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Chapter 1 

My name is Jeb, and I was born by mistake in a small town out in West Texas. My birth was not really a mistake, I suppose. But it certainly was illegitimate, my dad having knocked up my mother when he was seventeen and she barely fifteen and still in school. He was a janitor's helper in that school, and the two of them would meet in the janitor's supply room after school, where she allowed him to have his way with her.

Of course, she became pregnant. Shortly before I was born, my mother's parents insisted they get married. But my mother had a difficult pregnancy and died during childbirth. My dad and I moved in with his parents, where we lived until my first birthday, at which time, at the age of only eighteen, he remarried, this time to a girl of twenty-one.

My step-mother tried hard to be a good mother, trying to do it alone most of the time since my dad was rarely home in the early years. He had fallen in with a crowd of motorcyclists and, with them, rode the open roads for the next two or three years. My step-mother was forced to work wherever she could to keep us going. When Dad did finally come home, he had tattoos on both arms and on his stomach, and wore his black hair in a long pony-tail. He took a job as a roustabout in the oil fields outside of town and took up with a really rough crowd of oil field workers.

Dad drank heavily . . . only beer . . . and would frequently come home very late after being out most of the night with his buddies. But I never really saw him drunk. He always seemed to be in perfect control. He was a huge man, with enormous, powerful arms and legs. Even though he would wash up everyday, I believe I never once saw him without that black oil under his fingernails. His voice was loud and growly, and he smoked both cigarettes and cigars. He was never without them. They were his constant companions. Whether at home or away, his speech was peppered with a litany of four-letter words. He seemed constitutionally unable to express himself without them.

He had a room in the back of our little frame house that he called his playroom. It was there that he would invite his rough roustabout friends to come on many evenings to play poker and drink beer into the wee hours. He allowed me to come in to say hi to his friends whenever I wanted to. He had a rule, however, that all had to get comfortable and sit around the table naked. I learned later that they liked to do that because it put them all in the mood to tell wild stories of the sex they had or were having with women. I would sometimes stand in the hall and listen at the door. The stories were so wild, I was sure that most of them were made up.

On other evenings, Dad would go out to "the club." Neither my step-mother nor I really knew what that was. He would never tell us anything about it, other than to say it was a private gathering of his friends to enjoy things that men enjoy.

Dad never really spent any time with me. But my step-mother did her best to interest me in the finer things in life, like reading and appreciating art. She was a good artist and painted some beautiful pictures of West Texas scenery. She sold them and was often able to command a good price for them. She taught me how to paint, and it became a very satisfying hobby. Through the reading material she had provided for me, I also became very interested in poetry, and when I started writing my own poetry, I received very good comments and encouragement from my teachers at school.

All the way through high school I could sense that my dad was distressed over the course my life was taking. He thought that a boy . . . especially a son of his . . . should not be spending his time writing poetry and reading novels and painting.

One night he came into my room and said, "Jeb, you ain't sittin' there writin' some more of that fuckin' poetry, are ya?"

"No," I said. "I'm just doing my schoolwork."

"Shit, boy," Dad said as he sat down. "It's Friday night. You should be out with a girl like all yer other fuckin' friends are. It ain't natural you sittin' all couped up in here when ya could be out havin' a good time. Ya know, boy, ya never told me about any girl friends ya got. Ya got a girl friend?"

"No, Dad, I don't have a girl friend," I said.

"Well, shit, boy! Why not? Don't ya ever git horny fer a nice pretty girl. Yer seventeen, boy! Ya should be out there gittin' yerself a little, like all the other fuckers yer age out there."

Dad was getting worked up, and I really was getting uncomfortable. I didn't want to discuss it with him anymore. "Dad, I really want to get my homework done."

Dad didn't move. He said, "I worry about ya, boy. Ya ain't livin natural. Ya should be goin' out with girls. That's what a feller like you should be doin. Jeb, look at me. I don't mind tellin' ya I don't like seein' how yer growin' up. I bet ya never even jerked off yet. Huh? Have ya ever jerked off?"

"Dad, Please!" I hated it when he started talking like this.

"Well, have ya?" Dad said. "If ya haven't, yer jist not natural. All guys jerk off. It's jist somethin' ya gotta have! Now have ya?"

"Yes, dad" I finally said.

Dad got up and shook his head and walked out. I just knew I hadn't heard the end of this. He was going to badger me about going out with a girl until he was blue in the face. It was no use. There wasn't any way I could concentrate on my school work that night. I flopped down on my bed and stared at the ceiling. 'How could I have a dad like that,' I thought. All the other guys I knew at school had dads who dressed in suits and came home for dinner every night. But I realized Dad was right about something. All my friends were dating girls and having a good time. I liked girls, and I liked talking with them at school. But I never wanted to be alone with any of them on a date or anything like that. I always recognized a pretty girl when I saw her, but none of them ever excited me sexually.

Well, I admitted to my dad that I masturbate. I lay there wondering if that would be enough for him to think that I was developing into the kind of man he thought I should be. Probably not. It wasn't the girls at school I thought about when I masturbated. It was the guys who dated the girls. I knew that if Dad ever found out that my masturbation fantasies were all about boys, he would disown me. I was also convinced that I was the only person in the world who fantasized about boys, and not girls. It was obviously a birth defect. Maybe it was one of those strange things that happened because my mother was just a child when I was born, and my brain didn't develop normally.

Not long after that evening when Dad talked to me about girls, he had his friends over again for another night of drinking, poker, and impressing one another about their sexual prowess. Their talk did excite me in a way, and I often listened at the door. That night, Dad told his friends about how disappointed he was in me.

I heard him say to one of his friends, "Hey, Marty, you got a boy about my boy's age. Does he have any girl friends?"

"Yeah," said Marty. "He got a shit-pot full of em."

