted, thinking of that thing
going up anybody's ass, or even my mother's vagina.

After he got into bed, he put an arm around each of us.  "I thought we were
the Three Tusqueteers," he said.  "Tusqueteers do everything together.  It
wasn't nice of two of us to exclude the third, now was it?"  He turned his
head from side to side and started to kiss us.

"Now," he said, sounding like a stern disciplinarian, "I want you to tell
me everything you did."  Tim looked at me pleadingly so I took the helm.

"First we jacked each other off, then we sucked each other and then Tim
fucked me.  I was fucking him when you came in, but I wasn't finished."

"How long have you boys been making love?"

"This was the first time," Tim said hoping to make the deed seem less
horrendous.

"Then maybe I should forgive you for excluding me," Dad said.

Suddenly we heard a humming noise.  The furnace had started up.  We could
see that there were lights on downstairs.  Power had been restored.

"Your mom won't be home until 4:30.  We have all day to make love, and if
you don't want me to get angry at you, don't ever exclude me again."

Tim and I got Dad off three times in the next four hours.  We mutually gave
him a blow job, and when he recovered, he fucked both of us.  He taught us
a lot about man sex that day.  I was dying to ask him how he became so
adept at it, but I was afraid to.  I only hoped that he would spill the
beans soon.  Now, a few years later, and countless sex sessions between us,
I still don't know his secret.  Actually I don't much care.  I have the two
best lovers anybody could want.

                             Part Two

Tom Young went through high school, college and law school as a full blown,
practicing homosexual.  He never hid his sexual orientation.  He was very
handsome, and the pickings were easy and plentiful.

He got his first job after law school in a very prestigious, very
conservative law firm.  At his very first interview, he was told that the
partners in the firm started each day with a prayer service for the staff.
Illegal fornication of any kind was cause for instant dismissal.  Tom went
along with it.  It was his plan to build up a client base, and then go out
on his own at the earliest possible opportunity.  But the senior partner
kept badgering him, wanting to know why a handsome Christian man like
himself remained unwed.  Tom began to think about putting an ad in the gay
press, looking for a closeted Lesbian to marry him in a marriage of
convenience.  One moment he thought that it was an absurd idea, and the
next moment he thought of it as a masterful plan.  While he was wavering,
he did nothing.

Then fate played into his hands.  One day, his secretary brought a couple
into his office.  They were in their late thirties.  Their teen aged
daughter was with them.  They were very conservative fundamentalists who
knew the reputation of the firm, and wouldn't go anywhere else.

Tom got them comfortably seated and asked what he could do for them.
Mr. Carter explained that his no-good daughter (who was sitting right next
to him looking miserable) had gotten herself pregnant by an air force
officer.

She had fallen madly in love with him, knowing he was a married man.  It
was the old story.  He told her he wasn't getting along with his wife, and
they were going to divorce.  Of course, Joannie Carter believed him.  On
the night before he was deployed overseas, the officer came to her.  He
said that he was lonely and would she spend his last night in the states
with him.  She did, and he left her with child.  He hadn't contacted her
since.

They had no idea how to reach him, but with the help of a detective they
found his wife.  Since she was divorcing him, they didn't think she would
mind telling them how to reach Capt. John Franklin.  They thought that if
their lawyer went to see her, she would be more inclined to give up the
information than if they went themselves.  She would certainly believe a
lawyer when he told her that her husband's proof of infidelity would help
her in her divorce case.

This wasn't what Tom went to law school for, but he was informed that the
Carters were very wealthy, and they were extremely important clients of the
firm.  He agreed to visit Marjorie Franklin.  He read the detective's
report and learned that after Capt. Franklin was deployed overseas,
Marjorie went to live with her parents.  She was several months pregnant,
almost full-term.  Tom didn't like that at all.  It didn't sound like that
cheating bastard, Capt. Franklin, was divorcing anybody.

He called Marjorie and told her that he needed to see her on an important
matter concerning her husband.  Marjorie grew frightened.  Why did a lawyer
need to see her about her husband?  She agreed to see him the following
Saturday afternoon.

