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Like Father, Like Son(man/boy), Part Three
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
[Like father, like son, part 3/9]
Chapter 2. True Nature.
That night, after they had dropped Adrian off at his house,
Mark kissed his father goodnight and went up to his bedroom.
Normally he showered in the morning but this night was an
exception. All through the movie, all through dinner, Adrian's
words had gnawed at him. Despite his best efforts to concentrate
on the movie his thoughts had strayed. Secure in the privacy of his
own mind Mark had tried to imagine the feel of a man's penis, the
taste of his 'come' and the touch of their bodies together. But
mostly Mark's thoughts were one just one thing, the feelings he
would have from a man's penis when it was inserted into his rectum.
Mark knew all, or most of the words, in their biological context.
After all his father was a doctor, but he had no idea of the
feelings that accompanied the words. Adrian had experienced those
feelings and Mark decided during dinner, somewhere between his
second and third slice of pizza, that he was not going to be far
behind.
That night the boy closed the door to his bedroom and went
into the bathroom. He stripped of his clothes as he went and dropped
them on the floor carelessly. By the time he reached the bathroom
he was naked except for his white Fruit-of-the-Loom underpants.
Usually he showered with the bathroom door open. It was his
bathroom, after all. But tonight he closed it. Tonight, if his
father came up to say goodnight before he was out of the shower,
Mark would need the warning of a few precious seconds. He slid his
underpants down and tossed them onto the door handle. His little
penis was already quite stiff and it protruded rudely outwards. It
quickly hardened the last little bit so that it stood up and
parallel to his body, pointing upward to his face. Instinctively
he flexed the muscle that made it bob up and slap lightly against
his lower belly.
He turned on the water in the shower and went over to the
medicine cabinet above the vanity. Eleven-year-old boys usually
don't have a need for medicines, and Vaseline was normally stocked
in the downstairs bathroom. There was an extra tube of toothpaste
and not much more. Certainly nothing that had the very important
property of being a lubricant. "Shit!" Mark said angrily as he
looked at the slender body of the now-naked boy reflected back at
him in the mirror. He could run downstairs like this and he knew
that his father wouldn't mind. He did it lots of times, but not to
get some Vaseline. He would have to get dressed and then go down.
He would have to sneak some into his pocket, even the whole jar.
Mark thought for a second, remembering Adrian's words about the
need to use something slippery because it was "dry back
there,...you need something to lubricate it,... to make it slippery
enough.". Then his anger faded as he saw the soap. It would be both
slippery and wet and it was probably dirty back there anyway, he
thought.
Mark stepped into shower. For a few moments he stood directly
under the steaming water as it streamed down. Then he directed the
shower head away into the corner so that only the occasional stray
droplets landed on him. He began to soap his body, working up a
rich creamy lather on his arms and shoulders. His small hands slid
up and down his narrow chest and waist and then he reached for his
groin, rubbing the soap around his already excited genitals. He
could feel the smooth hardness of his penis as it pressed back
against the soap. He was warm and slippery and his smooth body was
as soft as silk. His tiny dark nipples hardened instantly into
little pointed dots as his hand moved back over his chest, then
back downward to sweep around and around his throbbing cock,
swishing his balls back and forth so that they bounced against his
legs.
He sighed loudly, unable to believe that his body could feel
so wonderful. He tingled all over but there was aconstant glowing,
throbbing, and aching in his penis until the boy could barely stand
it. His hand returned guiltily, again and again. He concentrated
his attention on the swollen little bulb of the head. The foreskin
was retracted back, leaving tiny folds of sensitive skin bunched
up behind it. His little-boy testicles were hanging loosely in the
relaxed delicate folds of his scrotum, swaying and bumping slightly
against the boy's slender thighs as his hips moved rhythmically.
He closed his eyes as he imagined a mouth was on his penis. Then
the mouth moved forward and over it, enclosing and pulling on it,
sucking him in. There were fingers other than his own squeezing on
his balls. He tried to simulate what Adrian had felt, still moving
his hips by rocking them back and forth and pressing his soap
covered body up against the shower wall as he massaged his rigid
penis into the tiles. He felt as slippery as an eel and very much
alive. Mark whimpered quietly as his body demanded even more of
him.
