Dave Hopkins and I were buddies.  We grew up together in the same neighborhood and were almost inseparable.  We both played football in high school although he was a starter and I spent much of my time on the bench.  Academically, neither of us was very good but we squeaked by with passing grades because we often studied together, cramming for quizzes and exams.  We were like brothers.

 

It was in high school that I struggled with a forbidden urge to do more with Dave than pal around together.    I had always been fond of him as a playmate when we were little and as a very good friend in our teens.  But a completely different attraction to him developed.  Since puberty, I suffered the worry and guilt of my fascination with guys.  It took a few years to admit to myself that I was gay but only an instant to realize that I could not reveal it to anyone — not to my family since they were obviously homophobic and certainly not to Dave because it would surely ruin our friendship.

 

The time in the football team’s locker room and shower were the most troubling.  It was the first time I had seen Dave nude since we were very young.  We had always been close and never shy with each other so he wasn’t at all modest as we showered and dressed.  His muscular body was, to me, a thing of beauty ... and its effect on me bordered on lust.  Frequently, I couldn’t cope with the sight of his impressive manhood and had to hide my hardening cock.  I don’t think he noticed my reaction.  At least I hoped he didn’t.  If he did, he didn’t say anything.

 

I was absolutely certain Dave was straight because, in moments of candor, he told me of the girls at school that he had fucked and those he wanted to.  He asked me once whether I had gotten a piece of ass or two and, to conceal my real interests, I lied, “Just a couple of times.”  He wanted to know more so I changed the subject.  Later, he wanted to double date but I made some lame excuse because I was afraid it would end up in sex.  The thought of fucking a girl turned me off and I was afraid I wouldn’t even be able to get an erection.

 

After high school graduation, Dave went to work in his dad’s machine shop and I got a job delivering bread and bakery goods to grocery stores.  I saw much less of him then because he was spending most of his free time with a girlfriend, Sherry.  She was quite attractive (for a female) and I figured she must have been a good fuck since that was important to Dave.  I was best man at his wedding.  Six months later, Sherry gave birth to a little boy that they named Corey.

 

Dave was a loyal husband and I’m sure he loved his wife.  He was also a good father by spending as much time as he could playing with the little guy.  He took great pride in his infant son and kept me informed on his development and cute behavior.

 

 

When Corey was five, Dave’s National Guard unit was deployed to Viet Nam.  He had mixed feelings.  A few days before he left, he and I sat in my apartment downing one beer after another.  He told me he was proud to serve his country but hated to leave his wife and son.  After too many beers, he wondered aloud what would happen to his son if he came home crippled or didn’t come home at all.  Who would play ball with him?  Who would take him fishing?  A boy needs a father, he insisted.  It was the first time since we were very little that I saw him cry.

 

Dave came home a year later.  In a casket.

 

Sherry took it hard but the effect on Corey was tragic.  After a few days of tears, the six-year-old withdrew into himself.  He had trouble sleeping.  His first-grade school work suffered.  He had no interest in playing with other children.  He refused to talk during several interviews with the school psychologist.  He even had episodes of bed wetting.

 

Sherry returned to her job as a receptionist in a doctor’s office, leaving her widowed mother to watch Corey after school.  His grandma was a nice enough person but her persistent nagging for Corey to go out and play with the neighborhood boys only served to alienate him from her.

 

Sherry was at wits end when she called me.  “Mike,” she began, “I know you and Dave were very good friends.  Corey likes you a lot, too.”  I listened as she tearfully told me of her son’s depression and how neither she nor anyone else could lift him out of his funk.  I had seen Corey’s sobs at the memorial service and I cried for his pain but I hadn’t known of the turmoil he had been suffering through for past two months.  “I have a huge favor to ask of you,” Sherry went on.  “Maybe I’m grasping at straws but I thought if you talked to him ... if you maybe took him somewhere, anywhere, for the day ... it might take his mind off losing his father ... even for a little while.”

 

“Consider it done!” I said without hesitation.  “I’ll pick him up Saturday morning.  I don’t know yet what we’ll do but I’ll try to fill his day with fun stuff.”

 

 

I rang the Hopkins doorbell at seven Saturday morning.  That was quite early but it was an almost two-hour drive to the Cedar Point amusement park where we would spend most of the day.  Corey greeted me politely but unenthusiastically.  In the car and on our way, I tried to engage the young boy in conversation but all I got was grunts and short answers to my questions.  Twenty minutes into the trip, he fell asleep.  I had to wake him when we arrived at the park.  He was drowsy but compliant when I said, “Let’s go have some fun!”

 

Two hours into our visit, Corey’s mood improved considerably and I think he was starting to enjoy the rides.  By mid-afternoon, he was more like what a six-year-old boy should be like, occasionally laughing and rushing to the next ride.  As we got in the car for the drive home, he said, “Thanks, Mr. Davis, it was fun.”

