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  • Alan
  • "Hi Mr. Ferguson!" The voice came from behind me as I got out of my car. I turned to see who had called my name and there stood a handsome young man, about six feet tall, well built, early twenties, dark hair, deep set eyes, dark eyebrows, clean shaven face and a knock 'em dead smile. I didn't recognize him and wondered how he knew my name. He must have realized this because he spoke again as he approached with his hand out.

    "It's me, Alan. You remember. I used to hang out with Geordie in high school." He moved right up to me, into my space, as they say. He was uncomfortably close to me and I took a step backwards. He smiled. I wondered if he did it on purpose. It sort of put him in control.

    I took his outstretched hand. He gripped mine firmly and shook it. Geordie, of course, was my son who was now in his second year at Med. School. I remembered the name Alan, but I had been so busy back then, when Geordie was in high school, trying to earn and save enough money to send him first to college and then on to Med. School, I had very little time to get to know any of his friends. Geordie knew that, and he understood why I was doing it, but it left a void between us that love alone could not fill. When he left home, this second time, his parting words were, "I wish I had gotten to know you better, Dad, and you, me. We could have been friends. There's so much I wanted to tell you, to ask you about, but you were hardly ever around."

    That shocked me. I had dedicated my life to seeing that he had every opportunity I could provide for him, and I realized that what he said was true. I could not remember a time when we were close, when we did father-son things together, not since he was very little. It was my goal that he become a doctor - make something of himself - but was it his? He did well in college, and was doing well in Med. School, but I had no idea if he even wanted to be a doctor. What did he want? I didn't know. I realized that I'd never even asked him what he wanted out of life. My son was as much a stranger to me as this young man who confronted me on the street.

    "Sure, I remember you now," I said, lying, when I realized the young man was waiting for an answer. "You've grown a bit since I saw you last. You're a man now, not a kid."

    I was just babbling, of course. I didn't really remember anything about him except his name.

    "Are you home for the summer?" I asked, trying to make polite conversation with this handsome young stranger. I don't know why, but I wanted to keep him with me, even for a minute longer.

    "You don't remember me at all, do you?" Alan asked with a grin on his face. He took a small step towards me and I took another backwards. "That's all right. If you did, you'd know I never left town," he continued. "I went to work for my father at the store right from school and I've been there ever since. I more or less run the place now, and Dad's thinking about retiring. He wants me to buy it from him, and I'm thinking I just might do it."

    Now I did remember him, and his father too. His dad was Frank Henderson, and he ran the hardware store just along Main Street from where we stood. I wasn't much of a Mr. Fixit, so I seldom went in there. Certainly, not since my wife divorced me. She used to try to get me to do things around the house and had insisted that I buy some tools, but I was never any good at manual stuff. She gave up on me, for that, and for other things too. "As a lover, you make a great carpenter," she had said once when we were having a fight. I knew what kind of carpenter I was, so the comment really stung.

    We slept in separate beds the last year we were together and to be honest, I didn't mind at all. I didn't even mind that she left. I knew she had stayed with me as long as she did for Geordie's sake, not mine.

    "Alan Henderson," I said. "Of course I remember you now. Like I said, you've grown up a lot since the days you were at our house with Geordie." I wasn't sure that he had ever been to our house with Geordie. It was a wild stab, but it must have been true.

    "Yeah, those were the good old days, all right. Geordie and I had some good times together. I didn't think you even knew I was there. Mrs. Ferguson used to give us lunches after school when I'd go there to study. Least ways, that's what we told her we were doing, but you know guys, eh Mr. Ferguson? Young and horny, hey? Did Geordie ever tell you about me?"

    No. Geordie had never told me about him, but for some reason I didn't want him to know that. Geordie should have told me. I should have been there so he could have told me.

    "Yeah," I said. "Geordie told me most things. He told me all about you. In fact, he used to talk about you a lot. We didn't have any secrets."

    "Well, I'm glad of that," said Alan. "I mean, I couldn't have told my father. He wouldn't have understood. He'd skin me alive even now if he knew. He's always after me to get a girlfriend. He wants grandchildren. Little does he know, eh, Mr. Ferguson?"

