Date: Tue, 01 Jan 2002 15:30:59 -0500
From: Danny Meyer <sittinhome@hotmail.com>
Subject: TRAINING MY SON -  Chapter 1

____________________________________________

TRAINING MY SON

by Danny Meyer

Chapter 1  -  The Beginning
___________________________________________________________________

Copyright (c) January 1, 2002 by Danny Meyer.  All rights reserved.
___________________________________________________________________

I encourage you to send email.  I'd enjoy hearing your opinions.
I'll reply to your email unless you say not to.  Thank you.

Danny:  sittinhome@hotmail.com
___________________________________________________________________


YOU MUST BE 21 or older, in most places, to read this type of erotic
and sexual story, which includes incest, spanking, other forms of
discipline, and sexual activity between males.  While there is no
brutality or coercion, these acts are considered extreme by many
persons.  The story is not real, and it does not reflect any real
people or events.  Any similarity to actual persons or events is
strictly coincidental, and unintentional.

All acts are consensual, or within the broad boundaries of the strict
parental guidance, discipline, and punishment practices of an earlier
era.

___________________________________________________________________

MAIN CAST:

THE FATHER:  Jeffrey Harper, 32, 5'11" tall, 170 pounds, (180 cm, 77
Kg), blue eyes, dark brown hair, exceptionally good-looking, trim and
well muscled, tanned, and a gymnast in his free time.  Jeffrey uses a
tanning salon, and has included his son in the membership.

The father NARRATES, most of the time.

THE SON:  Lane Harper, 14, 5'2" tall, 90 pounds, (157 cm, 41 Kg),
blue eyes, light brown hair, angelic face, very thin, also tanned,
but naturally paler than his father.  Lane works out with his dad,
quite often.  He strongly resembles his father.
___________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 1


    "We hate losing you, Jeff.  You've been quite a model salesman
for us, but more importantly, I'll miss working with you," my boss
said to me in the crowded airport.  He was seeing me off.

    "Thanks, Mr. Farber."

    "Mister Farber?  Whatever happened to calling me George?"

    "Sorry, George--too much on my mind.  I never dreamed I'd cross
the ocean this early in life, much less move to the States."  At
the age of twenty-eight, I felt I'd not quite achieved manhood, much
less felt equipped to disengage from everything I knew, and start a
new life, on my own.

    "I understand, Jeff.  You're under a lot of pressure, especially
alone with your young son.  I assure you, there are many here in
London who wish you well and will miss you greatly."

    "Thanks, George," I said nervously, having just heard the first
boarding call for my flight, "Lane and I will miss London, that's for
sure."

    George had a small gift for each of us, which we accepted
gratefully.

    "Thanks, George."

    "Thank you, Mr. Farber," Lane said.

    "Polite boy you have there, Jeff.  I was always impressed with
him.  Train him up, right!"

    "Oh, I will, George."

    "No doubt."

    We said our good-byes, and I walked with Lane to the boarding
gate.  He had never flown, before.  I could tell he was nervous--his
palms were dripping with sweat.  I didn't mind--he was my son, and I
loved him.  I thought of ways to ease his fear.

    "Are you excited, Lane?"  I felt foolish at having asked the
question, but needed to make some conversation to break the ice, now
that George was gone, and there was nothing to distract us from
realizing we were about to board an airplane, and make a journey of
over six-thousand miles.

    "Yes, sir--sort of.  I'm scared, though."

    "So am I, son."

    "Really?"

    "Sure.  Moving clear across the ocean to a new country is scary--
it's a big unknown."

    "Yeah."

    "But, we'll get through it, together, won't we, Lane?" I said, as
we viewed the entrance to the big aircraft.  The plane was of the
latest technology--a four-engine model, with a new type of propeller
and tail section--designed to reduce the transatlantic flight by two
hours.

    "Yes, sir!" Lane said energetically, turning toward me, and
smiling.

    "That's the spirit."

    Leaving his familiar world behind, my son would miss certain
things, I knew, so rather than ignore those, I opened the subject as
we took our seats.  I had Lane take the window seat--I was certain
there was simply no other proper place for a young boy to sit.

    Although it was four years ago, the whole trip ran through my
mind as if it were happening at the present moment.  We had a good
discussion, which ended with Lane reminding me of his birthday--
although I needed no reminder.  He would be ten years old in three
days.