"Well, does he git anything?" Dad said. "I mean does he git any pussy?"

"Sure, he does. When he was only fourteen, I caught him oncest dickin' some little cunt in the shed out back. I told him he didn't need to hide away out in the fuckin' shed. He should use his own bed, which he's been doin' ever since."

"Marty," Dad said, "I'm a little worried about my boy, Jeb. He ain't never been with no girl in his life. And he's seventeen. It jist ain't natural. I want him to git to be a real man someday, but all he does is keep his nose in some fuckin' book. And he writes poetry. And he sits and paints all these fuckiin' pictures. He's jist like his step-ma. I'm afraid he's gonna be a sissy-boy."

Cal piped up and said, "He ain't a bad lookin' kid. He outta be able to git all the hot pussy he wants."

Then Dad said, "It ain't that. I'm jist afraid he don't want no pussy in the first place. I seed his fucking dick and there ain't a cunt in the world wouldn't cry out fer it. It's a long, fat mother-fucker. He oughta be out there using that fucker instead of jerkin' it off all the time."

"I'll tell ya what ya oughta do, Ben," said Marty. "Why don't ya bring him along to the club sometime. Maybe he needs to see what real men do. It'd be an education for the little fucker. It'd show him what it's all about."

"Maybe I oughta do that," said Dad. "If I can git his ass outta that fuckin' room of his and git him to see what the real fuckin' world is like, I might be able to save him."

When I heard that, I knew I was in for trouble. I didn't know what went on at that club of theirs, but I had the feeling it wasn't my cup of tea. If he'd only leave me alone. A few nights after his last party, I was lying in bed and could hear Dad and my step-mother talking in their adjoining bedroom. We lived in a rickety old house and the walls were as thin as paper. I could always hear everything they said.

"I've made a decision, Marion," I heard my dad say. "Jeb jist ain't gitten' raised right. I'm gonna take his ass over to the club some night and see if I can't make a fuckin' man outta him."

"Now you leave that boy alone, Ben," she said. "He's turning out to be a decent young man and I don't want him being influenced by that awful gang you hang out with."

"Marion, he's my son, and I'll see that his ass is raised any fuckin' way I see fit. He needs to see what real men are like."

"Yeah," she said, "and I suppose he'll come home with a big ugly tattoo. You've never understood, Ben. That isn't what real men do."

"You don't like my tattoos?"

"I hate them!"

"Well, it's you, then, that don't understand," Dad said. "Women loves my tattoos!"

"I don't want to hear about it," she said. "I don't know what you and your slimy friends do at that so-called club, but I have a pretty good idea. I wonder sometimes how they compare to me, your wife."

"Aw, yer a hot little fuck machine," Dad said. "I always come home to you in the end, don't I? How 'bout given me a little tight ass tonight? Huh? I ain't tasted that little fuckin' rosebud fer weeks."

Then they fell silent. Although they stopped talking, I could hear that squeaky old bed of theirs bouncing around, and the headboard banging against my wall. While I never enjoyed being around my dad, I always found it so erotic to listen to his rebel-like shout when he was having his orgasm. Whenever I knew they were fucking, I would masturbate and could imagine the great streams of hot, thick sperm shooting from the end of his throbbing penis

The dreaded moment finally came when Dad told me he was taking me to the club. "I'd rather stay home, Dad," I said as firmly as I could.

"Don't gimme that horse shit, Jeb. It's time ya got outta that sissy world of yers and git into the world of real men. Yer gitten too old to sit around writin' all that fuckin' sissy poetry."

We arrived at the club, which was in a small abandoned house on the edge of a ranch about a half-hour from town. There was a small platform at one side of the room, and there were about a dozen small tables scattered about. In the back of the room was a makeshift bar where two men were hooking up a couple of kegs of beer. When we arrived, there were only six or seven men there already seated at some tables. Over the next few minutes, another twelve or fifteen arrived. They all ranged in age from about the mid-twenties to around fifty years or so.

One man, who looked to be in his forties, came to our table and said, "Hey, Ben. This yer son? I'm glad ya decided to bring him out." Extending his hand, he said, "I'm Marty. I'm glad ya came tonight. Yer dad's a good man, makin' sure ya got a good start on yer manhood."

After everybody had full mugs of beer, four fully-dressed girls walked out of a door and onto the platform. Over the next twenty minutes or so, they danced around awkwardly and slowly stripped down to nothing. "Hey Jeb," my dad said, poking me in the side, "Ya ever see such hot little bodies in yer life? Bet this is the first fuckin' time ya ever seen a fuckin' pussy, eh?"

I have to admit that I was transfixed by the sight. It was true, I had never seen a naked girl before. As they writhed around, they pushed their fingers in and out of their pussies. Then each picked up large dildos from the floor and began fucking themselves. The sight of the realistic dildos made me more excited than looking at the girls themselves. After a few minutes, four young handsome naked men walked out and began fucking the women in every imaginable position.

Dad said, "Now take a good look at this, Jeb. There ain't nothin' better in a real man's life than having good hot fuck!"

I looked around and noticed that most of the men in the room had unzipped and were stroking their penises as they watched. I glanced over at my dad and saw that he had pulled his pants down slightly and was playing with the head of his uncut penis. Now, I had to admit I was really beginning to get turned on. I wanted to pull out my penis, too, but was embarrassed to do it. Soon, Dad reached over and undid my pants.

"Pull that little fucker on outta there," Dad said. "Don't make out ya ain't hot lookin' at them cocks goin' in and out them pussies, because I know ya are."

I sat there transfixed at the sight of all the huge penises being stroked in the room. One of the boys on the platform pulled out and shot his cum all over the girl's tits, and then leaned over and licked it all up. One of the other boys groaned loudly as he shot his sperm into his girl's pussy. When he pulled out, one of the men sitting close to the platform jumped up and started eating out that girl's pussy. Dad could see me staring in disbelief.