Then finally, unable to hold back, Mark placed both of his
hands on his buttocks and pulled his cheeks wide apart to open his
crack. His hands were covered in soap and the rubbery flesh was
hard to grasp.As his fingers stroked into the depth of his crack,
he felt warm and happy, very happy. For the first time in his eleven
years he was aware of the sensations that seemed to gush forth from
his anus. Until then, that part of his body had been no more than
a tiny puckered hole that he washed each morning to keep himself
clean and healthy, the part that he'd wiped with toilet paper, that
he'd never thought about as being enjoyable.
What began as a gentle soft rubbing gradually became harder
and faster. His tight anus opened slowly of its own accord with the
soap and warmth and gentle stimulation so that his forefinger
popped inside. It was hot, hotter than he'd ever expected. And it
was soft inside too. It felt spongy until his finger twisted
slightly and touched the smooth velvety walls of his rectum. Then
meeting the firm resistance of young muscle, he pushed down deeper.
It felt nice the boy decided as his finger squirmed almost without
guidance from him. It was as if it knew what to do, sinking deeper
until it was past the second joint. It felt tight inside as his
sphincter sent powerful closing contractions and squeezed on the
little intruder as it tried to resist it's entry. Mark wondered how
a man's huge penis could ever fit inside him. The passage seemed
barely large enough to accommodate his slender, small finger. Then
he remembered Adrian saying that his uncle had done this to him for
a long while, an hour or more. That was the time that Adrian's uncle
had,... the time.... Mark closed his eyes and tried to blot out his
recollection of Adrian's words. With all of his mind he tried to
pretend that it hadn't happened and that Adrian was still a virgin
and innocent like himself.
Then the boy's thoughts changed and the finger was a man's
finger demanding entry into him. It felt good but not like Adrian
had described. Still Mark's breathing became heavy and he trembled
as he investigated the new feelings, until for no reason his finger
was in very deep and it pushed back up towards his belly.
"Ohhhh Shit!" Mark swore as his legs nearly gave way under
him. He had to balance himself against the wall of the shower to
avoid falling down to the floor. For a moment he couldn't believe
that the weird surge of pressure he'd felt had actually come from
inside him.
He probed cautiously and tested the spot again as he tried to
repeat the intense sensations. A little to the other side, "Oh,....
Yeah!" he breathed out quickly. He leaned back and braced himself
against the side of the shower before he collapsed. Mark waited a
moment, took a deep breath, then probed again. This time he knew
where the spot was. "Oh! Oh God!" he gasped as his heart jumped in
ecstasy. He did it again, and then again. He began to stroke his
finger up and down all the time pushing hard into his belly. Within
a few seconds he discovered that if he strained downwards and
tightened the muscles in his belly, thighs, and deep inside his
body it quickly became even more incredible. The boy didn't know
that he was forcing his immature prostate against his finger. All
he knew was that he had never felt so good in his entire life.
And then he understood what Adrian had been saying. He knew
why Adrian had liked it and why he'd done it again and again, until
his body was bruised and sore. Mark stopped. His hand was shaking
uncontrollably. He eased his finger outward until the tip was
barely inside him and he breathed deeply. Adrian's uncle had used
two fingers. Slowly he placed his fingers side by side, took
another deep breath and squeezed them forward as he forced them
upward and into his little anus. This time the entry was stopped,
but only momentarily as he pushed harder. One finger and then the
other slid inside. His inward progress was stopped only when his
knuckles were hard against his crack.
Mark paused. He was breathing quickly now with little gasps,
panting like a dog on a hot summer's day. It felt different. It
felt a whole lot bigger than one finger by itself. It was much
harder to wriggle his finger or to press into his 'special' spot,
although he liked it just as much he decided quickly. With the added
finger it rubbed and squeezed more on the sensitive rim of his anus.
