My Father, My Son
by: Tom Borden

2000-2008 by the author


The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...


"You mean he or 'SHE.' Almost half the suspects are female," said McDougal.

"Am I invited to your little show, McDougal?" said the Chief.

"Of course, Chief. They're all being brought in at 2:00 this afternoon."

Detective Sergeant McDougal walked outside and sat on a bench in the small park that surrounded the front entrance of the police station. Staring across the sidewalk at the bronze statue of Justice holding her scales, he leaned back, lit a cigarette, and smiled.


Chapter 53 


Detective Sergeant McDougal greeted all the suspects as they arrived in his office.

Dick Watson said, "I hope you make this quick, McDougal. I don't have all day. I don't know why the hell I'm here."

"You're all here because among you are suspects in the murder of Elmer Flatt," said McDougal calmly. "I want you all to hear the evidence we've gathered in this case. Motive is the important thing here, and there are more than one of you who did have motive to kill.

"You, Cheryl Watson, had been having an affair with Flatt, but he insulted you and told you he never wanted to see you again."

"Well," shouted Cheryl, "you don't have to advertise it to everyone!"

"Shut up, Cheryl," growled her husband. "Everybody on the floor knew you were getting dicked by that son-of-a-bitch!"

"Now there's no need for these outbursts. I want you all to sit and listen to me," said McDougal. "In your own words, Cheryl, you were angry enough to kill him for giving up on you. You caught yourself when I interviewed you just as you were about to tell me you wanted to kill him."

"But I didn't kill him," Cheryl said with fire in her voice.

"And you, Dick Watson," continued McDougal, "knew about the affair your wife was having with Flatt, and were so angry about it, you could have killed him."

"Sure, I was angry, but I wasn't going to kill him."

"But it was very clear that you were glad he was dead."

"Now, you Harry Anderson," said McDougal, pressing on. "Although you didn't particularly like Elmer Flatt, you said you hardly knew him."

"That's right."

"But your wife told us that on many occasions you had verbal shouting matches with him, and at one time even punched Flatt in the nose. You also told your wife that you would do worse if you ever got the chance."

Harry shot a menacing glance at his wife, Marge.

McDougal continued. "Could it be that, when you talked to me, you were hiding the fact that you really did know and hate Elmer Flatt, just in order to take any suspicion off of yourself?"

"Well, I . . . ." stammered Harry.

Turning abruptly to Flatt's wife, McDougal said, "Mildred Flatt, you were Elmer's wife, and . . . ." "I told you once," snarled Mildred. "I didn't kill nobody. Damn! I need a cigarette!"

"Just a minute, Mildred," said McDougal as he held up his hand. "By your own admission, you knew about your husband's dalliances with Cheryl Watson, and you were very angry about it. You fought with your husband over it, and you were of a mind to leave, except for the fact that you had no money of your own and no place to go. But you knew that he had $50,000 dollars insurance payable to you. When he threatened to cancel that insurance during the argument you had with him the day before he was murdered, you killed him before he had a chance to cancel it. Isn't that right?"

Mildred rose from her chair and screamed, "That is a filthy lie! I never killed nobody!"

"Calm down, Mrs. Flatt," said McDougal calmly. "We're not done here yet."

"Now, Adriano Cinella," said McDougal turning in his chair. "You seemed to have been painted the good guy in all of this. Motive for murder? Can't find any, to be frank with you." Getting up from his chair, McDougal walked over and stood in front of Mario. Looking down at Mario, he said, "But you, Mario Cinella. Let's talk about you. You don't like being called a Dago or a Wapp, do you?"

"Of course not," murmured Mario.

"And you told him so, didn't you?"


You had loud and ferocious arguments with him, too, didn't you?

"Yes, I did, but . . . ."

"Mrs. Anderson told us that she looked out her door during one of these arguments," said McDougall calmly, "and she plainly heard you say that you would see him dead before you would move out of the building. Do you remember saying that?"

"Well, maybe I said that, but . . . ."

"There can't be any buts about a threat like that, Mr. Cinella," said McDougal. "As you know, we obtained warrants to search all of the apartments on that floor. Do you know what we found in your apartment, Mr. Cinella? We found in a drawer a fancy wooden box that was made to hold eight stainless steel steak knives. But one of them was missing. Do you know where we found it? We found it sticking out of Elmer Flatt's chest."

"It wasn't me, Sergeant McDougal!" pleaded Mario. "I hated the man, but I didn't kill him."

McDougal walked around the back of Mario's chair and, still looking down at him, said, "It was determined that Mr. Flatt was killed about 7:00 p.m. Mrs. Watson told me that, from her window, she watched you and your son walking to Adriano's car about 6:45. Then a few minutes later, as she was about to take the elevator down to the first floor to check for mail, she saw you getting off of the elevator, looking distressed and in a hurry as you proceeded down the hall. That would have placed you in front of Elmer Flatt's door at about 7:00, where you stabbed Mr. Flatt to death when he opened the door!"

