Date: Thu, 03 Oct 2002 21:56:47 -0500 From: The Jongolier <jongolier@myself.com> Subject: The Mountain Cabin 4 and a Question DISCLAIMER: This story contains consensual sex between two male minors. If this sort of thing offends you or you are underage, do not read this. This story is the property of The Jongolier, any reprinting or other use is only by permission. This is a work of fiction. If it offends you, don't read it! Certainly don't send me email about WHY it offends you. It doesn't offend me and it doesn't offend the many many readers who write to me to tell me they love it. This is it, folks. The end. But there's some ugliness to get past first. Besides, life is ugly, and at the same time beautiful. I hope you've enjoyed my little love story. If you like my story, email me at jongolier@myself.com. If you don't like it, email me anyway. Enjoy. GEORGE'S PART IN ALL THIS The next two weeks were easily the happiest of our lives. Every night around dinner my father would call to check up on us. After speaking to me for a moment, he always wanted to talk to Matt. Usually within a few seconds Matt was joking around saying things like, "Yeah, Dad. I'm fine," always giving me a wink when he said this. Secretly I think it thrilled him to have someone else concerned for his welfare. Except for our nightly call, we were left to ourselves and we enjoyed every minute of it. After two weeks my grandmother came out for a week with Matt's brothers, who seemed to be doing well themselves. Their slight little frames were flourishing under my grandmother's cooking; their waifish looks giving way to the slightly chubby bodies most ten year olds have. In fact, most of us commented later that we hadn't realized how underfed the boys were until they got regular meals again. Even Matt was getting a little belly from all the cooking he and I were doing. I guess it was my mother's influence causing me to cook so much for my love. We soon began running in the morning, something I hated to do but the two of us sorely needed. When we got back we would often shower together, just enjoying some physical contact while we hugged tightly together, and then jump into the pool to cool off even more. By summer's end we were both bronzed, well muscled, and lean from all our running and swimming. Matt's cooking was getting better and better and he had taken over cooking half the meals in the house. I loved to watch him cook from the cover of the pantry door. He went at it with such concentration and will, his little brow furrowing and his eyes intently watching his creations. It wasn't long before he was showing me a thing or two that he had discovered on his own. My family had always held one massive party at the lake house at the end of every summer. This summer was no different, but Matt and I decided to wow them all with a feast befitting royalty. We worked for two days on pies, cakes, pastries, and other dishes we could make before hand. On the day of the party we got up at six and began the day-long preparation. By four o'clock, when various family members began to trickle in, the two roasts were just nearing perfection and the goose was cooling, ready to carve. On the kitchen counter sat a spread of dishes that would have made any four star restaurant blush in shame. Everyone oohed and ahhed appropriately as they attacked the hours' devours while Matt and I finished up. By six everyone, except Uncle Don of course, was there and we all sat down to two hours of culinary heaven. Matt and I threw many dinner parties in our lifetime, but none ever compared to our first. We beamed with pride through the whole thing and reveled in the applause afterward. After everyone had left to drive back down the hill, my grandmother electing to go home as well instead of staying in the house overnight, Matt and I spent a happy few hours doing the dishes and generally cleaning up. I normally hated doing the dishes, as did Matt, but if we looked at it as more time together then it wasn't so bad. We both knew that we would be starting school in a week and time alone together was going to be sparse in my parents' house. Our last night in the house together, after battening down the house for the long fall with no occupants, we made intense love on the carpet in the living room. We fondled each other for a long time while just looking silently into each other's eyes before moving on to sucking each other off more than once. We fell asleep on the deep pile rug, tangled together in a sweaty ball of love. The next day everything would change and we knew it. Neither of us wanted to go back, but we both knew we had to. Social Services had made it quite clear that they would not allow a sixteen year old without a high school diploma to be the primary care giver for a 12 year old, no matter how close we were. The lady from the service who came out to meet us all had no idea of our real relationship, listing it as a "close brother relationship, stemmed most likely from separation anxiety stemming from the incarceration of the father." How little she knew. --- School started much like any other school year. My classes were boring, consisting of mostly those filler classes that so many high schools insert into your final year in order to give you something to do. Matt was having fun with his new teachers