His young body glowed with a fire that once started, had quickly
spread outward from the little opening until it consumed his entire
body. Now his spine tingled as his body focused on the feelings
that arose inside his tight rectum and he twitched and writhed
uncontrollably as they flowed over him. Occasional spasms tortured
his young body. Like cramps they tightened on his fingers until he
was throbbing inside. It was as if he could feel the pulsing of
every tiny artery within his body.
When he could stand the delicious agony no longer he withdrew
one finger and used the other to knead his 'special spot'. He pumped
the finger for as long and as hard as he dared. Adrian's description
of something growing inside and getting bigger and stronger was
remarkably accurate. Like Adrian, Mark found that he wanted to
stop. But as soon as he did stop he was desperate to start again
and then he was unable to go for more than a few seconds.
It was frightening, slightly painful, and incredible
wonderful, all at the same time. He glanced down. Most of the soap
had washed away and his penis limp. The little appendage had
retracted slightly into his body and his testicles had tightened
into a little firm, and very taut lump below. He became aware that
his knees were shaking uncontrollably. There seemed to be nothing
that he could do to regain control of his body.
Mark lost all sense of time. He was unable to stop. His mind
drifted aimlessly from one vague, unfocused image to another as he
was overpowered by the intense feelings that surged up into his
body. Then finally, after what seemed an eternity but in reality
was not much more than ten minutes, Mark found the energy to break
through the barrier that had always stopped him. Each time as he
rubbed faster and harder it had left him trembling and writhing and
barely able to stand. But each time he had stopped just short of
the prize that he sensed lay ahead. He knew that something even
more wonderful awaited him if only he could continue just a little
while longer. He started doing it faster and faster, pumping his
finger desperately into the 'special' spot inside him. He used all
of the strength that remained to him to squeeze down on his plunging
finger. He groaned. He wanted only for it to end,... to go on
forever.
Mark started to tremble as he felt a cry bursting out of his
throat. Something seemed to burst inside his belly and he
convulsed. He shuddered violently and fell heavily to the floor.
His head knocked slightly against the tiled wall and he lay dazed
and frightened. Unknown to the boy, pale, almost clear urine
trickled out of the tiny puckered end of his penis as his bladder
emptied.
"Mark,... Mark,... Are you okay in there?" his father called
out as he knocked loudly at the door. The door opened and the man
moved into the bathroom swiftly. "Mark, son, are you okay?"
The boy looked up at his father dumbly, "Huh?" he mumbled as
his consciousness returned. Mark shook his head and then remembered
what he had been doing just moments earlier. "Huh? 'Fell down.
'Think I slipped on the soap, Dad. I hit my head too. 'Think I'm
okay,..."
John went to the shower and reached in over the boy's head and
turned off the water. The thundering roar in Mark's ears stopped.
The boy tilted his head back and looked up at his father as he tried
to focus his thoughts. He remembered again, his hand, his right
hand, his forefinger, his forefinger had been inside his bottom.
Something inside his body felt as though it had exploded. He lifted
his hand up and inspected it in slow motion. There was no sign, no
sign at all of what he'd done. His father reached down. His father's
strong hands grasped his and lifted him upwards. Mark's legs were
strangely weak and he tottered, almost falling to the floor again.
Again he was lifted up and out of the shower. Mark braced himself
against the vanity as his father toweled him dry gently, like a
little baby. Both father and son were oblivious to the young boy's
nakedness. His father dried his son's little-boy genitals with a
soft fluffing motion and gave a playful swipe at the boy's
buttocks, not realizing that the boy's crack concealed a now-very-
loose little hole in it's center. Then John lifted him up and
carried seventy-seven pounds of naked boy back into the bedroom.
He deposited the boy in the soft warmth of his bed and straightened
the slender smooth limbs. John lifted the sheet up and over the
naked little body and then sat down beside his son to rub his
slender back through the sheets until the boy dozed off.
