Date: Fri, 6 Aug 1999 08:47:48 EDT
From: Frodo46888@aol.com
Subject: Life With Uncle Cal

Life With Uncle Cal

Chapter One

So much of our lives is programmed in our genes.  In my mother's case, she
had inherited a predisposition for breast cancer, and she died when I was
thirteen.  Her sister, my Aunt Pearl, had died of the same disease ten
years earlier.

When Aunt Pearl died, her son, David, was sent to live with her brother,
Uncle Cal, in Maine.  Now I would join them.  Growing up in California I
had never met Uncle Cal.  All I knew was that he was the oldest of the
three siblings and lived in the family farmhouse, doing logging and odd
jobs to pay the taxes and provide what he couldn't raise himself.  I was
sad to leave all I had ever known, but I faced the trek to Maine with some
eagerness.

I was sitting in the tiny Portland airport waiting room when I heard a
gruff voice call my name.  I looked up to see a broad, smiling face haloed
by greying hair and beard, blue eyes twinkling.  His wide shoulders and
chest, and his muscled arms and huge hands told of a life of hard labor.
He picked up my heavy suitcases like they were nothing at all.  Behind him
stood a silent young man with short-cropped blonde hair and a physique well
on its way to equalling my uncle's.

"This is David," Cal said.  "He don't say much but he works hard."

On the way out Cal paused at the door to the rest rooms.  "David, go take a
piss.  You, too, Paul, if you need to.  It's a long drive home"

As it happened, I had just relieved myself, so I stood with Uncle Cal and
waited for David to return.

"Damned fool don't know enough to take a piss when he needs to," Cal
commented.  He tapped his head and continued, "He ain't got much up here."

We all climbed into the pickup and drove for over two hours through land
that was mostly forested.  Finally we turned up a narrow dirt road which
ended in the dooryard of the farm.  There was a small center-chimney cape
that badly needed paint, a long ell connected to a large, rough-boarded
barn, as well as an assortment of other sheds and outbuildings.  All of it
looked like the original homestead built more than 150 years ago.

"David, show Paul around while I put his stuff upstairs," my uncle said.
With only an occasional comment David complied.  I couldn't help appraising
the way he moved his muscular body, and I secretly admired every curve and
bulge.

The two front rooms were Uncle Cal's bedroom and the parlor, used mostly
when there was a visitor.  Along the back of the house was the kitchen with
its great fireplace blocked off to accommodate a large cast-iron cookstove,
a round oak table and four chairs, and a sitting area with two shabby
upholstered chairs and a couch.  Off the kitchen was the cramped bathroom
and the door to the woodshed and ultimately the barn.

The barn contained space for several "beef critters" and one cow, a chicken
coop, and beneath the back corner a pig sty.  Two tractors and various
pieces of farm equipment filled much of the center portion.  I was
beginning to understand how self-sufficient this farm was, and suspected
that Cal's and David's muscles had been well earned.  Two mongrel dogs and
a number of cats also called the barn home.

Upstairs in the house were two slant-ceilinged rooms, one of which was
walled off and contained a century's worth of family treasures.  In the
other were two single beds, a tall bureau, a table and straight-backed
chair, and a row of hooks for hanging clothes.  David indicated the two
drawers that had been cleared out for my use, and I began to unpack my
belongings and distribute them in the proper places.

Supper was leftover pot roast, boiled potato, and green beans from the vast
store of canning jars in the cellar.  The milk was thicker and tasted
different, and I learned that it was unpasteurized, straight from the cow.
There was little conversation at the table.

Cal had a television, but it was in the parlor and rarely used.  After the
dishes were done and the animals bedded for the night, Cal gestured toward
a jumble of books piled against one wall.  I sorted through them and was
amazed at the variety.  Scientific texts were mixed with natural history,
classic literature and recent novels.  I picked out a ragged Isaac Asimov
science-fiction paperback and settled at one end of the couch nearest the
floor lamp.  Cal picked up his book on the wildlife of Australia, while
David entertained himself delicately turning a scrap of lumber into a
beautiful rendition of a dog, the wood fragments falling to the floor
unnoticed.

Promptly at 9:30 by the pendulum clock on the wall, Uncle Cal closed his
book and announced that it was bedtime.  He said that he took his shower at
night, David in the morning, so I could take my pick.  "Ain't enough hot
water for two showers at once, so if you're doing it tonight, do it now.
If you take it in the morning, you'd best get up before David," he advised.
"He probably don't know the difference anyway."

I ran upstairs and returned with my pajamas.  When Uncle Cal saw them he
smiled and said, "David and me sleep in our skivvies.  Less laundry to do."
And then, "Your towel is the blue one.  Hang it up.  We do wash once a
week."

I showered as quickly as possible to save the hot water for Cal, then
padded barefoot through the silent kitchen and up the stairs.  David was
just pulling off his shirt and jeans.  His beautiful torso with its pattern
of blonde hair made me hard, and I was grateful for the loose pajamas to
hide it.  I had never seen a man naked, and David's worn briefs were more
revealing than any bathing trunks.

"David, come down and pee!" Uncle Cal rumbled from below.  As the young man
obediently went down the stairs, I could hear Cal mumble, "Damned fool."

It was difficult to sleep with such a magnificent example of manhood
breathing just a few feet away, but I concentrated on other things and my
erection subsided.  The next thing I knew my uncle's voice was calling up
to us.  "The day's half gone!  Breakfast is ready!"  It was 6:30, and I
could smell bacon frying.

I used the bathroom just ahead of David, who showered as Cal and I began
eating.  Breakfast probably wouldn't be high on any doctor's list: bacon,
eggs, toast, juice, coffee.  Yes, even at thirteen I was served a steaming
mug of coffee.

I helped my uncle with the dishes, then he told me to follow him and David
around and he'd find things for me to do.  Just caring for the animals took
some time, and I was put in charge of the chicken coop.  As the morning
unfolded, I learned something important about the relationship between
Uncle Cal and David.

Despite Cal's gruff appearance and comments, each of David's
accomplishments was recognized, either with a brief, approving word or a
manly clap on the back.  When David spilled or broke or misused something,
Cal would patiently remedy the situation and show his nephew how to do
things right.  David always listened attentively and tried very hard to
please.  Clearly there was a strong, unstated love between them.  I
wondered if I would ever share in it.

Shortly after 9:00, Uncle Cal announced that he had to help out on a
neighbor's farm, and that he would be back at noon.  He sternly told us to
stay out of trouble, and then pointed to the vegetable garden that needed
weeding.  David and I set to work.

