Date: Tue, 24 Sep 2013 01:03:10 -0700 (PDT)
From: Dave Krenshaw <davekrenshaw@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Taking of Son Billy's Cherry:  Installment 4

The Taking of Son Billy's Cherry:  Installment 4
by davekrenshaw@yahoo.com


This story may contain content of a sexually graphic nature which may not
be legal for the jurisdiction in which you reside. 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 in general or any installment
of the same posted are greatly appreciated: Please send the same to me at:
davekrenshaw@yahoo.com (Please put the title of this story in the subject
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Appalachian Spring Hillsdale Village, a condominium development nestled in
a surburb of Charleston has for many years been my adoptive hometown, so to
speak.  It is a balance of calm, quiet, and tranquility, and of routine
happenings and pastimes mingled with a sprinkling of often not-so-subtle
eccentricities of several handfuls of the South Carolina locals.  A major
plus for me has always been that neighbors for the most part respect the
privacy of those living in proximity.  I of course appreciate the serenity
of the development I reside in; and on this particular Saturday, I am busy
in the kitchen at about the mid-morn hour preparing breakfast, as usual,
for Billy and I; and a bit buried in thought as to the overnight events in
the bedroom.

I am making pancakes and the pungent aroma of the same and the melted
butter in the skillet is pleasingly distracting for me.  To my relief, I
discover that there is still plenty of leftover syrup chilling in the
fridge.

It is hard to concentrate on making breakfast: Images of Billy and that hot
rear of his were floating through my mind: I truly love those
plush-looking-and-feeling silky-soft porcelain-colored buns of his.  For
me, they are luscious mounds of globular flesh with this erotic jiggly
quality to them.  I have no idea exactly how Billy ended up blessed with
them.  If I had to guess, it was the result in part of genetics and of all
of that repetitive swimming practice and competition.

As I have said, I do know that I have crossed a major boundary through
engaging in relations with my son, one from which there is no turning back.
I was just thinking about that aspect of things when I was literally jolted
into reality by a foreboding thought, almost simultaneous with the swinging
shut of the refrigerator door: "What if Billy should leave?"

I swing around; and, sure enough, standing right there before me is Billy
with his suitcase in hand.

"Just where do you think you are heading off to, young man?"

"Dad, I can't stay, surely you can understand that."

"Oh, but I think you can.  In fact, I think you will."

"Unless of course, you want this sordid rag to ever see the light of day."
As I am saying this last part, I am waving Billy's journal prominently
before his eyes.  I almost cannot believe that I am doing this, but I guess
in my mind desperate hours call for desperate measures, so to speak.

Well, Billy is no fool: He knows darn well that if this journal of his ever
gets into the wrong hands, especially Coach Thorneheart's, he could be
booted off the swim team and lose any chance of getting that college
scholarship he has set his heart on.

Billy, as anticipated or at least hoped for, drops his suitcase with a hard
dramatic thump to the floor.

"All right, Dad, you win, I guess, what do you want?"

"Well, for starters, I want you in my bed fully nude tonight and every
night to come until I decide otherwise, if ever.  That means no more of
this pajama bottoms crap or wearing skimpy underwear to bed.  Second, what
goes on between us in private in this house stays in this house.  Third, we
are going to sit down and have breakfast together, as usual; and then we
are going to have that long-overdue father-son talk: I want to hear all
about what is going on with you and your Coach Thorneheart fixation.  I
want to hear from your lips whether you are gay, Billy, I sure as heck
don't consider myself to be gay, but, if you are, that is all right by me."

Billy finally sits down.  I am, in truth, a bit surprised by all of this
drama on his part; and, oddly enough, this bravado on his part reminded me
of the day his mom headed out the door for good.  I am staring at him,
looking intently into his seductive sparkling marine-blue eyes.  I know all
of this happened as a result of these strong intense feelings of lust on my
part, but in this moment I am beginning to feel as if I may be in love with
Billy.  I know, however, that I cannot verbalize any of this just yet to
Billy, as I will risk scaring him away.  So we just calmly enjoy our
breakfast; and, after breakfast this is what I learn from Billy as to what
is going on:

Billy has been having these sexual fantasies and feelings as to Coach
Thorneheart; and that most of it began around the time when there were
rumors going around the school that the swim coach had been seen taking
showers with a couple of the prized male athletes from the track team.
Thankfully, that seventeen-year-old son of mine swears on his life that he
has never acted on any of these fantasies or engaged in any relations
whatsoever with his coach.