Then John went over to the wall, switched off the lights and
came back to the bed. He stood for long minutes, looking down at
the tousled head of his sleeping son. He breathed slowly as he
admired the slender form under the sheet, the graceful lithe curve
of the bare brown arm, the perfect smooth skin, the small nose
slightly upturned, the steady but barely visible rise and fall of
the boy's chest. Finally he turned and tiptoed out, leaving the
door open behind him.
As soon as he was outside the door to Mark's bedroom John
stopped and leaned against the wall. His penis had become erect and
it strained into his shorts as it became caught in his underpants.
His penis throbbed with unbelievable rigidity. His body was flushed
and he could feel the sweat building on his face. His heart was
pounding inside his chest and the image of his naked son was
flashing vividly in his mind. Time and time again his son's
beautiful face came back to him and it was enough to frighten him.
But what affected him more than anything else was his memory of the
perfect child's body and the small, still-immature sex organs that
adorned it. He could remember every detail, the little
uncircumcised penis, the small taut knot of his scrotum, even the
two tiny bulges of the boy's testicles in the little wrinkled
pouch.
John closed his eyes and tried desperately to think of
something else. He forced his mind to return to his work, to the
paper he was soon to deliver in Boston, to the fun that he had that
evening with Mark and Adrian. But again the memory returned.
Increasingly he had begun to think of Mark in a way that disgusted
him. He loved Mark. His son was the only thing of real importance
in his life. He lived for Mark. His guilt grew until he was ashamed
of his thoughts of Mark as a beautiful and very sexy young boy. He
tried to avoid the inevitable conclusion that his own son aroused
him. His own son produced a powerful attraction that went far
beyond the accepted boundaries of a father-son relationship for
what John had experienced as he carried the naked boy to his bed
was purely physical. He felt an overwhelming guilt that was born
of his excitement and the knowledge that haunted him.
For years, for long painful years, John had repressed the
desires of his childhood and youth. Memories of the passion of he
had known came back to him as he leaned against the wall outside
his son's bedroom. The memories were painful flashbacks that were
interspersed with thoughts of Mark. Mark naked. Mark masturbating.
Mark sucking on his penis. Mark lying on his bed with his legs
lifted back to his shoulders.....
Breathing heavily, John walked down the hall and slowly
descended the stairs. He had to get as far away as possible from
Mark's bedroom, from his beautiful young son. By the time he
reached his study he was shaking. His breathing had become erratic
and his head was spinning with images of Mark and the boys of his
own youth. They paled in comparison with Mark. He hadn't loved
those boys.
John sat down in his chair and stared at the computer. He
sighed, then rested his elbows on the table and buried his face in
his hands. He needed relief. He needed Mark. "Oh God," he whispered
as the thought welled up in his mind. He shook his head in
disbelief. "No! Not Mark! God help me!," he said quietly as he shook
his head again and again. His agony fed on itself. The more he tried
to avoid his hunger the worse it became. It seemed to consume him.
John fought to resist but the thoughts lured him onwards making him
even more aroused. He had to relieve the pressure somehow. He
surrendered and reached forward and switched on the computer. Long
seconds passed as the machine booted up and then the login prompt
appeared. He logged on as 'jgordon' and entered his password,
'marco11'. Marco11, his son's name and age.
Almost half a minute passed as the computer initiated the
array of programs that he might use normally for research or
consulting. Finally he was able to change to his 'special'
directory and he listed the contents. He was breathing quickly as
he looked for one file in particular. Then he remembered that he
had called it simply 'dylan', after the boy that the story was
about. John began to read, scanning the first few pages quickly as
it chronicled the growing infatuation of a man for a boy who was
only one year older than Mark. His breathing slowed as he read. The
man was not unlike himself. The story had been posted to the
Internet only a month or two earlier. From the very first chapter
the story had been unusual. It was emotional and it was painful.
It captured the man's shame and self-loathing as the story
unfolded. It was also a beautiful story that made John even more
aware of the feelings, dangerous as they were, that he had for his
own son.
His penis got harder and harder and he tried to resist the
urge that he knew he could never stop. It had always been there.
