Ganymede

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

Summer Memories, 1999

It began on a hot August afternoon, a mere two weeks before my son and I were scheduled to return home. Upon reflection, and even as I write, I find that I am more than happy to accept the unchangeable fact of that afternoon as the starting point, an initiation if you will, yet curiously I also find myself agreeable to consider other outcomes. Had it started earlier in the summer who knows what would have resulted? Would I have it different? However, I am wandering again, or wondering. Perhaps it is equivocation instead of guilt that plagues me. It is right for me, but is it right for him?

By two p.m. I was ready, willing, and waiting for the show to begin. God, was I ready! I was comfortably stretched out in a leather and plywood, if somewhat decrepit Eames chair in the living room. I was trying to read, making abbreviated notes on my writing pad for a plot that had barely progressed beyond identifying the key characters. I had done very little work during the last month, but what a month it had been. My mind was seldom on my work, and the looming deadline set by my publisher seemed very far away. However, that hot August day, almost in contrast to the fleeting days of summer, the time passed very slowly.

My frequent glances out the window to see whether further attention was warranted, showed my impatience. By mid-afternoon, sometime between two and three o'clock, the boys were usually naked. Watching them had quickly become a habit, and a very enjoyable habit at that. It was a side of me that was disturbing for a reason that I did not fully appreciate, yet also reassuring in its innocence. My fascination, which I chose to ascribe to an appreciation of their youthful beauty, seemed to grow stronger every day. I was being consumed, and the hunger gave every sign of being unquenchable. Although for the last few weeks, there had been nothing to see except two naked nearly ten-year-old boys cavorting around the pond, as much as I would have liked to, I could not deny I hoped for something more. I longed for something more to happen. Not that two naked boys were not worth seeing.

They were beautiful. Golden tanned, lithe-bodied, so physically energetic that it tired me just to watch them play. And they played for hours at time, drawing endless fascination from the world around them with a passion that was all consuming. They were innocent as they charged headlong along the path of childhood, yet increasingly there was also a sexually charged overtone to their games. Put any well-built pre-teen boy in a brightly colored Speedo, and his sexuality is enhanced to the point of arousing prurient desires in any man, especially if he is already inclined that way. Grant and Brandon lived in their all-too-brief swimming costumes that summer. They divested themselves of the skimpy nylon skins only when it was time to go to bed. It made me wonder what they did at night under the sheets, when Brandon stayed for the night. During the day, their play was not in the slightest bit erotic despite their shameless nudity around the pond. Innocent that it was, it was more than enough to cause lewd curiosity on my part. At times it seemed that all the boys needed was a gentle push to send them in the 'right' direction.

However, with only a few days remaining before Grant and I had to return to the city, time was fast running out for something to happen. Yet what that 'something' was that could or should happen, was nothing more than a vague and apprehensive acceptance of the sensuality of two young boys in the halcyon days of late summer. For more than an hour after lunch nothing occurred that was out of the ordinary. That day was no different to any other day of the last two months. That was not unusual, there was no reason why it should have been different. Despite that, I had a feeling, deja vu, perhaps. I had a feeling that said something wonderful was imminent. Given the privacy surrounding the pond, I had yet to understand why the boys waited before they removed their swimming costumes. Inhibition perhaps, or maybe they lacked the motivation, but it always took time before they stripped completely nude.

That day, dappled with sunlight filtering through the trees, they played the usual games, spending about as much time in the water as out of it. Diving for objects on the bottom of the pond occupied them for most of the preliminaries. Every time either of the boys went down, I was fascinated, wondering how he managed to stay under as long as he did. Their game involved taking turns scattering as many as a dozen objects across the deep section of the pond. Then the other boy dived in and swam underwater to pick up as many as he could and as quickly as possible. They were evenly matched in many ways, yet Grant had a clear advantage over Brandon in this game. He seemed to realize his superiority in and under the water, and more often than not, when it was his turn to throw the objects, they tended to land quite close together. Brandon, on the other hand, distributed his objects into the most remote areas, and giggled with glee when Grant failed to get all of them on one dive. He seemed to want to push Grant to the limit of his endurance, while my son tended to protect his friend. It was after more than a dozen such dives that Grant emerged beside Brandon, shaking his head vigorously as he dumped both handfuls of objects on the rock ledge that formed the nearest side of the pond. The boys were laughing and I smiled. They were lucky to have each other. Few boys were able to enjoy such a good friendship that they became as close as than twin brothers. Indeed, if often seemed to me that Brandon and Grant were always intended to be brothers. They just happened to have different parents. I watched them through the window, presuming that I was unseen in the darkness behind the glass wall. Perhaps they knew I was inside watching them, yet if they did, it did not bother them. Neither boy had ever shown any hesitation in stripping off in front of me. After long weeks together, indeed after spending much of the last five years together, the boys retained few inhibitions, if they ever had them at all. After all, I was Grant's father, and it often seemed to me that I almost as close to Brandon as his own father. I presumed the same was true for Grant, since the boys spent about equal time at Brandon's house.

They were still talking when I glanced back at my research material and wondered how I would use it in the book without become pedantic. It was only a matter of a few minutes before I glanced out the window again. The boys had moved to the near side of the pond and were now much closer to me, perhaps thirty feet [10 m] away. They were also in full sunlight, and their young bodies glowed with health. Brandon was out of the water and leaning back, supporting the upper half of his lean body with his elbows placed on the wooden dock. His closely cropped blond hair bristled despite the water that drained from his body after the last dive. His legs were wide apart, his feet still in the water. He was grinning at Grant, who was holding on the side of the dock with one hand. His legs moved back and forth, giving him additional buoyancy. Grant seemed to be playing with the cord of Brandon's brightly colored costume. Then, I smiled, sensing that the 'show' was about to begin. What I did not know at that moment was that this 'show' would be very different to what happened on previous days, although I should have had an inkling merely from their conspiratorial proximity.

Grant's single long glance towards the house was enough for me to take action. I immediately slid down into the comfort of the Eames chair when I realized that they might see me lurking behind the window if they looked again. Then, nearly hidden from sight, I grinned when I realized that Grant was actually undressing Brandon. Not only was this a complete break with tradition, for the boys had always removed their own costumes, but from the looks on their faces, both of them were doing it with considerably greater enthusiasm than either of them had stripped in the past. With experience came greater challenges and experiments. A moment later, Brandon's buttocks lifted up off the wood planking and Grant began to yank the bright red nylon down. Taking off one's wet swimming costume is difficult under normal circumstances, but taking off someone else's while he's sitting down must be practically impossible given how the boys struggled and laughed. However, finally, perseverance paid off and Brandon's Speedo went sailing high into the air before splashing back into the middle of the pond, another object to be picked up at a later time perhaps.

There the boys stopped. Although I couldn't see because Grant's head and shoulders were in the way, there was no question what they were looking at. I would have given a thousand dollars to know what they were thinking. I heard muted voices, a garble of muffled giggles interspersed with words I could not decipher. It was enough, yet not enough. I caught myself wondering whether Brandon's penis was erect. Given the attention it was receiving and the continuing giggles, it seemed only natural. To my knowledge, erections had never happened before while the boys were naked in the pond, or at least I had never seen them. This time was very different. Even from inside the cabin where I could hear very little, even when they talked loudly, I sensed the specialness of the occasion. There was an unmistakable feeling that the boys were sharing a secret, doing something so needing of privacy that they needed to be close together. They had been best friends since we had built the cabin. That had been more than five years ago, and it seemed as if we had visited just about every weekend since.

During this summer, just as we had for the last two summers, Grant and I spent the entire three months that he was off school at the cabin. With Brandon and Grant spending so much time together it was only natural for them to become very close, yet until that afternoon I had no reason to suspect that they had done anything beyond engaging in a few innocent sex games. For one thing, I knew that they usually slept in the same bed when they were together at the cabin, either in their boxers or more often that not, naked. Grant had not worn pajamas since he was four or five years old. In fact, he did not own pajamas. Like me, he preferred being naked at night. For a lot of parents, that two young boys usually slept naked together might be troubling, but I ignored it. There were plenty of opportunities for the boys to have sex together, if that was what they desired. They only had to go a few hundred yards into the woods to have more than enough privacy to do anything that two boys might want to do together. If they were experimenting sexually, so much the better in my mind. They were both well-adjusted boys, and I had always considered that sex-play for children was an important part of their development. Of course, I had no idea what happened at Brandon's house when Grant stayed there, but I hoped that his father, Gary Bowman, was similarly open-minded about what the boys did together.

After a few more seconds of secretive giggling, Brandon reluctantly stood up. Now there was no question. His proud little circumcised penis was pointing to the sky. The tip was like a tiny acorn, only crimson instead of brown. With his hands on his hips, and a lewd grin on his face, he looked like he knew exactly what an erection was for and that he should be very proud of it. His expression perplexed me. In a way it was quite out of character, yet it was also very reassuring. I silently wished that I had the foresight to bring the pair of binoculars from the Jeep. The incongruence of a little-boy penis on a boy-satyr made me smile. It was a wedge-shaped lever that was slightly more than two inches [5 cm] long. I should not have been surprised. It was only as big as one could reasonably expect given the small size of Brandon's penis when it was limp. I had seen him naked on many occasions and his penis was much smaller than Grant's was. In the relaxed state, his glans seemed to dominate that short length of his shaft so that it appeared that it had retracted into his body with only the tip left outside to show that he was male. Now, he was undeniably male, yet I still found myself wondering whether the cool water in the pond made his erection smaller than it would normally be. His scrotum certainly showed obvious signs of being chilled. His pouch was wrinkled and taut, although it was still deliciously plump with his juvenile testicles. Although puberty was still several years away for Brandon, as it was for Grant, that part of him seemed larger than normal, at least in comparison to my son. It was almost compensating for the small size of his penis.

After a momentary glance over his shoulder, as if he was confirming that he was being watched, Brandon's arms raised into a diving position. He was brown and beautiful, shamelessly naked, seemingly oblivious to his arousal as he poised to re-enter the water like a model showing off. As often as they stripped off and sunbaked during the last two weeks at the cabin, it wasn't surprising that both of them had nearly lost their tan lines. Brandon's tan was golden brown from head to toe. Even his buttocks and groin were suntanned, albeit a slightly lighter shade than the rest of him. If anything, Grant was the darker of the two because he had spent even more time in the pond during the summer.

In an instant, Brandon disappeared, leaving only a spreading ripple on the surface to show where he had entered. He rose to the surface and languidly swam back to the side. Idly, and unnecessarily, he brushed his short wet hair back from his forehead and then gesticulated to Grant. I sensed that he was clearly informing Brandon that it wasn't fair if only one of them was nude. Through the window glass I could hear Grant's laughter as he hotly denied Brandon's demands to 'get naked too'. There followed immediate wild splashing as the boys tried to dunk each other, or at least that's what I thought was going on until Brandon shrieked. He darted away, using one arm to pull himself through the water and out of reach while he splashed frantically with the other. At the shallow area where his feet could touch the bottom, he leaped back out of Grant's reach. Grant lunged forward aggressively, seemingly pursuing his friend with uncharacteristic aggressiveness. As his foe jumped back I could see that Brandon's other hand was clamped protectively over his crotch. Only then did I realize that the boys had been engaged in a 'cock fight' and that very likely, Brandon's exposed genitals had just been grabbed by my son.

This was something that had happened frequently in the pond or around the cabin, yet it was not that frequent that I suspected that it was more than two energetic pre-teen boys engaging in horse-play. Of course, I always turned a blind eye on the basis that it was better to ignore their budding sex-play than run the risk of them thinking that it was wrong.

While Brandon remained at a safe distance of one or two lengths, they swam back to the dock. Grant climbed out of the pond. I was always amused at how easy he made it look. Both hands on the planking, then straightening his arms to lift himself higher, then one knee on the dock, barely grazing the edge, then standing. He grinned at Brandon below him, now treading water so that he could easily retreat to a safer position if Grant 'bombed' him instead of doing what he was supposed to do. Watching the slender lithe boy standing at the side of the pond, I could not help but think of my son as a young boy-god. He was perfect in every way. He was sleek and smooth, and his water- spotted body was vibrant with health. The muscles in his taut abdomen literally quivered when he breathed. Momentarily, he stood there, smiling down as he said something that made Brandon giggle. Then, with a somewhat nonchalant expression, Grant fiddled with the nylon cord at his waist. However, instead of removing his red and blue Speedo, something totally unexpected happened. His pelvis began to sway, his limbs moving slowly and sensuously. All of his body was directed to a single purpose, that of emphasizing the small but very obvious bulge in his groin. He was performing a juvenile parody of a stripper, and while his inexpert motion was slightly amusing, it was also arousing. I watched, wide-eyed at my son's sexual display. It was a side of him that I had never seen before.

In the water, Brandon was also transfixed. Casually, Grant began to ease his swimming costume down. He was not in a hurry, and his frequent glances at Brandon indicated that he intended to delay the final revealing act for as long as possible. Still, his Speedo came down, a fraction of an inch at a time and always lower at the back than the front as if to conceal whatever modesty required. He was giggling by the time his buttocks were half-exposed, visibly enjoying his provocative game. With his hips still swaying and gyrating, Grant turned around and 'mooned' Brandon.

"Cute butt, Travers," Brandon shouted. It was loud enough for me to hear through the double-pane window.

Grant swivelled around, giving me a look at both his lean front and back. There was a broad grin on his face. He continued to dance, still smiling, now even wider than before. His movements had a rhythm of their own, although there was no music. Perhaps he was humming, yet I could not think of any music in his CD collection that was so erotic. One thing was very apparent. It was clearly not the first time he had done this.

When his penis finally came into view, I should not have been as surprised as I was. He was fully erect and his uncircumcised penis jutted out proudly over the front of his taut costume. It looked bigger than seemed appropriate given his slim body. With a single swift motion of his right hand, his fingers seeming barely to touch his rigid sausage-shaped shaft, he retracted his foreskin with startlingly ease. There it was, like a small, crimson-purple head, peaking at the sun-filled day for the first time while Grant continued to dance. Grant's scrotum was small. Compared to Brandon, that part of him seemed to be dominated by his erection rather than the other way around. It was shrivelled and tightly wrinkled, not unlike half a peach seed in both size or shape.

Brandon didn't say a word. It took nearly a minute before Grant's wriggling pelvis encouraged his Speedo to fall down far enough to expose the rest of his glorious anatomy. All the while, Grant was shameless in his self-absorbed dance, and I was completely entranced. I sighed aloud. I had seen him naked just about every day of his life, but this was very different to rushing through the house after a shower, or lying relaxed and sleepy in the family room in front of the fire. This was a boy discovering his primal nature. It was intensely arousing. Only a few times during my life had I experienced such a rush of excitement.

His prepubescent penis was shaped exactly like mine, although it was less than half the length. It was about three inches [7½ cm] long, not counting a half inch [12 mm] of foreskin that was now pulled back behind his glans. The extra inch (and-a-half if the foreskin was included) made it noticeably longer than Brandon's penis, although they were both about the same three-quarters-of-an-inch [2 cm] in width. When in that glorious stage of full tumescence, Brandon's penis was short and fat, while Grant's was long and thin. Finally, when Grant's swimming costume reached his ankles, he pivoted, removed one foot and gracefully kicked the other so that the colorful nylon went sailing into the air. It landed in a sodden lump on the end of the dock. He grinned, lifted his arms high above his head, and arched his back. I stared in wonder, not even beginning to question why I felt the way I did. He was intensely sexual, in the way that nature intended for boys for to be. He flaunted his beauty to the world, just as he proudly exhibited his erection, and I revelled in the sight. His stomach muscles rippled and he flexed his abdomen and clenched his buttocks so that they were pinched and firm. Only then did I guess that he was trying to urinate through a penis that was rock-hard. If more than a few drips dribbled out it would have been a miracle. From the water, Brandon was laughing, saying words that I could not discern but which from his expression looked for all the world to be encouragement. One thing was certain, Grant needed no encouragement from his best friend.

My mouth dropped open and stayed that way when he started to masturbate. Two fingers and the thumb of his right hand clutched his little penis. The motion was slow yet deliberately engaging the full length of his penis, from base to reddened tip. His hand movement was enough that his foreskin slipped back and forth over his glans. He was used to it. I was stunned, expecting him to demonstrate less expertise at self-pleasuring. However, what I witnessed was calculated to excite the very best of feelings in a preteen boy. he had masturbated so frequently that his foreskin had lost its tension. Within seconds, Grant was totally engrossed. His hips swayed slightly in an oscillation designed to simulate intercourse. He appeared oblivious even to Brandon's shouts. From the beaming smile on his face, I had no doubts Grant was enjoying it.