    What exactly was Alan trying to tell me? Was he gay? Was my son gay? Had they been lovers? I couldn't tear my eyes away from his. They were deep dark pools, and I seemed to be losing myself in them. I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. I felt a stirring in my crotch such as I had not felt in many years. What was happening? Was this young man turning me on? I was springing a hard-on, right here on Main Street. Oh, I masturbated a lot, especially since my wife left, and I bought porno magazines whenever I was out of town. A man needs some release. I liked the pictures of couples best, and I know that I often looked at the men more than the women, but I never thought I was gay, just interested. Was I gay? Was Geordie gay? He must have been. How could I not have known? What kind of father was I anyway?

    "I'm going for a coffee," I said, breaking the awkward silence. "Want to join me?" I wanted to keep this boy with me as long as I could.

    "Thanks, but no thanks. I have an errand to run," said Alan. "But it's been real nice talking to you. Brought back some memories of good times. Wish I had someone I could talk to, especially before, when I was kinda mixed up about things. Geordie was lucky."

    "I'd like to hear some of those memories, if you have some free time," I said, my face now showing my anxiety.

    Alan looked a little startled. "Hey man, you didn't know, did you?" he stammered. "You didn't know Geordie was gay. Holy shit! I should never had said anything. Fuck, Mr. Ferguson, I'm sorry."

    "Alan, I want you to understand something," I said. "I love my son very much, more than life itself. He means everything to me. But after what you just told me, I've come to realize that I never really knew him, and it's tearing me apart. If you could help me get to know him better, to understand him, I'd be so grateful."

    Alan looked at me, his face serious. It was like he was trying to decide if I was sincere. Then he grinned.

    "I'll come over this evening, if you're gonna be home. We can talk then. Want me to bring a few brews?"

    "Thank you, Alan," I said. "Yes, I'm going to be home, and yes, please bring a few brews." I would have offered to supply the drinks, but what do young people drink now? Better he bring his own.

    "I'll be there 'bout eight o'clock if that's okay."

    "I look forward to it. Would you have dinner with me? I can cook, you know. I've been divorced for three years now and had to learn. Can't promise anything fancy, but it will be filling."

    "My kind of food," Alan answered. "See you at eight."


    The rest of the afternoon I wandered around in a kind of daze. My son was gay, and I was going to spend the evening with his one-time lover. At least, I think they must have been lovers. That's the impression I got from Alan. Maybe I read him wrong. Maybe they were both gay, but not lovers. Alan was so handsome. I looked him up in my son's yearbook and sure enough, there he was, and I remembered him more when I saw what he looked like in the candid shots, taken six years ago: tall and lanky, long hair, a few pimples, dirty jeans torn at the knees. I remember he sometimes wore obscene tee shirts. I remember how startled I was one day when he arrived at the house wearing one labeled 'Makin' Bacon' with two pigs doing it, the top one sweating and the bottom one with his tongue hanging out. His? Was it a male pig on the bottom? I'd never thought about it before. Was the tee shirt a gay statement? Did Alan and my son have sex together? Of course they must have, if they were young and gay and no fathers they could turn to, to ask about what was going on inside them.

    I could have told them. I could have told them what it was like for me growing up in a small town where it was absolutely forbidden that anyone be gay. It was easier today. People accepted things like that. People can be open and honest now about their sexuality, and no one minds. If I had been honest, honest with myself, I could have told them how I longed for male companionship when I was their age. I had to work to help the family. Ever since I was twelve, I had a job, and I had very few friends, none close. Even if my father had let me participate, I wasn't good at sports, and I was terrified to take my clothes off in the locker room at school. I always had a hard-on in that locker room, I can remember. I'd never look up. I'd never look at the other boys, but I'd always get a hard-on and when I'd get home I'd masturbate. I could have told them that lots of boys like other boys' bodies, especially when they are young. Most end up straight, though some don't. It's not their fault. It wasn't my fault. I tried to be straight. Here I was, forty-seven years old, and I'd never had sex with a man. Not even with another boy when I was young.