Adriano jumped to his feet, and shouted, "That's not true! My father went back to our apartment simply to get his wallet that he had forgotten. My father would never hurt anyone! You're barking up the wrong tree, McDougal! You'd better go back to your evidence and look again!"

McDougal smiled and slowly walked back and sat down in the large leather chair behind his desk. Still smiling, he said, ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. You're now about to see real detective work in action. There is yet one other suspect"

Nodding at the police officer standing at the door, he said, "Alright, officer, bring him in."

Everyone in the room turned in their chairs to look. Standing there in the doorway, flanked by two police officers who were each holding him by one arm, was Charlie Lipton, unshaven and disheveled.

"I'm sorry that you were not able to join us during our little chat, Mr. Lipton," said McDougal, "but as you know, you are a difficult man to locate and apprehend."

Adriano sat shocked, barely able to mouth the name "Charlie."

"Charlie," began McDougal, "Have you ever heard the saying, 'Murder will out?' Well, it's out now. Do you want to know how I knew it was you? Of course you do," said McDougal with a patronizing smile. "Let's start at the beginning, shall we? After you moved in with Adriano Cinella, you got to know Mr. Flatt and, according to witnesses, you had a number of friendly conversations with him in the hall outside of his door. Mr. Flatt, in fact, invited you in for something to drink on at least one occasion, according to Mrs. Flatt. It seemed strange that you, and only you, were the only resident on that floor who got along with the man.

"We had Flatt's bank records carefully checked, and found that over a period of approximately ten months, he had written several checks payable to you. One was in the amount of $27,000, another in the amount of $18,000, and three others, each for $20,000. Can't you imagine how curious we became, Charlie? We then made a very close check of Mr. Flatt's background, and found that eight years previous he had been convicted of cocaine trafficking. He spent only one year in prison, and was released on a technicality. An overzealous prosecutor made some serious mistakes in his trial. Mrs. Flatt told us that during the period when you lived in the building, her husband would go out into the hall a number of times and return with a small package, which would later be picked up by someone else a day or two later.

"We also made a thorough search of Mr. Flatt's private papers he kept in a lock box in the apartment. In it we found a copy of a letter he had written to you about two weeks before he was murdered, in which he told you he could not pay you the $31,000 he owed you for the last 'bundle,' as he called it. He was having trouble collecting from those persons he was supplying. The address on the letter, by the way, was very helpful to us in locating where you lived. We found another letter, this one dated only four days before he was murdered. In this one, he very emphatically stated that the money could not be raised and that he was thereby severing his relationship with you.

"This news, of course, infuriated you, Charlie, and you went to Flatt's apartment to confront him. When he answered the door and came out into the hall to talk with you, it is very likely that he once again refused to hand over the money. At that point, you pulled out a knife and stabbed Mr. Flatt five times in the chest, killing him. Oh yes, the knife. When you moved out of Adriano's apartment, you stole several items, which Adriano had found missing after you left. One of the items you stole was one of the steak knives from a set of eight. You were very careful to wipe your prints off of the handle. But you had apparently grabbed Flatt by the shirt front and left your fingerprints clearly discernable on the smooth metal medallion that Flatt wore on his string tie."

"I didn't do it," growled Charlie, as he purposely looked away, avoiding Adriano's stare.

Sergeant McDougal stood up and said, "Okay, officer, handcuff him and take him out and read him his rights. Then lock him up." As Charlie turned to go, McDougal said, "Charlie, they're going to give you a pair of bright orange overalls. They'll look nice with that great tan of yours. You'll be arraigned in the morning in circuit court."

As Charlie was led out of the room, everyone sat in stunned silence. Adriano put his arm around his father's shoulders, and they sat silently with their eyes turned to the floor. Adriano felt hurt and angry that all of this had been going on while Charlie was living in his apartment and sharing his bed. Everyone slowly got up and walked silently out of the room. Dick Watson actually had his arm around his wife Cheryl's waist, as Cheryl leaned her head against her husband's shoulder. It had been a terrible ordeal but, as incredible as the news of Charlie's guilt was to everyone, it was now over.

Sergeant McDougal shook Adriano's and Mario's hands, and apologized for putting them in the middle of the little drama that had taken place in that room. He said, "I'll walk outside with you. I need a cigarette bad!"

When Adriano and Mario arrived home, Adriano asked, "Why were you so upset that night after the murder, dad? You were acting so strange, you scared me. It was almost as though you had killed the man yourself."