"Hey Travers, you dick head! You're going to pull it off if you're not careful."

"No way, Brando."

"Don't you know what happens if you play with it. You turn into a queer."

"Like you, huh? If I'm a homo, Bowman, then maybe I ought to stick it up your butt," Grant shouted back.

I smirked when I heard the playful shout, imagining Brandon's reaction. Although Grant sometimes gave me cause to think otherwise, if either boy had homosexual inclinations, I was convinced it was going to be Brandon Bowman. It was not because he acted effeminate. He didn't, at least not any more that Grant did! Or even because he was overly sensitive. Like Grant, Brandon was too good-looking for his own good. However, Brandon had fuller redder lips, lips that made him look girlishly pretty. Not that it was simply a matter of appearance that clouded my perception. That Brandon had a 'thing' for Grant was hardly a secret. Whenever he looked at Grant, his eyes seemed entranced by what he saw. For a while I had denied the evidence before me, but his infatuation with my son was becoming increasingly apparent. I suspected that it was not unique to him for Grant also send unambiguous signals of overt affection for his best friend. I found it amusing and not in the least disturbing. It had been my own experience, and not unlike many preteen boys, to go through a stage of prepubescent puppy love that was directed at another male. In Brandon's situation, it bordered on obsession. It seemed to me that Grant had been the object of his affection for as long as I could remember. Sometimes I caught myself wondering whether Grant was afflicted to the same degree. He was better at hiding his feelings and thoughts. yet, when he smiled at Brandon, it was nothing short of captivating. Perhaps it would have been unusual if anything else was the case. They had been best friends since kindergarten. After that many years of close friendship, it was not surprising that the boys shared just about everything. To my mind, or rather my wishful thinking, it was entirely reasonable that their friendship evolve into something more. They slept over at each other's houses so often that it seemed like every other night. They shared just about everything, from clothes to food. I think they drew the line at toothbrushes because Brandon had his own toothbrush in Grant's bathroom.

Loud shrieks suddenly re-engaged my attention.

"There's no way you're going to do that, Bowman. No way! I'm not queer." Grant laughed, pointing his extended penis toward Brandon with the fingers of both hands.

"You might be one though, Grant!" Brandon retorted. "You're the one with the stiffie."

"You were ready to beef someone a few minutes ago yourself, Bowman!" Grant said flatly.

"Not you, that's for sure!"

What my son said next took me completely by surprise. "If I did it, you'd be just like a Big Mac!"

"Why?"

"Because you'd have my ten-year-old meat between your buns," Grant laughed hilariously. "And you'd be full of my special sauce."

"In your dreams, dick head."

I wondered how the boys had heard the words, learned the humor, and become bold enough to shout the taunts. Had I been any different at the same age? Grant's penis stayed pointed out towards his best friend, challenging him to rebuttal. With a final jerk of his hand, Grant's buttocks clenched tightly. Again his body arched, thrusting his hips wildly in the throes of an imagined ejaculation from simulated penetration of an invisible body. Words were one thing, but Grant's sexual display had suddenly become very disconcerting. I was less worried about how he had learned the mechanics of masturbation than how he had discovered the motions of sex and the heightened activity that accompanied orgasm. What I witnessed were obviously pelvic thrusts and they were essential to his achieving climax. He appeared to have a thorough understanding of what was expected of him in a few years. I smiled. In a few years, his semen would be spurting into the pond, but not now. If anything, I was surprised that he did it so openly. He was shameless. He grimaced, leaving me with the distinct impression that the rules had changed. It was no longer a game. It was suddenly very likely that Grant had been close to achieving what passed for orgasm for a pre-teen boy.

And then his arousal vanished. He dived back into the water, leaving barely a ripple where he entered. He emerged, next to Brandon and for a few seconds they tussled before they submerged each other. I sighed. 'Oh to be young again', I thought. I was envious. Envious of their youth and boundless energy, and of a friendship that was so close that they had no inhibitions. 'They could be lovers and no one except me would ever know', I thought in passing. I returned to my unfinished manuscript, very aware that my erection was going to take a long time to go down.

That night, the boys very quiet all the way through dinner except for occasional glances at each other. They shared knowing smiles that suggested something was amiss. Whatever it was, they had no intention in confiding in me. There were frequent whispers. That was not unusual in itself because the boys relished each other's company. Given the slightest opportunity, they tended to have secrets that they delighted in keeping from me. Since earlier in the afternoon, I was beginning to understand why they were so secretive. Now I had evidence for my suspicion that there was more going on between them than mere friendship. Although their friendship often bordered on intimate, so far it never crossed the line, at least not in front of me. That night it seemed that the boys were demonstrating their affection for each other in ways that were increasingly physical and emotional. Mostly during the afternoon they had engaged in the same semi-erotic horseplay that I had witnessed in the pool. Before dinner I had watched them wrestling with only underpants on. Later, while I was cooking dinner, I observed them sitting so close together that they touched. Once, I noticed a hug that seemed to last a little longer than it needed to, but nothing more.

Finally, after they had finished a large quantity of ice cream, sundae style, Brandon started to giggle. Grant turned and glared at him, his eyes clearly communicating that the appropriate behavior at the dinner table did not include laughing hysterically. I looked at the boys questioningly.

"What's so funny?" I asked after a few seconds.

They moved a few inches apart so they were no longer touching shoulders.

"Um, ah, nothing, Mr. Bowman," Brandon muttered self-consciously.

"Come on, guys," I coaxed. "No secrets now. That's a house rule. Tell me what's up."

That provoked a round of giggles from Brandon. He was still giggling when he turned to Grant.

"Why don't you tell him what's up," he said with a sing-song teasing voice.

Grant scowled. Then, he started to blush, but only after a swift downward glance. From the sudden rush of blood to his face as much as the suddenly wider distance between the two boys, I suspected that blood was also rushing somewhere else. After what I had witnessed at the pond, from their shared guilt, I had no doubt that 'what was up,' was probably Grant's penis.

"Nothing!" my son growled. "Don't be a clown, Brando!"

However, with Grant's still unbroken voice, the angry lion's growl sounded more like an angry mouse.

"Hm… Well, why don't you guys go watch some television," I suggested lightly. "I'll clean up here."

The boys hesitated and then Brandon grinned. "Come on Grant-babe. Let's play some Nintendo in your room."

When Grant stood up, his aroused condition was clearly visible. There was no question that the bulge in his shorts had been the cause of Brandon's amusement. Brandon saw what I saw and he grinned.

"Hey Grant, it looks like something's still up. You have a problem in your pants."

Grant reddened further after a quick look downwards to confirm what was showing. Before I could say anything, he gave me a warning look. His lips pursed, a somewhat grim face that said "don't go there". He backed away, slightly keeping himself behind the chair, then turned side on so that I could not see anything. At least that was the principle. What Grant did not count on was that being as slender as he was, it stuck out almost as much in side view as from the front.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about," I admonished gently. "It's perfectly normal for a boy's penis to start getting erect around your age. All boys get erections." Grant glared at me. I smiled back at him. "It'll go away in a minute. Get used to it. It'll happen even more often as you get older. It's perfectly normal and certainly nothing to be ashamed about," I explained.

Grant still blushed. Quickly, he turned and ran. I smiled and watched them disappear up the stairs. As they turned into Grant's bedroom I heard Brandon's voice still tormenting him amid infectious giggles.

"He saw it, Grant! Your dad saw your stiffie!"

Grant was usually quick to rebuke, but now he was on the defensive and he sounded more than a little embarassed.

"It's called an erection, you numbskull. Anyway, you heard Dad say it's perfectly normal."

"Maybe, but he still saw you had a stiffie. "

Then silence descended as the bedroom door closed. Since the boys had already helped clean up after the main course, all I had to do was pick up the three glass bowls, now emptied of ice-cream, and well-licked spoons and carry them into the kitchen. Out of the blue, I felt like an after dinner drink. Three fingers of twelve-year-old Glen Moray and I was ready to relax. I went into the living room and took my favorite chair beside the window. From there, I could watch the fireflies dancing outside as dusk came. I had not long to wait before the first pin-points of light appeared.

I sipped the whisky, savoring the taste of the Scottish Highlands, reflecting. It was hard to get the two boys out of my mind, although in truth, I really didn't want to forget what had happened earlier in the day, or even a few minutes earlier. The image of Grant standing at the side of the pool, as naked as the day he born, his fingers clasping his penis in a parody of sexual ecstasy was something that I would treasure forever. It was an unforgettable moment in a boy's rush to grow up. For a few minutes, my ten-year-old son had bridged the chasm between innocent child and lust-driven youth. His juvenile sexuality was as evident in his rigid penis as in his lewd dance. Although it was still childishly small, that wonderful part of him had been beautiful to behold. I sighed, thinking of how quickly he would mature. Perhaps as soon as a year, more likely two or three, with a lot of luck perhaps four more years before he started to mature into a gangly pimple-faced adolescent. For the moment, puberty seemed to be both a long way off, and just around the corner. My little boy was growing up. I dozed off with a vague thought that dwelled again on how close the two boys had become over the years. During the last few months it seemed that they had become close enough to be brothers. Or even lovers?

It was several hours later when I finally awoke. I could not remember falling asleep, but obviously several hours had passed because it was now very dark outside. My Scotch was sitting where I had left it, untouched but for the mouthful I had tasted when I first sat down. The memory rushed back into my mind, filling my consciousness with a vivid image of the two suntanned boys, stark naked by the pond. Then fantasy took over, creating a script where none existed. My erotic imagination began to run wild. I took another drink and half-closed my eyes, picturing the two boys in bed together. They were lying so close together that they appeared to be a single body. Their arms were locked around each other's backs, their slender hairless legs entwined, feet side by side. Their genitals were united, although not as nature had intended for reproduction to occur. I smiled, imagining a first kiss, awkward, hesitating to touch, springing apart at the first moist contact of their lips. Yet, they would come back again when the shock passed. The strange taste of the other boy would stay strong, lingering like a scent that needed to be smelled again if only to determine its origin. It would be all the encouragement they would need to begin to move, to rub and hump against each other.

Sleepily, shrugging away the cobweb of an impossible dream, I got to my feet, taking my glass with me. I swilled it, watching the amber liquid swirl around the glass. I decided I would check on the boys, reasoning that they were either asleep, or if not, then they should be. My approach up the stairs was not intended to be covert, although my socks undoubtedly muffled any sound on the wooden treads. At the door to Grant's room, I paused. Always in the past, I knocked before I entered. The door was closed, a clear sign that the boys wanted privacy for whatever preteen boys wanted privacy for. I found my hand trembling, reaching out for the door handle, nervous and driven by an unknown force. My heart pounded. I leaned closer to the door, listening. Could I hear the boys? There were sounds, but they were indistinct, muted voices. Did I hear the rustle of bed linen perhaps, the squeak of a bed frame or movement on the mattress springs. I opened the door.

I should not have been as surprised as I was. After all, the boys had become so close that physical intimacy should have been expected as part of their friendship. It was only a small step from sharing clothes, and even eating their food at times with the same utensils, to sharing their bodies.

The lamp next to Grant's bed was on and the sheet had been pushed nearly to the end of the bed. I saw a physical union of young flesh, of slender suntanned limbs entwined. From where I stood it was difficult to determine who was on top and who was on the bottom. At that point, my preconceived notions of their characters took over. In most things they did together, Grant was dominant, while Brandon was submissive. Ergo, it was Brandon playing the passive role underneath my son. However, except for being underneath my son, he was far from passive. His thin arms were wrapped around Grant's lean back, his hands moving around in slow circles that reached from my son's bottom to his shoulders. His lips were pressed against Grant's bare shoulder.

"You guys should be asleep by now," I said softly.

"Oh fuck," I heard Grant groan.

"Something like that," I chided. "Your mom may not be here, but you should still watch the language."

They were a long way from 'fucking', yet something inside me wanted them to be doing that. I stopped myself from rebuking Grant further. He had a right to be angry. I stepped through the doorway and walked slowly towards the bed. I had never heard him use the word before. Indeed, part of me was surprised he even knew it. However, there were a lot of surprises in store for me. I sensed the boys' shame. They were frozen, neither of them even daring to move, or risk a single breath.

"It's okay with me if you guys want to mess around together," I said gently. "I think most boys experiment with their best friends sooner or later."

Grant, suddenly aware that he was naked as he rolled to the side, twisted quickly away and jerked the comforter that had been discarded on the side of the bed so that it covered both of them. I had a momentary glimpse of his erection, and Brandon's too, before his hand covered it. Because he had been lying on his back, I saw the vivid red of his blushing face. It nearly matched the momentary glimpse I had of the crimson tip of his penis. His lips clenched, while he dragged the comforter further over him with his free hand.

"I don't care guys," I said. "I'd be lying if I said that when I was a boy I didn't things with my best friend. It may have been a long time ago, but unless I'm mistaken, we did the same sort of things you guys were just doing."

"You're s'posed to knock," Grant retorted angrily.

"I'm sorry guys," I apologized. "However, now that I'm here, I think maybe we ought to have a talk."

"I know it's wrong, okay. I don't need a lecture," Grant said adamantly.

"Is it wrong?" I teased, smiling as my eyes continued to take in the boys' radiant beauty. Embarrassment seemed to enhance their physical perfection. "You know, I don't think anything that feels as nice as touching another boy's body could be wrong."

"It's what gays do!" Grant retorted adamantly.

I shrugged. "I really don't think your touching Brandon's body has anything to do with you being gay. You're nearly ten. You and Brandon are best friends. It's more of a game than anything to do with what gays do. It's about having fun and finding out what feels good. Besides, if either of you, or for that matter both of you are going to be gay, you wouldn't know for sure for a few more years a least."

Brandon sniffed and wiped away a tear that had started dribbling down his cheek.

"We only touched penises for a little bit. We didn't mean to," he added apologetically.

"That's okay Brandon. Most boys start to become interested in other boys' bodies as they get older. They want to see how it feels to rub their bodies together. It doesn't take very long to find out that it feels very nice indeed. Touching penises is part of it. If it's something you both want to do, it won't hurt you, or Grant either for that matter."

"I don't want to be gay, Mr. Bowman."

I nodded gently. "I don't think anyone wants to be gay. It's just the way they are, Brandon. I don't know when or how it happens. Maybe it starts before they're born. I expect they find out as they grow up. I don't think anyone really knows what they want at your age."

"But it's bad. Isn't it?" Grant asked. "Everyone says it's bad. It's what queers do."

I smiled reassuringly. "What do they say?"

"What we were just doing is gay!"

"It's nothing to be ashamed about." I leaned forward and tucked the comforter around Brandon's shoulder. It was a good way of showing them that I did not mind them being in the same bed. "Okay. let me try to put it another way. Why did you two do it?"

Brandon shrugged. He huddled under the comforter. It was his protection against answering a question whose answer, even in the third grade would subject him to ridicule. His best friend's father had caught him having sex with his son. His life was ruined. What he did not know was that I could understand and sympathize, even appreciate. I wanted him to know it was not the way he thought.

"Listen guys," I began. "It's okay. Really, it is. You've been best friends from the time Grant and I started coming up here. That's been at least five years. If you two didn't play around together I think I'd be surprised."

Grant regarded me stoically. "Why?"

"Being friends as close as you guys are, is really a wonderful thing. Most boys don't get to be as close as you two are. You share something very special," I explained.

"My dad says we could almost be brothers," Brandon said. He licked his bottom lip uncertainly.

"Only you're not brothers are you?" I responded. I smiled again. "For one thing, most brothers don't like each other the same way you guys do."

I paused for a few seconds, letting my words sink in and to give the next thing I had to say more importance. I took a deep breath. "I want you to be honest with me."

Grant and Brandon looked at each other nervously, obviously wondering what I was going to ask them.

"I want you to tell me how you feel about Brandon, Grant?" I asked gently.

"He's my best friend," he said simply and honestly.

"I know that. How do you feel about him?"

"I like him, of course."

I smiled. "Of course you do. How much do you like him? Just a little bit, or a whole lot?"

"A whole lot," Grant answered guilelessly.

