Chapter 7
It was morning, early morning, but it was going to be a warm day, and some of the kids were already outside. Terry could hear them as they tossed a Frisbee out on the lawn. The boy got out of bed and went to his shirt which was piled with his pants and underwear on a nearby chair. He unbuttoned one of the pockets and took out the square of neatly folded newspaper, then went back to the bed, falling belly first onto the mattress and springs. He propped both pillows beneath his chest and, once comfortable, proceeded to unfold the paper.
What Terry had retrieved from his shirt and now spread out in front of him for perusal were actually two newspaper clippings plus their accompanying photographs.
"Athletic supporter Tyler Franklander," began one of the articles in bold type, "is shown here at the site of the competitions now being held at Estling's Emerald Lake Lodge for the children of financially deprived parents. Tyler Franklander, whose father William is head of the internationally known Franklander Lumber..."
Terry didn't bother reading the article. He'd read it before. What did again catch his interest was the picture of his father with his arm around an attractive blond youth who had just moved to claim a semifinals title in the field and track competitions. To anyone else, the picture wouldn't have generated any immediate amount of curiosity. It was the same type of publicity shot seen in the paper everyday -- the sponsor of an event congratulating one of the winners.
What made this picture so unique was not the picture itself but how it looked when taken in comparison with the other photo Terry now moved up beside it.
"Tyler Franklander," the second picture's caption began, "is shown here at Emerald Lake Lodge with his son Terry, who came to watch the last week of scheduled competitions that would award to financially deprived amateur athletes over one hundred thousand dollars in scholarships."
The Tyler Franklander in one picture, smiling and happy, was a startling contrast to the Tyler Franklander in the other, the latter appearing very still and proper in a photo which had been obviously posed.
Terry compared his likeness with the attractive blond in the other photograph. Terry was just as blond, just as good-looking, just as young as the other boy. So, what was there that would make Tyler react so differently to Terry than he had to Jamie Bravo, unless it was the fact that Terry was his son?
Tyler had not been happy to see Terry. That had been more than obvious, and Terry certainly hadn't needed the pictorial verification he now had before him to tell him that. He'd known before the picture had ever been snapped that his arrival on the scene wasn't even expected. Terry had thought his father knew he was coming.
Terry was a perceptive enough young man to see the swarm in the hornet's nest which his arrival had caused. After the day's competitions had finished and most of the press people were back in Estling in their hotel rooms, calling in their stories, the shit hit the fan at Emerald Lake Lodge.
W.J. Franklander, who had been hanging off on the sidelines carefully watching what was happening from a distance, was suddenly summoned by a phone call from his son. The shouting between them that happened shortly after the elder Franklander's arrival might have filtered out undecipherable, but it certainly hadn't gone undetected.
To everyone's apparent surprise, including W.J. Franklander's, Tyler had just suddenly aborted his shout session, rushed from the office to his car and disappeared in a mass of squealing rubber and flying gravel. That had been two days ago, and nobody knew were Tyler had gone, including his father, who had been left with making excuses to a press corps that had warmed to the son but was suddenly a little dubious when confronted face-to-face with the crafty old man himself.
Terry pushed both pieces of paper off the bed, watching them flutter to the floor. He rolled over on his back, folding his arms behind his head, wondering what had happened and why that had made the gap so deep between him and his father. The divorce had certainly been part of it, but it had been more than that. Tyler had been awarded full visiting privileges and had never taken advantage of them. Something else had happened, then, before the divorce. Terry searched his mind for an answer. All he could ever remember were the good times they'd had together. There had been a lot of the good times.
One particular day was always recalled vividly. He'd been ten. He and his father had been wrestling on the lawn. They'd hugged tightly to each other and had rolled over and over on the grass. They'd stopped finally, Terry's young body sprawled out on top of his father's chest and belly. Terry could still remember looking down at his father's handsome face, seeing the flush that had risen in the man's cheeks, seeing the tousled fall of the thick hair over his forehead and into his eyes. Terry had also been acutely aware of something else -- a hardness along, his father's belly that was pushed tight against the boy's own crotch.
Tyler had rolled, taking Terry with him, pinioning the boy's body beneath his, the strange hardness now even tighter against Terry's lower belly, grinding with a painful pleasure into Terry's young cock and balls. The boy had felt secure beneath his father's warm muscle and flesh. He'd gone heady with the manly smells. His father had kissed him. It had been a kiss far different from any Terry could remember up to then or could remember after. It was as if the boy was being actually sucked completely into his father's body, was being somehow eaten alive. Terry had surrendered himself to the moment, had felt a recurrence of those strange sensations which had even then begun to stir and warm his groins keeping him awake at nights. Then Tyler had sensed something outside the world he had made for him and his son, and Terry had seen his mother standing silently by the side of the house watching them. She hadn't said anything but had just walked up the steps and onto the back porch. Tyler had left Terry and gone after her. The boy hadn't wanted him to leave. Terry had wanted his father's body pressed down on top of him forever. He blamed his mother. Six months later, there'd come the divorce, and Terry had only seen his father a couple of times since.
