Date: Thu, 13 Jan 2000 14:10:41 +0900
From: Andrej Koumasky <andrejkoymasky@geocities.com>
Subject: son 02

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I, THE PRESIDENT'S SON
by Andrej Koymasky
Written on March 23, 1995
translated by the Author
English text kindly revised
by Richard

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USUAL DISCLAINER

"I, THE PRESIDENT'S SON" is a gay story, with some parts containing
graphic scenes of sex between males. So, if in your land, religion,
family, opinion and so on this is not good for you it will be better
not to read this story.
But if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or because you think
you really want to read it, please be my welcome guest.

----------------------------

SECOND -- Ken, my first man

I was fifteen year old when an event occurred that opened my eyes on my
real sexuality. I was returning home from the gym, using public
transportation, as usual. It was crowded, we were tightly squeezed one
against the other. I managed to put my gym bag on the net shelf over the
seats and was standing near one of the doors. People came and went at
each stop, but it remained very crowded.

At a some point I felt something brushing me between my legs as I stood
there. I thought it a casual contact and I didn't care, but the rubbing
was continuing with growing insistence. Suddenly I had the clear
understanding about what was happening -- what was brushing me was a
hand and it was doing it clearly on purpose. I felt terribly
embarrassed, I had the impression that everybody could see what was
happening, even if it was quite impossible.

I looked furtively, astounded and shameful, at who was touching me in
that way -- it was a young man around twenty five, thirty year old,
wearing elegant casual clothes, a little taller than me.

I thought to escape from that more and more daring hand, that was now
boldly fondling me, but it was if I were paralyzed and was unable to
move, not even a finger. I almost was unable to breath. When I became
aware that being touched in that way by the guy was giving me an
erection, I literally felt I would die with shame. I didn't want the man
to become aware of it. I wanted to run away, to disappear, I wanted the
ground to swallow me up, and yet I was more and more unable to move.

He quickly became aware of my aroused state and his hand then moved
determined, confident -- through the light fabric of my trousers he
grasped my member and fingered it with boldness. I looked for a moment
with scared, imploring eyes, but he returned my glance with the kind of
smile that made me think of a cat playing with a mouse. I felt lost. I
lowered my eyes even more filled with shame.

After a few stops he left. On the platform he turned to look at me and I
clearly read in his eyes that he was expecting me to follow him. The
door closed and we went on our way. I wasn't able to recover from the
end of that embarrassing situation, I was still too upset. Possibly not
so much that I had been fondled in that way, but for having become
aroused at the contact.

Gradually I calmed down, I felt better, but not yet completely all
right. I was deeply shaken. I went back home and went upstairs to my
room. I started studying, but was not really able, my head was confused
by that totally unexpected experience. It is not that I was rethinking
it, I had my mind blank, but rather, it was like an empty room where the
slightest noise resounds. As if a far away voice repeated in an endless
litany -- that man touched you, you liked it... touched you... you liked
it...

At supper time, my family didn't notice that I was more silent than
ever. I watched at the TV for a while with them then, bidding the good
night, I went again upstairs to my room. I undressed and went to bed.
Almost at once, I got an erection. Unconsciously I caressed between my
legs, as I often did before masturbating, But this time it was different
-- the contact of my hand through the light fabric of the pajama,
reminded me of that contact I had experienced in the afternoon.
Automatically, I repeated the maneuver of that hand, fancying it was
that man doing it, and I became more excited than usual.

I fantasized that, besides touching me as he had done, he also opened my
fly, took it exposed in his bare hand, and masturbated me, looking at me
with his quiet smile, self- confident, full of lust... When I came, I
felt much more intense emotions than usual and the handkerchief barely
contained the strong jets of semen which that time seemed to never end.

All my body was tense and shaken by very strong trembling and I had
difficulty not to moan aloud the intense pleasure that was throbbing
through me. I barely had the time to tidy myself before I collapsed in a
deep sleep. When I awoke up in the morning I had a slight head ache. I
prepared to go to school without thinking about what happened to me on
the previous day, at least until I once again entered the bus. As soon
as I boarded, I felt torn in a double and opposite hope -- I feared I
would meet him again, and at the same time I hoped to meet him once
more.