    I married during my first year at university and Geordie was born less than a year later. But the sex wasn't good. My wife got busy looking after Geordie and when we did have sex, it was sort of just because we were supposed to. We were married. It wouldn't have seemed right if we didn't do it at least once a week. I liked masturbating better.

    I was showered and dressed by seven o'clock and had dinner in the oven when the doorbell rang promptly at eight. The tight apron I had on in the kitchen was showing a sudden swelling in my crotch, so I took it off before opening the door. I even stood with my pelvis tilted back so as not to let the bulge show too much. I'd worn a pair of trousers with lots of pleats in the front so as to hide a hard on behind lots of loose fabric if I needed to, and I did need to.

    "Hello, Mr. Ferguson," Alan said as he came through the doorway. "Hope I'm not too early. These are cold, if you want to put them in the fridge."

    He handed me a six pack of beer. I didn't recognize the brand name. I usually drank Scotch, single malts when I could afford them, when I wasn't sending money to Geordie for his rent or his books, or when I had something left after the alimony checks.

    "No, you're right on time. Dinner will be at least a half an hour, so we can crack this six pack first if you like."

    Alan followed me into the kitchen. I took two bottles of the beer and put the rest in the fridge. Then I opened several drawers looking for a bottle opener. Alan realized what I was doing and he took one of the beers from me and twisted the cap off with his hand. Smart idea, I thought. Wonder when they developed that kind of top? There had to be a knack to it though, because I barely managed to get the top off mine without ripping my hand open.

    I followed him back into the living room and we sat down. I had already closed the drapes and had put on some music; not to his taste, perhaps, but to mine. I felt more comfortable in my own house with my own music and with him sitting on the couch and me on a chair than when we met face to face on the street.

    "Here's to Geordie," Alan said, holding the bottle high. I raised mine and then we both drank. I watched him as he looked around the room. The silence seemed to grow, despite the music on the stereo.

    "Looks different," Alan said. "Different furniture. Different paint. You do that? After your wife left, I mean?"

    "Yes and no'" I answered. "She painted this room before she left. It needed doing, and she didn't think I had much taste when it came to selecting colours. She didn't want anyone thinking she had left me with decorating left undone. I bought the furniture though. She took our other stuff."

    Alan smiled. "The room I remember best was Geordie's room," he said. "That's where we spent most of our time."

    My cock twitched as I envisioned what they were doing up there in that room. Geordie was so lucky, I thought. He had someone to share his torment with as he discovered his sexuality. No one wants to be gay. No one wants to be different. I was all alone. Geordie had Alan.

    "His room's the same," I said. "We didn't change that. This is still his home." There was an awkward silence as we both sipped at our beers, wondering how to begin. "When did you know," I asked.

    "Know?" questioned Alan. "Oh, you mean, when did we know we were gay? We knew all along, I think. Since we were kids. You know these things, Mr. Ferguson. It doesn't happen all of a sudden. But we never even experimented until we were in our senior year. We weren't really sure before that, you see."

    Alan smiled that drop-dead gorgeous smile. I can see why Geordie was drawn to him. He was so handsome, and genuine. No fake bravado, or inflated ego. Geordie was a handsome boy too, and I don't say that just because he was my son. He was. In many ways, he looked more like his mother than me.

    "Anyway, like I said, we were in our senior year when we really knew for sure. How did we find out? Well, there was this new guy who came, and he was in our class at school. He was a jock. You know, good at sports and stuff, and he soon made lots of friends. But Geordie and I weren't in that crowd. Neither if us was very athletic. I don't know how he knew about us, but he did. He used to look at us in class and smile. Some times, he even followed us around after school. He made us nervous.

    "He got us in the washroom with him one day and he showed us his hard cock. You don't mind me using that word, do you Mr. Ferguson?"

    I nodded, no.