"If Brandon went away to live in another city, how would you feel?" I continued.

I saw a dark forboding flicker in Grant's eyes. Perhaps he knew where I was heading with my questions. That was why he was taciturn.

"I wouldn't be very happy about it," he answered.

"That's all? I think I know you well enough to know you'd be really sad, Grant. How would you feel, Brandon, if you weren't going to see Grant again?"

Brandon looked at me awkwardly. "I don't know." He breathed out slowly. "I'd miss him so much, I think I'd want to die."

Grant nodded his head slowly, showing me that his friend had also expressed his own feelings.

"Okay. It sounds to me as if you two guys are so close that you'd rather be dead than to be apart." I smiled reassuringly.

There was a slight movement of a tousled head. "I guess," Grant ventured in turn.

"That's what I mean by a special friendship. You don't have to tell me that you think about each other all the time, because I know you do. Grant talks about you non-stop, Brandon. He gets very excited every time we're due to come up here. It's because he loves you, and because you love him back."

There, I had said the dreaded word and I waited for their reactions. Could pre-teen boys even begin to understand that it was possible for one boy to love another? I hoped they would not reject what was patently obvious to me and anyone else who took the time to watch them together. There was a long silence. The boys glanced at each other again, recognizing in a single shared look of understanding that what I was saying was true. They did love each other. They had never uttered the words only because they did not need to. Although it was impossible to determine when friendship had been exchanged for love, I had no doubt that they had loved each other for years. Until now, they just had not realized it.

"Now, I want you to continue to be honest," I continued. "When Grant touches your body, and especially when he touches your dick, how do you feel?" I asked Brandon.

"I feel… funny."

"How do you mean funny?" I asked.

"You know, funny!"

"He makes you feel good inside, doesn't he?" I said when Brandon seemed at a loss to explain further. "It's nothing to be ashamed about. What else happens?"

He swallowed, glancing nervously at his feet under the comforter. Was it my imagination or did all boys think that the answers to difficult questions could be discovered by looking at their feet?

"You mean other than my dick gets bigger?" he giggled.

I grinned at him. "That's an important part of it. Your dick is supposed to get stiff when it feels nice. That's they way they all work. In fact, it would be strange if it didn't get stiff when you're in bed with a naked person," I added as Brandon shifted uncomfortably.

"Or when you play with it," Grant interjected.

"That too," I grinned back at them. "Does that bother you? Your penis getting stiff?" I asked gently.

"I guess not. It sure feels okay," Brandon agreed quietly. He looked at Grant uncomfortably.

"Just okay?" I prompted.

"No! It's just… I don't know. What if I like it more when someone else plays with it?"

"That's the way it's supposed to feel. And Grant? What about you?" I asked.

My son nodded, visibly uncomfortable with admitting something that most boys were scared to death of. His movement was barely enough to show he was in agreement.

"Be honest. Do you like touching Brandon's dick?" I prodded persistently.

Grant hesitated, increasingly resistant to admitting the true nature of his feelings for another boy. Slowly he pursed his lips, thoughtfully.

"Yeah, I guess I do. It gives me a boner, and it makes him feel good, and he wants me to," he answered vaguely.

"Good!" I said. "So there's really nothing to be ashamed of, now is there? You both love each other more than brothers, and it feels good to touch each other."

"What if we do stuff, you know, down there?" Brandon mumbled.

I smiled reassuringly, though very uncertain about what 'stuff' actually entailed. 'Stuff' encompassed a very wide spectrum.

"Then especially. There's an old saying about boys being boys. Most boys do what you call 'stuff' down there. If they do it with their friends so what? I did it when I was a boy. I'm not ashamed of it. But if no one else knows, so much the better. Maybe it's best that parents don't know about it, but that shouldn't make a difference one way or the other. Maybe you're ashamed, but you shouldn't be. It's quite natural when you stop and think about it."

"How?" Grant demanded.

"Well, Brandon taught you how to ride a horse, didn't he?"

"Yes," Grant answered. I could hear the suspicion in his voice.

"And you pretty much taught him how to swim?"

"I guess. So?"

"And I know that you've taught each other lots of things besides how to ride and swim over the years." Both boys nodded uncertainly. I smiled. "So you see a lot of things you guys know how to do, you've discovered by playing together. You learn and teach other things that are very important. I don't see why sex play has to be any different. When you get right down to it, all you're doing is discovering how your bodies work."

"I guess," Grant said reflectively.

"Like I said, I did much the same things with my best friend when I was around your age, Grant. Once we'd figured out what our dicks were there for, we had a lot of fun," I said with a sudden and very pleasant memory from my youth. The two boys exchanged a guilty glance. "I only wish my father had talked with me the same way I'm talking with you two. We had an awful lot of questions."

Brandon giggled. "Go on, Grant. Ask him!"

"Brandon! Don't be dumb" Grant retorted. He gnawed at his lower lip the way he did when he was very nervous.

"Don't be embarassed, Grant," I prompted. "I bet there's not a single thing you can ask me that I didn't want to know when I was the same age as you."

"You ask him, Brandon."

"Grant, I can't understand why you're blushing," I teased.

"Is there a bone inside it?" Grant gushed.

I grinned. "A bone? Inside your penis? Because it's sometimes called a boner?" Grant nodded slightly. "No, there's definitely not a bone inside it. Although it feels like it when it gets hard. It's really your blood filling up what's called erectile tissue. It's a bit like a balloon filling with water. It gets bigger and harder the more water you put inside it."

"Until it bursts," Brandon said. Suddenly a look of consternation passed his face. "Can that happen to a guy's dick?"

"Of course not. You brain tells the blood to stop flowing when it's hard enough."

"Hard enough for what?" Grant asked.

"Hard enough so you can put it in a girl, or if you're gay, then the other place," Brandon answered with a smirk.

"Oh!" Grant reddened further.

"You've got the basics pretty much figured out, haven't you Brandon," I teased.

He grinned. "I grew up on a farm, remember."

"Well, I haven't seen too many gay horses or cows," I laughed. "But you have the right idea for males and females. It's all a matter of experience."

The boys shared a quick look that suggested something was lurking in the backs of their minds.

"Have you guys done it?" I began cautiously.

A quick glance at Brandon's guileless face seemed to confirm my suspicions. Although Brandon understood the mechanics of breeding animals, he had yet to apply it to himself beyond simulating the humping movement with Grant. His innocent look, and the comments I had heard during the afternoon while the boys were playing, left little room for doubt in my mind that the boys had taken discovery in a direction that was appropriate for them. They just had not taken it all the way.

"Have we done what?" Grant asked shamelessly as he intuited that silence was an answer in itself.

I laughed, playfully slapped his buttocks, and stood up.

"You'll have to figure that for yourselves. Good night guys. Try to get some sleep before morning."

I started towards the open door. Brandon giggled. I was certain they would not go to sleep for at least another hour. They could always sleep in the next morning.

"Dad?" Grant called softly. I turned back. "Thanks."

"Have fun guys," I said. "Don't stay up too late."

"We won't."

"Go on, Grant. Ask him about the other thing?" Brandon urged.

"What other thing?"

There was a slight hesitation before Grant spoke. "My dick's different to Brandon's."

"Sure. We've talked about that before. He's circumcised and you're not."

"Yeah, but well… They look so different. His looks like a helmet on the end and mine, well, it sorta looks like a banana. Does it make any difference?"

"Other than appearance?"

"Yeah?"

I smiled. "You'll have to figure that one out for yourselves," I said as I closed the door behind me.

Friday, December 24, 1999

"Thank god for four-wheel drive," I said to Grant. It had not been overly dangerous, although there were several times when I had lost all traction. The thought of losing control and ending up in a ditch by the side of the road was not a pleasant one.

He grinned. "It isn't even that deep yet," he acknowledged disparagingly of my driving skill.

"But it's slippery as all heck," I commented. "It was sliding back there a few times. Well, you better get your coat on so we can get out."

I dragged my down jacket out from the back seat and pulled it on with difficulty. It was a lot easier for Grant but only because he was much smaller than I was. Finally, with our jackets zipped and buttoned, I opened the door. Freezing cold wind made me want to get back into the car and start the engine again, but the way the snow was falling it seemed unlikely that we would be able to get back to the Interstate. I tried to prevent the car door from slamming. With typical energy, Grant was already halfway to the cabin. He reached the stairs, or at least where the stairs were supposed to be. He clambered over the snow drifts that entirely covered the first three treads. He turned back, holding onto the handrail, and he grinned.

"Hurry up!" Grant shouted.

By the time I reached the stairs, Grant was at the front door. He stomped his feet, dropping lumps of snow on the verandah. He moved aside so that I could open the door.

Inside the cabin, the air was faintly musty, not surprising since the cabin had been closed for more than a month. I closed the door behind us and breathed out with a sigh of relief. It would take at least a dozen trips to bring in the clothes and supplies for a week's stay and I was not looking forward to it. The first order of business as a fire. Leaving wet footprints on the hardwood floor, I went over to the fireplace. Everything was as we had left it before we departed last time, a week or two before Thanksgiving. Even the fireplace was ready to go with kindling laid out and enough split logs to last at least until the next day. The fire flared and blazed within a few seconds, crackling and throwing out enough light to make the cabin seem more comfortable even if it did not raise the temperature immediately.

"That's much better," Grant said.

He sat down on the bricks of the raised hearth, stripping off his insulated jacket.

"Maybe you should leave it on. It's colder than a witch's tit in here," I chided. "I don't want you catching a cold for Christmas."

He shrugged and smiled. He was always very independent. He had been that way for as long as I could remember.

"So I'll sit close to the fire for a while. It doesn't take that long to get warm in here."

He was dressed in blue jeans and a red woolen sweater over a white turtleneck so he was probably warm enough for a few minutes, I decided. he was a very good looking boy, taking most of his features from his mother. Indeed, with the exception of his interest and ability in writing, there seemed to be very few signs that I had provided the other half of his genes. He even had his mother's small nose and full lips. With the firelight reflecting in the golden strands of his light brown hair he was beautiful. At ten years old, he was fast approaching the quintessential period of boyhood, a half-a-dozen glorious years that would end with adolescence. He briskly rubbed his small hands together.

"You left your gloves in the car?" I asked. Grant nodded. "I swear you'd leave your head somewhere if it wasn't attached permanently.

He grinned and nodded. Forgetfulness was another attribute that he had inherited from me. There was a photograph of the three of us on the mantle that had been taken the previous Christmas. It was a disturbing reminder that this was the first Christmas that our small family of three had not been together. Not for the first time, I regretted that Sue's invitation to go to the conference in Hawaii with the president of her company had not included Grant and myself. Certainly, Grant had been disappointed. It had happened quickly, too quickly for us to get tickets even we had been invited. Instead, Grant and I had come up to the cabin by ourselves, continuing a family ritual for the holiday season that was all of five years old. With the fire burning rapidly, I placed a log in the center. Grant and I would stay until January 2nd, when we had to return to the city in time for school to start again on Monday. We would be together for more than a week, and if the snow kept up the way it was going it was very likely that we would spend most of the time in the cabin. On reflection, it seemed to be a strange way to greet the new millennium, yet it offered the opportunity of spending time alone with Grant. That alone was enough to make me happy.

"You miss your mom?" I asked absently.

Grant glanced at me. His expression was strange. He was thoughtful, a little sad. Slowly, there was a hint of a smile. His big brown eyes met mine.

"Yeah, but mostly I'm glad I'm here with you," he said honestly.

"So am I" I agreed. "I love you, Grant," I added.

Perhaps it sounded like an afterthought. He did not reply. Instead he turned back to the now-glowing fire, toasting his face and hands by holding them out before the warmth. Neither of us spoke for the next few minutes. I assumed that Grant was thinking about being away from his mother. At ten years old, a week was a long time. The thing that bothered me, was that the same thoughts were not in my head. I was looking forward to a week without Sue's constant self-aggrandizement almost as much as being with Grant. At times, it seemed to me that he was growing up very quickly, perhaps too quickly. He needed to slow down and cherish the years of his youth before responsibility and maturity consumed him.

"I guess I had better empty the Jeep before the snow gets so deep I'll need to put skis on," I said when the room temperature began to hover in the mid forties.

"Do you want me to help?" Grant offered.

I glanced at him. I smiled. I appreciated the offer but my heart was warmed even more by his delicate features. Not for the first time, I caught myself thinking that he was beautiful, and boys weren't supposed to be beautiful, and certainly not so beautiful that they took a person's breath away.

"There's no point in both of us freezing. What would help is you taking the things from me when I bring them to the door so I don't bring snow inside."

"Okay!"

My estimate of a dozen trips was right on the money. There were two suitcases of fleecy clothes and cardboard boxes full of food and other essentials, from candles to the Christmas tree ornaments that Grant had insisted on bringing. There was even a large jar of vaseline for chaffed lips and hands that we were certain to have if we spent too much time outdoors. There were enough books to read if we were snowed in the entire time, my laptop computer, and five bottles of champagne and a couple of dozen bottles of beer. Grant met me at the door with every load, opening and closing the door quickly to preserve what little heat was accumulating inside the cabin. Sometime between the fifth and sixth loads he started a fire in the other fireplace. It was soon a lot warmer inside than outside, and I looked forward to the rush of warm air when the door opened.

"You must be freezing, Dad," Grant said when I came in with the last load. He giggled. "You look like the Abdominal Snowman."

"I think that s'posed to be abonimable I think," I grinned.

"Who cares. You know what I mean. Anyway, I got the snowman part right."

I hastened over to the fireplace, kicking off my boots on the way. I could not feel my toes. Behind me, I was aware of Grant still putting things away. He was good at taking the initiative. By the time my blood was lukewarm, most of the things had been stored and he joined me in front of the fire.

"Thanks for the help, tiger," I said. "I think if we'd waited any later to leave we would be stuck somewhere out near the Interstate," I said. "It's still snowing pretty badly out there. There must be a foot [30 cm] on the ground by now."

"Is it okay for me to go out?"

I laughed. "I can guess what you're after. It's still cold for you to go out and sled. Give it a while. I think the snow will stop soon. We'll go sledding in a bit."

"Cool!"

"Not cool! It's just plain cold, Grant! Just think of your mom in Hawaii. It's probably ninety degrees [30°C] there right now."

"I'd still rather be here with you. It's comfortable now."

The temperature was in the mid-sixties [c. 20°C]. He had already removed his sweater.

"You put some more logs on," I observed.

"I knew you'd be cold when you came in. I could get you a beer?" he suggested.

"Okay," I smiled. He jumped to his feet and came back with a bottle. "I guess you want a sip too?" I teased.

He nodded eagerly and took the bottle once I had unscrewed the cap. He drank with surprising gulps until I forcibly removed the bottle from his delicious red lips.

He giggled. "I was thirsty."

"So I see. Your mom would kill me, if she knew I gave you beer."

Grant shrugged. "What she doesn't know won't hurt her.

There's lots of things I don't plan on telling her."

I wondered whether he was alluding to something that he did with Brandon. His voice had a definite sexual tone in it. I polished off most of the rest of the bottle, leaving a half-inch in the bottom. I handed it back to Grant. His eyes widened and he swallowed the last of it in a single mouthful.

"Any more and you'll be drunk you little monkey," I teased.

"Me?" He hiccupped loudly and sat down on the hearth next to me.

"Yes, you."

I ruffled his hair lovingly. With his mother around it was hard to be as affectionate with him as I wanted to be. Already, Sue had told me in a momentary lapse of concern that she thought Grant was going to be gay. That was nearly a year ago and at the time, I had denied it hotly. Yet much though I tried to ignore the obvious, there were signs that he was different to other boys, Brandon excepted. They were little things most of the time, but they were there nonetheless. Sometimes it seemed like there was something inside him that he was keeping hidden. That part of him disturbed me for I recognized I also concealed something. However, I was older when I began to understand how I felt about my friends. When Sue made her disparaging comment, Grant was only nine. At that young age, a boy's sexuality is as much about curiosity about his body and the world around him as anything else. When I said much the same thing to Sue, she had given me a knowing look that suggested I did not know what I was talking about. I resented her comment and the implication that I was responsible in some undefined way.

"I'm glad it's just us," Grant said absently. "I like having you all to myself."

I looked down at the top of his head. I wondered why he had said it. Perhaps the fact that his mother had abandoned us for the Christmas-New Year break had induced some resentment in him. It certainly had caused me to think less of her. Not that it bothered me not having her with me, but because I knew that Grant had been looking forward to spending the holiday with both of us.