    "We'll have a nice birthday party for you as soon as we're
settled in.  How old will you be--NINE?" I said, just to tease him.

    "No, dad, I'll be TEN!" Lane said, with a combined expression of
annoyance and pleasure, knowing that I was well aware of his age, and
everything about his life.

    "Oh, that's right!" I said, continuing the charade, as Lane
laughed.  I was relieved.  It was the first time I'd seen him laugh
in several days.  It certainly was the lightest moment he'd had, that
day.  The pressure of moving such a distance and leaving all his
friends behind was a lot for a small boy to handle.  I did my best to
ease it for him.

    Lane was unique, because we'd bonded very closely when he was not
quite five years old, when his mother and I divorced--and if I let
him, he would tell me the events of his day in full detail, including
conversations with teachers and friends, word for word.  Most days, I
let him do just that, and was totally absorbed with him.

    I must admit, I encouraged our closeness--I suppose as much
because I felt alone when his mother left as out of love for my son.
This meant that Lane was a bit overprotected, and dependent on me--
yet, he seemed to have a normal boy's life, complete with the usual
number of friends.

    My son looked rather angelic, sleeping next to the window.  The
strong sunlight at twenty-thousand feet illuminated his face
strikingly, and his skin took on a translucent appearance that was
quite beautiful to see.  He was a perfect picture of the innocent boy
that he was.

    "The captain has turned off the 'No Smoking' sign.  You are free
to smoke at this time.  Cigarettes only, are permitted.  Please
extinguish all smoking materials when the 'No Smoking' sign is again
illuminated."

    I don't know how long I stared at him, absentmindedly, when a
bump of turbulence disturbed the peace, and he began to wake up.

    "Are you all right, Lane?"

    "Yes, sir," he said, as I gave him a little hug.

    "Good boy."

    "Are we there yet?" he said, with his best coy look.  Lane
couldn't help laughing at himself.  I smiled and chuckled, since we
both knew we had many hours of flight left, before we arrived in New
York.

    "Yes, we are.  We've just arrived.  Would you like to step out?"

    "Haha--very funny, dad," he said with a boyish grin--the kind
that decidedly slants to one side and tickles you down to your toes.
Lane was genuinely relaxed, now, I could tell.  We both settled back
into our seats--me with my arm around him, staring into space, and
Lane reading the airline magazine.

    Soon, I felt Lane move about in his seat--a familiar squirming.
I deliberately held my tongue and waited.

    "Dad," he said, wrinkling his nose as was his habit when tense in
any way, "I need to..." then he whispered to me, "go pee."  I knew
that his use of American phrases was a result of his rather concerted
effort to correspond with many American boys in the months prior to
our departure--one of many methods he used to educate himself to the
unique, American slang--as much as possible before the trip.

    "Oh!" I said, deliberately looking a bit unnerved, "Sorry, son,
there's no toilet on the airplane."

    "There ISN'T?" he said, genuinely panicked.

    Lane's expression was so filled with fear, I could not bring
myself to continue the deception.  "Just joking, son.  There are two,
up ahead at the front of the aircraft, where the stewardess is
standing."  I could see apprehension on his face, and he made no
effort to get up.

    "Just walk up there--the doors will be clearly marked."

    "I hafta walk that far, past all those people, and then back--"

    "Pretend you're getting ready to be spanked--just grit your teeth
bravely, and bear it."

    "Ok."

    "Ah-ah!  What was that?"

    "Oh, sorry--yes sir."

    "Better."

    I found it quite charming that Lane would smile, even during
these little reprimands.  It was as if he had a happy effervescence
that nothing could suppress.  He had a good-naturedness and ease
about him that was endearing.  Of course, he inherited my cockiness,
and I found that enchanting, as well.  It was obvious he wanted to
whisper in my ear again.

    "Did I earn myself a spanking, sir?"

    "Hmmm...no," I said, smiling, "I'll be kind, this time--just an
extra 5 birthday whacks, when the time comes."

    "Oh," he said, with a curious expression.  It was so disarming
the way he handled these disciplinary discussions, I half thought he
was a genius and had figured out how to take the fear out of the
punishment, psychologically--effectively diluting it.  I had
concluded long ago that it was just his cute nature, but now I was
beginning to wonder.