It wasn't a hot day, but soon after Cal left, David got a large bottle of
Pepsi out of the refrigerator and indicated that we could share it.  When
my watch said 11:00 and we were nearly done, I noticed David squeezing his
crotch with one hand as he weeded with the other.  As his distress seemed
to escalate, I finally asked, "David, do you have to pee?"

He nodded, so I said, "Well, you've got 200 acres to pee on.  Why don't you
do it?"

He thought, then wordlessly strode over to the grass, still partly within
my view, pulled out his cock and gushed for a bit.  I was fascinated to
watch him.

Uncle Cal was home at noon.  He made lunch, then said that we would come
with him to stack wood.  He picked up his chainsaw and gas can, and we
followed him along a woods road to an area where small maples and oaks had
been cut down to make room for the growing pines.  David had brought a jug
of water that we could drink when we were thirsty.  As each tree was cut
into stove lengths, David and I would stack the logs and drag the brush
into a clearing where it could be burned once snow fell.

At one point, Cal put down the saw, moved just a few steps away, and peed.
And peed!  He must have observed my wonderment, for he commented, "I
haven't taken a piss since breakfast.  You build up quite a load in that
time."

And a little later, David was again clutching himself.  Uncle Cal looked at
him, shook his head and sighed, "David, go pee."  And the young man walked
to the nearest tree and complied.  My uncle grabbed my arm as David began
hauling another load of branches to the brush pile.

"You probably noticed that David ain't too bright," he said.  "He ain't got
the brains to pee when he needs to and someone has to look out for him all
the time.  I hope you'll help me."  I nodded in agreement.

"When I first got him I sent him to one of those fancy-dancy schools, but
all they taught him was how to play with hisself."  I knew that residential
schools for the handicapped were horribly expensive and I wondered how
Uncle Cal could have afforded it.

"But he can do the work on the farm, he can whittle and carve his animals,
and he's with family."  If Uncle Cal were more inclined to express his
emotions, he might have added, "And I love him."  But I knew his nature
would not permit that.

Then he drew me to him with his great arm and said, "And you're with family
now, and we'll all look out for each other."  I wanted to hug him, but
David was returning and I was afraid such a display would not have been
appreciated.

We had a slab of ham from the cold room in the cellar, more boiled
potatoes, and fresh asparagus from the garden for supper.  I used to avoid
asparagus because it made my pee smell funny, but it was delicious, and I
figured that all of us would share the stink.

At bedtime, David was slow to put away his carving, and I was already in
bed when he came up the stairs.  When he undressed, I saw that his thin
briefs were tented out with an erection.  After he climbed into bed, he
tossed and turned, apparently unable to sleep.  Finally he got up and went
down the stairs.  I heard him rap on Uncle Cal's door and say, "Cal, I have
a woody that won't go away."

Then I could hear my uncle's faint rumble, "It's been a week; ok, deal with
it."

David returned with a wad of toilet paper in his hand.  He lay on his bed,
his cock pointing straight up, and he began to rub it.  I couldn't keep my
eyes off it, despite the dim light from the bedside lamp.  Viewing an
adult's erection was a totally new experience, and my heart was pounding.

After several minutes he tensed and held the toilet paper to the swollen
end of his cock.  Then all movement ceased and I could see the erection
begin to soften.  A couple of moments later he went downstairs and I could
hear the toilet flush.  Sleep came to both of us soon after.

Every morning, Uncle Cal would leave for two or more hours, and I
eventually learned that he was doing the chores for a neighbor who had
become old and frail but was too stubborn to leave his farm.  When I told
Cal that I thought he couldn't keep running two farms, he said, "If he
wants to die in his own bed in his own house, that's his business.  The
animals need care and George needs help, and somebody has to do it."  That
ended that topic, but I came to appreciate my uncle's quiet compassion.  I
later learned that my uncle bathed and fed and nursed the old man each
morning, providing care with a tenderness one might not expect from a rough
logger.  And he was there at his bedside when Old George left this world.

One day when Uncle Cal was away, David and I were picking beans in the
garden.  When I saw David doing his customary crotch-poking, I said
nothing.  Over the span of an hour his motions became more frantic, and
eventually he stood up, hand gripping his jeans, with tears in his eyes.

"I'm peeing my pants," he wailed.

Sure enough he was.  The wet stain spread down the front to the ground.  I
followed him into the house where he stripped off his wet jeans and briefs
and stood in the kitchen, his stiff cock waving in front of him.

"I have a woody," he observed.  "Uncle Cal won't let me take care of it
unless he says so."  I recalled my uncle's comment about the private school
teaching David to masturbate and I understood.

"What if I do it?" I asked impulsively.

David was silent.  Then he said, "I dunno.  I guess so."

I couldn't resist.  I grabbed the throbbing shaft and rubbed it.  Then I
stopped and ran into the bathroom for some toilet paper.  I returned and
resumed my massage.  It wasn't long before I saw him tense, and I held the
tissue a short distance from the engorged head.  Suddenly, it spat gob
after gob.

And just at that moment, the door opened and Uncle Cal walked in.  He
stopped and silently observed the scene.  When I let go of David's cock and
dropped the toilet paper, Cal softly told me to clean up the mess and made
no further comment.  I'm sure my ears were bright red and I was speechless.
But I followed my orders.

A bit later, David had dressed and was sent outdoors.  Uncle Cal sat down
at the table with me.

"I don't let him jack off but once a week," Cal explained "He's got a
handsome pecker and it's hard for me to keep my hands off it.  If you want
to do it, go ahead.  But only once a week."  I nodded in agreement.

Then he continued, "You old enough to cum yet?"

I was crimson with embarrassment but I shook my head.  I had played some
with my penis, but nothing had come out yet.

"Well, it'll happen soon.  You'll want to do it ten times a day, but keep
it under control."  He paused for a moment.  "You gay?"

I was speechless.  My desire for men had been my deepest, darkest secret.
But I could not lie to this man.  I nodded dumbly.

"Not your fault.  Guess I'm a little gay myself."

Then Uncle Cal got up and the rest of the day followed its routine.


Chapter Two

It's hard separating love and lust, especially when you're thirteen.  As
far as David was concerned, it was lust, pure and simple.  I did develop a
brotherly, protective love for him, but I craved his body and his cock.  Up
to this point all that I felt I should do was give him his weekly jackoff
until I got some signal from Uncle Cal that I could go further.

I did nothing more because I truly loved Uncle Cal and would always respect
his wishes.  Few words of affection were ever exchanged, but I felt his
love whenever he clasped my shoulders or made an approving remark.  I knew
him to be a kind, compassionate, caring person.  At the same time I admired
his muscular body and the mysteries of the bulge in his jeans.  He had as
much as admitted that homosexual sex would please him, but he never gave an
opportunity.  It would be in his mind incest, and I was underage to boot.
Uncle Cal was an intensely moral person, so any fantasy of sleeping with
him was doomed.  However, I could still love him, and perhaps my sexual
energy could be released with David.