and was enjoying the class period system for the first time. He was just entering Junior High having been held back once for lack of attention more than anything. He quickly adjusted to having six teachers and six classrooms instead of one. I packed his lunch every day, just as my older brothers had done for me at that age. Unlike my brothers, however, I put little notes with hearts or X's and O's written lightly on them. Anyone who saw them would assume they were from his mother, but Matt knew differently. A few years later I was going through his dresser, helping him find the keys to his car, when I found a tightly wrapped bundle of those little notes I had left so many times for him to find between his sandwich and his chips. He had saved every one. My parents were pretty cool about the whole thing, never actually talking about it but accepting the nature of our relationship with a level of calm that surprised me. We shared the twin sized bed in my room, snuggled tightly together most nights, and I got rid of a bunch of old clothes, storing them for Matt to wear when he was bigger, to make room for his clothes in my large dresser. Life was happy for a while. We were both looking forward to Christmas vacation and the skiing season up at the lake. Matt's birthday was in early December, and I was planning quite a bash to celebrate him becoming a teenager. I had already gotten a roller skating rink rented, his new hobby, and I planned to take him for a weekend at the beach right after the party. We hadn't had sufficient privacy to have more than a little playing with each other and my body was aching for some more physical contact. I dropped him off at school and played hooky from my classes in order to buy some presents for him and make sure the reservations were all ready at the hotel. I usually got home earlier than Matt, having one less class then he did, so I dropped by the house at my usual time to wrap his presents before picking him up from school. I came into the house to find my father sitting on the couch with a dark expression on his face. He stood up as I entered the room and my heart dropped into my feet. "There's been an incident at Matt's school," he said solemnly. "Matt's hurt, bad, and he's in the hospital." Tears immediately stung my eyes and I nearly collapsed right there on the floor as my world shattered around me. Without another word, my father led me out to his car and we drove over to the hospital. On the way there he explained what happened. "The world is cruel, Mike," he began. "Especially to people like you and Matt." He took a deep breath before continuing, "Apparently some kid started calling Matt names while they got ready for PE. One thing led to another and soon they were fighting. Apparently this kid shouted out at the top of his lungs that Matt was gay and soon two older boys took over beating Matt." I gasped at my father's telling, feeling instant hatred for who I suspected was George. He and Matt had fallen out completely since Matt confessed his feelings to him. "Apparently Matt's got two black eyes, a broken jaw, a broken collar bone, and he may lose three fingers off his right hand. He's unconscious right now, but the doctor expects him to wake up soon. Your mother's there now." I sobbed quietly in the passenger seat and my dad put a reassuring arm across my shoulders. I felt simultaneous floods of despair and hatred. It was a moment before I could ask, "He's going to be alright, right?" "Yeah," my father said softly, "but not for a long time. It's going to take some time to heal." "When did this happen?" I asked softly, slowly getting control of myself. "Two hours ago. We tried you at the school but they said you were absent today. We'll talk about that some other time, but don't worry. The coach came in and stopped them before anything more serious could happen. The three boys who caused this were sent home. I'm sure the police are going to want to speak to Matt when he wakes up." We rode on in silence, my father unwilling to say more and me unable to. Before long we pulled into the visitors' lot at the hospital and we walked slowly up to the front door. The ICU was on the second floor, just above the emergency room. As we walked down the corridor to the nurses' station where we were going to check in, I could hear the wail of an ambulance pulling into the emergency entrance below. "I'm back to see Matt," my father said to the severe looking nurse behind the counter. She looked at him and then me and then waved us silently through the double doors behind her. When we reached Matt's cubicle I saw my mother sitting apprehensively in an uncomfortable looking hospital chair. I couldn't bring myself to look at Matt yet. She rose silently and gave me a severe hug. I held on tight until I could compose myself before taking a deep breath and looking at the unconscious Matt. He was hooked up to an unknown number of devices, all beeping and humming along on their individual tasks, and to a gently dripping IV bag. I looked at his face and broke out into fresh tears. His face was one big purple and black bruise. His closed lids fluttered gently inside two deep black rings around his eyes, making him look like some sick raccoon. Two small cuts, the bleeding apparently stopped, stood out bright red against the black