I blurted out, "That man! What's he doing?"

"He's suckin' out that young fella's cum outta her pussy. Ya ever taste cum, boy? It's the fuckin' nectar of the Gods! When ya jerked off, ya musta tasted yer own cum, didn't ya?

I said, as though I were in a trance, "Ya. I tasted it."

"It's good, ain't it?" Dad said, "Some guys' cum is sweet and creamy, and other's is a little bitter. But it's all good."

Then one of the boys on the platform lay next to another boy and began sucking on his penis. It was almost getting too much for me and I had to stop stroking myself because I was on the brink. I could feel that little tingle in the middle of my body that signaled an approaching orgasm.

As the evening progressed, and as more and more beer was consumed, everything started to go crazy. At first, I noticed several of the men kneeling in front of other guys and sucking them off. Shirts were being removed, then pants came off. Soon, most of the men were completely naked and either lying on the tables or on the floor getting sucked off. Then when I looked up, I saw my dad's friend, Marty, up on the platform fucking one of the young men who had earlier fucked one of the women. Everywhere, men were fucking and sucking each other and sucking cum out of each other's asshole.

I looked over at the next table and saw dad lying on his back with his huge hairy legs held up in the air as another man was fucking him violently. Dad was pinching the man's nibbles as he was getting fucked. I had not touched my own penis for some time since I remained on the verge of cumming. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my penis. There in front of me was one of the roustabouts about to take my penis in his mouth. He licked up and down the top and underside of the shaft and sucked in each of my balls. I was in another world. I looked around at all these hugely masculine oil rig workers, with their completely naked and masculine bodies, sucking or being sucked and fucking or being fucked. I thought to myself, "These are the pleasures that Dad was saying belonged to real men.

As soon as this man took my penis into his mouth, I shot my load down his throat. His tongue felt so good on my penis. It was nothing like just using my own hand to stroke it. After he finished swallowing all my cum, he looked up at me and smiled. He was large and hairy like the others, but he had a sort of sweetness in his smile and in his eyes. The room was fairly silent, filled only with the grunts and groans of men fucking, sucking, and cumming.

The man said, "Would you like to lie down there on the floor. I'd like to . . . ."

He didn't finish his sentence, but I knew what he wanted. He wanted to fuck me, but I just couldn't imagine having a hard cock up my ass. Putting my hand on his soft, curly brown hair, I said, "No, please, I just can't do that."

He smiled again and said, "You're Ben's boy, aren't you? My name is Matt, short for Matthew. I noticed you the minute you walked in several hours ago. You're very good looking. You're not like all the rest of us." As he ran his hand lightly over my stomach and legs, he said, "You have smooth, velvety skin, and you're so slender." He ran his tongue over the light hair on the calves of my legs. "I like you a lot. I don't want to do anything you don't want me to do. Maybe I can see you again sometime."

I had seen a lot of guys at school and in the showers there who excited me and fed my jackoff fantasies at night. But here was a big masculine oil rig worker who, for some reason, also excited me. And unlike the boys I looked at in school, this one actually touched me and got me off and ate my sperm. And on top of that, he wanted me. I looked into those beautiful dark eyes, shaded with his long dark eyelashes, and noted his speech, which was in no way crude like that of the others.

As he continued to look into my eyes and gently fondle my balls in one hand, I said impulsively, "Yes, I'd like that. Maybe we can see each other again sometime."

Matt put his hand very gently on my cheek and said, "I have to go pee. Do you have to pee, too?"

I said, "Let's go."

When we found the bathroom unoccupied, Matt said, "I'd like to kiss you. I didn't want to do it out there because your father was on the table right next to us, and I wasn't sure he would like me doing something like that."

"Well, he must have seen you sucking me off. Why would he be upset if he saw you kissing me?"

"Jeb, kissing sometimes means something more than just getting a blow-job. It sometimes means the feeling for someone has gone beyond pure sex."

I said, "What do you like to be called? Matt or Matthew?"

"It doesn't matter, Jeb. Whatever you'd like to call me."

"I think I like Matthew," I said. He smiled as though that was what he really wanted to be called.

It was the first time I had ever put my arms around another man's body, or even touched another man. But here I was doing not only that, but kissing his lips and that beautiful face of his. We broke for a few minutes to empty our bladders, and then we were back in each other's arms. He had hair on his body, but he was not as hairy as the others. And there was no black oil under his fingernails.

We soon went back into the main room where everyone was lying around exhausted, all having shot their loads one way or the other. Very shortly, the men, one by one, began getting up, getting dressed and leaving. My dad was still lying on his back, with another man idly flicking his tongue over my dad's wilted penis. When Dad saw me, he simply said, "Well, Jeb?"

I sat down in a chair next to him and said, "Well, Dad, so this is what real men do, huh?"

"You got it, son. I want ya to think about this. It'd probably be a good thing if ya came to the club regular. And git yerself broken away from all that shit you do. Ya know, all that fuckin' poetry and stuff."

When we were once again in the car on the way home, it was 3:00 a.m. I said, "Dad, I had no idea that this is what you meant by doing things real men do. I can see why it's so great. And I'll say it does open a whole new horizon for me. But you've got to understand that I will never give up my poetry or my painting or my books."

"Aw, shit," Dad muttered.

After a long silence, I finally said, "Dad. Having those girls strip and get fucked by those young guys is kind of what I expected. But . . . but . . . I have to admit I wasn't expecting all you guys getting it on with each other."

When we drove into the back yard, Dad turned off the ignition and said, "Jeb, fuckin' a hole is fuckin' a hole. Don't matter whether the hole is up the ass of a man or up the ass of a woman. A good tight asshole is a good tight asshole wherever ya find it."

