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Like Father, Like Son(man/boy), Part Seven
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 7/9]
John nodded. "No I don't suppose you did, Marco. But they do.
Can you tell me how you felt when Adrian told you?"
"I guess I was kind of mad at him at first. Maybe I was
jealous, I suppose I was but I couldn't help it. Dad I really don't
wanna talk about it, okay?"
"Why, Marco? You're angry at Adrian for what reason? Because
he had sex and you didn't? Because he's your best friend and the
two of you are very close? Why son?"
"Dad, Please?... I can't tell you. I can't, okay?" the boy
begged. But the eleven-year-old boy needed to tell someone and he
opened his heart to the only person in his life that he had ever
trusted fully. The boy leaned into his father's arms and began to
sob, finally sharing the fears that had plagued him since he was a
young child and he had first sensed the attraction.
"Daddy,... I can't help it. I keep thinking about what Ad' did
and I want it to be me and not him. I want to do the things Ad'
told me about. I know it's wrong and everything, but I still do.
I've wanted to do that stuff for as long as I can remember."
John caressed his son's silky dark hair. "It's okay son. I
understand. I know the feelings. I know what you want. I wanted the
same things when I was a boy. When I was thirteen, Mark. When I was
thirteen I did the same things that Adrian did while he was away.
Not with my uncle but with a man I liked a lot."
The boy wiped away the glistening tears on his cheeks and
pulled away from his father. "Huh? Dad, you did that stuff too? You
had sex with a guy when you were a boy?" His father nodded
reassuringly. "But why Dad? Why me? Everyone makes jokes about
queers. I hate them too and now I'm one, and you and Ad',...
and,..." The boy began to sob and his father held him tightly as
the waves of shame and guilt flooded over him.
John felt a terrible disgust rising up inside him as the
memory rushed back. It was a memory from nearly seven years ago.
"Mark honey," he whispered, "I want you to listen. I've known how
you were since you were four years old. I've always known that
sometime you and I would have this conversation. Mark, I want to
tell you about your mother and me. About why she left us."
"What about my mom?" the boy asked.
"When you were four your mother and I took you shopping at the
mall. I had gone to look for some presents for you for Christmas
and your mother was supposed to be watching you. Apparently you
wanted to go to the bathroom but she was too busy talking to her
new boyfriend so she told you to go by yourself. I don't know what
happened but when I came back you were gone. I rushed into the
toilet to find you. I couldn't find you at first and I was scared
someone had taken you. Then I found you in one of the toilet stalls.
Do you remember what happened?"
The boy shivered. It was as if someone had 'walked on his
grave'. He shook his head briefly and then he stopped. "Kind of. I
guess I do. There was a man?"
John nodded. "Marco when I found you,... your pants were down
and you were standing on the toilet seat.... Someone came out the
toilet just as I came in looking for you. Mark I'll never forget
his face. He was grinning. That man had done something very bad to
you."
The boy shivered again as the memory returned. "There was
stuff on me?" he whispered.
John breathed out slowly. "There was semen on your body." He
closed his eyes as the pain returned. The little boy had been
covered with it. He had gagged as he saw the white thick fluid over
the boy's small thighs, strands still hanging from the tiny
genitals. "Marco, that man did a terrible thing to you."
"Did he hurt me?... Was that,... what made me gay?" the boy
whispered.
His father shook his head slowly. "No Mark. You were smiling.
He hadn't hurt you.... I knew you'd enjoyed it." He could still
remember how the boy had been grinning happily when he had found
him. His small fingers were rubbing in the semen as it slowly
dribbled down his legs and onto his little Levis.
Slowly Mark looked up to meet his father's eyes. They were
dark like his own. Father and son shared the memory together of the
day that had changed their lives. The memory surged forward in
Mark's mind and grew clearer and stronger. The boy shivered as he
remembered that Sunday afternoon long ago. "He put his penis
between my legs and made me move back and forth on it. His semen
stuff was all over me wasn't it? He didn't hurt me or anything."
The man sighed. He remembered how he'd cried as he pulled
sheet after sheet of toilet paper from the roll and tried to wipe
the mess away from the perfect young body. "The man, Marco,... the
man was your mother's boyfriend. Mark,... she knew what was
happening to you in the toilet and she didn't care. Later on when
I saw the two of them together I recognized him as the man who had
come out just as I was going into the toilet to look for you. That's
when I knew what had happened."
The boy looked down no longer able to stand the sadness in his
father's eyes. "I'm sorry Dad," he whispered. "I,... couldn't help
it."