I never did meet him again. But, after that, I never succeeded in
pushing him out from my head. I was looking for him with my eyes each
time I was in a crowded bus, but above all, I dreamed of him each time I
was masturbating myself. Little by little the fear of meeting him again
disappeared, now I wanted meet him again, I wanted to be touched again
in that way. Then I even thought that possibly other men would enjoy
touching in that way in the crowd, and started to look around guessing
who could be.

For the first time I was looking at the people I encountered with
completely different eyes. I started to evaluate men by a new standard,
asking myself by whom I would have liked to be touched in that way. From
there, passing to a new phase, took little time. When I was in the crowd
in the rush hours, I positioned myself so that my crotch, if possible,
brushed the hand of a guy I liked, hoping that that hand moved, touched
me.

But it didn't happen, and I desired it more and more. So, I started to
push my pubes against the hands I found in the right position and at
once I got an erection. But always the other, when he understood with
what his hand had come in contact, moved away to discontinue the
contact. The first few times my reaction, more than disappointment, was
shame at the thought that the guy could have understood that the contact
had been intentional. But seeing that there were no reaction of any
kind, I became more and more confident in that erotic game that aroused
me in an incredible way.

Finally, one afternoon, the hand didn't move away. Rather started to
push in a more and more determined way, until it turned and caressed for
a good while, with its finger, the shape of my turgid and pulsing
member. He was a boy around twenty, and when he saw that I was furtively
looking at him, smiled and felt me even more boldly. I think I blushed,
because he accentuated his smile.

Then he asked me: "Where do you get off?"

I was not able to answer, my heart beat strongly, I was stirred and
confused, I lowered my eyes.

The guy stopped feeling me and, seized my elbow, said softly, "Next stop
we get off!"

He didn't ask me, he simply affirmed it. I again felt split in two -- I
wanted to follow him and I wanted to run away. But his hold on my elbow
was firm. When the doors opened, gently but determinedly, he pushed me
out. I was no more able to think straight, so I went out with him,
forgetting my gym bag on the net over the seats.

"What's your name?" he asked me, leading me I didn't know where -- I
didn't care.

I answered with strangled voice, "Dave."

"Hi Dave! I am Ken. I live close by. . . alone." he added with a cunning
smile.

Just then I remembered my bag, "Oh god! I forgot my bag on the coach.
What can I do, now? And then, I have to go home..."

"At my place, we can call the bus company, they will deliver it at your
home. Don't worry."

No, I didn't worry, I was simply dazed.

He guided me for a few blocks, led me up a stair to the second floor of
an old building, opened a door and pushed me inside, "Here we are." he
said closing the door and took me in his arms.

I tried on instinct to escape his embrace but I was with my back against
the wall of the small room.

He leaned against me, fondled between my legs and said, "I like you a
lot, Dave. Come to my bed, come on."

"They wait for me at home..." I protested, but he was aware I was again
aroused and had easily gotten the better of my weak resistance. While he
was undressing me near his bed, I managed to murmur: "I never did it..."

"But you want it, don't you?" Ken said continuing to pull off my
clothes, without waiting for my answer.

I felt completely in his power -- I felt he could do to me anything he
wanted, as I was absolutely not able to take the initiative. I think he
was aware of that. He undressed me completely, made me lie on his bed,
undressed himself and came on top of me. And we started making love, or
rather, he started making love to me, as I was absolutely unable to
move. My head spun like if I was drunk, all was happening like in a
dream. I loved being under him.

That time he limited himself to light sex, possibly as I told him it was
my first time. But in spite of my tension, he gave me such strong,
incredible pleasure, and I could moan without fear of being heard, and
that was really good also. He kissed, caressed, stroked me, until we
came one on the other. Then he suggested to me that we shower together
to clean up our semen we had all over our bodies. That shower was for me
a new and really pleasant experience. He asked me to wash him, and I
could touch his body and that aroused me again very much. He kissed me
pushing his erection against my groin, and it was wonderful.