"But when I saw you and the other guys sucking and eating each other's cum," I said, "and getting fucked yourself, that's kind of going beyond just a tight asshole.

"One thing ya got to remember about this fuckin' life, Jeb, is that it's hard to figure where pleasure begins and where it ends. When ya git yerself into a horny state, ya jist got to let yer passion take ya where it wants to. Us guys don't have the feeling fer each other as we have fer them women. But when ya git real horny, there ain't no tellin' what ya would do to satisfy yer hunger. Hungry animals will eat any fuckin' thing."

"I see."

Dad smiled at me and reached his hand over, laying it on my crotch. "I have to tell ya, boy, I was proud of ya tonight. I seen young Matt really do a fuckin' job on ya. I could tell ya loved it. Was that yer first time?"

"You mean being sucked off? Yeah, that was my first time. And yeah, I liked it."

Dad started rubbing his hand a little harder. I leaned my head back and had to smile because I knew he could feel my penis getting harder. He said, "I'm glad, Jeb. These are things I was afraid you'd never learn as long as ya kept yer fuckin' nose in them books."

Dad carefully unzipped my pants and let my hard penis flop out. "Ya gotta good cock between yer legs there, boy. Ya can't keep a little fucker like that to yerself. Penises is the most precious thing a man has, and it's meant to be shared."

Dad slowly leaned over and took my boner into his mouth. It felt as good as it did when Matthew did it. I closed my eyes and, as my orgasm swept over me, I could feel my sperm shooting into my dad's mouth. Suddenly, I began feeling differently about my dad. He was always crude and boorish, but he was never mean or thoughtless. He thought he knew what was best for his son, and he followed through on it. As I leaned back on the seat, trying to catch my breath, I had the most liberated feeling come over me. I no longer tensed up with dread over the thought that my dad would talk to me about my sexual life . . . or lack of it. I felt completely at ease now with him for the first time in my life. I thought now that we could talk about anything. The only fear I had was that he might continue to push me into situations involving fucking with women. But somehow, I now felt strong enough to handle anything he wanted to bring up.

My dad suddenly straightened up and said, "Aw, shit, I can feel the cum running outta my fuckin' ass. We better git inside and clean up."

After we had both taken showers, and I had climbed into bed, I asked Dad to sit on the edge. I had something to ask him.

"Dad, who is this guy named Matthew? Tell me about him."

"Well, Jeb," Dad began. "He ain't really like the rest of us. He's kind of new on the job. He does the heavy work pretty good fer a fuckin' college man."

"He went to college?"

"Yeah. He's an engineer of some fuckin' variety, but he ain't been able to git a job. So he's workin' out there with us fer awhile. Why do ya ask? He was the one that sucked ya off, weren't he?"

"Ya, that's the one. But he was different. He was so nice. He told me he liked me and wanted to see me again."

"Oh, Jeb, be careful. Fuckin' around with each other is one thing. But if he likes ya too fuckin' much, it might mean somethin' else."

"Maybe," I sighed. "I think we'd better get some sleep, Dad. It's almost daylight. Goodnight."

For the next week, I couldn't get Matthew off of my mind. He was so strong and so handsome, and when he kissed me, his strong arms held me tightly, but I had never realized that another man's lips could be so soft and tender. I masturbated every night, and Matthew was always in my fantasies. But my fantasies were never about sucking him or fucking him, or having him do that to me. Each time I masturbated, I imagined his warm, moist body pressed up against mine, and we did nothing but kiss each other's lips. It seemed so strange. Dad had done what he could to make me realize that sucking and fucking a person were the hallmarks of a happy, masculine life.
But I wasn't feeling that with Matthew. It was the feel of his strong, firm body, and his lips on mine. That's what I craved from Matthew.

About a week after my experience at "the club," I was running out of school and heading down the block to catch my bus home. Suddenly, I heard a voice behind me, calling, "Jeb. Jeb." I stopped and turned around and saw Matthew standing there looking at me with a smile so sweet, I almost wanted to cry. He was wearing a short-sleeved blue and white striped sport shirt, a nice pair of slacks and brown leather loafers.

"Matthew!" I said. I wanted to run to him and have him take me in his strong arms.

"I'm glad I caught you, Jeb," said Matthew as he came closer. "I have the day off and I thought maybe . . . before you went home . . . we could go down the street to the ice cream shop and have a sundae or something, or maybe a cone. Will you have time? Then I'll drive you home."

"Of course I have time, Matthew. This is the most wonderful surprise I've had all week."

Matthew and I sat in a booth and ordered two hot fudge sundaes, covered with mixed nuts and whipped cream.

Matthew said, "I wanted to see you again. I hope you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind," I purred. "I wanted to see you again, too. When I saw you at the club, I memorized what you looked like and I had you in bed with me every night."

"That makes me feel very good, Jeb. I've had you on my mind, too."

"You look very nice, Matthew."

"Thank you. I wanted to dress up in some nice clothes before I saw you again." Then reaching across the table and taking Jeb's hand in his, he said, "It's been a long time since I had anyone to love. But when I saw you, I went all crazy inside. The only problem is that I'm ten years older than you are."

"Why is that a problem," I asked.

"Well, Jeb, it's not really a problem, I guess, but at seventeen, you're still technically a minor. I've been attracted to guys younger than you, but I always knew enough not to go after them."

"Can't you just make believe that I'm eighteen. I'm going to be eighteen in March, a few months before I graduate this coming June."

Matthew squeezed my hand in his and said, with a smile, "I'll try."

"Matthew, you said it was a long time since you had anyone to love," I said. "When was the last time?"