 

“I enjoyed it too,” I said.  “But why don’t you call me Mike.  Friends usually call each other by their first names.”

 

“But Mom says I should always call grown-ups ‘Mister’,” he objected.

 

“That’s a good rule, Corey, but I’m sure she would say it’s okay to call me Mike.  We are friends, aren’t we?”

 

“’Spose so,” he said.

 

The closer we got to home, the moodier he became until conversation was almost entirely one-sided.

 

For the next several weeks, I spent my Saturdays with Corey.  Sometimes we would have a special excursion but much of the time was spent in my apartment, playing board games, watching TV, or just hanging out.  Gradually, he grew comfortable being with a grown up.  I was not a total stranger because I had visited with Dave and his family often and that no doubt helped build the rapport between us.  Sherry told me that he looked forward to our “play dates.”  I did too.  But the boy’s behavior during the week had improved only slightly.

 

The only down side to my Saturdays with Corey is that I had to hide my magazines and video tapes.  Still, I wouldn’t change a thing about our time together.

 

The tipping point came, I think, when I started taking him to his T-ball games.  He enjoyed playing ball and even made friends with some of the other boys on the team.  When he outgrew T-ball, I took him to Little League games and it was then that he really came out of his shell.  He was more willing to talk about his dad — and without tears.

 

After one of his ball games — he was twelve at the time — we stopped for our regular ice cream cone before I took him home.  He had played exceptionally well that day and I complimented him on his effort and skill.  He got suddenly quiet.

 

“Something wrong?” I asked.

 

“Nah,” he sighed.  “I just wish my dad could have seen me.”

 

“What makes you think he didn’t?” I asked.  “He was probably looking down on you and is thrilled that you played so well.”

 

“Think so?” he asked with a quizzical expression.

 

“I’m pretty sure of it, Corey.  I think he’s proud of you.”

 

“I hope so,” he said and finished his ice cream.

 

<><><><><>

 

Over the next few years I spent a lot of time with Corey.  I thought it was a healthy sign that he wanted to know what his dad was like as a boy.  I was happy to tell him although it revived my suppressed attraction to Dave and my frustration that I didn’t dare tell him how I felt.

 

When Corey was fifteen, his mother had to be in the hospital for surgery.  His relationship with his grandma had deteriorated to the point that he refused to let her watch him, claiming that he was old enough to stay alone for a few hours each day.  Sherry only had to ask; I was glad to let him stay in my guest room until she was home and recuperated.  Corey was delighted with the arrangement.

 

Everything went very well.  Corey was old enough to stay by himself for the two hours between the end of school and my arriving home.  I fixed breakfast and saw that he had lunch money but he always had dinner ready when I got home.  I made sure he did his homework and reminded him to call his mother every night.  We had settled into a comfortable routine ... until ...

 

One evening he was in the shower while I watched TV and heard him call, “MIKE!”

 

I sensed panic in his voice and rushed down the hall.  I hesitated at the closed bathroom door, not wanting to invade his privacy in case he was not dressed.  I called out through the door, “Is there a problem, Corey?”

 

“Yeah.  I dropped a bottle and it shattered all over the floor.  I can’t get out of the shower without cutting my feet.  Can you help me?”

 

“Just a minute,” I called out and went to get a broom and dust pan.  Upon returning, I asked, “Okay to come in?”

 

“Sure,” he replied.

 

I opened the door, expecting to find him behind the shower curtain or discretely covered with a towel.  Instead, I had a full frontal view.  I should have controlled myself but it was beyond my power.  My eyes scanned from his broad chest, down across his flat abdomen, and landed on his crotch where they stayed too long.  He was remarkably well-developed for a fifteen-year-old with profuse pubic hair, a long cock, and pendulous balls.  Tearing my attention away from his body, I busied myself sweeping up the broken glass, accompanied by Corey’s apologies.

 

“Thanks!” he said as I exited the room.

 

I returned to the living room where I pretended to watch TV but my thoughts were dominated by the image of a very masculine young teen.  The resemblance to his father was incredible and re-awakened my disappointment over not having been intimate with Dave in High School.  My thoughts were lustful but focused not on Corey but on his father as a young man.  The only thoughts I associated with Corey were pure wonder at the masculinity of my young friend.  (That innocent type of thinking would change later.)  I caught myself thinking of what he might be like in three years at eighteen and legal — the duplicate of his muscular father.  He would surely be the fantasy companion of most of the girls in school and perhaps the target of their advances just like his dad had been.

 

He came into the living room with only a towel around his waist and apologized again for his clumsiness.  Once more I admired his physique and recalled doing the same as his father showered in the high school locker room.  I assured him it was a trivial accident and complained that they shouldn’t put shampoo in glass bottles.

 

“When you first came in, Mike, you looked pissed off.”

 

“Not at all,” I disagreed.  “I guess I was just surprised at how you’ve grown up.”