Back home, I was still terribly confused, but at the same time also
satisfied. I justified being late with the fact I forgot my bag on the
coach, and my parents didn't have any suspicion. I had called from Ken's
home and the bus company told me that if they found the bag, they would
deliver it to my home. When Ken heard my family name and my address, his
eyes slightly widened -- he recognized my father's name, but said
nothing.

Before I left his home, Ken made me promise we would meet again, and
wrote his telephone number on a slip of paper I slipped in my pocket.
When in my room, I copied it in my pocket diary. I asked myself if I
would really go back to see him, and inside myself the answer was more a
yes than a no.

It was only that night, when I was in my bed, that I understood for the
first time that what happened had only one and clear meaning -- I was
gay! This shook me, and not just a little. I knew that Gay people are
discriminated by society, and mainly by what my father represented. What
would my family say if they knew? They would surely punish me in some
way...

I knew, I felt anyway, they would react very badly. And yet, I was
feeling with the same force, if I was a Gay, I couldn't help it. I had
to keep it a secret, yes, but how long could I manage? I could see how
much my brothers were followed in all they did. Also their private lives
were combed by the PR men, omnipresent, omnipotent.

They still knew nothing of Ken and me, as they didn't follow us step by
step, of course. But if my encounters with him repeated, they could not
help but become aware of them. That day they swallowed the reason for my
being late, also because I really forgot my bag on the coach. I could
hardly find a different excuse each time. In other words, it meant, I
couldn't meet Ken anymore. That it was over.

But I wanted to meet him again. Now that I was aware I shouldn't, I had
no more doubts -- I was presumed not, but I wanted to see him again. I
wanted to be on bed under him again, showering with him, talking with
him.

We didn't really talk, that only time, but I now felt I had a lot of
things to ask him -- if he was gay like me he could perhaps explain me a
lot of things about myself, about being gay. Anyway, if not with him,
with whom could I talk of that?

I spent days of confusion, alternating moments when I told myself "I
couldn't be gay" with moments when I knew I couldn't help it, I was so
and that's that, and that I had all the right to live my life, my
sexuality as best as I liked. I also started not to do so well at school
-- my mind was elsewhere, I was not able to apply, to concentrate. My
family was not yet aware of it, but I was.

I masturbated dreaming to be in bed with Ken, that my hand was his, that
my member was his. Also when I showered I fancied doing it with him and
then I masturbated again. I wanted to call him and yet I didn't. Several
times on the street I went near a public telephone thinking of calling
him, but then I lacked courage.

But, above all, I now looked on young and handsome men with desire. My
eyes sought out their flies and if they were swollen I was excited
thinking of touching them, to be touched by them, to undress them, to
have sex. Also my elder and handsome mates at school or in the gym, now
seemed to me irresistible.

Tens of days elapsed. At school they became aware I was no more the one
I was before, and the teachers communicated with my parents. Meanwhile I
reached a conclusion, I decided to call Ken.

He was happy hearing me. I was embarrassed, but managed to tell him what
I wanted. He came to wait for me out of the school, in the small coffee
shop I suggested. When I saw him I felt a mix of joy and embarrassment.
But the smile with which he welcomed me, warmed my heart. I sat near him
and told him I had little time, but I needed to talk with him.

"Just to talk?" he said with a disappointed expression.

"For this time." I answered, "You know who I am, don't you?"

"Yes."

"I... I presume I am gay."

"Yes, possibly. I am gay, and I like you."

"But I... if my parents came to know... you can guess..."

"Don't let them know, then."

"They will discover it."

"Do they control you?"

"And how! That's why I can stay just a few minutes with you today, not
to make them suspicious. And yet, I would like to find the way to spend
more time with you."

"Me too, believe me." Ken answered with a cunning smile.

"I was not saying it meaning that... not only that, at least. I need to
talk with somebody, but I don't know with whom, besides you."

"Yes, I see. Then we have to figure out the system to meet without
problems."

Ken asked me how my days were, my schedule and at last he saw there was
just one way to meet -- he had to enroll in my same gym.

"You really would?"

"Sure. I like you, and if I am able to help you... and perhaps we can
also find the way to be sometimes together, alone, without worry." Ken
said to me with a sly smile, to make me understand what he meant. We
parted on that.