Mario said, "I remembered that Mrs. Anderson was looking at me when I said to Flatt that I would see him dead. I was just terribly worried that she would tell someone, and that I would be accused of killing him."

After the terrible tension of the day, Adriano and Mario hugged each other, and the wonderful relief they now felt brought tears to their eyes.

Clayton had read the letter from Jared more times than he could count. Michael could tell from the look on Clayton's face over the past several days that he was going through a terrible conflict in his mind over whether or not he should visit Jared.

Michael finally asked Clayton to come into his office. He said, "Okay, Clayton, I think we'd better drive up and visit Jared in the hospital. I know that you've been worrying about it, and I suppose it's only right that I go and see him too. We are brothers, after all. And it would probably be wrong for me to abandon him completely under the circumstances of his condition, even considering all the hate he had in his heart for me. We'll drive up there in the morning. Okay?"

Clayton looked at Michael and said, "I'm really sorry, Michael, that I want to do this. I keep worrying that you will think I . . . you know . . . ."

"I know, Clayton," said Michael, taking Clayton in his arms and kissing him on the forehead. "You're my son now, and that will never change.

Clayton said, "Going up to see Jared has nothing to do with that. I just have this feeling I should do the right thing . . . that I should do what I think you would do if you were me."

That evening, Michael received a call from Father Taft at the prison. "Mr. Walker, have you decided whether or not you wish to visit your brother?"

"Yes, Father, we're driving up to the prison tomorrow morning."

"Well, I'm glad I caught you," said Father Taft. "The reason I'm calling is to tell you that Jared Walker has been transferred to a secure care area of Dallas General Hospital. He's still in a coma, and not in good shape at all. The doctors here at the prison felt he needed specialized care, only available in Dallas."

"Thank you, Father, for calling. Are they allowing visitors to see him?"

"Yes, but he's in the ICU and the visiting time is very short."

When Michael and Clayton arrived at the hospital the next morning, the nurse at the desk in the ICU informed them that only one visitor at a time was allowed into a patient's cubicle, and only for ten minutes.

"You go ahead, Clayton," said Michael. "I'll wait out here."

Clayton stood by Jared's bed and looked down at him. Clayton had seen only one dead person in his life, and Jared looked very much the same. Clayton didn't recognize him at all from the last time he had seen Jared. He looked old and emaciated.

"Hello, Jared," Clayton said finally. "I'm sorry you're not feeling . . . I mean, I'm sorry what you did . . . . I mean, I'm sorry to see you like this."

Clayton looked into Jared's face and suddenly realized he was feeling nothing. He felt no sympathy, he wasn't sorry about anything that Jared was going through. The person who was lying there, connected to a dozen tubes and monitors, was a stranger. This person had no meaning at all to Clayton. He felt no hate, he felt no love, he felt nothing.

Leaving the cubicle after only about five minutes, Clayton said, "Okay, Michael, if you want to see him, he's all yours."

Standing at the foot of Jared's bed, Michael shook his head and said, "You damned fool! Look at you now. Look at what a damned mess you've made of your life. If mom were alive today, it would kill her to see what a fucking mess her favorite son has made of his life. I don't even know why I'm here. Just to watch you suffer, maybe. No, I don't really mean that. I hate to see any animal suffer."

Going around to the side of the bed, closer to Jared's head, Michael said, "I remember that time when we were kids, and you got thrown by that horse. You were knocked out cold, and you broke your leg. It was just like this. I'd stand by your bedside and pray that you'd get well so we could go out and play again. No, I guess it wasn't just like this, at all. I've asked myself a thousand times why what you and I had in those days couldn't continue. You were my big brother, and you could do no wrong. Do you want to know something silly? I was even jealous of the cast you wore on your leg. When we went to school, the other kids all gathered around you wanting to see it and sign their names on it. You were like a hero of some sort."

Michael stood, looking down at Jared. Again, shaking his head slightly, he said, "I look at you, but I hardly know you. You're not the Jared I knew. You're a stranger now.

With tears beginning to brim over in Michael's eyes, he sat down in the chair close to the bed. He slowly reached up and touched Jared's hand with his fingers. "I don't want you to die, Jared. I really don't. Funny, isn't it? You don't know how many times I've wished for that old big brother of mine to come back."

Standing up, Michael leaned over and kissed Jared lightly on the forehead. "I'll be back to see you again."

Leaving the cubicle, Michael took Clayton by the arm and said, "Okay, Clayton, we might as well get back to the ranch." In the car, Michael said, "Clayton, are you alright?"

"Yeah," responded Clayton. "I guess I'm glad we came. But we really didn't need to. I didn't feel anything when I looked at him. He's a stranger, and always will be. Anyway, I've satisfied myself. And I don't want to see him again. How about you? I know you didn't want to come, and I know it wasn't pleasant for you. But I thank you for driving me up here, anyway."

