Ganymede

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

[Part Two]

Noon, Christmas Day

"Last one in gets to bring in more firewood," he shouted.

I leaned over and tried to close the door that he had left wide open. My arm was about two feet [60 cm] too short. I loved him the way he was, although his exuberance was sometimes hard to appreciate.

I dutifully accepted my assignment of bringing in more wood for the fire before I finally took of my snow-encrusted boots and jacket. Grant was kneeling before a blazing fire, having re-ignited the flame from the embers. He swivelled around, grinning.

"What took you, old man?"

"Who are you calling old man?" I grumped tiredly. "I can whip your ass any time I want."

"Yeah? Like you did yesterday?" Grant taunted.

He guffawed gleefully, and I raised an eyebrow. It was impossible to determine whether his comment was a statement or a question, or whether it referred to sledding or what we had done in the bath. Either way it left me feeling slightly uncomfortable. I decided to ignore it.

"We'd better start getting dinner ready. Gary said he'd be here around four o'clock so we have to put the turkey in the oven right away."

"That's your job."

"My job? I thought you were going to help me."

"Me? I'm just a kid. My job is to sit around and watch you work. Oh, and to play Nintendo when I feel bored."

"You better get off that cute little ass of yours and give me a hand if you want to eat dinner," I warned.

Grant scrambled to his feet and followed me into the kitchen. That's not quite true. He darted in front of me as we went through the doorway. There was a flurry of activity as he opened the refrigerator door and began to extract items and carry them over to the table.

"Well? Come on old man. Give me a hand here," he chided with growing amusement. "I can't do everything by myself."

We set to, truly a team if ever there was one. While Grant tried to peel potatoes, a task that was performed largely by squaring off the ends of the potatoes, I worked on the turkey. I opened the plastic bag, removed the sundry items that turkey sellers insist in including inside the bird, and washed off various pieces of feather and flesh. It was amusing to think that the chest of the turkey, though still cold and rather clammy, felt not like a young boy's goose-pimpled butt. I patted it, then gave it a few playful slaps.

Grant grinned. "What are you doing?"

"Getting it ready."

"Yeah, but ready for what?" he laughed. "You going to beat it into submission or something?"

"That's for me to know. It takes real skill to get a turkey ready. The knowledge is passed down over many generations," I said in mock severity. "When you're ready to become a man, I'll probably teach you how to do it, Grant. However, it'll still take years before you have the skill to do it properly."

Grant giggled. "You're crazy, old man. It doesn't take any skill."

"And how do you know? You've never done it!"

"Geez. How hard can it be? You clean all the crappy stuff out of it and then you wash it. Then you take it in your hand and you stuff it full." He smirked, clearly appreciating what he was about to say next. Slowly, he added two words. "Of bread."

"Were that it so easy," I commented dryly.

Perhaps it was only my imagination, but again I chose to ignore the undertone. Was it possible that a boy who was only ten years old intended the words to mean what I wanted them to mean. He laughed as he pushed the potatoes and peelings, or should I say discarded chunks aside.

I grasped the turkeys legs and pulled them further apart to get at the rear opening.

"Despite what you might think, this is no laughing matter," I said seriously. "The slightest mistake and I could lose my hand in here."

With a surgeon's expertise, or a parody of that, I cautiously inserted my fingers. "Hm, I mused. It feels about right. No lumps."

Grant burst into hysterical laughter. "You're gross, Dad. That's the most disgusting thing I've ever seen."

"Yeah, right. Maybe it's time you started to learn how to do it, Gee-Tee. This might look disgusting bit it feels really great."

I winked at him, the kind of exaggerated wink that says a lot more than words can ever say. I could never have such a ribald conversation with his mother around.

"You're not sticking your fingers up its butt hole, you know."

"I'm not? Then what is this big hole doing back here then?"

"Well, it's not its asshole, that's for sure Dad," Grant answered indignantly, despite his grin.

"The poor thing just happens to have this huge hole back here so I can stuff it. Is that it? They breed them like this?"

He stood up and came over to stand beside me. "Gross," he repeated. "I don't know how you can do that. There is no way I'd put my hand up there."

"No way?" I glanced at him. I don't know why I said what I said next. "How about your dick then? It'd probably fit."

There was a momentary silence. We exchanged a look. He was bewildered, clearly surprised that I would say such a thing. He was lost for words. I smiled and winked.

"Just between you and me, it really does feel wonderful in here," I added slyly. I pulled my wet hand away from the turkey, bits of stuffing stuck to my fingers. "Are you sure you don't want to try it?"

Grant blushed as he backed away. For a few minutes we concentrated on our respective jobs. He looked up, regarding me silently for a long while before he spoke.

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"What does it feel like?"

"What does what feel like?"

"You know?"

"I do? I wish I did. Uh? Um… You mean having sex? What we did yesterday?"

Grant nodded slightly. "I told you how it felt for me so it's only fair you tell me."

"Haven't you done it with Brandon?"

"Done what?"

"Put your dick in his butt?" I teased. "I don't care if you do, by the way," I added quickly.

Grant's mouth dropped open. He swallowed, then nervously chewed his bottom lip. "That's not fair."

"Huh? What's not fair?" I asked.

"Asking me that." He thought for a second. "Would you want me to tell Brandon what we did yesterday?"

"That's different," I countered swiftly.

"Is it? How?"

"Um, well one thing it's different when you're both younger," I answered vaguely. "It's not against the law at your age for another thing, least if it is no one is going to send you to jail… and… well… you see… it's okay with me if you and Brandon do stuff," I muttered. "Kids do that sort of thing all the time at your age."

"Not that," Grant smirked.

"Really? I'm not that dumb," I chuckled. "So have you?"

Grant raised his eyebrows meaningfully. "That's none of your business," he chided. "If you want to know, you'll have to ask Brandon."

"Maybe I will," I laughed. "Then again, maybe I'll ask his Dad."

Grant glanced at me quickly, showing surprise. Then realizing that I was teasing him, he shrugged and walked back to where he had been sitting. He started peeling potatoes again, though from the size of the chunks he sliced off, his mind clearly was not on the task.

"Dad, what did it feel like for you?" he asked without looking up.

"What? Oh. Uh. Um, you really want to know?" I asked uncertainly. He nodded. "Okay. I don't know how to put this. Let's see… It's very hot. And of course it's tight. And it's absolutely incredible," I admitted without thinking further.

"Is it the same as doing it to a girl?" Grant asked abruptly.

I smiled. "Are you trying to figure out what it will be like if you're going to be straight after all?" I teased. "It's different, Grant. More than that, it's hard to explain. It's unlike anything else."

"Better or worse?"

"Than what?"

"A girl?"

"Better. Much better."

Grant grinned. "Really? You're not kidding me?"

"Really," I confirmed. "What did you expect?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I've never done it with a girl," he added as if still being a virgin at ten years old was something out of the ordinary.

He studied me for a few seconds as if looking for an answer to a question that he had yet to ask. Slowly his head lowered, his bountiful curiosity deflated for the time being.

By the time the turkey was stuffed and in the oven, Grant was putting the finished touches on the chamfered remains of a dozen potatoes. Bits and pieces of potato skin littered the counter and floor in a circle that was surprisingly well defined. I smiled, aware of how much I would miss him if we were apart for more than a few days. It had been a long time since I had thought that way towards his mother. Now, her absence seemed more like a reprieve.

He ambled back to the fireplace and stood before it, still deep in thought. I sighed. It would take time. There were some things that he would have to come to understand by himself. He stood legs slightly apart, his arms folded resolutely across his chest. He stood there for a long while, gazing into the orange flames. I breathed out, completely entranced by the sight of him, by the knowledge of what I had shared with him only twenty-four hours earlier.

Gary arrived ten minutes ahead of schedule. Grant and I were in the closing stages of a long game of chess. He challenged me every move, but that was only to be expected because he took forever to move each piece. On the other hand, I tended to play a risky game, which would have been far more in character with Grant's general attitude to life than it was mine. With two castles, his queen, and a bishop still active in the game, it looked like it would take another half hour before we finished. I opened the door to let Gary inside. He stomped his feet on the threshold mat and shook off a dusting of snow.

"Getting colder. It's as cold as a witch's tit out there," he complained.

Grant giggled. Like any preteen boy he had mysteriously acquired the ability of immediately picking up any phrase that had anything to do with women's anatomy.

With his arms full of presents, Gary crossed over the tree, dropped them into an untidy pile, and carried on to the fireplace.

"Nothing breakable I hope?" I asked.

"Only yours, Chris." He laughed, and reached down with one gloved hand to ruffle Grant's hair. "You're beating your old man again, I see."

Grant looked up and beamed. It did not matter that Gary could not play chess. "Not yet. But I'm going to."

"In your little boy dreams," I laughed.

"Maybe, but give him time. Gee-Tee'll beat you sooner or later. Until then you ought be glad that they're not wet dreams," Gary guffawed.

His hand was still hovering over Grant's head. I felt strangely at ease. It was not the first time that he had disturbed me that day, but this was in my house, our house. I felt dispossessed.

"You want a drink?" I offered.

That got Gary's attention. He grinned, gave Grant one last rub on the head that was more like a playful cuff and followed me into the kitchen. As I poured two glasses of Californian merlot, he stood by the counter, watching Grant. He seemed to be completely absorbed, not unlike I often was when I took the time to watch him from a distance. There was something introspective about him, and Brandon too for that matter, that engaged a person's curiosity. Perhaps it was the sense of an emerging mind joining with the sheer exuberant joy of just being alive, that they existed for more than the sole purpose of being happy. Grant was leaning over the chess board, as intense as I had ever seen him.

"He's going to beat you this time."

"Huh?" I mumbled. I glanced at Gary.

"He will. Mark my words. He's giving it everything he has, Chris. He's going to show you who's boss. You can see it in his eyes."

I started to walk back into the living room. About halfway, Grant looked up, grinning gleefully.

"I've got you beat, Dad."

"Wanna bet," I laughed.

I sat down beside him and considered the board. For some reason I suddenly realized that I no longer had nothing to be worried about. The look on his face was very serious, his brow furrowed as he concentrated on the remaining pieces.

"Six moves," he said softly.

"Yeah, right," I replied hesitantly.

His hand moved out, small thin fingers stroking the head and shoulders of his queen, still considering his next action. Then bravely, he slid the queen across the board. Under any other circumstances I might have reprimanded him for the riskiness. No foolhardiness!

"Is that six moves for you to win or for me to win?" I asked as my knight logically struck out from behind one of my few remaining pawns.

Grant squirmed. His lips compressed. He swallowed nervously. He glared at the board. It was hard not to smile. he seemed to reconsidering his options. If he had a plan when I sat down, it was very clear that it had been hastily shelved. Again, nearly a minute passed before his hand moved out. Over his shoulder he glanced up at Gary who was hovering nearby. He was also intent. I had not felt this pressured since I was in college.

"Your move, old man," Grant said softly.

I could hear the nervousness in his voice. I breathed out. Like me, he hated to lose. There were at least half-a-dozen moves I could make. The one that made the most sense was to move my knight further out on the board. It was like a general moving reserves from a defensive position into a direct line of fire. My fingers hesitated before I completed the move. It was very logical. Perhaps that was the problem. It was like Grant was expecting me to do it. I glanced at him as surreptitiously as I could. He was stoic, eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring as he breathed. My hand lifted away. My decision was made.

Grant's next move was to position his castle right before one of my few remaining my pawns. It was one of those moves that at first glance seems to be innocuous in the extreme, yet invokes an intuitive feeling that something is amiss. With uncertain relief, I realized that there was no reason to make the move beyond having to make a move of some kind.

"So?" Grant asked as he smiled slightly.

"Did you say six moves? Or sixty?" I teased.

He wriggled, twisting further onto his side with feigned disinterest in how I would respond. He absently moved his right hand slowly down his uppermost flank, stopping on his hip. Then, as if he was alone, he rubbed over his small rounded buttock. It was mesmerizing. The memory of what had happened in the bathroom flooded my consciousness. All I could think of was him, of him lifting up as he squatted over me, his hot tightness pulling against my penis, then settling by himself, driving it up into his bowels, deeper, hotter, tighter than seemed humanly possible. I could feel my fluids being pumped out into that grasping tube, my penis expanding, growing bigger and harder, bursting with the need to thrust into him. Taking over, clutching his slender body so that he could not escape. Thrusting into him. Doing that sacred act that men have always done to boys. Joining with him. Sharing my manhood. My seed squirting. Taking his virginity. Possessing him completely.

"You got an itchy butt there or something, Gee-Tee?" Gary taunted.

I looked up instantly. Barely a few seconds had passed, yet I knew that for a few seconds at least I have been so captivated by the memory that I had been unaware of both of them. Grant grinned, removing his hand from the furrow that had formed in the seat of his jeans.

"I'm getting bored waiting for someone to make a move," he grumped as he smirked at me.

"Oh, it's my turn," I responded. "I must have forgotten, Hm… sorry. I was thinking of something else. Okay."

I moved my knight further into the attack, closing the gap towards Grant's king which was poorly protected by a pawn and one of his castles. Grant breathed quickly, held it in. His eyes flickered across the board.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" he challenged.

I shrugged. We both knew that my fingers were already off the piece before he said it. Not that we both took the opportunity to 'cheat' at times if it served our purposes. I resisted the impulse to pull back. He was beginning to develop skills of psychological warfare. He had bluffed me before on more than a few occasions.