Summer ran its course, and I was enrolled in a regional school more than an
hour's ride away, so I had to get up earlier to finish my chores before the
bus came.  I don't make friends easily under the best of circumstances, and
my speech, my lack of a Maine twang, set me apart from most of the others.
Besides, I took the 3:00 bus because I had responsibilities at home.

When I gave David his weekly "service", generally on Sunday nights, I was
always hard myself, and I would stroke my own cock with my free hand to
experience at least an echo of the waves of pleasure that David was
feeling.  David would lie back on his bed and I would play with his penis
until he was intensely rigid, then I would rhythmically stroke him up and
down until he shot into the tissues.  I wanted to do so much more, to
explore and stimulate other parts of his body.  And I wanted him to do the
same with me.  But Uncle Cal's remarks and behavior indicated that he
believed sex within our family would be improper - I knew it was called
incest - though he had managed to accept these mechanical acts as something
else.

I asked David how he felt about my jacking him off.

"Ain't no girls to fuck around here, and Uncle Cal wouldn't let me anyhow.
He used to yell at me when I played with myself, so this is better than
nothin'."

Then, one Sunday night as I was performing this pleasurable duty and
stroking myself as well, a sudden, compelling spasm gripped me.  I felt a
series of explosive surges in my groin and my underwear became wet and
sticky.  I knew at once that I was now a man.  I had cum!

The leaves turned their awesomely brilliant colors, and Old George died,
Cal being his only genuine mourner.  Distant relatives stripped his farm of
its humble treasures, and one afternoon Cal arrived home with a skinny dog
and a dozen aging laying hens in the pickup's bed.  These were his rewards
for months of tender care, yet it was more than he wanted or expected.

"They were left without even a bucket of water," he remarked, and found
space for them in the barn.

Mornings were chill, and now when I came down for breakfast, Cal had a fire
throwing waves of heat from the iron cookstove.  In fact, from now on the
electric range would be ignored and all meals would be prepared on the
Black Betsy.  Cal and David began leaving the bathroom door open when they
showered to enjoy the warmth.  And so I got my first look at Cal naked.

He was unselfconsciously standing in the middle of the bathroom floor
towelling himself dry as I passed by the open door.  I could not help but
stop and gape.  His chest was massive, the muscles not as sculpted as
David's but exuding power, and they were dusted with greying hair.  His
stomach was still flat, and a dark bush framed his pendulous balls and
large, soft cock.  I was entranced.

Cal looked up and grinned.  "Like what you see?" he asked.

I was tongue-tied.  Then I averted my eyes and scurried away.

I was headed upstairs for bed when Uncle Cal grabbed my arm and motioned
for me to sit at the table.

"Nothing wrong with being curious about another guy's body," he said.
"Just remember that I'm your uncle and you're my nephew."

He paused.

"Does it make you hard when David has to pee?" he asked.

I had to nod that it did.

"Same here.  But he's my nephew, too," he continued.  "Would it make you
hard if I had to pee?"

I nodded, and he smiled.  "I'll have to make sure you get a chance to see
that."

The very next afternoon, Cal set David to loading the hay wagon with
cordwood, using the tractor to haul it to the ell where he could stack it
for the long winter ahead.  It was a crisp, cool day, perfect for such
heavy work, and David loved to drive the tractor.  He began his task with
enthusiasm.

I helped Uncle Cal with some repairs in the barn.  Cal had brought a jug of
water with him, and he drank from it liberally.  We had been working a
while when he remarked, "You know, boy, I haven't pissed since before
breakfast."

I figured that to be nearly eight hours, and though Cal had probably sweat
a lot from his earlier labors he was also drinking a lot of that water from
the jug.  Thinking about it made me feel hot.

"Gotta take a massive piss," he said, but continued working.  My cock was
pushing hard against my briefs, and watching him fidget made me wonder if I
would cum in my pants.

Soon he paused to press the heel of his hand against his crotch.  "Can't
hold it much longer."

He was right.  Within minutes he stopped what he was doing and gripped
himself hard.  "Can't hold it, boy.  Gonna piss my pants."

The faded denim darkened and glistened as pee poured down his jeans and
dripped onto the barn floor to form a puddle.  The supply seemed endless.
But then my uncle looked up at me, smiled and winked, and said, "The first
time you see a grown man piss his pants?"

Cal looked down at himself and began to chuckle and then to laugh.
Suddenly it seemed as if an uproariously funny joke had been told and he
grabbed my elbow with his big, hard hand as the laughter from both of us
echoed from the rafters.  It had been a long time since I had laughed so
long and hard.

David was still off in the woods getting another load, so Cal motioned for
me to follow him into the house.  He got fresh jeans and briefs from his
room and stripped off the wet clothes in front of the warm stove.  I
fetched his towel and he dried off the lower portion of his body, giving
special attention to his large cock and balls, while I watched in sheer
joy.

"Take a good look at an old man's pecker," he said.  He grabbed it in his
fingers and wagged it, and it began to swell.  "It may be old, but it still
works."  Cal's organ was uncut, as was David's, and it was thick, even in
its more or less relaxed state.  I longed to see it in full glory, but then
my uncle drew on his briefs and jeans.  The show was over.


Chapter Three

Having grown up in California, I had never experienced a real winter, much
less a Maine winter.  I knew it would be cold and snowy, but Uncle Cal
seemed so well prepared.  The woodshed was stacked high, the hayloft and
silo were filled with fodder for the animals, the root cellar and the
preserve room were well-stocked with our garden's produce.  In fact, it had
seemed to me that we had spent all summer and fall just preparing for
winter.

The oil lamps were cleaned and ready for the inevitable power failures,
with two large cans of kerosene to fuel them kept in the barn.  Also
serviced and ready was the small generator in the ell that could provide
power to pump water or support good reading lights at night.

Early December had been mild, and my uncle used the time tinkering with his
farm equipment.  One morning, he announced that we were going to the John
Deere dealership in Lewiston for parts for the hay-baler.  Lewiston was not
much more than an hour's drive, so we expected to be back by noon.  We
cleaned up the breakfast dishes, Cal pointedly instructed David to pee, and
we were off in the pickup.  As the smallest, I was wedged in between Cal
and David.

The rapidly gathering clouds and a rising wind caused me to turn on the
little-used radio and look for a weather forecast.  What we heard surprised
us.  A storm developing off the coast coupled with an advancing cold front
from the northwest would bring heavy snow by afternoon.

"We'll be home by then," was Cal's only comment.

