Author’s Notes
This is the third part of the trilogy about Cooper and his Father. But it’s much more. Be alerted, it’s 50 pages long which constitutes a short story. This was long in writing for, frankly, I had too damn much fun. I like my guys, like much of what they do, find them interesting as I hope you, the reader will.
While this is the end of this set, as I mentioned, I found some of the men in it sufficiently interesting I may write separately about them…involving, of course, all the original characters.
As will all authors here, nothing is more gratifying than….comments. Don’t want them public? I have an email address in my bio-I answer when I’m written.
So, get comfortable, get a box of tissue-some advice would be that kitchen towels and shop towels….no. I hope you’ll find in it the enjoyment I had in writing its.
Petr-Johan
My kids car doesn’t fit in the garage like mine; We’d swapped cars while what was left of what I called my ‘work car’ was, again, in the shop. Last time, Otis, the old guy who ran the place, just stood looking at it, his knuckles on his hips, shaking his head…. “Must have rolled down hill to get here, only way….Jim, this car isn’t even what I might, being real charitable, call a heap.”
“Secret? I ordered a new one….just keep this going until it comes it, special order….Marge has been at me for a Benz….got her one.”
“That oughta to keep your piece in her valley….”, winked.
He looked at what might have been a Dodge during Nixon’s first term. “You want me to put in pedals if all else fails?” Just shook his head; “I’ll have Tim give you a lift home, call you if the autopsy says whatever this was has a few more inches in it….”
Going toward my back door, pulling off my tie with one hand, Cooper’s keys in the other, be sure and put them on the hook for him. The screen closed behind me.
An hour later I was walking out the same door, my hands cuffed behind me, a cop on each side, a detective holding the warrants for my arrest behind us. I was put in the ‘cage’ of a cop car, backed out….passed Cooper walking up the drive way. It would be over three years until I walked in or out any door uncuffed or, sometimes, my ankles chained with manacles as well; I’d crossed the line, I was a criminal.
The kid next door accused me of fucking him, making him commit fellatio, fondling him at a baseball game, making him lick my ass, generally ‘feeling him up’. One of those was enough to get me picked up, all of them took it to a Grand Jury which said, serious charges, felony child molestation; The bail was more than I could raise plus, no question, I’d need the money for an attorney-assuming one would take my defense case; These cases are not only difficult but, to many counselors, distasteful as well as giving them a reputation, ridiculous, for feeling sex between adults and children wasn’t as harmful as was generally believed.
Cooper came to the jail as often as he could. The most humiliating part was…I had to be cuffed, and not just my hands behind me. In the cubicle where we could visit, to make sure I couldn’t get a hand free to, I guess, molest my own son, my hands were cuffed to the surface so far apart I could barely raise my head to see my kid. If you were treated that way in the movies, the next thing that happened was that a pirate ripped off your shirt, then whipped you.
Oh, once, still cuffed, hands behind my back, at the divorce attorney. Marge didn’t prove to be the loving spouse who stood by her man, she stood by her attorney and got whatever I hadn’t already pledged for my counsel. The fight that day did not reveal adults at their best, to the point that the bailiffs who brought me, had to grab her just before she knocked me in the head with her hand bag. There was only one issue, who got the kid., normally a non-starting issue; It goes with the mother. The judge had assumed that, looked at Cooper as he was going to sign the orders but was surprised to be told he’d stay with his Dad. Was he sure? Yes, Sir, he was; Dad. He was easily old enough to make that decision and have it be valid. Even in cuffs and my jail house clothes, I stood there in tears; Whatever else I was going to get-the ante was then about 20 years-I got my son or, more accurately, my son gave himself to me.
Once again the bailiff tensed waiting for the storm but all that happened was her flouncing out, yelling at Cooper he’d be sorry, just wait until he got fucked in the rear like the other little boy, he’d be real sorry. End. The marriage was over at that point….had there been any question of things like counseling…..there weren’t but sometimes judges try and ‘patch things up’ when they see a couple….In this instance, with the unhappy hubby facing charges of child molestation, the sort of counseling that might have been considered was when I was eventually sent to prison, it was even then assumed I would be, along with all the other child molesters trying to get us not to do again whatever we’d already done. Assuming we ever got out. Oh, along with my possible release, there was that diploma, the one that ‘allows’ you to register as a sexual offender everywhere except, maybe, a bridge over troubling waters.
Time to go back to jail, Cooper tried to hug me, I wanted to kiss him but….next time I saw him was in one of the visitors rooms at the jail splayed out….I wished there were a pirate, I wished I could be whipped I wished I knew he knew how much his father loved him to be willing to take a whipping, plus those 20 years, to know I then and always had a son. He was growing up too fast, knew legal terms, techniques, it was as if having Gif, my defense attorney, had sent the smartest law clerk he had only it proved to be my son. Never once did he say anything but that I would win. Never said he knew I didn’t do it. Never even shed a tear, made it clear I was his father, he loved me…now, lets look at this filing from the D.A…..There were days when he almost convinced me I would win, go home to him, become a Dad, have a beer with him, (he’d be old enough by then), watch a game….be my son, not my associate defense counsel. I’m sure other men have loved their sons as much as I loved Cooper….I just don’t know them.
We may not always agree on everything but I have one helluva brother; Zach was a full bird Colonel in the Air Force, had General’s stars in his eyes as well as his future but without hesitation took in Cooper. Not married, he moved out of Bachelor Officer’s Quarters to base housing, nice house, basketball net over the garage., back yard to mow, even a pool. For a man who’d never been around children, he ramped up trying to be an approximation of a father to my son….did everything I might have done….one thing about the military plus living on base, he kept him out of trouble, saw to it he was well educated, spent time with him, I don’t know how he did it but never tried to be his father or a buddy or a too protective relative, just a good guy, an uncle functioning as a father with whom Cooper lived. Even got him a car. (Marge, in what was about as low as it gets, took his from him when he chose to stay with me. The Benz? It was never delivered-the refund went to Gif, my defense attorney.
Zach came several times over three years-I noticed he was never in uniform….made no difference. I’d kidded him about his hat with what are called ‘Darts and Farts’ on it. He tried to avoid the issue of my potential guilt, he was my brother, I told him the whole story was made up by a kid who was pissed off because I had routinely refused to let him play in our back yard. Why this mattered? What I do know is there was a case about a child who accused a babysitter of something like this so where he got the idea….thanks, media. Also, he had only recently moved in next door; His father and I did the shake hands that new neighbors do, made some sort of deal about hiring a lawn service to jointly mow, saw him….like most men in business, coming or going to work. He was an architect, quite a successful one, who had a lot of clients in the Orient so was gone long stretches of time; Who ever took care of the kid did a piss poor job.
At first, I tried to let his kid hang around our place but too quickly I could see he was a bully, stole little things from the garage…so his time was very limited. Cooper was several years older and, after something happened, I never knew what, avoided him. Even my wife developed an aversion to him….she occasionally sunbathed on our terrace where, he probably thought it was a prank, pulled off her bra; That finished off his welcome at our place. One last thing Zach never mentioned; Having your brother being accused, if not convicted, of child molestation probably shot down. whatever future promotions you might have had in the military. Only once did he say that, maybe, after this tour, he might resign his commission. Didn’t have to say it but I knew the embarrassment I’d been. To him and to Cooper.
“Jim, you’re my brother, I am going to stand behind you, believe what you say but, Jim, it looks…..bad. That kid is very believable, the detail in what he says, his description of your….body. Christ, he told one of them where you had a scar on your ass….how would he know?”
Well, I knew how. If Marge was pissed when he pulled off her bra, I stupidly did nothing when he wandered onto what I imagined was our private space to find me sunbathing in the nude, that’s how he knew. Oh, and the Polaroid. One day I heard that zzzip snap of one, looked over and there was the little shit, right beside me having just taken a color picture of my cock and balls. Naturally the camera and the pictures were never found-my saying what happened looked like a lie-but that was how he knew and could tell just what my naked body looked like. The rape kit that was supposed to have been done? Turns out, he said there’d never been ‘anal penetration’, just stuck my finger up his tail. What kind of kid, apart from one well coached, knows ‘anal penetration’? All the things he said I did, licking his penis, testicles, fondling him, were impossible to physically refute. The lie detector? Said it was indeterminate. Well, duh, when you’re asked questions such as if you’ve ever jacked off, say no then you get a big fat “LIE”. Also my wife, well, then wife, never quite said but hinted that she’d wondered about my sexual preference. After the divorce it was my fond hope that she found a good looking guy, lots of money, married him only to find he was a serial rapist. Starting with her. (I found some other men, in jail for various reasons, hoped the same for their exes…and, think about it, we were in a position to know real, good looking serial rapists-monied or otherwise. IF they happened to get out, provide them with names addresses plus, where applicable, sexual kinks of women we could guarantee were great lays.)
The thing that kept me going was my kid, Cooper. He found jobs, lawn mowing, like that, then took the money and put it on my commissary. Only once did he almost fall apart visiting me; I didn’t realize it but I’d said I couldn’t afford the ice cream cones they sold. He teared up, said he’d never eat ice cream again until we could go to Baskin Robbins together, eat every flavor. It was around then I noticed he didn’t really smile any more also that he was acquiring adult male good looks-I could see a chest that was getting lightly furry, his work made his pecs and nipples push out. My kid was going to be a stud….