of his left eyebrow. His lips were both swollen and the upper one brandished the spidery looking strands of three stitches where the larger boys' shoes had split it. His right arm was wrapped tightly in gauze from his elbow down to the tips of his fingers, two of which poked out of the wrapping pink and soft. The thumb and the first two fingers were wrapped inside the gauze, sparing me the view of his crushed digits. His left arm was held out from his body by a massive plaster cast, meant to hold his broken collar bone still while it healed. An aluminum rod supported most of the weight of his arm and was wrapped into the plaster. He abruptly sighed in his sleep, his mouth opening ever so slightly, and I caught a glimpse of the bright silver wire holding his jaw shut. It was then that I totally broke down and sobbed. My father caught me before I slid to the floor and gently rocked me in his arms until I could calm myself enough to slip into a chair next to Matt's bed. Just then a doctor walked in and began to check the various notes scribbled on a clipboard tied to the end of Matt's hospital bed. We looked expectantly at him until he spoke. "He's gonna be okay, folks. He's just going to be in a lot of pain for a long time. His collarbone isn't as bad as we originally thought and he should be able to take the cast off in two or three weeks. His jaw will have to stay wired shut for two months and it's still touch and go on his fingers. We'll take another look at them in the morning." He must have seen the absolutely stricken look on my face as he added, "He looks much worse than he is, son. Don't worry, he'll be up and around in no time." I nodded numbly to the doctor and went back to gazing at the ravaged face of my young lover, not caring who could read the love on my face. My mother squeezed my shoulder gently before rising and walking out with my father and the doctor. I spent that night right there in that chair next to Matt, only leaving to eat a little and go to the bathroom. The nurses raised their eyebrows a little at this but my father said to them, "They're as close as brothers." and they seemed to relax. The next morning I woke with a terrible crick in my neck and with an awful taste in my mouth. "Yuck, used hospital food," I said sleepily to myself. "Hmmph," I heard from the bed. I looked up to see Matt awake, barely, and looking at me with concern. He was trying to talk through his wired jaw and it clearly hurt. "Shhhh," I said to him, squeezing his knee, the only unhurt part of him I could find. "You're pretty badly beat up." He nodded his agreement and I began to cry again. He looked up at me then and shook his head as if to say "Don't cry." "I can't help it, kiddo," I said despairingly, "I thought I was going to lose you!" We sat in silence, tears streaming down my face, for a while before I said, "Some birthday, huh?" He began to cry as well in response and I gingerly wiped the tears from his bruised cheeks with a tissue. The doctor had been right about one thing, he did look a little better. The black eyes were still dark and puffy, obviously lending his sight something of a fuzzy quality, but the bruises on the rest of his face were already beginning to fade. Ah, the healing power of youth. We chatted for a long time, him nodding and talking with gestures and me spilling the whole story to him in between sobs, before the doctor came in and shooed me out to do some tests. When I stiffly lurched into the waiting room my parents rose up out of their chairs and hugged me. They looked as if they had spent the whole night sitting in the chairs, and in fact they had. I was out of tears, having cried most of the night, so we just sat there in silence, holding on to each other, until the doctor came out. As it turned out, Matt wasn't going to lose his thumb or his index finger, but the middle finger still had no feeling and was cold to the touch. They would monitor it for one more day and if he hadn't regained circulation they were going to have to remove it. Otherwise he was healing as expected. "In fact," the doctor added with some surprise, "the nurses say his readings improved extremely well during the night." I took some comfort in the fact that my presence may have helped in some way before asking the doctor, "When can he come home?" "That depends," the doctor responded thoughtfully. "If we have to amputate the finger that will add two or three days but I think it's safe to say he'll be home in a week." I nodded my thanks and headed back in to sit with him again. My father held me back and said as the doctor left the room, "You are going home with your mother and take a shower. Get some sleep if you can. I'll let you know if anything changes, okay?" I nodded my grudging agreement and walked down to the elevators while my Dad checked in with the nurse and walked through the double doors. --- I spent the next week ignoring school completely, something my parents were generous to ignore, and spending all the time I could with Matt. His middle finger had to be amputated two days after the incident and he gave his first laugh since the beating when I said that we'd give it a little funeral and a headstone at the lake. Unfortunately for Matt, with his right hand in a cast from the amputation and his left held out stiffly from his side