Flakes were drifting down by the time we got to the John Deere place, and
rather than stop for a hearty meal, we picked up burgers and drinks at
Macdonald's and started home.  Within minutes the snow was coming down
heavily in a wind-driven curtain.  Uncle Cal engaged the four-wheel drive
and we moved cautiously on.  Traffic on the highway dwindled to just an
occasional truck.

Up ahead a jumble of dark shadows loomed.  As we came to a halt I could see
a tractor-trailer jackknifed across the road, the handful of trucks and
four-wheel drives ahead of us stopped to consider options.  A car drew up
behind us, attempted to turn around, and succeeded only in being struck by
the next car, immobilizing them both.  There was no room to get around
them.

"Guess we sit here 'til the plows and the wreckers come," was Cal's calm
remark.

At least the gas tank was nearly full so we could run the engine every so
often to keep warm, and we had just eaten.  But David was already clapping
his thighs together.  I guessed that he had to pee.

Cal noticed.  "You can get out and piss beside the truck if you want," he
told David.

But the young man was bashful about relieving himself in sight of the other
drivers and insisted that he could wait.  Cal shook his head and muttered,
"Damned fool.  He'll never learn."

We had hoped that rescuers would arrive within an hour or so.  This was,
after all, a State highway and generally well-maintained.  But the snow
piled up with alarming speed and drifted against the stalled vehicles.  In
an hour's time it was so deep that when Cal attempted to open his door to
check the amount, he could only push it open a few inches.  David was
squeezing himself desperately, and I realized that I would soon have to pee
myself.

Cal rummaged in the waste receptacle and came up with the one plastic cup
that had not been crushed after use.  It was just a foam coffee cup, the
8-ounce variety, but Uncle Cal handed it to David.

"Pee in this," he said.  "But you'd better stop when it's full.  If you
piss on my truck you'll hear about it for the next month!"

David took the cup and awkwardly unzipped his fly.  He flipped out his
cock, which was somewhat hard from constant squeezing, and pointed it into
the cup.  He gushed in spurts and the cup was immediately filled.
Unfortunately, he spurted a couple of times more before he was able to
contain it and dribbled both on the floor and on the seat.  Then he handed
the cup to his uncle.

Cal just shook his head at the soiling of his beloved truck, rolled down
his window, and emptied the cup outside.  Snow blew in furiously.

"I still gotta pee," David complained, his fingers clamped on his cock to
prevent further accidents.

Cal handed him the cup and David went through the performance again, this
time successfully stopping before the cup overflowed.  But he had become so
erect that he had difficulty cramming his cock back into his jeans.  He
finally bent it against his left hip and managed to secure his jeans over
it.  I leered at the bulge.

After emptying it, Cal handed me the cup.

"You might as well get comfortable," he said.

Up to this moment I had been remarkably shy with Cal and David.  They had
seen me in my briefs, but never naked.  I always turned my back when peeing
in the woods, and I had never displayed an erection.  (David was always
preoccupied when I was jacking him.)  And after watching David now, I was
at least semi-hard.

Reluctantly, I unsnapped and unzipped my jeans, pulled down the waistband
of my briefs and let my cock pop out.  I slid forward in the seat and was
relieved to be able to start the flow despite the audience.  I cautiously
filled the cup twice and Cal emptied it for me without comment.

Then Cal went through the same performance, ignoring my furtive gaze.
Although he had shown no signs of discomfort, he filled the cup three times
before he was through.

We kept one window rolled down slightly for air, which kept the cab of the
truck chilly.  However, we were warmly dressed and snuggled together.  I
felt a special warmth being in such close contact with the two people I had
come to love above all others.

More hours passed, and the snow reached the side windows of the truck.  We
talked more than we had in the past six months, and I heard a lot about
Uncle Cal's childhood, his family, and especially my mother.  Even David
talked about his experiences before he had come to Maine.

Then the snow seemed to let up.  We could see the other vehicles as mounds
in the drifts, and Cal decided that he should check to make sure that
everyone else was ok.  He rolled down his window, pushed the snow aside,
and crawled out of the opening.  I wanted to follow, but he instructed us
to roll up the window and stay in the cab.

He struggled through the waist-deep snow and pounded on the window of the
SUV ahead of us.  When he got a response, he did the same for the next
vehicle, and the next.  The fourth was another pickup, and he pounded
repeatedly on it, then waved to us to come help.  I rolled down the window
and exited, David following.  Our progress was aided by Cal's trail and we
arrived just as he punched his gloved fist through the window, which
shattered into hundreds of small, crumbly bits.  Inside was a young man
slumped over the steering wheel.

He was lightly dressed, wearing just a thin jacket, no gloves, dress shoes
instead of boots.  His skin was unnaturally pale.  The three of us quickly
dragged him to our pickup and stretched him out across our laps.  Cal had
already cleared the exhaust pipe, so he started the engine and let the
heater fill the cab with warmth.  He pulled off the man's outer clothing
and told us to open our coats and press the man's body against us.  Being
in the middle, the portion I had was a very wet crotch!  Cal removed the
man's shoes and placed the icy feet under his shirt against his bare chest.

"Damned fool must have been driving on empty when he got this far," he
said.  "And no warm coat.  No wonder he's half froze."

The stranger was semiconscious, and after a bit seemed to be recovering
from his hypothermia.  His speech became coherent and he complained only of
some pain in his fingers and toes, which Cal determined was a good sign.

Within an hour we had him squished in between me and Cal.  His name was
Adam, and he explained that he had lost his job and his girlfriend threw
him out, so he was headed for his cousin's in Nova Scotia.  A few minutes
later he mentioned going to Vermont to stay with an old army buddy.

"You don't have a goddam clue where you're going," Cal finally remarked.

Adam nodded sadly.

"Well, if we ever get out of this Godforsaken spot, you can stay the night
with us," Cal announced.

"Don't worry about that old shitbox I was driving," Adam said.  "It belongs
to my ex-girlfriend's new boyfriend.  Let them just shove it into the
ditch."
  
In the distance was the roar of diesel engines, growing rapidly closer.  In
moments three large State of Maine plows arrived, accompanied by a huge
wrecker.  Expertly, they moved the crunched cars and rumbled past us to
attack the tractor-trailer.  Within a half-hour, the road ahead was clear.
We followed the plows at a slow pace until we got to the recently-cleared
road that led to our town and home.  Earlier in the storm the town plows
had made a pass along our dirt road, and the four-wheel drive brought us
through the foot or so of snow that had since fallen and into our dooryard.
Home never looked so good!