He asked but I never told him about the totality of life in jail. Oh, the things he expected to hear, lousy food, crowding, noise but not the parts he didn’t need to know. Was it my first or second day there I was raped? I go to the gym pretty regularly, maybe could have fought it off but not when it’s five against one. Later, when I got some into fights about who got my ass, won them, getting fucked pretty much stopped. I say that carefully ‘cuz if I stopped getting corn holed, it did not mean I didn’t find some meat then screw it myself-dominance in jail can save your life. Part of the trouble with my case was that I had always been a closet homosexual, very closeted, but in jail, keeping myself in shape….finding partners who liked me and my taste….Also I wasn’t afraid of jail….not after the first few weeks. What you found was that, as with everything there was a society to it, learn it, find where you fit and even though it didn’t make it better, it at least was ordered so you could not only live with it, but in it. The sex? Fuck, I was being held on charges of child molestation-normally one of the most hated groups of prisoners but, somehow, those men who, like me, were there awaiting trials that seemed to never happen, I got believed…why the guards did? Blind luck. Think they’re averse to prisoner tail? They’re not.
Some men say that making their first million was the hardest, probably true; For me doing my first six months was the hardest for it was in that period that I still believed this was a nightmare, it would go away, I’d go home (to something I no longer had) , everything would be….swell. Month seven was when I became a full time prisoner in my own mind, started behaving like one, making my own life there and only occasionally thought about ‘getting out’; Sex helped.
One blessing, if it can be called that, was that I was in a big city jail, probably housed two thousand men at any time so within that you had every sort, type, perversion, ethnic, gang…..just pick what you wanted, you could find your group. People on the outside do not realize the extent to which prisoners control the places they are in. Jails are seen as transitory, prison is where you’re sent to do major time. The reason this makes a difference is that in jail, the guy(s) you hung out with today may have been transferred tomorrow. In one way I got another lucky break although it was hard to see it as such. Sexual offenders, didn’t matter what sort of sex you’d offended, were segregated from the larger population. There are good and obvious reasons for this but it also worked to my advantage although it took some while to figure that out. For one, I was in a two man cell as opposed to what we called ‘over there’ where four and six man cells were the norm. This was a relatively new facility which meant that each cell/cubicle had its own facilities, toilet, water, which you shared with only one man.
For those who think, well, fuck, I was in the service/played ball in college/spent time at the gym so believe that, yeah, they shared facilities with lots of guys, they don’t get it; The guys they were around were, relatively, clean, didn’t shit or piss on the floor (or you), usually had a towel. In a two man cell, you had a lot of control over how your circumstances were….although that depended on your ‘room mate’ or, the more common term, your ‘cellie’.
The door to my cage opened then a man, escorted by three sturdy guards, was shoved in; The door slid shut almost instantly. There stood Perez. His opening words , “I sure hope you fuck” left some questions….such as what and/or whom do you fuck and how? In jail these questions have an importance.
I slid down from the top bunk, looked him in the eye, said, “Yeah, I fuck”,
then held out my hand. Does this seem weird? Courtesy in jail? Well, when you are that packed in, getting along is one of the most difficult skills to master. Remember I said after I’d won a few fights, didn’t get fucked as much? The rest of that sentence is…’plus I could pick who I wanted to fuck me. Remember how I said my kid was growing into a stud? Part of those genes came from me. Recalling my former partner in life, I can only hope she had DNA that crept away from my chromosomes making Cooper mostly mine; His Dad already was a stud, a fact that, in prison did not go unnoticed which is part of how I could pick the meat I wanted to screw. Or whatever else….might just be me but a Good Morning! suck never hurts.
Perez looked like your standard issue, good looking Hispanic male just lacked the tats, the holes where jewelry had hung plus a certain stance that suggested…something. More Spanish than Mexican. “Read about your case, you’re getting screwed, little pussy set you up…when you get out make sure you look him up.” That was said looking squarely at me. “My soon to be former wife decided the easiest divorce from me that guaranteed her custody was a little tale about one night my youngest daughter, a bassinet, a cock without a condom….” We shook again. “Got me only because my shit head business partner liked male tail, offered me his, I liked some quiet ass on a guy so I took him up on it….”
“So? He was an adult? You can fuck anyone over 18 so long as they’re with the program…”
“True but….he went a little too far, took some pictures, made sure little wife found them….knitted what she was saying I’d done with ‘proof’ of my sexual deviancy…guess that’s what now makes us cellies. Glad we both like to fuck…”
I added, “…and suck”. He smiled, we sat on the edge of the bottom bunk.
Perez, like me, had been a really good accountant-making him a ‘better’ class of inmate. To the guards we weren’t the ones you needed to really watch; If they went by, saw you mounting one another, so what? We’re up on sexual charges, to be expected. Also, like me, Perez had spent some time in the gym….his first day we appeared in shirts now missing sleeves, pants that stayed up….barely but showed that what was below the water line was worth a look. Leaning against a wall, arms crossed behind our necks, lack of smile, eyes that looked at you, through you, made an impression. Also, we decided this overnight, a good piece of ass that looked easy to grab went by….took him off the concrete strip in front of the cells, into ours, both screwed him, told him…..remember what happened, who did it…if there were some who wanted to get reamed, stop by, other wise, we were peaceful, just minding our own business-the best advice I can give anyone in jail or prison, “Mind Your Own Business, muthafucka…..”
That business was fucking. In jail pretty much everyone has a hustle of some sort, numbers, drugs, porn, phones but ours was fucking. That is, we fucked whoever made themselves available plus paid our price. (“Helpful” guards provided condoms in exchange for…whatever they wanted and could be done in a cell.)There’s no real money in jail so it was all on the barter system; The Holy Grail was the commissary which, after a guy got his, we expected him to make a deposit in our account. Perez was an accountant; Didn’t take him one minute to read the figures to make sure services rendered were paid for. Didn’t get the payment made? Well, you got a free fuck, more like rape…done by two men-a good beating was a usual accompaniment. Lesson learned as well as reputation earned. We were fair, you wanted to get stuck, fine, that’s what we did….even had a rate for a double BUT after the entertainment, whoever we’d serviced had about thirty minutes, depending on the time of day, to get that payment in or….after not many weeks, it was a given that you did NOT want to fail to pay up….did some guys complain that their nuts got squashed? Nobody said they couldn’t still have children. My only concern was that Perez would get transferred out however, the rate at which our cases were not finding speedy justice, seemed a good bet our in-cell service industry had some staying power. Fucking in jail is real exciting….you never know what may happen, more than once someone wandered by, offered us whatever to take over our place in the hole we were working then move it on to where….others were waiting for a morning’s amusement.
On the outside he and I would probably never have known one another-shame but also neither of us were ‘out’ so there would have been another stumbling block. There was one thing….we both had sons who knew nothing about what their fathers really did privately. We discussed it, confessed to each other how deeply embarrassed we were, wondered what we’d tell our sons….if we ever got out. Both of them believed their fathers were innocent, didn’t sway from that opinion all of which made the future…harder…if there was a future
Will, Perez’ son, visited him, as did Cooper, whenever he could. They both worked like hell to have money to send to us, both of them were being raised by a brother-his was a very successful Vet. One difference, his brother had some reservations about guilt versus innocence…possibly because the only ‘play’ sex partner Perez ever had was…his brother. In other words, both were keeping secrets, Perez just got snapped because someone wanted something then found a way to get it regardless that it meant sacrificing another person. (His ex made our list of women we hoped would fall in love with a serial rapist.)
Being fucked by Perez was going to create a problem in that he had a cock made to fuck which meant either pray we were both guilty and sentenced to the same prison or….face the reality that one day guilty or innocent, we would be separated.
Toward the end of the third year my trial got put on the docket, was delayed a number or times but, finally, there came a day when I was transferred to the jail that was used for prisoners who were needed to appear at their trials. As will happen in these circumstances, my fuck buddy and I had one last night-we used all of it for everything we could think to do to one another-then I was taken out, the few personal things I had accumulated bagged up, off to trial which was not as generous as it may sound for the presumption was that, after the trial, you were either free or headed to prison; Smart money was on the latter.
Cooper and Gif arranged for me to have a good suit, new shirt, appropriate tie, shoes, socks, clean underwear so in court I didn’t look like an accused child molester but a businessman sitting at the defense table. The wardrobe fooled no one; I was brought in cuffed and only released when my attorney was with me during actual proceedings. All other times, back to a holding cell, cuffed for the walk. Twice I was allowed to visit with Cooper but…handcuffed. Better than the situation in jail.
Odd to say the trial was boring but it was simply because I’d heard all the accusations before, only difference this time they were delivered by an Assistant District Attorney who read them as if they were accomplished facts and not their theory of my wrong doing. Naturally, Gif attempted to refute all their shit but….going in we knew it was my word against this prick of a kid. The most compelling was his ability to describe my naked body, my erect penis….his version of watching me stroke it down….which he could do as he’d seen me do it. However, all the crap about what I’d forced him to do to me, what had been done to him were outright lies…..they just didn’t sound that way when warbled by a tossle headed kid who looked more like the head angel in a Christmas pageant.
This sort of trial doesn’t last long. Evidence was presented, both sides stood up, said something, only one witness, the kid, more back and forth between the attorneys which brought us to their summations as, from us, my innocence, theirs, my guilt, nicely cut and dried. All that was left was the instructions from the Judge to the jury….which would take place right after the lunch break. Privately I thought….sure, tell them so they can go back, seem to have considered ‘all the evidence’, come back in, convict me, be home in time for dinner while I entered the penal system as a newly created convict; I liked wearing the suit, figured it would be a very long time before I wore anything like it again. I wondered what the ‘dress code’ was for the convicted at the state pen?