by his collarbone cast, he couldn't communicate by writing. He was left with grunts and forceful eye movements. As his jaw hurt less he was able to make some almost intelligible words through his clenched teeth. I was usually the first to understand what he wanted, being able to read his expressions as well as his slurred, vowel-less speech. While he was in the hospital I spent countless hours fetching cups of water with straws in them, adjusting his bed for him, and scratching his various itches that he couldn't reach. Using the bedpan was a challenge for him, but with no other option he soon mastered it. When he finally came home I gave over our bed to him, sleeping on the floor next to it, and continued to take care of him. My parents put their feet down shortly after he came home and made me go back to school, saying a week off was enough. My mother took care of him during the day. Gradually he got better, the black eyes fading to a light red shading by the second week and disappearing completely by the next. Soon after I went with him back to the hospital to have his left arm cast and the bandages on his right hand removed. The cast on his right hand had only lasted a day before they cut it off and replaced it with a gauze bandage. Today he was going to see his hand for the first time and finally be able to write again, albeit with his left hand. They took the cast off first and he flexed the shoulder experimentally. When he dropped his arm down to his side he winced a little as his collarbone moved for the first time in weeks. The doctor gently prodded his shoulder, causing him to break out in sweat from the pain, and pronounced it good enough. He wasn't going to be playing full contact football any time soon, but he would be okay with most things. He smiled at me then, an obvious activity on his mind, and I lightly punched him in his good shoulder. Next they removed the bandage on his hand one wrap at a time. When they were done Matt turned his hand this way and that, getting used to the look of it without the longest finger. I nearly cried to see a part of my love missing but he grunted out a muffled, "cool." We all laughed and the doctor mentioned that he must be feeling better. Matt pointed to his wired jaw and raised his eyebrows at the doctor in question. "Another month or two for that, son," he said sternly. Matt looked crestfallen. He hated the thing. We went home a happy family and our life returned to the routine of helping Matt get better. A week after his cast was removed, and Matt was just beginning to master writing with his left hand, we heard that George had been moved to a school for delinquent students and that the two boys who helped him beat Matt, whose names I would never learn, were sent to juvenile hall until they were eighteen. I sorely wanted to go there and do to them what they did to Matt but I knew deep down it would change the way they were and it wouldn't help Matt. People like that are so determined to be prejudiced that nothing short of death would change their behavior. It might make me feel better, but it wouldn't help Matt. As Matt began to feel better, he and I were able to share the bed again, being extremely careful with his still tender shoulder and wired jaw. I could kiss him again, gently; something I did as often as possible. When he looked at himself in the mirror for the first time in weeks – the light scar rising through his eyebrow, splitting it in two, his healing lip, his jaw set at an angry tilt by the wires around his teeth – he broke down in tears and I held him gently while he sobbed out his reaction. Over time he would get over it, especially as his face would return to its former perfection except for a small gap in his left eyebrow, the scar no longer visible after a time. I told him often during his convalescence that I loved him and that he was still beautiful. He usually made some scoffing noise at the beautiful remark but I knew deep down he loved it. We grew closer together during those months, even without much physical contact. When it was time for him to return to school, his jaw having just been released from the steel wire that had held it for so many months, he vehemently fought against it. He shook his head violently back and forth for a moment before remembering he could talk again when my Dad mentioned it to him. "I'm not going back," he said with some difficulty. "No way. You can't make me." My father sighed his exasperation, recognizing the tone of voice my brothers and I had used when we would fight for something to the end. "Well have to talk about this later," he said, silently acquiescing. He knew there was no way he could force Matt to go back to school so he would just have to find another way. Fortunately, I had been working on this problem myself ever since Matt declared to me his desire never to return to that school. "Matt," I said sweetly, "why don't you go help Mom in the kitchen." He grudgingly nodded his head and walked slowly out of the living room, I'm sure guessing that I wanted to talk to my dad alone. "Dad," I piped up when Matt was out of the room, "I might have a solution." My dad raised his eyebrows in question and I continued. "I'm ready to take my GED, I talked to the school counselor about it the day I went back to school. I can take it this