Tom still lived with his parents.  He always intended to move out on his
own, but he was a natural born procrastinator.  The Smiths lived
practically around the corner from him, and he was glad he could go right
home after he was done there.  He rang the bell and did not get an answer,
so he rang again.  Finally the door was opened.  Mrs. Smith stood there
with red and teary eyes.  "Can I help you?" she asked.

"I have an appointment with Marjorie Franklin," Tom said.

"Oh yes, you're the lawyer.  Won't you please come in?"

"Is something wrong?" Tom asked, seeing her pain.  Mrs. Smith burst into
tears.

"Marjorie gave birth to a son this morning, and we just got a telegram that
her husband was killed in a plane crash.  I don't know how I'm going to
tell her."

"I am so sorry," Tom sympathized.  "Look, it's not important.  I'll come
back another time."

He returned to his office and called Mr. Carter.  He wondered if he could
come to his office alone, without his wife and daughter.  He was already
brewing a plan.  When Carter arrived, Tom closed the door and explained
what happened.

"There's no way you can claim against Franklin's estate.  His pension and
insurance money will go to his legitimate son and his wife, who, by the
way, was not divorcing him."

Carter's face dropped and he looked defeated.

"Look," Tom said," Nobody knows yet that Joannie is pregnant.  I would be
happy to marry her and give her my name and a good home.  Aside from saving
the baby from being branded a bastard, I'll teach Joannie good Christian
values.  She needn't ever perform her spousal duties if she doesn't want
to."

Mr. Carter's eyes lit up.  "Why would you want to help us like that?" he
asked.

"It's the Christian thing to do."

Carter's grin was as wide as his ample behind.  Tom's plan was to divorce
Joannie after the baby was born, on grounds of infidelity.  He had no doubt
she would be unfaithful when he wouldn't fuck her.  His marriage would get
everyone at the firm off his back.  They wouldn't be pleased about the
divorce, but they would be sympathetic because of her unfaithfulness.  If
she wanted child support, he would ask for a DNA test and prove the child
wasn't his.

Joannie would have been delighted to perform her spousal duties, but Tom
kept telling her they should wait until the baby was born.  Unfortunately
she died in childbirth, and the Carters never laid claim to baby Timothy.
If they did, they would have to admit that Tom was not the father.  They
didn't want any scandal.

Tom fell in love with Timothy the moment he laid eyes on him.  He gave him
his name and his fatherhood.  His employers never bugged him again.  It
didn't matter.  About a year after Tim's birth, Tom left the firm and
struck out on his own.  All this time, he continued to have sex with men.
There just wasn't anyone special in his life.  Not once did the Carters ask
to visit or see Timothy or offer financial aid for his upbringing.

Tom was always curious about what had become of Marjorie Franklin.  Living
in the same neighborhood as her parents, he decided to do a little
detective work.

One beautiful Sunday spring morning, when Timmy was not quite a year and a
half old, and Marjorie's baby was just shy of two, Tom put his blond
haired, blue eyed son, Timmy, in a stroller and took him for a walk around
the neighborhood.  It was no coincidence that he walked right by the Smith
house.  A gorgeous young woman had put her little blond haired, blue eyed
boy in a stroller, and was just entering onto the sidewalk when Tom came
by.

"Hi," he said.  "Are you on the way to the park?"

"Yes."

"Do you mind if I join you?"

"It's a free country and a free park," Marjorie said, but she said it with
a smile to let him know that she didn't mind his boldness.  After all, he
was so handsome.

In the park they found a bench and sat together.  He figured that he should
find out quickly if she remembered his name.  He smiled and held out his
hand.  "My name is Tom Young," he said.

She smiled back.  "Marjorie Franklin."  She didn't seem to remember his
name or his telephone call.

"I've seen you here before," he lied "and the gossip mongers around here
tell me that you're a widow."

"The gossip mongers are correct."

"My wife died in childbirth, so I guess we are pretty much in the same
boat."

"Oh, I am so sorry."

"I'm sorry also," he said, and he laid his hand on hers.

He had no idea what was happening to him.  He had never been aroused by a
woman before.  He had heard many stories about straight men that fell in
love with gay men, and had great sex with them while they were still
married, but he had never heard a story about a gay man being aroused by a
woman, and switching teams.  Still, he supposed it was possible as
evidenced by the tingling in his groin.  Even so, in those instances the
man could never control his homosexual urges, and was apt to cheat on his
wife.  At this particular moment he couldn't be bothered to analyze his
feelings.  Marjorie was the most beautiful women he had ever met.  He got
bolder.