    Alan continued. "We were interested and he knew it. He got us to hold it and he put his hands on our shoulders and he began to shove his cock in and out of our fists. We took turns, Geordie and I, and before we knew it, he'd shot his cum all over the front of our shirts, mostly on Geordie. Boy, was Geordie scared. He was afraid his mother would see the stain and she would kill him. He took the shirt off and rinsed it under the tap and put it back on wet. Mrs. Ferguson never knew.

    "Anyway, this guy, I won't tell you his name, he still lives in town and you likely know him. He tells us to meet him after school and we do. We're a little nervous now, because he was kind of mean about it. He didn't just ask us, he ordered us. We were afraid he'd tell on us or call us queers and we'd get into deep shit if we didn't do what he said.

    "So, we met him at the back gate behind the school and he told us to follow him, but not too close. He didn't want anyone to see us with him. So we followed him and before we got to the woods, he was joined by two of his friends, jocks, guys we knew, but never hung out with. They were talking and laughing and turning back to see that we were still following, and we were too scared not to.

    "Once in the woods, not far in, but just out of sight, they stopped and we caught up to them. They didn't waste any time. 'Show us your pricks,' one of the guys said. We were not quite sure what to do so we stood there, kinda stupid like. 'I said drop your pants,' the fellow said again. 'Show us your cocks.' and then we knew.

    "Anyway, we dropped our pants and the other guys started feeling our cocks and of course they got hard. They made us lie down on the ground and the two other guys started masturbating us. They wanted to see which one of us would cum first. I think they even bet on it. The first guy, the one who made us jerk him off in the bathroom, he was stroking his own cock and his friends were jerking us. At first we were scared, but then we liked it. Before long we were thrashing about and when we finally shot our cum, the ecstasy of the moment nearly sent us into outer space! Least ways, that's how we described it when we talked about it later. Whenever we wanted to jerk off after that, we talked about going into outer space."

    "I remember that," I said. "I remember Geordie talking about going into outer space. He talked about it a lot. I thought he was being literal, not figurative. I thought it was a phase he was going through, that he wanted to be an astronaut."

    "He was talking about jerking off," Alan said. "We did it every day after that, usually upstairs in his room. You were never around much, and Mrs. Ferguson always left us alone in Geordie's room. If she ever came in, she always knocked first. She never caught us."

    "But I think she knew," I said. "She'd see the evidence on the sheets or in Geordie's underwear, or did you wipe the cum up with tissues and put them in the toilet? That's what I used to do when I'd do it in my room. Anyway, I remember she started getting after me to have the 'talk' with Geordie, but I never did. I was afraid to. I was afraid that I'd go hard and he'd know."

    Alan looked at me with a very sad look in his eyes. "Yeah, my father never had the 'talk' with me, either. Most fathers can't do it. And by the way, we did use tissues, at first."

    It took a moment for that to sink in. At first. So what did they do later? My cock was twitching in my pants as I envisioned what they did with their cum later. Did they suck each other off? Lick up the evidence? I saw that in the magazines I bought, but I never did it. Was it satisfying? What did it taste like?

    "What about those boys?" I asked. "Did they leave you alone after that day?"

    "No, we spent a lot of afternoons with them and with some of their other friends," said Alan. "We even went camping over to Miller's pond. We used to go skinny dipping there, and then we'd all jerk off afterwards. Well, sometimes we took a tent and slept out, overnight. The cum would be flying then! Look, Mr. Ferguson, if this is shocking you, I'll stop. But you asked. You said you wanted to know."

    "I do want to know," I said. "I'm not shocked. Perhaps I'm jealous," I added. "I had no one when I was a kid. No jerk off partner. I was all alone."

    "Geez, man," said Alan. "That must have been rough. I don't think I could have made it without Geordie."

    There was silence for a moment. Then Alan went on.

    "So we had those guys, and we had their friends, and they made us do stuff. They never hurt us, or never really forced us, not after that first day. We wanted to do stuff with them. We'd meet and jerk off together, sometimes we'd each do our own thing, but most of the time we'd do each other. It was more fun, you see, doing each other.

    "Have you ever felt another guy's cock in your hand and knew that you had the power to make him cum? No, I guess you didn't, eh? You could jerk him fast and really punish his dick, and he'd blow his load clear across the room; or you could jerk him slow and make him moan and cry out for release. It was much better doing it to someone else and having them do you than doing it by yourself.