    "Bare butt, of course," I continued, pressing the point, "maybe
even with the ruler.  Bet you can't take all the whacks without
squealing."

    "Bet I can," he said, with a smile of affable defiance, and then
a blush of embarrassment as he peered about and realized others may
have heard us.

    "Oh, you think you're a big boy, now that you'll be ten, soon?"

    "I know I am.  Besides, you won't do it hard," Lane said quietly,
as he passed in front of me and stood in the aisle.

    "Ok, big boy, just walk quickly and look straight ahead.  You'll
be fine."

    Lane was slight of build and short of stature, so he looked quite
tiny, amidst the sea of passengers, as he made his way to the front
of the aircraft.
_________________

    I don't know what dad was thinking, but I was a lot more scared
about moving to the U.S. than I was about any spanking.  I finally
got to the front of the plane, and about died when the stewardess
asked if she could help me.

    "Em, well...I gotta pee," I said, trying to sound a bit gross, so
she would leave me alone.  It worked.  She just said it was straight
ahead on my left, and walked away.

    The inside of the toilet was really strange--and it was weird to
me, thinking I was standing in a lavatory but was really way up high
in the air.
_________________

    After a few minutes, I found myself looking up for Lane every ten
seconds when the aircraft seemed to hit turbulence that tossed the
plane about.  I knew how difficult that could be--standing at a
toilet while the whole craft shifted unpredictably.  I just hoped
Lane was sitting down.  The turbulence continued for some time.

    He had been gone for too long, and I was ready to get up to go
after him, when he emerged from the miniature lavatory.  He looked
worried or distressed--I could not tell from that distance.  The
attendant helped him walk up the aisle, and soon he took his seat.

    "Dad--I couldn't do it.  I was bounced about, too much."

    "So you didn't urinate--not at all?"

    "No.  And I really need to."

    "All right--I'll go with you and steady you."

    "Not right away, dad--let's wait.  I'm emb--"

    "Lane, we're not waiting another moment.  Come with me."  Lane
followed, obediently, and I was glad he was not the type to argue--at
least not under these circumstances.  As soon as we were inside the
little toilet with the door locked, I took over.  I felt a bit
uneasy, as it had been many years since I had stood at the toilet
bowl with Lane.

    "Put your hands on that shelf, and hold on," I said, unfastening
his trousers, without thinking, and pulling them down to the floor
along with his underpants.

    "Dad--I can do that part, just steady me."

    SMACK!!  I landed a good one, across his butt.  "Don't be
impudent, lad!"

    "Ow!"

    "Ow?  One little bare-handed slap, and you say, 'Ow?'  And you
think you can take fifteen whacks with the ruler?"  I could see
Lane's face, flushing red.

    "Sorry, sir."

    "That's better."  I guess my mind reverted to when Lane was a
very small child, and I simply grasped his penis as I had done then,
as he held on to the shelf with both hands.

    I suppose it had been too long since I was nine, because I was
stunned to feel a hard rod of flesh, where I had expected a soft,
floppy one.  It never occurred to me that a nine-year-old would have
an erection.  Now it was my turn to blush, and I had no idea what to
do or say.  I decided to say nothing, and just held the hot, little
thing, hoping he would have more luck pissing with a hardon than I
did.  We stood there for an eternity, but nothing happened.

    "Uhhh," Lane moaned.

    "What's wrong, son?"

    "I just--I don't know.  Can't go."

    "You have a stiffie, Lane."

    "A stiffie?" he said, obviously baffled.

    "This!" I said, wiggling his little organ in my hand, so he would
know what I was talking about.

    "Oh yeah.  It feels weird.  It gets that way once in a while.  I
don't know why it does that," he said uncertainly, his blush
deepening.  I quickly decided this was not the time nor place to
explain.

    "Ok, son--just take a deep breath and relax.  It's hard to pee
with a stiffie, and if you relax it will soften."  I released my grip
on his penis, and used both my hands to hold his chest.  The
turbulence was relentless, and I feared we would be told to take our
seats, immediately.

    By his silence and the feel of his body, I could tell, Lane was
tense.  We both waited wordlessly.  I was about to establish a
residence and launch a new career in a strange country, and here I
was, prepared to jump for joy at the first sounds of my son's piss,
striking the mysterious, blue waters of an airline convenience.

