Date: Sun, 04 May 2008 22:00:48 -0400
From: niftyreadersclub@aol.com
Subject: The Journey - Part Six

We all slept in late Sunday morning.  I got up first, Zave wandered out of
his room about an hour later, and I had to wake Corbin up at eleven so he
wouldn't end up being up late again.  Each of us ate breakfast at different
times.

A little after noon, I told Zave to turn the game off and head to the tree
house to take everything out.  In the kitchen, I asked Corbin if he wanted
to give a hand, but he had plans.  I wasn't going to interrupt him again so
soon after all that happened the day before.  The temperature of
communication in the house was normal, and I was satisfied.

Taking the carpet down from the rafters, I already felt the heat of the
day.  This was going to be a sweaty job at best, but shouldn't take too
long.  Zave had things scattered on the ground under the tree house.
Before Corbin took off, he came out and handed my carpenter's belt to me.
"Thanks."

"Sure.  Have fun.  I'll be home late."

"Cor, before you go, hand the carpet to me when I get up the ladder." He
nodded, accommodated, and took off.

Zavid came up the ladder as I was pushing the roll against one wall.  It
was a time like this that I was glad the tree house was not built with the
trunk in the middle.  The old oak tree had sturdy, thick branches to build
on them.  "What do you want me to do?" He asked.

"Ah," I looked around, "keep my belt with you.  You can hand me nails and
anything else I'll need."

"Okay."

I took my t-shirt off and hung it out one of the windows.  As I started
working, I asked, "So you had a good time with your brother last night?"

"Yes," He said eagerly.  "I don't know why he suddenly decided to talk to
me, but I was glad he did.  My voice sounds funny," he said oddly.

"It's changing," I told him.  "You're just now noticing?" He nodded.
"Remember when it happened to Cor?" He nodded.  I rolled the carpet out
with him moving here and there to not be in the way.  It was about four
feet bigger than the rectangular size of the innards.  "Box cutter?" I
asked, holding my hand out.  As I pushed the carpet in one direction, I
tried to position it so that I only had to cut along two of the walls.

As I got into laying the carpet, I kind of got less talkative.  After
trimming away the excess carpet and tossing it out the entrance, I started
taking one nail tack after another from Zave.  It snuck up on me that he
was staring at me.  Unlike in the past, it wasn't a feeling that I
questioned.  I had gotten used to it.  Even though I had several questions
I wanted to ask him, I refrained.  I kept my silence and let Zavid watch
the muscles in my arms flex with each pound of the hammer.  He probably
loved that I was shirtless.

Just as I was finishing with the last tack at the corner of the second
length of the carpet, he asked, "What's it like to have a hairy chest?"

I turned in his direction.  "I guess I don't know what it's supposed to
feel like.  I've been like this for so long it's just a part of me."  I
went back to hammering.  After a few moments I asked, "Would you like to
feel it?"  Within a minute of no response, I called, "Zavid?"

"Maybe."

Shrugging my shoulders, I said, "I'd prefer to hear a yes or no."

"Yes, then."

I was seated on my ass with my right leg folded and my left leg up for
balance.  "Well come up behind me and feel from my point of view."

"Huh?"

"Feel as if I was doing it myself," I told him.

Seconds later, I felt him kneel behind me.  At his age he was gangly,
lanky.  His face came into my peripheral vision above my left shoulder, his
chest made contact with my back and his arms came around me.  There was no
way I could keep hammering tacks in while he was trying to do this so I
stopped.  I felt his fingertips touch the middle of my chest.  He was
hesitant, but little by little, his fingers splayed and roamed through my
chest hair.  I closed my eyes and wondered what he was thinking.  He moved
his fingers slowly, over my chest, moving down to my stomach, back up.

"It probably feels to you like how it feels to me when I do this to myself,
or when your mother does it to me sometimes when we're lying in bed at
night," I told him softly, eyes still closed.

"And it feels good?" He asked.

"Sure it does."

After a few moments, I said lightly, "Let me know when you're done so I can
finish with the carpet."