    "Anyway, it was late in the spring in our senior year and there was this other new guy came to town. He was a bit older than us, maybe a year, and it wasn't long before he found out about our after school activities and one day he came along. We were glad to see him. He was really good looking, and we were starting to notice things like that. He was really tall, and had broad shoulders and muscles, and we were just skinny kids then. Anyway, he came one afternoon and after we started jerking off, he showed us something else that was even better. He showed us how to suck cock.

    "Mr. Ferguson," Alan said, apologetically. "I'll stop if you want me to. I don't know how far you want me to go."

    "I want you to go all the way," I said, well aware that my comment had a double meaning. I hoped Alan did, too. He smiled.

    "Can I have another beer first?" Alan asked.

    When I got up to get the beer, I had to straighten my semi-hard cock in my trousers and Alan could have no doubt now that his story was turning me on. In fact, Alan was turning me on. If only this evening could lead where I wanted it to go, I'd be the happiest man in the whole damn town!


    I turned the heat down in the oven and returned with the beer. That way, we'd have at least another fifteen minutes or so before the dinner would start to get ruined, and I didn't want to stop and eat now. I wanted to hear more. I passed Alan the beer and he twisted the top off with ease. I nearly tore my hand open trying to take the top off mine, but I managed. We both took a drink, and the story resumed.

    "So this new guy, he showed us how to suck cock," Alan continued. "He took a real liking to me, and he sucked my cock almost every time we got together. Mine was bigger, you see. Not that Geordie's was small or anything, but mine was bigger. Our friend went for the size, I guess. He taught us that turn about was fair play. You suck my cock, I suck yours. Both guys had to be satisfied."

    Yes, I thought, you suck mine and I'll suck yours. My cock, which was semi-hard before, was throbbing away now and I could feel the precum wetting my underwear. In my mind's eye, I saw Alan come across the room and pull my zipper down and suck on my cock. If only it would happen!

    "So that's what we did," said Alan as he resumed the story. "This new guy had a long cock, too, but he was circumcised. That's called cut, you know. He was cut and Geordie and I and all the others we'd jerked off were uncut; we had our foreskins. He used to tell us that a boy's foreskin was his greatest pleasure toy. He wished he had a foreskin, but he didn't, so he played with ours. He'd stick his tongue inside and search out every bit of precum and he'd make slurping noises as he sucked us. The head of his cock was dry, and we had to wet it, you know, lick it. He had some cream that he used to put on his cock when he'd jerk off, but we'd wet it with spit when we sucked him. No need of cream with our own cocks. The heads were always moist. But you'd know that, wouldn't you, Mr. Ferguson? If Geordie was uncut, you're probably uncut, too. That right?"

    "Yes," I said, feeling the precum leaking out from under my foreskin as I spoke.

    "I was sure you would be," Alan said. "I bet your cock is a lot like Geordie's. Like father, like son, eh?" His eyes dropped to my crotch and I knew he saw that I was rock hard. He looked into my eyes and smiled again and I nearly flew across the room to tear off his clothes and take his cock for my own. He must have known I felt like that because he spread his legs and gave me a view of his crotch, with a swelling there to match my own. Then he returned to his story.

    "Anyway, this new guy, we got to know him really good. Do you remember when we were about fifteen, Geordie asked you if he could go to the Bible Camp Weekend over in the Capital?"

    I must have looked puzzled because he went on: "Well, anyway, we went for this weekend. It was our friend's idea. He was going, and he knew guys that were going to be there. He knew they were into stuff and that we'd like it. So we went. My father drove us, Geordie and me and our friend. He didn't suspect. It was a Bible Camp Weekend, after all, and we were going to be in a church. We were going to sleep in sleeping bags on the floor in the church hall for two nights. We were going to do all sorts of religious stuff during the day. But the real reason we went was because of what our friend said we would get to do in the evenings.

