Date: Fri, 24 Apr 2015 07:42:18 -0700
From: jonhold@earthlink.net
Subject: Sailors Son

Sailors Son
by Jon Hold
Copyright ©2015
jonhold@earthlink.net


He had to leave home right after graduating High School. He knew it, and
his Dad damn well knew it. They just weren't getting along. Bran had been
the only child of a single parent since he was two years old and could
barely remember the mother that had abandoned him and his father. They had
always been super close, supporting each other and helping each other with
everything. Until the hormones really started getting a grip on Bran and he
started finding it harder and harder to be close to his father or
communicate with him. A typical teenage thing, only taken to extremes. By
his Senior year they were hardly communicating. They even ate separately.

Making his own plans, Bran signed up with the Navy recruiter to be inducted
two weeks after graduation. The day he left for boot camp he left his
father a note:

-----

Dad

I've joined the Navy. There's a roast in the oven.

                      Bran

----

Ralph found the note from his son in the middle of the kitchen table. He
read it and sat heavily in one of the vinyl chairs by the small kitchen
table where he and Bran ate most of their meals. He sat there for hours,
staring at the note and remembering the son who he loved and who had once
loved him. He got up and went to bed without having dinner or taking a
shower. The next day he gave two weeks notice at work and hired his own
replacement. He'd had plenty of money for years and worked mostly to stay
out of Bran's way. He took to mostly staying in the house and rarely opened
the curtains. His friends worried about him but he was unresponsive and
gruff.

Ralph's buddy, Cherry, came by and had a long, heart-to-heart with Ralph.

"Ralph, this shit has got to stop, and it's stopping right here and
now. Bran's gone and that's that, and good riddance to the little
prick. Oh, sit back down, Dammit! Ralph, HE'S GONE! Accept it! It's time to
get on with your life. You always said that you wanted to work with me once
you retired, well, you start tonight. I'm sick and tired of the flakey
bartenders at my bar and I fired the flakiest of the bunch last night. You
take over as head bartender, TONIGHT!"

"Cherry, I can't..."

"Bullshit! TONIGHT! I'll be by at five to pick you up and to show you how
to open. I'll hang around this week and introduce you to the vendors and
show you how all the paperwork goes. Next week you're on your own. Complete
freedom to run the place any way you want. Hell, you can even throw out all
the queers and turn the place into a sleazy cocktail lounge if you
want. Deal?"

Cherry owned a bunch of different businesses, the Purple Parrot was an
upscale bar that had been pretty much taken over by the gay crowd over
fifteen years before. They spent well and were generally orderly. Few bar
fights or loud arguments. The place made money hand over fist and Cherry
was loathe to mess with a good thing. He was even less willing to abandon
his friend to the deep well of despair his godson had tripped his father
into. He and Ralph spent the day out at the pool, napping in the afternoon
warmth.

Ralph surprised himself. He actually liked the bartending and his crew
rapidly learned to like, and respect, him. He had flattened one studly
bodybuilder type who was looking for trouble with a single punch. The guy
fell like he'd been hit with a sack full of rocks and that was the last
discipline problem Ralph had. He was sort of shocked to discover that he
actually liked most of the patron's and soon became a favorite with
them. Word got around that he wasn't available, but there were always a few
hopefuls hanging around, just in case.... One little queen got her feelings
hurt and Ralph held her and calmed her down and then made her boyfriend
apologize for being mean. The other bartenders just shook their heads at
their straight boss and smiled. Business got even better after that.

The lonesome man quickly moved into a routine, taking Mondays off and
working the other six days. He spent most of his time up in the office
watching and doing paperwork, or he might come downstairs and mingle with
the crowd, meeting and greeting and offering free drinks here and
there. When it got busy, Ralph got behind the bar and proved to the younger
bartenders that there was no way they could keep up with him. He had years
of experience as an amateur bartender and his natural grace and reflexes
made everything he did look like swift poetry in motion. He had a good
memory for names and faces and was quickly one of THE people to know in the
local gay community. That he was tall, strong and athletically built
(little beer belly and all), and very distinguished looking was no great
hinderance to his popularity. Ninety percent of the patrons of the Purple
Parrot would have jumped in bed with him given the smallest chance. The
dark mystery of why he sometimes looked so sad did nothing to lessen the
aura that was growing around him.