"Oh, Jeb. It was back when I was doing graduate work in engineering at SMU in Dallas. I'm twenty-seven now, so I guess it was around when I was twenty-two. Ned and I met at a little coffee shop just off campus. We sat next to each other at the counter. And one thing just led to another . . . and we fell in love. We had an apartment and lived there together for close to three years. I loved him almost more than life itself, and I know that he loved me the same. Almost every afternoon, he and I would meet at that coffee shop, and we always sat in the same seats we were in when we met. It was just one of those silly things, but it had meaning for us.

"We would usually meet about three in the afternoon. One day, he told me that he had an appointment with one of his professors, and that he might be a little late. That was alright. I would wait. At about a quarter to four, he still had not arrived. I sat looking out of the front plate glass window, idly watching several ambulances and a fire engine roaring down the street. They had stopped at the next corner, out of my viewing range. I heard the waitress telling another that there had been a terrible accident down at the corner, and she believed there were fatalities. I threw some money on the counter and told them I would be back. I was just going to walk to the corner to see what happened."

At that moment, Matthew bowed his head and buried his face in his hands. I somehow knew instantly what he was about to tell me. I sat very still and didn't say a word. I was afraid to say anything. After a minute or two, I reached up and put my hand gently on his cheek. I was about to cry. I could feel the tears begin to well up in my eyes. Then Matthew looked up at me and held my hand tightly against his cheek.

"I'm sorry, Jeb," he said with his own eyes brimming a little with tears. "It was Ned's car, an old black '53 Chevy. He took really good care of it and polished it a lot so it looked almost new. But there it was up over the curb in a sickening pile of twisted metal. The medics had just put him into the ambulance, and I asked if he was okay. They told me he was dead with a badly crushed skull."

"Oh, Matthew, I feel terrible," I said. "His name was Ned?"

"Yes."

"I'm so sorry."

We sat there in the booth quietly for a long time, eating our ice cream. Finally, Matthew said, "You know, this isn't what I wanted to talk about at all. That was five years ago. I have my moments, but I'm dealing with it . . . better and better each year." Then with a smile and another squeeze of my hand, he said, "Now let's talk about you. Tell me about yourself.
You know, you're not at all like your dad."

I laughed and said, "That's an understatement!" I went on to tell Matthew about my dad's life, having dropped out of high school in tenth grade, then getting my mother pregnant with me when she was fifteen. And I told him about my dad's life as a biker out on the road with what he referred to as his "biker family."

"You already know, Matthew, what my dad is like now. He's a really crude old son-of-a-bitch. I know he runs out on my step-mom all the time, but there's nothing she can do about it. My interests are more genteel, I guess you could say, than my dad's. He thinks the sign of a real man is fucking everybody he can. So that's how I ended up at the club that night. He thought I needed to be exposed to what he says real men do. The best thing that happened there, though, was that I met you."

"I agree, but I feel kind of ashamed that you had to meet me under those circumstances. I came on to you by grabbing your penis, if you remember, and sucking it off. I really don't want you to think badly of me for that, Jeb."

"No, of course I don't. But tell me, how did you end up there that night?"

"Well, Jeb, it was only my second time there. The first time I had some really down and dirty sex with some of those guys. But it was just sex. With you, Jeb, it's more than that. Why did I go there in the first place? Good question. I was new on the job, and all the other guys on the rig were going and they told me to come along. I didn't have anything else to do, so I went. I was really kind of lonely working out on the rig and sleeping in that hothouse shed we use to sleep in. So I was ready to go to the club a second time just to get my nuts off. But then I met you, and everything has changed. I'm so glad to know, though, that you didn't go there on your own, but was more or less forced to go. I want to tell you that I'm never going to that club again. That is, if you think you and I can see each other sometimes."

I looked into Matthew's eyes and said, "We can see each other any time and as often as you want, Matthew."

"But where can we go to be alone, Jeb? I sleep in that stupid shack with all those other idiots."

"I know, Matthew. I have a nice bedroom with a nice bed in it. But I can't bring you home with me. My stepmom wouldn't allow it. And on top of that, I don't want to make my dad think I only like guys, and not girls. He thinks it's okay if I like both, though. He likes to fuck people in the ass, and he doesn't draw any distinction between a man's hole and a woman's hole."

"What we could do, Jeb, is to take a trip together over the Christmas holidays. We could rent a little place on the beach down in Galveston or Corpus Christi. Would your dad object to that if we told him we were going down to do some fishing in the Gulf?"

"That sounds like a really good idea, Matthew. And I think my dad would buy it. He knows that I like you, and that you like me. And also, he told me he likes you, too, and that you're a good worker."

Matthew finally drove me home just in time to sit down at the dinner table. When he let me off, I saw my dad holding the curtain aside on the front window and looking at us. He didn't say anything to me at dinner, but after dinner when I went up to my room to do some studying, Dad came in and sat down.

"Jeb," dad began. "Do ya wanna go to the club again with me tonight?"

"No, Dad. Once was enough. Anyway, I've got studying to do."

"Well, shit, boy. I thought ya told me ya liked going there."

"I did like it, Dad," I said. "But somehow it all got a little heavy for me."

"Yer still young. You'll git the hang of it as ya git older."

"Maybe."

Dad sat quietly for a few minutes and then said, "That was that Matt fella that drove ya home today, wasn't it?"

"Yes," I said. "We ran into each other when I was on my way to the bus stop. He took me to the ice cream shop for a sundae. And we talked about things."

"Why did he do that, Jeb?

"I don't know, Dad. He was just being friendly.

"What did ya talk about?"

"Dad, I don't remember," I said. "We just talked about a lot of stuff. I like him very much."

"Well boy, does he like you?

"Sure. I think he likes me. Dad, what's the matter? Don't you want me to be friendly with him?"

"Oh, I don't know. I jist don't trust the fucker. He's one of those fuckin' college types."