weekend if you and Mom sign the permission slip. Then I can take Matt up to the lake house and he can go to school in the small private school up there. He doesn't have to go back where everyone hates him and you and Mom don't have to move." My father immediately looked concerned and added, "And what would you do for money? Did you think of that?" "Dad," I said seriously, "you know as well as I do that I can make a pretty good living just working as a caretaker for all those houses on the lake during the off-season. I've done it before on weekends when I needed cash. And I can probably build that up some by doing dock repairs and other odd jobs." "Humph," was his only reply. But it wasn't an outright "no" so I waited patiently. He sat in thought for what felt like forever before saying, "I'll have to talk to your grandmother about this. It's still her house even though you tend to live there more than her. Also, your mother and I could probably help you by buying Matt clothes and such but you'd have to feed both of you. You think you can do that with caretaking and odd jobs?" I nodded that I did. I had been working on the numbers for a long time, hoping that I could make it work. In fact, the wealthy families who owned summer houses on the lake were always willing to pay top dollar for top-rate caretaking, so it wasn't really going to be a problem. It was just going to be a lot of hard work. Matt was worth it. "We're going to have to find something to tell the Social Services woman," he said in thought while he picked up the phone and dialed my grandmother. He shooed me out of the room and I stood up to leave. Before I left I said quickly, "Don't tell Matt either way. I want it to be a surprise if we can make it work and I don't want to dash his hopes if we can't." My father nodded his understanding and I quickly walked towards the kitchen to find Matt. After a week of tense discussions with both my parents and my grandmother, it was all arranged. The school up by the lake was expecting Matt after the Christmas break and his current school had already mailed his records to them. Social Services relaxed when my father told a little white lie and said that he was going to take up double residency in both houses. We would have to send letters to him from time to time at the lake house address to help prove it, but it would work. Matt still had no idea and was sulking around the house thinking he would soon have to go back to his school and face the people who cheered on the kids who attacked him. I hated torturing him but I knew the reward would come when I could finally tell him what the plan was. On the day we were to leave for the lake house, Matt still in the dark but knowing we were going somewhere for the weekend, we got a call from the institution that was holding Uncle Doug. They said that there was a family day coming up and he wanted to see his boys. I told Matt this and he talked for a few seconds with the nurse on the phone before saying rather severely, "Fuck him. I don't want to see him and I mean it." We all gasped at his expletive and watched as he slammed the phone down on the cradle. Not caring one whit for my parents' reaction he walked forlornly over to me and crawled gingerly into my lap, tears streaming down his face. With that, I couldn't bear to make him wait any longer. I looked up at my Mom and she nodded, silently agreeing that it was time to tell him. "Matt," I said softly, brushing his sandy blonde hair from his face, "we're moving to the lake house." "Really?" he said softly looking up at me. Then he looked at my parents and asked, "But . . . I don't want to make you move. You like this house." I smiled at this and said, squeezing him, "I mean we are moving up there." The realization slowly sunk in and he began to cry again, this time out of joy. A huge smile was plastered to his face as he hugged me tightly. My parents were clearly uncomfortable with our public affection but at the same time they were struck by how much he obviously loved me and I him. Before long he was up again and running all over the house making sure he didn't leave anything behind. My parents gave me a long speech about responsibility and then told me they were very proud that I had passed my GED with a perfect score. I was always a good student and had no problem passing the test. I was now a high-school graduate with a free house and ten acres of lake- front property to share with my young lover. Nothing could be better. We drove up to the lake house, both of us floating along above the car, and stood on the front porch admiring our new permanent home, now liberally dusted with recent snow. My grandmother would retain ownership until she died, of course, but she had had some movers come up and retrieve her things from the master bedroom the day before. It was ours now and we stood together admiring our house and our future. We went inside with our large bags and decided to leave the boxes in the car for the night. I grabbed my young boy by the hand and kissed him deeply in the entrance hall before leading him into our new bedroom. The house had originally been built by some seventies lounge lizard so the master bedroom was spacious, with a built-in fireplace and king-sized bed. My grandmother had spent a fortune erasing all traces of the orange