He had grown up like that. Although at first the desire had been
only for older men, it had changed when he was seventeen. He tried
to remember the little boy's name but he couldn't. It was so long
ago, nearly twenty five years ago. A lifetime of pain. John shook
his head and struggled back to the present. He paged through the
story until he found what he wanted. It was a frank discussion about
Dylan's emerging sexuality. He stopped reading quickly and began
to study it carefully. It was so realistic that he could hear them
speaking. It was a conversation that he wanted to have with Mark.
He wondered again, as he many times over the last few years, whether
his beautiful eleven year-old son was gay.
Unable to resist any longer, John stood up. He breathed deeply
as he unfastened his belt and opened his zipper. He pushed his
shorts and underpants down past his knees and sat down on the chair
again. Freed of the constriction of clothes, his penis began its
increase its insistent demands. He surrendered again. Slowly his
fingers enclosed the hot hard shaft. His thumb looped over the
glans and smeared the clear juice that had oozed out. His thumb
circled around the head, then slowly, still reading, he began to
masturbate.
The thought came from nowhere and it surprised him. For the
first time he thought of his own son in Dylan's place. The idea was
not disgusting to him. In fact, the more that he thought about it,
the more it seemed to be the most natural thing in the world. There
was a vicarious pleasure in the idea of his own son discovering his
sexuality with another man and exploring the feelings that came
with loving. As he read, John knew that above all, he wanted his
son to enjoy his beautiful young body without the fear and guilt
that he had known when he was a boy growing up and finding that he
was attracted to his own sex. But whether he would openly condone
a relationship such as that described in the story he didn't know.
It was complicated by the fact that the boy was still so young. If
he was older, a teenager, it would be a different matter.
He began to rub faster as he pumped his hand up and down. His
grasped his penis tightly and the glans flare out and become a deep
purple color. His breathing became ragged and he could no longer
concentrate on the story. His testicles began to tighten, squeezing
again and again as his orgasm approached. John closed his eyes and
began to fantasize about his son. He pretended that Mark was
masturbating his own little penis as he sat beside him. The boy's
head was thrown back, his long dark eyelashes fluttering, his
slender neck arched. The boy was gasping and whimpering as he
struggled for relief that was still dry and unfulfilling. He
imagined his son's hand on his own penis. He could feel the silky
softness of the small hand as it held his throbbing shaft and jerked
relentlessly. His semen boiled up and spurted outward, splattering
over his belly with drips flying onto the keyboard of his computer
and as high as his chest. The last of it oozed out of the slit and
dribbled down between his still moving hand and his now-softening
penis. He breathed out.
John continued to read, searching for the section of the story
where the boy lost his virginity and found love. It was, John
decided, a beautiful way for a boy to discover what it meant to be
gay. It was the way he wanted for his own son, if he had a choice.
Not that it had to happen in a sunny glade overlooking a pool but
rather it would happen with kindness and love and caring. Above
everything else, he wanted Mark to know love. It was too easy for
a man to take advantage of a sensitive young boy like Mark. After
his body had been plundered there had to be more than the pain and
suffering that he had known at first. His son, any boy for that
matter, had to get something back. There had to be more than mere
friendship involved. Even at thirteen, love had been what he had
wanted but love had been what Skip had been able or unwilling to
give him. John closed his eyes and remembered what had happened to
him nearly thirty years ago.
Chapter 3. Nearly Thirty Years Ago.
At thirteen, John Gordoni had yet to begin puberty. In fact,
he was not even close to starting puberty, and like any boy who
matures late, he was smaller, a lot smaller than other boys of his
age. That problem was exacerbated by the fact that he was in an
advanced placement class. Fourteen-year-old boys towered above
him. His slender body was still devoid of hair and he spoke in a
boy-soprano. He was unlike all of the other boys in his class and
he was openly resented because he was brighter. For John, school
was a collection of painful memories. Being at an all-boys Catholic
school didn't help much either, though at least he did not have to
endure the torment as the boys around him began to flirt and date
girls.