Gif worked it so while others ate, Cooper, a bailiff and I sat in the holding cell; Gif provided sandwiches, water in paper cups-nothing that could be used offensively….
There was a clock on the wall so I knew we were about ten minutes from when we’d all go back in to do the ‘all rise, be seated’, instructions then the last stage of my being ‘only’ accused would shortly be over. Wondered whether whoever read ‘guilty’ from the jury box would have the sort of authoritarian voice one associates with Jury Forepersons on television? You just don’t lisp out “Guilty!!”, shame, unlike television, whoever is doing this cannot point with a finger that looks more like directions to the electric chair.
Knock at the door. Bailiff answers it, looks confused, steps out, comes back, tells Cooper he’ll have to go….assuming this is the last time I’ll be this close, he tries to hug me, give me a kiss then…..I sat in ‘holding’ imagining I didn’t have much to hold, cuffed it’s hard to rub your nuts, hell, if I shot, who cared, wasn’t going to wear these clothes much longer.
But I did. Two hours later Gif came in, face wreathed in smiles, all he said was, “Jim, don’t worry….:”. Okay, since I hadn’t been, no point in starting. A few minutes after that I was moved back to the court, “All rise, be seated” but there is no jury. I’m no lawyer but I do know the accused and the jury have to be present while the legal crap is done. His honor had something to say.
“The court is going to call an extraordinary witness who will be here on behalf of the court…..Will Sergeant Willis from the El Paso, Texas Police Department please take the stand.” Nice looking guy in what was probably the uniform of the El Paso Police strode, up, was sworn in, sat down then looked at the court room which, not surprisingly, was suddenly very curious; We’d caught a slow news day so the trial had attracted a certain amount of intention meaning we had an almost full court room of onlookers. He handed the judge a file which the gentleman opened, scanned, handed back then instructed officer Willis to tell the court what was in it.
It was simple enough, some years earlier the kid who accused me had pulled the same stunt with another man in El Paso. No trial there because the father got wind of the truth, told the police who dropped the issue. The father, the architect, moved away taking his son then moved next to me; Dad even knew where the Polaroid was-wondered why he hadn’t thrown it out in Texas…..? The officer had only just heard about the ‘incident’ here, felt the court needed to know so….now they did. The judge asked counsel to have a sidebar after which we were all asked to stand at which time I was pronounced innocent of all charges, was free to leave; Cooper lept the rail, grabbed me and, for the first time in years, I could put both my arms around him.
I have no memory of leaving the court house, nothing; All I remember was scrambling through reporters, getting in a car, one I’d never seen, and driving away. My son was trying to drive but was having trouble, crying too hard. Three blocks away we pulled up, changed sides-that I didn’t have a license seems unimportant-so that he could expel all the years of being strong, believing, loving me, his Dad….Not sure where I’m driving but what I have in my right arm is my son…..Sounds selfish but…what I wanted was a Coke and a burger so we hit a drive in and that’s where some slip of the last three years came to me, that slip I’d taught myself no to think about, imagine. But now, I had it.
Normalcy….. I’m a guy in a car at a drive in getting a Coke and a double cheese burger with his kid…when we finish, drive away, no cuffs, no guards, no cement walls, no bars, just the traffic plus my son who has pretty consistently cried while he smiled. I’m wearing a good suit, look just what I’m suddenly again, a good man taking his son….somewhere. Normalcy.
Although I thought of him often, I never saw Perez again. He, too, was found innocent about five months after I was, really fucking glad for him….hoped his son was as great as mine, wished I’d met him. Could we have hooked up? Yeah but…at some point we’d talked about ‘when we get out’ which, when you’re in jail and have been in for quite a while, seems more like fiction. Whatever we’d done to and with each other, both of us knew that it had no place in our futures, had to be that way. Do I still wonder? Yep, he was a great guy and, as he would say about me, a First Class Fuck. Same to ya, Buddy, same to ya.
My brother took me in as he had my son. I had nothing, no money, no accounts, no stocks, bonds, real estate….not even a cheap watch. Nothing means nothing. Cooper had his car plus, somehow, two credit cards each of which had limits of maybe three hundred dollars; Every penny he earned went to keep them freed up or to me. Zach, I would find, quietly saw to his clothing, shoes, food of course, shelter but the most important thing….backstopped what he believed, that I was innocent. Nothing I could ever do would repay him….even if I could get him his General’s Star. To know your child is well, safe, fed, simple as that sounds, is more important than anything; When you’re in jail, you’ve got plenty to worry about, having that off your mind…..means a lot.
Again, my golden brother knew that what I needed was some time to fall back in to the dull routine that is living life day to day. He was great about seeing I had more than just walking around money, took a short term lease on a car, provided a gas card, got an Amex card, based on his, laughingly regretted we didn’t wear the same size clothes. I’d learned lots in jail, one was that places that sold used clothes, if you know what to look for, can outfit you. My guide in this was….Cooper. Quietly he told me that he’d only let Zach buy him so much, he was on a real familiar basis with the Salvation Army, Good Will, the resale shops. Even knowing that, we did not have the money to buy more than the basics meaning, after a few weeks, clothes for me to wear while job hunting; Good thing I had my going-to-trial suit.
One bright Monday Zach took me to the base barber shop, got the good ‘serious’ haircut, professional shave, then sent me out looking for a job. I knew going back to my old place was not going to work but, stupidly, I stopped in just to, possibly get some leads. After ten minutes there it was only too plain, innocent or not, the pall of reputation hung on me, just being there made them uncomfortable; I got a feeble handshake, a good wish, some mumbling words about references from ‘back then’ if asked after which I was outside. But in ten minutes, I’d learned a lesson that I’d heard in prison but now it was made plain; Doesn’t matter what the truth is, you’re a felon, a criminal, unwelcome back to being a good guy. Wasn’t staggered but was glad to find out what I’d theoretically learned in jail was real. Part of Normalcy is always….reality.
There was no fooling myself-never thought they’d hire me but in very few minutes I figured what my chances were almost anywhere. On his computer I’d made a resume which, until just over three years ago, looked real good. No employer, looking at it, could not notice that gap then ask. To answer that I had a paper from the court showing that while I’d been in jail awaiting a trial, I’d been completely exonerated, the judicial system had no continuing interest in me. If whoever wished to make inquiries, there was a number to call; No one did.
No idea that frustration could fall on me so quickly; Got me before I could even get in the car. Also, one kind of frustration led to another; I wanted to get fucked, fuck someone….do all the nasties Perez and I did. Funny, now, sitting in a car by a respectable office building, apart from unzipping my pants and stroking it down, no cock in sight. Three weeks ago, whatever I wanted was caged up with me and, if not just then selling his ass, would be happy to bend over, take it or stick his dick up me. That was when I vowed never to be in a car without paper towels….
Before noon, I’d tried several other places, some just said to leave my resume, they’d call me if….two others gave me a very brief interview; Apparently they followed the news closely. Legally it couldn’t say what the reason they wouldn’t hire me was but, as I was going to hear often, they weren’t hiring right now.
One o’clock. The last place I tried was a burger place but the pimple faced kid just looked at an old man….Also, either I got some strapping tape to keep my dong down or….fuck.
You don’t realize what you’ve learned until you need to know it. Jail taught me many things that, at the time, were meaningless. Good thing Cooper had shown me the Good Will, for under twenty bucks, I got the sort of clothes that did not suggest I was in any sort of business, just leaning against the side of a building seeing what might stroll by. Again, thanks to information from jail, I didn’t have to wonder where to go, I knew. All that staying in shape paid off, within an hour I was approached-a guy in a car pulled up-we went around the corner he knew a private place behind a dumpster, I let him do me hard and deep, didn’t even ask for a ride back to where I’d been. Should’ve remembered another thing, you let someone do that, you get money. That was the last time what my ass wanted got in the way of finance.
To fill my days while I was theoretically looking for work, I now had a job that required no application. Want to be sucked? That’s a twenty? Suck Me? About the same. Need to fuck? Fifty? Fuck you? Seventy five. Fuck and suck….and this needs to be indoors, at least a hundred unless you want an all day ‘romance’ in which case, we’re going to negotiate.
Although I didn’t remember him, Cane remembered me from my former residence in jail. He was kind of in the same position I was, desperate, but, like me, was perfectly willing to be a whore. Plus, with two of us, though not right together, it was safer. He came up with an idea-there was what passed as a hotel with rooms that rented on the short term plan. We knew that dodge. Our deal with the owner was for a room, no cost, he just took a cut of what we made. We were clean, the sort of men who attracted more than street trash so….that was the deal. I was luckier than Cane; I had a place to go at night so he got the room plus whatever business he could bring home. One thing we both liked, it wasn’t much but there was hot and cold water for showers ‘after working hours’-Good Will provided extra towels and bed sheets. We bought our own soap.
However, at first, while this scratched an itch I needed scratching, I knew there was a finite time this could go on. After what I’d done in jail, getting screwed, out in public as it were, was fine and, in not too long, the money wasn’t bad. The problem, and it was big was my own guilt-this time real. Cooper was working like hell to make money for us. I couldn’t tell him that I had an income, such as it was; That would necessitate imagining up some sort of job which would have a phone where he could call me…..In the weird way that things work, I rather quickly developed what might be called a clientele of well heeled business men who were willing to pay for sex and silence-who liked the idea of a well spoken, well fucked street hooker. Also a couple of them had ideas of going away for a game, or some place private, over a weekend. The money for that was really good but…there was no explanation for my absence; It was about then it became obvious we needed to move on. I wasn’t going to get a job, wasn’t fair to Cooper or Zach and, frankly, before I got picked up and put back where I did NOT want to go on a morals charge (prostitution, solicitation etc.-first time misdemeanor but, given my past legal incident, would make the news….), best to get the fuck out of Dodge.