"Dad, I'm going to be one of those college types next year when I go to U. of Texas. Anyway, you're the one who's responsible. You're the one who took me to that place and wanted me get to know those guys and emulate them. And Matthew was one of those guys."

"Emu----- what? Don't use them big fuckin' words with me, boy. That fella isn't really one of us. He's jist workin' with us temporary."

"Dad, please," I said. "What's bothering you?"

"I jist want ya to be careful. That's all. Don't let him . . . I mean . . . don't git too fuckin' personal with him."

"Dad, how much more personal could I get with anybody than I was with him and those other friends of yours that night I went with you to the club. I just don't understand what you're talking about."

Dad looked deeply into my eyes and shook his head slightly. Then he said softly, "Yer my only son, Jeb. Just remember I worry about you. I jist don't want anything to happen to you."

After Dad left the room, I tried to figure out why he was so concerned over my friendship with Matthew. He had hardly ever given me a thought during my growing-up years. Why now? Why was he so concerned about me now? How could he be worried about my friendship with Matthew? With anybody? He's a strange man.

I saw Matthew several times since then, always at the ice cream shop. One day, after he drove me home, he came in to tell my stepmom that he would like to take me to the Gulf for fishing one weekend during the holidays. Mom had no idea that he was one of my dad's "club" friends. He looked very nice and civilized, and she was very much approving of our weekend away together. I told her that I was worried that Dad would not approve. But she said, she would handle that. She thought it would be good that I had a chance to get away for a few days and have a good time during my vacation from school.

That evening at the supper table, my stepmom mentioned to Dad that I was going away to Galveston for the weekend with Matthew. I braced myself for the tyrade I was sure would follow.

Dad never looked up from his plate, and merely said, quietly, "That's nice. Be sure to tell us where you'll be staying so if we have a fuckin' emergency, we can git hold of ya."

I could tell by the tense tone of his voice that Dad did not approve. After supper, I went to my room, as usual, and started studying. Dad came in and sat down.

"Why do ya have to go off fishing with this guy?"

"Because he asked me to, Dad, and because I think it'll be fun."

"You could go with me somewhere," Dad said. "I could take ya any fuckin' place ya wanted. I could take ya fishin'. I could take ya down to the old McGinty place and do some Quail hunting, if ya like. There's lots of fuckin' things we could do."

I turned in my chair and faced him. "You never took me anyplace, Dad. You were never around. I hardly even knew you until I got into high school."

Dad said, "But we could have gone places if you'd wanted to."

"But we never did. It wasn't because I didn't want to." I could feel the tears coming to my eyes. "Do you know why we never went anywhere together? We never went anywhere because you never asked me! You never once asked me what I would like to do. You never once asked me to go somewhere with you, except once to that stinking club of yours! I'm going with Matthew because he asked me!"

I remember I tried to hide my tears by covering my face with my hands. Then when I looked up, Dad had left the room. I didn't want to hurt him like that. I truly didn't. He had always been good to me . . . when he was around.

Matthew and I were going to stay at a cottage he rented on Galveston Beach. We'd be there two nights, Saturday and Sunday nights, and then drive back home on Monday. When Saturday morning came, Matthew arrived to pick me up at about nine o'clock. Dad had left the house about an hour earlier, saying that he had to work at the rig that day. He had never been required to work on Saturdays before, and I knew that his leaving the house early was another silent expression of his disapproval.

Matthew and I both loved country-western music and, during the drive to Galveston, we had our favorite station blaring away the whole way on the car radio. Matthew had a great singing voice and would sing along as we drove. I hardly ever looked out the window at the scenery, but rather kept my eyes on Matthew's face and his strong hands as he gripped the wheel. I was so happy.

It was a long drive, and when we arrived at the cottage on Galveston Beach, we carried our bags inside. When we put them down, and before we sat down, Matthew took hold of me by the shoulders and pulled me to him, holding me tightly in those powerful arms. Without saying anything, he kissed the tip of my nose very lightly and then moved his lips down to mine. Those soft, gentle lips. I felt almost as though I was in a dream. No man had ever held me like that. I had fantasized about it a thousand times, but never knew what it would really be like. I kept saying to myself, 'Don't let go of me. Hold me like this forever. Don't ever let go of me.'

But he did finally let go and went to his suitcase. He took something out and quickly put it into his pocket. Then he said, "Jeb, it's dinner time. I know a wonderful little restaurant right on the beach down the way a bit. They have an outdoor patio where we can eat and have a beautiful view of the Gulf of Mexico. Okay?"

I told him that whatever he wanted to do, I wanted to do. We changed our clothes and then slowly walked down the beach to the restaurant. The sun was just setting in the west and the sky was all orange and purple and red. But we could see heavy dark clouds off to the east. As we were seated on the patio, I still couldn't believe what was happening. I still felt as though I was in a dream. Matthew ordered a Brandy Manhattan, but refused to order one for me.

He said, "I'm not going to break the law and contribute to your delinquency. But you can take a few sips from my drink. And if I order another one, you can drink part of that one, too. But when you turn eighteen, I want to be the first one to buy you a drink to celebrate your majority."

Matthew did have two drinks, and I drank fully half of it. We had a huge mound of Crab claws for dinner and Mexican custard for desert. I had seen romantic scenes in the movies plenty of times, but this was the most romantic time I could ever imagine. It was dark when we finished, and we walked slowly, hand in hand, down the beach. The beach lights were on and gave off a soft faint glow.

When we came to some empty beach chairs, Matthew said, "Let's sit down here and watch the waves come in. I want to give you something" He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small box. When I opened it, I found a very thin gold chain with a small medallion hanging from it. Inscribed on it were simply the words "Jeb & Matt." I hardly knew what to say. I wanted to say so much, but all that would come out was "Thank you. Thank you, Matthew." He put the chain around my neck and pressed those beautiful, soft lips against mine so gently. I couldn't believe this was happening.