Again his free hand rubbed over the firm mound of his bottom, his fingers scratching to deepen the 'vee' in his blue jeans, until his cheeks were perfectly defined like the halves of two small melons. Again, the memories of the day before rushed back. I had to force myself to breath deeply. I could feel his body squirming, gripping my penis like clenched fist so tightly that the veins swelled up. The urge had been instinctive, a frantic need to have my penis sheathed within his hot flesh, deeper and deeper inside his slim body. I had lost control at some point, taking him with brute shameless force. I had become an animal intent on a single purpose, of satisfying my desire, fulfilling my loins. I could hear his whimpers, my mind churning in confusion as I tried to decipher whether his sounds were the result of pain or pleasure, or something else.

"Hey Gee-Tee, that's gotta be one hell of an itchy butt you've got back there," Gary guffawed.

Grant looked over his shoulder and smirked back at him. The expression on his face was disturbing. Both innocent and wanton, the kind of look that said more than words could ever begin to convey! He turned back again. His small hand slowly moved outward, from his buttocks back to the board, lifting up a pawn that had been inching its way down the board over the last half hour. It's surprising how easy it is to overlook some things, even when they are right in front of you.

His pawn was now only a single space away from its ultimate goal. I brought my castle back into play, moving from attack to defense. It did not strike me as strange that I had repositioned my castle in the same place that it had started the game nearly an hour earlier. Grant chortled.

"Check, old man."

"Huh?"

"Two moves from now, and there's not a thing you can do to stop me." He grinned, obviously very pleased with himself.

I shrugged. I was now certain that he was trying to bluff me. It was an easy matter to take out his pawn as soon as it moved again. Still grinning, his bishop swept across the board on a deliberate charge. He bumped my castle to the side, toppling it onto the hearth rug. I tried not to laugh but the look on Grant's face was something that made me very proud. He had played with skill and he knew it.

It was my move and there was only a few moves possible. He had only to move his pawn and I would be in check. I studied the other end of the board, wondering whether it was possible to reverse the situation. My knight was well positioned, but still another move from checking Grant's king. I went for it, a last ditch effort to win.

His pawn crossed the finish line. Grant giggled, suddenly a little boy who had taken on his father and managed to beat him.

"He's a castle now," he proclaimed. "Oh, and by the way old man, I have you in check."

I smiled back at him. It was impossible not to be proud of him. He had figured out the strategy, determined the moves, both his and mine, developed tactics for each situation that could arise, had kept the entire play in his mind, evaluated continually. He was ten years old.

"Not mate?"

"In another move. And there's nothing you can do to stop me, is there?"

"You're asking me?" I said with pretended sarcasm.

"Has he won?" Gary asked gleefully.

"Of course he's won," I laughed. He's got a castle and a bishop right where he needs them. I can move my king out of the way, but as soon as I do that, he'll move his other castle over one space and he's mated me."

"Oh!"

"Great game, kiddo," I said. "I'm really proud of you."

Grant grinned happily. "You played your best didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Want to play again, old man? I aced you once and I can do it again!"

"Being beaten once by a ten year old is enough for one day. Besides I have to do some more work on dinner."

I stood up. Gary looked at me expectantly, as if he should offer to help, but not sure what he could do to help. I winked and gestured for him to stay. if he wanted to follow he could decide for himself and not out of any sense of obligation to help me.

"Make yourself comfortable, Gary. If you want some more wine, you should know where it is by now, I said as I headed off to the bathroom for some much needed bladder relief.

It was several minutes later when I emerged and went into the kitchen. Gary and Grant were sitting on the floor before the fireflace. They were talking in subdued tones. Grant nodded. He hesitated a few seconds, then leaned forward to whisper something, words that I was clearly not intended to hear. The conspiracy, for that's what it very clearly was, chilled my spine. I stopped very still, watching them. I wondered what Grant was telling Gary. Gary nodded, said a few words. Again Grant nodded. This time Gary smiled and looked even more interested. A few more words where whispered. I swallowed dryly, imagining the worst without any other reason than my mind was running out of control. My thoughts were unfettered, envious, guilt-filled, uncertain.

Then, just as my qualms reached the breaking point and I was about to say something to interrupt them, Gary flipped Grant onto his back and playfully held him down. I heard my son's squeals as Gary began to exact an adult's delight, his fingers moving quickly into places to tickle my son.

"No! Don't you dare. No! NO! Awh! Hey Dad! DAD? Make him stop! Help!"

I watched them from across the room. Gary was relentless, attacking Grant at every opportunity. As Grant tried to escape, Gary pulled him back, holding him in such a way that he was exposed. His hand slid across Grant's chest, scratching between ribs, following a pre-planned course towards the nearest armpit. Too late Grant realized his vulnerability. He shrieked and tried to pull his arms down to his sides.

The sound of a young boy being mercilessly tickled is rather like an hysterical soprano, though certainly not something out of an Italian opera. Grant wriggled and writhed and did his very best to get away. Gary was resolute, and considerably stronger. He flipped Grant onto his back, pinned him to the floor with one hand and set about finding the places where he could inflict the greatest amount of torture.

"Hey Gary," I laughed. He looked up. "Take his shirt off so you can really get at that tender boy-skin."

"You don't mind?" he guffawed.

"Mind? After what he just did to me playing chess. You can do whatever you want to him. Just don't break any bones."

"How about a few bruises, Chris?"

"Bruises are okay just so long as they are in places people can't see"

I stood by the kitchen table watching another man man-handle my son into a position where he could remove his sweat shirt. Then while Grant tried to resist, the shirt was dragged up his abdomen, all the way to his shoulders. His bare belly was still suntanned although not nearly as dark as it had been during the summer. Firm flesh, rippling with young muscle, unblemished skin, a navel that was a perfect whorl. Then, in a flurry of activity, the sweat shirt came over Grant's head. His arms were yanked out. The clothing was discarded. He was half-naked and in another man's arms, yet it did not seem inappropriate. He was laughing too hard and making only a half-hearted attempt to get away to give me any cause to intervene. Gary went back to tickling him, striking into Grant's arm pits without warning. Grant bucked and twisted and bellowed for me to come over to help. I owed him some support and I slowly ambled over to stand in front of the fireplace.

"Could you keep the noise down?" I said as I looked down at them.

Grant's head was barely visible from where he lay underneath Gary. His fingers were pushing into the man's shoulders as he was subjected to one foray after another. Gary glanced up at me, his face full of merriment.

"Should I gag him?"

"It wouldn't be a bad idea," I answered with a laugh. "Just don't hurt him too much. I'd hate to have to spoil Christmas dinner by taking him to the hospital."

"I'll try not to squash him," Gary added as he pressed harder against the boy.

"Just keep him mostly in one piece."

"Sure. If he misbehaves, can I throw him outside for a couple of minutes without his shirt on."

"Okay by me if you want to. Personally, I'd take his jeans off as well."

"Nah, I wouldn't want to do that. It's so cold out there, his weenie would freeze and snap right off."

Gary rolled to the side, finally allowing Grant the opportunity to escape. he came to his knees quickly, crouching, his body tensed to jump up if Gary made even the slightest movement. I smiled.

"Well, I don't think I'd want that to happen. Not that he doesn't run around here stark naked most of the time. I'm pretty much bored whenever I'm being flashed by bare boy-butt now."

Gary chuckled. "I know that feeling. You know, I've always thought the sexiest sight in the world is a boy in blue jeans and nothing else. I think Grant pretty much proves it."

I knew my mouth was open, the words I had been about to say came tumbling back into my throat. He was right, of course. So right that I was stunned by the fact that another man would dare it acknowledge it. In only his jeans, Grant was sexy. He was incredibly sexy. The realization took my breath away. Grant blushed slightly, aware that both of us were staring at him. I felt my heart pounding, recalling with overpowering intensity the smooth warmth of his skin when I touched him.

"Hm, I don't know about that. He plays a mean game of chess though."

I winked at Gary. He moved slightly, not enough to warn Grant that we were planning something. I took a step closer as Gary's arm began to lift. Grant saw it coming too late. He tried to jump back but he was between Gary and me, with the fireplace at the back. Short of bolting for the opening between he, he was caught.

"What are you going to do?" Grant asked suspiciously.

"Do? What on earth makes you think I'm going to do anything?" I said slowly.

I picked up the king I had lost so ignominiously. I weighed it in my hand, thoughtfully. It was hand carved, polished wood. Grant's penis was not much different in size, although the delicately grained body tapered considerably as it approached the crowned head. I smiled, the kind of smile that sends a warning. Grant edged away until he felt Gary's hand against his thigh. I started to ease downward onto the floor, moving slowly so as not to arouse his suspicions. He looked back at Gary, eyes pleading.

"Okay. What's up? What are you going to do with that?" Grant asked nervously.

"Nothing," I answered. "Only, I'm… going… to… stick… this… right… down… here…" I said.

As the same time I was saying the words, my hands were reaching out, grabbing both legs. Simultaneously, Gary reached around from behind him and clasped Grant's arms tightly to his sides. Immobilized, there was nothing that he could do as I pushed the crowned end of the King down between his belly and blue jeans, making sure that his underpants were not in the way. For that second or two that my fingers touched his bare warm skin, I felt a shiver of excitement. It was as much from knowing that only a few short inches away was a place that was considerably warmer and softer than he belly. I pushed the king downward, until it disappeared, until my fingers were under the waist of his jeans. From his sudden screech and frenzied jerking, it had to be in the immediate vicinity of his genitals.

"No! hey! Don't! That's fighting dirty, Dad! Hey, stop!"

We released him at the same time. Grant scrambled away, his face distorted by a grimace that left no doubt in my mind that he thought he had been abused. It was hard not to laugh at his discomfiture. He groped his crotch, feeling the foreign object poking dangerously close to something else.

"What did you go and do that for?" he demanded. He moved uncomfortably, stepping backward as he eyed both of us suspiciously.

"Well," I laughed. "You wanted it so badly, I thought I'd make you a present of it."

"Very funny!" Grant retorted. He scratched at his crotch, trying to reposition it.

"What's the matter, Gee-Tee? Is the king playing with the family jewels?" Gary teased.

Grant made a face that was intended to show his contempt but instead, looked rather like bewildered clown. I fell back onto the rug, laughing. When I finally managed to stop and sit up, Grant was glaring at me.

"What's so funny?"

"You are! You ought to have seen the look on your face."

"Hmp," Grant grumped. "It's easy for you to laugh, old man. It's poking right into my nuts."

"Then you had better take it out before something gets hurt," I said, still trying to avoid bursting into what would surely turn out to be another prolonged laugh.

Without hesitating, Grant unfastened the metal button at the top of his jeans and yanked his zipper all the way down. His jeans opened at the front, revealing the bright red of his briefs. He also revealed something else, something that he may not have realized was going to be seen. Then again, perhaps he did. The vermilion nylon was certainly stretched over the bottom of the miscreant king as it jutted into the underside of his small scrotum. However there was another bulge of a quite different nature, but one that was infinitely more arousing. it was also more obvious.

He was erect, a condition that both Gary and I realized at precisely the same instant. His stiff penis pointed directly up, a long tube lying along his belly. It looked not unlike half a hotdog, just as long and thick, though any details of color and texture were hidden under the cloth.

"First time I've seen a boy with two woodies," Gary joked as he stared meaningfully at Grant's groin.

I laughed again. "Unfortunately only one of them is the real thing. Hey, Grant, I think you better get that king out of there before he tries to get revenge and does some real damage," I chortled.

Grant glared at me, yet he ended up smirking. "Your king is a dirty old man!"

He reached under the waistband of his briefs, sliding his fingers past the elongation of his boyhood, plucked the king from its uncomfortable resting place and withdrew it with a surprising amount of bravado.

"Dadahhhh!" he exclaimed as he held it up.

Gary gave him a sly look as he came to his feet. "I can't imagine how you got the other woody. You must be very ticklish in certain places."

I watched from the floor as Grant nimbly closed his zipper and refastened the metal button. There was no denying that I felt envious. Another man had just made a sexual pass at my son and I was lost for words. Similarly, there was no denying the sudden question that rose in my mind. Gary's words reverberated with other thoughts, all of them centered of why Grant had been sexually aroused. And he had been sexually aroused. It was not just a matter of a spontaneous erection, although he was quickly getting to the age when he would start having them. This was different.

His eagerness to reveal that part of his anatomy to our inspection, was nothing short of willful. Even as a toddler, Grant had been volitional whenever he was allowed the opportunity. His sense of independence sometimes drove his mother mad. Me? I rather enjoyed how he always opted to do the things that he enjoyed. In my book, it was a sign of leadership. Whatever had happened on the floor while he wrestled with Gary was something that he had wanted to do. It gave me cause to wonder whether Gary and Grant were closer than I imagined.

I came to my feet, aware that my face was red. My son's hardness, as much as his shameless grin disconcerted me. I needed to think. I made a lame excuse about having more work to do in the kitchen and headed off.

It was however, no less disconcerting to see them talking quietly. They stood a few feet apart, Grant looking up to Gary, who smiled and nodded back at him. he asked a few words, perhaps of clarification. Grant nodded, smiled, looked shyly downward. Gary spoke again. For am moment Grant shook his head, then slowly he shrugged. Gary asked another question. Again, the same vague response. Then Grant nodded and said something. Gary reached out, placed his hand on the boy's slender shoulder, squeezed. Grant looked bashful. He was quiet for a few seconds before he looked up into Gary's steady gaze. Again Grant said something. Again, Gary nodded before he replied.