Terry had loved his father more than he could have ever loved his mother, and he'd been deeply hurt when Tyler had up and pulled out of his life with no apparent explanations. He'd been hurt, but he hadn't kept from believing that his father was coming back.
As Terry had gotten older, his father still avoiding him, the boy had picked up a few pieces to be fitted into the puzzle. His father had apparently married Terry's mother but had never really loved her. He'd had sex with her, Terry being the prime result of such a mating, but he had preferred another type of sex than that found in the nuptial bed. Somewhere along the line, Tyler had possibly gone to bed with Terry's uncle. Paula had never gotten along very well with her younger brother, and Christopher had once screamed that he'd actually been a better lay for her husband than she had been.
Homosexuality had not been mentioned in the divorce proceedings. W.J. Franklander had paid plenty to Paula to keep the charge exclusively one of mental cruelty. W.J. Franklander had paid plenty to Paula to make her agree to let Tyler have visiting privileges. W.J. Franklander had liked his share of young men, too, but his wife had been a bit more sophisticated and civilized about it than the bitch his son had married. On no account did W.J. think that his son's sexual proclivities should deny him the right of being the father he, by fact, was.
And now W.J. Franklander had paid Paula a lot of money to have himself made the boy's guardian. Paula wanted to remarry. The guy was young, he was attractive, he we hung. He was also poor. There we the additional problem that Paula's alimony payments were scheduled to come to a stop as soon as she remarried. Paula had gone to her ex-father-in-law and sold him her son for more money. She loved Terry, but she was still a young and vital woman. She needed a man. She thought she'd found one in Tyler. She'd been wrong. She thought she'd found one now in Sean, and she didn't want to let him go.
W. S. Franklander had paid the price gladly and taken his own grandchild under his protective wing.
"We're going to give you back your father," Terry's grandfather had told him triumphantly. "You two have been without each other for too damned long."
Well, W.J. had apparently chosen the wrong place and the wrong time to pull off his proposed reunion. Tyler had bolted. Terry tried to understand, but he couldn't. He thought he had some of the pieces, but he couldn't fit them together to get any completed picture. He only knew by looking at the two newspaper photos now on the floor that, where Tyler still had the knack of spontaneous affection for some people, he had apparently lost that capacity when it came to his own son.
Terry missed his father, missed the good times they'd once had. He couldn't help wondering if maybe it wasn't something he'd done that had made Tyler turn from him.
Terry had been fondling his cock and balls while he'd been thinking of his father. His cock was hard now, jutting from the golden cluster at his groin to the hairless flatness of his belly. He knew what that hardness had been inside of his father's pants that day. He knew, also, that the tingling inside his guts when he'd realized the presence of that hard-on had been the stirrings of his own sexual awareness.
Terry's hand languidly pumped his cock as the cum-slit leaked juices that his whipping fist smeared along the knob and shaft of his prick. He stopped jacking off long enough to prop a pillow beneath his head. He then lifted his legs and let his hips curve upward over his face. He dropped his knees down around his ears, his cock slipping into the ovaling of his lips. His tongue licked immediately, and the boy tasted his own juices. His right hand took up again the slow stroking of the cock, milking it of more liquid to emerge salty on Terry's tongue.
Terry bounced on the bed, the spring of the mattress working his mouth about his cock. Looking upward over the creases of his young belly, Terry could see the inches of his fat dick, the blue vein that snaked along one side of it. His healthy balls hung low in the scrotum, drooping down along the length of his rod. His nuts were moving inside their bag, the skin shifting even as he watched.
Terry's spine had relaxed even more, dropping his cock farther so that he could take more of his meat into his mouth. His lips holding the cock secure, Terry let both hands reach upward for his ass, his fingers clamping the cheeks of his butt. With his hands thus placed, Terry exerted a pulling pressure that bowed his crotch nearer his face. The boy sucked up even more of his own cock.
Terry enjoyed eating his prick. As a matter of fact, it was actually the only type of sexual release he practiced. He'd graduated from jacking off as soon as he had discovered his body was supple enough and his cock big enough for this type of activity. Even at his young age, his butch good-looks and man-sized dick had given him a couple of opportunities where he might have tried cunt, but he'd let the opportunities pass. He just wasn't turned on by it.
Terry's cheeks sucked inward, concaving against the cock inside his mouth. His tongue continued to whip the dick, wrapping it sensuously. He enjoyed the taste of his cock, wondered if some other guy would enjoy it, too.