It was a Friday night about four months later that it happened. He was in
his upstairs office, getting dressed and looking through the one-way mirror
that was his window into the world outside when there was a minor swirl in
the crowd that got his attention. A young sailor in a tight white uniform
was headed for the bar and he was attracting a lot of attention. Ralph
froze when he finally recognized the sailor. It was Bran.

The shocked man's face went pale and he collapsed into his office chair. He
just sat there. Staring through the one-way glass. His son.

---

Bran was like an animal wearing a scent magnet. Wherever he moved, the
crowd swirled and twisted around him as the patrons attempted to get close
to him. Someone gave him a beer and others tried too. Someone touched him
and others tried to paw him. He politely backed them off, the glow of his
powerful male presence leaving them in awe of him. The DJ started a new
danceable tune and Bran grabbed the nearest partner and spun him off onto
the dance floor. The more beer Bran drank, the more he danced. Much to the
approval of the eager audience he required help peeling off the
sweat-soaked skin-tight white Navy jumper that was plastered to his hot
skin and stuck to the bright white t-shirt. A general gasp went up when he
stood up and threw his jumper to a nelly queen for safekeeping. The queen
put the jumper to her face and developed an acute case of the vapors after
inhaling a lung-full of Bran. His girlfriends had to support and fan him to
keep him from passing out on the floor. The rest of the crowd was too busy
staring at Bran to notice.

Narrow hips flared upward in sheets and curls of muscle to the thick chest
and wide, heavily muscled shoulders. Corded abs exhibited perfect ripples
of muscle and lean gristle right through his t-shirt as Bran grabbed
another partner at random and went back to dancing. The DJ was keeping the
music fast and hot and the customers vied amongst themselves to be Brans
next dance partner. Bran hardly noticed his partners coming and going,
seeming to become lost in the music and his dance. Others were dancing, but
it was Bran everyone was watching and lusting after. He'd take a swig of
beer from the nearest beer whenever there was a change-up in the music. No
one objected. It was obvious that Bran could have his choice of partners
and that the customers were willing to do each other dirt just to touch the
rivulets of sweat coursing down his torso to soak into his white
bell-bottoms. The wet material gave ample proof that Bran was NOT wearing
his regulation white boxer shorts --- or any other sort of shorts for that
matter. The more obvious the length and thickness of the heavy truncheon in
Bran's trousers became, the raunchier the crowd became. Bran was dirty
dancing with his partners now, driving them crazy as the crowd got noisier
and more heated.

Frank shook his head, trying to clear his vision and thinking. He had a
potential riot on his hands and if he didn't damn well do something pretty
quick there'd be no way to stop it. He got up and put his jacket on. Wiping
his hand backwards across his receding hairline, Frank opened the door and
headed downstairs.

Bran was in a lustful fog all his own. Having all these guys fawn over him
was a total ego booster. Knowing that they wanted him, bad, just added to
the feeling. Bran had made some breakthroughs in boot camp. Losing his
virginity to a hot mouth in a late night shower and busting his first ass a
few nights later during an overnight operation. Word got out and a certain
segment of the recruit community became very focused on the times that Bran
might be naked and/or available. Shower times for Bran became very crowded
events. Even a few of the Company Commanders managed to arrange a little
private time with the buffed stud. Mouths and asses provided some real
learning experiences for Bran for the rest of his boot camp
experience. Bran's own Company Commander never touched him during boot
camp. But right after graduation the older man took Bran to his home and
gave him some serious lessons in man-to-man sex. Bran even learned how to
suck a mans dick, and was only about half-surprised to discover that he
really liked it.

Bran and Chief Johnston went out several nights, and Bran learned the
basics of the bar game, including how to piss down someone's throat when
all the other urinals were busy. The memory sort of jolted Bran back to the
present and he quickly became aware of the mood of the crowd. Maybe it was
time for him to sit down and take a breather. Just as he was trying to
figure out how to gracefully sit down without starting some sort of fight,
the crowd off to the left abruptly quieted and then reluctantly
parted. There was a huge bouncer standing there and Bran swallowed, just
hoping that he could retrieve his jumper before he got thrown out on his
can. The bouncer walked over to Bran who gulped air as the lust-fog cleared
from his eyes. SHIT! It was his father!

-----

Bran was trying to think through the alcohol haze as his father pushed him
down the stairs and into the basement storeroom. He'd been dancing and
showing off to a bunch of faggots when this huge bouncer showed up out of
nowhere and dragged him off the dance floor by his ear. Only after he'd
been started down the stairs did it really soak through that the bouncer
was his father. He tried to resist at that point but between the free
alcohol he'd been fed and the shock of recognizing his father he was pretty
helpless.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Rubbing his sore ear Bran snapped, "I was having a good time. What the fuck
do you think you were doing?"