"I'm a lawyer," he said.  "It's really been tough to raise a child.  My
hours are crazy.  Thank God I have my parents to help me out.  We live just
a couple of blocks from here."

"Yes, my story is the same.  I'm going to nursing school, and without my
parents, I could never manage."

They smiled at each other and suddenly they both got very shy.
Conversation ceased and things got uncomfortable.  Tom just kept smiling at
Marjorie until finally she said, "I can't believe how much our two boys
look alike.  They could be brothers."  Tom cringed.

"Would you allow me to take you out to dinner tonight?"  He meant what he
asked, but he also wanted to change the subject.  For the first time since
John had been killed, Marjorie had a desire to socialize with another man.

"I think I'd like that," she said.

They were married a year later; a couple of months after Marjorie got her
nursing degree.  Between the time Tom met Marjorie and their wedding, he
was still seeing men, only now he felt a little guilty about it.

They set up home near both sets of parents.  Tom loved Marjorie and Tyler
as much as he loved Timmy.  He loved both boys a little too much.  As they
began to mature, he began to covet them sexually.  At first, he hated his
own feelings, but then he would remind himself that neither of them was a
natural child of his.  In fact, they were half brothers, totally unrelated
to him by blood.

The boys believed that they were step brothers.  He longed to tell them
that they were really blood brothers, but he knew that he never could do
that while they were children.  It would break Timmy's heart if he ever
found out that Tom was not his real father.  Tyler would be devastated to
learn that his hero father was really a cad.  To make matters worse, he and
Marjorie couldn't get pregnant.  The doctors told Tom that his sperm was
infertile.  He never wanted Timmy to know that.  He would then realize that
Tom could not possibly be his father.  Fortunately, Marjorie just assumed
that his `condition' occurred after Timothy was conceived.  She never
questioned that Tom was not Tim's natural father.

Even when they were fifteen years old, and he came upon them making love to
each other, he felt that he could never tell the boys about their
parentage.  It was enough that they were gay and consented to make love
with him.  He valued every intimate moment he spent with his sons, but
still he had several secret fuck buddies in town.  He visited them as often
as possible.

In spite of his silence, the boys looked and acted like real brothers.
Wherever they went, people thought that they were twins; if not identical,
then at least fraternal.  People just refused to believe them when they
said that they were unrelated, except by marriage.

Part Three

Tim and I were accepted to Columbia University in New York City.  It was
over fifteen hundred miles away from home.  Dad insisted that New York City
was no place to have a car.  He had been there often on business.  Parking
in the streets was virtually impossible, and garage parking cost a king's
ransom.  He insisted that we could get around very well by foot, bus and
subway.  He told Mom that he would drive us to school.  We would only spend
two nights on the road.  She didn't like the idea of his driving home
alone.

"Besides," she pointed out, "your sport car will hardly take them, and all
their luggage."

"I've thought of that," he said.  "I'll rent a small U-Haul van.  We'll be
just fine.  We'll have fun on the road, just the three of us."  She finally
reluctantly relented.  She didn't want to be selfish.  She felt that three
days of father-son bonding was a great idea.

When we were loading the van, Dad was overwhelmed with all the `must-have'
stuff we wanted to take to school.  He began to fear that the van wasn't
big enough.  In the end we got everything in.  On the morning of our
departure Mom made us a hearty breakfast before she left for work.  We
started our journey well fed, but sad on Dad's part, and full of
trepidation on our part.

Tim and I insisted on driving, since Dad would have to drive the entire
distance home by myself.  It was fine with him.  He stretched out on the
back seat, and off we drove.  The car trip was about the quietist trip I
had ever taken with my family.  Dad was so down, he just dozed all day.
Tim and I were so full of fear we couldn't talk.  This was the first time
we would be away from home and a loving family.  Thank God we had each
other.

Things would never be the same again.  We were adults now, embarking on the
adventures we were born to experience.  We were scared shitless.  We would
have been even more petrified had we known that the first of these major
adventures would hit us smack in the face before the trip was over.