    "You know where I'm going with this, eh Mr. Ferguson? We already knew how to jerk off and how to suck cock. There was one more thing we needed to learn. Funny eh, that we'd go to church camp to learn how to fuck ass?" Alan laughed and made no apology.

    I remembered going to my one and only summer camp. It was a church camp, too. I was the only one from my neighborhood and didn't know anyone. I remember hearing the noises at night as the other guys in our cabin who were all friends from before jerked off together and maybe sucked each other off. I lay with my face to the wall so I wouldn't see and I tried to block my ears so I wouldn't hear. But I knew, and my sleeping bag was wet with cum every night. When it was time to go home, I 'lost' my sleeping bag. I was too afraid to take it home. My mother would have found the dried cum and she'd know. I never went back to camp and I never told them why. Mom thought it was because I'd lost my sleeping bag. It wasn't.

    Alan waited quietly until I returned to the present. He must have realized I was lost in memories of my own.

    "So the first night, after the adults left us - they were sleeping in the church library and we were in the hall - our friend, who had been there before, and his friends and Geordie and I sneaked up the back stairs to one of the Sunday School classrooms. We went into the room at the end of the hall, farthest away from the library where the adults were, and that was where we learned about fucking ass. They did Geordie first and I watched. They pulled his pajamas down and made him bend over the table. This one guy, I forget his name, but I wouldn't tell you anyway, he wet his finger and gently shoved it up Geordie's bum hole. At first, Geordie seemed to resist and he almost looked scared, but they kept talking to him and telling him that it might hurt a little at first but he'd really like it. After he got one finger in he tried two and then three. Geordie was panting now, but wasn't telling them to stop. I don't think he was liking it yet, but he wasn't in pain so he let them keep going.

    "Three fingers was all the guy put in. He shoved the fingers in as far as they would go and was wiggling them around as if he was trying to find something in there. I was behind Geordie, stroking myself through my pajamas and watching. I was wondering why he was wiggling his fingers around, and then all of a sudden Geordie let out this loud moan and he began to breath fast and shove his ass back towards the guy's hand as if he wanted the fingers in further.

    "'He's ready,' one of the older guys said, and then he dropped his pants and there was his cock, the biggest one I'd seen so far. He started to shove it into Geordie's ass where the fingers had been, and Geordie started to moan louder and they told him to shush or we'd get caught. The boy with the big cock starts fucking Geordie's ass and I was getting hornier and hornier just watching, so I turned to our friend and said, 'Do me'.

    "Within about two minutes, I had a cock in my ass, too, and I knew the pleasure that must have been racking Geordie's body for I was feeling the same pleasure. In and out the guy went, in and out, in and out, faster, and with more force. It seemed as if he was trying to drive his cock right through me to the other side. I imagined his cock poking out through mine in the front! And as he was reaching his climax, my cock, which was rubbing back and forth on the top of the table I was leaning over, suddenly blew this enormous load of cum all over the table, the biggest load I'd ever shot in my life, and I shuddered from head to toe as spurt after spurt of cum erupted from my hard cock.

    "When I looked up, Geordie's guy had finished, and he was jerking Geordie off. The other guys were jerking off, too, some of them cumming for the second time in just a few minutes. My guy reached around and wiped up some of my cum with his finger and put it in his mouth. Then he smiled at me.

    "We cleaned up as best we could by licking up all the cum we could, but we knew that the adults figured out that something had happened in that room because the next night they slept in the hall with us. We weren't left alone again.

    "Still, we came back home knowing how to fuck ass, and ready to teach our other friends."

    Just then, the timer on the kitchen stove went. Whether we wanted to or not, it was time to eat.


    Alan stood up first, and I could see the front of his trousers tenting out, just like mine was doing. He looked at me and smiled, then straightened his cock with his hand.

    "I'm starving, Mr. Ferguson, and for more than the food you cooked," he said, "But we'd better eat some supper first, to build up our strength."

    I must have blushed, because he smiled again. "You did say you wanted to go all the way," he said. "I hope you meant it."