"No? What about Brandon?" I teased.

Grant shrugged. "Him too!"

I gave him an exaggerated look of surprise. He ignored me. Again, for what had to be the thousandth time, I found myself thinking about what had happened during the summer. I remembered Brandon's beautifully nude body and the disturbing thoughts that had left me very confused about how I felt. Had I had the same thoughts about Grant, only to force them from my mind? Although I had been barely aware of it at the time, I could not deny the underlying feeling that I was also sexually attracted to my own son, perhaps even more so. It was enough to give me a chill.

We sat there for nearly an hour, until the snow storm finished and the cabin had become so warm that it was comfortable enough not to need a sweater. Sitting directly in front of the fireplace, it was warm enough that a person could be naked and quite comfortable. It was difficult to get up and go outside again.

By the time I had put my boots, down jacket, and gloves on, Grant was already outside. He was sitting in the sled on the top of the crest. I was greeted by a loud "wheeeeee" as he came rocketing pas the cabin. He crested the road with a five foot [1½ m] jump that landed him in the middle of a snow drift only yards before he ended up in the creek. The spare sled was sitting on the verandah. I followed him back up the embankment and together we climbed the several hundred yards to the top of the hill. We lined up, nose to nose, about four or five feet [1-1½ cm] apart. "On the count of three!" Grant shrieked. "One, two…" Before he reached 'three' he was off and sledding. I followed a few feet behind. He gathered momentum on the steep decline, shifting his weight so that he took the route that lead away from the cabin and towards the woods. It was considerably more dangerous that way, but there was the added thrill of screaming past the trees until he reached the road. Then, a sudden turn to the right brought him onto a parallel course with the creek until his sled came to a slow stop. He stood up, brushing the powdery snow from his clothes and face.

"That was absolutely totally fantastic!" he laughed.

I stood there, grinning wildly, totally enchanted by him. How could Sue ever think that this handsome little daredevil was going to be anything but straight? Only ten years old and he was fearless. Yet when he smiled at me, and I saw the boy's much-too-pretty face I shuddered. His eyes sparkled with merriment. His cheeks flushed with the cold and unbridled excitement. He was so good looking that I found it difficult to think of anything else.

We clambered back up the hill again, and repeated the reckless race. This time we were neck and neck, racing side by side all the way down. We were about equally matched because Grant had the advantage of weight for sliding across the snow while I had the benefit of gravity. We sweated and toiled to climb the hill, struggling for many minutes at a time for fifteen or twenty seconds of thrilling ride. We sledded until our hands were grey and numb inside our gloves, until our clothes were wet from melted snow and perspiration, until I was nearly exhausted. I left Grant dragging his sled up to the top of the hill and went off to find a suitable candidate for a Christmas tree.

Although there were pine trees in abundance surrounding the cabin, I never enjoyed cutting a tree just for the purposes of decorating it for a few days. However, digging a tree out of the ground was totally out of the question. I selected a small tree from the side of the hill and used a saw to cut it close to the ground. Even from that distance I could hear Grant's frequent whoops and shrieks of delight as he completed one wild ride after another. With the tree in one hand, I started back to the cabin. I waited until he was nearly out of sight on his way back up the hill before I retrieved his Christmas presents from the back of the Jeep where I had hidden them under the blanket several days earlier. There was another present, actually two presents, but I had arranged with Gary Bowman, our neighbor to take delivery of one, and put the other in the closet in the main bedroom. His mother might be in Hawaii, but this was going to be one Christmas that Grant would remember for the rest of his life.

It looked as though there was more snow on the way so I called a halt to Grant's fun shortly before four p.m. He grinned widely, his face flushed with exertion and cold, yet showing no sign of ever getting tired. Back inside the cabin, Grant stripped off in front of the fireplace while I filled the bath with steaming hot water. Stark naked and shameless, he ran back and forth between the fireplace and the bathtub, trying to get warm as he watched the tub filling slowly. His body was very slender and a delight to look at. He had the vestiges of what had several months earlier been a nice summer's tan. With the goose pimples that covered most of his body, summer seemed a long way away.

I concealed a smile as I watched his juvenile penis bobbing back and forth against his thighs, his wrinkled little scrotum still contracted from the cold and pulled up well out of the way. Both his penis and scrotum were tiny, not surprising considering the long exposure to the cold temperature outside. His scrotum was so shrivelled that it showed no sign of his testicles. Compared to me, his boyish parts were barely large enough to show that he was male. The size of his genitals seemed to be something he had inherited from Sue's side of the family.

Finally, when the water reached the halfway point, I called him over.

"In you get Tiger," I ordered brusquely. "You're starting to turn blue. Much longer outside and I'd have had to chip ice off your dick."

"It's all shrivelled up," Grant observed without any trace of shyness. "Why does it do that?"

"Because it doesn't like getting cold. Getting in the bath will fix that pretty quickly."

Grant grinned and looked at me without any inhibition.

"You're shrivelled up too. You better get in the tub too."

"I'm not the one who's shivering," I observed.

"You can get in with me if you want," he offered graciously. "There's plenty of room for both of us."

It had been several years since I had gotten into the bath with Grant. Suddenly, I shivered involuntarily. Was I that cold?

Grant grinned. "You're always saying we're both guys so there's nothing to be ashamed of," he added. "So get in! It'll be fun."

I chuckled. "I'm not always saying that. I think I said it that one time when you didn't want to pee when we were out in the woods."

"Only because Mom was there," Grant rebuked. "I don't like girls seeing me."

"So? She couldn't see you, and even if she could, it wouldn't matter. She changed more than her share of your diapers. Besides, your body is nothing to be ashamed about."

"Are you ashamed?" he asked with pretended casualness that did little to conceal where he was going.

"Of course not," I retorted quickly.

"Then why don't you get naked as well, Dad?" Grant giggled. "You always say t doesn't matter if we see each other because we're both guys."

"You better get in the bath, young man," I said awkwardly.

"Only if you will too," he giggled. "Come on, it'll be fun together. I promise to behave myself."

His giggle was infectious. I would never have undressed if his mother was in the cabin with us. It would probably have provoked a comment about provoking his sexual urges, about me being sick and depraved, or something equally derogatory. Instead, I was confronted by a beautiful boy who apparently not only had no problem being naked, but who actually seemed to flaunt it as he danced around the cabin. When my eyes were irrationally drawn back to his genitals for another look, Grant's only reaction was a shy smile when he saw me looking at him. He glanced away quickly when I started to undress. He darted out into the living room like a sprite on a mission, tossed another log onto the fire and returned before I had my socks off. He grinned and deliberately winked. After a few seconds he climbed onto the side of the cast iron bath to sit with both feet idly splashing. However, he quickly turned around again, his eyes dropping for a fleeting glance when I finally managed to extricate my feet through the snow-soaked blue jeans. His eyes lingered. He was curious. He was attentive. He was staring at my crotch, heedless of the invasion of my privacy. What was unsettling was that he seemed to be trying not to hide his curiosity.

I was very glad I still had my briefs on. I tried to ignore him, yet I was very aware that his constant gaze amounted to something more than merely a child's inspection of an adult body. The tension grew until it seemed as if I would have to say something to divert his attention. Before I could open my mouth, he suddenly turned away. I left my clothes in a sodden pile next to Grant's clothes. I felt a strange sense of deja vu. I had no doubt that Sue would have had a fit if she knew I was about to get into the bath with Grant, that I had let him watch me undress for more than a minute and his eyes had never left my groin. Would she say that I was trying to 'turn him on' by letting him see me naked? Suddenly, I had the impression that Grant's interest extended so far beyond boyish curiosity that I had been turning him on. I tried to reason with myself that I was doing nothing wrong, that it was perfectly normal for a father and son to take a bath together, that there was no reason why he should not see me naked. At the same time, I felt excitement unlike any I had ever known. My heart seemed to be pounding faster and harder with every second. It was very disturbing.

"You get in first," I said quickly, worrying about whether I would start to get an erection in front of him.

Grant slid to the side to make room for me. "No. I'll take up all the room if I do. You get in first, Dad."

"You'll have to squeeze in wherever you can," I warned.

He laughed. I stepped past him and eased myself down into the invigorating heat. "Mmmmmm… That feels so good," I sighed with relief.

I lay back, submerging my legs and most of my abdomen into the steaming water. "I have to poop," Grant announced.

I gave him a wry look. "Oh NO!" I shouted. "You'll stink up the bathroom, maybe even the entire cabin. We could die. They won't find our bodies until Spring. They'll wonder how we died until they find the paint peeling off the walls."

"I don't smell when I poop."

"Yeah, right. Silly me! They'll put that on the gravestone. 'He thought his poop didn't smell.'"

Grant guffawed. "Well, I don't smell like you do, that's for sure."

I laughed with him. He sat down on the toilet. I assumed a defensive position with my fingers holding my nose. He continued to giggle.

"I can't go. You're making me laugh too much."

"I'm just trying to save my life."

"Stop it!" he commanded impotently. "I gotta go, bad."

"Then go outside!" I joked.

"No way! I'd freeze to death. You're going to die any second now!" he threatened.

"Help! Help! Anyone? Help!"

"Ahhhhhh!" he grinned, making a face of contentment. "Smells just like… roses."

"Yeah! Dead, rotting roses," I countered.

I watched him strain, his eyes closed to mere slits. There was a faint smile on his face as much from relief as the somewhat pleasurable sensation of a bowel movement.

"I bet that feels better now?" I teased.

He nodded, still straining. After a while he relaxed. "Uh huh, much better. See you're still alive. It doesn't smell bad at all."

"It was probably all that exercise on the sled," I laughed. He stood up, visibly weaker. He glanced down into the bowl. He smiled slightly. "Wow! I had to go a lot," he announced.

"Gross me out why don't you! Next time you're getting an enema" I teased.

"You wouldn't dare. Hey, there isn't any toilet paper."

"Oh shit!" I said. Grant guffawed. "I knew we forgot something. It was on the list. I'm sure it was!"

"Okay, so what do I do now," Grant asked uncomfortably.

"Don't worry about it. Get in the bath. If there's anything there, it'll wash off quickly enough."

He walked to the tub and awkwardly straddled the side until his right foot was securely placed in the space next to my leg. Then he lifted the other foot up. For a moment he stood over me and I gazed up the full length of his naked body. I watched his belly pull in with each breath. From an underneath perspective, his scrotum seemed smaller. From where I was sitting I could discern the two jelly-bean-sized shapes of his testicles. His little penis swung to and fro, bumping against his inner thighs. He carefully lowered himself into the water and sat across my legs. Most of his body was out of the water. Reaching behind him, he splashed some water over his buttocks.

"Scoot up here, and I'll wash you properly," I offered.

"Huh?"

"Just do it, poopy-butt," I laughed. "We're both guys, remember?" I chided.

Grant slowly came to his knees and crawled forward until his buttocks were within my reach. I cupped both of his small firm cheeks and pulled him still closer.

"Now lie down on top of me," I commanded.

Meekly he obeyed, positioning his head on my chest and his hairless legs draped on either side of my thighs. I could feel the spongy softness of his sex organs pressing into my lower belly, my own penis lightly brushing against his perineum. Lovingly I soaped the smooth insides of his thighs. I felt the firmness of young muscle, from the backs of his knees, reaching all the way along his slender thighs to the start of his buttocks. There the skin was even softer. I caressed his cheeks, cupping the delicious curvature in each palm to hold him still. He wriggled again, as if trying to find a more comfortable position on top of me. The fingers of my right hand dipped slightly into his crack, yet there was no sense that I was doing anything wrong. It seemed only natural for me to take on the job of cleaning him. He stopped moving, poised above me, waiting for me to be done and he could sit back down again. I could feel his chest expanding and emptying with each slow breath. His head nestled closer. He felt loved and contented, vaguely aware of the pleasant sensation that came with each gentle stroke of his buttocks.

I brought the soap back from where it had sunk into the tub. I soaped his back, slowly working the white foam towards his bottom. It make my fingers slippery, adding a wonderful lubricious softness. I felt Grant's breathing slow, taking long deep lung fulls of air. He wriggled again, lifting his buttocks slightly so that my fingertips were within his crack. Perhaps it was my imagination but it seemed deliberate. I caressed him gently, working the soap along the full length of his crack.

"I'm surprised. It doesn't smell too bad," I teased. "Not like a boy's butt at all."

Grant sighed softly in response. "Very funny," he murmured.

My fingers worked the soap into a lather, then added still more by rubbing the bar of soap back and forth between his cheeks. Each time my fingertips passed his anus Grant seemed to quiver, his entire body tensing for an instant before he relaxed against me again. His tiny opening was unmistakable. It felt hotter, like a little button that became softer every time I touched it.

"Okay. I think that's clean enough," I muttered self-consciously aware that my heart was suddenly beating very fast.

"Don't stop!"

I was shocked. Grant's words burned in my ears. I felt a thrill unlike anything I had ever known. It seemed impossible that he wanted me to continue, yet I had no doubts that he was enjoying every second of what I was doing to him. It certainly felt good to me, but in his position, I suspected that the feelings were infinitely better. He was beyond stopping.

"It feels nice, huh?"

"Uh huh. Very."

"I won't stop until you tell me, okay!"

The voice sounded distant and very unlike my own. I rubbed slowly, centering my finger on the target to circle the boy's tiny hole. The opening was relaxed even before my finger dipped into it for the first time. I felt Grant tremble slightly when I penetrated, but he did not pull away. If anything he seemed to tense, resisting the urge to break contact. My finger was inside nearly to the first joint. I felt his anus nibbling on my fingertip. He lay very still.

"Seeing you couldn't wipe, I probably ought to clean inside," I stumbled. "You don't mind, do you?"

His head shook marginally. My finger seemed not to belong to me anymore. It moved of its own volition, pushing gently before easing back out of the slick pulsing hole. It was alive, hot, vibrant, almost hungry. I pressed the bar of soap between his cheeks, working the pointed edge directly against his anus. My finger crept back, playing in the soapy film that remained behind.

I found his anus again, hesitating, waiting for rejection. His silence was reassuring. I pushed gently yet firmly. I felt Grant tremble again, spontaneous spasms in his legs as his synapses fired off a volley of sensations that were entirely new for him. My finger was barely inside him, yet he felt so loose that it seemed as if one good push would be all that was needed for it to go all the way into him. I should have stopped there and washed the soap away. I should have laughed, and slapped his butt, and tickled him until he erupted in giggles. I still could have convinced him that I was merely washing his behind. But before I could convince myself to do anything, Grant's knees closed against my hips. His buttocks lifted up, instinctively aligning with my finger. I had waited a moment too long. Still time. My finger was poised to penetrate deeper, yet I resisted the temptation. Instead I rubbed the soap bar back into the now-parted crevice again. He slowly eased downward, obviously enjoying the feeling from the larger mass each time it stroked against his anus.

Between us, I could feel my penis swelling, growing to full size. I wondered whether Grant could feel it under his belly. If he did, he gave no sign of it. He had to feel it.

"Are you getting cold?" I asked softly.

His head moved urgently, shaking in denial almost like he was intoxicated. My fingers returned to his anus, finding it even larger than I had left it. It seemed to be stretching by itself. I pushed with two fingers close together. His anus opened to let me in, both fingers. Tighter than before, but not impossible to achieve entry. My hand felt like it was shaking. Perhaps my entire body was shaking. Then like a rubber band his anus closed around them and held both digits tightly. A spasm rippled between us, his sphincter gripping, then relaxing. I felt his legs jerk, his knees clamping my sides. I pushed again, a little harder and my fingers entered still further. It seemed as if he would not or could not stop me. I could do whatever I wanted. Then I felt the start of something beyond, a looseness opening inside him. I was beyond the inner sphincter. The taut constriction of his anal tube gave way to a larger chamber that rippled with soft undulations. It felt remarkably like a women's vagina, only smaller, hotter, more alive. I pushed firmly, still working the soap into his crack with my other hand, moving my two fingers back and forth into his body. Each time my fingers slipped out his now-dilated anus the sound of sloppy, soapy wetness came from deep inside him. At the same time he jerked slightly, gave a guttural moan that ended in a quick breath.