Whatever thought he was in he snapped out of.  His hands retreated and he
sat back.  I don't know why, but I was surprised when he politely said,
"Thanks, dad."

I turned and nodded to him, going back to the tacking.  "So what'd you
think?"

"I think that I'm not going to be like you, or Corbin."  I shot a quick
glance his way.  "I don't think so either.  I think you're gonna have more
of a swimmer's build, muscular but lean."  He nodded.  Grinning, I asked,
"What kind of guys do you like to look at?"  In many ways, it was not easy
for me to ask him that.  As a matter of fact, it was pretty difficult but I
hoped it didn't come across in my voice.  I told myself it would get
easier.

"Just guys."

"And girls, Zave?  They're not a part of your thoughts at all?"

Shaking his head, he said, "Just to know them."  He changed the subject on
me after that.  "Dad, Corbin knew."  I turned to listen.  "I never said
anything to him to make him think that.  I don't understand why."

"Zave, can we try to talk about this without causing a panic?" When he
agreed, I returned to my task, speaking as if we were talking about some
every day thing.  "I have to tell you that mom knows too, or at least
suspects.  The reason why I'm telling you this is because we know you
inside and out, or at least we believe we do.  And knowing you so well, the
differences like, let's say, between you and your brother are obvious.

"Your brother is crazy about girls, and you're not.  Your brother is knee
deep in sports, and you barely lift a finger to anything.  You're quiet
too, as if you hope and pray no one asks you a question so that you don't
have to be involved.  We, the people who know you best, can see these
differences.

"It's that with some guys it's very obvious to see that they're gay by how
they act on the outside, but you're not like that, Zave.  It's not like
you're wearing it on your sleeve.  Does that make any sense to you?"

"Yes."  I drove the last tack in and was finished with the carpet.
Shifting over, I crossed my legs and sat in front of him.  He was deep in
thought, but he asked, "All that can tell you I'm gay?"

"It creates an assumption," I said carefully.  "There's something
completely off the beaten track here happening to you that doesn't happen
to many boys in your position.

"What's that?"

"It's that I don't want you to have to hide until you're an adult to face
this.  I want to walk through this with you.  I don't know anything about
being gay, and neither do you.  All we've gotta go on is that something
inside you is telling you that you like boys, and take one step forward
from there."  Looking at him intensely, I added, "Son, I don't want you to
wander through this alone, thinking you have to hide and not include
yourself in everyday activities.  I need to know if you'll let me learn
with you."

"Why would you do that when everything about me is wrong?"

"There is nothing wrong with you."

"But-"

"There are no `buts' here, Zave.  I know you hear things, and you're gonna
hear things.  What I really want you to know is that at your age, this may
just be a phase you're going through.  We could be talking about girls next
year instead of boys."

He was pretty deep in thought.  I wanted to keep him thinking, but not
fully as an adult would think.  Then, he said something that hadn't crossed
my mind.  Something all young boys must think.  "You don't want me to be
this way."

He caught me by surprise.  The hesitation I gave must have upset at least
some of the progress I had already made because I could feel the distance
and see it darkening in his brown eyes.  "Son, I want you to be what you're
going to be."  I knew it wouldn't mend this new gap in the bridge between
us with those simple words, but it was the best I could do.  "I want to see
who you are going to become, and if you're not going to be like me, or like
your brother, I want to know anyway.  I promise, Zavid."

His eyes flickered that he acknowledged what I said even if he didn't
believe it, or at least not yet.

I felt the light coat of sweat hit me from the heat.  "I need to take a
shower and clean up."  As I was climbing out, I told him, "Since we ate
late, I won't do anything for lunch, but if you need a snack until supper,
eat whatever you can find."  He nodded.

Upstairs, I undressed in my room and went down the hall.  Turning on the
shower, I felt the stirrings of an erection and thought that I hadn't
relieved myself that way in several days.  By the time I was fully under
the blast of water I was completely hard.  The shower curtain was plastic,
but not fully see-through plastic; someone on the other side could see an
image, but not completely clear.  I turned around, getting my entire body
wet, closed my eyes, and slowly starting stroking with one hand and
massaging my balls with the other.