Grant backed away a step. He was smiling. I got the distinct impression that he would have rushed into Gary's arms at the slightest indication that a hug was appropriate. He wandered away towards the collection of toys that he had received for Christmas. For a few seconds Gary continued to watch him. He glanced toward the kitchen and slowly ambled towards me. He stopped before the counter and took another sip of wine.

"Good vino, this, isn't it?" he asked blandly. I nodded. Gary paused for a moment, deep in thought. "Hey, I'm sorry about the woody thing in there."

I winced. "Huh? Sorry? What on earth for?" I replied uncomfortably.

"Hell, you know." He smiled weakly. "I didn't mean to. If I'd known…"

I shrugged with feigned nonchalance. "It's not like you were playing with his dick. You weren't were you?"

Gary laughed and shook his head. "Of course not! I'd never do that, at least not without asking you first. Don't worry, Chris. Your boy is perfectly safe around me. Of course, I can't say the same when he's with Brandon."

I scrapped the knife I was holding across a carrot. "It's okay by me."

"Meaning?"

"Boys with boys are one thing."

"Ah?" He smiled. "But it's a different matter with a grown up?"

"After what we were talking about earlier today, I'm not sure about you."

Gary leaned against the counter. "Did something I said bother you?"

"No, not really. It's just a bit strange talking to another man about his sexual experiences as a boy, that's all."

"Would it have bothered you as much if I talked about my first pussy?" Gary joked.

"It probably wouldn't have been as good a story," I said truthfully. "You were really having sex with a man at ten?"

"Yes." Gary smiled, obviously remembering something that had occurred many years earlier. "You want to know something?"

He hesitated, looking out the window at the ice-covered pond. A sudden gust of wind disturbed the snow, sending a glittering shower of snow crystals from the roof. He sipped his wine again, then slowly swirled the remainder in his glass.

"It was wonderful. In fact, I have some great memories of this place."

"Such as being in a rainy day in the tent with John?" I queried.

"That too," Gary grinned. "You know, I lost my virginity right around here."

"John was a lucky boy."

"John? Uh… yeah him too. Mostly I was thinking of his dad," Gary laughed.

"Huh? I thought John was your first."

"He was. I was doing stuff with him by the time I was ten. We started off sucking each other's dicks, but boys being boys, well, it wasn't long before we were going all the way."

"All the way?"

"Sure. You have to remember that we lived on a farm. You don't grow up around animals and not know what sex is all about. I might have been a kid, but I had no qualms using the back door."

"How did you and John's father get into it?" I asked awkwardly.

"It was only a few months after John and I started doing it when I went camping with both of them. I didn't know much about sex, except that I liked it, of course," Gary guffawed.

"You sound pretty much like me, only I was a couple of years older," I admitted.

"I also knew I wanted to try something with a grown up. So when all three of us went skinny dipping, I sure wasn't in a hurry to get my clothes on." Gary hesitated. "Are you sure you want to hear this?"

He looked at me with obvious amusement as I put the carrot on the cutting board, giving him my undivided attention. A sideways glance into the living room convinced me that Grant was unable to hear anything we said if we kept our voices down.

"Sure."

"We stayed naked until it got dark. When we went into the tent, of course there was really no point in putting our clothes on." Gary reflected for a few seconds. "It was all pretty open. I mean after you've spent the best part of a day naked, there's nothing left to be ashamed about. Anyway, he told us if we wanted to have some fun, we should just go ahead and to ignore him."

"And?" I prompted.

"We did. Mostly just feeling each other up… nothing particularly hot, at least not at first."

"He watched you doing it?"

Gary shrugged. "On and off. I could tell he was interested. Then after a while I guess we got a bit more excited. The next thing I knew I was lying on my side and John was sticking a couple of inches in my butt while his father was sucking me off."

My eyes opened wide. I knew what was coming. My heart pounded. I was listening with rapt interest to a person who I had been close friends with for several years recounting his boyhood exploits. At the time, he had been eleven when he had sex with a grown man for the first time. It was close enough to Grant's age that it made no difference.

Gary smiled, again reflecting on the experience that had changed him for life.

"It really is a lot different with a man," he said absently. "John would do it really hard and fast and I still wasn't happy. Of course I didn't know why at the time, but something was missing." He smiled ruefully. "I couldn't get off with John, at least not all the way. I only had to have his dad in me for a few seconds before I would be shaking like crazy."

I mutely considered the carrot shavings on the cutting board as if they held the answer to my dilemma. I was both excited and curious. I had to know what everything that had happened. I needed to know the exact details. It was as if Gary's story held the knowledge I so desperately needed in order to deal with the suddenly changed relationship between Grant and me.

"You mean an orgasm?" I asked uncertainly.

Gary smiled. He was unashamed and he met my eyes confidently. "A man is just so much bigger so I guess he was hitting the right spot. Only it's more than just the size though. The feelings were…" He paused, searching for the right word.

I remembered what Grant had said as he tried to express his feelings. 'At the end, I thought I was going to die or something.' It was impossible that I had not hurt him, but at the same time there was no denying that he had also experienced intense pleasure, pleasure that had been both frightening and awe inspiring, pleasure that had taken him to a place where he had never been.

"It's hard to explain. It's pretty bad the first time or two with a man," Gary continued with a rueful shrug. "But, if he's careful it still feels incredible despite the pain."

I nodded anxiously. "Why don't you tell me what happened in the tent with John and his dad," I prompted. It was impossible to conceal my eagerness to hear more.

Gary smiled knowingly. "Actually, I was lucky the way it turned out. John got me really loosened up… so when his dad took over, it went in fairly easily. In fact I was real lucky considering that all we had for lubricant was spit."

"Spit?" I queried with surprise.

"It works pretty darn good at a pinch, but you have make sure you're very gentle if that's all you've got. We tried lots of stuff over the next couple of years, including mayonnaise once." He smiled at the memory. "Hell, we even did it with soapy water in the shower a few times when I stayed at John's house."

"Soapy water?" I repeated guiltily.

"Sure. It works okay. It feels slippery enough, but sometimes it can be downright tender afterwards. I suppose the soap irritates the inside lining or something."

The way he said it seemed to be nothing short of personal advice. I swallowed awkwardly. The last thing I wanted was to Grant to be sore because of what I had done to him.

"I guess," I replied uncomfortably. I paused, needing to know what to do. "Uh, so what do you do then, when it's tender."

Gary smirked. "I found out how tender it can get the next morning when I woke up. We did it a couple of times during the night, so as you can imagine, I was fairly sore."

"I can imagine. It must have been pretty bad?"

"Mostly I was upset. I remember I cried for a while. Maybe it was guilt," Gary added selfconsciously. "The first time or two is pretty hard for a boy when he does it with a man."

"In what way? The pain?"

"Partly, but it's more than that. Once we were in our early teens, John was more than big enough to tear me up. He was nearly as big as his father by the time he was fourteen. Even though he gave it everything he had, I still can't remember a time when it really hurt me, at least not like that. The size isn't all that important."

"Because of the shame then?" I suggested. "It's probably another good reason for a boy to stick with someone his own age."

"Don't believe it! There is only one reason for a boy to start off doing it with someone his own age. Accessibility. There is no other reason. Sure, they are more or less equals. Even if one would rather be on the bottom, they tend to take turns. However, with a boy and a man, there are always clearly defined roles. The boy has to give up something… his manhood in a way, because when you get right down to it, he's like a woman in a way."

"I never thought of it that way," I said. "So the pain is as much psycological as it is…"

"Anything else," Gary ended. "That's how it was for me. I was very nervous the next day. I expect I resented what he'd done to me. Even then, I still liked him a lot. I just felt… I don't know. Exploited, maybe."

"Were you ever forced to do it?" I asked uncomfortably.

"Hardly. I was always very willing, Chris. At the time, I felt like I'd done something terribly bad. All my friends used to make jokes about perverts, and I guess getting your butt fucked by a man is about the most depraved thing there is when you're ten or eleven, but at least I knew what I was after that. I was gay, and I was scared. My parents would have killed me if they ever found out. They would drag me to church every Sunday and never know what I was doing about an hour after I got back home"

"I expect," I replied glumly.

"Anyway, after we packed up the camping stuff, we went back to their house."

I nodded encouragingly. Suddenly, I wanted to hear more. A quick glance into the living room was enough to convince me that Grant was oblivious to us. He was busy assembling a plastic model of a car without the benefits of glue to keep the pieces together. There was also no sign of the instructions, which was entirely normal for him.

"John's mom was in the house so we went back to the barn. I discovered the ultimate salve for a sore butt," he laughed.

"What's that?"

"Lanolin."

"Huh? Lanolin?"

"You know what it is, don't you?" he asked. I shook my head. "Lanolin is a natural sheep wool oil. You can buy it at any drug store, usually in the baby care section. It's almost identical to natural skin lubricant so it's normally used to moisturize and condition the skin. Women use on their nipples when they're breast feeding."

"And there was some in the barn?" I asked curiously.

"Sure. They had a mare with a real hungry foal," Gary answered. "It doesn't take away the soreness but it sure helps to heal the fissures that cause the soreness in the first place."

"I'll keep it in mind," I said.

Gary laughed. He looked at me with a strangely curious expression that suggested he was reading my thoughts. "You want to know what else happened in the barn?"

"Sure."

"Well, I found out that lanolin makes a really lousy lubricant."

"Huh? Why?"

"It's much too thick for one thing," he explained with a broad grin. "If you want something for a sore butt that also lubricates, my advice is stick with Preparation H," he explained with more amusement than seemed necessary.

"I'll keep that bit of useful information in mind," I joked.

Gary laughed again. "Well, you never know when you might need to know what to do. However, it sure wasn't the most important thing I learned that day," he added.

"Which is?"

"One of the great lessons in life is the fundamental difference between a woman and a boy."

"I think I can figure that one out for myself," I said sarcastically.

"It's not what you think. A woman usually needs foreplay to get her in the mood, but its been my experience that once he's used to it, a boy is perpetually horny. He only needs foreplay in order to get his ass ready for action."

"That's a fairly unique perspective," I quipped.

"I'm not kidding," Gary said.

"Well you should know. It sounds like you had a lot of first hand experience."

"I did. The first time John must have got me stretched out because his dad certainly didn't waste any time filling me up again. In the barn, he must have had his fingers up my butt for thirty minutes and I was still damned tight."

"It hurt?"

"Let's just say that I was glad the barn was a long way from the house."

"You did it with John watching?" I asked awkwardly.

"Sure. Well, we were best friends," Gary acknowledged with a grin. "Besides after what we did in the tent, neither of us were virgins. I think there were only a couple of times that I did anything with his dad without John looking on…" He paused. "… or taking what you might call a more active role."

"I can only imagine what that might mean," I taunted.

"Boys will be boys. I was one horny little kid," Gary admitted for the third time of the day. "Fact is, I couldn't get enough. I got laid every chance I got. I think I spent every weekend at their place. A lot of people would say that it probably wasn't all that good for me."

"Still, it didn't seem to have done you much harm," I said feebly.

Gary smiled, picked up his wineglass and consumed the last half-inch in one mouthful.

"I was a lot happier at that age, Chris. I loved both of them. I had everything what I wanted."

"Then how did you end up getting married?" I inquired.

Gary shrugged vaguely. "Looking back, I guess I should have stayed away from women, but I didn't know it at the time. All my friends were getting married. Then John moved away to college. It seemed like the thing to do."

"How about John's father?" I asked. "It didn't last?"

"His father was a boy lover," Gary answered pointedly. He looked at me as if I should understand. The look on my face clearly said otherwise. "He more or less lost interest when I was about fourteen."

"Oh!"

"That's what it's like," Gary continued. "Being a boylover… It's very difficult… Not only for the boy."

I was surprised by what he said, less because of his openness about a subject that would normally never be talked about than by the sense that he was talking to me because I had questions. He seemed to understand my confusion, the despair I felt of not knowing what to do next, the longing that had come from deep inside me and suddenly become part of me. He seemed to understand that every time I saw Grant, I was seeing him in a new light, that of a young lover.

"After a while you get used to it. It isn't as bad as it sounds," Gary added. "You learn to take advantage of the time. It only lasts a few years before the attraction starts to fade."

I nodded understandingly. "You can't waste any time?"

Gary smiled. "I didn't that's for sure. Looking back, I guess I even took the initiative the first time. It's often that way with boys."

"Oh! Well, that's probably the way it should be," I replied. "Otherwise there would a chance of…"

"Seducing him?" Gary finished as I struggled to find the words. I nodded. "From my experience, you usually don't have to seduce a boy. If he's interested, he'll let you know fast enough. Sometimes boys can be quite overt about it."

"Oh?"

"Sure. Particularly if they are inclined that way at the outset. Even a gay kid may need a little prod in the right direction after the first time though."

"Because of the shame?" I suggested.

"Yes. Like I said earlier, it can be very disturbing for a boy. I think it comes as something of a shock. Afterwards, worrying about it, knowing what his friends are thinking, not understanding what's happening to him, or why he feels the way he does. It's intense, especially when love is involved."