At thirteen, John Gordini had little interest in girls, or
boys for that matter. His entire life was his schoolwork. He was a
straight-A student and never less than second in his class. He had
few friends and certainly none that could be called 'close', or
'best-friends'. His sexual explorations were practically
nonexistent though in the months following his thirteenth birthday
they slowly became more frequent. His penis was a barely noticed
appendage between his legs and the few erections that he had
experienced were accompanied by both shame and guilt. Although the
stiffening of that part of his young body was accompanied by
feelings that were pleasant, they were not enjoyable. His erections
occurred only when he saw pictures of naked, or partially naked
males. There was no one that the boy could talk to about his ever-
increasing confusion. His father would certainly never understand.
But what was even worse was the fact that he had never confessed
that his body was aroused that way. He knew he should, the
alternative was Hell!
John grew up in a city neighborhood that was primarily of
Italian descent. After the end of the Second World War, Italy had
been chaotic with chronic shortages of food and just about
everything else. America was the 'promised land' and both his
mother and father had migrated to the U.S. from Venice. They met
on the long boat voyage and were married within the first few months
of arriving in their new home. John was first generation Italian-
American. He attended Mass with his mother and father every Sunday
even before he was able to walk. Every Sunday until the time he
left for college he silently prayed for forgiveness for all of his
sins.
It was Father Pietro, who suggested that John join the
recently formed boy scout troop being sponsored by the church. At
first his father had argued against it but, as his mother put it,
'it'll be good for him, perhaps he'll make some friends his own
age'. 'But will it make him grow into a man?' his father had asked
with a snide jeer at his son's masculinity. His mother had not
answered that question but she had held out for her son. Finally
his father had relented and John was inducted into the local scout
troop.
The troop met every Wednesday evening in the church basement.
Dressed smartly in his new uniform, it was a very proud, though
nervous boy that attended the next meeting. The scoutmaster, Steven
Brand (once Brandini), was affectionately called 'Skip' by the
boys. On that first meeting Skip took John aside and talked about
life in the scout troop. Right from the start John felt as though
Skip liked him, but then, the feeling was mutual. Unlike his
father, Skip seemed genuinely interested in him.
After John's first few weeks in the troop had passed, Skip
started a program that would lead to self-defense badges for the
boys. In the neighborhood where John lived, self-defense was
becoming increasingly important. Basic judo throws and falls were
covered over the next few weeks. John was paired with Paul, a twelve
year-old boy. Paul was still somewhat bigger than John was despite
the one year difference in their ages. Time and time again as they
practiced on the mats John came off second best but every time he
got up bravely and tried again. Again and again, the plucky
youngster came back at the bigger, taller boy, only to hit the mat
hard and sometimes painfully.
At nine o'clock on an early spring evening the meeting
finished. As the boys dashed off, Skip asked John to stay and help
to put away the mats. Eagerly, John agreed. More and more he had
become aware of the fact that Skip liked him. Again and again he
had looked at Skip only to discover that Skip was looking at him.
Their eyes met and each time something seemed to pass between them.
Each look was a look of recognition. As they carried the mats into
the storeroom the looks were replaced by smiles. All but three of
the mats were put away when Skip stopped for a break. He leaned
back against the pile of mats they had already carried into the
storeroom.
"Paul gave you a hard time tonight, didn't he?" Skip observed.
John nodded and shrugged. "He's a lot bigger than me. It's
hard to stop him when he tries to throw me."
"You're thirteen, aren't you John?"
"Uh huh, last Thanksgiving. Paul's only twelve and he's still
a lot bigger than me," the boy said resentfully.
Skip grinned. "Give it time. Anyway you're a lot smarter. Not
just a year smarter either." The boy smiled shyly and looked down
at his feet absently. "You have to use your brains to beat a bigger
boy."
"Yeah! Sure," John said unconvinced. "I'm the smallest kid
here."
Skip nodded. "You're also the smartest kid in the troop, John.
So use your brains."
"Sure! And just how do I do that?" the boy retorted.
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