Cal left David and me to tend to our guest while he fed the animals and
milked the cow.  The house was stony cold, but fortunately the pipes had
not yet frozen.  David built a roaring fire in the stove while I pulled
cans of beef stew from the cupboard and emptied them into a pot.  By the
time Cal returned from the barn, the savory smell of the stew filled the
kitchen.  Cal prepared the coffeepot and soon its aroma blended deliciously
in the air.  With the addition of chunks of Cal's homemade bread and a bowl
of sliced apples, dinner was ready.

My uncle noted Adam's still-sodden pants.

"Pissed your pants, did you?" he said with a grin.  "David, give him a pair
of your skivvies and some jeans.  He's more your size."

Then we ate every scrap of food on the table.

It was very late, and Cal instructed Adam to take his bed while he would
sleep on the couch in the kitchen.  We all fell into an exhausted sleep.


Chapter Four

Breakfast was ready for us at 6:30 as usual, but Adam was still asleep.
Cal and I were doing the dishes when the bedroom door opened and Adam
padded out, clad only in David's jeans, and went into the bathroom.
Although he was somewhat thin, his chest was slabbed with flat muscle and
his arms were sinewy and veined.

"Looks like he's done some work in his time," Cal commented.  "And he's
going to discover that we've used up all the hot water."  He smiled and
winked at me.  David had already gone out to tend the animals, so we were
alone at the sink.

"You had the guts to pee in front of us yesterday," Cal said.  "You got
nothing to be ashamed of.  By the time you're eighteen, you'll be as long
as David and as thick as me.  You'll be a real stud."

I glowed with this appraisal.  My fourteenth birthday was approaching, and
I had already noted a broadening of my shoulders, the growth in my cock and
balls, and the appearance of dark hairs in my armpits and crotch.  On my
upper lip was a line of heavy fuzz.  I could cum when I played with myself
in the privacy of the bathroom.  I was becoming a man!

"Now, where is Adam going to sleep?  He ain't got my room forever," Cal
remarked.

I guessed that Adam was going to be with us for a while.


Chapter Four

Cal decided that Adam would sleep in David's bed, and David would sleep
with Cal in his double bed.  "He's straight and he ain't jailbait," Cal
said, squeezing my arm and smiling.  I understood.

Adam followed us around on our routine of chores and didn't seem
particularly interested in any of them.  But my uncle made it clear that
everyone had to pull his weight and set our new boarder to work cleaning
out the beef critters' pen in the barn while the rest of us went about our
morning routine.

There was lots of snow to be shoveled during the day, and we ate our supper
ravenously.  We were all grateful when bedtime arrived.  I showered hastily
and was just slipping into bed when Adam came up the stairs.  In the dim
light I examined his body as he undressed, and despite the nice upper torso
there seemed to be little in the borrowed briefs.  "Good things come in
small packages," I mused as I drifted off to a deep sleep.

The next day was bright and cold.  After chores, Cal stated that he was
taking Adam into town to get him some clothes.  He pulled some bills out of
the canning jar on the kitchen counter and was off in the pickup, leaving
David and me to occupy ourselves.

Around 11:00 David was predictably squeezing his crotch.

"Why don't you go and pee when you have to?" I asked.

"I dunno," David responded.  "It feels good for a while and Cal doesn't
yell at me when I play with my thing if it's because I have to pee."

I guessed that made sense.  I knew that sometimes I perversely held it in
for a while even when I didn't have to.

"But when I have to go bad I can't hold it," David continued.  "Cal doesn't
like it when I pee my pants."

David was still clutching himself, so I sent him into the bathroom even
though his need made me hard.  He left the door open, and I enjoyed
watching him pee.

Cal and Adam arrived home at noon, and I had already started frying ham for
sandwiches.  Cal squeezed my arm and thanked me for doing this, and his
approval made me feel warm all over.  How I loved this man!

During the afternoon, I walked into the kitchen just as Adam was thrusting
the rolled-up cash into the canning jar.  I told him that Cal worked hard
for that money, and that it was for all of us when we needed it.  He seemed
embarrassed, and I decided that this was a good sign.  But I knew I would
have to watch him carefully.

That night I had padded softly up the stairs to see Adam in bed doing
something under the blanket.  It dawned on me that he was jacking off.  He
stopped abruptly.

"Don't stop on my account," I said.  "I have to do it every so often
myself."

Adam seemed speechless at this frank acceptance of masturbation.  Then I
continued, "I've been horny all day, so I'd best take care of it so I won't
cream my shorts tonight."

Then I grabbed a handful of Kleenex, pulled down my briefs, and set to
work.  Adam watched in awe of my openness.  When I had cum, I disposed of
the output in the toilet downstairs and came back up to see him considering
his slightly-tented underwear.

"Want some help?" I offered casually.  I was getting hard again despite my
relief just a few minutes before.

The poor guy was in a bind.  He was horny and ready.  I had set the
pattern, and he would be expected to follow.  With great reluctance, he
pulled down the waistband of his briefs.  Out poked a penis that was
significantly smaller than any of the rest of us.  He was red with
embarrassment.

"Don't tell the other guys I have such a small tool," he said softly.

"Hey, if it works, it's fine with me," I replied.

"My girlfriend said that I couldn't satisfy her," Adam continued.

"If all she wanted was a big cock, I guess you're well rid of her," I
commented.  "Nobody here cares how big it is, as long as you can pee with
it.  Can I watch you?"

Adam's hardon had shriveled during our conversation, and he rubbed it
furiously to get it erect again, but it wasn't responding.  I sat on the
edge of his bed and pushed his hand aside, commencing the kind of
manipulation that pleased David so much.  In a couple of minutes Adam
groaned, and I held the tissues to the end of his cock as it shot out its
sticky load.

When I had returned from flushing the tissues, Adam said, "I ain't queer or
anything.  But you sure did it good.  Thanks."

I was just drifting off when Adam asked, "Did you tell Cal about my
checking his money?"

"I don't think I need to.  Do I?"

"You guys sure have a good thing going here.  You take care of each other.
I wish I had a family like that."

"As long as you're here, you're part of the family," I said.  "Just make
sure you deserve to be."

Again I was just drifting off when he said gently, "I never had friends
like you."

I wondered what life had done to him before he came to us.


Chapter Five

I thought about the previous night while I was getting dressed.  Adam felt
he had so little going for him.  Jobless, friendless, and rejected by his
girlfriend apparently because he had such a small cock, he desperately
needed a boost, even though he was in a hole he had made deeper by his own
attitude.  I resolved to consult Cal so that we could change this.

Cal got a phone call from a logger friend the next day.  The lack of
further snow had made working in the woods feasible, so he and David were
needed.  And as Christmas was approaching, Cal could use the money.  It was
still dark at 6:00 the next morning but Cal was up, packing lunches for the
two of them, and then they were off, leaving me and Adam in charge.  I
didn't feel at all guilty about skipping school that first day.