    We walked into the kitchen and within a couple of minutes I had the dinner on the table. I cracked a bottle of wine and we toasted each other and drank freely. We took our time with the meal. Alan wanted to know more about me.

    "I didn't want to be gay," I told him. "I tried hard not to be. I married so I wouldn't be. But I am, and you are the first person I've ever told. This is the first time I've really admitted it, actually, even to myself.

    "You see, my father was very strict. He used his belt a lot, if he thought I was being bad. He would have killed me, I think, if he thought I was gay. Better a dead son that a gay son, I think. Gays were called fruits in my day, fruits, or queers, or homos, lots of names were used. Fruits were open game for any of the bullies at school. There were only a few at school who were open about it and they got beaten up regularly, but kept coming back for more. I guess they craved the attention from the boys, even if it was getting beaten up. No way I was going to let people know I was gay. I kept to myself. I was big enough that no one tried to beat me up. They just sort of ignored me.

    "We were poor, and I had to work hard as a kid. I had no time for friends: no one to share secrets with. I had no one like you in my life. I am so glad that Geordie had you. I could never have helped him through it. I wasn't even able to help myself.

    "I learned to jerk off all by myself. No one showed me. The first time, I think, I rubbed myself into my bed sheets until I came. I remember how scared I was, but how good it felt. I soon learned to hold my cock in my hand and catch the cum with a tissue. That way, I kept my sheets clean. I never did anything else, and I never did it with anyone else.

    "When I got married to Geordie's mother, she had to show me how to have sex with her. I knew what to do, but didn't know where to do it. I'd never seen a woman naked before our wedding night, and even then I didn't get a very good look. We did it in the dark, under bed sheets. Even then, I couldn't get excited at the sight of her naked body, so we always had sex in the dark. She would take me and guide me in. I could do the rest, but I couldn't' touch her there. It made me feel dirty. Sometimes I couldn't get hard and she'd have to masturbate me to get me going. Other times I would go soft while having sex with her. It was awkward. It wasn't her fault, but she'd get mad and turn her body away and my soft cock would slip out. I don't think she enjoyed having sex with me any more than I enjoyed sex with her.

    "Once Geordie came along, our lives changed. I wanted Geordie to have a better life than I had. I worked extra hours, building up lots of overtime. When I got home, I was often too tired to take an interest in his life, though I loved him more than life itself. He got used to not having me around. He found you, and he didn't need me."

    I didn't notice the tears until Alan got out of his chair and came over and wiped them away from my cheeks with his gentle fingers. Then he put his arms around me and held me. I wept uncontrollably, and still he held me, and rubbed his hand through my hair, and kissed the top of my head. And when I had cried all the tears I had in me, he lifted my face towards his and kissed me on the lips, gently at first, and then with passion, which I returned with all my strength.

    He helped me stand up and we embraced again. He ran his hand across my chest, feeling my nipples harden as he caressed them, and then his hands circled lower across my stomach and to the top of my trousers. He wedged his hand inside my belt and felt the end of my hard cock, felt the precum that had been gathering there for the past hour and more, and drew his hand out. He lifted his sticky fingers to his nose, and then my nose, and then he put them in his mouth. He ground his pelvis into me, and I felt his hard cock pressing against mine.

    "I want you," he said simply.

    "I want you," I said in return, "But I don't know what to do."

    Alan smiled and kissed me. Then he took my hand and led me toward the stairs. Reaching the top, I made to turn to the right, towards my bedroom, but he steered me to the left, towards Geordie's room.

    "My fondest memories were made in here," he said as we reached the door. "I want to make more memories tonight."

    We crossed the room and he kissed me again as we stood at the edge of the bed. This time, I reached my hand tentatively into his trousers and found the prize I had been searching for all my life. For the first time, I held another man's cock in my hand. This was the real me. This was what I was. This was what I wanted. I just wasn't sure what to do next.