One Sunday afternoon-Cane had a heavy date, two guys wanted to ‘share’ him all day so I was at home with Cooper and Zach, I sat us down then as directly as possible said that….we needed to leave. Some of what I told them was true, some of this was thrown in as believable plus the last part, out right lies. I started with my humble gratitude to my son and my brother, without them….the follow up was that I was getting nothing but increasingly depressed from not finding anything. At various moments, when I’d had a ‘date’ at night, I’d said there was some pick up work, bar tending, working with a night cleaning crew….all of which was believable and paid almost nothing so no explanation about a little extra money in my pocket. But, as they could see, that was no future. I wanted more for Cooper than I could give him, it wasn’t fair to Zach to be the bread winner so….I thought best thing to do was load up and head out….somewhere.
The three of us sat there, Zach surprised me. “Jim although on the face of it, one of the stupidest ideas I’ve ever heard, I think you’re right. You know, you and Coop are welcome here forever but….ultimately, well, that sort of arrangements develops cracks, guess I want to continue to love my brother instead of wishing to hell he’d find something and get out.” The absolute truth, every word, and the best thing was he and Cooper seemed to understand.
“When?” My son was bright eyed. “Got to get the car in primo condition, if we aim for Honolulu, make sure it can float.” Big smile. Zach, too, but there was a mask of relief I could see.
“Well, tomorrow seems a bit soon….” We all nodded and kinda laughed. “I have one offer for a weekend job that will give us some real traveling money….then after that, well, guys, as you all know, I have nothing to do.”
The weekend trip came to me while I was talking. One of my ‘regulars’, nice guy, not telling his wife about everything he liked to do, had brought up the theoretical out of town game weekend, really just two days of sex. He, however, had a slight problem, wifey was the suspicious sort; Out of town, to her, meant how many whores, lays, hoes…..etc? His answer was to bring his old pal Jim by, have him join them for a meal, point out he and I were going together, all true, his son was staying with his uncle, who was a Colonel in the Air Force-he’d give her their number….Although that last part made me shudder, for his purposes, it went down like oil, you could see her smile at me, even ask to be brought back a souvenir. He promised he would. I really screwed him on the price, two grand, but promised him if what we’d done up to date was to his liking….given 48 hours in a nice hotel, not only could he have hot and cold running water and room service, but hot me. Whatever he had in mind, whatever he’d ever had in mind. Deal.
We used Dean’s car so Zach took Cooper’s car to the motor pool at the base. He called in some favors, oil changed, thorough going over, even bought four new tires and a spare. Coop told me later that Zach had got a bit sad when it was finalized that he was going to leave. Held it in but on the morning we left, he grabbed Cooper, really held him, tears, told him he was proud of him, never met a better man, if he’d had a son, couldn’t be better than him. They’d had several years together so it was no surprise to see Cooper also had some separation anxiety….in a way, I was proud of both of them, without saying it, watching them told me that whatever happened to me, Cooper had a place to go.
What I was not proud of was that I’d lied to my son and my brother; He was leaving with a father who sold himself for sex but who he thought was a great guy who’d taken a beating from the world. And I continued the lie; That two thousand Dean paid me? Part of it, five hundred, I gave to Zach-God knows how much I owed him-gave Cooper two hundred, called it car rental for the drive but stashed all but about two hundred that I had in my pocket against the time we’d need it.
One last thing. Zach paid off the two credit cards that were in Cooper’s name-one of them was from the bank he used, adding in an emergency, he could pay off whatever giving us some floating money. None of us had any expectations but that the immediate future would be hard with no idea that it would suddenly look bright and rosy.
One thing, I joined AAA, took the Premium membership, got a ‘family card’ for Coop just because it came with more than just gas and go. The nice lady where I signed up, telling her my son and I were relocating, seemed bemused that I couldn’t tell her exactly where but wished us a safe journey. Their other suggestion was that, as we planned to head East, Tuesday was a low travel day, might want to aim for that.
Tuesday morning we pulled out, looking in the rear view mirror I could see Zach standing there, waving. I suppose both of us wondered how long until we might see each other again. If ever. Cooper was quiet, probably had some of the same thoughts.
The Interstate has some virtues, it does get you away from where you are to wherever you’re going quickly. Of course, we didn’t know where so all we could do was take turns driving until, somehow, we’d gone far enough to believe that some part of the past could not find us. Found a chain motel, picked up a six pack-Three years made me forget that Cooper was effectively an adult, if we’d wanted, could have been a bottle of…whatever.
In fact, I needed the courage that liquor really doesn’t give you only because since we made the decision to leave town, and the past, I knew I would have to tell him…some of my secrets. On the road that day what I found was that all the carefully structured words I’d thought of were scrambled as fear of his hatred, rejection, disgust sank over me. To give myself one last moment when only I knew, we had a very long dinner before heading back to the room. The door closed, shutting the past in with me.
Men everywhere seemingly do not like to wear clothes, or, more specifically, under certain circumstances, they’ll haul out of everything except that final layer, whatever it is they’re wearing. Apparently, a couple of beers goes well with boxers or briefs, or classic Hanes or a jock plus a T or a tank…solid comfort, better if you’ve got on white socks, put them up, roll the cold bottle on your chest, laugh uneasily, hold it over your nuts, salute each other then take that first drink; Mine was the first through tenth then started on my second bottle.
I got up, took the car keys, put them in his hand, he looked at me, not understanding….
“Cooper, I have to tell you some things, things about me. When I’m done, you can get up, get dressed, get in the car and drive away.” How desperately did I want to add, ‘I hope you won’t’.
Fumbling through what I wanted to say, to tell him, to beg him to understand…..but forgive? Selling myself for money, that latent sexual drive that was no longer latent, my preference for men… By then I couldn’t look at him, just talked to a spot over the wall. Talked about getting fucked in jail but very little about what happened after that, how I’d turned to fucking for commissary. Perez became a ‘dude’ I knew in prison with whom I’d buddied up for protection. Told him how guilty I’d felt every time I knew he’d mowed a lawn or found some job then gave the money to me. There was no way at that point to wind this up in some sort of linear way, his Dad was a whore, his Dad liked men….liked what he did with them. The last thing, the money for the trip, the trip with Dean…was just a two day fucking….for money. That was the last thing I’d done, the last thing I could say….Somehow, I found it in me to look at him, embarrassed but honest.
“His wife called…..talked to me, asked if ‘Jim’s brother was really a Colonel in the Air Force, if I was your son….”. He looked at me. “Easy to answer those, yep, I’m your son, your brother is in the Air Force….is there a problem.” Can time pause? I believe it just did. “Funny, stupid woman, laughing, told me that she thought her husband went out with guys now and then, so she just had to check…sorry to bother me.” He almost smiled.
Momentarily I was sorry for Dean because I was pretty sure what his future held…he’d been a nice guy, almost tempted to call him but maybe that just kicked the can down the road for him faster and sooner, put him on the defensive before the penalty got called. Thinking about that diverted me from all the other shit I’d just dumped on my kid.
“Cooper?”
“Ya know, Dad, what I wish is that I had crap to tell you, things I’d done, knocked up the preacher’s daughter, was a gang member….cuz what I want is to find a way to make you understand….I don’t give a damn. What we’ve been through? Mom told me and told me and told me she thought you were queer.” He swallowed. “Zach thinks so too so if you worried that I’d be, I don’t know, shocked or something, no, I’m not.” He stood up, walked to me, dropped the keys beside me, sat down, hugged me, kissed me…. “Wonder if there’s anything to keep us awake until we need to sleep?”
Right then I knew it was all behind me, at least worrying about Cooper. How much he understood, or the dimensions…? The one thing, I was a gay man, was what he knew and didn’t care. The rest of it? Well, we’d both done whatever we could so what I’d done was….in a weird way, just like his mowing lawns, it was the work I could get so I took it.
For the first time I slept without too much worry about the future, at least part of it, that was now the past.
The second day was no more interesting but, as we went East, the places seemed tired, left over from other centuries, still there, still cities but lacking verve, newness-awful though that can me.
Just after lunch, when we pulled back on the road there was a sign listing the distances to some of the major up coming places. Why? Don’t know. “The third one down, lets make that where we’re going.” He just nodded. It was about three hours ahead, easy to get there long before sundown, find someplace for the night, get ready for the next day, becoming residents….
It came down to finance. That first night we sat in a cheap motel-the sort always seem to be run by former residents of New Delhi where the alleged ‘reception’ area smells of curry and laundry. The local news paper had some listing for apartments but they were all parts of complexes-you knew because in addition to the space, they were big on a pool or game room or club house. All well and good but we couldn’t afford ‘amenities’.
Also, they just cost too damn much whether they had a pool or not.
Again, jail paid a dividend in that I could live anywhere that was larger than a cell, had a bathroom and some sort of cooking facilities. There were two of us….I asked Coop if …he’d mind sharing a bed, one bedroom, cheaper. Said he’d planned on it. What I knew to look for was the sort of place that had no name, just said “Apartments” or “Rooms to Rent”. No elevator, no laundry in the basement, basic living, hopefully with some sort of management that was minimally responsive when the hot water or the heat failed.
A tour of close to down town was where to look so we spent the second day just driving, writing down addresses if they said ‘vacancy’ as well as phone numbers. Great would be if there was a garage-in so many ways our car was truly a necessity, or probably would be. That evening, exhausted and, I guess, a bit depressed, we looked at the pictures on Coopers phone, matched them to numbers and called one.