All of the chores were completed well before noontime, and Adam and I began
to talk about our years before we came to Maine.  He had grown up in one of
the tougher sections of Boston.  Our fathers had both left when we were
young, and we were raised by working mothers with lots of unsupervised
time.  Being just short of fourteen, my history was a brief one, but Adam
went on to tell me of his teen years as a school dropout, his
experimentation with drugs, and his fleeting, unsatisfactory experiences
with women.

"Are you queer?  You don't look queer," he stated.

I was startled by his question.  It was not something that I had ever
really talked about.  I guess my silence gave him his answer.

"It don't make much difference," he continued.  "You ain't gonna rape me or
anything, and you sure know how to jack a guy off."

I was grateful that Adam was willing to accept me as I was.  His problem
was that he could not accept himself.

The following day I helped Adam with the chores until the bus was due at
the end of our road.  When I got home, I found that he had done everything
needed and had even cleaned the kitchen.  The counters gleamed and the
woodbox was full.  Cal was pleased when he and David arrived after dark and
he saw Adam's handiwork.  That night as we were settling into bed, Adam
commented on Cal's praise.

"I've been a screw-up all my life," he said.  "Nobody ever told me I done
something right until today."

Two weeks passed, and it was just four days before Christmas.  School was
out for the holidays, so on that Friday afternoon Adam and I went out to
the back woodlot and selected the best fir tree we could find.  It was flat
on one side and a little sparse, but when we set it up in the kitchen we
thought it was beautiful.  Its aroma filled the air when Cal and David got
home, and after supper Cal brought a battered box of old ornaments from the
storage room in the attic.  We hummed the familiar carols as we decorated,
and even Adam joined in.

Saturday morning, Cal emptied the money jar onto the counter.  He had been
putting tens and twenties into it when he got paid, and now it was almost
overflowing.  He sorted the cash out into five piles.  One stack was
returned to the jar to pay the household bills.  The others were
distributed to each of us.

"Christmas spending money," he said.  "You all earned it."

Then we crammed ourselves into the pickup and headed for the mall in
Lewiston.  I had to sit mostly on David's lap, and I could tell he was hard
by the time we got there.  For that matter, so was I!

We split up and agreed to meet at the main entrance in two hours.  My
shopping was done in less than that time, and I found David sitting on a
bench, squeezing his legs together.  I led him to the men's room and we
both relieved ourselves.  Then we returned to the entrance and met the
others.

As we swung onto the State road, Cal noticed that David was composed and
comfortable.  "I see you found the men's room," he remarked with a smile.

"I shoulda gone before we left," Adam commented, underscoring his statement
with a press to his crotch.

"No stops.  You can always use the cup."  Cal pointed to the refuse
container.  We laughed, but Adam did not.  There was no way he would expose
his small equipment to these men.  It was bad enough that I already knew.
He would hold it until they got home.  The minute they bounced to a stop in
the dooryard, Adam was out like a shot and ran to pee into a snowpile next
to the barn.

On Christmas morning we did the farm chores, ate a huge breakfast, then
pulled our chairs near the tree to open presents.  From David I got a
transistor radio, from Adam a shirt.  Cal's gift was a small box, and I
opened it with care.  Inside, nestled in soft tissue, was an ancient gold
pocket watch.

"It was your grandfather's." Cal explained.  "He gived it to me a long time
ago.  I ain't gonna have a son, so it should go to you.  Wind it up.  It's
old, but it works - like some other things around here."  He gave me a
wink.

He looked at David.  "David can't tell time with that.  Besides, he has one
of those digital things."  David proudly displayed the black plastic watch
on his wrist.

"It's 9:32," he announced.  "That's ay-em!"

Later I was sitting at the kitchen table polishing my watch with a piece of
flannel, admiring the delicate design on the face and the filigree that
decorated the case.  Cal stopped behind me and put his hands on my
shoulders.

"If you were my son I'd be damned proud," he said gently.  "Your daddy
don't know what he threw away."

I got up and put my arms around Cal, burying my face in his chest to hide
the tears that suddenly poured down my cheeks.

"You're the only dad I'll ever want," I sobbed.

Christmas dinner was a fresh-killed chicken, potatoes from the root cellar
baked with crispy skins, two kinds of squash from our stock of canning
jars, and a somewhat burned apple pie that David had made himself.  Looking
around the table as we devoured it all, I couldn't imagine a nicer
Christmas.

After the dishes were done, Cal opened the door into the chilly parlor and
went over to a large cabinet that I had never seen opened.  Inside was a
vintage stereo system, state-of-the-art in its time, and a large rack of LP
records.  Cal first selected a disk of Christmas music which he cranked up
to full volume.  When it was over, he turned down the volume and put
another record on the turntable.

"You guys can close the door if you want," he said.  "Just like to hear
this stuff every so often."

From the parlor came the opening strains of Puccini's "Madama Butterfly".
At that time it was unfamiliar but rather pleasing, so I went in to listen
with him.  He pointed to the jacket and mentioned names I had never heard
of: Renata Tebaldi, Mario Del Monaco, Robert Merrill.  He explained the
plot as the opera unfolded, and I had to admit I rather enjoyed it.  After
supper we returned to the parlor to hear "Turandot", which also had an
oriental theme and was Puccini's last opera, Cal said.  David and Adam
stayed in the kitchen, but I so enjoyed sharing this new aspect of my
uncle.

I felt especially warm as I drifted off to sleep that night.
     

Chapter Six

The relatively mild weather took a nasty turn just before New Year's.  The
sky turned the color of lead, and soon snow began to fall.  There was
little wind, so each flake stayed where it landed.  At first it was heavy
and wet, sticking to every twig, but then it became finer as the
temperature dropped and a steady northeast gale developed.  Abruptly, the
power went off, and Cal lit the big, brass Aladdin lamp and placed it in
the center of the kitchen table.

"Use the privy instead of the bathroom," he announced.  "No sense in using
the generator if we don't have to."

The privy was a "two-holer" in the ell beyond the woodshed and breezeway.
It was part of the original structure of the place, and Uncle Cal had kept
it clean and ready for use.  It seemed strange to have to put on my coat
the first time I needed to pee.  It was not a place where one would linger.

The temperature continued to drop and the wind found every crack in the old
house.  While the kitchen remained toasty warm, the uninsulated upstairs
was especially cold that night.  Cal heated two blocks of soapstone on the
stove, wrapped them in flannel, and handed them to Adam and me as we went
up to bed.  The soapstone kept my feet warm, but despite a woolen blanket
and a down comforter, I was still shivering for a while before I fell
asleep.

It was still dark out, and still storming, when Adam's voice woke me.

"Fuck!  I have to take a wicked piss."