The man lovingly stroked his son's soft smooth cheek. "I knew
then son. You weren't unhappy or scared. That's just how you were
born. Maybe it's because of me, but nobody really knows why some
boys are gay and not others."
Mark swallowed nervously as his fear came. "Daddy, I'm like
Ad' aren't I? Both of us, we're gay? Daddy, I'm scared."
John hugged the boy tightly to him. Tears continued to form
in his dark eyes and then trickle down the boy's soft brown cheeks.
"It's okay son. Marco I love you. Nothing else matters besides
that. I don't care if you are gay. I've suspected it for a long
time. I love you, that all that counts between us."
"But,... Why did Mommy leave us? Was it because of me? Because
I was like that?" the boy sobbed.
"No Mark. It wasn't because of you. It was because she didn't
love me and,... I could never love her. Do you understand, Mark?
We're alike, you and I. Do you know what your mother said when she
left? She said you were a little faggot and we deserved each other."
The boy shuddered, shaking his head in denial. "Daddy, NO!"
he shouted angrily.
"No Mark. Listen to me. Your mother was a cruel woman like
that. I wasn't much of a husband... I'm like you. I should never
have married in the first place. I couldn't keep her,... happy."
"Don't say that, Daddy," Mark sobbed. "Mommy loved us."
"No Mark. She never loved us. She went back to Italy with her
boyfriend. She never wrote and she never cared about you."
"Daddy,... Daddy I love you!" Mark wailed.
"I know Mark, I know,.... Mark I love you too. I love you too
honey." John squeezed the slender young body tightly and fondled
the silky hair lovingly as the boy's heart finally broke and he
rejected the hopes he had always held that his mother would return
one day. The barrier between the boy and his father had finally
collapsed.
John lifted seventy-seven pounds of brokenhearted boy up into
his lap and hugged him tightly. Mark's arms wrapped around his
father's chest as he sobbed out his fear and shame and self-
loathing. He rocked the boy gently, whispering again and again into
the small ear that it was okay. That he loved him more than ever
before. Long painful minutes passed and still the boy trembled and
cried. The knowledge inside him was devastating. He remembered
everything now. The touch of the strange man's hands on his small
body. The huge penis forcing his little legs apart as it pumped
back and forth. The long screaming arguments between his mother and
father. The words he couldn't even begin to understand. The crying,
the endless crying.
John began to rub the boy's shoulders comfortingly. Slowly his
hand moved downward as he caressed the small firm body. Lovingly
he slid his hand up and down Mark's narrow back. Finally he pushed
the boy's pajama shirt upward under his arms and began to stroke
the warm soft skin. He trailed his fingers up and down the little
knobs of his son's spine, going all the way from the neck to the
start of the boy's crack. It seemed to relax the boy and Mark
started to fight against the pain inside him. He wiped his tears
away and tried to smile bravely.
"What happens now, Dad?" he whispered at last.
John looked at his young son with only the gentleness that
exists when one recognizes a like soul in trouble. "It depends. It
depends on you son. On what you want. Sooner or later that part of
you will want to come forward. You'll have sex, just as I had sex
and Adrian had sex. All I want s for it to happen with someone who
loves you."
Mark smiled shyly. "You were thirteen, Dad?"
John smiled back at his son. It was time he told someone.
Perhaps it would help Mark if he understood what his father had
been though. "Yes Marco. I was thirteen. My father would have
killed me if he found out. We're a lot alike but you're luckier
than I was."
"Dad, could you tell me,... well what happened? Who was he?"
Mark asked.
John nodded. "He was in charge of the scout troop I belonged
to, Mark. His name was Skip. He was a nice man and I was a very
lonely boy. He became a friend. He was much more of a friend than
anyone else I knew then. One night we were alone together and we
both wanted to.... I didn't even know what I wanted to do, Marco.
I knew that guys could have sex but that was all. He started by
masturbating me and I liked it a lot. I guess after that it was
just a matter of time. Each week we went a bit further. But he never
did more than I wanted him to. That's important Mark. Never do more
than you want. You understand?"
Mark nodded slowly. "He shouldn't force me to do anything I
don't want because it's my body?" He paused. "Did Skip do it to
you?" the boy blurted out.
John nodded. "One weekend the troop went camping. I guess I
was about thirteen-and-a-half by then. Skip put me in his tent
because we had forgotten one of the tents and we had to crowd up.