We drove about 525 miles that day before we stopped for our first night.
It was nearly six o'clock in the evening.  We left the van loaded and took
only our overnight bags into the hotel room.  I smiled as we went into the
room.  It had two queen size beds, and I knew that one would never be used.
Through all our fears, Tim and I knew that we were in for the sexual
adventure of our lifetimes this evening.  I sensed that Dad was going to
make this a trip to remember, especially since we all agreed that we would
not come home for the very short Thanksgiving break, but would wait until
winter break at Christmas.

After we laid out our toiletries and such, I began to undress.  Dad started
to laugh.

"My you're an anxious pup," he laughed.  "Let's have dinner first and then
we'll come back, shower and make love slowly.  I don't want to rush my last
two nights with my two favorite fuck buddies.  We've got a long barren
period of time ahead of us."

"You're right, Pop," Tim said.  "Let's go ask the desk clerk where we can
have a good meal around here.  I'd prefer not to eat in a motel."

The desk clerk was a handsome devil.  He and Dad had a long conversation
and I distinctly heard Dad say, "I'll see you on my trip back."  The desk
clerk smiled and said, "I'll look forward to it."  My dad is insatiable.

The desk clerk recommended a Chinese restaurant a short way up the road.
The food was pretty good considering that it was in the middle of nowhere,
and the restaurant was owned by Caucasians.  We got back to the room with
full bellies.  The shower was big enough for two, but three would never
fit.

"You two shower," Dad said, "and wait for me in bed.  I'm warning you not
to start without me."  He said that like it was no joke, like he really
meant it, so Tim and I did not play in the shower, and crept into one of
the beds to wait for him.  We didn't even touch each other even though we
were both hard and oozing precum.

Dad seemed to be in the shower forever.  Several times I wanted to scream
at him to hurry up.  Finally he came out of the shower.  God he was a
handsome dude.  His prick was hard and he too was oozing precum.  "Lie on
your backs," he commanded and leave room for me between you."

We did as he asked, and when he nestled between us, he put one hand on my
package and his other hand on Tim's.  Not to be outdone, Tim and I started
to fondle our dad.  I should add that Tim and I had outgrown our dad by
just a little bit, so he had plenty of cock and balls to handle.

He turned his head from side to side, kissing both of us alternately.  "Let
me do all the work," he said.  He scooted out from between us and told us
to lie close together.  We did as he asked and he got on all fours.  He
placed one of his knees between my legs, and his other knee between Tim's.
From that position he began to give us head; slow, sensuous, head.  Our
cocks were covered with his saliva.  He was driving us crazy, always
stopping before the point of no return, and transferring his attention to
the other of us.

Finally I had to scream, "Don't fucking stop.  I'm cumming."  I shot into
him and he took all I had to give, and then he returned to servicing Tim.
Now his spit and my cum were mixed, and the melded liquids were massaging
Tim's cock.  Tim came screaming like he was in agony, instead of in
euphoria.

After Tim and I regained our senses, we both headed for Dad's cock, but he
stopped us.  "This is your night," he said.  "Rest a bit, and then I want
you both to fuck me.  I want your seeds to mix together in my
guts. Tomorrow is my night.  I want to fuck both of you, and then you'll
both give me head."  I loved when Dad talked dirty like this, but of
course, I didn't say anything.

The next evening, in another hotel room, Dad fucked Tim and me, as he had
requested.  He sure got to spill his juices into our guts.  We rested for
awhile, and then we gave him a long, very sensuous blow job.  I never
before heard him scream so loud when he came, nor spew so much fluid.

"Let's clean up," Dad said, "and then I have some very serious stuff to
talk to you about."  I was elated.  Maybe he was going to tell us about his
sexual orientation at last.  In the end I was right about that, but I got a
lot more than I bargained for.

After we were all cleaned up, Dad went to his overnight bag and took out
some papers.  He handed them to me.  "These are your adoption papers," he
stated simply.  He smiled at me.  "Your legal name now is Tyler Franklin
Young.  I took the liberty of forwarding a copy of these papers to the
registrar at Columbia and that's the name you are registered under.
Remember that, when you have to sign papers, or when a professor calls on
Mr. Young."

I burst into tears and immediately Tim was all over me smothering me with
kisses.  "Now I'm not going to deny we're twins when people ask," he said
proudly.