 

“Maybe that explains why you stared at me.”

 

I hesitated before responding.  It was certain that he saw my lingering look at his genital region — a definite no-no among men and particularly with teen boys.  I tried to think of some way to explain away my lapse of judgment but with no success.  My hopes of disguising the real reason were dashed when he cocked an eyebrow and said, “Or maybe there’s another reason.”

 

“Another reason?” I asked, perhaps with panic evident in my expression.

 

“That’s the way Jeremy looked at me in the shower after gym class.  He’s gay ... or at least we all think he is.  But I don’t think you are.”

 

If I were openly gay, I’d have corrected his impression of me.  But I’m very much in the closet for a number of reasons: family, friends, career, cowardice, whatever.  Therefore, I tried to steer the conversation away from me.  “Do you or any of the other guys tease Jeremy about being gay?

 

“Some do.  I think it’s okay.  I don’t know if it’s his choice or if it’s hard-wired into his genes but as long as he doesn’t hurt anybody why should I hurt him?”

 

“That’s an admirable attitude, Corey.  There’s too much hatred and persecution in the world ... and I don’t mean just gays.”

 

He turned and walked down the hall toward the guest room, much to my relief.

 

<><><><><>

 

Near the end of Corey’s junior year in high school, he telephoned me and asked if he could come over for a visit.  “Actually, I need some advice, Mike.  Do you have some time?”

 

“You’re always welcome; you know that,” I said.

 

When he arrived, he looked worried.  I asked him if something was wrong.  “That’s what I want to talk to you about, Mike,” he said.  We sat in the living room and he seemed hesitant but said, “I think you’re the only one I can talk to.  I may be wrong but I think you’re the only one who would understand.”

 

He hesitated some more so I asked, “Understand what, buddy?”

 

“First,” he began, “let me tell you something.  Remember when I stayed with you when Mom was in the hospital?”  He didn’t wait for an answer but continued, “A buddy had loaned me a videotape of a movie that I wanted to watch.  I didn’t think you’d mind so I turned on the VCR.  There was already a tape in it so I took it out.  It was a porno tape and ...”

 

“Shit!” I blurted out, mentally cursing myself for being so careless.

 

“It was a bit of a shock to think that you’d have a gay video.  It probably meant you’re gay.  But, of course, I couldn’t be sure.  You’ve never said or done anything that would indicate you’re gay.  Now, the bit about my breaking a bottle in the shower.  That was an accident and I did need help.  But I took the opportunity to test my theory.  I stood there naked, showing you everything.  Your reaction seemed to confirm my suspicion.  I tested you some more when I told you about Jeremy in the shower.  You didn’t confirm anything but you didn’t deny it, either.  So here’s my question.  Are you gay?”

 

I could lie.  I’d done that often.  But this was Corey asking — Corey — a boy I loved as much as if he were my own son.  Somehow, I couldn’t lie to him.  “Yes,” I replied.  “Does that upset you?  Do you think less of me now?”

 

“Absolutely not!” he said forcefully.  “In fact, I admire you more.  You seem to handle it extremely well.  Not once have you said or done anything that was ... well ... queer.  Even after you saw me naked, you’ve never come on to me.  That must take a lot of self discipline.”

 

Tremendously relieved, I said, “Thanks.  But enough about me.  You said you wanted some advice.”

 

“Yeah.  How does a guy know for sure he’s gay?  I think I am but I’m not sure.  I mean, is it just a phase I’m passing through?  Will I grow out of it?  And if I don’t, what can I do about it?”

 

“Do you think you might be gay?” I asked.  “And does it worry you?”

 

“Yes and yes,” he said.  “But please don’t tell anyone.  Okay?”

 

“Not a soul, Corey.  IF — and I mean IF — you’re gay, coming out will have to be your decision.  So what makes you think you’re gay?”

 

“Simple.  Girls don’t interest me.  Guys do.  It’s really tough for me in the shower after baseball practice or a game.  I have to force myself to think of other things and not look at the other guys.  When I jack off at night I’m usually thinking of naked guys, not girls.  At first, I was ashamed of myself.  What would my dad think?  But I can’t help it, Mike.  What can I do?”

 

“I’m no expert, Corey, but you’re seventeen.  I suspect a lot of kids your age go through a curiosity phase, checking out other guys, wondering — or hoping — that your equipment will be as good as the next guy’s.”

 

“But it’s more than that!” Corey objected.  “Why did I get hard watching your video tape?  Yeah.  I watched it.  And had to jack off before it was over.  Why do I think of guys instead of screwing a girl when I jack off?”

 

“Okay,” I had to admit.  “It’s possible — but not certain — that you’re gay.  That doesn’t make you a pervert or a sinner.  Homosexuality is not common but neither is red hair or left-handedness.  You’re different; you’re not a bad person.”