"Sounds bad," I commented.

"It can be. Even the first time, the feelings are absolutely incredible. It's like something is being torn out from inside you, but it feels so good, you know you'll never feel the same way again."

"So what are you guys talking about?"

Both Gary and I were startled at the sound of Grant's voice. He had approached very quietly and was standing in the doorway. His head was inclined to the side as if still trying to listen.

"Huh? Oh, not a lot," I muttered. "Just passing the time while the turkey bakes."

"What feelings?" Grant persisted.

"When you get tickled by the two of us," Gary laughed.

Grant looked confused. "I don't get it. Why would being tickled feel like something is being torn out of you?"

"When we both go for your armpits at the same time it will, Grant," I explained hopefully.

He did not question my feeble explanation. He backed away until he was safely in the living room and out of harm's way. I gestured to Gary to chase him, which promptly got him running at full speed. I laughed and went back to my carrots. Some questions had been answered, yet other questions remained. I balanced the carrot I had been scraping in my hand. Suddenly I started thinking of it as a penis, a huge phallus that could be planted in the heated cavity of a young boy's body… It was all I could do not to start sucking on the narrow end of the carrot as my mind bounced from one surreal fantasy to another.

Nine P.M., Christmas Day

However, the last thing I wanted to do at that moment was to see him. I loved him too much to be near him when I was so angry. He was the only good thing to come from my marriage. I sighed inwardly. He was an exquisite child, full of life and everything that a parent wanted in offspring. He was my special treasure. I could not face him with what my wife and I had just decided, not yet and certainly not knowing what I had done with him only the night before. The truth was that I was beginning to realize that he was everything that my wife was not.

I swilled the liquor sullenly. At first, at least on the drive up from the city, I had resented her absence. For a while, during the telephone conversation, I silently hoped that we could discuss our problems face to face. Perhaps then, I could have convinced myself that the marriage was still worth saving. Now, angry and frustrated, I merely shrugged off that possibility for the fact was that from a distance I had a different perspective. Truthfully, there was nothing I could say, and probably not a lot more I would have said even if she was standing before me. I did not want her in my life any longer. So I stood there, swilling, occassionally sipping, brooding, resenting her intrusion on my happiness. What I did not know was that Grant was waiting for me anxiously upstairs. If I had known I would have gone straight up to his room.

I would never forget what had happened during the last day and night. It was a little longer than twenty-four hours, but it seemed as if I had experienced a lifetime of happiness. Yet, while happy in a way that I had never been before, at that moment I was also very worried. I inclined my head, listening, thinking, trying to decide what to do next, as if any other decision was possible. No longer could I hear her angry voice. The silence was both reassuring and a cause for greater anxiety.

After long minutes of fighting a losing battle, I had finally stopped arguing and started listening to a bitchy diatribe that did not help to solve our obvious problems of communication. There was nothing that I could say to my wife. Her decision to stay longer in Hawaii was made. She had already changed the air tickets to delay her return flight. She was not able to give me a definite return date. It depended on how things 'eventuated', her words, not mine. I tried to listen for another message, to hear what she was really saying behind the feeble excuse that she needed to spend more time working on a new project without the disruptions of the office. My own feeble joke about it seeming like a trial separation was met with cold silence.

All the time, my mind was on Grant. Suddenly, I was tired of talking with her. I was tired of living with her. I thought of other things, losing my concentration as she went on listing my all-too-obvious faults. She used the 'divorce' word first. I smiled to myself. Did I really care if it was over? I did not respond. She used it again, testing it out the way a young boy says 'fuck' for the first time. I wanted to tell her, 'fuck you'.

"Well?"

"Well what?" I said tiredly.

"Don't deny it."

"Deny what?"

"God! You want a divorce as much as I do."

"I do?"

"It's been obvious for a long while."

"Has it?" I replied sarcastically. "I'm not the one who's in Hawaii."

"What's that got to do with it?"

"Nothing. Everything if what's-his-name means more to you than I do."

"Oh? It's like that is it?" she said bitchily.

"Are you trying on the shoe to see if it fits, Sue? I'm not blind."

"Maybe it is time we separated."

"Separated?"

"I want a divorce."

"What? But? What about Grant? we always said we'd put him first. Don't do this to him, please."

"Don't try to make it my fault when it's just as much yours."

"For God's sake. Let's try to talk about it."

"Fuck you!"

She beat me to it. I shrugged as she eased back from the precipice, lessened the stress, diluted the poison of her words. There was no more invective. When I got right down to it, I had nothing more to say. It was only a matter of minutes before I went up to rub Grant's back. It was part of the nightly 'good night' ritual that had started a month ago, the day after Thanksgiving. Knowing what I now knew, I doubted whether I would be able to touch him and still control myself. I kept thinking of what gary had said while I was preparing our Christmas dinner. `Even a gay kid may need a little prod in the right direction after the first time'.

"It's over, isn't it?" I said flatly.

"Yes, it's over. Look, I don't know how to put this. I know you're angry. Please don't fight me on this. I don't want it to be any worse than it has to be."

"Angry? yes, you could put it that way."

I took a deep breath. There is always a part of you that doesn't want to admit defeat. It was worse for the loser. Not that I would necessarily come off the loser in the divorce. She would be fair at the property settlement. She was like that. She was only selfish in her personal relationships.

"What about Grant?"

"I've been thinking about what this will do to him." She paused. "I don't want to hurt him."

"Neither do I."

"You want custody, don't you?"

"Yes, of course I want custody. It's the only thing I want."

"He'll probably better off with you. I'm always travelling. It'll be even worse now."

"Why?"

"Trevor wants me to be vice-president of human resources for the company. I'll have a lot more responsibility."

"Then I should talk to Grant?"

"I think it would be better if he knew sooner rather than later, don't you? if you tell him now, he'll have time to get over it before he starts back at school."

With the realization that I no longer had any interest in continuing the marriage, I listened to what she was saying about the weather in Hawaii. It was her way of saying she had nothing more to add. The decision was made and it was my job to break the news to our son.

After what had happened in the bath tub during the previous afternoon, after what had happened during the day, it was obvious that my relationship with Grant had forever changed. It was even difficult to think of him as my son. But if he was not my son, then what was he? My lover? I sighed, deep in thought, confounded by the enigma of being in love with my ten-year-old son. No matter how much I tried to avoid it, I had a decision to make. Given the lingering glances we shared during the evening, both of us sensed that this night was going to be different. During dinner I couldn't help but be aroused whenever I looked at him. From his nervousness, I knew that Grant was also excited. I could see it in his face. I didn't need to take his pulse to know that his heart was beating much faster than normal. Certainly, mine had been going at twice its normal speed.

Even before Grant went upstairs to get ready for bed he was glancing awkwardly at me, and then quickly avoiding my gaze. He stuttered slightly when he asked if I would come up and rub his back. Ever so confident with his boyish bravado, Grant never stuttered. His skittishness was quite out of character. I had almost suggested that we take another bath together. The words had been almost out of my mouth, but I stopped himself in time. I could tell he wanted to say something, something very important to him. I was no different. From the time we finished dinner until the dreaded phone call to his mother, only one thought had been in my mind. He seemed unusually shy. After my conversation with Gary I assumed a reason that had more to do with embarrassment, yet I really did not understand what was going on in his small tousled head. I imagined that fear, guilt, shame, perhaps all of them had combined to change his mood from one that was usually bright and cheerful, to something that I found disturbing. Was he struggling with the same powerful emotions as I was? Perhaps it was because he sensed rejection was on the way. He certainly was frightened of being gay, a condition that both of us appreciated was very likely given what had already happened. Like father, like son, I supposed wryly.

I sipped more whisky. I should be happy. I should be dancing with joy. I knew that I should talk with him about it. That was my job as his father, but I also was lost for words. If only it hadn't happened. It would be a lot simpler. For both of us, it was too late to go back. What had happened could not be changed or put aside, and it hung silently between us like an onerous task that had to be confronted before we were able to move on.

On the way up the stairs I stopped off in the bathroom. It took a moment to find what I needed in the vanity cupboard. Then, a few more minutes in my bedroom to get out of my clothes. For a moment I was able to resist the urge. However the demand was insistent, rising up in my mind until I was subjugated, a victim of my own lust. It was beyond stopping. Shakespeare's admonition about inevitability was all that I could think of. I was the `player' in a drama of my own making.

There was a faint smile on my face when I entered Grant's bedroom. Maybe it was from the whiskey I had consumed. Although I was far from inebriated, a glass had certainly been enough to affect my inhibitions. Maybe it was from remembering what had happened the night before. He was turned away from me, giving the impression that he was sound asleep. I almost left, but something stopped me. Perhaps it was the residual anger that came from talking to Sue on the telephone and the realization that our marriage was beyond the point of disintegrating. Beyond the words which were clear enough in themselves, I could hear it in her voice. The stress was not imagined. What was even worse was the feeling that she was not alone during the phone call. Trevor Foster was with her, standing by her side like an over-protective knight on an royal errand. It was very depressing. However, as I stood there in the hall, I knew I loved Grant so much that if did not matter whether our marriage ended in divorce. He would always be mine. She had said as much.

The boy moved slightly and I heard his sleepy soft sign even as I came though the open doorway. Was it his way of letting me know that he was still awake? With quiet footsteps on the polished wood floor, I closed the distance between us with a few paces. My heart was beating quickly, and not from the effort of climbing the stairs. There was another muffled sound from the bed, then silence. I knew he sensed my presence. Even without looking up, Grant had to know that I was standing next to him, gazing down at him, admiring his beauty, trying to find the words to explain how I felt about him. Seconds passed while I gazed at the slender form molded under the folds of the comforter. He was perfect, the picture of innocence and enduring boyhood. He was stunning, snuggled between the pillow and sheet, his tousled hair glistening in the dim light that spilled through the doorway. Tortured by waiting, he finally yielded to an infectious giggle. He twisted onto his back and playfully grinned up at me.

"I thought you were asleep," I said softly.

"I was pretending, Dad." Grant answered.

His eyes met mine, then darted away. Silently, he pulled the sheet further down from his body until it bunched just a few inches below his chest. What little I saw, was flawless.

"So you're not tired, after all, huh Grant?" I added with amusement. I edged closer until the bed brushed my knees, still gazing down.

Grant nodded gleefully. "I was waiting for you to get off the phone, Dad."

His eyes met mine. If he noticed that I had removed my clothes and was now attired in a bath robe, he showed no sign of it. Indeed, it did not seem at all out of place that I was ready for bed before ten p.m. However, from his prone position on the bed, Grant could not see my bare legs. He could not know that I had nothing on under the robe, that my penis was elongated and already half-hard. Without reason to do otherwise, he would make the logical assumption that I had put on a robe over my pajamas to keep warm.

I felt happy, enjoying the familiar warm glow that I always experienced in my son's company. We were alone, together for the next three weeks, perhaps longer. Grant wriggled to one side, making room on the bed for me to sit next to him. I took up his invitation with a grin. I sat down next to Grant's legs, leaning back to switch on the lamp beside the bed.

"What is to be this time, young man? Do you want me to start on your front or back?" I asked.

A playful tug lifted the covers away fro the boy beside me. That Grant's pajama pants were already removed provoked a slight, although carefully concealed smile on my part. I gazed down at the young lean body before me with sexual longing as much as admiration. On reflection, over the last few months I had felt the stirring of desire, but since the events of the previous day it had quickly become increasingly difficult to think of him as my son.

Perhaps it was fortunate that Grant's nudity was only partial. The interesting parts of his torso remained covered. His slender hairless legs and thighs were somewhat darker than normal under the yellow light of the lamp. The rest of his body was concealed by brilliant-white 'Fruit of the Loom' underpants and a short-sleeved top of his pajamas. However, his clothing revealed the underlying form if not actual skin. What I saw was more than enough to give me an erection.

I waited patiently as Grant thought for a moment, appearing oblivious to what seemed to me to be a very obvious interest in his partially clad body. He shrugged nonchalantly.

"You pick, Dad."

"Hm. I don't know. Do you want me to use the car?" I asked awkwardly.

The 'car' was a plastic object about the size of my palm. It had six spherical wheels in three rows of two, each slightly larger than an inch [2½ cm] in diameter. It was ideal for back massages since at least several of the wheels would be in contact at any point on his back.

"Whatever. I think I'd rather you use your hands."

"Okay. Let's start with a back-rub. It isn't all that late so assuming you can stay awake, there's plenty of time for a lot tonight."

Grant started to turn over. I stopped him by placing my hand on his hip.

"Why don't you lie over me instead?" I suggested nervously.

"Huh?"

I smiled again, realizing the excitement that I could barely contain. I found myself contemplating the innocent perfection of his young body with increasingly hungry eyes. Grant was beautiful in ways that boys seldom were. He had unruly curls that needed cutting, large intense eyes, full perfectly shaped red lips, and a small aquiline nose that added immeasurably to his looks and gave his face a delicate beauty. His almond-colored skin came from a distant mediterranean heritage on his mother's side and unlike my northern complexion, remembered last summer's golden-brown tan well into the winter. Brandon paled in comparison.