    By now I was convinced it was no use, and I gently took the tip
of his penis in hand.  I was surprised, not only at the fact that his
foreskin was completely retracted, but at how cold the organ had
become.

    "No wonder you can't go.  It's frozen and about to fall off."  At
least that seemed to break some of the tension, as Lane gave a
nervous laugh.

    "Dad, I really need to piss."

    'Reverting to his British manner of speaking at a time of
distress,' I thought.  "All right son," I said, gulping, knowing I
was about to take a risk.  I could not leave my son in this
condition, for fear he would use his self control and allow himself
to be in great pain, "There is a quick way out of this, but you must
listen carefully, and not ask too many questions."

    "Yes, sir."

    "Do you know what 'wanking' is?"

    "No.  At school I heard some older mates say that, but--"

    "Now listen, this will get rid of your stiffie, but you must do
it just right.  I'll hold you steady, and you grasp your penis, and
rub it back and forth, until you get a strong, good feeling there.
Then it will go soft."

    "Ok," he said nervously.  This time, I did not push him for a
'yes sir.'  I leaned forward and to the side, so I could see.  I felt
like a peeping Tom, spying my son's erection for the first time.  His
hands clumsily attempted to do what I had described.

    "Ow!  Ow!  I can't!  That hurts!"

    "Lane, you're being too rough.  There's no time for lessons.
Just...hold the shelf, again."

    "Yes, sir."

    Although I was nervous, I didn't hesitate to grasp his foreskin
gently, and begin to stroke him.  His face was deep crimson,
now, and I could feel his body stiffen, against my chest.  I suddenly
felt incredibly dirty and guilty, yet I knew I was helping my son and
doing nothing wrong.

    "Ohhh," he moaned.

    "That's a good boy.  Just relax.  Does it feel good?"

    "I think so.  It's hard to tell."

    'Poor lad,' I thought, 'what a place to have his first orgasm!'

    "Just relax, Lane.  Soon, it will feel very good, all over.
Don't be alarmed if it's overwhelming and you shout out, a bit."

    "Ok."

    Just looking at the side of his face, I could tell he didn't
understand thoroughly, but, to his credit, he asked no questions.

    "I'm putting my handkerchief over your mouth to muffle any
sound."

    Lane nodded his assent bravely and silently, but he was
trembling.  I wondered what he was thinking.  The thought of how we
must have looked flashed through my mind.  Here I was, holding and
stroking my young son's penis, while holding my hand over his mouth.
I was mortified.
_________________

    Dad's hand felt so warm.  At first it hurt.  Then, I didn't feel
anything, and I thought my penis was broken.  I was scared then, but
after dad touched me there for a while, it felt really good, and I
got all tight, inside.  Then I started to feel a whole lot of things,
all at once.
_________________

    "Ohhhhh.....OHHHHHHH!"

    "All right son, you're coming--just relax and try to enjoy it."

    "Oooooooooooofff!" came his excited, muffled scream, and more,
besides.

    His body became rigid and actually vibrated against me.  His
penis swelled and pulsed mightily--I was surprised and excited at the
strength of his pulsation.  My whole hand wrapped around his little
organ, which was astoundingly hot, now.  Lane's breathing became
rapid, labored, and shallow, as his incredibly powerful pulses
continued to massage my hand.  His arms flailed about and his legs
began to twitch uncontrollably.  He bent forward more markedly, and
eventually his lower legs tensed, causing him to stand on tiptoe, as
every muscle seemed to contract, at once.  Then, there were three,
deep, moaning breaths.

    "Ahhhh, ahhh, ohhhhfffmmmmmmm!"

    The pulses of his orgasm finally subsided, and my son fell limp,
against me.  His entire body exuded the moist heat of his first
sexual climax.  Memories of my own, early, dry orgasms flooded my
mind--they were intense and joyous.  Still, this was Lane's first,
and I began to think he might be frightened by the new, powerful
sensations.

    "Are you all right, son?"

    "Yes," he said, still quite out of breath.  I released my grasp
on his penis.
_________________

    I was scared that maybe I wasn't supposed to feel all those
things, and I wanted to explain more to dad, but I didn't know how.
The light seemed to bother my eyes.  I knew I felt a little dizzy,
but a lot better.  It felt cold when dad took his hand away.
_________________

    I began to doubt the wisdom of what I had done as I asked, "Did
it feel good, Lane?"