Slowly, legs shaking slightly, Grant crawled higher up my chest, until his head was next to mine and his genitals were squashed against my stomach. Some time during the last few minutes his breathing had become very ragged. He whimpered as my fingers drew back all the way to the tips, circling around the tender flesh before slowing sinking back inside him. I closed my eyes, panting moistly against his cheek. I kissed him, his forehead, his cheek, his eyes, his ears, not daring to touch his lips. I could feel his pelvis pushing insistently, making erratic jerking motions against my fingers in an effort to force them deeper into him. Guiltily I moved my hand away, down and back from his gaping orifice. I was shaking from fear and excitement, very aware that Grant was experiencing feelings that were highly inappropriate for his age, that I was doing something that could cost me the rest of my life in jail. For a few seconds, he remained very still. I felt his small hand reaching down, felt it close around my penis. He squeezed deliberately, exerting a surprising amount of strength. I wanted to tell him to stop but it was impossible to speak beyond a a groan. The shock of being touched there by my son was intense. My heart pounded frantically, stiffening my penis to an almost painful degree. It felt like I would ejaculate if he did anything at all, even let go. I knew that I would never forget, that we were beginning something that would change us forever. The urge grew inside my mind, becoming stronger, overwhelming reason until it all but defied my willpower. There was nothing I could do to stop him. There was nothing I wanted to do to stop what was happening.

I felt his body moving, repositioning. I closed my eyes, trying to block out what was happening, wondering why I was so powerless to intervene, why my mind was willing him to do what he seemed to want to do, hoping he would do what I wanted him to do. I felt his naked heat against the tip of my penis, the soapy softness of his firm small buttocks embracing my bulging glans like a lover's kiss. I was overwhelmed by his closeness, by the sheer sensuality of his slim body against mine, by the knowledge that my penis was pointed directly at his anus and ready to enter the core of his being. He pushed down slightly, down and guided the hard bulb directly into the hot loose target. I wanted to tell him to stop. Instead I groaned. Again he pushed, not hard, just enough. The tip of my penis burrowed deeper into his softness, yet still not enough to penetrate the tiny mouth.

"Don't," I gasped.

Grant gazed at me side on. He looked strangely at ease, content, yet not contented. There was no smile, just a familiar, intense concentration that told me he was only doing what he wanted. Despite that, I knew what I was doing, or allowing him to do, was not only illegal but reprehensible and irresponsible. At the same time I felt an overpowering sense of sublime joy. It came from knowing our bodies were slowly but surely joining together. A very special bond was in the process of forming. It was something that I needed to do, and the amazing thing was that I thought I could see the same need in Grant. He kept pushing down, never letting up even for a second. The pressure seemed infinite. I knew I would remember the shared yet wonderful uncertainty of this afternoon, the Christmas Eve of 1999 when he gave me his virginity. His expression changed, suddenly quizzical, uncertain, anxious. At the final moment, he was suddenly nervous. I wanted to be part of him in a way that I had never imagined possible. I surrendered.

"Don't stop," I whispered at last.

His hips pushed down with an inexorable need, suddenly forceful. My penis, already just within the reach of his anus, slid slowly upward and into him. I felt him gasp, fighting his body's instinctive reaction to pull away from something that was unquestionably painful.

It should not have happened. It should not have even been possible given the size of my penis and the fact that he was a ten-year-old boy. It happened because we wanted it to happen. Desire defied nature. He stopped pushing. He was panting slowly, surely, deliberately controlling. He looked away, towards the tiled wall, unable to meet my eyes. Was there shame in it for him? I stroked his flanks, slipping both hands over smooth sleek skin, tracing his ribs, my thumbs hooking into his armpits where I had so often tickled him. He quivered almost as if expecting another attack. His pelvis rotated, settling back down again. He was very relaxed, using both small hands to hold the shaft of my penis close to the base, guiding it into him with conscious intent. I felt the pressure increase, the force downward building until the rim of my glans broke through the ring of muscle. Grant stopped when it hurt too much to continue. Then he tensed and winced and slowly breathed out. By then, more than two inches [5 cm] of my penis had entered him. Those first few seconds were frightening, yet they were more exciting than anything I had ever done. It would have been easy for me to push him away. Instead I lifted him up into a position that opened his buttocks wide apart. It was a position where he did not need to push down for my penis to penetrate. I lay under him, grasping his thighs to hold him still. Neither of us spoke. Gravity and nature did all the work. The slim boy squatted above me, resting on his haunches and grimacing uncomfortably while he felt my fullness gradually expanding into his rectum.

Again and again his sphincter clamped with irrational strength, yet each time he stayed in position fighting back with a surprising amount of self-control. He whimpered when the pain flowed through him, becoming quieter and subdued again as it slowly began to fade. After a minute he tried again. He looked at me and I smiled back at him and nodded. There was no need to say anything. Indeed I don't know what I could have said. I should have stopped him, but my own urge was irresistible. He glanced away, looking beyond my shoulder, summoning his strength to finish what he had started. He shifted slightly, finding a better position. He looked back at me, even more intently. His eyes were questioning, seeking approval. Again I nodded. He smiled shyly. Each time our eyes met after that, and they did frequently, I no longer saw his mother's face. Instead I saw a beautiful little boy with damp hair, his eyes open wide, anxious yet accepting. His face was contorted from sensations that were both new and awful for him.

It would be easy to convince myself that nature intervened on Grant's behalf to make what should have been physically impossible, possible. There had to be some explanation for why it was able to happen in the first place. Something had to explain the ability that allowed his anus to expand far enough that my engorged penis did not rupture him. The entire thing was remarkable from beginning to end, but it was made truly wonderful because it was the first time for both of us. Inch by inch my penis eased into that fabulously hot tube inside his slender abdomen. Each additional fraction of an inch elicited a subdued whimper, until finally Grant could take no more of it.

With my penis about halfway in him (four inches [10 cm]) I realized that a boy's anatomy offered an exquisite pleasure that was unlike anything I had experienced with a woman. He was so different to his mother that I was amazed. Not only was it tighter, and that was to be expected because of Grant's age and size, but the muscular movement of his sphincter was simply incredible. Without any action on his part beyond breathing, Grant's rectum was alive. I felt the smooth muscular lining squeezing, pushing, pulling, even pulsing against the shaft of my penis. His young body produced feelings in my throbbing penis that bordered on insanity, provoking disbelief that anything could feel so good. His rectum was slippery, with what felt like an unyielding band at the opening. Beyond the muscle, his body flowed around me, pressing, clasping, sometimes gripping, but more often than not loose spongy tissue cradled my penis. It felt like an embracing slickness coated the end of my penis. Beyond, it seemed that there was greater lubricity. It hinted at an even more pleasure if I could only get my penis deeper inside him. I wanted to. I experienced nothing less than an overpowering need to try to complete that union.

Fortunately common sense ruled, or rather I retained some self control because it would have been very easy to hurt him if I had not exercised restraint. Gently I placed my hands on Grant's narrow shoulders and eased him forward and down until he was lying on top of me again. I was careful not to push up at the same time, knowing that if I went even a little deeper in his body I might injure him. I thought I could feel his heart beating in his chest as well as through his tightly stretched anus. Perhaps the latter was really my pulse, because it was impossible to determine where his body ended and mine began. Grant's little anus was so tight that it felt like it was restricting the blood flow through my penis. My penis was harder than at any time I could remember. Was it the sheer excitement of doing 'it' with a boy or the constriction of his anus. Either way, there was a throbbing sensation that began deep inside Grant and spread through me, consuming my willpower until it was all that I could do not to start thrusting frantically into him. Inside him felt so hot and alive that my penis seemed to become even bigger and harder. Then, a faint smile came to me when I thought of his anus as a 'cock-ring', not of metal or plastic, but of living flesh.

Before I could move, Grant made a decision that changed everything between us. His first movements were both instinctive and tentative, testing how far he could move without causing greater pain. He winced, tried again, took a quick breath, pulled away about an inch, gasped, pushed back again, shuddered. Once started, it was impossible to stop. For good reason, it was a slow cycle, but it was not my imagination that each penetration seemed to be a little easier than the last. His anus stretched quickly, becoming loose enough after a half-a-dozen times that he was able to move a little faster, then huffing as his hips began an increasing rhythm of their own. Almost immediately, orgasm overwhelmed him. It was startling, both in how fast it came, and how short it lasted. He sucked in air, filling his lungs full in what seemed to be one endless frantic gasp. His sphincter clamped down hard, squeezing tightly. For a few desperate seconds, he tried to pull away. He ended up shoving his rear end back at me as he lost control. It seemed like every muscle in his young body quaked while his bowels grasped and clutched at me. And then motionless. He lay very still, breathing rapidly with irregular gasps. He had climaxed without touching his penis, making what had happened even more miraculous. He had given me his virginity. In another way, he had also taken my virginity. Animal instinct took over me. I knew what I had to do to complete the act of love. Holding Grant tightly by the hips, I lifted up against him, ramming deeper into his bowels than common sense permitted. Too deep! His eyes closed, his fists balled, his teeth clenched. I lifted him nearly out of the water as I humped upward and into his already drained body.

His rectum swallowed even more of my swollen penis, going well past the halfway point before I stopped. His entire body trembled erratically. He was impaled, imprisoned by a cacophony of nervous spasms, and he knew there was no escape. The thing that was now jammed up inside him was simply too big for him to get away from. A moment later, just long enough for him to realize relief was possible, not so long that I could resist my hunger, and I dragged him bodily upwards and away from the fleshy shaft I had speared into his little bottom. The soapy fluids inside him and covering his buttocks sucked frantically and noisily when I pulled away the next time. Again, and then again, taking what was left of his innocence with each forceful puncture. I heard a faint whimpering sound. I knew it was coming from Grant. I knew I was hurting him, and still I thrust back into him, back into that juicy, all encompassing heat. Again and again, each time torturing his soap-filled bowels with my penis until he began to shudder uncontrollably. His head limply sought my protection, finding a place on my shoulder where he could smother his groans into my breast. Was I hurting him, or finding that intense joy that borders on pain? His whimpers grew louder. Not crying. He was gasping for each breath. His fingers grasped my shoulders. He was shaking, grunting, pleading incoherently. It did not seem possible that he could orgasm again so quickly, but his body began to jerk violently. The frenzied contractions around my thrusting penis drove me to the brink of insanity. Faster and faster, deeper and deeper, driven on by the bursting pressure inside me, until I started to pump out several weeks of pent-up semen. I released all of it into his rectum, flooding the narrow canal with my thick hot man-juice. I came in exploding bursts, spurting with each powerful contraction of my testicles. Then I was still.

I felt Grant trembling, barely aware that he was no longer whimpering, that he was suddenly very quiet. I was completely overcome by an ejaculation that I would always remember as my most powerful. And it had occurred with a little boy? Even before the last of it was out, I panicked. The horror of what I had done sank undeniably into my consciousness like a lead weight that pulled me down into the depths of post-orgasmic despair. There was no sweet bliss, no lingering delight of knowing my semen had entered another person's body, so sense of accomplishing something so special with my lover that it had no equal. The most wonderful union I had ever experienced was nothing short of a Shakespearian tragedy. Despite my self-hatred, part of me persisted in enjoying the triumph. My penis stayed harder longer than it ever did with my wife. It was all I could do not to resume thrusting into him. He felt both loose and tight at the same time, and hot enough to melt human flesh. I lay still, unable to speak as feelings of remorse and guilt overwhelmed me. After a minute or more, my erection diminished, slowly pulling back from the semen-filled depths of Grant's ravaged rectum to lodge behind his sphincter.

I felt his body tugging frantically on my penis, then the pressure vanished as it sucked out of him. Suddenly, his slender body seemed incapable of containing the massive girth of my penis. It flopped back on my belly, still half-erect with the veins swollen and dark and streaked with a muddy film that washed away as water sloshed over my groin. The weight on my chest lifted away. I closed my eyes, silently begging Grant not to hate me. I knew I could not look at him after what I had done to him.

"I'm sorry," I groaned. "God, I'm so sorry."

I heard water splashing. When I opened my eyes, Grant was already getting out of the bath. His slender legs were shaking so hard that he had to hold onto the tiled wall to prevent himself from collapsing when he reached for his towel. His legs were bowed, like they were still being forced apart by a penis that was embedded inside his pelvis.

"Grant…" I tried again.

He glanced at me. His face was a peculiar mixture of fear and embarrassment. There were tears running down both cheeks. He huddled in the shelter of his towel, pulling it tightly around him to hide his nakedness from me. He looked very small and frail. His penis had shrivelled to a tiny stub that was barely male. It was no bigger than it had been when he was a baby.

"God, I'm sorry… I couldn't…stop…"

He turned and bolted, going as fast as a recently fucked boy can move. He seemed very unsteady, almost wobbling with the effort of adjusting to the sensations that continued to pervade his distressed bowels. I heard his bedroom door slam. I groaned aloud. I lay there for several minutes in a daze. It seemed like a dream, or a nightmare depending on how I looked at it. Either way, it did not seem real. I felt like I had stepped outside myself, become a different person for… how long had it taken? A few minutes at most. It had not taken very long at all. Then, as the true nature of what I had done sunk in, I hated myself. Although most of the mess had washed away, at least there was no blood I could see. That would have been worse. I shook my head, wanting nothing more than to change what had happened.

When I finally climbed out of the bath, towelled myself dry, and dressed, it was getting dark outside. I went in search of Grant with trepidation that he hated me as much as I hated myself. I knocked on his door gently. There was no response. I tried again, not loudly, not angrily.

"Grant? Grant, Honey, I want to talk with you. Can I come in?"

Again there was no response. I opened the door and saw him lying curled up on the bed. He was dressed in a red track-suit, clothes that I had bought for his last birthday. He was curled up on the bed, his face buried into his pillow. I crossed the floor and carefully sat down on his bed next to him.

"Grant?" I began nervously. "Can we talk about it?"

He nodded slightly, yet kept his head pressed firmly into his pillow. His voice, when he finally spoke, was muffled and very upset.

"I'm sorry okay? I couldn't help it," he sobbed. "Please don't tell Mom. She'll kill me if she finds out what I did."

I shuddered, wondering why he was so afraid when it should have been me who was afraid. "Don't worry, I'll never tell anyone, especially your mom. What do you mean, you couldn't help it?"

"I couldn't. When I was lying on top of you and you were rubbing my butt, it felt so good. And then, when I sat up and I was sitting over it, I wanted to find out what it felt like… if…. I did… I didn't think…. then… I wanted to feel it inside me so badly and… I couldn't stop myself. I don't want you to hate me," he blurted out.

"Hate you? Grant, listen to me. I could never hate you. I love you."

"But what happened in there… in the bath," he choked. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"What happened in the bathtub, well was the most wonderful thing that two people can do," I explained reassuringly.

"We had sex," he said in a fearful voice.

"Yes, I know. People have sex because they love each other a lot, and because it feels good for them."

He looked at me curiously, swallowed, pressed his lips together in grim determination.

"I'm sorry," I said sadly. "I'm really, really sorry."

For a few seconds there was dead silence and I was very afraid of what he would say next. His words were calm and very surprising.

"It felt so good." He hesitated uncertainly before he mused absently as if what had just occured was a long way away. "At the end, I thought I was going to die or something."

His words were reassuring, and like a ray of sunshine among lead-grey clouds to me. I smiled and slowly breathed out. There was no doubt in my mind any longer. Grant was gay. He had been trying to tell me that in his own way for a long a time. Sue was always right when it came to judging people it seemed. Looking back, it was apparent that she knew our son better than I did, at least in some ways. It had only been an occasional comment, nothing more than a hint, yet it was enough to suggest he was different. Perhaps it was a mother's intuition, or a recognition that something was not quite what it was supposed to be. Not that it made it right, but if Grant was gay then what had happened wasn't as bad as I thought. I tried to push that perverted thought into the recesses of my mind but it immediately bolted back into my consciousness. Certainly, if I wanted to, I could rationalize that I had done only what he had wanted me to do. And, if I stretched reason, I might even convince myself that it was far better that I did it instead of some strange man in a public toilet. Another question suddenly formed in the back of my mind and it left me cold. Did Sue also know I was gay? I had never given her more than an inkling. One mistake, a book of Victorian etchings was sufficient grounds for suspicion. I placed my hand gently on Grant's small shoulder. Honesty was always the best course of action.

"It felt good for me too," I said gently. "It felt very good… it was wonderful. I'm sorry I hurt you. I shouldn't have pushed so hard."