 

“When did you know you were gay?” he asked, changing the subject somewhat.

 

I had to think about it because it was twenty years ago but replied, “About fourteen, I suspected it.  At fifteen, I was pretty sure.  By sixteen, I knew.  But I’ve never told anyone that I’m gay.  And I hope you keep my secret just like I’ll keep yours.”

 

“Did you and my dad ever....”

 

“NO!  I wanted to.  But your dad was straight as an arrow.”

 

“I guess my dad would be disappointed with me ‘cause I’m gay.  Or angry.”

 

“I don’t think so, Corey.  Your dad is in a place now where there’s no hatred, no bigotry.  I think he’d understand and still be proud of you.”

 

“I hope so, Mike.  At least I know you don’t disapprove of me.  I mean your being gay yourself, you know what it’s like.  You know how I feel.  You know what gay sex is like.”

 

 “You’re half right,” I said.  “I know how it feels to be gay but I don’t know what gay sex is like.  I’ve never had gay sex with anyone.  I’m a thirty-five-year-old virgin.”

 

“That’s awful,” Corey said.  “Will I end up that way, too?”

 

“That’s up to you.  You asked for my advice.  Here it is.  Wait.  Wait a little longer until you can be sure that you’re gay.  Here’s another piece of advice.  Don’t come out until you’re ready to accept the consequences, both good and bad.  There’s a lot of bigotry in the world and you will suffer discrimination and even persecution.  Consider what the news will do to the ones you love.  But at the same time remember that you’ve got your own life to live and you should do what makes you happy.  Finally — and this is the most important piece of advice I can give you — if you are gay and decide to live as a gay, don’t go to bed with every Tom, Dick, and Harry just for the thrill of sex.  Find someone you’re willing to share your life with.”

 

“Thanks, Mike.  I don’t know what I expected you to say but I like what you said.  As for being gay, there’s no doubt in my mind that I am.  As for the consequences, I guess I’ll have to consider them before making up my mind about coming out.  And I agree with you that casual sex is dangerous and maybe selfish.  Hopefully, I can find the right guy.  If I do, you’ll be the first to know.  Maybe the only one to know for a while.”

 

When he left for home, I think he was still a little troubled and confused but was decidedly more cheerful than when he arrived.

 

<><><><><>

 

Over the following three years, we had several conversations about homosexuality: the source of society’s prohibitions, safe sex, and (here I could offer little help) how to find a life partner.  I was flattered that he trusted me enough to talk so openly but, two things worried me.  I was afraid that I wasn’t giving him all the help and support he needed.  More troubling was that I was regarding him less as a boy and more as an adult, a young man who had matured mentally and socially, and a carbon copy of his father.  The little boy had grown to be handsome and — let me be honest — desirable.  It was increasingly difficult to conceal my attraction to him and to maintain the innocent friendship we’d had since he was a little boy.

 

 

He had just turned eighteen and was nearing graduation when he stopped by my apartment on a Saturday morning.  “Got time to talk?” he asked.

 

“Always time for you, Corey.  Come in.  What’s up?”

 

He got right to the point.  “I think I’ve found the right partner.  His name is Jacob.  We’ve been friends since fifth grade.  For the last couple of years, we’ve talked about sex but I’ve never let on that I’m gay.  Last week we’d had a few beers and he told me how much he liked me.  That was no surprise ‘cause we’ve been good friends for a long time.  The surprise was when he kissed me.  Not a peck on the cheek but right on the lips.  It was wonderful!  Before long we were fondling each other and kissing like mad.  Believe it or not, I came in my pants.  He laughed at me.  It made me feel foolish.  Then he wanted to fuck me.  He said he had to get his rocks off.  I got scared.  He’s got a big cock and I was sure he’d hurt me.  I talked him into letting me jack him off.  But he’s still talking about getting together so he can fuck me.  Before you say anything, I’m sure it’s not just for the sex; we really like each other.”

 

“Do you like him enough that you want to spend your life with him?” I asked.

 

“Absolutely!  We’ve always gotten along well together.  Finding out we’re both gay is like a dream come true.”

 

“Well,” I said.  “If it’s more than casual friendship and it’s what you really want, I suppose you can do it.  Not that you need my permission, mind you.  You’re mature enough to make that decision on your own.  Unless he’s at least eighteen and legally an adult.  Sex with a minor is a felony, you know.  That would be a serious problem.”

 

“Oh, he’s eighteen.  His birthday is just a week after mine.  There’s another problem.  He wants to fuck me.  And I want him to.  I also want to fuck him.  But what if he hurts me?  What if I can’t take it?  What if I make him stop?  Wouldn’t that disappoint him?  Maybe screw up the best chance we have to be real partners?  I’m scared, Mike.  I’m scared of losing a relationship before it even gets started.”