Beyond the obvious features that made him exceptionally handsome, there were other characteristics that bordered on almost being feminine. His eyebrows were thin, his long eyelashes were dark, and his arms and legs were almost totally devoid of hair. There was barely a trace of faint peach-fuzz to be found anywhere on his lean body. To cap it all, Grant's shy smile was teasing, and if it was not for his young age, could easily be construed as being seductive. The fact was undeniable. To me, ten-year-old Grant was sensuous in a way that was highly inappropriate.

I winked and watched Grant's eyes flicker with an interest that denied the possibility of any sleep in the immediate future. Neither of us spoke, both accepting a conclusion, that while not inevitable at that moment, was certainly desired by both of us. Until yesterday, contact more intimate than an affectionate backrub had seldom occurred. Then, without warning, everything had changed. The more I thought about it, and I had thought about it a lot that day, the more I realized that what had happened in the bathtub had not been disagreeable to the youngster. Certainly, he had been both shocked and ashamed at the end, but that was not surprising given his inexperience and the intensity of what we had shared. In those few all-too-brief minutes of spontaneous intimacy, our relationship had transformed.

Indeed, it seemed to me that Grant relished his new-found closeness with me as a special secret that we shared together. At least, it was that way for me, but perhaps I was expecting too much of him. He was an affectionate boy, yet his mother was never very affectionate with him. He made up for it by drawing closer to me. I suspected that he had yet to question, let alone understand why I was different. I hugged and kissed him at every opportunity. Perhaps he did understand, and at times I had even wondered myself whether it was mutual. Was it possible that we found together, what he could not find with his mother, or me with my wife? Either way, I fervently hoped that Grant felt the same way I did when I caressed his body.

Without further coaxing, Grant repositioned himself quickly. His swiftness and eager smiling complicity provided an acknowledgement that countered his silence. His innocent prevailed despite my lust. For the moment, I could not attribute his lack of words to anything other than the many thoughts that had competed for his attention as Christmas day ended. I felt a surge of excitement not unlike what I felt when I drove my car very fast. I felt like I wanted to breath deeply and quickly. I felt Grant's skin prickle as gooseflesh blossomed over the silky smoothness of his arms. When he leaned forward to lie face down, I silently admired the small round globes of flesh beneath his underpants. I wondered idly whether it would be difficult to get him to take the rest of his clothes off. For a while one night of the previous week Grant had been completely naked and I had enjoyed every minute of his massage. In its own way, that night had been as satisfying as what had happened in the soapy water of the bath tub.

"Put your butt right over my legs, Grant," I instructed when Grant lay belly down over me. "That way you'll be a lot more comfortable," I added with growing confidence.

Grant wriggled higher, barely cognizant that in the different position his buttocks were lifted up in the air. However, it was certainly a more comfortable position for both of us. He sighed with pleasure when he felt my hand begin to move in slow circles along the rippling bumps of his spine. Desire existed within him. I had no doubt of it, yet in a boy too inexperienced to understand what he felt, the arousal afforded by my gentle massage became muted and comforting. It lingered like a faint memory, an ever present reminder that there was a lot more to life than what he had already discovered.

Minutes passed, and Grant snoozed contentedly, his face buried against his pillow. There was momentary thrill, a sudden shiver, when one of my hands had finally slipped under his teeshirt. It passed quickly for I withdrew my fingers almost instantly. A moment later, when he had not complained, my hand returned and glided further along his bare brown back. He sighed softly, audibly enjoying the sensations of my hand moving against his silky-smooth skin. My massage technique varied, seamlessly shifting from slow and gentle caresses over sensitive skin to powerful rubs that used brute strength to stretch bone, sinew, and muscle. Both sent shivers through him and each and every touch was enough to tantalize nerves that made him glow with happiness.

It seemed to me that he was barely aware that his tee-shirt was being pushed gradually upwards, further and further until it reached his armpits. Then my hands began to roam freely, from his neck to the start of his buttocks where they were afforded the protection of virgin-white cotton. My hands silently flowed along his spine, down his flanks, across the indentation of ribs, into the soft underside of his belly until the bed or my legs intervened, down onto the ridges of his prominent hips. Despite the insistent voice inside my head, my fingers always stopped at the edge of Grant's white cotton underpants. At least I retained enough self control to realize that I needed permission to go further than that.

From the underpants alone, I guessed what my wife suspected but had never voiced aloud to me. Only one time had I given my wife any real cause for suspicion about my motives over the years, for I concealed that unspeakable part of me so thoroughly that beyond my frequent lingering glances at young boys and an overly supportive posture towards Grant, there was no outward sign of an inclination that was unnatural. However, it seemed to me that my wife still took precautions, either guarding against my unannounced predilection, or denying Grant's yet-to-be-determined sexuality. Even the clothes she purchased for him were dull, concealing his slender prepubescent form. The attention-seeking fashions that his few friends wore was supplanted by boring function in what seemed to me to be a vain effort to make the boy appear sexless. However, in his hip-high underpants, perhaps especially in his underpants, Grant was anything but sexless.

I gazed down and admired the contrast between white cotton and suntanned skin. It was a sight to behold and the thrill I felt was almost as great as the vivid patterns and shape-revealing nylon of Grant's Speedo when he went swimming. When he was naked, nothing was left to my imagination. Revelling in the sight of his revealed perfection gave me a thrill unlike any other, yet I also enjoyed filling in the intricate details of form, color and texture of what I could not see.

"Let's take your underpants all the way off, Grant," I said huskily.

I heard the tremor of excitement in my voice and I searched for a reason, an excuse to justify removing the band of white cloth that ensured my son's privacy. I felt guilty, yet I could not stop myself.

"That way you'll be even more comfortable," I muttered selfconsciously.

Grant obeyed merely by lifting his buttocks off my legs. However, I knew that his desire had been sparked when he shivered slightly as soon as he felt my hands graze his hips. My thumbs hooked under the elastic waistband, my other fingers touching the firm rounded mounds of his buttocks. I felt a weird thrill. Although it made my heart beat faster, it was very different to the week before. Then he had undressed himself and I had watched his buttocks being exposed to view, the underpants being slowly pulled down his legs until they came past his feet. Then, as now, being naked from his shoulders down didn't seem to bother him. I was shaking with excitement, a thrill burgeoning up inside me until I could barely control myself. That shameful surge also was different to the previous week, and it was only because of what had occurred the previous day.

Without a word, Grant lay down again, resuming the same position. I felt the moist warmth of his crotch make contact with a similarly heated area on my thighs where he had been lying before. His bare sex was pressed against my leg. That alone was enough to increase my half-erection to full strength. I breathed deeply and tried to resist the immediate surge. He lay quietly, obviously expecting to be touched again, this time on his bare bottom. However, intuition informed both of us that this time my touch would be different to before. I could sense that he wanted to be touched, just as much as I wanted to touch him, but I still hesitated. It would never be the same again between us if I did. I knew that I should get up and leave him. That was the best thing that I could do, given how I now felt about him. Alternatively, a single touch was all that was needed to begin down a different pathway. If I did, it would not end there.

I gazed down at the small mounds of his buttocks and again tried desperately to convince myself to stop. The sight before me was unquestionably beautiful. There was still a clearly defined separation between public and private, but it was a sudden change in color that lingered. A tan line contrasted what had been an evenly suntanned back only months before, to skin that had seen the sun's rays only when his mother was not around. Yet even while Grant waited for the massage to resume, he sent a message to me that he was willing. He wriggled slightly and I felt the hot stiffness of his rigid sex poking against my thigh. His hardness was undeniable. The spike of flesh poked against me. It was all I could do not to gasp with surprise.

There was a reassuring satisfaction that came from my silent admiration of his nearly naked body. His bare flesh was overpowering. Now only his shoulders were covered by the pajama top that had been pushed up to his armpits. I longed to touch his bare rump, to feel the smooth cheeks beneath my fingers. My hand trembled with pent-up desire.

Even as I watched, gooseflesh pimpled his bare buttocks, although I suspected that it was chilled more by exposure to the cool night air than anticipation of anything that I might do. I coughed, breathing heavily. My once-steady hands were nearly out of control. I contemplated absolute perfection. Bare-assed and up close, Grant's cheeks were not the full soft hemispheres one would expect to see on a young boy. Instead, his muscular cheeks were definitely pinched, smooth and almost as white as polished pearl. The crack was like a fissure, leading between the firm globes to conceal a special treasure. With only a slight pressure, I could have parted the firm flesh to reveal a precious opening that led to the hidden passage of his no-longer-virgin bowels. Thinking back, I could remember seeing that part of him only once or twice since he was out of diapers, yet overnight that tiny orifice had changed its meaning for me. After just one experience, it had become integral to our relationship.

My eye followed the line of vertebrae bumps to the back of Grant's head. The boy's enduring silence was unsettling, yet I was so struck by his arresting beauty that I had to say something.

"You're so beautiful, Grant," I muttered to myself.

I was barely aware that Grant smiled contentedly. Unable to control myself any longer, I placed both hands squarely on the warm soft flesh presented to me. I touched resilient muscle, not fat. Grant quivered with the same unsettling thrill that rippled through me. My desire burgeoned and my heart beat even faster. Adrenaline surged. I breathed deeply. His body was a gift from God, the perfection of Nature molded in human form. My palms completely covered each small butt cheek. The flesh was firm, and with my fingers spaced out evenly, I followed the smooth curvature, just dipping into the heated narrow valley that invited further exploration. I paused, fingertips extended into the beckoning warmth, but only for a second. The boy's nakedness and exposed position excited me in a way that my wife had never been able to do in all the years we were married. It was enough to provoke a heart attack. My heart was pounding, perhaps nearly as fast as my son's. Without warning, I was breathing quickly, almost too fast to exhale before I gulped the next breath of air. It seemed that I had waited for this moment for years, ten years to be precise. My thumbs lightly caressed Grant's rubbery cheeks where they joined to his thighs. I could just make out the beginning of a small scrotum between his thighs.

"You don't mind if I rub aound your butt, do you?" I asked cautiously. I hesitated a few seconds. "I want to give you a very special rub tonight, Grant."

Grant's head moved slightly, a nod that was neither assent nor denial. Later he would tell me that he had been frightened at the time, not because he sensed that what he felt inside to be wrong, but because of what he wanted me to do. At that instant, even more so than in the bath tub, he had finally recognized the desire that he wanted to be loved there. The undeniable truth came to Grant as an irresistible longing for his bottom to be touched. He didn't understand why it suddenly had become such an important part of him. However, his dream was being realized. It was as much about self-indulgent pleasure and wanting to appease his need for affection as it was the result of an emerging sexual urge. With sybaritic intent and now awakened desire, Grant succumbed to an inner need that had blossomed the previous afternoon and was being nurtured by the loving touch of my hands.

"Okay," he murmured.

My hands lifted away immediately. Grant waited, suddenly anxious for my hands to continue to pleasure his body. Intuitively, he lifted up slightly and turned his head to the side. There was no question in my mind that he anticipated that the next contact with his bare bottom would be more than a simple massage. I gave way to my lust, unable to hold back. Grant trembled slightly when he felt my hand being placed upon his firm rump, thumb and fingers spreading out into the resilient flesh, exposing his hidden anus. The precious opening was very small, yet having the appearance of being somewhat swollen. It was a dark node with tiny protruding lips formed by remarkably, still slightly puckered skin. The surrounding area was clean and fresh smelling, just as I had known it would be after his bath.

From the side of his face I could see that he smiled. It was an innocent smile even though the boy was no longer a virgin. What I had done to him in the bath tub had seen to that. However, impulsive passion was not the same as premeditated lust. This was deliberate and it had an intensity that could not be denied. This part of him belonged to me. I had not only claimed his innocence with my savage thrusts, I had taken possession of him. Now, he belonged to me. No one else had touched him there, not since he had been toilet trained.

Yet, the mere sight of his recently violated opening was enough to make me sigh. In concert, Grant sighed contentedly. He was just a little bit sleepy and my touch, even though it was undeniably invasive, reassured him that the gentle pleasure of the massage was about to be restored. My hand tensed. It was now or never. While I could try to convince myself otherwise, the fact was that I had gone into his room with only one thing in mind. It was the next logical step. I had stopped on the way to his bedroom for one reason only and that was to get what I needed to finish what had begun the previous day. With my other hand, I unscrewed the plastic lid to the tube of Preparation H I had brought with me. I took a deep breath almost as if it was my last. According to Gary, it served admirably as both salve and lubricant.

What Grant felt next was totally unexpected. He jerked away, startled by the cold dollup of ointment that I placed directly onto his anus. Instantly his head lifted up from the pillow, his eyes wide open as he gazed back at me.

"What's that?" he asked anxiously.

I froze shamefully. My hand holding the open tube owas shaking.

"It's… it's… something to make you feel better," I answered weakly.

"It looks like vaseline?" Grant asked curiously.

He studied the jar closely, fascinated by the crystalline bead that covered the tip of my finger.

"It's… It kinda like that," I answered awkwardly, quickly taking my hand away from my son's bottom.

"Why are you using it?"

I knew that I looked like I had been caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

"Um, ah… So you'll be more comfortable, Grant." I paused, feeling my confidence return when Grant appeared to accept my explanation. "It'll make you feel better. It'll take away some of the soreness. And it's nice because it's so slippery."

"Slippery? Why?" Grant queried. Characteristically, he possessed a dogged determination to satisfy his insatiable curiosity.

I hesitated. "You have to be patient for a little bit longer and then you'll understand," I said vaguely.