Yeah, they had a one room vacancy, no pets, in the rear, third floor, want to see it? The person who answered said to come by around ten, he’d be there. Hung up before I could ask about furniture but we’d see about that ‘around ten’.
By eleven we had our new home. Nothing like greed to get you what you want and, fortunately, we had cash to pay him right on the spot. One thing, we’d talked about this, not knowing how long before we might have another stake, we spent a lot of what we had by pre-paying three months rent; That also got a fifty dollar a month reduction as well as some of his marginal good will. Also, across the street there was a garage, spaces by the month, for twenty extra there were spots covered by cameras which, the guy there told us, could cut down on your insurance premiums. Zach had paid for three months of those so…Three was the magic number in a lot of things.
Moving in didn’t take long, just whatever was in the car, clothes, a very few things like a television, not much but… we were indoors on the first day of December…the day before it snowed.
Day four was when we found the local Good Will, bought extra sheets, blankets, towels. Given the price at the big box pharmacy, sorry they didn’t have slightly used soap, detergent, cleaning stuff. We’d just spent more than we planned getting household supplies that, now, I realized we should have brought with us. The other major expenditure of the day was having the phone hooked up. Yeah, land lines are old fashioned but Cooper knew that the cost of his fancy phone that did more than we needed was also more than we could afford. Great man, he pointed out that, here, he didn’t know anybody to call, better to look up things on the laptop and have the phone for people to call offering jobs after applications were made; He said we should look for a cheap, read used, answering machine for the job offers. That was the theory.
Our ‘furnished’ apartment should have been, “Minimally Furnished Apartment”. There was a double bed, a highboy bureau and a chair in the bedroom. Don’t know if windows count but we had one, no curtains, just blinds. Okay, we weren’t into decorating. The living room had a couch, a table, two chairs by it-obviously our dining area, a couple of upholstered chairs a coffee table which had been refinished with cigarette burns, and a set of nested TV tables that almost disassembled themselves when opened. The kitchen had a window, that actually looked out front, elderly appliances, stove, ice box, sink, running water….another small table and two more chairs. Cooper laughed saying well, when we had friend in, at least we had seating. At least the mattress had some life left, also it wasn’t on springs so no squeaking at night.
That first night…I’d never slept with my son, well, since he was an infant and slept in my arms. Actually, even before all the days with Zach, I’d never seen him in less than skivvies and a T shirt so when he crawled into bed wearing nothing, I was stunned at what a great body he really had. All the old clothes he’d worn showed nothing other than he had two arms, two legs and something that joined them surmounted by a head but now, lit by the bedside lamp, I saw my son as a man, hair on his chest, fully descended nuts, good looking cock, nicely muscled….where had he come from? But then I remembered, he’d worked too. He slid in, put an arm around me, pulled me to him, kissed me, said, ‘Night Dad’ and then we began the task of fitting into our bed for the first time. Thinking about him, I got hard….Jesus, please, not about my son….Although as he rolled about, guess it was like father, like son, he was stiff as well.
Both of us have had better nights sleep.
Not knowing where you’re going is both a help and a hindrance; On one side, you’ll go anywhere, no bad reputation or whatever, on the other side, you have no fucking idea where the job you need is. I had been a really fine accountant with a (now trashed) reputation that had built a good clientele. What I had now was a resume missing three years as well as the letter from the District Attorney that explained my innocence as well as my absence. All well and good but….I’d already found out, to some even the accusation carries with it the possibility of some sort of guilt.
This close to Christmas there were two conflicting things, one, the holidays cut down on what people needed but taxes were coming up which meant there was work for accountants. Only thing, I was not up on the new tax laws but that didn’t mean I couldn’t do some base level preparation….adding and subtracting never needs to be updated. Another thing, papering, the practice of just sending out as many resumes as possible and seeing, hoping, what comes back. But in the process of looking for an address, I saw a sign that said, “Cashier Wanted”. I applied.
That sign should have said ‘Big Titted Blonde Wanted’ but….until she showed up, I got a few hours work, minimum wage, but there was one benefit-if you chose to see it that way; The owner had a store room where, for fifty bucks, he could fuck me. Shortly the blonde actually did apply, wonder if he fucked her too? Two days…..made gas money, windshield fluid, even got two quarts of oil which came with a free drive thru car wash-we didn’t need the second quart…then but eventually…
Some times I’d find a strip mall, park, walk down seeing if there was anything that looked like they could use a bean counter. Lot of those places had small offices, dentists, one man attorney, tried ‘em all. No sale. Also no sale on Christmas which was going to be the first out for me not to mention the first for Cooper that was nothing but a date. Jesus I wanted to get him something…what he’d already given me…given up for me….Jail learning. Found a wall, leaned against it….five fucking days or maybe I should say five days of fucking or sucking or….it’s your money, your call. Good thing I’d done it, the day I was going to find him something I knew he wanted….was the day the piece of shit mattress in our ‘home’ caved. Guess working on my back was prophetic. Told him this was the last of the money from the trip with Dean….Jeez, I just could not tell him about the wall with the alley where there was a space behind a dumpster.
Cooper was getting us food….I knew he stole it…he told me. He also stole toothpaste, toilet paper-from a restroom in a diner-whatever we needed, he went looking for it, food being the main thing. To compensate, we both did a sort of home made work out, filled time, filled out pecs…just not our bellies.
Twas the night before Christmas….in someone’s house, just not ours. Cooper found a place where the Salvation Army was providing meals for…..those who needed one and that was us. Best as possible, we got fixed up, good looking Dad, fine looking son, drove to the hall, got in line, got our food….sat at a table. Some were quiet, just eating, some tried to be…well…not quite festive but after we finished, we had nothing to do, asked if we could serve, clear, do whatever. Volunteers are always welcome. I was helping some of the people bringing in supplies for the next round, worked with a helluva nice guy, we talked, forgot everyone there didn’t need to be. While Phil and I chatted Cooper went to people, older people, would sit, ask if he could get them anything…I guess they saw him as a son, grandson, nephew…would smile at him. Phil noticed….asked about him so, without meaning to, told him an abbreviated version of who, why, where, how, job search……Damned if he didn’t ask for a resume which, out of habit, I had, even the paper from the District Attorney. Turned out he owned a local chain of modest motels but needed a night auditor, full time, could start tomorrow. The one they’d had took his Christmas bonus then quit. Phil laughed….said he’d passed math in high school… a long time ago. Told me where to come the next day….I Had A Job!!
Cooper said that Phil was his Christmas present after they met. I was mortified when he asked if wherever I was going to work would see that I got a hot meal….added that his Dad was inclined to work too hard, forget things like eating. Later Phil told me that I had one of the best sons he’d ever met and also that, sure, a meal was included. It was only jail house learning of knowing when and when not to push things that stopped me from asking if I could take home a large doggie bag for the ‘best’ son. It was on my to do in a while list, just not then.
Auditing isn’t particularly interesting, doing it at night, basically alone, makes it worse. Plus…Phil had just enough work from three properties that a standard eight hours wasn’t enough; We came up with a plan that amounted to a split shift, somewhere around eleven, I’d have two or three hours off, be given an unoccupied room, sleep, go back to work, finish sometimes as late as nine; That’s when I became a day sleeper which, for our purposes, was perfect. The car came home and was available to Cooper to go out, if he wished, but whatever, odd as it seemed, the timing was just right.
He walked everywhere, part of what he was doing was learning where we lived, setting up places where he could steal what we needed. That job, good as it was, wasn’t great, did not quite pay enough to cover the costs of two grown men. The car was the thing that, just when I got a little ahead…needed something. Insurance, absolutely necessary, was the biggest hand picking our pockets. In a way I was and was not sorry I said it but one day when Cooper hauled home a pineapple-in his pants for the love of God-I snarled that it was a shame he couldn’t steal a car. Realized what I’d said, grabbed him, gave his shaggy head a Dutch rub, hugged him and laughed. (Wished we could find a barber college, haircuts were a luxury item-I just clippered mine [another jail house trait] but Cooper….was a good looking guy; For his sometimes worn clothing, his nice looking hair was poor compensation but it added to his good looks.) I’m sorry to admit that on occasion, he’d let me take some scissors and ‘even it out’. He’d been around the military too long, hair touching a collar or ears, was ingrained in him as wrong although what the military hadn’t bothered with was how ‘squared away’ the rest of it was. Zach would call occasionally, he laughed when I’d tell him some further habit his nephew had learned while ‘not quite’ in the service. Privately I told him how grateful I was for what he had learned, all the good things. That he was now approaching being a professional thief, moving on to criminal, was not mentioned even between Coop and me…..it was just accepted.
When did Rocco appear? I can tell you where, in the bedroom while I was stark naked, asleep in bed. I’d heard about him from Cooper, was glad he’d seem to have found a friend, something he lacked, maybe this was a buddy he could shoot hoops, play pick up ball in the park with other guys….but then I hadn’t yet meet Rocco.
“Sorry, Jim, Coop said to just come on in, introduce myself. I’m Rocco….”