After getting back inside the cottage, Matthew said, "Just stand there, Jeb, and let me look at you. I don't want you to do anything. I want to undress you myself."

Matthew very slowly removed each item of my clothing, stopping frequently to kiss me on the lips. I began to feel a little embarrassed as my nakedness slowly came into view. I was so much smaller than Matthew. He was twice my size in all directions. I was very slender . . . more so than I wanted to be . . . and I was not very muscular. When he had my shirt off, he ran his tongue over my chest and stomach and up and down one of my arms. I thought how could he enjoy running his tongue along my thin arm when his were so much more muscular and masculine. But he did. He took my arm and held it like a ear of corn and nibbled on it from my wrist to my elbow.

When he had me completely naked, he picked me up in his arms and carried me to the bed. As I lay there, I watched as he slowly stripped himself. The sight of his beautiful strong naked body coming into view made the blood rush to my head. I almost felt dizzy, again as though I were in a dream.

He lay down beside me and, propped up on one elbow, he caressed my face and hair with his fingers. Then moving very close to me, he began kissing my eyes and running his tongue over my ears, my neck. As I felt his tongue moving slowly over my chest and stomach, I closed my eyes. I was certain I was in a dream. He began sucking on my pubic hair, then my balls, and I felt my gorged penis being sucked into his mouth. Just as quickly, he released it and brought his tongue down over my legs, swirling it around on the dusting of teenage hair that covered them. Again, he took each of my legs and nibbled on every inch of them.

Then I found myself lying on my stomach and felt my ass cheeks gently being pulled apart. I could feel the pressure of his tongue on my hole. Then he had me on my side, and we were lying facing each other, with my body clasped tightly in his arms, and with our hard penises pressed together.

Matthew whispered, "I hope you liked that as much as I did."

"Oh, yes, Oh, yes," I groaned as I kissed his beautiful eyes. His long, slightly curled, black eyelashes tickled my lips. I began to follow the same path with my tongue down over his body as he had with me. He was very tan, and the hair on his body glistened like a mass of gold threads. Almost ravenously, I bathed his whole body, every inch of it, with my tongue. Aside from the thrill of tasting his warm, moist skin, it felt so good to hear him moaning with pleasure as I went over his body.

Soon we were lying side by side again, and I began stroking my penis, now wet with semen. Matthew said, "Do you want to jack off?"

"Yes," I answered. "I'm so worked up, I have to get myself off. How about you?"

Matthew said, "I am, too. Shall we do it together?"

We both lay there stroking faster and faster. Sweat was pouring off my face. I could tell that Matthew was going to cum before I did. I watched his muscles tensing up and rippling as his face began to contort. Suddenly, long thick ropes of sperm spewed from the end of his penis onto his chest and stomach, with a little splattering onto my arm. As I looked at him, it seemed as though his orgasm was going on and on, almost without end. I continued to stroke and could feel my orgasm beginning to take over my body. Matthew suddenly took hold of my penis and said, "Let me finish you off, Jeb."

Matthew stroked my penis with great long strokes. It brought on a feeling of such intensity that I had never felt before with my own hand. I kept my eyes open and watched a spurting fountain of sperm stream out of my penis, most of which went all over Matthew's hand. As I lay their gasping for air, Matthew licked his hand clean and then leaned over and kissed me, with the taste of my own sperm still on his lips.

We lay there in each other's arms for a long time. Finally I said, "Matthew, I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

"I know that you may have wanted to do something else to get off. You know, something other than just jacking off."

"Hush, Jeb," Matthew said. "What we did was perfect."

I lay there looking into his eyes. It was perfect. But I was sure he had wanted more. "Matthew," I whispered. "Would you give me time? This is the first time I have ever lain in bed with another man. I want you more than you'll probably ever know. And if I've disappointed you, please give me time."

Kissing me gently, he whispered back, "Jeb, you can take all the time you want. We never have to do any more than what we just did. I told you. What we did was perfect."

"Matthew," I said, "I'm afraid of fucking. I don't know if I can do it."

"Don't think about it. We don't ever have to do it if you don't want to."

We continued lying in each other's arms gently feeling each other's body with our fingers. Finally I said, "Matthew, what does becoming a real man mean to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"My dad has been worried that I won't become a real man, according to his definition. That's why he took me to that club one night. He said he wanted me to see what real men are like."

"Well, what does he think real men are like?" asked Matthew.

"I'm still not real sure, but I think that he believes you can't be a real man unless you do stuff like he and all his friends were doing that night. You know, drinking and smoking and fucking and sucking, and all that."

Matthew laughed. "Really? That's his definition of a real man? I'd say that's his definition of an over-sexed sex maniac."

"Well, then, I don't know what being a real man means," I said.

"I don't think I know what that term means, either," said Matthew. "We're all men, and if we're breathing, I guess we're real men. I think one should think more in terms of being a great and honorable man. I think your dad believes that a guy has to prove to everyone he's a man by showing how sexually potent he is. I guess he thinks that's the only way a man can account for himself as a man. But in my view, Jeb, there are a lot of ways that men can do that; in other words to be great and honorable. I would say that a guy can consider himself a man, rather than a boy, when he begins to view the world around him in an adult and rational way. No man has to live a prurient life to prove himself. I think that once a guy finally puts away his childhood toys and develops a passion . . . a real passion for something that truly matters in this world . . . not just a passion for self-absorbing sex . . . he's then a man to be noticed . . . a man to be reckoned with."

"Well, dad's passion is sex in any form," I said.

"A guy's passion can be anything, Jeb. Some men have a passion for building the longest bridge in the world or the tallest building. Some have a passion for composing beautiful music or writing a Pulitzer Prize-winning novel. And some have a life-long passion to save the starving children in Uganda. Those guys are men of this world, and they matter, whether or not they're good in bed. These are truly great and honorable men."