Strangely, my answer was enough to quell his suspicions. Grant's head eased back onto the pillow. My hand returned and my fingers spread his small cheeks apart again. This time I studied the tiny opening, now coated with the glistening clear gel. My son's inflamed anus was so small that it seemed impossible for anything larger than a pencil to pass through. Yet, I knew that something much larger not only could enter, but had entered. The dark bruised ring attested to the fact. Perhaps it had been a onetime miracle, but I was more than ready to give it a second try.

Cautiously, I brought the grease-slicked forefinger of my other hand back to the tiny opening. I touched the tiny pucker lightly and Grant tensed instinctively, his buttocks clenching with surprising strength. That part of him normally associated with defecation was being touched by a hand other than his own. It was different to the way that I had washed him in the bath tub. The washing was also invasive, yet it had seemed appropriate. However, what should have been unpleasant, even very disturbing to him was not. He said nothing, accepting the strange sensations as being nice, strangely natural, and very relaxing. Within a matter of moments, his muscular response had faded to a feeble compression and he breathed deeply with a satisfaction that was as new to him as it was reassuring to me.

Then my finger probed gently, burrowing slightly into the gap that now opened through the wrinkled verge. Grant tensed again. No doubt he felt my finger pushing, not hard, yet persistently, trying to get deeper into him before his anus tightened up. He was being progressively violated. It felt good for me, and I suspected for Grant as well. My fingertip tingled. Was it my imagination that I could feel his pulse? Grant wriggled as shiver after shiver rippled along his spine. His hips began to wriggle back. My finger would go just a little bit deeper every time he pushed back. I felt the warm tightness creeping along the length of my finger. Without looking, I knew it had to be going deeper. It was definitely getting hotter. My experience told me that it would feel even better the deeper it went, but I also knew that I had to be patient. Abruptly his anus squeezed and closed, ejecting my finger even as it backed away. It was enough for now.

My finger circled around and around, smearing more of the greasy slime from Grant's crack into the dimple of his suddenlytaut anus. I traced the line of his perineum back until his thighs restricted further passage. I closed my eyes, soaking in the delicious warmth that still surged through my fingertip. I could feel the swelling of his small scrotum just before I could go no further. By then, my hand was shaking and my thoughts were unfocused. I realized that I had to distance myself from what suddenly had become unquenchable lust. Reason said 'stop', but I could not stop. I wanted to move Grant's legs further apart so that my fingers could explore the tiny mound of the boy's testicles and even reach down to find his penis. Instead, my fingers glided back, again tracing the dividing line that led directly into his crack. I felt Grant move slightly against me. I was suddenly very aware that he was repositioning himself, not to be more comfortable but to allow me better access. It seemed that Grant even pushed back so that my finger touched his anus again, or perhaps it was my imagination.

I quivered with excitement when I realized that his legs were now much further apart. Grant's willingness was being matched by my eagerness. Unable to resist any longer, my thumb and fingers parted the small cheeks even further than before. I brought the tip of my index finger back to where it had started. Grant seemed nervous, yet his excited tremble was unmistakable after my finger circled the greasy rim of his anus several times, then once more, tested the opening for a way inside. The tension had faded. The opening was very small, yet instinctively I knew that the entry could easily be made larger if I was gentle with him. The flexible opening pulsed, offering moist hot kisses to my fingertip as it dipped again and again into the hot depression.

This time, I resisted penetrating, although the building urge inside was almost becoming unpleasant. Now was not the time to worry about what was right or wrong. Unable to stop, my finger pushed carefully, yet resolutely, burrowing deeper. Again, Grant's buttocks clenched instinctively. However, there was no way that the boy's sphincter could resist my determined pressure. Ingress of my purposeful digit was sudden. His no longer virginal anus opened like a little mouth to gobble up my finger almost to the first joint. Grant gasped softly, fighting the urge to pull away, to close his anus tightly like an anemone on the beach. He wriggled slightly, responding to my finger boring into the tight hot passage. Inner nerves and the sense of violation finally made his sphincter clamp tightly around my finger. My inward motion ceased immediately.

"Just relax," I muttered. "I promise it won't hurt."

Grant nodded awkwardly, no doubt wondering as much about what I was doing as why he felt the way he did. For myself, my finger was partly inside his bottom and all I could think of was why it seemed entirely natural for me to be doing it. His head, now resting on his hairless forearm, turned back over his shoulder to watch me.

"Will it hurt like last time?" Grant asked nervously.

"Does it hurt now?"

"Not really. It's okay. It feels a lot different to yesterday," he added.

"I promise it won't hurt too much," I answered guiltily. "I'll stop if it hurts too much," I added as an afterthought. "Just tell me if you want me to stop."

"Isn't it dirty?" my ten-year-old son asked uncertainly.

I smiled. The smell was faint, more of soap than feces. Further inside, I might have second thoughts, but at that moment I had no hygiene concerns with the freshly washed boy. I shook my head, fascinated by Grant's immediate acceptance of that this was no longer an innocent back rub. Indeed, I wondered whether Grant's comment questioned habits of hygiene or morality. Rather than answer the question, I eased my finger back. Did I imagine the muted sound of a whimper? Slowly, I pushed my finger forward, this time going well beyond the first joint before I stopped. I felt the boy's slim body tremble, a slight quiver, the increased pressure of a tightening sphincter before it slackened.

Grant groaned audibly. In a matter of seconds I had trespassed into what should have been forbidden territory, only to discover that my son was an eager accomplice in the game. I stopped when the second joint was ready to breach the stretched aperture. It was a snug fit, made very tight each time Grant's anus contracted involuntarily. Each spasm tried to strangle my finger, and between them I thought I actually could feel the boy's heartbeat. However, from the expression of Grant's face I knew that it was not particularly painful for him. Nor was it particularly enjoyable, at least not yet. There was no smile to lessen my guilt.

His face was turned towards me, his expression uncertain, yet accepting. The nice feelings had dissipated with actual penetration, yet Grant was obviously tolerating his initial discomfort with something akin to innocent devotion. Somehow instinct told me that the nice feelings would return quickly if I remained both gentle and patient with him. For both of us, an inner and until recently repressed need was on the verge of being satisfied again. In the bath tub, there had been a feeling of inevitability, a frenzied rush to satisfy an irrepressible need, an uncontrollable coupling that was nothing more than an explosion of animal lust. Both of us sensed the different nature of the present experience. Like me, Grant felt a momentous discovery awaiting him. Deeper inside his anus there would be wonderful feelings, strange over-powering feelings that came from a void that could be filled only by my penis. I needed to be very patient to acheive that goal.

"You can't ever tell anyone," I whispered conspiratorially.

"I know, Dad," Grant answered. "It's the same as yesterday."

"How does it feel, Grant? I don't want to hurt you."

"It's okay… feels… funny… It hurts a little bit, but it's okay."

"You're so hot inside," I observed breathily.

The heat and pressure inside a young boy's body surprised me. Inside, beyond the tightly compressed band afforded by Grant's sphincter, the muscular grip had all but vanished. There, the sleek canal became hot and spongy soft while at the same time it squeezed and flexed, constantly changing so as to shift the stress and guide my finger to where he wanted it the most. If felt as though he was trying to suck my finger all the way inside him. Even when my finger had entered beyond the second joint there were still no lumps, just the loose moist tissue of an unsullied rectum. I stopped, wanting to penetrate even deeper. The barriers of taboo had risen like bile from my stomach.

"You went to the toilet before you got into bed, I hope?" I asked pointedly.

Again Grant nodded. "Is it poopy?"

"No."

He smiled and answered gleefully. "I went right before I got in the bath, Dad. Then I got in the bath and washed really carefully back there."

His answer was so pointed that I felt a sudden thrill, having obtained further evidence of his complicity. No longer did I question that Grant was very receptive to the idea of sex play with me. I knew he was willing. He wanted me to do this.

"I'm going to put it in all the way, Grant" I said urgently. "If you want me to, that is? I don't want to hurt you. It doesn't hurt too bad now, does it?" I added awkwardly.

"It's okay," Grant said softly. "It feels… weird… like it'll start feeling a whole lot better if you put it in further."

"I think it just takes a while for you to get used to it," I said. "Then it'll feel really nice. Like in the bath tub, you have to try to relax."

I looked down and watched my finger moving back and forth no more than a quarter of an inch [½ cm] at time. What I saw amused me. The pucker of Grant's anus continued to function like little lips, sealing around my finger so that excess grease was accumulating at the opening. I wondered how much had actually gone inside the tight hole because the sides of his buttocks were now glistening with an greasy sheen. With each inward movement, Grant's anus seemed to swallow more of my finger while keeping the lubricant outside. I pushed deliberately. There was a slight resistance that slowed my progress for a few seconds and then my finger was completely embedded and transparent gel covered his knuckles. Grant groaned and his inner sphincter grasped my finger tightly.

"Does it hurt?"

"Kinda… It feels big, Dad."

I smirked knowingly. Compared to my penis, my finger was insignificant in size. Last time, a week earlier, I had barely touched Grant's small anus before my inhibitions had crushed my urge. I had felt like a 'dirty old man', the words that my wife had used three or four years ago when she found a booklet of pornographic line drawings of boys in my study. I could still hear her words of condemnation when she confronted me. I denied it beyond they obvious artistic merit. Then, she even accused me of trying to pervert Grant by leaving the booklet where he might find it. She was wrong at the time, but I wondered what she would say if she saw what I was doing at that moment.

Smiling, I stopped pushing and caressed Grant's bottom with my other hand. The spasms were still strong but increasingly infrequent. At times, it even seemed that the boy was squeezing deliberately. I twisted the end of my finger like a screwdriver, gently boring into him. Grant shuddered immediately. Inside Grant's narrow pelvis, a nucleus of youthful nerves responded to my careful prodding. Despite the constriction afforded by his narrow rectum, my finger rubbed deliberately in the region that produced the greatest response. Immediately, Grant gasped again, more of a groan, and his legs jerked and writhed. I smirked. I had hit the target dead center. It had to be his prostate, immature though it doubtlessly was.

"Do you want me to stop?"

Grant's head shook quickly. With my index finger now fully contained in his rectum, my other hand moved from Grant's buttocks and casually eased underneath his narrow pelvis. My fingers brushed against the boy's short erection. It was another sign that he was not only excited but very willing. Again Grant sighed. He was shameless, smiling with unbridled contentment. When my finger began to withdraw from his anus, his body wanted to follow it, obeying a now-liberated desire to keep it inside. As he lifted up, my instinct responded and I pushed my finger deeper, deeper until it could go no further, until my knuckles were hard against his crack. He writhed again, shifting to a slightly different position to accommodate the added sensations. I stopped there and waited. I could see the effect of the sensations he was feeling.

Every few seconds part of his body trembled as if his brain was overloaded and firing off random impulses. His hand fluttered, his foot jerked, his shoulders twitched. His face, contorted momentarily in discomfort, then beamed. He blinked, then promptly clenched both hands. Indeed, as Grant's bowels began to relax, the feelings became even more intense and dared him to take it deeper. His hips and thighs quaked and lifted up, pushing his buttocks back against me hand. Despite the fact that all four inches [10 cm] of my finger had already passed through his anus, he still wanted more.

It seemed impossible that the fleshy tube that enclosed my finger could be both incredibly hard and soft at the same time. Yet, despite being tight, the lubricant-slicked lining enveloped my finger with a mushy heat. Minutes passed before I could rotate it easily. I could withdraw, and re-enter the taut canal without causing Grant to gasp or grunt involuntarily with sensations that bordered on being painful. As his sphincter muscle became looser, I began to move my finger back and forth, agitating the organs in the depths of the slender body before me. Bowel, prostate, bladder, all suffered under my slow stabbing onslaught. Grant's anus dilated beyond my wildest dreams, getting bigger and bigger until I could actually see past the sides of my finger into his bowels. He was very aroused and there was no hiding it. He was sexual, shameless, sensual. He silently submitted to waves of pleasure that soared from his quivering sphincter. It grasped, slackened, and sucked, always demanding continual motion despite the rawness of tender flesh. His bladder swelled with a pressing need to urinate. His tiny prostate bore the brunt of my strength. It ached, generating a pressure of its own that became stronger and stronger until it throbbed. Grant's body shook erratically, rising to the challenging sensations, yet it was unable to do more, unable to attain the high point of climax.

Given Grant's inexperience it was impossible for him to go all the way to an orgasm so quickly, yet his body achieved the pleasure that nature had intended. He hovered on the brink, aware that something lay just out of reach. He was content, yet not content. His body began to move, instinctively responding to an inner command that undulated his hips in a parody of intercourse. He pushed back forcefully, driving my finger into him until it could go no further. He began to hump, slowly, gently, rhythmically. A minute passed. Finally, Grant groaned.

"How does it feel. I didn't hurt you, did I?" I asked worriedly.

It took Grant a second or two to catch his breath. He looked at me, his face showing his bewilderment. It was a hard feeling to describe. It hurt, but it didn't hurt. Nor did it feel good. It felt strange. He wanted to stop, but he could not stop. His body wanted to tremble continuously as if he had no control over it, and it was all he could do not to cry. However, it wasn't hurting, at least not in the same way it had been a few minutes earlier. Grant shook his head vigorously. The one thing he did not want to happen was for me to stop. My finger rotated and levered upward, displacing his small bladder and pressuring his immature prostate more than ever before. The urge to urinate was intensified and his sphincter contracted, clamping around my finger, pulling insistently and with more strength than the slender body seemed to possess. He was shaking when my other hand slipped under his waist and groped between his thighs.