"I… I'm really okay. It didn't hurt that much. It scared me at the end, that's all. I was afraid you were going to hurt me."

"I should have stopped."

"I didn't want you to stop."

"It was wrong."

"I knew it was wrong too, but I couldn't stop myself. I felt like I was exploding."

I nodded, then aware that he could not see my head, I said, "Sometimes a man gets like that. He loses control. I couldn't stop myself either."

"We did a bad thing, didn't we?"

"Maybe. I don't know. I don't think it's a simply matter of right and wrong, Grant."

Grant turned slightly so that his face was side on. "Why did you do it in me?" he asked simply.

"I wanted to. No, that's wrong. I had to. I couldn't help it either. That's the way some people are. The feelings become so strong that I couldn't stop myself."

He nodded slightly, wise beyond his years. "Not that. I couldn't stop myself either. The other… I felt you peeing inside me at the end. It felt strange…"

"I didn't pee inside you."

"Well it felt like you were peeing in me."

"Oh! That. You see when a man gets excited like I was with you, the stuff that makes babies comes out of his penis."

"You put it in my butt?" Grant asked uncertainly. "I can't have a baby, can I?"

I grinned. "No, of course not. Boys can't have babies."

"Will it hurt me?"

"No! Of course not. I would never hurt you. It's just semen. It's really pretty harmless, assuming it's not going into a vagina, that is."

The incongruence of my claim never to hurt him left me cold as soon as I said it, but Grant did not appear to notice it.

"What we did… Isn't that what gays do?"

I smiled and nodded reassuringly. I wondered how much he knew about homosexuality. Probably not much. What he had learned in the playground, I surmised, would do little to help him understand how he felt. I suspected the subject would come up again and again while we were together. I gazed at him, trying to imagine how he would deal with it as he grew older and experienced the painful jibes of his peers.

"Are you mad at me?" he asked nervously.

"Why would I be angry with you?"

"I don't know. You look like you are."

I sighed. "I'm not. I'm mad at myself if anything. Do you know what it means, being gay?"

Grant gave me an uncertain look. Slowly he licked his bottom lip. "I guess they don't get married," he answered awkwardly.

"Yes. But do you know why they don't get married?" I asked. Grant shrugged and shook his head. "You see, when a guy's like that, gay and all, well he'd much rather be with other guys, so he can't get married."

"I don't like girls so I guess that means I won't get married," Grant announced without regret.

"Well, at your age, it's really way too soon to tell whether you like girls or not," I replied. "Besides most boys your age don't like girls anyway."

"There's a boy in my class. All the girls like him. He… ah…" Grant began awkwardly. He hesitated. "Promise you won't tell?"

"I promise," I said, wondering what he was going to say. I knew it would be good.

"He said he did it with his sister. She's in the next grade up from us."

"What did he do?"

"He… did it with her… you know,… he put his thing in her." Grant hesitated, unwilling or unable to say the words we both knew that he would have used without any hesitation with his friends.

"Mmmmm…. well ten is pretty young to be doing that, but I guess some kids start earlier than others." I smiled. "You included, for that matter. What we did in the bathroom is something most boys don't do until they're much older."

Grant smiled slightly. "Does it make me bad?"

"Bad? No, not bad. It might be bad for you because you're so young. Does it hurt a lot?"

"My butt? It's mostly okay. It feels funny, a bit sore that's all. It doesn't hurt."

"That's good," I said with relief. "I expect being a bit sore afterwards is normal, but I'm sorry I hurt you."

"You didn't hurt me that much."

Gently I rubbed the length of his leg, feeling his narrow thigh until I came too close to his groin for comfort. I moved my hand onto his hip, and then lower until I caressed his buttocks.

"Do you worry that you're not like other boys?" I asked after a while.

"You mean not liking girls and all?" Grant asked awkwardly.

"Yes. I'm not talking about the boy who had sex with his sister, of course," I joked. "For one thing you don't have a sister. But girls generally."

He smiled shyly and shook his head slightly. "It's okay, Dad. I know what you mean. I know I'm different."

"Does that bother you?"

"Not really."

"Do you like girls at all?"

"Girls are okay, I guess. I don't know," he added vaguely. "I'm not… I don't know why… I like them in a way… girls… and I do talk to a few of them at school… only… I don't know. I don't really like them. Not like some guys. They're always talking about the girls who have boobs. And about having sex with them." He took a deep breath. "What happened in the bathroom, doesn't it mean I'm gay?"

I shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. You might be gay, Grant. Then again, a lot of boys your age experiment with other guys. Remember what I said about when I found you and Brandon messing around together last summer? It doesn't mean very much at your age. It's part of growing up."

"I know. You said it was just a way of having fun and showing our friendship," Grant interjected. He smiled weakly and I wondered whether he actually believed it. "Promise you won't tell mom," he demanded insistently. His voice revealed unwarranted fear.

"I won't tell, if you don't," I teased confidently.

"I won't," he confided and regarded me secretively.

"Do you feel like getting up and decorating the tree?" I asked.

Grant nodded. He rolled onto his back and sat up slowly. "Sure. It really feels funny back there," he announced. "Do you think I damaged something inside me?"

"You're probably a bit tender. I guess you got stretched a fair bit. I expect it'll go away in a while," I said. "I'm really sorry I hurt you, Grant."

"It doesn't hurt bad or anything. It just feels… well sore and kinda funny." I held out my hand and his fingers slipped between my fingers. He looked up at me and smiled shyly. For a moment I thought that it was forgotten. We were father and son again. He followed me into the living room, still walking more than a little bit unsteady and clearly trying to accustom himself to the soreness that remained, a lingering reminder of what had been deep inside him. I helped Grant install the pine tree, soon to be Christmas tree, in the metal support and we placed it in front of the window overlooking the pond. I left him to it and turned my attention to getting dinner made. Every few minutes I checked on his progress. From what I could see and hear from the kitchen, he did not seem to be overly bothered by what had happened in the bathroom. He turned on the CD player and inserted the Hanson Christmas CD he had received as a Christmas present for the previous year. He moved a little less gracefully than he normally did, yet he was still an artist creating a work of art as he placed each ornament.

With a growing awareness that I found him very sexy, I watched him dancing, in so far as a recently fucked ten-year-old boy can dance. That his slim body had so recently born the brunt of my adult organ made his movements even more erotic. At times, when he swayed and smiled slightly, it seemed that he was relishing the tenderness, enjoying his discomfort as a reminder of what had happened in the bath tub.

Then, when he turned around my mouth dropped open. There was a dark round mark on the seat of his sweatpants. I stared at it in amazement, momentarily thinking it was blood before I realized it was semen draining out of him. Instantly my penis responded. At the time, I thought I had filled him. It certainly felt like the biggest ejaculation of my life. The proof was there in Grant's pants. If he knew it was there, it did not seem to bother him unduly.

It was about seven o'clock when I carried the presents to the tree and told him dinner was ready. He grinned happily and skipped around me, insisting that I dance with him. It was more like prancing as he bounced and gyrated his way around the room, singing at the top of his lungs. Finally I grabbed him around his narrow waist and slapped him playfully on his uplifted butt. Again, I noticed the wet mark on his pants. It was slightly bigger than it had been earlier. He giggled as I bodily carried him over to the table where dinner waited and was getting colder by the minute.

After dinner we settled by the fireplace and took turns opening presents. At least we took turns for the first three times. After that, mine were finished. I did not care that my wife had thought to send only a book for me because it was a lot more fun watching Grant open his. Finally, amid scraps of wrapping paper, bows, and ribbons Grant opened the last present. He bubbled with happiness, again his normal effervescent self. Clearly there were favorites. Again and again I watched him returning to the same ones, anxious to play with the radio-controlled car, or test out his new baseball glove.

"I'm sorry you didn't get very much," he said awkwardly.

"I've got you," I said. "That's more than enough."

I sipped the last of my champagne. After drinking an entire bottle by myself, I was incredibly happy. It was impossible not to be in a good mood.

"Besides you gave me an incredibly wonderful present earlier," I quipped.

"Huh?"

"You gave me your virginity, Grant."

"My what?"

"Your virginity. That's what it's called. You lose your virginity when you have sex for the first time."

He looked at me uncertainly, vaguely aware that 'sex' was something that adults did and that he had changed somehow as a result.

"Sex?" he asked awkwardly.

"That's what it's called," I explained. "When people do what we did."

"But? I thought you had sex only with girls."

"A man and a boy can have sex," I said simply. "When you had sex with me you lost your virginity."

"Lose it? How did I lose it?"

I laughed. "It's hard to explain. Before we did it, you were a virgin. Now you aren't. That's why you've been walking bowlegged. The soreness will go away in a while. However, that's one of the side effects of a boy having sex with a man."

"Okay, if I'm not a virgin any longer, then what am I now?" Grant asked curiously.

"Hm… well, what we did in the bath was something very special," I answered awkwardly. "I put my penis inside you…. and now you know what happens between two guys, and… well I guess you aren't an innocent little boy any longer. So, I'd say you were sexually experienced."

He grinned at me. "And you put the stuff that makes babies inside me as well," he said gleefully.

"That too," I agreed.

"Is that why I'm not a virgin any more?"

"Hm… in a way I guess. It's mostly because my penis was inside your butt." I ruffled his hair playfully. "The sperm is a small but very important part of it."

"It's fun not being a virgin," Grant said.

His comment took me by surprise. "Why do you say that?"

"Because."

"Because isn't an answer. You ought to know that by now," I chided.

Grant smiled shyly, unable or unwilling to say more. I had a sudden and very unsettling thought that he would have said 'okay' had I suggested doing it again.

"Well, it's getting late," I said after a few moments of silence. "I think it's time you were in bed."

"Awww," he groaned. "Please, can't I stay up for a bit longer. I can sleep in tomorrow."

"No! Bedtime is right now. It's already ten-thirty."

"Can I sleep in your bed?"

It was the one question I had been hoping he would not ask. Part of me wanted to say yes. However, I knew that I could not take the risk. After what had happened earlier, I could no longer trust myself. If given the slightest chance, I would do the same thing again. I sighed, bending to common sense and self-imposed abstinence. Whenever Sue was away on business, it was usual for Grant to sleep in my bed. Not that I slept with my wife because we had not shared the same bed for more than a year. Her displeasure aside, it did not seem right to have him there when she was home. He was a good bed companion. He was soft and warm and he cuddled close. Sometimes it was all I could do to keep my hands to myself.

"No!" I answered awkwardly. "Not tonight, Grant. I'm too sleepy."

"Okay!"

Saturday, December 25, 1999

"Hi Dad! Merry Christmas!"

"Hi yourself. Merry Christmas," I answered sluggishly.

"What are you doing?"

"Huh! Oh! Nothing! Just stretching," I lied self-consciously, quickly taking my hand away.

Grant was lying in the bed next to me, his eyes wide open as wriggled closer. He grinned.

"It got cold during the night so I got into bed with you."

"Oh!"

"You were smiling while you were still asleep."

"Was I?"

"Uh huh! I think you were dreaming."

He wriggled even closer and I felt his hot bare feet against my legs. Without the slightest trace of peach-fuzz hair, his skin felt very soft. I reached over his side and pulled him bodily towards me so that we were 'spooned' together. His little butt pressed firmly against my erection so that it fitted into the gap between his bare cheeks. It was only then that I realized that neither of us had anything on under the blankets. Unlike me, Grant had gone to bed in a tee-shirt. We were both naked.

"You feel good," Grant murmured.

"So do you," I returned, giving him a loving hug.

"I can feel your dick, Dad. It's stiff."

"Sorry."

"It's poking in my butt."

"Pretty disgusting huh? Sorry!" I said apologetically. I started to move back from him, but Grant squirmed against me, maintaining the intimate contact with my erect penis.

"I don't mind."

"Maybe I do, Grant," I said gently.

"You were playing with him, weren't you?" Grant giggled. He moved closer until he felt my engorged penis rubbing against his small buttocks. "That's why he's so big, isn't it?"

"Ah, hmm… I guess it is sort of," I answered awkwardly. "Guys often get hard-ons in the morning."

"Mine gets like that too in the morning," Grant admitted with innocent glee. "Only he's not as big as yours, of course," he added.

"Well, you're still a little boy. You'd look pretty funny if you had one as big as mine."

"I guess," he said tentatively. He grinned impudently.

"Mine's way bigger than Brandon's, but it's still really tiny compared to yours. I wouldn't mind having one as big as yours."

I laughed. "Well you probably will. Only you'll have to give it a few more years yet. Once you start puberty it'll start getting bigger. What happened to the tee-shirt you went to bed in? I didn't know you were turning into a little nudist," I teased.

Grant smirked. "It got wet so I took it off."

"It got wet," I repeated with surprise. "You wet the bed? You haven't done that for years."

He shook his head. "Don't be a dick-head, Dad. Of course I didn't. It was you who got it wet!" he replied pointedly.

I looked at him quizzically. "I did?"

"The baby stuff you put inside me, I guess it leaked out while I was asleep."

"Oh!"

"You must have put a lot of it inside me," Grant said accusingly. I smirked. "I guess I must have."

"It felt yucky."

"I can imagine. I saw some leaking out while you were decorating the tree. I'm sorry!"

"I don't mind. It's just kind of messy, that's all."

"Well, anyway," I added, lifting back the blankets, "I guess it's time to get up."

He sat up quickly for a better look. As he did so, the blankets fell further away, exposing his genitals to my view. It was impossible not to look. Like me, he made a visual comparison of our sex organs. My son's penis was also erect. It was small, but what it lacked in size it made up for in stiffness. "Do you really think mine will be as big as yours when I'm older?" he asked curiously.

"Maybe," I said absently. "It's pretty cute the way it is. There's no rush. I'm glad you still have a few more years yet before it starts to grow. Right now, it's perfect. Anyway I think I like small ones more than big ones."

Grant shrugged with suddenly diminished interest. He quickly lost interest in anything that was even a few weeks away. With a shy smile, he reached out. I felt his hot small hand grasp my penis. He tugged gently, squeezing with his fingers. It was enough to make me gasp with pleasure. He moved his hand up and down slightly. The sensations were overpowering. His hand was soft, deliberately sliding across my skin rather than moving the skin against the shaft of my penis. It was calculated, intense, and so gentle that it exacted the most exquisite feelings. I felt like I would climax within seconds if he did not stop.

"I don't think you should be doing this, Grant. We better get up," I said awkwardly.

He regarded me uncertainly. "Why? Is it wrong?"

"Ah, yes. In a way," I said without confidence. "Some people would say so."

Grant tilted his head to the side and was thoughtful for a few seconds. "But during the summer, you said it was okay if Brandon and I did it. Is it because you're a grown up?"

"Yes, that and because you're my son. I don't think you should be doing it, that's all."

"Oh! I'm sorry."

I smiled and shrugged. "There's nothing to be sorry about. Come on, let's get a fire going and have some breakfast," I said, pulling my dressing gown over my shoulders.

I was not about to tell him that I thought he was incredibly beautiful even when he was pouting. Neither would I tell him that it was all I could do to stop what was happening. It took all my mental strength to deny the urge inside me and get out of bed. What I wanted to do to him was very frightening.

As I went into the living room to get the fire started again, Grant headed of to his bedroom to get dressed. There was no question in my mind that Grant was acting like I had rejected him, because I had. He was more than bright enough to figure out how to get back at me by himself. It was not a matter of sulking, it went far beyond that. Not only was he was giving me the 'silent' treatment, he averted his eyes whenever I happened to look at him. That in itself was disturbing if only because I was worried about the reason why he had touched my penis. Was he ashamed? Was he angry that I had stopped him? No matter what way I considered what had happened, I was left with a single conclusion that was necessarily tainted by my earlier experience in the bathroom. Grant was trying to get me sexually aroused. Equally as worrisome was the fact that I had stopped him when I wanted him to go on almost more than I could stand it. His juvenile attempt at seduction had nearly worked, would have worked if I had stayed in bed for a minute longer. My mind churned on the inevitable result. 'I should have fucked him', I said to myself.

I started to prepare my morning coffee in silence. After a minute, when the beans were ground and the first water began to trickle out, I started to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Grant demanded petulantly.

"We are!"

"How?"

I grinned. I wanted to say that he possessed a unique skill, an ability that even his mother did not have. After only a few slow strokes on my penis he had been only moments away from producing an orgasm in an adult. Quickly I tried to change the subject.