After a few moments of this, I opened my eyes.  I was alone in the
bathroom, but I could see in the mirror on the wall above the sink Zavid's
blurred image.  He was in the hallway close to the bathroom.  I hadn't
closed the door.  I almost stopped what I was doing, then thought, no, even
if he sees my image in the mirror too, it's just as blurry to him.
Besides, when I got in the shower I really thought about how much I wanted
to get off.

So I continued stroking.  A few more minutes into it, I felt myself getting
close.  I looked up at the ceiling as I popped; enjoying the sensation that
cumming gave me.  When my breathing returned to normal, I quickly soaped
up, rinsed off, stepped out and dried my body.  I turned the shower off,
brought the towel around my neck and stopped in the doorway.  Zavid was
standing in his bedroom doorway, a silly grin on his face.  "Did you just
jerk off?"

Slowly nodding, I said, "Yep."

"I heard the..." I could tell he didn't know how to describe it.

"My heavy breathing when I was cumming?" I asked him.

"Yeah.  That."  He said, embarrassed.

My eyes flickered at his folded hands over his crotch.  "You look like you
might need to do the same thing."  More embarrassment.  I stepped out of
the doorway and pointed.  "Why don't you hop in the shower and take care of
yourself?" He shook his head.  "Why not?"

"Because I like to see myself."

I did a slow nod.  "Well why don't you do it in your bedroom, or in the
tree house?" I asked.  He grinned.  His knowing that I was jacking off in
the shower must have given him some act of courage.  He slowly backed into
his room, and I stepped over to stay within view, keeping eye contact with
him.  At his bedside, he slipped off his shirt, then his hands found the
button of his jeans, but then he just stood there expectantly, invitingly.
"Do you want me to watch?"  The fact that I was naked never left my mind.
It probably gave him a boost.  He nodded, so I leaned against the door
frame.

I don't remember seeing him nude since he was perhaps eight.  As he kicked
off his shoes, removed his socks and slipped his pants and shorts off, I
was amazed at how much he'd grown.  His hard-on pointing up at the ceiling
looked so hard and straining I thought it'd snap if it was touched.  And he
had a crop of pubic hair that was a stage above peach fuzz.  For some
reason, I wasn't minding seeing him like this.  If it were a grown man or
any other boy, I'd just walk away.  His wanting me to stay was just
something I decided to do as his father.

He lay down on his bed, his eyes now looking over all of me as he started
jacking off.  At his age, and probably in his excitement, he came in less
than a minute, his sperm shooting out in darts up in the air and landing on
his chest and stomach, holding his breath until it had to be released just
like I had done.  I watched all of this objectively.  The only thing that
came to my mind was that he had no control yet.  He had so much to learn.

I grabbed the towel from around my neck and threw it over to him.  He
accepted it so happily, I had to smile.  "It always feels great, doesn't
it?" I asked.

"Yes."  His voice was excited in just that word, because it changed to
another key when he asked, "Dad, do you think that we can do this together
some time?"  He didn't ask it looking directly at me, more like look away,
look back, look away, look back.

I couldn't help but take advantage of this and dig a little deeper into his
thoughts.  I sat down beside him; nothing could have made this easier than
us both being naked together.  He wasn't showing any signs of embarrassment
at letting me see him cum, and I didn't want that interrupted.  "Is that
all, Zave?" I asked.  "Just you and me, side by side, doing a quick jack
off?"

He thought about that, still rubbing his torso with the damp towel.  "I
think it'd be exciting to see you do it."

"See how I stroke, see me cum?"  He nodded.  "And nothing else?  No
touching?  No feeling?  No kissing?  Just jacking off?"  He didn't respond,
but he was thinking, I could see the little wheels turning in his head.

Zavid had more of a bold look in his expression, yet his voice became
timid.  "Maybe touch."

I leaned over his body to rest my elbow on the other side of him, feeling
his erection jab me in the side.  A knee jerk reaction arched my torso
away, but I thought hell with it.  I had him talking.  I was also inwardly
remembering when I was his age, that even after I shot, my erection would
remain and I could do it again ten minutes later if I wanted to put up with
the soreness it would cause; the glory of youth.  "Do you think of me when
you jack off?"