My mother, who went to talk with my teachers, asked me if there were
problems. I told her that all was fine, that it possibly was just a
temporary decrease in my performance. She asked me if something worried
me, if I had any problems, and she asked me with such a sweet insistence
that I came near to telling her the whole truth, but I really didn't
dare.

My mother decided to wait a while to see how I did at school: "... if
you get back on feet, good. If not, we should try to see why your school
performance decreased, suddenly. You understand, you can't give your
father and your family a bad image." she said as a conclusion.

Finally after a few days, Ken showed up at the gym. He pretended not to
know me, and I understood he was right in acting so. After about one
hour, he came over to me with a casual air, cornered me as if it was the
first time we met. We "introduced" ourselves -- this amused me. But when
the others could not overhear us, he asked me how I felt.

"Still terribly confused. But I am happy you are here."

"Here, we can't talk too much, not for a while, anyway. We have to find
another way to be together."

"And not just to talk." I added as I was feeling incredibly aroused by
his proximity. He smiled satisfied and nodded.

The idea didn't come easily, but after a few times we met. He was the
same age as my brother Martin, and he too attended the university, even
if a different one. If he could get to become a friend of my brother,
Martin would certainly invite him to our home, and so we could also meet
each other without many problems. I could not introduce him at home as
one of my friends, because my parents, I was aware, didn't look kindly
on us being friends with people older or younger than ourselves.

"But you are rich, I am not. How can I become friend with your brother?
We live in two different worlds..." Ken objected when I told him my
plan.

"My family is keen not to make class distinctions. Therefore they have
us live in a rather simple standard of life."

"It could be. But your brother attends another university, how can we
just meet?"

"I'll give you his picture. He often goes to dance at the Malibu Club.
You can meet him there."

"I don't go to clubs, usually."

"Can't you do that for me?" I then asked him.

I don't know if Ken was just amused at the idea, or if I really
interested him to that point, but he did as I asked him. It took him
almost one month to bond with Martin, but he managed. And finally, a few
weeks later, Martin invited Ken to our home. And so, we again
"introduced" ourselves.

During this period we couldn't manage to be alone not even once,
therefore we couldn't even have sex, even though we both desired it more
and more. Ken was skilled, he made such an impression that my parents
also took a liking to him, thus his visits to our home became frequent.
We decided also to tell them that we discovered we were attending the
same gym. Ken had a philosophy -- the fewer lies you tell, the less you
risk to be caught red handed.

I wanted badly make love with him, so once, after the gym, I called home
telling them that I was popping up to Ken's -- they now knew him and
there wasn't any problem. My mother just asked me not to be late. So at
last, I went again to Ken's apartment. We both were longing very much to
make love, and we didn't lose any time.

The hour we allowed, passed too quickly, possibly because we waited so
long for that occasion, but it was really pleasurable. And we pushed
further than our first time. Ken taught me to really kiss, and then also
the oral experience, that I found extremely pleasurable, in both ways.
And for the first time in my life I savored the male seed, and I found
it intoxicating.

Ken also talked about being gay. He shoved on me several books, and told
me, that yes we were a minority, but due all respect. He told me also
about the existence of gay clubs, about the gay literature, about many
things I couldn't ever have guessed, and he taught me gradually to be
proud of my sexuality.

And to my parents satisfaction, I started to do well at school again.

At times Ken came to see Martin. We met three times per week in the gym,
but it was always difficult to meet alone to make love. I couldn't go to
his place too often, I feared my family could grow suspicious. Not only
my family, but most of all, "them".

One, who specially followed us four children, was Bruce Faraday, a young
man who was then twenty nine years old. Even though he dedicated his
time in an almost proportional way to our age, Bruce was starting to
take care of me more and more as I was growing older. And, without me
knowing it, he started also to inquire about Ken, but as Martin's
friend. At that time I didn't yet know that all our friendships were
screened in so a scrupulous way.

Ken, even though he was a gay youth, it was my good luck that he didn't
go to the gay clubs, he didn't belong to gay associations or groups, he
didn't flaunt his sexuality. But then too, he did nothing to hide it.
So, a few months after Ken and I met, Bruce came to understand, or at
least to guess, that Ken was gay. I don't know how he did, he perhaps
saw him buying a gay magazine, or something similar. Anyway, he
discovered it and then began to look for the proof that he really was
so.