"Why are you sulking?"

"I'm not sulking!" he retorted indignantly. "I'm just not in a good mood."

"Well, I am. It's Christmas, in case you've forgotten."

"So! I don't care," he grumped moodily.

"Humbug, huh?"

"Something like that."

"What do you want for breakfast? You can have anything you want. Scrambled eggs, omelette, waffles, you name it," I offered.

I almost said 'sausage and two eggs, but I stopped myself in time. The reference to that special part of his anatomy was a long standing joke between us. It was usually accompanied by several minutes of wrestling together while I pretended to bite his penis and testicles off. Occasionally I got my mouth on one morsel or the other, sometimes even both at the same time, but never for very long. I always managed to retain enough control to break off the contact before taking a bite. The interesting thing was that in all the times we had done wrestled, he had never pushed me away.

Grant smiled slightly, his resistance breaking down as his bad temper disintegrated.

"Something special, okay. But only if I get to help."

"It's a deal. Now what do we cook?" I answered. I stepped back from the sink and held my arms out to him. He regarded me with a shy reluctance that was out of character.

"Sausage and eggs?" he mouthed, with a voice that was barely loud enough to travel across the room.

"In your dreams," I laughed. "And my dreams too."

A moment later Grant was in my embrace, his own thin arms wrapped around my waist as he buried his head in my chest, his belly pressed into my groin. After a while we parted. We went through a number of favorites from previous breakfast extravaganzas. We were hungry and we both wanted to cook something tasty. We settled on crepes that contained ham, three types of cheese, avocado, and tomato. Half an hour later, with two plates loaded with english muffins and crepes, we moved to the dining room. I placed another log on the fire and sat down to enjoy Christmas breakfast.

"I think you have one more present to open. It's from Santa, I believe," I said when both of our plates were emptied. "Now Dad! We both know there's no Santa Claus," Grant said with exasperation. He smiled, put down his glass of milk, and looked at me. "But I'll believe in him if he keeps bringing me presents. So where is it?"

"You have to close your eyes and count to sixty very slowly. Absolutely no peeking, Grant."

He started to count. "One mississippi, two mississippi, three…."

By the time he reached twenty, I was back in the room, with my arms full. Any further I would have had to take a rest. Carefully I placed the badly wrapped present on the floor next to him.

"Okay, Grant. Santa's gone now so you can open your eyes," I laughed.

He grinned the instant he saw what was lying on the floor next to him. There was no way of hiding its shape, beyond putting it in a large box. "It'sasaddle," he gushed. "It'sasaddle!Youboughtmeasaddle."

"A saddle? No! It's not a saddle. I think it's a leather-covered computer that fell out of the sleigh and got a bit banged up on the way down the chimney," I laughed.

I watched him tear the paper away from the orange-brown leather. It was the first time I had seen the saddle other than as a picture on my computer. Gary Bowman had taken delivery of the mail-order saddle for me, even attempted to wrap it up. It was western-style and made in Brackettville, Texas, fully hand tooled with a design of oak and acorn leaves and silver trim. It was sized for a boy with a 12 inch [30 cm] suede seat. Gary had taken the time to attach the stirrups, although they were still wrapped in soft white foam. Draped over the saddle was a set of reins and a matching headstall.

"It's beautiful. Is it really mine?"

I nodded. "Yes, it's really yours. You'll have to learn how to take care of it though."

"I will. I'll polish it every day. I promise. It's the nicest thing I have in the whole world," he bubbled effusively. His fingers stroked across the leather and suede, following the contour of the seat. "It's beautiful."

"Once a week will be enough," I said with amusement. "I'm really glad you like it."

There was also a cream-colored palomino pony that Grant had yet to see. It was a three-year-old thirteen-hand gelding that had been in a stall in Gary's barn for the last two weeks. Of course, where there was a saddle, there had to be a horse. Slowly, the boy began to realize that there was even more to his present. His face broke into a broad grin. Grant climbed onto me, pushing me back into the cushions and giggling with happiness.

"You got me a horse too, didn't you?" he demanded. "Didn't you, Dad? You did, didn't you? Please say yes. Please?" he implored. "There's no reason to buy a saddle if there's no horse. I want a horse so bad. You know I want a horse. You said you'd buy me one when I was older."

I growled playfully, brushing my hand through his tousled hair and then kissing him on the top of his head. "I thought we'd buy the horse next Christmas," I teased.

"What do I do with the saddle until then?" he laughed, playing along.

"Hm, well we can put it on the fence and you can practice using it."

Grant hesitated for a few seconds, and then he started grinning again. "Okay, where is he?"

I shrugged. "Geez, Grant, I forgot where I put him. I wonder where he is."

He jumped up, indignantly putting his hands on his narrow hips. "Okay, enough funny stuff! I've wanted a horse for ever and ever and you and mom kept on promising 'one day when I'm older'. I want to see him, NOW!"

"Don't you think you're acting like a spoiled brat?" I said.

Grant stopped. He breathed out and for a few seconds, pouted silently. He bit his bottom lip thoughtfully. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be… It's just that I've dreamed about having my own horse for so long. You promised I'd get one. Please?" he implored. "I just want to see him."

"When we've cleaned up the stuff from breakfast," I said patiently, "and it's a bit warmer, we'll go over to Brandon's place so you can see him."

"Can I ride him?" Grant asked happily.

"There's a foot [30 cm] of snow outside," I replied. "What do you think?"

"Aw! I guess not. He'd get cold. But… Damn! A horse of my own!"

I smiled, not bothering to give the disappointed boy the long lecture on using appropriate language that his mother would have insisted on. Instead I accepted that Grant had expressed his frustration in the same way as most boys his age. He was excited, and there was no holding him back when he was like that. He carried out the plates and cups, rinsing them thoroughly under the hot water before setting them aside. I heard the rattle of cutlery, the banging of the frying pan, the opening and losing of cupboard doors and drawers. About five minutes passed before Grant reappeared in the doorway.

"It's all cleaned up! Are you ready to go?"

"That must be a record, even for you," I laughed. "Is it really cleaned up properly?"

Grant nodded. he came over, grabbed my hand and dragged me into the kitchen behind him. Admittedly, the counter had not been wiped off properly, and he had left a few things out, but he had done his best. I laughed and gave in.

"Okay. Go put on some jeans and a heavy sweater. You can't go out dressed like that," I said, gesturing at his fleecy tracksuit.

He darted off, leaving me to put away the rest of the things before I went to get changed myself. Gary expected us to arrive after breakfast, and nine-thirty was after breakfast, wasn't it?

The temperature hovered in the low forties [c5°C] when we left the warmth of the cabin. Already there was some signs of snow beginning to melt, but at that rate it would be several days before the roads were in a condition that made it safe enough for Brandon and his mother to come up. He was supposed to spend the last half of the week with us. The interesting thing, I realized, as we plodded our way out to the Jeep, was that Grant had not mentioned Brandon one time. I wondered whether the boys had had a fight before we left.

Considering that there was more than a foot [30 cm] of snow in some places, the Jeep handled the roads very nicely. It was in four-wheel-drive the entire way to Gary's farm, of course, and there were some stretches where the night chill had left the roads covered with a glistening sheet of ice above the snow. Still, it was a fairy-tale land, snow-covered trees and fences. Gary's house and barns were made even more picturesque by white roofs. I parked close to the house, and Gary, who had watched my slow crawl up the hill, came out to greet us. His breath was fogged as he stomped across the virgin snow, leaving deep footprints.

"Mornin' guys," he puffed. "Merry Christmas!" He held out his hand and Grant and I shook, exchanging our own Christmas greetings.

"Hi Gary," I replied.

"Brandon said to say merry Christmas, too, to both of you," Gary said. "Reckon we got us some Christmas snow, Grant."

Grant grinned back at him and nodded. It was impossible not to like Gary Bowman, particularly so given that he was Brandon's father.

"Looks like you got a saddle in the back of that Jeep?"

"Yes sir," Grant beamed.

"Well, I got a pony in the barn. I wonder if it'll fit him."

Gary winked at me. He was so good with boys that it made me slightly uncomfortable to have him around Grant when I wasn't there. Not for the first time did I catch myself wondering whether Gary and I had more in common than sharing a fence and having ten-year-old sons who were best friends. I watched Grant run through the snow to the car. Even in the snow, he was remarkably agile. He opened the rear hatch and struggled back to us with his arms full of saddle. With a weight of nearly thirty pounds [14 kg], it was quite heavy for him.

Gary and I followed Grant as he led the way across to the barn. He was inside the barn door and out of sight before we were halfway there.

Gary chuckled. "Nothing quite like the thrill a boy gets when he gets his first horse. Hell, it's probably better than losing his virginity."

"I don't know about that," I laughed. "It probably depends on who he loses it with."

"Reckon that's true enough. I've seen a lot of women over the years I'd never do it with, even if you paid me. That's some horse he's got. A fine animal! Palominos must be the prettiest horses around. A beautiful creature like your boy deserves a good-looking horse like that."

Although it was not the first time that Gary had been complimentary about Grant's good looks, my mouth still dropped open. Perhaps he had merely confused beautiful with good-looking. Perhaps he had meant to say it exactly the way it came out. I shuddered involuntarily. Perhaps there was a reason why Gary Bowman was no longer married. Indeed, thinking back, Gary had told me very little about Brandon's mother, other than that the marriage had not worked out. He had never told me what caused them to break up.

"I'm a bit worried," I said after a few seconds. "Thirteen hands is still a big horse for him. I'm afraid Grant won't be strong enough to control it."

"It's not a matter of strength. That boy of yours may be young, but he's a natural rider. He's plenty smart enough to get that pony under control. And he's got the balls to take advantage of him."

Gary opened the barn door and I followed him into the gloom. It was a different world inside. The equine smell was strong but not unpleasant. The smell of hay added a scent to the air that was familiar. Strangely, I remembered a Christmas five years earlier when I had taken Grant to see a manger-scene at the local zoo. Even then he loved horses. There was enough light to see Grant in the fourth stall on the right. he was crooning to his pony, making friends with hugs and soft-spoken words. Every few seconds, Grant would kiss the horse on the neck and nuzzle his ears. The horse seemed oblivious.

"Wouldn't mind some of that myself," Gary joked.

I looked at him sharply. Gary smiled.

"I get a bit lonely with Brandon gone to his grandparents for the holidays. It's just me and the horses," he added. "I guess I need to find a woman who'll put up with me."

"Yeah, right," I laughed. "How about the Daly woman?"

"Jesus! What a way to go. She's one of the women I was talking about a minute ago. You couldn't pay me enough. She'd nag a man dang near to death. That's gotta be how her last husband died."

"I hear she's a good cook," I joked.

"So is Brandon." He winked. "Who needs a woman when there's a boy like Brandon in the kitchen. I hear Grant's pretty good with a skillet too."

I smiled as we came up beside the stall where Grant was administering affection to his pony. With his arms still locked around the horse's neck as if he was afraid that someone would take him away, he turned towards me.

"He's really beautiful, Dad. He's the bestest horse ever. I love him so much."

I smiled back at him. "Merry Christmas, Grant. I'm glad you like him. What are you going to call him?"

"Um… I don't know. Does he have a name already?"

"Let's see, they did tell me what it was. Wasn't it Moonraker or something like that, Gary?"

"Yeah, that was it. Sounds a bit like the name of a space ship to me," Gary laughed. "Moonraker?" Grant said pensively. After a few seconds, he smiled. "I like it. It suits him, too."

"Because he's the color of the moon?" I suggested.

"Not when it's silver, but when it's yellow and you see it over the pond," Grant said. "Moonraker? Hm… Yes, it suits him."

"I think it was the title of a James Bond movie," I suggested.

"Oh, okay! I'll leave him as Moonraker. Can I put the saddle on him in here, Dad?"

I grinned back at him proudly. "I think you better ask Mr. Bowman."

"Can I? Please, Mr. Bowman?" Grant asked excitedly.

"I don't see why not," Gary chuckled. "But no more calling me Mr. Bowman, from now on. I've known you since you were this high," he added, holding his hand disturbingly close to his groin. "If Brandon can call your dad, Chris, I don't see why you can't call me Gary?"

Grant grinned back at him. He was radiant with happiness. He lifted the saddle up as high as he could. Even then, it was all he could do to get it over the horse's back. He had to stand on tip toes to position it on the pony's withers. It was then, with his back to me, with his arms full of saddle, with his small buttocks deliciously defined under his tight blue jeans, that the thought came to me. He was incredibly sexy, there was simply no other way of describing him. The denim covered him, but it also revealed his boy's body in a way that only denim can. I saw the curved depression of his cleft, accentuated by his lean legs and narrow hips. I immediately recognized the thrill I felt as lust, yet I could not look away. I feasted my eyes on his pert bottom with an enjoyment of knowing what lay underneath. The promise I had made myself only hours earlier, suddenly seemed very far away.

With his pony saddled, Grant opened the gate and led him out. I gave him a leg up by locking both hands together and lifting him up and into the saddle. The stirrups needed to be shorter, and the cinch strap could have been a hole or two tighter, but he looked like he belonged in the saddle. He was a perfect little cow-boy. Grant grinned from ear to ear.

"You look real good," I said with more admiration than the situation demanded.

"Darned if that's one boy who don't look more beautiful than his pony," Gary agreed with a grin.

Grant giggled, his usual infectious giggle that was music to my ears. gently he nudged the pony with his heels. Moonraker started to walk down the length of the barn.

Gary smiled. "He's a cutie, that one," he said quietly.

"The boy or the horse?" I asked cynically. I knew what he was going to say before he said it.

"The boy, of course."

I regarded Gary without saying anything. He smiled, meeting my eyes with unnerving silence. I had a strange feeling that he knew my feelings for Grant were not the fatherly feelings that I was supposed to have. The funny thing was that I sensed that he felt the same way. "Brandon and Grant are really close," Gary acknowledged as Grant made his pony turn and begin the trip back to where we were standing. "Very close," he added with emphasis.

"I guess they are," I agreed uncertainly.

He nodded. "It's good for boy like Brandon to have a friend like Gee-Tee. He's very lucky."

It was the first time that I had heard Gary use a familiar form of my son's name.

"So is Grant," I replied dryly. "He couldn't have a better friend."

Grant drew abreast of us, still grinning from ear to ear. I don't think I had ever seen him so happy. I turned back to Gary, momentarily shocked at the thought that had gone racing through my mind. I had actually wondered whether it hurt Grant to sit in the saddle given what I had done to him in the bath-tub.

"You know, Chris, when two boys are as close as our two, they are lucky. There's no other word for it," Gary said thoughtfully.

"I couldn't agree more."

"I remember when I was Brandon's age. My best friend was a kid by the name of Johnny Frean. He was good-looking, not in Grant's league of course, but still cute. I did things with him, that… well if my parents had known they probably would have killed me and him both."

"Boys will be boys," I said vaguely. "I was probably pretty much the same way. Most boys go through a stage where they're more interested in boys than girls. I think it's normal. In fact I think that's why I give Grant a lot more slack than most father's would."

Gary smiled. "Man, when I remember what I used to do with John I think it was a bit more than just a stage I was going through. I was lucky I didn't get caught. I don't think my father would have been as understanding as you are. I remember one time…" He smiled. "Well, I better not go into that."

"Go on," I laughed. "You can tell me. I probably did more or less the same things with my best friend, maybe worse."

Gary laughed, stepping back out of the way so that Grant did not have to go between us and the adjacent stall.

"Well, there was one time… you've got to remember now Chris, that I was only about ten or eleven. It was the hottest damned summer in years. I didn't know that much about anything, and sex? I was completely innocent. I knew how animals did it, but it never dawned on me that people could do the same thing. God only knows how anything managed to happen given how dumb I was. I was a real innocent."

"That sounds exactly like me."

"Well, like I said, John and I were best friends and we went camping together, just overnight and never that far from where we lived, but far enough that we could pretend we were in the wilderness and a long way from anyone. After lunch it was so hot we got our clothes off and skinny-dipped. Of course we did that all the time in summer, but this day, well it was different. Maybe it was the heat. We swam at a place about a mile down the creek. Right where your place is now. You know where the big pool is?"

"Brandon and Grant swim there all the time," I replied. Gary raised an eyebrow with an unspoken question. I smiled. "And they go skinny dipping too. I hope that's okay?"