"That's okay, Clayton. I realize it was something you had to do."

Clayton and Michael sat quietly and spoke little on the way back to the ranch. Clayton finally turned and said, "Michael, it's not like you to be so quiet. Is something wrong?"

"No, no, Clayton. Nothing's wrong. I guess I'm just a little tired."

When Steve arrived back in the small New England town where he had left his wife, he was anxious to end the separation they had had, and to have a sort of "new beginning" with her and their marriage. He had planned on staying in a motel the first night back. Then, after he was rested and fresh, he would call her the next day and tell her he was on his way home. His stay at the motel, however, extended to more than five days. Steve had not realized that it would happen, but that old conflict in his sexuality had suddenly started gnawing at him almost as soon as he arrived at his motel.

On that first night, he lay in bed, instinctively stroking his penis, as he always did before going to sleep. And also, as he always did, he summoned up his most erotic fantasies that would bring him ultimately to orgasm. He had looked forward to lying in bed once again with his wife with their naked bodies pressed close together. The feel of her breasts, the wetness of her pussy, the passionate kisses. As he stroked, he tried to bring those images into his mind. But try as he may, those images faded and were pushed aside by images of Dan's body, the taste of his sperm, and the feel of his own penis entering Luke's asshole. As Steve reached around and pushed his forefinger into his own hole, he imagined only the feel of Tony's hard rod coursing in and out, the feel of Caleb's penis inside of him. He could almost feel Caleb's hot, moist body pressing against his after Caleb shot all he had into him and then collapsed on top of him.

All of these images raced through his mind as he felt his own penis getting harder and harder and as he came closer and closer to that wonderful orgasmic feeling. It wasn't the thought of his wife that was bringing it on; it was the thought of Dan, Luke, Tony, and above all, Caleb. Even as he watched the long ribbons of white, creamy cum shoot from the end of his penis onto his chest and stomach, he imagined it issuing from Caleb's penis.

The next day, it became very clear to Steve what was happening. The conflict that he had been suffering before he and his wife separated had now become more intense than ever. Perhaps, he thought, once he was back in bed with his wife, those images of the guys down on the Walker Ranch would fade. He was determined to work on it and eventually learn to live the "normal" life of a "happily married man."

Although Steve's masturbation fantasies remained the same for each of the five nights he stayed at the motel, he knew that he had to "bite the bullet," so to speak, and get on with the business of saving his marriage. On the sixth day, Steve nervously called his wife. When she answered the phone, Steve was surprised that she seemed to have an indifferent kind of attitude. She seemed pleased enough to hear from him, but at the same time, there was a little anger and impatience that came through in her voice. As they talked, Steve began to get the impression that, if he came home, she would take charge of the situation . . . almost as though she were intending to make the rules of engagement that he would be expected to follow. But he would nevertheless make a special effort to be agreeable and loving and accommodating.

Steve ate one last supper at the motel restaurant before driving home. Arriving at about eight in the evening, his wife welcomed him with open arms. As they sat and talked, Steve began to feel that slight smothered feeling he had hated so much before he left for Texas. There she was, he thought, being very nice, but at the same time, making sure she was in control.

Eventually, Steve and his wife were in bed, naked and kissing passionately. Running his hands over her body, he suddenly found himself comparing the softness and lack of muscular tone of his wife's body with the hard ridges of muscle he had enjoyed feeling on Dan and Luke and on Caleb. The intense sexual frenzy he had experienced while running his hands and tongue over the firm, rolling muscles of Caleb's body was totally missing when he touched his wife's body. Also, as he brought his face down to her crotch, he was wishing his mouth would find a magnificent, hard penis to bring into his mouth.

Steve's hope that the male images would fade did not happen. Through the entire night, he fantasized only about his friends in Texas, mainly Caleb. When he fucked his wife that evening, he came rather quickly because his mind was flooded with the fantasy of fucking Caleb. He knew what his quick ejaculation would trigger. It had happened before. His wife had not cum, and she was feeling left out. She even hinted, as she had so often done in the past, that he had no regard for her feelings, only his own. He never ran into that kind of thing with the guys down at the Walker Ranch. Why did he have to put up with that now, he thought. The best he could do was to masturbate her with his finger.

After his wife had fallen asleep, Steve lay there wide awake, convinced that nothing has changed and nothing will change. But even then, he was determined to give it a try. He had always labeled himself bi-sexual. But had he been fooling himself all his life since the time sexual feelings first took hold of him around the age of eight? Had the idea of pure homosexuality been too "non-normal" and bitter a pill to swallow and apply to himself? He had promised himself, though, that he would do his best to save the marriage, and that is what he would do.