I had to pee a bit myself, but I figured I could get in another hour or two
of sleep before it really bothered me.  On the other hand, Adam had
consumed a glass of Cal's apple cider just before retiring, so his problem
was predictable.  The prospect of the long trek through the unheated
woodshed and breezeway was not a pleasant one.  The soapstone's heat had
dwindled to just a vague whisper of warmth, so returning to bed after such
a trip would mean slipping between icy sheets.

"Hold it or get up and pee," I said sleepily.

"I been holding it for hours.  Can't wait any longer."

I groped for the oil lamp on the table and fumbled with the pack of
matches.  I sat up in my bed, pulling the blanket around me, looking toward
Adam in the yellow glow.  The way he was holding himself told me that he
really did have to pee.  And now, I guessed that I did, too.

"Get something warm and let's go," I said as I slipped out from my warm
nest, grabbed a sweater from its hook, slid on my shoes and grabbed the
lamp.  Reluctantly, Adam did the same and followed me down the stairs
hanging on to his crotch.

We went into the privy together and I could see that Adam's briefs were wet
and drops were falling on the floor.

"Looks like you peed yourself already," I observed.  Then we stood
elbow-to-elbow squirting into the dark holes.

On the way back I said, "Better hang your skivvies over the stove to dry."

Adam knew I had seen him at his worst, so he wasn't embarrassed to quickly
shed the sodden underwear and drape it on the line over the stove.  I'm
sure he was grateful that I didn't comment on his genitals, which had
contracted from the cold and were almost entirely hidden by hair.  I put
another couple of logs on the coals to generate some heat.

We were frozen by the time we climbed into bed, and both of us were
shivering violently.  Then Adam suggested, "Climb in with me and we'll get
warm."

It was actually a sensible idea, so I slipped in next to him.  We lay
there, our shoulders touching, when he said, "Fuck this.  I'm cold!"  And
he turned and put his arms around me.

Within a minute, our erections were competing for space, ultimately pressed
between our abdomens.  I fought the excitement that was rising in me, but
Adam began a rhythmic motion of his hips.

"I thought I was the queer one," I said, but Adam continued.  In just a
moment or two, I felt his warm wetness being sprayed against my stomach.
It took a while longer for me, but soon we fell asleep in a sticky embrace.
We woke when Cal's voice roared up the stairs, "Morning's half gone.
Breakfast is ready."

We tried to clean ourselves off with one of my old t-shirts, and we
stumbled downstairs together attempting to look innocent.  Later, Cal and I
were doing the breakfast dishes while Adam and David were attending to the
animals, and he gave me a knowing smile.

"It was cold last night.  Two in a bed is warmer than one."

I became red and looked at him.

"I know cum when I smell it," he explained.

I looked away in embarrassment.

"Adam's not family.  Anything that the two of you do is OK, as long as both
of you want to do it and nobody's hurt.  He didn't stick it in you, did
he?"

I shook my head.

"Then you won't get AIDS or nothin'," he said.  I knew that this wasn't a
truly accurate statement, but I guessed he was right in this situation.
Nothing more was said about it.


Chapter Seven

It was Friday and it was my fourteenth birthday.  When I got home from
school, Cal told me that we were going out to celebrate.  We got the chores
done early, I washed and put on my good pants and my Christmas shirt.  Cal,
David and Adam were also decked out in their Sunday Best.

Cal knew I was fond of seafood, so we headed for the Clam Shack about
twenty miles away.  As usual, I had to sit on David in the cramped truck
cab.  It wasn't the classiest restaurant around, but their seafood was
fresh and usually well-prepared.  The parking lot was nearly full when we
got there, though most of the patrons were in the bar.  It was, after all,
Friday night!

We were seated in a booth, and the waitress handed us four rather worn
menus.  She pointed out several items that were now priced higher than
printed, but since this was a celebration, we didn't care.  Cal, David and
Adam each ordered a beer while we perused the selections.  I had to settle
for a Coke.

We ordered - I chose the clams and scallops combination - and when the
waitress said it would take 15 or 20 minutes, the other three called for a
second beer.  I was a little surprised, as we didn't keep beer at home and
I assumed that none of them drank anything alcoholic.  I figured that Cal
would have to have more than two beers before his driving skill would be
affected.

Our food didn't arrive for well over half an hour.  We were told that the
regular cook was out and his assistant was very slow.  A third round of
beers was ordered.

My dinner was wonderful.  The clams had big bellies and the scallops were
tender and flavorful.  David started fidgeting in his seat, so Cal pointed
to the men's room and sent him there.  He returned almost immediately and
reported that someone had thrown up all over the floor and he couldn't use
the toilet without stepping in it.  He was really squirming.

"Give us fifteen minutes to finish our food," Cal said.  "Can you hold it
that long?"

David nodded, but I suspect he didn't understand the speed that beer works.
He wolfed down his shrimp and then sat there clutching his crotch with both
hands.  He was sitting next to me, so Cal didn't notice his desperation.

"Cal, I'm peeing my pants," he suddenly announced.  I saw the dark stain
spread down his legs and drops fell to the floor.

Uncle Cal gave him an unhappy look but then said, "Well, the damage is
done.  Finish up, everyone."  He waved to the waitress for the check.  When
we left the restaurant, Adam walked just ahead of David and I walked right
behind him, hopefully concealing the large wet area on his pants.

"At least the seats are plastic," Cal commented as we got into the truck.
I didn't want to sit on David's wet lap, so I shifted to Adam.  As soon as
I did, he said that he had to take a wicked piss and that I was sitting on
his bladder.  He groaned at every bump in the road, and then told Cal that
he couldn't hold it.  We were still on the State road, so Cal told him to
wait until we turned off.

"I can't wait!" he wailed.  And then, "Oh, shit!" as we hit another bump.
I began to feel a warm wetness soaking through the seat of my pants.

When we got in the house, Cal looked at David and Adam, both of whom were
soaked.  "Well, ain't you a pair of pissers!" he announced with a big grin.

I turned around and showed him my wet rear.

"Three of you!  Well, if I don't get to the john in a second I'm going to
join you."

Uncle Cal hadn't shown any sign of discomfort, but he had consumed the same
amount of beer as the other two.  He paused in front of the bathroom door,
turned winked at all of us and said, "Oh, what the hell.  I have to do a
load of wash anyway"

Wetness blossomed on the front of his pants and streamed down toward the
floor.  After a momentary gasp, we all burst into raucous laughter.  When
the peeing stopped, Cal went over to a tall cupboard and brought out
several pairs of old, ragged jeans.

"I've got thirty years' worth of paintin' pants here," he said.  "Strip off
your stuff and throw it in the machine."