"Okay? Of course it's okay. Jesus, I'd be surprised if they didn't do it, as close as those two boys are. So, there we were, John and I. We were stark naked and it started to rain. Man, it poured. By the time we were out of the water our clothes were soaked. There didn't seem to be any point in putting them on, so we got into the tent naked."

I smiled knowingly. "And boys will be boys," I prompted.

Gary nodded. "Exactly. Things kind of got out of hand after a while. I didn't know anything could feel that good. It wasn't the first time I had a hard-on but it sure was the stiffest."

"Better than a woman?" I teased.

"I wouldn't go that far, but when you're ten or eleven you've got as much chance of getting some pussy as flying to the moon. With John, well… I guess I wasn't a virgin anymore," Gary laughed.

He looked at me nonchalantly, as if the concept of a boy losing his virginity to another boy was nothing to be surprised about. I took a quick breath and shrugged to show that I was not perturbed.

"We did it lots of times after that needless to say. I don't think any of them were as good as the first time. Sometimes I think it changed me forever."

"It must have been something to see. Two horny boys in a tent together and the rain pouring down," I said softly as Grant and his pony came past me again.

"It was. I'm quite sure you're right when you said most boys go through the same thing. It's like a rite of passage, getting it off with your best friend. Did you? It sounds to me like you played around a bit."

I smiled, reminiscing about a slim brown-haired boy who I once believed I was in love with. Adam Render. He was twelve years old and very good looking. For nearly eight months we sucked each other's penises every afternoon on the way home from school. His garage, or mine, it made no difference. We would take turns dropping our jeans or shorts while the other would kneel down and perform oral sex until the inevitable ejaculation occurred. After a while, we stopped backing off and started swallowing. And then, without any warning Adam discovered girls and I was discarded.

I sighed. "Yeah, I guess I sucked my share of boy-dick," I admitted wistfully. Like me, Adam was circumcised. His penis was a fraction under four inches [10 cm] and he was far enough into puberty that there was something to get out. He was still small enough that I could fit all of in my mouth without difficulty. After the first few times, I even liked the taste. By the end of the first week, I longed to feel his jerking member embedded in my mouth, using my tongue to embrace his thrusting penis, slurping on the slippery tasty fluid, absorbed by the sheer naughtiness of what we did as much as captivated by the pleasure of it. When he spurted into the back of my mouth I felt strangely happy. I was content, as if there was no higher pleasure.

Gary regarded me curiously. "You think what you did then is bad now?"

"Bad? No, not really. Mostly I think it's just a stage that boys go through when they're entering puberty. Like I said, it's probably fairly normal and not a problem unless people make a big deal out of it."

"For a long while I was worried it made me gay," Gary confided. "You know, back then, maybe I was scared I was going to be gay. A lot of the kids I knew were playing around with other boys, but I was different. I couldn't get enough cock. Later on, maybe when I was fifteen or sixteen, I lost interest in boys my own age."

"Same here," I said vaguely.

Gary shrugged. "So, do you think our boys are doing it?"

His question took me completely by surprise, although it was entirely to be expected under the circumstances. Suddenly I had a terrible sinking feeling that Brandon had told his father everything that had happened at the end of the summer!

"I expect so," I said awkwardly. After a moment's hesitation I added with as much disinterest as I could muster, "I don't think it would bother me if they did. It's not something I would be worried about."

Gary smiled, his eyes following Grant attentively as he made the turn at the far end of the barn.

"You want to know something, Chris? Frankly, I'd like to think I was open-minded enough to encourage them to do it. My best memories are when I was growing up. I'll never forget the nights I spent with my best buddy in our tent."

I smiled, imagining what had happened between Gary and his friend. He had said that he lost his virginity with John. When you got right down to it, there only one way for a boy to lose his virginity with another boy. Had Grant and Brandon done something besides having oral sex? I had always wondered about doing that other intimate act with Adam. Once I had heard the jokes about 'queers' it did not take me very long to figure out that a penis would probably fit inside an anus. I was willing to try it. However, while Adam was very willing to have his penis in my mouth, he was somewhat reluctant to suck mine. That was the worst we ever did, leaving no question in my mind that he would reject me if I suggested doing something else. I was perfectly happy to offer my own behind to get him interested in the idea, but the opportunity never arose. Even in my relative innocence I realized that anal sex was a little 'extreme'. It was the one despised thing that other boys made fun of and proved a person to be 'gay'? It was for that reason that I resisted temptation. However, every time Adam Render wore tight jeans or a swimming costume, or I saw his firm little behind unclothed, I fantasized about his cheeks squeezing my penis as I pushed into him.

"Well," I mused, feeling something akin to relief, "I guess most boys get up to similar tricks. I wouldn't be surprised if our two boys did play around a bit. Brandon's a great kid," I added.

"If your boy wants to stick it in Brandon, I'm all for it," Gary chuckled.

My eyes opened wide in disbelief. "Uh, um… well I'm not sure I'd want them to go that far," I muttered self-consciously.

"Why not?"

"What? Why not? God, I don't know. It's just… well they're still so young and… that stuff… anal sex and all, is so…"

Gary laughed again. "So grown up, or do you mean gay? Hell, John and I used to do it all the time. I bet you tried the back door once or twice with your friend too, didn't you?"

I swallowed. "Um…"

"Well, did you?"

"IT's not something I want to talk about," I mumbled self-consciously. I could not tell, not after all the years I had kept my unsatisfied desire secret.

Gary winked at Grant as he rode up to us again on his umpteenth lap of the barn.

"Lookin' good. That's one gorgeous creature. God would be proud," he said teasingly.

Again I was uncertain whether Gary was referring to the pony or my son. The possibility that he was flirting with my son was very unsettling. Grant swung the pony around again with barely the slightest pressure on the reins. He grinned triumphantly.

"I reckon you could ride that pony all day, Grant," I laughed. "You'll be walking bowlegged from now on."

Grant gave me a very strange look, strange until I remembered what had happened less than twenty-four hours earlier. He had walked bow-legged for quite a long time, at least from when he got out of the bath tub until he sat down to eat dinner.

"I don't mind," he said. "He's a beautiful horse, Dad. Isn't he awesome, Gary?"

"I'm glad you like him. He suits you, Grant," Gary answered pointedly.

However, that Grant had called Gary by his first name had not gone unnoticed. Gary glanced at me after a moment, meeting my eyes and silently challenging me to say something about it. Given what we had been talking about it was not surprising that there was a gnawing unease in the pit of my stomach. They were close. Even Brandon did not call me by my first name in front of his father. The closest he came was calling me "Grant's Dad".

After a watching Grant for a few more laps of the barn, I walked back to the house with Gary. There was still a half a pot of coffee left. Gary filled some mugs and sat down at the kitchen table, stretching his legs out like me to warm them before the old cast iron stove. We sat in silence for nearly a minute. I wondered what Gary was thinking about. I certainly knew what I wanted to talk about.

"You heard from Sue over the holidays?" Gary asked dryly.

I looked up quickly. "Sue? Not yet! She was supposed to call last night, but she didn't. I was wondering whether the phone lines were down with the snow."

"They're not! At least they were working when Brandon called me last night. I guess it was about nine p.m. He was on the phone for nearly an hour. His mother will be darned near ready to kill him when she sees the bill."

"She can't be that bad," I commented without enthusiasm.

"She can. She's worse. God only knows how I was dumb enough to marry her. The only good thing that came out of my marriage to her was Brandon. I'd be personally happy if I never saw the woman again."

That bad?"

"Absolutely. Brandon, well he really doesn't understand what it was like for me. The woman is a real bitch. He only heard the fights we used to have. He used to cry himself to sleep most nights because we were too busy tearing each other's throats out to pay any attention to him."

"Poor kid!" I sighed.

Until that moment I had no idea that Brandon's home life had been so miserable before his parents' divorce. Sue and I had the occasional fight but we always made sure that Grant was not around when we argued. The problem with my marriage was that the fun had disappeared, if it had ever there. Our sex life had diminished to the level where we had separate beds. Increasingly, I was suspicious that Sue was looking outside the marriage for something that I was either not providing or not able to provide for her. I wondered how much longer it was going last. If anything, the sudden trip to Hawaii with her boss was a confirmation of my suspicions.

"Anyway, that's all in the past now," Gary commented without bitterness. "We're both better off."

"That's good," I said. "I imagine it was pretty hard on Brandon."

"It was for a while. It got better quickly when she moved out. Damned hard! Did you ever wonder whether it was worth the hassle?"

"Whether what was?"

"Marriage. Except for Brandon, it was a waste of seven years of my life."

I smiled, "Well, there's always the sex."

"Not even the sex was worth the effort. I would have been better off with my hand," Gary laughed. "My dick would have been sore, but I wouldn't have been arguing just about every night. Now I have a lot more fun jerking off with a few magazines from Denmark."

I shrugged, wondering what sort of magazines came from Denmark and suddenly understanding why I was more disenchanted with my marriage than I had ever been. I had also taken to masturbation to get relief. My fantasies were not about her. More often than not they were about Adam. Things had been getting worse between my wife and me over the last year, but I always managed to forget just how bad it was. It was going to end, I had no doubt of it. It seemed like the end was getting closer and closer every day. I wondered whether Sue's suddenly announced Christmas trip to Hawaii was the last straw. Was the trip necessary for her job? She said it was and I wanted to believe her. The timing was terrible, however her career was very important to her. Listening to Gary, I began to think about divorce as being something I should seriously think about. However, I had decided one thing a long while ago. If we were going to get a divorce, Grant would never suffer from not having me around. If I didn't get custody, I would take as much access as the judge could give me. Understanding the impact of divorce on children, I also wanted Grant to know that divorce was not my idea. For his sake, his mother would have to take the first step.

"Is Grant taking it pretty bad? What with his mom being away for Christmas and then not calling to wish him merry Christmas?" Gary persisted.

"Not really. She'll probably call later this afternoon. He's a patient kid. He understands a lot more than he lets on. Why do you ask?"

"No reason. It just seemed… like he was really… well he just seemed a bit quieter this morning than usual, that's all."

I could not help but look guilty. I knew why he was quiet. A boy does not lose his virginity and start a homosexual relationship with his father without being affected by it. I took a quick breath and pretended nothing was wrong.

"Are we talking about my Grant being quieter than normal. I don't think he's ever been quiet during his entire life. If he was quiet, I think I would have noticed. I don't think I've seen him this excited, at least not since we were up here for the summer."

Despite my conviction, I glanced at Gary surreptitiously. He was always very observant, particularly with regard to people. Had he noticed something?

"He just struck me as being a tad subdued, that's all."

"Subdued how?" I asked after a few seconds.

"Well, for one thing he's taken to giving me a high-five every time I see him, but today… Maybe he was just too excited." Gary grinned.

"I think that's probably it," I replied.

"I've got to say that I have really taken to him. I was very glad when he started spending every minute of the day with Brandon. This last summer I really started thinking of him as a second son."

I shuddered involuntarily. I had an unpleasant feeling that Gary intended for me to feel uncomfortable. And I did feel uncomfortable. There was a squeamish sensation in my stomach. It came from not knowing what happened to bring them into a relationship that made Gary consider Grant as his second son and allowed Grant call him by his first name in front of me. What was even more upsetting was that I now realized that something had happened between them, something that Grant had not mentioned to me. However, upon reflection, the same was true for me. Brandon was also like a son to me.

"Brandon too," I said absently.

That produced a smile from Gary. It was a knowing smile, though what he knew escaped me. It was as if he sensed that I loved Brandon. My discomfort did not go away. We sat quietly, toasting our held-out hands in the radiated heat from the stove. Minutes ticked past.

"You ever do it with anyone besides someone your own age, I mean when you were a boy?" Gary asked without warning.

I swallowed a mouthful of coffee. I knew what he was asking. It wasn't enough that I had enjoyed a sexual relationship with another boy. It seemed that Gary was prying further into my life than he had reason to. I sat there sullenly, trying to escape the memory that suddenly filled my head.

"I used to do it with John's father," Gary said slowly.

I glanced at him. He stood up, walking to the stove to get more coffee from the pot. He filled his cup and then added more to mine. He smiled and nodded thoughtfully.

"I did, you know. It seems like so long ago, but I still remember exactly what happened the first time we did it. I was only eleven when I had sex with my best friend's father," he chuckled. "I was one horny little kid at the time. I guess I knew what I liked, even then."

I was shocked, disbelieving, awed, excited.

"What did you do?" I asked.

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. There was no way that I could conceal my curiosity.

"The better question is what didn't I do with him?" Gary admitted with a sly grin. "There were a lot of opportunities back then. The Hendersons used to have farm next to ours. Your place was part of what used to be the Henderson farm, before they sold out. The recession in the early nineties just about killed farming in these parts. In fact, I was going to buy the land that you've got, and not only because it's top-grade farmland for the most part. I had some great times down by the pond with John and his dad. However, it didn't make a lot of sense unless I take up full-time farming."

"You'd give up teaching?"

Gary nodded slightly. "I enjoy teaching, I really do. For the last few months I've given a lot of thought about home schooling Brandon and farming full time. The only problem with buying the Henderson place was that the bankers were asking way too much."

I smiled. Gary always enjoyed telling me that we had paid too much for the land. I drank some more coffee and barely avoided having some of it spilled down my shirt when Gary continued.

"My ass might have been sore afterwards, but it was the best sex I ever had."

I could not contain myself. The words spilled out of me, even though I suspected I knew the answer to my questions.

"You did that? You and John right? Or you and John's father?"

"Both! Most times it was all three of us. Pretty kinky huh?"

Gary's answer was not what I expected at all. I stumbled when I tried to respond.

"Yeah, a bit."

"I suppose a person might think something like that," Gary laughed. "But like I said, it was a long while ago and I was a horny little kid. I couldn't get enough back then."

He looked at me curiously. I wanted to say something. Instead I swallowed nervously. Was he trying to tell me that he knew I had sex with Grant? The very idea send a cold chill down my spine. "Sometimes I wonder if Brandon isn't the same way."

I continued to return his look in silence. I was not surprised. Indeed, the suggestion held a certain attraction for me. Prior to the last summer I had not thought of Brandon as a sexual boy. However, during the summer I realized that he was very sexual.

Unlike Grant, Brandon exuded an undeniable something that left a disturbing question about what he was thinking. How many times during the summer had I observed him looking at me with his searching eyes? When I did acknowledge that I knew I was the object of his attention, his look changed immediately. At first it was uncertain and he quickly turned away once eye contact became established. However, by the time Grant and I departed it had become disquietingly arrogant, challenging me to be the first to break the unspoken bond between us. It seemed as if he was playing a game with me. The strange thing was that at the time, I had not considered his interest in me as anything more than a by-product of what was obviously an intimate relationship with Grant. I assumed it was part of his coming to terms with himself and how he felt.

"He certainly has the look for it. He's still a bit younger than I was but I don't think I'd mind he was sexually active with Grant."

I looked up quickly and put my thoughts aside. "Active?"

Gary winked. "What boy doesn't start getting active around puberty."

"With Grant?"

"It's harmless at that age," he replied confidently. "I'd be surprised if they weren't already playing around."

I nodded, remembering what I had said in Grant's bedroom one summer night. Had the boys been doing more than I thought. What had they done after I left the room?

"Probably," I ventured.

"Just probably?" Gary asked. "What boy doesn't suck his best friend off if he gets the opportunity? I don't have to ask to know you did that. I did it with John and his father all the time. I expect Brandon will do it too. Grant's the natural partner for him."

Just when I was about to respond to Gary's observation I caught the movement of his eyes towards the door. There was no opportunity to continue the conversation. We both turned around as the kitchen door swung open. Grant hurried inside, after stomping his feet to get the snow and ice from his shoes. His cheeks were flushed both from cold and unbridled excitement. His grin seemed to go from ear to ear.

It was time to go home and I found myself relishing the opportunity to be alone with him. As we struggled out to the car, my excitement grew quickly. We were alone together. He looked at me as soon as we got into the car and closed the doors. He smiled. There was no need for him to say anything. I could see love in his eyes. His appreciation of my Christmas present was boundless. I smiled back at him. He leaned forward, bringing his lips to mine. It was a momentary kiss, almost chaste, yet it was unlike any other kiss we had ever shared. It felt like a hand had reached into my chest and squeezed my heart. It was a small hand with a very tight grip, just like the small hand that had held my penis earlier in the morning. So far, it was a very Merry Christmas and the day was far from over.

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