"Jesus! It might be small, but you're hard as iron," I acknowledged.

For some reason I had expected Grant's small penis to be limp. It did not seem possible that he could maintain an erection in the face of the stimulation I was providing elsewhere. It was impossible not to smile with pride. The degree of erection was awe-inspiring and it countered what Grant still lacked in size. It felt like it was hard enough to snap off if it was bent in the wrong direction. It was three inches [7½ cm] long and totally inflexible. It felt like a bone sheathed in the softest skin imaginable. I held it lightly, then increasingly tighter, until it felt like it was throbbing.

When there was no complaint, just a muted, compliant murmur, I began stroking gently. I worked the delicate sheath over the stiff little rod, my mind racing with lust and barely cognizant of what I was doing. After less than a minute of luxuriating in a plethora of sensations that began with the heat that emanated from my son's squat stiffness, I felt Grant's buttocks clench. This time, I had no doubt of what was happening to him. An inner muscle gripped my finger with new found strength and an urgency that was disturbing. His penis jumped between my fingers. Just three or four jerks within the space of a second or two before he was done. A moment later the spasm had passed and the rectal pressure faded. His sphincter quivered and became even looser when my finger began to probe again. With my other hand I quickly discovered, albeit with some surprise, that his penis seemed to have lost none of its hardness. This time I went full depth into the weakened passage, searching for the origin of Grant's pleasure. I realized that although he had achieved orgasm, it was only the first of many. There were advantages to be a prepubescent boy. Grant was breathing quickly with erratic gasps, his toes and fingers curled up. Beyond that, he did not seem to be experiencing discomfort.

"Are you okay?" I asked huskily.

I really didn't expect Grant to answer. I bored deeper, twisting my finger into the narrow confines of the boy's bowels until I could go no further. When my finger slid out through the small orifice, Grant's buttocks instinctively lifted up to retain it. I had no hesitation in putting it back. Penetration was not only remarkably easy, it also seemed painless. I stabbed back into the mushy heat with more force than necessary. Grant grunted once, then whimpered quietly when my knuckles were again pressed hard into his crack. Again I withdrew all the way, and again, Grant's body tried to follow, his cheeks compressing valiantly to hold it within him.

I smiled in disbelief. In the space of just a few moments it appeared that not only was the youngster enjoying it much more, but his anus had dilated even further. Now it stayed open slightly even when my finger was withdrawn Indeed, the opening felt quite loose on my finger. Suddenly, what had previously been a fantasy, had become entirely within the realm of being achieved. It was not only possible that Grant could accept a second finger, but with luck, he would want much more before the night was over.

"Bring your legs up," I instructed urgently. "So your butt is higher."

Silently, Grant shifted. My finger remained buried, ensconced securely in the narrow passage, providing both guidance and a comforting presence for him until he was crouching over my thighs. Now, his little rump was lifted up and the full depth of his crevice was exposed. There was no reason, at least not one that either of us could explain, yet the different position was more agreeable to both of us. With his buttocks parted, my access was completely unrestricted.

"I'm going to put two fingers in you now," I rasped. "It'll probably hurt a bit, at least at first. It shouldn't be too bad. I want you to take a deep breath and push back when you feel my fingers going inside."

"Huh?"

"Just do what you do when you're trying to poop. Do what you did in the bath tub."

I placed two fingers clsoe together. Pushed slightly, burrowed in a fraction of an inch. Grant groaned bravely and pushed as hard as he could. It felt exactly the same as when he was trying to expel a large stool, except that nothing came out. Instead something went in.

"U-a-h-u-w-a," he cried.

It was a weird sound and I froze. Both of my fingers had penetrated suddenly, already well beyond the first joint. I could feel Grant's anus squeezing frantically, trying to pass something from his body. I resisted my first impulse, hoping that a stool did not appear. I wasn't sure what I would do if it did. I eased my fingers back slightly the instant that Grant relaxed, but the deed had been done. He whimpered until the pressure eased to a mild stress that he could deal with.

"Are you okay?"

Grant nodded slightly. "Both your fingers are inside me now, aren't they?" he said softly. "I can feel them. It feels… funny, in my tummy like, but it's not. It makes me feel like I have to go pee, only I went right before I got into bed."

"That's good," I acknowledged with a knowing smile. "I wouldn't want you to wet your bed. I think sometimes it just feels like that."

Grant was quiet for several seconds. I knew he was trying hard to understand the feelings that were raging through his body. There was a nagging sense that I should stop. It came not from violating him or doing something against his will, because he was obviously willing, but because what I was doing was altering him. My fingers were making the change happen. I imagined that I could change him forever if my fingers just went in far enough. I held my hand perfectly still, keeping the pressure constant. The boy's anus clamped, relaxed, then clamped again. The sphincter pulled hungrily at my fingers with each contraction.

"It's… it's hurting now," Grant gasped through pursed lips. He groaned again when the stress began to build inside him.

"You can move around and get comfortable if you want, Grant."

"Don't stop, okay?"

"I think it will feel even better when you're used to it," I swered hopefully.

I waited only for a few moments before my words had the desired impact. Grant shifted again, repositioning his pelvis by lifting upwards so that my two fingers, now halfway ensconced in his bowels, were no longer pressing into his bladder. When he settled down again, my penis pressed directly against his erection. He was unaware of the slime being excreted from the tip of my penis. It was slick and very slippery. My swollen, oozing glans ground against his scrotum, my throbbing shaft moving alongside his penis, burrowing between his silky thighs. Grant grunted the instant my fingers moved, shuddering as new and very different sensations rushed through him. His anus tried to clamp down but the muscle was already weakened. The sensations burst free and he peaked. He quaked and groaned, jerking relentlessly, frantically. His orgasmic spasm faded almost instantly, replaced by a juicy firmness that opened into the depths of his twitching rectum. My fingers pushed in until the orifice was stretched wide, then levered down. I began to rub across a tiny swelling, a mound no larger than a marble. It felt like a knob of bone was buried just behind the boy's rectum.

Grant moaned, his feet pushing against the bed, his buttocks lifting higher. He squeezed down, then pushed back up to get even more inside him, compressing his belly, wanting the agonizing pressure to go away almost as much as he wanted it go on. He groaned when he felt the pressure increase to the point where he could no longer stand it. It was hard to breath with his face forced against the pillow, but he dared not take lift away. I could see him muffling his panic in the feathery down beneath his face. Perhaps he was afraid that I would hear the strange sounds he was making. Instead it excited me, thrilled me in a way that my wife had never been able to do during foreplay, or even during the hurried thrusting that accounted for intercourse.

It was a frenzied rush when it came to him. He humped against me frantically, rubbing our penises into a turmoil of rigid, jerking flesh, mine oozing copious fluid as it began to swell and grow even harder. I felt my testicles tighten, the first warning sign that I had only a matter of seconds left. Grant tried to breath, but he could only gasp without exhaling. It felt like something was bursting inside him again, like something wanted to come out, that if he pushed hard enough it would actually happen. It happened for me immediately after Grant collapsed against me, still trembling as his frenzied jerking faded. Knowing that my son had orgasmed, was enough to send me over the edge.

My penis lunged, taking orders from a primal master that was intent on ejaculation despite my reluctance to do so with Grant lying on top of me. With my mind already on sensory overload, it seemed like it was happening in slow motion and not in the space of a few all-too-brief seconds. I felt my testicles pull tightly against my body, the sudden increase in stiffness, the pulses of rising fluid, the erratic jerking that I could not control. It was impossible to stop what I had started. After the first few spurts had sprayed between our bellies, the warm wetness from my body oozed over his genitals covering them with my milky fluid. I clutched the boy, pressing hard against him as I continued to ejaculate the last of my sperm. I was physically exhausted and the night had barely started.

It took only a few moments before Grant had recovered sufficiently to raise his head and look at me. He smiled shyly, knowingly, agreeably. This time there was no guilt or shame to darken his countenance. From his expression I could see that like me, he had just experienced the pinnacle of love. With love came an overpowering joy that was undeniably satisfying. There was wonder in his eyes along with the mystifying acceptance of a boy's first really intense climax. Until then ecstasy was foreign to him, but from that point on, it was something he would always be able enjoy. I was not naive enough to imagine that he had not experienced orgasm prior to this, however Grant did not have to tell me that what we had just done together was very different to anything he had done with Brandon.

I nodded slightly and lovingly stroked his back. He settled down against me, content to have his back rubbed. I expected that he was also struggling with the knowledge of what we had done, and I hoped that getting him to relax would help him to accept it.

A few minutes passed before Grant resumed his normal cheerful self. He had calmed down, or rather his penis had softened enough that it was no longer a dangerous weapon. Still shy, he moved back to his haunches, lifted up and climbed off. He resumed a position on the bed, lying on his side and facing towards me. He seemed to be pensive. I was content to let him lie. I stroked his flank, trailing my fingers from his knee to his waist. I lost track of time. If this was what it was it was going to be like being in love with Grant, then I had a lot to look forward to. I had never known such utter and complete bliss.

Then when sleep seemed like the only avenue, he startked me by sitting up. His mind was finally made up. He grinned at me shamelessly.

"Hey Dad? Can we take another bath together now?"

I stretched my legs, sliding my hand across my semen-drenched belly. I needed a shower. It was sticky and still slightly warm. There was as much of it on Grant's body as there was on mine, but it did not seem to bother him. He seemed remarkably at ease given that my fluid had spurted over his body from his chest to his crotch. He was covered in wet streaks and he needed a bath. However that would mean getting up from the comfortable warmth of the bed. I trailed my finger in it, musing that this very same fluid had been responsible for bringing Grant into the world. Lovingly, I reached over and dabbed the edge of the sheet at his groin. Tenderly, I and wiped away the wetness I had placed there.

"A bath? You took one tonight already, didn't you?"

"Yeah, so?" He grinned from ear to ear.

"Why a bath?" I asked.

"You know."

Grant's voice was suddenly soft and uncertain, conveying his growing anxiety. I turned to him, saw him stretched out almost naked beside me. His tee-shirt did almost nothing to keep him warm.

"Does it bother you having my stuff on you?" I asked with guilty concern.

Grant giggled. "'course not. It's just your baby-making stuff."

"Are you cold?"

"No."

"Then why a bath?"

Grant smiled shyly. "'cause," he whispered. I wanted to kiss him. "You know why, Dad."

"I'm not sure I do."

"'cause of… You know," he began awkwardly.

He giggled. Then swallowed. He was a peculiar mix of emotions, floundering in childish innocence, while judging from the quickly changing state of his penis, his newly discovered lust was rampart again.

"Don't you want to do it to me again?" he asked nervously.

Suddenly it all became clear. In his childish ignorance, he had associated what had happened with me in the bath the night before with how we would always have sex. I started to laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"You are. We don't have to have a bath together to do that," I answered.

"Huh?" Grant was surprised, if not amused.

"Of course not. We can do it right here on the bed if you want."

"We can? But… I mean… do it here? Like what about the mess, you know if I poop and all."

"So, we'll put a towel under you." I grinned. "Where on earth did you get that idea?" I asked.

Grant pursed his lips and gave me a shame-faced look. It was very evident he had no intention of telling me, or of revealing the full extent of his lack of knowledge.

"You mean…'s okay here? How?" he muttered with a rapidly growing smile.

"How?" I asked. I presumed he needed an explanation of the mechanics of anal intercourse. I grinned back at him. "It's really quite simple. You can lie on your back and lift your legs up, or you can crouch down and I'll get behind you. There's probably lots of other ways to do it as well. All you have to do is to be in a position so it can go in nice and easy."

He smirked. "Not how. Now?"

I raised up on one elbow. "Now?"

"That's what I said," he smirked.

"You mean? You want to?…Right now?"

Grant shrugged nervously. "Don't you? You wanted to last night, didn't you?"

I sighed, still harboring guilt. "That was… well it was different Grant. I kind of lost control. I couldn't stop myself."

"You don't want to do it now?" he asked uncertainly.

"Uh, well, I… I guess… I… I don't know… God, Grant! This is really hard for me."

"Well? It's hard for me too, you know."

"It's…"

He smiled, appreciating humor that I could not see. "What you're saying is you don't want to, but you really do. I know you do. You wanted to do it last night just as much as I did."

"Then why did you run off?" I asked.

Grant bit his bottom lip pensively. "I got scared I guess. When I got out and you were looking at me, I wanted so bad to get back into the bath with you. Only I was afraid."

"What were you afraid of?"

"Nothing." He sighed. "Of what you would think of me. 'cause I forced you."

"You didn't force me to do anything. I wanted to," I admitted. "It was a beautiful thing for us to do together."

Grant smiled weakly, then becoming a little braver, he grinned. "So what about it? Do you want to do it now?"

I sighed again. There was no fighting my natural impulse. He could see that I wanted to. My penis was already lifting up to point directly at his chest. I needed to make love to him more than I could stand. Not since I was a teenager had my penis returned to erection within a few minutes of achieving climax. I felt the rush of blood, my heart beat increasing to its previous rate. The mere thought of mounting him, now, in his bed sent a thrill of excitement such as I had never known with his mother. I looked him in the eyes.