shag carpeting and the cheap oak paneling, leaving a room with tasteful pine flooring and white plaster walls. I walked Matt over to the bed and laid him down for a deep kiss. He yielded entirely to me and I began to kiss his face lightly, feeling a pang of guilt at his eyebrow scar. I pulled him up after a bit and walked him back into the bathroom. The tub was immense, big enough for two adults much less a teenager and an adult. The shower was just as impressive, with a bench along one wall and two separate shower heads. The closet off the bathroom was big enough for another bedroom and would hold all of our clothes easily. We went back into the bedroom, this time Matt laying me down on the bed and crawling on top of me. He slowly peeled my shirt up over my head and began to lightly suck on my nipples while his hands slowly caressed my sides. I reached down and pulled his shirt off and used my toes to pull his shorts down and off. We hadn't had sex in ages and both of us were dying for it. When he lay back down on me, having risen up to allow me better access to his shorts, I felt his hard manhood pressing into my thigh, throbbing gently. He kissed me quickly before standing up to pull my shorts down and off. It was then that he got the surprise I was saving for him. I was naked under my shorts and my own cock stood ready for him. He moaned his desire and quickly sucked as much of me as he could handle into his mouth, running his tongue along the sensitive bundle of flesh below the head along the way. I felt him tense as his jaw muscles protested to the new motion and he pulled his head up off my aching cock. "There's plenty of time for that when you've healed," I said gently. He nodded his agreement and climbed up on top of me again. I wrapped him in my arms and rolled him over on his back, careful of his hurt shoulder. He moaned loudly when I shimmied down and took the full length of his now five inch cock into my mouth. I swallowed and felt the head slide a little further down my tongue. Breathing loudly through my nose, and enjoying his scent in the process, I began to slide up and down his warm shaft. After a moment he was bucking his hips in rhythm with the motion. I used my hands to curl his knees up by his chest and placed his feet on my shoulders, opening him fully to my ministrations. While I continued to suck on his eager cock, one hand cupped his wrinkled scrotum while I used the other to dig through the pockets of my discarded shorts. I found the object I was looking for, a mini-tube of KY jelly, and released his scrotum in order to liberally coat my middle finger. After it was good and slippery I used what was left in the tube to coat his winking anus. When the cold jelly touched his sensitive muscle he gasped a little and his cock grew another half inch in my mouth. I pressed the slippery tip of my finger against the tight crinkle of his ass and he pushed down against it with surprising force. My finger was quickly swallowed by his warm, wet entrance all the way to the beginning of the third knuckle. I could feel his teenage prostrate fluttering lightly inside and used the tip of my finger to stimulate it. Matt went wild, bucking up and down with his hips in a frantic motion. I gave up moving my head and let him provide all the movement. When he was just at the height of his passion, gasping for air and release, I slipped my index finger inside along my middle finger. The increased pressure and the stretching of his ass prompted him to explode into my mouth with jet after jet of white hot sperm. His little butt was squeezing rhythmically on my fingers, making it hard to continue sliding them in and out. As he came down from the summit of his climax I stopped moving my fingers after pushing them in as far as they would go. I let him slowly become soft in my mouth before licking him clean and letting his now shrunken penis flop gently past my lips. I climbed up next to him, expecting to find him asleep, but he was wide awake, his eyes darting all over trying to take in all the features of my face. Without a moment's rest he rolled me over on my back and straddled my chest, his soft penis resting in my sparse chest hair. "I want to do something for you I've been practicing for, and you can't say no, as it's the only thing I can do for you that doesn't use a hurt part of me," he said while slowly sliding his but further down my belly. I looked up at those azure blue eyes and sighed. There was nothing I would refuse this boy. "Whatever you want, Beautiful," I said, resigned. With that he began to slide his backside gently towards my aching cock. I figured out what he was going to do a split second before his anus contacted the very tip of my penis. I shook my head, trying to get him to stop, but he put his finger to his mouth in a "shhh" gesture and continued. He took a deep breath and let it slowly out before pressing back in earnest. With his well lubed and relaxed hole he engulfed the head of my cock in seconds. His face contorted a bit with the pain and he stopped for a second. "No, baby boy," I said pleadingly, "I don't want to hurt you any more than you have been." "I'm okay," he said, sweating from the pain. "I've been practicing but you're bigger than I thought." With that he gathered himself for another effort and slid even