I, unaware, managed to meet three or four times Ken to make love with
him. I liked him more and more, and I felt happy. Ken was gradually
teaching me to make love and finally an afternoon, he asked me if he
could take me. I anxiously accepted. He was able to do it with such
gentleness and sweetness, that I felt like I was reaching the seventh
heaven. He took me from the front, making me lie on my back, so I could
enjoy his expression while he was slowly opening me up, sinking inside
me, moving inside me. He seemed to me so gorgeous! He was conquering my
body with his body, he conquered me with his smile. It was then on that
occasion that I felt I was in love with him. I came without touching
myself, just from the intense pleasure of giving him profound enjoyment.

I went back home feeling I was flying ten feet off the ground. I was
feeling so happy, so deeply happy that I would have liked to tell it to
everybody. And then for the first time I felt all the weight of the
predicament of being gay in our society. The deep unfairness of having
to hide from everybody his own emotions, his own most true, most
intimate, most deep joys.

At times they accuse us Gay people of shutting ourselves in a ghetto. In
reality it is them forcing us to do so. Among ourselves, at least, we
can talk without worries about all our feelings, of our falling in love,
of our disappointments without fearing not to be understood. Without
fear to be judged, condemned, or if we are lucky, just pitied.

At that time I couldn't understand right away what happened. Simply, one
day, Ken didn't come any more to the gym, didn't answer the telephone,
no longer lived in that apartment. When I asked Martin if he had news of
Ken, he simply shrugged his shoulders and said he knew nothing.

Just some years later Martin confessed me he knew what happened. Bruce
found proof that Ken was gay. His friendship with Martin was judged not
"convenient" and "dangerous". Bruce didn't discover that Ken and I had a
relationship. So they decided to tell Martin, but not me. And, in some
way, they managed to "persuade" Ken to disappear.

I don't know what means they used with Ken, but later I learned their
ways -- money, or menaces, or blackmail. Anything was fair to them. Who
knows what system they used with Ken? The fact is that he disappeared
and to me it was a really bad blow. Not only because I was in love with
him, but also because I desired that sexual intercourse that he made me
know and appreciate.

On one hand I felt betrayed by him -- whatever reason he had to suddenly
leave, I was thinking then, he knew how to meet me, how to inform me,
and he could have at least said good bye. On the other side, after a
while I started to desire to find, if not another person to love, at
least another with whom make love. At this point, just masturbating
myself, was no longer enough.

But what to do? How to recognize those like me, like Ken? Starting again
the little game of the brushing on the public buses. But even if
sometimes, and very seldom, somebody did not wriggle away, or even felt
me, it all ended there. I didn't dare to hook up with him, and the other
did nothing to hook up with me, therefore... Rather, when somebody felt
me, but then nothing come out of it, I felt even more full of longing,
and frustrated, than before.

I started to think to that, I became almost a monomaniac. Sex became my
constant thought, my permanent desire. I was not a sexual maniac, it was
just the unsatisfied desire that made me so. Women didn't exist for me
and I divided males into two groups -- the likable ones and the not
likable. I even started to feel desire towards my two brothers.

Strangely, this time I didn't do badly at school, rather, as in the
attempt not to think too much about sex I sank in my studies, I became
even better than before. But I remember that I did nothing but
daydreaming an adventure. Just to make myself more clear, if I were
looking at a movie and the man protagonist was handsome and courted a
girl, I thought inside myself: "Why are you wasting yourself so, silly
man! There are so many boys who would do anything just to fuck with you!
And I first..."

Almost one year passed, or even more, I don't remember exactly, where I
couldn't get to have any sexual intercourse. But it was a long period,
very long. I was asking myself what could become my life if, after
savoring the forbidden fruit, I could never more taste it -- adolescents
are in hurry, therefore they are not able to wait and then, when they
are forced to wait, they feel bad.

I was furious with my family, with society, with everybody. I was
furious with Junior who had his girlfriends and could go around with her
arm in arm, embrace her in front of everybody, kiss her without problems
and, I guessed, do lot more. All things I could not do.