 

“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” I said.  “As long as you both want the relationship to continue, I’m sure he’ll understand.  But, to avoid the problem of pain, you can ask him to go slow and prepare you for it.  Have him loosen you up with a finger, then two, then three if necessary.  Be sure to use a lubricant.  Do the same to him before you fuck him.  Even then there may be some pain but be patient; it’ll go away as you get used to him inside you.”

 

“That’s all fine and good,” Corey replied.  “But I have another idea.”

 

“And that is?” I asked.

 

“I’d like to know what it’s like before he fucks me.  It’ll be easier for me if I know what to expect.  I’ve thought about it and decided that I’d like you to fuck me.  Hear me out before you say anything.  The first reason, as I’ve said, is that I want to know what to expect.  The second reason has to do with something you told me once.  Don’t have sex with just anyone, you said; make sure it’s someone you like.  Well, I like you.  You’ve been almost my dad for years.  To tell the truth, I love you.  The third reason is that I want to do something nice for you.  You’ve said that you’re a thirty-five-year-old virgin.  I can imagine how much you’ve wanted somebody.  I’m your guy, Mike!  Even though it’ll be just one time.  We’ll both be doing a favor for each other.  How about it?”

 

My instincts told me to decline his request.  Maybe I’m old fashioned but I’ve always thought that one should not surrender his virginity until he was sure that it was the start of a lasting union.  In addition, I had been fighting to contain my lust for Corey for a long time, especially since he turned eighteen.  I had developed a habit of squelching, even disliking, any thoughts of sex with him.  Even though he was legal, I regarded him as more of a son than a potential lover.  On the other hand, most of his arguments were persuasive.  It may or may not help him in his first sex with Jacob but he obviously felt strongly that it would.  Could I perhaps boost his confidence and make his first sex with his boyfriend more pleasurable?  I was flattered by his second argument that he loved me and pleased that he took my advice seriously.  But, by itself, it wouldn’t persuade me.  His third argument, to give me something I wanted was very considerate.  There’s no doubt I wanted to enjoy his body.  It was that thought that tipped the scales.

 

“Before I agree or decline, Corey, I want you to tell me the truth.  Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?  Because if you’re asking mostly to be nice to me, I assure you it’s not necessary.  You don’t owe me any favors.  I’ve enjoyed being with you as you grew up and I’m extraordinarily proud of what you’ve become.”

 

“Scout’s honor, Mike.  The main reason is to find out what to expect so I don’t screw things up when Jacob fucks me.  That you might enjoy it is just frosting on the cake.”

 

“In that case, Corey, what are you doing the rest of the day?”

 

“Going to bed with you!” he exclaimed with obvious delight.

 

“Not right away, pal!” I said.  “First, I have an errand.”

 

“Can’t it wait?” he said, obviously eager to get started.

 

“No, it can’t.  Get in the car and come with me.” 

Corey was obviously disappointed, maybe even upset, that we couldn't go straight to bed but he obediently followed me to the car.  Before we pulled out of the parking lot, he asked with undisguised impatience, "Where're we going? And why does it have to be done right now?"

 

"One.  We're going to the store.  I have to get an enema because I don't have any at home.  Two.  It has to be done right now because it's important that you clean out your bowels.  There's nothing quite like a bunch of dirty, smelly shit smeared all over on your dick.  Kinda ruins the experience.  I'll get some extra so you and Jacob can use it before you fuck.  I'll pick up some condoms, too."

 

"Why?" he asked.  "I don't have an STD.  I'm sure that neither you nor Jacob does."

 

"I'm not worried about that.  You ought to use a condom anyway.  For the same reason.  Even though you use an enema, there may be residual stuff left in your bowels.  I'd rather take off a slightly smeared condom than wash the shit off my cock."

 

I bought three enemas, three boxes of condoms, and some lube — enough for us to use and a "starter kit" for Corey to use with Jacob.  Back in my apartment, I handed him an enema and told him to go to the bathroom, follow the instructions, and let me know when he was ready.

 

While I waited, I wondered if I was doing the right thing.  Yes, I concluded.  I wanted to do it.  He wanted to do it.  Maybe needed to do it to build his confidence.  Besides, I couldn't back out now; he would be seriously disappointed.  And so would I!

 

It wasn't five minutes before he came back into the living room wearing only his boxers and asked, "Can you help me?  I'm having a little bit of trouble."

 

I thought the instructions in the package, especially with the illustrations, would be more than sufficient to guide him through the process.  After all, he was a bright kid.  In addition, I suppose I was still clinging to the notion that something like using an enema should be done in private.  Never mind that we were going to get naked and have sex.  That belonged in a different category.

 

"Okay," I said and followed him back into the bathroom.  Inside, I said, "Drop your drawers.  Better yet, take them off."