Over the next week, however, Steve's thoughts of the wonderful short life he had spent in Texas never subsided. In fact, they became more intense. The old routine with his wife was back and, instead of being content with it, he began asking himself why he thought he wanted to save the marriage. It wasn't as though they had children to think of. It would just be the same old grind of living her life for her and living his own life the way she expected him to. What he was beginning to realize was that he really wanted that experience in Texas to extend to his last days on Earth. His wife was not a shrew or a witch or anything like that. But she was demanding of his time and she unknowingly began to make Steve feel he was being smothered. And worst of all, his attraction to and his sexual longings for men were beginning to overtake him emotionally.

On those few occasions he could find himself alone, he began viewing the stories on the Tickiestories and Nifty Archives on the internet. When he started corresponding with some of the authors of his favorite stories, he realized more than ever how much he was missing.

One evening when his wife had gone out, Steve's desire to connect once again somehow with his friends in Texas became so intense, he phoned the ranch. Tony answered.

"Tony, this is Steve. Remember me?"

Tony squealed, "Of course I remember you! Where are you?"

Steve said, "I'm back in my hometown up here in New England. I just got kind of lonesome for you guys. What's going on down there?"

Tony said, "Well, Michael and Jeff and Paul have been having a small dinner party this evening for Adriano and his dad, Mario. Did you know them?

"Yes, I met them once."

"Mario's from Italy, but he's planning to stay now and get his U.S. citizenship eventually. I don't know if you can hear them, Steve. They're out on the front verandah laughing and having a wild time."

"Yes, I can hear them. Do you think you could drag Michael away for a few minutes? I'd sure like to hear his voice again and chat with him."

Steve could hear Tony calling Michael to the phone.

"Hello! Is this Steve?"

"Hi, Michael," said Steve. "I was just thinking about you and all the guys, and thought I would call."

"I'm really glad you did, Steve. I hope things are working out up there like you'd hoped."

"Well, that's debatable, Michael. I really miss being down there with you guys. How's Jake and Enrique and Jeff and Clayton?"

"They're all just the same, Steve."

"And how's Caleb and Noah?"

Michael said, "Well, you know that Noah and Ricky are living together here in the house now. Caleb realized that that was probably best, and he went and got himself a really nice condo in Goliad. You know he has a big law practice there. He had planned on living with Noah and making a life together. But since that isn't happening, he's living alone."

Steve said, "Michael, I really liked Caleb. You probably don't know about it, but just before I left the ranch, he and I got together for just a short time in my room. I really like him. In fact, I have to admit to you Michael, that I can't get him off my mind."

"Well, let me tell you, Steve," said Michael. "I was over at Caleb's new condo not long ago, and he was asking me about you. Yes, I did know that the two of you got together. He told me. And he said he's been thinking about you ever since. He even said he thought you were the kind of person he would love to spend the rest of his life with. But since you were gone, he knew that would be impossible."

Steve could hardly catch his breath. "Did he really say that, Michael? Do you think he meant it?"

"Yes, he did say that, Steve," said Michael. "And, believe me, he meant it. You know, Steve, if you were still down here, I know that he would want to get together with you again. He has a big condo, and I think he gets a little lonely now and then."

Steve could feel adrenaline pumping through his body. "My God, there IS life after death!"

"What's that you say, Steve?"

"Oh, nothing, Michael. You know, I'm not sure right now, but I may be coming back. And if I do, I'll be sure to get some work. I promise not to mooch off of you anymore." Steve's hand was shaking almost uncontrollably, and he could hear the telephone receiver tapping rapidly against the rim of his glasses.

"Steve, you're a really nice person, and there's no one we would love to have back here than you. If you do come back, don't worry about finding work right away. You're welcome to stay here at the house as long as you need to."

After they hung up, Steve began to feel himself shaking all over. He knew that now was the time when a decision had to be made . . . a final decision . . . an absolutely final decision. And he knew what the decision would be. There would be the unpleasantness of breaking up again, this time going for a divorce or at least a legal separation. He had given the marriage a second chance, he reasoned, but it was clear that it was simply not going to work. He had kidded himself long enough about his sexuality. His overpowering homosexual desires and longings were simply not compatible with the humdrum day-in-and-day-out life with a woman, who would never in a million years understand and put up with those longings. Staying with it wouldn't be fair to either of them. He should have realized that long ago.

The next morning, Michael drove alone up to the hospital in Dallas to see Jared again. He wasn't at all sure why he wanted to do it. He thought perhaps it might have something to do with at last having Jared where he wanted him . . . immobile and unable to speak. For once Michael could do all the talking.