    "Oh, yeah!"

    "Scared?"

    "Just a bit."

    "Did it help that I was here?"

    "Yes."

    "Good boy."  I held him for some time, which seemed to calm
both of us.  I was still full of guilt, which was strangely
overshadowed by new, uplifting emotions I found indescribable.

    "Ohh," came a sensuous moan.

    "Very good, very good--I'm proud of you."  I prayed he would not
ask why I was proud of him, as I had no rational explanation.

    Eventually, I glanced down at my boy, and saw he was soft.  I was
about to announce this condition, when I heard his stream of liquid
falling into the metal bowl.

    "Ahhhh--YEAH!" was his enthusiastic utterance.

    "Thank God," I said, as I grasped his penis and aimed, for him.

    I was content to remain this way, holding him lovingly, as his
pounding heart began to decelerate--while he pissed and caught his
breath and regained his strength.  Meanwhile, I pondered the absurd
situation we were in--me, holding my nine-year-old son's penis, while
silently celebrating the fact that he had just taken a piss.  There
wasn't another living soul that could possibly understand.

    "Oh, dad--that was...it felt--"

    "Intense?  You liked it?"

    "Yes, sir."

    "And now your bladder is all empty and comfortable?"

    "Yes, sir," Lane said, grinning sheepishly.

    Using his own organ, I showed him how I squeezed and stroked the
shaft of the penis and dabbed the end with tissue-paper to avoid
staining my clothing--his clothing, in this case.

    "Will you remember to do that, from now on?"

    "You mean, doing wanking, before I pee?"

    "No, son--I mean what I just did with the tissue and squeezing."
I wanted to correct his grammatical error, but somehow felt that
would be inappropriate.

    "Oh, yeah--sure, dad."

    "Good boy.  Feels as if the turbulence has died down.  At least
we won't have trouble getting back to our seats," I said, as I turned
him around to face me, and reached to the floor for his trousers.

    "Dad, I'll do it," he said, as he bent and fixed himself.  Then
he did something so quickly and spontaneously, that it took me by
surprise--he hugged me.  It wasn't that hugs were unusual between us,
but the suddenness, context, and location struck me as rather odd--
pleasantly so.

    "Oh, such a nice hug," I said, grinning, as I gave him a good
squeeze in return.

    "Thanks, dad."

    I wasn't sure if he thanked me for the hug, or the wank, or the
relief of finally urinating, but I wasn't going to ask.  The guilt
lessened, and I felt better, but I couldn't help thinking that my
son had been cheated--forced to have his first sexual experience at
my hand, of all things--and on an airplane, of all places.

    "Lane, this is...this is a very private thing that just happened.
It must remain private.  You wouldn't think to tell anyone that--"

    "No, dad--no way."

    What a role reversal!  Now it was my boy who was reassuring ME.
I dropped to my knees, and hugged him again--kissing his neck, this
time.  Had I not been intimately familiar with what Lane had just
experienced, I would swear he had a fever.  "I love you, Lane!"

    "Love you, too, dad."

    "Can you walk, now?"

    "No, carry me," he said, laughing.  Those three words brought
back such fond memories, a tear come to my eye.  I was half tempted
to call his bluff and carry him up the aisle, but I didn't have the
heart to embarrass him.  I was sure he'd had enough of that, for one
day.

    I looked at us in the mirror and could see we were both
presentable.  "All right, open the door, son, and let's get back."
He walked a bit unsteadily, but there was nothing in his gait that a
stranger would notice, especially on a crowded aircraft, speeding
through the sky.

    We weren't long in our seats when Lane fell asleep--this time,
with a little smile on his face.  I soon found myself erect
again, and could do with a wank, myself.  I wondered how that would
all work out in the hotel room.
_______________________________

Would you like me to continue?  Please let me know.

When you write, please mention, "Son story," or something similar.
Thank you.

Danny Meyer
sittinhome@hotmail.com

MY OTHER NIFTY STORIES
       Incest:  cool-kid-brother (CKB)
Authoritarian:  boyz-brutal-training-school (BBTS)

[end of file]