 

Without a moment's hesitation, he stripped off his boxers and stood facing me.  It was the second time I'd seen his manhood but it was no less awesome than the first.  As my eyes drank in the remarkable sight before me, I unwittingly muttered, "You're beautiful!" He grinned as though he was complimented (as, indeed, he was).  My heart was pumping and my cock was well on its way to rigidity.  He let me admire him for a few moments, no doubt proud of his manly body and flattered that I was awed by it.

 

Reluctantly but necessarily, I forced myself to think of the immediate task — the enema.  "Turn around," I said.  "Bend over and grab your ankles."

 

"But the instructions say to lie on my side on the bed," he objected.

 

"Right!" I said sheepishly.  "I suppose I can be forgiven for not remembering that.  It's just that ...  well ...  you're so gorgeous."

 

"Thanks," he said with an impish grin.  "You're pretty good-looking yourself, you know."

 

He led the way to my bedroom, affording me a marvelous chance to study the smooth movements of his butt as he walked.  Smooth skin clinging to firm cheeks that were slightly smaller than his muscular frame would suggest — matching exactly what I preferred.  I had to secretly adjust my hardening cock from its awkward and increasingly painful position.

 

He lay on the bed on his side just as the printed instructions had shown.  I sat beside him with the enema bottle, hesitant — I don't know why — to proceed.  Only after convincing myself that I must behave as a clinician would, did I dare to place my hand on a cheek and pull to open the crack in his ass.  I almost lost my pseudo-professional demeanor when his pinkish rosebud, framed with thick, black hair came into view.  I had to admire it for a few moments, unable to think of anything except: there's the hole that will welcome my cock and my seed.

 

I heard him say, "I'm ready," which brought me back to reality.

 

My hands were trembling as I very gently inserted the bottle's nozzle into that virgin hole.  I couldn't hurt him because he had already expressed his fear of being hurt.  Also, I dared not do anything that would prevent my granting his wish to fuck him.

 

The bottle was empty.  I withdrew it and said, "Done.  Now wait until you have a strong urge to empty your bowels."

 

"That was easy," he said.  "But probably a lot easier then having a fat dick go in me."

 

"True," I agreed.  "But I think if you do it right, there will be very little if any pain when Jacob fucks you."

 

"We'll see," he replied, seemingly unconvinced.

 

He was lying on his left side with his right leg bent and brought up in front of him, concealing his manly cock.  I suppose that was a good thing because it eliminated a distraction and enabled me to talk to him about Jacob.  I wanted to assure myself again that he and his boyfriend could be partners and not just fuck-buddies.  Corey spoke affectionately of his friend and expressed confidence that theirs was more than a sexual interest in each other.

 

I saw him jerk and grab his stomach a few times before he exclaimed.  "Gotta go!  NOW!" He leapt from the bed and dashed into the bathroom, not taking time to close the door behind him.  The sounds were unmistakable; he must have dropped a huge load.  One of my thoughts was that I was glad it went down the toilet and didn't end up on my cock — or on the bed sheets — but that thought was immediately replaced by anticipation of the pleasure ahead of me.

 

I heard the toilet flush (a second time) before he wandered, somewhat unsteadily, back into my bedroom.  He seemed pale and I was more concerned with him than with what was bobbing between his legs.  "You okay?" I asked.

 

"Yeah," he said.  "It's just that I haven't shit so much since I was a little kid and had diarrhea.  Do I have to do that every time Jacob fucks me?"

 

"It's a good idea.  And you should insist that he does it too.  I'm convinced you'll be better off than putting up with a mess after you fuck."

 

He lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling as though he had lost interest in the favor he had asked of me.  I took the opportunity to undress.  It caught his attention.  "I said before that you were good-looking, Mike.  I was wrong.  Now that I see you naked, you're a freakin' stud!  You may be thirty-five but you've got an amazing body!"

 

"Enough of the flattery," I said.  "We're here to let you find out anal sex is like.  Are you ready?"

 

"Ready and eager," he grinned.

 

It started out as a tutorial (insofar as I was able since my only knowledge had been gleaned from gay magazines and internet stories).  I began by stressing the value of foreplay to heighten arousal.  I took the opportunity to demonstrate, which was partly an excuse to explore his remarkable body with my hands and tongue.  It would be hard to say which of us enjoyed it more.  His soft moans were evidence that he liked it.  For my part, I was relishing the chance to caress every part of his body, a body that was offered to me willingly, a body that was as near to masculine perfection as it could be.

 

As much as I might have enjoyed worshiping Corey's body for hours, it was time to move on.  I emphasized the importance of lubrication as I smeared some on his hole.  I explained how to gradually relax the sphincter as I gently finger-fucked him to loosen up his hole.  I'm not sure how much he was listening to what I said because he was obviously enjoying everything I did.  I sank my finger deeper and found his prostate.  He jumped when I started massaging it.  I had to explain what that "hot button" was.  His only response was a plea to keep doing it.  His precum was flowing freely and forming a pool just below his navel.