    But Alan knew. He started to open my shirt and I copied his movements, anxious now to feel his skin pressing against mine. We drew off our shirts, and embraced again, his young hard chest against my older, softer one, his nipples rubbing against mine, his lips nibbling at my neck, my arms around him, hugging him to me. Then he pulled us down onto Geordie's bed, and gently lay me back. He slid down my body, his lips tasting me as he went, stopping only when he got to the buckle on my belt. He opened it, and undid the button, then pulled the zipper down, ever so slowly. I pressed my pelvis up into his hand so that I could feel my cock rubbing against his hand as my zipper came down. He tugged on my hips and I lifted them to let him draw my trousers down to my knees and then to the floor.

    Then he lay back and I undressed him. I was in a greater hurry, though. I didn't take as much time as he did with me. And I didn't stop at his underwear. I wanted to see his cock, to feel his cock, to possess it, to make it my own. In a moment he was naked, and I saw for the first time what another man's hard cock looked like. It was a beautiful thing to behold! Perhaps seven inches long, maybe more, the foreskin pulled back half way over the swollen thick end, dark hair shrouding the root of his marvelous piece of meat, his balls in their sack hanging below, two glorious orbs. I leaned in to smell him, to nuzzle my face in his public hair, to smell his precum, and then to lick at it with my tongue. It was salty, and I found I loved it. I wanted more. I pushed his foreskin back with my lips until the entire head was showing, and I looked at the little eye that oozed more of his delicious precum. I rubbed his cock with my face, smearing his precum across my cheeks, feeling the heat of his cock against my skin.

    "Do it," Alan whispered. "Suck my cock."

    And I did. I was afraid of it at first. What if I choked? But I didn't. It slid to the back of my throat and I felt his public hairs against my lips. I sucked and began the long, slow withdrawal, stopping before I reached the end and then sucked him back into my mouth again. He was bucking at the hips now, trying to force his cock further into my mouth. I licked it with my tongue, gently teased it with my teeth, and began to bob my head up and down on it, much as if I was working it with my hand. He was moaning now, holding my head in his hands, taking over the action, speeding up. His hips rose and fell, and his cock slid in and out, in and out, and it was wonderful.

    I could tell that he was going to blow his load. I wanted to see it, but I wanted to taste it, too. And then, before I had time to decide, he blew his cum into my throat. Spurt after spurt blasted out of his cock and he forced my head to move faster, and faster yet. I was dizzy, from the action or from the excitement, or both, but then he began to slow down and, as his cock softened in my mouth, he stopped and lay there panting. I held his softening cock in my mouth, sucking the last bit of cum from it before letting it slip out to lie against his stomach. And then I crawled up his body and kissed him on the lips and he tasted his own cum and he licked the inside of my mouth with his tongue. And then we lay there, and I was so happy.

    But Alan's friend from his youth had taught him that turnabout was fair play. He didn't forget that I was still hard. He reached down with his hand and found my cock and when he took it in his hand, my lust overpowered my tiredness and I knew I wanted him to suck my cock as I had just sucked his. He rolled us over and lay on top of me, his hand firm around my cock, and then he started to tease my body with his lips and tongue and he slid down my body and found my cock and took it in his mouth. What rapture! I was being sucked off by a handsome young man, my son's lover in his youth, a man who had had expert teaching and years of practice, and words cannot describe what he did to me and no words exist to say what I felt. Surely, no one else in the world felt the pleasure I was feeling now, for the first time in my life. This was unique. I would die happy having had this pleasure.

    And it kept mounting, higher and higher it went, till I was sure I would die, but still I did not blow my load. Sometimes, when I jerked off, I came with only a few strokes, but Alan was bringing me to the point of rapturous explosion and then forcing me to retire, before bringing my pleasure to another fever pitch. Over and over he did this, till I was begging for release, and then he let me go and I arched my back and thrust my cock into his throat and sprayed my cum into his mouth in such quantities as I had never been able to produce alone. Wave after wave of pleasure racked my body from head to toe and then it subsided, and I felt a calm like I had never felt before, and I felt love for this young man that surpassed all other love, and I was happy.

    "Now you may understand your son," Alan said. "He and I spent what seemed a lifetime together doing this for each other. Can I sleep over tonight?"

    "Tonight and every night," I whispered. "For as long as you want." And then we rested.

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