I hadn’t met this Rocco but back in jail, he was a familiar face and a frequent customer of the lock up. The only difference between the usual issue street gangster and the man smiling at me was that…he had his hand out and was smiling at me. He, too, had spent some time locked up. He grabbed some shorts, tossed them to me, laughed, said he’d seen all kinds, all ways and in all places; He assumed I had as little modesty as he did and, yeah, Cooper told him the whole story only adding that he was real glad it worked out….I had a great son, deserved to have a father that was kinda part con; Best thing a young man could have. He said, and I knew he was right, “I’ve seen too many men raised ‘by the book’ by a dumb cocksucker who didn’t know shit from Shinola. Taught him nothing that he could ever really use, not even that you sometimes just have to do whatever you have to do. Cooper knows that, lives that because his jail house dad instinctively taught him. He paused, thought about it…. ‘Course there are some things you didn’t teach him…..okay, I’ll take over for those.”
Rocco had brought food-also real coffee something I saw only at work when I needed it to stay awake on occasion but not in the early afternoon when I wanted it to wake up. If he did nothing else, those two large Styrofoam cups were welcome. I looked over the top of one, sized him up, knew his story and without a pause let my kid be his pal. Cooper was so close to the crooked line, might as well have a pro take him on across. Also….given our conversation, I liked him. Cooper went back to being a kid who is embarrassed when ‘adults’ talked about him which is what we did. There were, “Aw Dad” or, “Shit, don’t tell him that” as well as… “Jeez…that was a long time ago.” We both smiled at him…then went right on. What he could not have realized was that I was giving him to Rocco, telling him his qualifications that would apply to street life and….crime.
The two left, me still in my shorts, now awake and well coffee’d, thinking about what I’d just done. Maybe…jail had an effect on me I didn’t realize, maybe the power that Perez and I had taking money to be fucked or just snatching some guy when we wanted a piece of ass ourselves turned some gene I didn’t know about free. I didn’t even ask myself if what I’d done was morally wrong because I knew it was, Rocco and Cooper knew it was but it didn’t matter a green shit to any of us; What we saw it was a sort of ongoing adventure, a gamble but one with a real penalty. A game we all were playing, the two men who’d just left were more involved than I was.
There was one other thing: I instantly got hard for Rocco and that could be a problem for all of us.
Maybe three days later, still in bed, I hear a voice calling ‘Jim’ and knew who it is. That great smile, his slight swagger, his looking at me-the coffee he had. Handed me a cup as he sat on the edge of the bed. He looked at me while I drank and looked back at him.
“Name ‘Dean’ mean anything to you?” That smile again.
“Not a local boy….but, yeah, I knew a Dean.” I stopped, maybe thought, abandoned thinking. “Cooper tell you about him?”
He just smiled. “Finish your coffee while I peel….thing is….I will not fuck your kid but sure as hell….his old man and I are going to get it on…aren’t we? When two guys get hard the first time they see each other, well….” He shrugged, stood up, pulled off his shoes, let his pants drop, stepped out of them, undid his shirt, dropped it then crawled in. He left his jock for me to pull down.
He pushed himself up against the wall, his coffee in one hand, my breast in the other. “Join me, coffee always tastes better before sex…..doesn’t it.” I reached down, made a cup of my hand and held his junk…. “Yeah….it does.”
“Coop isn’t with me…if you were worried….have him at a gym then he’s going to get that fucking hair cut…jeez.”
“Rocco…..about this….and Cooper….”
“Nope, he doesn’t need to know….don’t want him to know…at least about you and me.” He looked around. “Fuck, I’m gonna buy you a pair of bed side tables, no way you can get it on holding a thing of coffee.” And smiled, something he did a lot.
First time with anybody is part fun, part surprise as well as part confusion; Neither of you know what the other likes apart from the basic dictionary things of six, fuck, suck, lick, kiss, stroke, eat….but how they’re done, that’s what you learn. I will say what we both found out, this wasn’t the first time for anything we tried….or the hundredth. Only complication was when we were showering…two men do not easily stand up in an old fashioned tub with only a circle of fabric keeping the shower on them and off the floor. But we managed.
Work threw me a curve. For all that I imagined my past was just that, past, I relied on Phil to stand between what might be said and me which he did. The hospitality industry probably invented learning about people, whether guests, diners or employees. I did tell Phil, I felt I had to, about my liking guys….his answer was that was okay, too many of his male employees liked the ladies which led to some ugliness and recrimination when a maid or someone on the front desk felt they’d been ‘approached’. Phil probably without realizing he’d done it, and certainly not as directly as saying, “Jim is Gay” but gave the subtle information that was the case. I could handle myself-there were really no problems-but an offer came that knocked me back. Cooper dropped in-he had the car and, as he said, on a nice night, got him out of the house with some place to go, see his Dad. Usually he timed it so I was between shifts so he knew I wouldn’t be working, grabbing some rest, maybe sleep, still glad to see him. I was a destination, nothing more. One of the night managers was bringing some papers to me when he paused, told me what a fine looking son I had. I thanked him. Wondered if he needed a part time job? Cooper always did, I said so. Was told to have him just sit in the lobby late on Friday afternoon, I could come get him Sunday…..with a leering smile, said…. “If he can’t clear a grand, he doesn’t know how to do it….”.
Others had said to me and to him that he could make a dime or more being friendly….but this went way beyond that. Yeah I was steamed, thought about calling Phil at home at night but then….this was so crudely done, so stupidly done….it was the sort of thing that let this jerk into learning some lessons. Instead of Phil, I told Rocco whose face went blank then lost any sense of the person I knew but was replaced with a gangster. It took five minutes but he went back to being Rocco but the plowing I got suggested his anger had not gone away. The compact here was….Cooper was ours, this was like an intrusion on our turf, this was a score to be settled. Perhaps a week later I heard he’d just not come in for a shift, never came back.
That issue didn’t seem to come up again but another did; Cooper came home sporting a gun in a holster under his shoulder. I looked up, saw it, he stopped, wondering what I’d say. But what came out was simply a questions about whether when he’d learned fire arms at the base with Zach, he’d learned how to properly clean it. That smile, that fucking son of mine smile. He leaned down, kissed me, said that, yeah, he was good at that.
The next night he went out with a driver called Sammy to make a pick up and a delivery. Maybe but smart jail sense money said they were picking up alright but the person making the delivery hadn’t planned on them to make the collection. The next morning, when I came in-about the same time he did-I found him cleaning his piece, one chamber had been fired, there was a bottle of very fine Bourbon on the table. “There was some extra….”.
He and Sammy did a number of things, sometimes deliveries, sometimes pick up sometimes….just…things. I got to know Sammy well, liked him so when he and Coop showed up with a tractor trailer pulled up to the curb outside our apartment building all I thought was that I hoped the cops wouldn’t come along, notice he was in front of a fire plug. He seemed like a nice guy, clearly would protect my kid but this time they were making a delivery. Cooper was bouncing with enthusiasm, couldn’t wait to get me downstairs…that’s where I met Sammy…in his ‘professional’ capacity. Laughing, he pulled me to the ass of the trailer which was open, a ramp up, some of the boxes inside opened.
“C’mon Dad, time to go shopping.” Sammy was leaning against the opening, smiling, making a sort of running commentary on what was there, why we were in the trailer and that….he wanted to take Cooper on a long over the road trip. Said we’d talk about it after the shopping spree.
I’d heard about this happening, in fact, once at one of the motels, a delivery of bedding had shown up, the boxes opened, clearly some merchandise had been stolen. Phil wasn’t perturbed, told me all the people who were around to take what they wanted or needed then it would all be sent back; Insurance would cover it, another shipment would be sent. As desperately as we always needed anything, I was only too happy to get a lot of towels-after a shower men, I guess, use more of them than women-sheets, blankets, covers….I was proud when I drove home the next morning to show Cooper he wasn’t the only one who could ‘acquire’-our word for getting things without paying for them which also avoided suggesting anything criminal-what we needed. Increasingly affectionate, he congratulated me, gave me a big hug and a kiss that was more man to man than father and son.
This delivery had been for a department store and, as with the bedding, at some point, the seals on the trailer had been broken-enough to cause refusal-the interior breached and, of course, a lot of stuff stolen. What Cooper wanted for me was to take a whole new wardrobe, shoes and socks up. Each time I’d seem to pause he, or Sammy, would chuckle and say I probably should get a sports coat, some slacks, golf shirts….by the time they finally let me stop, the pile on the pavement was almost as tall as I was; Clearly I would not need new clothes for a time. I had a goosebump flashback to a day in a court wearing the first suit I’d worn in years. Now, standing beside new suits, the irony struck me. God Bless you Cooper, you too, Sammy.
I’d spoken to Sammy on a few occasions, knew he and Rocco were ‘connected’ which was a guarantor to me. We sat down on the stoop watching my kid, almost giddy with pleasure at what his old man was getting, carry the stuff up to our apartment.
He came right to it. “Jim…Rocco wants me to take Cooper for a ride. Guess you don’t know but…on those short trips, we’ve shared a sleeper, once a motel….he talked to Rocco-you probably have figured he half way loves him-so we figure….it’s time for him to lose his cherry….” He was still looking straight at me when he stopped speaking.
“He want to?”
“Yeah but….Rocco won’t do it, he asked him, but, this is just guessing, I think Rocco has a man and….I know he loves Cooper but not in bed, not with this cock up his tail. Get it?”
Unfortunately I did. Whether Sammy knew I was the man with Rocco, couldn’t tell but if he did, no way he would have let on.
“Rocco’s a good man….you sure?”
He just nodded. “Jim, he’s a great guy, I’ve ridden with a lot of men, but with him, I’m sorry when we get there…Tell you what….I ‘bout halfway love him myself.” He ducked his head, knew he meant it.
“You gonna do it?”
He just nodded.
“Cooper know?”
Another nod.
“Am I supposed to know? I mean does he know we’re talking about….my letting you fuck my son, take his virginity?”