Only Skip hadn't forgotten it at all. When it was really late and
everyone was asleep Skip woke me up. He used something or other to
lubricate me. He'd already been putting his finger in my rectum for
a few weeks by then so I knew what to expect. After a while he put
his penis in. I didn't think it would ever fit, but it did
eventually. It hurts! Believe me Mark, it hurts! I didn't mind
because I wanted Skip to do it. Anyway, the pain goes away pretty
quickly as soon as the man's penis is inside you. It starts to feel
pretty good after that. I bled a bit, then I guess most boys do at
first. It's scary when you first see the blood on his penis but it
stops as soon as his penis is out."
John paused and looked down as his son's silky hair. He could
still remember the sensation inside him. In those few wonderful
minutes he had never been happier. He had felt so alive. He had
known then that he could never stop.
"How does it feel?" Mark asked quietly.
"Honestly, son? It's something you have to feel. It feels so
good that you don't want it to stop. Skip and I did it a few more
times during the night. I could barely stand up the next day."
Mark grinned. "That's what Ad' said too."
"It takes a lot out of you. I don't think you're ever quite
the same afterwards, Mark."
Mark nodded. "Did you do it again with Skip?" he asked
curiously.
The boy's father smiled. "Of course. I guess we did it just
about every Wednesday night for about four years. As soon as the
other boys left for the night Skip and I would do it. After a while
I liked it so much I started going to Skip's house after school. I
used to tell my mom I was going to the library to study."
"Dad,... did you love each other?"
John looked away and took a deep breath. That was the question
he'd always asked himself. He knew the answer to part of it. "I
loved Skip, Mark. Not like the way that you and I love each other.
It's very different to that."
Mark thought about his father's answer. "Dad, did he love
you?"
"I don't know," John said honestly. "I don't think so. He
never said so if he did. Later on, when I was older and in college,
I knew he had other boys. He just wanted to have sex with boys and
I was, well,... available I guess. I wanted Skip to love me Mark.
I wanted him to love me more than anything. That's why I did it. I
did it because I thought he'd love me if I did what he wanted."
"You were thirteen-and-a-half? That's two more years," Mark
said with obvious disappointment.
John laughed. "There's no rush to get laid. Not every boy
who's gay has sex with a grown man. I think most boys spend their
first few years with someone their own ages. It'll happen in good
time. Adrian's eleven like you." He playfully ruffled the boy's
hair. "Besides I want you to myself for a few more years yet."
"If I,... well if I did,... have sex now,... would you get
really angry?"
"It depends. I'd rather you waited until you were older of
course. You're a smart kid, Mark. You have to make your own
decisions about those things. But if you loved each other, and I
mean really loved each other, your age doesn't make any difference.
My father would never have understood but I hope I'd understand."
The boy smiled and cuddled against his father's warmth. He
rested his cheek on the man's shoulder and smelled the residual
scent of his after-shave. John began to rock his son gently as he
rubbed the narrow, smooth back. His hand moved around and around
in circles, reaching the boy's flanks.
"I love you son," he said quietly. The boy sighed as he drifted
off to sleep. John held his son closley. Strangely their
conversation hadn't excited him and he wondered why. It came with
a sudden pain. Their love was different. Their love was the love
between father and son. John smiled silently. He was glad in a way.
Mark deserved the very best. He had always had the very best. If
only the same held true for the man, or boy, that taught him how
to love. It was just a matter of time now until Mark discovered
love.
Chapter 7. Love.
After twenty minutes John stood up and looked down at his
sleeping son. For a moment he thought about carrying the boy into
his own bedroom but he didn't. He looked at the boy lovingly. Mark
was all that he cared about. He felt very sad. The boy was growing
up so fast. Even though his physical development was lagging it was
increasingly obvious that the fact that Mark's sex organs were
nowhere near maturity was irrelevant. That Mark would soon explore
his body's capacity for pleasure was very much in his mind. John
knew with absolute certainty that Mark's next experience would very
likely occur with a man. His own experiences at thirteen had been
pleasurable.
John remembered Skip vividly. He had loved Skip and his only
regret was that he wished that Skip had loved him as much. Realizing
that he was neither more nor less that one boy among many had been
exceedingly painful. That terrible realization had occurred
shortly after his fifteenth birthday, not long after he had his
first release of seminal fluid. He had been so proud then. Each
orgasm was now a matter of demonstrating his newly discovered
capacity to Skip by ejaculating his milky fluid as Skip pumped
rapidly into his eager young body. He was almost perpetually
aroused. He had gone to Skip's apartment as he usually did on a
Thursday but by Friday he wanted a 'repeat performance'. By then
Skip had provided him with his own key and he let himself in. Skip
had another boy on the couch. The boy was in exactly the same
position that he used with Skip, bending over the couch with his
buttocks presented to the man behind him. Skip was thrusting his
thick cock vigorously into the young boy's body, grunting with each
forward motion and groaning as he pulled back. The 'new' boy was
one of the youngest members of the troop. He was an attractive
blond-headed boy who already well on his way through puberty. The
boy gasped loudly with each lunge into his pale smooth body. Like
John, he was an eager participant and from the way he was 'taking'
the man's penis, it was obvious that he was a 'regular' in the
apartment. John remembered how he had backed out of the living room
and, as Skip looked up, he bolted through the door and into the
corridor. He ran home, confused and full of hatred for the man that
had given succor to his body for more than eighteen months. Two
weeks and one day later he had gone back to Skip.