 

I progressed from one to two fingers and then to three, alerting him to what I was about to do at each step along the way and watching his face for any sign of discomfort.  If he felt any pain, either he didn't show it or I was more successful than I gave myself credit for.  I withdrew my fingers and slipped a condom on my aching erection.  Quickly covering it with lube, I pressed the head of my cock against his hole, telling him what I was doing.  Very gradually, I penetrated him.  He winced once and I immediately stopped to ask if he was okay.  He assured me that he was and urged me to keep going.

 

Several minutes later, I was in to the hilt.  I could only imagine the sensations he felt but I was extremely aroused by his tight hole gripping my cock.  I started slowly to piston in and out.  At that point, both of us yielded to primal sensations.  Instruction time was over; we were in carnal overdrive, driven exclusively by our sexual arousal.

 

It was, without doubt, the most intense orgasm of my life.  I felt every one of the eruptions of cum and (as he later told me) he did, too.

 

My cock stayed hard for a surprisingly long time but eventually softened and slipped out.  I lay beside him and asked, "So how was it?"

 

"Far, far better than I'd ever dreamed it would be," he cooed."

 

"So are you concerned about Jacob hurting you?"

 

"No.  I guess I made too big a deal out of it but I really was scared.  I can't thank you enough, Mike."

 

"Yes, you can," I said.  He gave me a confused look.  I grinned and said, "Let me suck your dick.  And swallow your cum.  It's the one and only chance I have to do it but it's a memory that I'll treasure forever."

 

He chuckled and said, "Go for it!"

 

It was the fulfillment of many a fantasy I'd indulged in.  I licked his hairy balls and rolled each on in my mouth.  I licked from the base of his cock up to the helmet, causing it to twitch.  I flicked the tip of the wondrous shaft with my tongue, which amplified the twitching.  When my lips encircled his manhood, he gasped.  It was only then that I realized it was his first blow job and that redoubled my resolve to make it memorable.  I teased him to what I suspected was the brink and returned to suckle on his balls.  That seemed to have the effect I sought; his arousal soared and he was beginning to squirm in anticipation.  I'd planned to do that once more but my timing was off and he bucked his hips, pushing his cock deep into my mouth and firing several volleys of hot cream down my throat.

 

 

We talked for a while and I tried to steer the conversation to his relationship with Jacob but he continually returned to what a fantastic experience we'd just enjoyed.  I felt I had to make a point.  "Look.  We both benefitted from what we did.  But let me be clear.  It can't happen again.  If your relationship with Jacob is to survive and grow, you MUST be faithful to him."

 

"I understand that.  But I'll always be grateful for what you've done for me.  And I don't mean the sex we just had.  You've always been good to me.  You've been almost my dad for years.  I love you.  And I always will.

 

When he left for home, I hugged him and said, "Remember.  Enema — maybe two or even three until nothing but clear liquid comes out.  Use a condom and lube.  Go slow to prepare each other for penetration.  And then enjoy.  You're going to be fine."

 

"I will, Mike.  Thanks to you."

 

<><><><><> 

 

The following Saturday, just after lunch, I was reading a mystery novel when incessant ringing of my doorbell startled me.  I hastened to the door and opened it.  Corey burst in, seized me in a vice-grip embrace and began sobbing.  I knew it would be pointless to ask him what was wrong until he regained enough control to speak.  I held him — or, rather, we clung to each other — for what seemed a very long time.  When his trembling stopped and his sobs settled down to crying, I guided him into the living room.  We sat on the sofa with his head on my shoulder and my arm around him to show my support.

 

Eventually, his tears stopped.  He raised his head and looked me in the eyes.  I'd never seen such anger in anyone's face.  His words came in disjointed torrents.  "It could have been so wonderful.  It should have been.  He wouldn’t listen to me.  I said he had to get me ready.  All he wanted was to fuck me.  No foreplay.  No preparation.  He didn't give a rat's ass about my feelings!  He was out of control.  BASTARD!  It wasn't right!  It hurt.  Hurt like hell but he wouldn't stop.  It was cruel what he did.  The goddamn son of a bitch!"

 

The shaking and tears started again as he wrapped his arms around me in a hug that almost took my breath away.

 

I was appalled at what he had said.  I could hardly believe what I heard.  It was such a contradiction to everything he had told me about Jacob and their friendship.  I didn't know what to say to comfort him.  All I could do was to be there for him until he was able to tell me what happened.

 

After several minutes, he said, "I'm sorry, Mike.  For crying like a baby.  I'm sorry for barging in on you.  But I didn’t know what to do.  What can I do, Mike?."

 

"It's okay, buddy.  I'm glad you came here.  I don't think any less of you for crying.  I'll always be here for you.  Now, can you tell me what happened so I'll understand?  The whole story.  Maybe I can help."

 

"It was awful," he said.  "It should have been wonderful."

 

"Start at the beginning," I urged.  "What happened?"