I thought about that for a few minutes and said, "Matthew, would writing poetry be classified as a passion?"

"Of course. If you love poetry and you love to write poetry, it becomes a passion in your life. It's a passion for something that matters . . . something that could affect the lives of many people who read it. The great poets in history, in so many cases, have had profound influence on others."

"Then I don't have to wear my hair in a pony tail and mutilate my body with tattoos and show off my sexual prowess to prove myself as a man?"

"Of course not, Jeb. I understand you're graduating from high school with honors and have won a National Merit Scholarship for college. You have everything going for you."

"How about sexual desire and things like I'm enjoying right now with you?"

Matthew slipped his arm under me and pulled me tightly against his body. "You let your heart take you where you want to go in matters of love. If you want to do nothing sexually other than masturbation, that's your choice. But let your brain, as well as your heart, lead you through the passions you develop. If poetry is your passion, and you write it in order to affect and influence others, then you are a real man of this world. Never let anyone tell you otherwise."

"Do you have a passion, Matthew?" I asked.

"Of course I do. I'm a trained engineer, don't forget. My passion is to someday engineer the construction of a great building that will withstand earthquakes, hurricanes, and flying missiles. And I'm going to do it someday."

"You'll build it so even an airplane flying into it won't knock it down?"

"You got it! It's not only a passion, Jeb, it's a mission I've set for myself. I may never get it done, but if I don't, at least I'll die trying."

"I love you, Matthew," I said impulsively.

"There's another thing that is the mark of a good and honorable man. And that's his honesty and sincerity with those who love him. If you and someone else fall in love, never take his love for granted. And furthermore, infidelity is never the mark of a truly loving and honorable man."

"You tell me that because I told you I love you?" I asked.

Matthew laughed and said, "No, not really. But someday, when you say it again, I want to know that you truly mean it."

"But I do love . . . . Matthew pressed his lips against mine before I could finish.

When Matthew and I tried to go to sleep, a violent thunderstorm blew in off the Gulf with wild thunder and lightning. We did sleep, but only fitfully. By morning, we discovered the electricity had gone off. There was no air-conditioning and our portable coffee maker didn't work. We drove down the beach to look for a café of some sort, but since there was no power, all were closed. The rain came down steadily all morning. We weren't going to be able to do any fishing, and the cottage was now so hot and damp inside, that we decided to drive on back home instead of staying another night.

When Matthew dropped me off at my house, it was early evening. Dad was having another one of his poker parties back in his "playroom." I sat for a little while in the kitchen with my stepmom and told her what a nice time I had had with Matthew in Galveston. She kissed me and told me how glad she was that I knew someone who wanted to do things with me. She told me that Dad had been moody while I was gone and that she believed he was resentful that I had gone away with Matthew.

I was really tired from so little sleep the night before, and decided to go on to bed. On my way, I stopped momentarily at the door of Dad's Playroom and could hear a little of the loud bragging about sex that was always present at these parties. I went to my room, stripped down, and then went down the hall to the bathroom to take a shower. I found one of Dad's naked guests standing at the toilet peeing.

"Hi, Jeb," he said. "Here, I'll move over. I guess we can both pee at the same time. It's kind of hard to pee with a hard-on, though. Your dad's a riot. His stories always get me hard as a rock. Boy! What a man he is!"

"Why do you say that?" I asked.

"Well, because any man who can screw and satisfy three women at once is a man for all seasons! That's for sure!"

The man left, and I took my shower and went on to my room. "How does a man screw three women at the same time?" I thought. "Do those guys believe that crap?" I stood naked in front of my full-length mirror and looked at my body and the beautiful gold chain around my neck. I wondered how Matthew could have liked my body. As I looked at myself, I could see that it was well-proportioned, but it was so thin. I felt so inferior next to Matthew's well-developed body. I took off the chain and, as I looked at it, tears came to my eyes. I kissed it and put it on the bed table. I lay in bed thinking about Matthew and the night before. I was sure I loved him. But he didn't want me to say it. My mind was whirling. I got up, turned on the light again, and pulled out from my notebook some of the poetry I had recently written. I read it over and wondered if I could ever be a truly great poet someday. Matthew said that if I really had a passion for it, and could somehow influence and move others with it, I would have proven myself to be a great man. As I read over the lines I had written, I knew that I did have a passion for it. I sat at my desk and began revising some of it, making it better, knowing that it would be great poetry someday if I followed my passion for it.

I saw on my clock that it was 3:00 a.m., and I heard a knock on my door. Dad came in, completely naked, as usual. "I didn't have a chance to welcome ya back home, Jeb," he said. "I had this fuckin' poker party goin' on and didn't realize you'd come back so soon. Was there a problem?"

"No, Dad. It started storming over there and the electricity went off, so we really couldn't do any fishing. So we just came home."

"Did ya have a good time?"

"Yes. Matthew's a very nice man. And he has a lot of ambition to do things in his life."

Dad then said something softly under his breath. I said, "Dad, what did you say?"

"I said, I missed you."

"You missed me?" I said.

"Yeah."

"Dad, you had all your friends here tonight. How could you miss me?"

Dad just stood there, looking as though he didn't know what to say. I said, "Dad, you don't like Matthew, do you? Why does it upset you so much that he and I are friends?"

"It don't upset me."

"Yes it does, Dad. Tell me why."

Dad moved toward me slowly and then suddenly grabbed hold of me and wrapped me tightly in his arms. He kissed me on the neck and cheek and then whispered, "I love ya, Jeb. I love ya so fuckin' much."

Dad released me and left the room. I just stood there for a few minutes, stunned. I climbed into bed and lay there, my mind whirling in all directions. I told myself I needed to go to sleep. I would deal with this in the morning.
 

To be continued...