That memory was one of John's saddest. Skip had taken him
into his bedroom and he had fucked the boy mercilessly for most of
the afternoon. John had been unable to resist and he had submitted
again and again until he was to weak to stand. Exhausted, John had
fallen asleep. When he awoke Skip told him that "he wasn't the only
boy with a horny ass". The man was cynical and without remorse. The
boy had broken down and told Skip that he loved him and the man
shrugged. Skip shrugged off the boy's affection and then told him
in no uncertain terms what he was interested in.
As he looked down at his son John wanted only for Mark to be
happy and healthy, and when he was horny, for him to be loved. The
more he thought about the other boy lying in the bedroom next door
the more he worried about Mark. John was saddened and depressed.
His son, and Adrian too for that matter, deserved to be loved. John
shook his head in sad resignation. There had to be a better way for
the boy to grow up gay than by engaging in explorations with men
that did not love him. There had to be a way that the boy could
find love first. He wanted to confirm the existence of that love
before his son was hurt. He wanted to know that the boy's heart was
never broken, that his dreams were never shattered. He had been
devastated as he realized that Skip had never loved him, and never
would. By then it was too late. He was addicted.
He turned and quietly walked out of the bedroom and through
the quiet house. He checked Mark's bedroom to make sure that Adrian
was sleeping and then went downstairs and into his study. He had
secretly hoped for the last several years that Mark's initiation
would fall on his shoulders. He would have been able to give the
boy all the love and affection that he needed. That dream seemed
further away than ever now. He closed the door to the study and
went over to the computer. He remained standing while he switched
it on and watched the machine 'boot-up'. The memory of his slender
dark-haired son lying on the bed upstairs stayed with him. He could
picture the slender brown legs, the lean torso covered by the
brightly colored pajama shirt, the small firm bottom. He had
harbored the desire of penetrating that beautiful young body for a
long time only to find out that it was only a dream. Nothing more,
nothing less.
He unfastened the belt and clasp of his shorts and opened his
zipper. His penis was limp but it wouldn't be for long. He pushed
his shorts and underpants down to his knees and sat down before the
computer. He logged on, switched to his medical-center account, and
changed to his 'special' hidden directory. He began to masturbate
as he read the names of the files and then decided to read his
favorite story one more time. He breathed out in a long sigh as he
started to read, wishing that the boy-hero, Dylan was Mark. His
son, like the boy in the story would find love and happiness.
There was no frantic desire to ejaculate and John rubbed his
penis rhythmically. He had been circumcised as was the fashion in
1954 but other than that Mark's genitals were a carbon copy of his
father's, only smaller. Fully erect, John's penis was less than six
inches long and it had a narrow girth just like the eleven-year-
old boy upstairs. He read the story closely, savoring each detail
as he fantasized about Mark as the boy in the story.
The idea formed very slowly in his mind. A large part of the
opening chapters were strangely familiar, and then he recognized
detail after detail. The similarities between where he lived and
the descriptions of the swimming pool and environs where the story
occurred were too strong to be the result of random chance. The
more he thought about it, the stronger the connections became. John
looked at the screen in a daze. He didn't believe it. It could not
be true. He wondered whether the story was true. He re-read the
introduction. The author claimed that only part of the story was
fiction. Where did it change? Had the author really experienced the
feelings he talk about?
With trembling hands he began to compose a message to the
author. The words evaded him. He wanted to express his feelings,
his interest, his fears, everything that he had been thinking out.
John typed one word: "Hamilton?" as the subject of the mail and
then dispatched it to the anonymous address.
A few minutes later his mail icon beeped and he clicked on it.
For a moment he was surprised. He had not expected a reply so
quickly. The email was not what he wanted. It was a confirmation
from the anonymous server, simply a help file and the name of the
anonymous account that had been assigned to him.