He hesitated, but finally nodded.  "Sometimes."

I smiled, "And what I am I doing when you're thinking of me?"

Shrugging his shoulders, he said, "Playing with me.  Hugging, touching each
other.  You kiss me sometimes."

How to handle this, how to handle this, how to handle this?  "Do you know
that what you're describing is having sex?" I inquired.  He began to look
strained.  I pictured myself, trying to see what he might be seeing in me.
I wanted to know if I was sounding upset to him, or angry, because I wasn't
feeling those things.  I was detached from letting myself think about this
emotionally, and perhaps safely so.  I thought I was keeping my voice
neutral and unthreatening.  In any case, I wanted him to know that we
couldn't do anything he was describing any time soon, if at all.

"Zave," I took the towel from him, tossed it on the floor, and put the palm
of my hand over his thumping heart, "I'm glad you told me this." I was also
aware that his shaft had gone soft.  "Really, I'm very, very glad.  I don't
have any answers for you right now about that.  I said before, we're
learning about this new feeling of yours together.  Just because I can't do
the things you think about, please don't think I'm against you.  I'm right
here and I'll always be right here.

"I need to learn a few things that are happening, so I need some time.  Are
you still with me?"

I looked as deeply in his eyes as I could.  Regardless of what he thought,
he nodded his head.  "Good."  I ruffled his hair with my other hand,
smiling.  There was no real way I could find to end this situation easily.
I just hoped it would hold him over so that we could talk again in the
future.  "Did it feel good to you to pop your load in front of me?"

He surprised me with a smile, and said, "Yeah, it did."

"Even if you didn't get to see me?"

Again, a surprising, "Yeah.  It's okay.  It's lonely when I do it alone."

Oh, but how I could relate with that feeling.  I completely understood the
need for wanting to share it.  "Is this helping you to know that you don't
have to be all alone in this?"

"Yes."  I'd kept my right hand over his heart, and the thumping lessened,
but still not back to normal.

"Alright." I raised myself up and stood, still looking down at him.  "I
need to get a few things done before dinner.  We're barbequing in the back
yard tonight."

He sat up, his eyes a little above eye level with my crotch.  He stared at
my soft cock, and then shot an `I've been caught looking' glance up at me.
"Its okay, Zave, I don't mind if you want to look."  He didn't, though; he
got up past me and ran to the bathroom.  When I heard the shower turn on, I
made my way to my bedroom to dress and think about all of this.

As calm as I wanted to keep my son, calmness was leaving me.


There was plenty of time.  After dressing in shorts and a polo shirt, I
hopped in the car and headed downtown.  It was only a little after three
thirty, so I assumed he'd be there.  When I went through the entrance, I
found myself in a very occupied and noisy bar.  There were two bartenders
behind the bar, but neither of them was him.  I also felt eyes on me,
probably because I had just frozen in place without moving further into the
bar.

Backing out, I took a few steps away from the door and leaned against the
building.  The guy couldn't work every day, I told myself.  But damn! I
thought.  Part of what was happening to me was that my emotions were
starting to leak threw the walls I subconsciously put up around my feelings
when this all began.  I could sense it the moment I left my son's room.
Panic was finding its way to me.

I stood there for a few moments, eyes closed, telling myself to block what
I was feeling.  This surge of reality was suffocating me and I couldn't
stop it.  Now that I knew, now that it was a reality, that I wasn't
imagining it, I was starting to react, and I couldn't do this alone and I
couldn't tell my wife.  Beginning to slide down the wall, I heard, "Hey
Dad!"

Jerking forward, I looked around.  I didn't see him, but knew his voice.
"Up here!"  My eyes darted up, looking at the showcase of apartment windows
along the building across the street.  I finally caught the wave of a hand,
and saw him in one of the windows to my right.  Mister Bartender.  "I'll be
right down."

The sigh of relief that escaped me was like nothing I had ever experienced
in my life.