He looked at me. “When Rocco wouldn’t do it, and that was real hard on him, he asked if he’d let me do it….Yeah, he knows….but Jim…when he comes back down, we get in and pull away…..”
“Yeah, smile and wave.”
He was gone three weeks, called often, as did Sammy, both seemed to be having a helluva time. I gathered that at some point they hit some sort of huge truck stop/hotel/saloon and repair facility, had a great time-I got post cards from both of them. Also….something else Rocco had him do; Leather him up.
Rocco and I…found a mutual fetish for leather….needless to say he bought me the best and also….increasingly he treated me not quite like a father but with more respect, rather like an older brother. While the guys were out on the road, he and I hit some leather bars in a big city about six hours away…it was Rocco who told me that Sammy also played like this so….bring in Cooper. He didn’t like it or want to? Okay, what’s wrong with a pair of leather jeans, good jacket….just leave the harness, the jock, the garrison cap, the cuffs, the collar, all the rest of the paraphernalia elsewhere. But he would want to….I knew by then that my son loved his gangster; I was fine for sex, Rocco and I really did care for each other but Cooper loved him, he knew it, I knew it, Sammy knew it….When Shakespeare wrote about those complicated situations, they didn’t end happily.
The cross. We were in bed having just spent a good time sucking each other when he darkened a bit, looked somewhere I couldn’t see, got out of bed, took his jacket, pulled out a leather case, got back in bed, opened it then showed me the picture; It was my son in a full steel and rope bondage scene, a noose around his neck, tightly secured to a metal cross. This was painful for him, meant to be. Rocco dropped his head….
“Jim….he’s not into this…..I am, but he did it for me….jeez, sometimes I wish he’d not do anything for me….”
I looked at the picture. In terms of arrangement, color, eroticism….it was almost professional if you overlooked that it was my son.
“He only did it once….I, I wanted to see how it looked if a good looking man, someone who wasn’t there as part of a scene….he didn’t have to….”
I kissed him. “Rocco, he really would do anything for you.” I looked at it again. “Well, it’s a helluva a picture, hot looking stud…just for my own preferences, sorry about the chastity cage, would have liked to see a stiff cock…..” I meant it.
“It’s not far from here….” He looked at me. “Father and son….” I said nothing just got out of bed, put on some clothes…stood there, waiting for him.
“Wanta start here with cuffs?”
He shot tears. “Jim, yeah but….those bracelets he wears…about you and jail, never takes them off.”
“Yeah, I know.” I turned so that my back was to him, hands together palms out. “Make ‘em tight.”
He did. Threw a jacket over my shoulders for the walk. A building with a staircase that went up maybe two, little more, floors. There was a landing at the top.
“The other door, Time’s place….he knows Cooper…”
He turned me. “This door….” The lock was electric, needed a code, punched it in, he pushed it open… “is where I come to play now and then….” It was dark until he hit a switch. Very bright lights all shining on a metal cross set on a raised platform. Even some feet away I could see around the edges, places to tie down, latch, secure….make sure whoever was being attached would stay that way. He pushed me toward it.
“Cooper….didn’t get it…” He paused.
“The full treatment?”
He put his head between my shoulder blades. “Yeah, the full treatment…..Step out of your shoes.”
I thought he might undo the cuffs but no….,just started ripping my clothes off, only had a shirt and pants…I’d kinda figured what might be in my future so dressed light and accordingly as they say in tourist brochures which was strangely appropriate; I was a tourist with my guide about to experience something I never had.
“Step up, put your head on the metal.” He undid one cuff, moved it up to the cross piece, found a hook, put it through the cuff which, apparently, snapped into equal parts. Did the other one the same way. Now I was there, his, captive, his victim, his slave, his chattel….however he chose to see me but all of them contained one concept, I Was His.
Behind me I could hear him strip, open a door, probably take out some sort of fetish gear, Leather? Steel? Rubber? Whatever it was he was very quickly behind me.
“I like a warm ass before I fuck it.” The first stroke of whatever it was shocked me, I tried to duck but that only made me hang from my wrists. He said nothing just started on what I knew would be exactly what he wanted, he would forget who I was, just that he was going to strap my ass until it bled then fuck me hard and deep.
I started screaming at some point, I’d never been whipped, spanking-for money- but that had no relation to this. If I could have thought I would have realized that he was completely involved in this, it was his world, the sight of the target, no matter that it was human, the sound, the feel in his hand and, occasionally, the feel of the flesh.
Suddenly it was over, his hands clawed my nipples as he shoved his cock into me…maybe there was blood he was using as lubricant…maybe not. A really good whipping has the effect of anesthetic on the surface and to some degree inside. The newer pain was as he grabbed my nipples, brutally twisted and yanked them while he jack hammered my chute. From previous fucks, I knew he was perfectly sized and shaped for screwing, slightly bent up, not too big, good girth….those who think the best cocks are long and fat need to rethink things. His got longer as he became more excited; Almost immediately he mashed into my prostate which got me even harder, probably was drooling copious amounts of precum….I’d shoot soon.
He put his hands over my face; I could see the bloody palms from my ass and my tits. He snapped my head back, held it, released it so suddenly I jerked forward hitting the metal and knocking myself out.
When I came to I had been turned, he was in the process of attaching me with a dedication and fervor that could not be disturbed. It was the most complicated bondage I’d ever seen. Steel pipes came out, crossed my ankles and, as he worked up, he took off the rope that held me to replace it with the same pipe arrangement. Almost no part of my body wasn’t, in some ways, secured painfully except…my head as well as my cock and balls. It must have taken him hours, dripping sweat on the metal surface of the platform caused him to stumble then cascade to the floor. The answer to that? Disappear then return, freshly showered.
Rocco was well built, moved like a cat, graceful which made his approach to me somehow frightening. I had no idea how far he’d go but….he wasn’t inclined to stop or lighten up and with this situation….
He came to me, our faces were together, kissing, his hands on either side of my head for a moment until they slid down, found the sack with my balls, caressed it, slowly closed his fingers, pressure, compression, pain and he kept kissing me, pressing my head against the metal. To scream in pain I’d have to get his tongue out of my mouth so all I could do was make desperate noises, hoping he’d realize….perhaps he did.
A noose came down, I remembered it from the pictures of Cooper, it went around my neck, tight, straining me. There was no rising to release the squeeze….He pulled back, looked at me….
“The greatest feeling of sex comes….at death.” He had the end of the rope in his hand, my cock in the other … I knew. He tied his end around his neck then, taking my hard cock, backed onto me, making me shove into him. Deep. Hot. He no longer could talk the rope around him was tightening….and he was doing it. He wanted to see what it felt like if….he were being executed but having the desperate feeling of wanting sex, his body demanding he shoot…the race between sex and death. I fucked as fast and as hard as I could even as very slowly the rope around my neck bound my throat, the veins….wind….air….breath….desire…..I felt myself explode in him. Instantly the pressure on our necks stopped, he lurched forward, my sperm, a glob or two was still coming from me, drooling down his leg. He fell to the floor, his head on his crossed arms, his chest heaving…..
Time? How much passed until he rose like a man thinking he was wounded but finds he’s not. He stood, his back to me, shoulders slumped then turned. The bright face, the ultimate smile, he almost ran to me, stuck his arms through the metal pipes, held me, kissed me….
“Thank you…oh, Jesus, thank you Jim…..”
He stood wrapping me in what felt like genuine affection. “Only one more thing….”
He reached down…. “These.” My balls. “They’re mine….no one else will ever fuck me like that….”
And then it was all over. As quickly as he could, and undoing the most painful restraints first, he let me loose…to fall into his arms, I had no ability to stand, none. He was strong, took me into a room, hot tub….in it….at first….tendrils of blood came from me….he was fascinated by them. “This meant so much….no other man….like your son, you trusted me…but….what I did to you I couldn’t do to him….he would have let me but….”
I understood. I was his equal, he could torture me but my son was his friend, a beloved man….he was too afraid of either hurting him too severely or accidentally marking or killing him.
That’s when I knew I loved him, told him, took him in my arms, held him made him tell me he was mine, I’d paid for him and now…..he was mine.
In a very soft muffled voice, his head on my shoulder, arms around my back, almost clutching me… “Yes Sir, I’m yours….” He cried for it was probably the first time he’d ever truly belonged to anyone and it gave him a feeling he’d never understood, real acceptance by another man as his.
We sat there for… a very long time. After that to go back to that hovel of an apartment seemed from Alpha to a shitty Omega but he didn’t care, he was almost boyish as he crawled into my bed. Flopped out, turned his head to look at me as I moved toward him.
“Do something to me…..”
And I did. I rolled him on his stomach, took the belt I had in my hand, beat his ass until it bled then fucked him again, this time because I wanted to, leaving my stalk in him as we rolled to one side. “Sometime tonight, maybe several times, your ass is going to drain me so dream of that….” I put my hands on the arteries on his neck, slowly pressed on them until I could feel the blood slowed; He passed out from lack of blood to his brain…but did not wake, he slept…with me in him for as long as I could.
In the morning we could not get out of bed….just lay there, looking at each other. Nothing to say, the deal, the contract, the future was signed for. I had him, he wanted to be had…my own gangster. I thought about that, my own gangster; Having Rocco was akin to having a kinky Santa Claus. He would want to get me things but….I didn’t want them, never ask him for anything, smile, refuse…panic….why not? Everybody wants something and so one day he would ask, trying to be annoyed, mad, something like, ‘dammit, tell me what you want’……or something like that. I’m not something he can shake down, have my son beat up, get money for protection. That jail house ethic, you can’t frighten me nor is it possible to try the opposite way, kindness. But he did ask as I knew he must. In his mind, loving me equated to giving me things but what he didn’t understand was that I was not a mistress, a kept man, I was Jim, his man, who loved him. Simple as that.