And I multiplied my erotic fantasies. I imagined having special powers
-- first of all I would divide the schools in girls-schools and
boys-schools. Then when a family went to enroll their sons in a school
(I was thinking only of high- schools, of course) the boy had first of
all go to the special "Regional School Office". Here he had to get stark
naked and be examined by a special commission that would bestow on him a
"physical beauty" mark -- A for the handsomest, B for the good ones, C
for the less interesting and D for the ugly ones. After this evaluation
they had to go in other offices where another kind of evaluation took
place. They would undergo sexual tests and were divided in four
categories -- 1 for the pure gay, 2 for the bisexual more on the gay
side, 3 for the bisexual more on the straight side, and 4 for the
straight boys. Then they would have been sorted out in different
high-schools. Of course, the one where I was would have been a A1
school. On each floor, besides the classrooms, there would have been
also comfortable alcoves where the boys could withdraw anytime they felt
like making love. I fancied the scene; "Sorry, professor, can I go to
the alcove with Steve?" "Yes, sure Dave. Have a good session!"... Of
course, in each level would be taught a new discipline "Art and
technique of the gay coupling" with a theoretical and a practical part.
And to have a pass, it depended just partially by the marks in the
various disciplines, let say a 40%, the remaining 60% depended
exclusively by PE and the sexual arts course... In other words, even a
boy having a D mark in all the subjects, could pass if he had an A in PE
and sex performances...

Adolescent fantasies, to be sure, but I enjoyed them, and of course in
all my fantasies all the A1 boys (gorgeous and sexy) were game coming in
the alcove with me. Of course also our teachers were young and gay and
available to have sex.

Another fantasy I had, was to have a large and beautiful villa in a
grand park. All the villa personnel would have been composed by young,
handsome and gay males, well chosen, of course always ready to have sex.
They would wear just a Greek like short tunic, nothing under it...

But these fantasies were not able, of course, to placate me. I needed
something concrete, someone in flesh and blood, who made me feel again
the rapture of the sexual enjoyment that I discovered thanks to Ken.
Somebody who, like him, made me feel desired. I could possibly have
somewhat idealized Ken, after I lost him, but he had been my first and
only man.

At home they didn't suspect at all about these fantasies, about my
desires. I was now sixteen year old and was rather silent, but a "good
boy". I appeared at times in public with my family, especially in the
election periods. I didn't have many friends, not even one true friend,
really. I competed in sports and was growing strong and, so they say,
also quite handsome.

The PR men were taking more and more care about me, now. It was they who
selected our friends, the places we had and could, or didn't have, to
frequent, how we had or had not to dress, what we had or had not to say,
and so on. I tolerated them as something unavoidable, I followed their
instructions.

With my parent my relation was... I cannot define it. Good, probably,
even if they were all busy with the politics and all the social
engagements that it requires. At times, anyway, and mainly for supper,
we all gathered and Dad and Mum were in some ways interested in us. I
think that, all things considered, they were really trying to be good
parents, notwithstanding the thousand engagements they had daily. At
times we also went on vacation all together, and in this case they had a
little more time for us.

My father liked to ride, and I too, so at times we had long rides
together and, when we stopped to have a break, we talked. But inside me
there was a wall against my family and this wall was due above all (but
not even exclusively) to the fact that I couldn't talk with them about
what I really desired, about what I really was.

Also because, the few times the talk was about the gay people (because
of a newspaper article or something we saw on the TV) their judgment was
always severe -- to them Gay people were just degenerates. The best
judgment I heard about the gays from my father is: "Bah... they can do
as they like, among consenting adults, but without showing it around,
without giving scandal. They should at least have the decency to
understand that their behavior is not socially acceptable."

Therefore, clearly, not being I an adult, and what I desired not being
anyway acceptable... I could just keep it carefully hidden and could
only suffer in silence.

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CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 3

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In my home page I've put some of my stories. If someone wants to read
them, the URL is

http://www.geocities.com/andrejkoymasky/

If you want to send me feed-back, please e-mail at

andrejkoymasky@geocities.com

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