As Michael was heading down the hall toward the ICU, he ran into Father Taft, making his hospital visits to those prisoners who were sequestered there.

"Oh, Mr. Walker, I'm glad to see that you have decided to visit your brother. I understand you were here the other day, also."

"That's right, Father. I suppose it's my brotherly duty to visit him while he's in such bad shape. Otherwise, I would stay as far away from him as possible."

Father Taft took Michael by the arm and said, "Mr. Walker, may I call you Michael? Come on in here and have a seat with me in the waiting room for a few minutes. There are a few things I probably should tell you that I hadn't mentioned before."

As they both seated themselves in the waiting room, Michael said, "I suppose you're going to tell me it's my natural duty to love my brother and stand by him."

"Michael," began Father Taft, "I'm fully aware of what your feelings toward your brother have been. As you know, he confessed to me all of the terrible things he has done in his life."

"Does that mean we're supposed to consider that none of those things ever happened just because he confessed doing them?" asked Michael.

"No, no, not at all. Confession is merely a cleansing of the soul. In no way is it a denial that it ever happened.."

"Okay, what is it you wanted to tell me," said Michael with a little impatience.

"You are aware, aren't you," said Father Taft, "that in every prison, there is sexual activity among the prisoners."

"Yes, I've read that it's prevalent," said Michael.

"Well, no one can deny that a man's sexual appetite does not diminish just because he's incarcerated. Masturbation is a major nocturnal activity in a prison. And sometimes . . . in fact, rather frequently . . . the inmates have anal intercourse with one another. Right or wrong, that is a fact of prison life. Your brother's libido was no less than any other prisoner's. One day, he was given the chance to have anal sex with a young teenaged boy, who was also a prisoner. And he took it. But when he saw the boy, and could tell how ravaged and abused he had been by other prisoners, Jared refused to have anal sex with him, and vowed to protect him from further such abuse at the hands of any of the other prisoners. Jared had the boy moved into his cell, and over the next few weeks, instead of a sexual relationship, it became a true father and son relationship. For the first time in Jared's life, he put selfishness aside to help this young man. And, Michael, in the process, he realized what a terrible thing he had done to his own son, who was about the same age, by cruelly renouncing him.

"Michael, you need to know that his contrition for all the evil he has done in his life is deep. The young man he took in and befriended was murdered by one of the other prisoners. The grief and hurt that Jared felt was genuine. Michael, whatever Jared was, he is no more. I don't want to preach to you , Michael, but I want to tell you that Jared has knelt down, and has been forgiven through God's grace. You need to find it in your heart to also forgive your brother, your own flesh and blood.

Patting Michael on the shoulder, Father Taft got up and continued his rounds. Could it be true, Michael thought, that Jared did actually regret all he had done, and was now changed? Entering Jared's cubicle. It seemed to Michael that Jared had not moved an inch since his last visit. While Jared, on the first visit, seemed to have depravity and malevolence written all over his face, Michael thought he now saw traces of tenderness and loving-kindness in Jared's face. On his first visit, Michael merely touched Jared's hand. He now picked up Jared's whole hand and held it firmly in his own. Jared's hand felt limp and unresistant . . . almost child-like. Here Jared was, so exposed, so vulnerable, no longer in control.

Thoughts raced through Michael's head. Would Jared ever recover? If he did, would there be any brain damage? Will he ever be able to take care of himself. Will he be a mental and physical invalid, and will I need to be his guardian, and have him living with us? As Michael held onto Jared's hand, he thought he noticed a brief fluttering of Jared's eyelids. But it stopped almost as soon as it started.

Just then a young male nurse came in with a tray and some long tubing. "Mr. Walker, I'm going to have to change the catheter on this patient. It you want to step out while I do it, you may."

"No," replied Michael. "He's my brother. I've seen his penis plenty of times through the years."

As the nurse threw back the sheet and raised Jared's hospital gown, he said, "Damn! He's got a hard-on again." Then turning to Michael, he said, "It's very common for men who are in a coma to have a constant erection. It's similar to the erections we get in our sleep. But the problem is that when we have erections, the valve between the eurethra and the bladder closes, and it becomes very difficult to get the catheter up through the penis and into the bladder."

"Why does the valve close into the bladder when we have an erection?" asked Michael.

"Well, when we have an erection," said the orderly, "It is often a signal to the body that we are headed for an ejaculation. And so the bladder closes itself off so that no urine will come out through the penis as we're cumming . . . or rather ejaculating. You've probably noticed that when you have a really hard erection, it is almost impossible to pee. If you could pee while you're cumming, what a mess that might end up being!"

"Well, thank you, young man for the explanation. I think I understand now," said Michael. "How are you going to get that tube up my brother's penis and into his bladder if he's got a hard-on?"