"Are you sure?" I asked gently.

Grant nodded slowly, deliberately, unequivocally. I gave in jubiantly, yet wondering whether I would suffer the same remorse again.

"Okay. Let's try it. I want you to lie on your side and pull your knees up as high as you can," I muttered.

I trembled with excitement as Grant positioned himself. His head was on the pillow, his knees hard against his chest. His right hand draped over his side, his fingers pulling against his uppermost cheek to open his glistening crack. Feeling a growing sense of trepidation, but completely overpowered by Grant's shameless offering, I wriggled forward until the head of my penis nudged his anus. Leaning on my elbow, I looked down at the side of his face. The expression was endearing, if a little disconcerting. His eyes were half-closed as if concentrating. Perhaps he was trying to decide if he really wanted to do it. His lips were open lightly. He breathed steadily, slowly. Then his fingertips brushed against the side of my penis, lifting it slightly higher so that there was no doubt where he wanted it to go. There we stopped, both knowing that we should not do what our lust demanded, but that if we tried, we would succeed and we would not be able to stop what followed. Eventually, lust won over inhibition. I pushed gently to let him know what I wanted. Grant pushed firmly back at me.

On the Internet I had read stories about young boys and men having sex. The details of anal sex ran the full gamut. More often than not, the man's penis slides right in. Sometimes there is a description that is purported to be realistic, of a bloody and painful penetration that gradually changes to pleasure as the boy's anus dilates. Logic says that a considerable amount of pain ought to be expected when an adult penis passes through a young child's anus. Given those fictional accounts, I was unprepared for what happened that second time with Grant. Of course, it helped that he wanted it inside him, that my fingers had already considerably loosened the small orifice, that I used a lot of Preparation H on both of us.

With my penis pointed directly at the tiny target, I pushed harder against him. His eyes closed and he tensed momentarily when I pushed. I could feel him pushing out simultaneously. Some people describe it as a 'pop' when a man's penis comes out of a preteen boy's anus after intercourse. That is true, but very few describe it that way when a penis first goes in. Not that I heard a 'pop' sound, at least not like a champagne cork 'popping'. The sound I heard was more like 'Nnnnnngggghhhhhhaaaaoooooowww' as Grant wailed. However, it felt like a 'pop. One moment, my glans was wedged outside his anus, the next instant, it was buried within him, the ridge of my glans just behind his inner sphincter.

Grant's hot moist pressure overwhelmed me. My penis felt like it was encased in a very tight tube, which is exactly what it was except that the tube was alive. Erratic muscular contractions rippled along the short length of my penis that was now embedded inside him. Every pulsation made my heart beat faster. I had never been so aware of ability of my penis to provide me with pleasure. If I tried to withdraw even a fraction of an inch, Grant's rectum seemed to surge down and clamp around my penis, holding my throbbing organ tighter than a grasping hand. Within him, I discovered a place that was both soft and hard, smooth and rough, at the same time. No woman, no amount of masturbation, could feel like this. It also felt distinctly different to the first time in the bathroom. For one thing his body seemed to be both hotter and tighter, but I think I was also more aware of what was happening. The feeling of being held within his firm clutches was exquisite, far better than the tactile sensation of his sphincter squeezing against my finger.

My penis responded by becoming even stiffer, a hard ramrod of human flesh that wanted one thing, and one thing only. It was all I could do not to start thrusting against him. Even though I was almost as inexperienced as Grant, Gary had made me aware of the need to go slow, to let him become accustomed to the added girth as it slowly eased into him. His body trembled and momentarily, instinctively attempting to excrete my penis with powerful muscular spasms. I held him tightly, pushing resolutely, waiting for him to recover control. A few more seconds, and he squirmed and shuddered from the unexpected onset of another contraction. And then, as that last-ditch effort to protect his inner chamber faded, he deliberately squeezed against me. It was the sign I needed.

I pushed, not forcefully or overly hard, but persistently. It was more than enough. My hard sex slid deeper, gliding on the oily slickness we shared. There was no friction between my wellgreased penis and his equally well-greased anus. Within seconds, we passed the point of no return when my penis was about a third of the way inside him. Each time I flexed my shaft, I thought I could feel the firm resistance of bone.

Without warning, Grant jumped, tightening his buttocks and trying to pull away from the strange pressure within him. The head of my penis had pushed hard against his immature prostate. He lurched again, gasping and trembling as my penis flexed instinctively. Each time my penis levered upward, it compressed the tiny gland behind Grant's pubis. He was conscious of a very different stimuli, a cacophony of marvellous sensations that cascaded through him and made his body twitch and quake. Again I paused, as much to let him get used to the added length as to become accustomed to the tremors that began under his spine. He lay very still, immobile that is except for spontaneous nervous tremors that made him quiver erratically.

"Okay?" I whispered. "I'm going to start now. I promise I'll stop whenever you tell me to. I don't want to hurt you."

Grant's only response was an urgent movement of his tousled head. I could hear and feel him panting for each breath. His silence was a little disturbing until I realized that he was trying hard to control his body's natural responses. He was forcing himself to relax, to give himself to me, to ignore the pain, to accept the discomfort as a portent of a greater miracle. I took a slow deep breath. The second time was going to be every bit as important as the first time if only because he was knew more or less what to expect, and the first time had to have hurt him badly.

I began gently.

For a long while, my thrusts were very slow, barely travelling an inch into his lush heat, before backing away. It bothered me that each time my penis drove into him, it elicited a muffled gasp. Yet, he did not move away. Indeed, I reached over his bare flank and lovingly cradled his penis in my hand. Half-erect, halflimp, not hard, not soft, teasing the tender rounded tip with gentle squeezes until it stirred back to life. I felt the fullness slowly return, stretching outward along the length of my fingers until the head brushed against my palm. I cupped his tiny testicles, rubbing them lovingly as I marvelled that something so small could be so important to his body. Grant lay silently, with complete contentment while he was being pleasured both front and rear. There was no rush. My movement slowed until I lay still behind him, partially embedded, yet not so far inside him that I was exposed to stimulation sufficient to provoke a climax. He grew harder with every passing minute, his penis becoming inflexible and unyielding. It was a boy-boner in every sense of the word, tumescence within, unbelievable soft outside.

Finally, unable hold back any longer, I resumed my slow rhythm. His body had slackened further during that brief interlude. Within the first few thrusts, my inward movement was met with movement back, impelling my penis to penetrate a little further. Slowly, Grant's resistance diminished. His gasps became soft whimpers, his buttocks clenching when I eased away, shuddering when I entered too far. Then, acting purely on hunch, I began to stroke into his bowels with short, hard jabs. With my penis more than halfway inside him, I had no doubts that it was primarily rubbing in the region of his prostate. Immediately, Grant groaned loudly.

After a few seconds he trembled and writhed against me. Lying behind him, I could not see his face, yet I knew it was contorted, grimacing in the sudden shock of an approaching orgasm. I felt his body stiffen, quivering, straining against me, sucking in air, gasping hard and fast. He bucked and jerked, and I realized he was experiencing the ultimate pleasure of his sex. His orgasm was short-lived, nothing more than a few seconds of unparalleled ecstasy. His rigid penis throbbed and jumped once, twice, three times under my fingers, emitting nothing but pure pleasure.

I paused, poised to continue, enraptured by the knowledge that I had taken him to new heights. It was a time of constant discovery. He would never be the same again, but then, neither would I. Momentarily, I wondered whether his orgasm had resulted from my forceful abrasion of his prostate, or the stimulation of his slowly shrivelling penis. Either way, it did not matter.

I started again, now intent on satisfying my own needs. Each time my penis thrust into him, he made sounds that were neither groans or grunts, but which came from deep in his slender chest. On the out-stroke, he whimpered, tightening his anal muscles to keep me deep within him. I proceeded slowly, carefully, gently, always cautiously, yet pushing the limits a little more every time. Sometimes he locked his anus around my manhood. It was his way of letting me know that he wanted more. As the passive one, Grant was at my mercy, his own sex diminishing rapidly until it was nothing more than a useless appendage hiding between his slim thighs.

Suddenly, the nauseating nature of what was happening struck me. Not that sex with Grant was repugnant. Far from it. It was a wonderful, joyous thing to share with him. However, he was a boy, and I was systematically subjecting him to a role that denied his maleness. What I wanted was not to subjugate him in a passive role, but to have him as an equal partner, as a lover. Of course, not all things are possible, and it was unlikely that Grant would be able to do to me what I was doing to him until he was well into his teens, yet he could participate in other ways. I lifted his upper leg until it was perpendicular. That placed my penis between the sandwich of his small buttocks. While it was not uncomfortable, it limited the ease with which I could move back and forth. Then, I positioned his foot behind my leg, wrapped one arm around his chest and pulled him into me. My penis sank deeper, penetrating nearly five inches before a spongy barrier prevented further entry.

I reached for his small hand. As if protection was necessary, it was clasped over his little limp penis. I lifted Grant's hand away from the now sweaty softness, guiding it down further between his legs. His finger tips brushed my erect penis where it joined to my scrotum. Gradually, he explored along the swollen length to discover where it entered his body.

"He feels so big," Grant murmured.

"But does he feel good?" I whispered back.

"Uh… dunno…"

"You don't know?"

"s' hard to explain. 'feels… really funny."

I moved slightly, pushing in about inch before backing away. Two slippery inches came out before I stopped. Grant's anus tightened, gripping to retain my glans.

"No!" he commanded. "Don't take him out, Dad. I want him in me."

"Who's taking him out? Not me, that's for sure," I said enthusiastically. "This is the best I've ever felt. I might feel funny to you, but you feel absolutely incredible to me. You're one incredible kid."

I pulled Grant hard against me, and kissed his shoulder and neck passionately. His hand fondled the lower half of my penis, rubbing in the accumulated juices where my penis disappeared into him. My hand joined his, holding his small hand in place. I found myself marvelling that his body could stretch far enough to hold me, although the tightly stretched band encircling my penis revealed the stress he was under. The veins and arteries in my penis were bloated and prominent as the flow of blood was constricted. His hand reached down and grasped my testicles, squeezed mercilessly, pulling on them, drawing me to him, into him, returning my penis to its rightful place. He groaned as the pressure resumed against his prostate and bladder. I stopped moving, feeling my penis and Grant's tightly stretched rectum pulsing together.

"You can fuck me harder if you want," he said softly.

I did not use obscenities myself, not even under extreme provocation. Under any other circumstances I might have lectured Grant about using words like that, even punished him. Not this time. I was somewhat surprised that he knew the word, yet it was entirely appropriate to describe the situation.

"Are you sure, Grant?"

"I want you to, okay?"

I meekly complied with his desire, returning to the slow undulation that he seemed to enjoy the most. A few minutes later, the slow rhythm had changed. Forceful pummelling that was two inches [5 cm] short of going all the way inside him was interspersed with gentle rocking that barely moved my penis inside him. It was exactly what he wanted, if his moans of encouragement meant anything at all. And he did encourage me, pleading for it faster and deeper like an accomplished partner who knows what he needs to be satisfied, then gasping for breath as the sensations overwhelmed him. Grant's anus loosened further, becoming succulent as I stirred his inner membrane, churned the grease to slimy oil, added my own copious emission of pre-seminal juice. His third orgasm of the evening was different yet again. It built slowly, like a kettle on the fire getting hotter until it boiled. The fire consumed both of us, made the minutes vanish, creating a seamless memory of motion, languid, energetic, a turmoil of emotions. Then, just when I was beginning to believe that he was not going to reach the peak again, Grant began to thrust against me.

"Faster," he rasped.

That single word, as much as his frenzied pushing provoked my own orgasm. I felt my testicles tighten as my penis throbbed, the urgency of impending ejaculation. My entire body was focused on a single purpose, that of putting semen as deeply as possible into Grant's body. It was all I could do not to ram against him with all my strength. I pumped frenetically, felt the torrent rising up within me, gushing out into the trembling boy. One blast followed the next, seemingly endless spurts, but in fact only half-a-dozen that became a drool as . H, his hips made erratic jerks that matched my own in intensity even if nothing was released from his shrivelled penis. As the final spasms passed, I clutched his heaving body against me. I kissed his shoulder, nuzzled his sweaty hair, marvelled that I had made to love to him again. This time there were no tears, no shameful departure. He was exhausted and he lay very quietly, content to be held and comforted in his postorgasmic bliss. My erection faded quickly, yet it was so deeply inside him that it did not pull free. My attempt to remove it from its sloppy hot abode was swiftly dispelled.

"Don't!" Grant said hoarsely. A moment later. "Don't take him out."

"Okay. Does it hurt?"

"No! You feel so good."

"So do you."

"You're so strong. Your arms are really muscular. I never thought of you as being so strong."

I grinned and hugged him tighter. I was proud and pleased, and very aware of the contrast between us. Although the thought was somewhat abhorrent to me, Grant had inherited many of his mother's characteristics. Beside Grant's slender body, my body appeared brawny, my skin unpleasantly rough and hairy compared to his smooth sleek skin. Enveloped in my arms, he seemed delicate, almost feminine, as if born to the passive role I had consigned him. With my aggressive act of love, I had reduced his maleness to a faint trace that could be erased if I was not careful.

If there was one thing I regretted that night, it was that Grant fell asleep before I told him how much I loved him. I was smitten and part of me wanted him to know how I felt about him.

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