"Damn," he swore aloud. He went back to reading the story. He
read quickly, skimming the story for the parts that interested him
most. Minutes passed. He masturbated slowly, backing away when he
neared the precipice, then resuming as the feelings of imminent
orgasm had faded. Minutes turned into an hour then just as he was
about to finish the story he stopped backing away from the
inevitable and began to rub his aching hard penis faster and
faster. The man and the two boys had played 'strip poker', and the
boy-hero was in bed and resting after a particularly 'nice' fuck
as the mail icon beeped again.
He clicked on the icon again. The two-line message was to the
point:
NOT WRONG!
Alex.
John felt his heart rate surge and he breathed deeply. He
thought for a few minutes and then began to type a reply. There was
so much that he wanted to say.
Hi Alex,
I really enjoyed reading your story, Summer Dreams. I
do not know how much of the story is true but it is all
believable. I identify very strongly with Alex Weston
and I have a lot sympathy. For some time now I have had
similar feelings for my own son. He is 11 and I think
of him as somewhere between the two boys in your story.
Mark knows a lot about sex but he is not as 'aggressive' as
Dylan or Kelly. Like the man in your story, my son and I
share an intimacy that is particularly strong, but I too
am unable to take the final step that will bring us
together. Although I do not know with certainty that
my son is gay, we have talked about what it means. For
several years now I have strongly suspected that he is
inclined that way and tonight he admitted that he was
very attracted to his own sex. While nothing untoward
happened I thought of my son in a sexual way constantly.
It is very confusing.
When I was 13 I had a long relationship with a man and
I think I am the better for it. At the time I was often
disappointed and ashamed but over the years I came to
realize that he helped me through a very difficult time
in my life. I guess I would like to help my own son come
to understand himself. I just don't know how to go about it.
I hope we can continue to talk.
John.
John pressed the send mail button and sat back. His penis had
subsided and casually he began to run his fingers along it. It
started to stiffen and he massaged his testicles as it thickened
and hardened quickly. Confused, was an understatement. While he was
talking with Mark he had all but convinced himself that he could
never have an incestuous relationship with the slender perfect boy
that reclined on the bed. Now, he was not so sure. His penis was
fully erect and he began to masturbate, rubbing the full five-and-
a-half inches as he thought back to the conversation he'd had with
Mark only a little more than an hour earlier. Mark had wanted to
do the things Adrian had done with his uncle, he had wanted to
experience the feelings for himself. John sighed. He could remember
his son's smooth lithe legs as they disappeared under his pajama
shirt. A picture of himself flashed into his mind and merged with
Mark. He remembered lying on top of the exercise mats, night after
night as Skip pushed into him. Every time he had wanted to resist
but as soon as Skip had given him the knowing look, the raised
eyebrows, the faint, teasing smile, he had surrendered. It would
have been different, very different if Skip had wanted more than
that alone. Almost every night from the time he started with Skip
until he was fifteen and finally realized that it was pointless,
he had dreamed about running away to live with Skip. Skip would be
his father and they would live together 'happily ever after'.
"Dad?" a small sleepy voice whispered.
John twisted around and saw Mark standing in the doorway. He
shuddered, instinctively trying to pull up his zipper and cover his
now aroused penis. The boy was still dressed only in his pajama
shirt and his small hand was at his groin, squeezing on his thin
rigid penis.
"Were you jerking off?" the boy asked curiously. His voice was
high-pitched and it seemed to tremble with excitement. John nodded
awkwardly, blushing quickly and deeply as he looked away. He tried
to find the words he wanted to say to Mark but he was dumbfounded.
He slowly looked back at the boy framed in the doorway. Mark's hand
was still stroking the short thin shaft of his penis. His hand moved
relentlessly, shamelessly pulling the foreskin back and forth over
the little swollen glans. His legs were apart and the boy smiled
mystically as he looked at his father with fascination.
"Dad?" he whispered. The man nodded and swallowed. "You said
it was okay?" he asked uncertainly. Mark stepped forward and came
into the study. His eyes were focused on his father's penis. He had
seen his father's penis often enough but never erect before. His
heart jumped and began to pound wildly the closer he came to his
father. John breathed deeply. He entire mind was filled with a
long-past memory of himself and Skip. "Dad?" Mark repeated
nervously as he came up to his father's chair. The head of his
father's penis glistened. The glans was fat and swollen, bloated
as it flared out before it joined to the blood-engorged shaft. It
was a deep almost-purple color. Like the boy, his father's rigid
penis wasn't very large but it was the largest that Mark had ever
seen. It overwhelmed his own small erection. The urge to touch it
rose up in the boy and he shivered involuntarily. He tried to look
away from it, to meet his father's eyes, but he could not. After
even a brief glance away, his eyes were drawn back.
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