Needless to say, I am greatly relieved as to the above.  Still, I am
absorbing the shock as to what else I have learned about: Namely, this
nineteen year-old jock named Preston, a popular member of the football team
at Billy's school.  It seems that he and Billy messed around with one
another in the gym lockerroom: It began when the two were wrestling with
one another in horseplay; and there was a lot of charged body contact and a
bit of fooling around that went beyond that: At one point, quite frankly,
admittedly out of sheer jealousy, I asked Billy to spare me of the details.

The long and short of it is that Billy has a thing for Preston, but knows
that nothing can come of it because of Preston's reputation as a ladies man
at school; and also because of Preston being unwilling to admit that he has
feelings for Billy as well.

Fast-forwarding to 9 PM three weeks later, I am returning from a business
trip involving a fine arts convention center in Atlanta; and I am one day
ahead of schedule as to my arrival.  I figure that I will just surprise
Billy in the morn when I pick him up from the home of my colleague,
Ms. Burns.  So I head off into the master bedroom to take my shower,
unwind, and get comfortable for the night.  Strangely, I find the bedroom
door closed, but figure that the air-conitioning, always left on
high-control, must have just blown it shut.  I fling the door open in my
casual standard manner.  Well, right there in the center of my bed is Billy
lying flat on his belly with this massive bear-like fellow with a hot
muscular body and broad shoulders who I guess to be at least six-feet tall
straddling him and licking him passionately all over the nape of his neck.
The other fellow is pretty smooth all over overall; and, from what I am
able to see, extremely endowed with ample low-hangers.  As I am standing
near my room's doorway literally speecheless, my cock is twitching about
like it is about to go berserk with excitement; and I am way-past semi-hard
already.  I am guessing that this must be the Preston I have been told of,
though I am not about to interrupt and ask, at this point.

Instead, I decide to strip down as fast as I can; and join in on "the
festivities".  It is my bed, after all.  I hop onto the bed; and in moments
I am kneeling between Billy's legs, nonchalantly showing off to the same my
manly and a bit on the muscular side 187-pound body with its nicely-defined
pecs nestled in a thickly hairy chest and with a moderately thick cut cock,
nine inches and now standing at full attention.  I am lost in a haze of
lust and desire, as I plunge my tongue deep inside the love cavern of my
son, all the while holding and caressing the stretched buns and loving
every minute of all.  I am then about to say something to the fellow that I
believe is Preston, but, instead, almost impulsively, I begin licking and
sucking on the head of his beautiful and inviting manhood.  I suddenly
realize that I love cock, I cannot get enough of it.  I hear a great deal
of moaning, some of it sounding very familiar; and, then, in seconds, I
hear panting followed by a gasp and then: "Dad!?"


"Yes!  Surprise!!!!"

Anyway, the three of us had a few occasions after that where we engaged in
some similar threeway romps: As it turned out, Billy's infatuation with
Preston ran its course within a year; and Billy and I resumed our secret
private life as usual until the day he went off to college in western
Texas.  I made Billy understand that I was not looking to ruin any chances
he had for long-term happiness.  I explained to him that my being the one
to take his cherry was from my point of view a gift that he had given me.
He said to me in return that he did not want me to be alone once he was
away at college; and that if I chose to remarry, I would have his blessing.

Strangely enough, with Billy now in college, while I have fully privacy and
most often in the shower, I fantasize about Coach Thorneheart being the one
who took Billy's cherry; and, for reasons I cannot explain, I get very
aroused by that thought.  It is a fantasy that I very much enjoy; and,
though I often release the biggest loads imaginable while having this
fantasy in the shower, as I have already related: I am glad, more than
glad, in fact elated, that in reality I was actually the one who took
Billy's cherry.