"Stopping a riot before it started you young fool. Couldn't you feel how
ugly things were getting!"

"Everybody doesn't have to hate me the way you do, Dad. Some people even
love this body! If you can't handle that, then go fuck yourself!"

Frank stood there, stunned. Then, very deliberately, with lightning speed,
he slapped Bran, his son, across the face.

Bran felt his face with one hand. "I've stayed away from you since I was 14
because I knew that this is what you'd do if you ever found out that I
lusted for your body. To make love with you. To have you show me how to
totally love you. And you've proven that I was smart to wait and learn how
to love in the Navy." Crying, "Fuck you, Dad!"

"But... But..."

"`But' what, Dad? what can you say now to make up for hating me all those
years?"

The silence pounded in both their ears as they stared in shock at
strangers.

"I love you." Frank said in a perfectly flat voice.

"I've known it since you were a baby. You were MY baby! MY Son. I would
NEVER do anything to hurt you. When you started becoming a man you were so
beautiful I was afraid to touch you because I didn't know if I could
stop. All I really wanted to do was hold you and kiss you and show you
everything you needed to know about your new body, what was happening, and
how to enjoy yourself to the max. I even had an old friend talked into
letting you and me take her to bed so I could show you how to be with a
woman.

"Instead, you got all self-righteous and wouldn't even talk to me. Hate
you? No, Bran. I've been sad about how tense you were, and wished I could
talk with you and find out what the problem was. But you have a whim of
case-hardened steel and I, foolishly, tried to respect you, and let you
have your way. <sigh>"

Bran staggered backwards and collapsed onto an old, broken bar
table. "What?" Bran said in a tiny voice. "What?" Trembling in shock, the
boy-man just sat there, stareing at his father.

"I love you son!". The emotion constricted throat continued, "I always
have. I've just been so afraid of hurting you."

Tears streaming down his face, Bran reached his arms up to his father just
like the little boy he used to be, "Daddy?"

"Son!" Reaching down to grasp his sons extended arms, Frank pulled the boy
to his feet and carefully, tentatively gathered his beloved son into his
arms.

Bran seemed to float on much more than just an alcoholic haze, realizing
suddenly that he was as tall as his father, not as massive, but the same,
eye-to-eye, height. His Dad's arms wrapped completely around him. He was
very aware that his arms only reached part way around his Dad's heavily
muscled chest as his mouth opened to his fathers suddenly insistent tongue.

Finally breaking from his son's passion swollen lips, Frank whispered into
his ear, "My son! My son!" Sobbing, "I love you, Son! I always have!"

"Daddy." Bran said, burying his face into his fathers broad, powerful
chest.

Frank pulled his son up into his arms the same way he used to carry Bran
around when he was still a small boy and carried him down to the staff
break room. Two hours, two pots of coffee, and a great deal of talking and
sharing later, Frank lead his still bare chested boy back upstairs. The
crowd had thinned, but the queen Bran had entrusted with his jumper was
still waiting for him to reappear. She became quite flustered when Bran
thanked her for her "loyalty" and then gathered her into his powerful arms,
lip-locking her until she was dizzy. Breaking the suction, Bran grouped her
butt and said, "maybe, another time, we can find something better to do
with that than sit on it. Frank was pretty sure the poor little queen
orgasmed into her panties. Frank was pretty sure that both he and the cute
little pussyboy knew that Bran was no prick-tease and had every intention
of "dating" her and providing her with the stud service she craved. In
spades! Frank had no doubt that the cute boy was going to experience at
least one serious butt-fucking before too awfully long.

Frank was startled when he realized how proud he was of his son. "Might
even offer to help him bed the boy," he thought. Frank smiled thinking
about what was likely to happen to the eager boy when both he and his son
took the bottom-boy to bed—for an entire weekend! Frank put his arm
around Bran's shoulders and looked right into the almost drooling boys
eyes. "You take care of that tight little butt of yours, Boy. My son and I
might want to use it for a weekend instead of just a hour."

"Your son!?" Squeaked the little queen.

"Yeah. Think you'd like taking care of a father-son team for more than just
a quick bang?" The diminutive faggot actually wet her pants just thinking
about it. Both big men took that as a "Yes".

FINIS