We did as he asked, Adam modestly changing with his back turned.  The jeans
I got were split in the crotch so I had to maneuver my balls so they
wouldn't hang out.  David's jeans had no buttons on the fly and his cock
would surely be on display if he sat down.  Adam's had a large hole just to
the left of the fly, so he twisted them around to keep his equipment out of
view.  Cal's were too small for his large frame, and the bulge he created
was impressive.

"Real fashion plates, we are," he commented as he headed for the cellarway.
He returned with a 12-pack of Budweiser, something I never knew was there.

"Got this on sale last summer," Cal advised us.  "Better use it up before
it goes bad.  Besides, it's Paul's birthday."

He even handed me a can, and we all popped them open and drank deeply as
the washing machine labored away.  We sat and talked and drank the beer,
and Cal said, "Since Paul's the birthday boy, nobody pisses until he says
when and how."

They all looked at me, then they smiled broadly as I remarked, "I think I
can have some fun with this."

Since I was the only one who hadn't peed his pants, I was feeling the need
and decided to set the pattern.  Besides, I was proud of my cock, which was
becoming longer and thicker by the week, maybe approaching seven inches.
So I grabbed an empty can, extracted my penis - which was somewhat excited
from all that had transpired - through the split in the jeans, and
proceeded to fill it.  Then I took another can and nearly filled it as
well.  The others watched silently, then applauded when my performance was
done.  As I got up to dump the cans, I noticed that David was giving
himself the familiar squeezes.

I knew that David was not at all bashful, so I summoned everyone into the
cramped bathroom and instructed David to pee until I said, "Stop."

He pulled out his own seven-incher and began to gush into the toilet.  When
I told him to stop he struggled to stem the flow.  When he finally
succeeded, I went through the process again and again until he was empty.

Perhaps David was thinking of my Sunday night "services" in the past when
he said, "The next guy to pee has to have Paul jack him off tonight."

For the next hour, we drank, we talked, we sang.  It was past our usual
bedtime but we were really enjoying each other's company.  I watched David
begin to fidget and assumed that we would be, at least briefly, sharing a
bed to fulfill Adam's challenge.

Abruptly, Cal muttered, "Oh, shit!"

Pee streamed down his jeans.  A moment later, a dark splotch appeared on
Adam's front.  I stood up and said, "Oh, what the hell!" and let it loose
in my pants.

We all laughed like fools.  Then the lateness of the hour crept over us.
Cal pulled the clothes from the washer and hung them on the line over the
stove.  He directed David (who was the only one dry) to check the animals
in the barn.  He put wood in the stove, and when David returned from the
barn he told him he would be sleeping upstairs in my bed.

I had nearly forgotten that Cal had lost the challenge.  I ran upstairs to
get dry underwear and returned to find Cal getting ready for bed.  The door
to his bedroom had been left open during the evening so it was relatively
warm there.  We both slid into the large double bed.


Chapter Eight

I lay there in the big bed, savoring Cal's warmth and the roughness of his
muscled arm touching mine.

"You don't have to do this," I said.

"A deal's a deal," he replied.  "I think I'll enjoy it after too many years
of having to settle with Five Fingered Nellie."  He held up his right hand.

"Just don't expect me to do the same for you," he continued.  "You're only
fourteen, jailbait, and it's not fair for me to take advantage."

Cal flipped back the blanket and exposed his wonderful torso.  I started
caressing his huge, veined hand, the great wrist bones and his hairy,
corded forearm.  My fingers explored the mass of his bicep, the powerful
shoulder, and the pattern of greying hair on his muscular chest.  I traced
the nipples and the outline of the prominent pectoral muscles.  I felt his
chest rise and fall with each breath and the beat of his heart within.  I
paused to consider the kindness, generosity and compassion that his heart
represented, and I was moved to tears.

A drop left my cheek and fell on him.  He wrapped that strong arm around me
and drew me to him.  "I love you, too," he whispered.

Then he released his grip and said, "We have business to attend to."

My hardness was brushing against him while his was straining his briefs.  I
followed the trail of hair to the waistband, and he pulled it down to
release the most beautiful cock I had ever seen in my limited experience.

It was arrow-straight, at right angles to his body and uncut.  At first I
fondled it gently, moving it this way and that, sliding the foreskin.  Then
I gripped it more roughly, rubbing and massaging.

Then I felt the rising tension in my own groin and suddenly filled my own
briefs with the product of my overwhelming emotion.  After a brief pause to
collect my senses, I continued to manipulate Cal's throbbing organ for a
long time.

After about twenty minutes of this treatment, Cal finally called for me to
grab some tissues.  A moment later he spat gob after gob, and then he lay
back in the afterglow.

"Best cum I've had in years," he commented tersely.

I got up to dispose of the tissues and to clean myself off.  When I got
back into bed, Cal embraced me and said, "No man could have a better son
than you."  I basked in his praise.

A bit later, we both got up and peed together.  Then we slept through the
night in each other's arms.

Morning came, and the routine took over.  At breakfast we were more
talkative than usual, and chores were done with enthusiasm.  We had shared
a special brotherhood the night before, and it would linger in our
memories.


Chapter Nine

The years passed with frightening speed.  Suddenly I was thirty-six, a
computer programmer for Microsoft with more money than I knew what to do
with.  Although I was in California for most of the year, my companion and
I would always plan at least two weeks in Maine with Cal in the summer and
at least Christmas Day there.  We would sleep in the familiar upstairs
room, help with the chores, and at some point we would pee our pants!

Cal had put me through four years at MIT, and I didn't understand how he
could afford it until much later.  Adam had disappeared from our lives, and
I often wondered what had happened to him.  David had discovered the
daughter of the owner of a neighboring farm, got her pregnant, and was
happily ensconced there with a growing brood of children.

Alone to do all the work, Cal had reduced the farm to a couple of steers
and a few pigs.  As I finally learned, he had sold off several hundred
acres to finance my college tuition, and nothing but ten acres of field and
fifty acres of woods remained with the place.

That last summer, Cal was clearly not well.  He moved with difficulty and
only picked at his meals.  Perhaps that perverse gene that had cut short
the lives of my mother and my aunt had finally found a male host, but the
doctors called it leukemia.  There were treatments, but Cal would have none
of it.

"It's time," he said.  "I've done what I was here for."

He hugged me and we wept together.  Three days later he died.  I was with
him, holding his hand as the last spark ebbed and fled.

In his Will, Uncle Cal left everything to me, with a small bequest to
David.  Implied was the hope that I would always look after him, which, of
course, I will.  My companion and I continue to summer in Maine.

Someday the farm will go to David's eldest son, whom he named Calvin at my
urging.  He's a robust, friendly lad, the spit-and-image of his
great-uncle.  He will be a fitting successor.