"There's more boys," Dad said quietly.  Tim and I calmed down and waited
expectantly.  Dad opened the dresser drawers and found what he was looking
for, a Bible.

"Put your right hands on this Bible," he told both of us.  I was now
frightened.  "I have been harboring a tremendous secret since before Tim
was born.  It's something that's important for you to know, so I am going
to reveal it now, but you must swear on this Holy Book that you will never
ever tell your mother."

I began to hyperventilate.  I could tell that Tim wasn't doing well either,
but we both swore to keep Dad's secret.  He began to talk, and with each
word my jaw dropped lower.  He started by telling us that he had been one
hundred percent gay until the day he met our mother, but now he considered
himself to be bi-sexual, but only where she is concerned.  He swore to us
that her companionship was the best thing that ever happened to him, and
that he had no trouble making love to her because he loved her so much, and
because of her extraordinary beauty.  I must admit that his admission of
love made me feel really good.

Then, almost in a whisper, he said, "After your mother died, Tim, everyone
thought I went to the gym so often to work out because I missed Joannie so
much, and couldn't bear to go home.  To tell the truth I went to meet up
with other men.  Even now, besides you boys, I do see other men.  I have a
few close fuck buddies.  They are all married men by the way.  Can you see
what a hunger homosexuality is?"

I was about to say that I understood, but he raised his hand and I remained
silent, so he continued.  He described the visit to his office by the
Carters and their sixteen year old daughter, Joan, who was three months
pregnant at the time.  He told us that when he learned that John Franklin,
the father of her child, was dead, he married Joan.  The mock marriage of
convenience was never consummated.  I was sitting next to Tim and we were
leaning into each other.  As his story progressed, I felt Tim's body begin
to shake.  I put an arm around him to comfort him.

Dad went on to describe how curious he was about what had happened to
Franklin's wife, and how he maneuvered to meet her.  "When I pretended to
meet her accidently, I fell in love with her immediately.  I was totally
smitten," he said.  He had now emphasized his love for Mom twice,
presumably for our benefit and comfort.

I suddenly realized that my "hero" father had knocked up a sixteen year old
girl, and then abandoned her.  At first I didn't connect to the realization
that Tim and I were real brothers.  Dad had to point it out to us later on.
But before he did, he said.  "You see, Tyler, we don't want your mother to
think ill of your father.  He wasn't the knight in shining armor she
thought he was, and we mustn't burst her bubble.  Do you understand?"

I nodded my head dumbly.

"You're not my father," Tim sobbed.  He was crying like a little boy."

"Nonsense.  I'm your father in every sense of the word.  I am just as much
Tyler's father also," he almost screamed at Tim.  He threw his arms around
Tim, who rested his head on Dad's shoulder.

I finally got myself together and asked, "Why are you telling us all this
now?"

"Lots of reasons," he said.  "First off, the burden of such a secret has
been too much for me to carry alone all these years.  I needed to get it
off my chest, and tell you guys the truth.  You're adults now and you can
handle the truth.  Then there's a simple matter of health.  My blood type
is different from either of yours.  If you should need a transfusion or an
organ, I'm not compatible, but since you guys are blood brothers, and
lovers as well, you can rely on each other."

It finally hit me.  Tim and I were real brothers.  I think it hit him at
the same time.  Suddenly he jumped out of Dad's arms and embraced me.  He
was laughing and crying at the same time.  "We're brothers," he kept
repeating over and over as he covered me with kisses.  He finally let go of
me and gave our dad the same treatment.  "Thank you for telling us," he
sobbed.  "This means a lot to me."

"I'm disappointed," I said.

"I'm sorry that your natural father wasn't the Mr. Nice Guy you thought he
was," Dad said.

"It's not that.  All this time I thought Tim and you were committing incest
and it was kind of titillating.  You aren't his birth father and so no
incest is being committed."

Dad started to laugh.  "Sure there is.  You and Tim are committing the
sin."  He said `sin' mockingly.

I suddenly saw the light.  "There can't be any sin where there is so much
love," I said.

The three of us hopped back in bed.  Relieved of his burdensome secret, Dad
made love to us again that night, like there was no tomorrow.  That was
almost the truth.  That night would be a prelude to a long sexual drought
between a father and his sons, and we all wanted to make it memorable.