Date: Sat, 7 Sep 2013 17:58:28 -0700 (PDT)
From: Dave Krenshaw <davekrenshaw@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Taking of Son Billy's Cherry:  Installment 1

	     The Taking of Son Billy's Cherry: Installment 1
			     by Dave Krenshaw

		    For contact: davekrenshaw@yahoo.com


If you are a minor, meaning you have not attained the age of majority,
i.e.: "legal age", for the jurisdiction in which you reside, or material of
this nature is illegal in the same, please close the window in which you
are reading this disclaimer or as necessary, the computer browser you are
using, immediately.

This story is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents portrayed in such work are either the product of the author's
imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, that you yourself have knowledge of is entirely
coincidental.  All comments as to this story are greatly appreciated:
Please send the same to me at: davekrenshaw@yahoo.com (Please put the title
of this story in the subject line of your email, so that I will know that
your email is not any type of commercial solicitation); and please be sure
to state in your email if a reply from me is welcome.

I am an intermediate school art teacher presently residing in Appalachian
Spring Hillsdale Village, a condominium development nestled in a surburb of
Charleston, South Carolina.  I am originally from Philadelphia,
Pennsylvania; and relocated here shortly after college graduation to get
far away from the chaos of city life, not to mention the incessant insanity
of my relations.  Of course, when I first arrived here, I went through an
adjustment period: For one thing, the quiet of the area, though calming and
tranquil, took a bit of time to get used to; and that may be the
understatement of the year.  In addition, quite a few of the locals I soon
enough discovered had their share of eccentricities.  A major plus for me
was that neighbors knew to respect the privacy of those living in
proximity, at least in general.  Anyhow, I am presently in my early
fifties, six-feet-two-inches, about 187 pounds, and a bit on the muscular
side still, with nicely-defined pecs nestled in a thickly hairy chest and
with a treasure trail of hair extending from between my pecs all the way
down to my pubic area.  My name is Davey Robert James, though many of the
locals here, as I am very active in the community, especially the local
charity events, affectionately call me "Uncle Davey".  With the exception
of an unsettling divorce from my high school sweetheart about two years
ago, life has been pretty much good for me to date.  Now, I could, if I
chose to, make excuses for my "beloved" until the cows gushed with milk,
but the truth is that Thelma Anne never wanted the responsibility of
children and only gave a crap about her beauty regimen and her socialite
friends and her flamboyant career as a senior editor and corporate
executive officer for a major national fashion magazine publication.


Therefore, it certainly came as no shock to me, needless to say, when I,
once all the ink was dry, so to speak, ended up with sole primary legal and
physical custody of our only child, our son Billy, now already seventeen
years of age.  Billy is a straight-A student; and for the past year and a
half has been a member of his high school's swim team.  He is
five-feet-seven inches in height, with light-brown hair and marine-blue
eyes.  Overall pretty slender, but he definitely has the sharply-defined
pecs and muscular legs of a classic competive swimmer's build.  He rarely
ever gives me any trouble, though, now and then, he has gotten into a bit
of mischief with his friends: As they say: "Boys will be boys."

One day, about a week ago, I had just gotten home from work; and I was in a
foul mood: The budget committee had just disapproved the requested funds
allocation for my art class' upcoming mural project; and unless I could
timely resolve the budget problem, my class would not be able to
participate in the upcoming state school mural competition this spring.  I
figured I would just head right into the shower and literally cool off; and
then, after a quick dinner with Billy, plop down into my favorite recliner
in the den and watch a bit of television.  On the way to the bathroom in my
room, I passed by my son's room; and, to my surprise, discovered his door
wide open.

This is what I saw, as I stood quietly in the door way; and it took quite a
few moments to take it all in: Billy, dressed in solely a tight jock strap,
was standing in front of his closet door and facing the rear of the room.
I could not tell at all just what he was fixated on, it was almost as if he
was lost in thought or day-dreaming.  I could not help but notice that he
was really well-developed for his age and had hardly any body fat on him
whatsoever, with the exception, that is, of these plush, plump mounds of
flesh composing his buns.  All I could think of was that my son was blessed
with one really hot rear.  I felt myself turning crimson while thinking
this; and scurried away from the doorway and into my room.  It sounds
crazy, but I actually thought that I could just put everything out of my
mind; and act like nothing ever happened.

Soon enough, I was in the shower; and thoroughly enjoying the invigorating
warmth of the shower spray and massage gadget.  I found myself in moments
thinking about about Billy and his remarkably smooth and plush-looking
silky buns.  It seemed almost as if in my mind all I could see was his
porcelain-colored buns.  I looked down while soaping up and saw that my
cock, my eight-inch moderately thick cut cock, was at full attention.  It
sounds almost comical talking about it in this way, but the truth is that,
at that moment, I was having a hard time grasping just what was happening.
Suddenly, while I was casually soaping up my cock laying in my lathered
fingers, I realized that I had these very strong feelings of lust with
regard to my own son.  I began vigorously caressing my ample-sized balls
and gently stroking the full length of my shaft.  The image in my mind now
transformed to one of my cock snugly in place in between the seducing buns
of my son.  I pumped and pumped my majestic member with great passion,
releasing one of the hugest loads against the shower wall tiles that I have
ever released in my life.  As the cascading water of the shower washed away
my cum, I began to envision about making love to my son: I knew, after just
a few seconds of soul-searching, that I wanted to be the one to take my
innocent and probably gay son Billy's cherry.