"Well, I can't wait once I take the other one out. I simply have to force the new one in."

As the orderly worked away on getting the tube down through Jared's very stiff hard-on, Michael watched. Once again, his mind went back to when they were boys. He had played many times with that penis when they were very young. Before they had known anything about masturbation, they would suck on each others little two-inch hard-ons and enjoyed it only because they knew they were considered "private" parts. As he watched, he wondered if he would ever suck on Jared's penis again.

As soon as the nurse finished, Michael looked at him and said, "Young man, you look like you've got a bit of a boner yourself."

The young man chuckled and said, "I know. Every time I work on someone else's penis like this, I get hard myself."

"Well, I guess that's natural," said Michael with a smile. "Just watching the way you handled my brother's penis made me pretty hard, too." Looking at his watch, he said, "Well, it looks like my time is up here. I'd better head back home. But first, I think I'll stop in the restroom and take care of this," Michael said, pointing to his crotch.

Michael entered the restroom at the end of the hall and stood at one of the urinals. His penis was still hard. As he held it, he thought that young man was right. There was no way he could pee while it was hard. As he began to stroke it, the young male nurse came in and stood at the next urinal.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Walker. I really hope you don't mind my coming and standing next to you," said the young man as he unfurled his stiff penis from his pants. "You said you were coming in here to 'take care' of this, and I really thought that, since you mentioned it, you might not mind if I came in and took care of mine, too. But if you rather not have me here, I . . . ."

"Hey, don't worry about it, Robert," Michael said, glancing at the young man's nametag. I'm glad you came in. This room is for men only, we obviously both have to jerk off. Why be shy about it? The way you were fumbling with my brother's penis back there, I thought you were going to make him cum."

"I've tried that on some patients," said Robert. "But it never works, especially if the guy is in a coma!"

Michael looked down at Robert's penis, which the young man was slowly stroking. "Say, you've really got some rod there. I don't know that I've ever seen anything quite that long."

"It's just short of nine and a half inches. I measured it once."


Keeping their eyes on each others penises, they both began stroking faster and faster. Michael could see that Robert's face begin to contort and noticed that the head of Robert's penis had actually grown in size. Michael knew that Robert was about to cum, so he let his own pent-up orgasm take over. Just then two doctors in white coats walked in and stood at the urinals on either side of Michael and Robert. Neither one, however, could put the breaks on their orgasms and, while the two doctors watched, they each started bucking their hips and letting out short moans as they shot their streams of cum into the urinals.

When they were through, Michael was afraid to look at the doctors' faces for fear of what he would see. He quickly pushed his wilting and still dripping penis back in his pants and, without even washing his hands, rushed out of the room. He still had some cum on his fingers, which he quickly sucked off. Robert followed behind him.

"Thank you, Mr. Walker," said Robert. "That was hot."

"I hope you won't get in trouble with those doctors, Robert," said Michael.

"Oh no," said Robert. "They've seen me jerking off at the urinal many times before. Maybe I'll see you again on your next visit. Okay?"

"Maybe," responded Michael. "I've got to run now."

The day after Mark and Corky delivered their new friend, Pierre, to his door, Mark called Pierre to see if he would like to come over for dinner that night. It was Pierre's night off.

Pierre said, "I would love to, but I have a good friend here now who is helping me set up some recording equipment in my room. He went with me this afternoon to help me look for it and buy it."

Mark said, "Will he be free for dinner, Pierre? If so, please ask him if he'd like to join us. If he's a friend of yours, he'll be more than welcome."

"Okay, I'll call you back in a couple of minutes," said Pierre.

When Pierre called back, he said, "Yes, he'd love to come as long as you're friends of mine."

"That's great, Pierre!" said Mark. "We're very informal, Pierre, so I hope you're dressed informally."

"Well, I'm in shorts," said Pierre, "and so is my friend."

"How do you know he's in shorts?" asked Mark

"Well, I just got through looking at him a few minutes ago . . . with my fingers, of course."


"Really!" responded Pierre. "And he's got the most beautiful dimples in his knees!"

"Oh, that sounds nice!" said Mark. "How about coming over about six, okay?"

"Okay," said Pierre. Then lowering his voice, he said, "He seems to like being 'looked at,' but I'm not entirely certain about whether he really is . . . you know."

"Don't worry, Pierre," said Mark. "We're very discrete, and we won't make any quick moves. We'll be perfect gentlemen."

When they arrived, Pierre introduced his friend. "Mark and Corky, I would like you meet my friend, Jason."

It was written all over Jason that he worked out at a gym somewhere. In a t-shirt and shorts, he presented himself as though right out of the pages of GQ with the manners to suit. Firmly grasping the hands of Mark and Corky in turn, he said, "I'm pleased to meet you both and wish to thank you for inviting me. Pierre told me how you rescued him after being locked out. We both appreciate your helpfulness."