His left hand still pulling on his ass to keep his cock deeply entrenched, Terry let his right hand slip back down to his nuts. He began massaging his eggs, pinching them like only he knew how it should be done. The resulting dull ache came as a supplement to the pleasure. When his scrotum had grown much thicker, crawled higher toward the base of his cock, Terry put his hand back on his ass, pulling his dick deeper yet inside his face.
Terry was in no hurry. There was very little he had to do today. He wasn't doing anything except watching. Those other kids were slaving their asses off for something Terry had by right of birth. He was guaranteed a college education if his grades were good enough. The only similarity between himself and some of the slum kids was that the bill for his future education was going to be footed by the same man -- W.J. Franklander.
Slowly and easily, Terry ate his own meat, working it over with his lips and his tongue, sucking in more and more of it as his body bent farther. He'd managed to claim over half of his cock, knew that before he'd blasted, he would have himself gobbled up to his balls.
Terry felt very content when he ate his prick. Maybe it was because of such moments he was aware that he really didn't need anyone else. For a few short moments, Terry was his own self-contained world. He could be lost in himself, could be lost in loving himself. The pleasure would rise, and he would control it for a time. He knew what to do to hurry it an its way to completion. He knew what to do to delay the inevitable orgasm for a few minutes more while he could enjoy the ecstatic build-up. Terry could forget everyone else at these times. Here on this bed, his mouth wrapped around his cock, Terry could forget everyone, everything, except himself.
Jerry was a perfect physical specimen for his age. He had a young boyish body with just a hint of the development he would have at same later age. His chest was already contoured by two slightly defined domes, his belly etched with the tracings of the muscle that would mature with age and raise to washboard his belly. He had naturally broad shoulders, a tapered waist, good arms and legs. He was already handsome, many of his father's handsome features evident but refined. His blond hair was thick on his head, combed in a tousled sweep over his forehead and feathered over his ears. His eyes were deep blue, almost purple, speckled with flecks of gold. A well-paid dermatologist had kept his complexion clear of pimples.
Terry's lips edged finally into his lower belly, his cock lost deeply inside his throat. His nose was pressed tightly into the compact mass of his own balls, his chin chafing against his own crotch hairs. He twisted his face over the cock, letting the rod slip free of his mouth. His lips hugged the exiting inches.
He pulled his hips don into his face again, taking the cock into the velvety wetness. He was comfortable with this cock. It was part of him. It belonged to the body it was fucking. It fit perfectly up his throat as if it had been made for it. He could easily picture himself coiled in his mother's womb to enjoy the same pleasures there that he was enjoying here now.
Terry gave himself up to the suck. All other thoughts seemed to fade from his mind. He'd achieved the state of mind for which he'd strived. He was at peace with himself. He continued to eat his meat, licking furiously at the cock that fucked his face. His balls were cum-bulged now. The cock, already stretching Terry's mouth open as far as it would go, was throbbing even bigger.
Terry growled over his dick, enjoying the resulting vibrations. The boy was aware of the juices beginning to chum inside of him. He sucked slower, wanting to delay the inevitable. After climax, the world would come crashing back onto him. Terry didn't want the reality. It wasn't very flattering to his ego to know that his father didn't want him, that his mother had sold him like a piece of meat on the auction block, that his grandfather had been the buyer but had forgotten long ago how one went about raising a young teenager.
Terry tried desperately to prolong, curled on the bed in his little ball, his cock a piston up his mouth. The boy delighted in the feel and the taste of himself. He didn't want any of it to end.
But it had to end eventually. Even the boy, who was so familiar with his own body that he could several times contain an eruption and proceed with more build-up, was destined to eventually have to let it come to an end. Once the fires were conjured within his body, they eventually had to become the masters. No one could keep them enslaved forever. It was only a matter of time before they swelled, peaked, slipped back to oblivion until next lime.
Terry fought to maintain his control, even going so far as to bite his cock hard at one point when he thought an orgasm was upon him. Control was his for an awfully long time, but he eventually lost it. He knew when the reins slipped from him. His mind registered the hasty approach of an ejaculation, and he knew it was time to do something, time to perform one of his sexual tricks to stop it, but his body wouldn't respond. His lips and mouth just continued to gum and eat, his head and hips continued to bounce, his throat continued to vibrate around his twitching prick.
Shock after shock of pleasure rocked his body. He spasmed on the bed, his balls spewing a deluge of wet, warm jizz into his mouth where the boy quickly sucked it all away. His eyes blurred with the ecstasy. He thought he was sucking his guts out of his belly trough his cock.
"Eat me, Daddy!" Terry squealed, his voice coming out mumbled and undecipherable about the plug of his spasming cock.