further down onto my rod. Within a minute or two, by using the same short bursts, he held my entire length inside his hot little ass. When his tailbone contacted my thighs, I moaned out loudly in pleasure. He was sweating profusely but also trembling from the sensations my cock was giving him. With only a few seconds' rest he began to slowly ride up and down the length of my shaft, taking me almost totally out of him before starting back down again. In a few seconds everything was nicely lubed and he began to bounce up and down on me in earnest. I could see his half-developed penis beginning to get hard again with the stimulation as the sensations traveled across my body at lightning speed. Before long we were both trembling with the impending release. "Oh my god, Mike," he gasped between thrusts, "you feel so good! I never thought it could feel like this." "I love you so much," I said in response. "I love you t . . .Unnnh!" he exclaimed as his cock began to spurt large globs of his sperm up to my chest. I marveled at the distance he was spraying for a moment before my own climax racked my body and I painted his insides with hot cum. He moaned louder and began to cum for the second time from the feeling of my spurting inside him. Fresh gobs of cum, this time almost clear as his prostrate had given all its contents to the last load, flew up and landed on my chin. I licked them us greedily as I slowly came down from my explosion. Matt collapsed into my chest, not caring for the mess he had left there. We slept like that, my penis still ensconced within his warm insides, for hours before getting up and showering. We returned to the bed and slept through the next morning, holding tight to each other. Our life together had just begun and we had a lot more to do. EPILOGUE Our life was far from perfect from then on. We had the same fights that any couple in love had, adding to that the fights that a teenage son often has with his father, but we always came out of them still very much in love. When I turned eighteen I legally adopted Matt, then fourteen going on fifteen. I had built up a respectable handyman business by that time, complete with a pickup truck with the name "Mike and Matt, Handymen" painted on the door. Social Services continued to visit us from time to time, always giving a glowing report on Matt and never suspecting the true nature of our relationship. Matt ended up liking the small private school we enrolled him in; he and I having more than one fantasy night with his school uniform. He graduated top of his class, a year early I might add, and soon began his own business designing landscaping for the growing number of luxury houses in the area. He built us a garden worthy of any millionaire on the ten acres of land around the house. We continued to hold family banquets for major holidays, everyone gathering around the impressive spread and giving their praises generously. One cold morning almost a year after Matt graduated, Matt's dad showed up on our doorstep, having finally gotten out of rehab the year before after three relapses, wanting to see his son. It only took seeing the look on Matt's face for a second before I called the police to have him removed. The family never heard from him again until the day we read my grandmother's will. He listened to all of our names being called, his not appearing on the will, before leaving forever. Matt and his brothers wouldn't even look at him. I shudder to think about everything he must have done to them over the years to cause such hatred. I always hugged Matt tighter when I could tell he was having nightmares about his father and cried for him. Matt's brothers lived happily with my grandmother until her death. At that time my Uncle Dave was married but they were unable to have children so they happily adopted Colin and Stephen. Stephen came out of his shell after the institutionalization of his father and grew up to be a very successful family counselor. His kids still come to visit us during the summer. Matt is teaching them all SCUBA. Colin, or Colleen as she is now known, grew up happy as well. She successfully avoided the same sort of incident that happened to Matt and grew up a healthy gay man, until Colin decided that he was happier as Colleen. She lived with us for a few months after her sex reassignment before moving to Chicago to go to medical school. Many years after Matt and I moved to the lake house permanently, the state of Massachusetts decided to legalize same sex marriages and by some miracle the rest of the country accepted them. Matt and I dissolved his adoption on the very same day we were married in a courthouse down in the valley. As far as the lake population knew, we were still just cousins who happened to live together. For everyone else, we were finally married, Matt finally taking my last name a few weeks after the ceremony. Years later we would adopt an infant son and raise him using my parent's as a model of great parenting. Dragin, our son, is now living with his wife in Chicago and they're expecting their first child in two months. Matt and I are wondering if we'll like staying in Chicago for two months to help them with the new baby. Either way we can't wait to meet our granddaughter for the first time. All in all we are together, and that's what is important.