Jason's masculine beauty almost sent Mark and Corky reeling. Mark said, "We don't have a really fancy dinner tonight. It's just a chicken casserole, a salad, and some French bread. Please sit down and make yourselves comfortable."

Corky said, "How about a drink, you two? We have everything . . . wine, beer, Scotch, Bourbon, gin. Also I'd be glad to mix a cocktail if you'd like one. What will you have, Jason?"

Jason said, "I think I would like a Manhattan with sweet vermouth and a cherry, if it would not be too much trouble."

"Not at all. And you, Pierre?" asked Corky

"I'll just have some Scotch on the rocks, thank you."

As the four of them sat with their drinks in hand, Jason lifted his glass and said, "Here's to you, Mark and Corky, for the kindness you have shown my dear friend, Pierre!"

The next morning, Michael was sitting at the kitchen table eating his breakfast when the phone rang. Tony answered and handed the phone to Michael. "It's for you, Michael," said Tony as he turned to resume filling the dishwasher.


"Mr. Walker, this is Robert."

"Uh . . . Robert? Robert who?" said Michael.

"I'm Robert, the guy who takes care of your brother."

"Is he alright?" said Michael. "Has something happened?"

"No, he's okay, even though he's still in a coma. I just wanted to talk to you."

"How did you know where to phone me?" queried Michael.

"I got it off the visitors' register you signed at the desk."

"Why did you want to talk with me?"

"Oh, I just wanted to tell you how nice it was to meet you, and how I enjoyed being with you in the restroom."

"Well," responded Michael, "Yes, I enjoyed it too. I hope you didn't get in any trouble."

"No I didn't. I was just wondering when you would be coming back to visit your brother. I'd like to see you again."

"I'm not sure when I'll be back, Robert. Why do you want to see me again?"

Robert said, "I thought maybe we could do what we did again. You know, jerking off next to each other."

"Well, I don't think so. I didn't mean for that to happen. It just happened. Let's just forget it."

"I can't forget it, Mr. Walker. I really like you. And I want to see you again."

Michael said, "When I go up there next time, you'll see me then. But I'm not going to do what we did. That was just a spur of the moment thing, as I told you."

"Mr. Walker? May I call you Michael?"

"Whatever you wish, Robert," said Michael.

"I'll be here when you come next. I really like you, Michael."

Michael began to get a bit impatient. "Robert, I have things to do, and I need to hang up now."

Hanging up, Michael looked at Tony and said, "That was a really strange phone call. It was the male nurse who has been looking after Jared up in Dallas. He thinks he wants to see me again."

Tony said, "Why does he want to see you?"

"Well, Tony, he and I had kind of an unplanned episode in one of the restrooms up there. And I guess he enjoyed it enough to want a repeat."

"What did the two of you do, Michael," asked Tony.

"All we did was stand at adjoining urinals, and the first thing I knew we were jerking off together as we stood there. It really meant nothing to me. But it apparently was a big deal to him, and he wants to do it again with me. When I go up there again, I suppose I'll have to deal with that situation. I told him 'no' on the phone, and I'll have to tell him 'no' when I see him."

Later that evening, Michael was doing some paper work in his office when his phone rang.


"Hi, Michael. It's Robert again. What are you doing?"

"Robert," said Michael. "It's almost midnight. Why are you calling me at this hour?"

"I've just been thinking about you," purred Robert. "Do you know what I'm doing now?"

"I hate to ask," said Michael.

"I have my nine and a half incher out and I'm lying here stroking it and thinking about you. When we were jerking off, I saw you looking at it. You liked it, didn't you?"

"Robert, get off the phone, and don't call me again."

"Oh, Michael, why don't you take out your beautiful cock and we can jack off together right now."

Michael hung up the phone and walked down the hall to Tony and Clayton's room. When he knocked, Tony told him to come in. They were both lying naked in each other's arms.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, you guys."

"You didn't interrupt," said Tony. "We're all done. What's the matter Michael?"

Michael said, "You know that phone call I got from this Robert person earlier? He just got through calling me again. From now on, if he calls, and you answer the phone, Tony, please tell him that I will not talk to him, or maybe just tell him I'm not in."

"I'll do that, Michael. I'll get rid of him."

"Goodnight boys," said Michael. Then he paused at the door and said, "Damn! You two look so cute lying there like that! I've got to give you both a good night kiss." Walking over to their bed, he leaned over, put his hands on their little ass cheeks and kissed them both on the lips.

As he was leaving, he said, "You guys sleep tight now, and have sweet dreams!"

To be continued...


Posted: 09/26/08