 

"It was this way.  Jacob called me and said his parents would be out of town for the weekend.  He wanted me to come over.  We'd have the whole house to ourselves and could do whatever we wanted.  I knew what he had in mind.  I cleaned myself out like you showed me.  I told him to clean himself out, too, so we could both be ready.  He just laughed and said, 'See ya Saturday.'

 

"I got to his house this morning and we started kissing right away.  He was a little aggressive but I thought he was just exceptionally horny.  He took me to his bedroom and said, 'Strip!  Let's get to it.' So much for romance!  As soon as we were both naked, we kissed and hugged for a little while.  Then, he sat on the edge of the bed with his legs apart.  He pulled me down to my knees in front of him.  He told me he'd been waiting all week to be together.  He wanted me to suck him.  He didn’t ask, he told me to suck him.  There was no foreplay like you showed me, Mike.  He wanted to get right to the sex.

 

"I figured I might as well; maybe later we could do it the right way.  I mean the massaging and caressing and stuff.  I was working on his dick and, to tell the truth, enjoying it — probably as much as he was.  But he stopped me.  'That's enough,' he said.  'Now I want to fuck you.' He didn't ask.  He just announced what he was going to do.

 

"I thought, 'Okay.  I'll let him fuck me and then it'll be my turn to fuck him.' I got up on the bed on my back.  'Not that way,' he said.  'Roll over on your stomach.' I didn't like the way he ordered me to do it.  I guess I could have predicted what was coming but I was too stupid.  I asked him if he was going to fuck me first and he said, 'Of course, silly, but you're not going to fuck me.' I was surprised.  I thought we would fuck each other.  I started to question him but he said, 'Listen, dumb ass.  Nobody, not even you, is going to use my ass for a cunt.  Now shut up.' He started to shove his cock into my hole.  I told him to wait, to get me loosened up first, to use some lube.  He just laughed and said, 'I'm going to fuck you, Corey, like it or not.  If you don't let me fuck your brains out, I'll tell the whole school you're a fag and you tried to get in my pants.  What'll it be? You can get fucked now or let everybody know you're a homo.'

 

"What could I do?  I couldn’t let the whole school know I’m queer and I did want him to fuck me even though it might hurt.  Now, I wish I'd fought him off and gone home.  No prep.  No lube.  He forced his way in.  The pain was intense.  I screamed.  He just said, 'shut up' and kept going.  The pain never stopped.  He bit my neck when he came inside me.

 

"As soon as he got off me, I grabbed my clothes and got dressed.  It was then I noticed I was bleeding on my neck and from my ass.  I couldn't go home.  Not in the state I was in.  I came here.  You're the only person I can trust, Mike.  You're the only one I can talk to.  You're the only one who might understand."

 

"Let me see how badly you're hurt," I said.  He turned his head and showed me the bite on the back of his neck.  "Come with me," I said.  "We should put some antiseptic and a bandage on your neck.”  He followed me obediently into the bathroom where I cleaned off the wound, applied some antiseptic, and put a bandage on.  "Okay, buddy, now I need to see how bad your butt is."

 

With no hesitation, he pulled down his trousers.  I could see his briefs were stained with dried blood and cum that had leaked out.  I washed away the dried blood from the skin surrounding his hole.  I tried to be gentle but as I cleaned his hole, he winced and jerked with pain.  I could see torn flesh just inside the pucker of his anus but it was no longer bleeding.  The sight of it made me furious.  That beautiful little rosebud that had welcomed my cock and given me so much pleasure had been inexcusably abused.  "Goddam monster," I muttered.  I sat on the edge of the tub and pulled him down to sit on my lap.  He snuggled into me and we embraced.  "You didn't deserve what he did to you, buddy.  It was cruel, selfish, and intolerable.  He hurt the young man I love and I'm mad as hell."

 

A bit startled, he looked at me for a moment and said, "Did you mean that?"

 

"Of course I did!  You're right.  He's a bastard."

 

"No, Mike.  I mean the part about ‘you love me’.”

 

"I meant that most of all!  I've loved you since you were a little boy."

 

"But you never said you did," he countered.

 

"I certainly should have," I admitted.  "But I'll tell you again.  I love you, Corey Hopkins.  More and more all the time."

 

He squeezed me, buried his head into my shoulder, and started to cry.  Blubbering through his tears, he said, "I love you, Mike Davis.  More than anybody.  I love my Mom, sure.  But I love you in a different way.  I thought I loved Jacob that way but no more.  How could we be loving partners if he won’t let me fuck him?  I can’t even be friends with him anymore after this morning."

 

 

I'm not always the sharpest knife in the drawer but I sensed a message buried in what Corey said.  ‘I love you in a different way.’  Did that mean...?  I would have to verify my suspicion later; at the moment, he needed to be held, to be comforted, to be loved.

 

Part 3
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