We were naked, it was day, early, he’d met me at the garage, slung an arm over my shoulder, walked up the steps, into the apartment, we stripped, climbed into bed and that’s when he could no longer be quiet on the topic.
“Jim, I want….I want to do something for you…”
“Nothing you can buy me, don’t need anything.”
He was devastated, his whole existence had always turned on his largess to others, being the giving hand that actually concealed the steel collar but now, here, naked, the man he said he loved and he could do….nothing.
“Please.”
I kissed him. “No.” His eyes were frightened, he’d always won…but now. “What do you want to give me? I taught Cooper, and it’s a good idea, when you want to give a gift, give them something you want them to have. Look at him and you can see everyday what he gave me…”
He was blank.
“Look at that wrist, those handcuffs he always wears, that’s his gift to me, his saying, Dad, I’m chained to you.” I had to laugh as I remembered something he talked about but had to be talked out of. “Rocco, he wanted me to come with him while he had the cuffs welded, there forever….but I don’t need that to know he will love me forever.”
Maybe he got it, maybe. “…something I want you to have….”
I was quiet. Looked into his eyes, took him into one arm, his head sideways on my chest, my other hand gently supporting his balls. He tried to move to turn, to kiss me but he was held firm. I massaged his nice furry sack, felt it get warm.
“I’ll give them to you….”
As I shoved him away I slapped him, hard, stormed out of bed. “You little prick you already gave me what I wanted, only reason you don’t see it is because you wanted it just like I did.
He automatically put his hand over the spot I’d hit him. We both paused, stillness, the sounds of reality coming in. A flurry of dust motes raised when my hand coursed through the air. It was coming to him…we both wanted it…could I mean? Did I want? I stared at him. He rose on the bed on his knees….waiting for the echo.
Putting my legs tightly together, spread my arms, my head leaned back…making the shape of a cross.
“Again, but now….you.”
He bowed his head, put his wrists together, slumped back on his knees. “Please.”
Later, looking at the pictures of him, I wept with love. I made negatives, one of me, the other of what I loved then put one over the other. Heating the edges I fused them, took another set, did the same…..now I had something I wanted him to have. And he would treasure it. I held it up to the light…exactly what I wanted, both of us floating in an almost gelatinous world but attached…somehow. Maybe that’s one way to look at love.
Sammy called, always glad to hear from him but was surprized that he called me at work around midnight. I was on my rest break, just not asleep. When you have that sort of quirky schedule, you learn the value of a nap; Sometimes twenty minutes of complete rest is far better than eating sheets all night, visiting the can when you can’t pee and then…just as it gets light, you finally sleep.
“Hey, driver, where are you or would I have heard of it?”
“Naw, fancy hotel, crappy weather, made the decision that we’d go to earth here, spread out, get comfortable, take care of some business.”
I wanted to ask. I wanted to know he hadn’t been too badly hurt….I wanted Sammy to tell me that letting him fuck my kid hadn’t turned him against me.
The roar of laughter while I panicked in questioning set me back. “Jim, oh my God Jim, while in one way he’s not a natural….yet, I gotta say, he feels good and, sit down or are you laying down? For his first time as a fake he whore, he made TEN GRAND.
I dropped the phone, scrambled to pick it up. Sammy was still laughing, said he’d explain it when we got home, Coop was fine, even thought parts of it he enjoyed but there was one thing….
Sometimes you hold your breath when there is no reason to; I was going to be told something, that’s where this was going and I was, for a second, afraid…
“Jim, he wants you to have all of it, there’s more but…when we get back, you’re moving…” He broke into a very poorly sung famous phrase…”….to a deluxe apartment in the sky…..”. He spared me further ear irritant. “Buddy, you are well and truly gonna a piece of the pie.”
Just sat there…no idea what he meant.
“Hey, gotta scat, Steve just knocked and I need to tell Devon a couple of things. Catch ya on the flip flop…” He was gone.
Who was Steve? Devon? Why the hell didn’t I ask whether they were? The call had come through the switch board so no tracing it back. Mad at myself, I snarled at some innocent pillows, sheets then pounded a mattress as I tried to compose myself and get that nap…which wasn’t going to happen.
Good news, depending on what you count as ‘news’ gets about. Rocco was waiting in my bed when I got home, all smiles, hardly wait for me to join him. Guess he thought Sammy only made one call so I had to hear about it. Again. For that moment, he was happy, pleased, excited….really, really ready to be fucked but, I knew, after we did that….he’d have to face something, no way around it….
I gave it to him not only with my true affection for him but about as deep and long as possible; If he burped, his prostate would have been spit out. He loved it, I loved it but we’d put so much physically into, and I was already tired from work, that sleep mugged us. Boom. Gone.
He woke before I did, made coffee, sat around the kitchen wearing nothing but some of my semen that was annealed to his leg. That’s where I found him. Got a cup, sat down…looked at him. “You know I love you.”
An almost ethereal smile.
“But….Cooper loves you too….Rocco….you know what you have to do about that and it’s not tell him, ‘You’re a great kid, in my own way I’ll always care for you but you see, there’s your Dad….’ That’s a ‘Dear John’ letter written first in his tears and then in your blood cuz I’ll kill you. You know, we know, that my son, the man who loves both of us, has been through…..sometimes I think, you’ll understand, going to prison was almost easier than his growing up with a father in jail accused of about as bad as it gets”.
He slumped in the chair, turned the mug on the table, looked at me. “Jim….I love you.”
“You Won’t Hurt Cooper”.
He could not stop looking at me, wondering, being alarmed at what the future suddenly might not be.
“Us?”
Small rickety tables don’t help but I reached across, dragged the chair with him in it to me, pulled him from it, into my arms…. “Yeah, us.” He started to cry. Then got mad.
“Fuck, we’ll just keep him on the road forever, Sammy likes him…”
“That’s desperation talking, he has to come back, this is his home, you are his man….yeah, if you tell him, he’ll criss cross the country BUT he’ll always come back to his man, his Rocco….and eventually, maybe as the big rig crosses a wide river, it will hit him….Do you want to put this on Sammy? Fuck, he’ll know, he’ll do it but he’ll hate both of us. He likes my kid, maybe more than we know but he’s also got a partner, remember, ‘Deuce Trucking’? Ace and deuce….”
He put his head on the table, didn’t cry just didn’t want to look up and see the man who was father to the son. The son who loved him to the point of subservience, distraction, physical necessity….and that was now coming home, Cooper would want Rocco to fuck him…which of us didn’t know that?
He raised his head until his chin was on the table, his eyes out the window over the sink.
“Jim, I do love him but…..” ,
“Don’t finish it because I know, I love you too. Let him make all the moves, do what he wants, you really do care and love him, have good times with him and, guess I can say this, do jobs with him fuck him, let him fuck you….the time with you he will equate with love, I know it then, every so often, Sammy has a great trip, he likes those, he’ll kiss you goodbye, hop in the tractor then….”
He stood up, rigid, put his arms out, the Cross, our Cross. Rising, I made the same figure facing him, pressing our bodies together. “Us”.
Getting mugged in your own bed isn’t an every day thing but when it’s your son, your man, doesn’t come home from what was a helluva trip, in so many ways, very often. Momentarily I felt like the nurse in the famous picture in Times Square being kissed by a sailor. He was no gladder to see me than I was to see him. Couldn’t talk, just alternated between holding each other, looking at each other, smiling….Only Cooper would break that spell.
“Hey, Dad, I’m not a virgin, I got fucked…. A lot” That was the moment Sammy came in to the room, heard the ‘A lot’ part and, clearly would have liked to not be there. It just fell out of my mouth.
“A lot?….Sammy….what….”
“Oh, yeah, Sammy took it…” At that we almost lost Sammy, there’s blushing and then there’s the look so red you wonder if they’re having some sort of heart problem. But there was more. “See, Mr. Jones paid us the ten grand…you did get that?” What to do? I nodded, ‘Yeah’ wondering who the fuck this ‘Jones’ character was… “but, you know, I learn things so…Devon came up the next night along with Steve….”
“Devon came up with Steve? Coop, who are these men? Where’s Sammy?”
“Oh, he’s fucking Steve, see, Devon’s this nice guy, I asked him to come back with us some time, who works in the bar at the hotel, that’s where he meets his tricks.” He smiled, one that was not returned as I was staring at Sammy who was an inch from suicide.
“Jim….uhm, it’s not quite like it sounds. Uhm….see…”
“Not yet but I’m going to.” I shifted my attention. “ Devon.”
“I told you, he’s a really great guy, after Steve popped me…I wanted some experience, I told him, you know, like I go to the gym, get some professional training.” Sammy sat in a chair, put his head in his hands and, probably, prayed a meteorite would come through the ceiling. It almost did; There was a voice….
“Hey, fucker, where’s my man, get out here, bend over, gotta wail on your ass.”
Rocco. I looked at Sammy who chose not to look back. At that moment all I could hope was that Cooper’s almost boyish happiness would lacquer over some of what he seemed to have done, some of which would not have made Rocco happy. In my mind, also because I’d been told, the ‘plan’ was for Sammy to take Cooper out on the road and, somewhere, give him his first fucking, take his cherry, no longer be a virgin. That was the plan. The other people? not part of the plan.
My kid forgot one of the men he loved momentarily. “Hey, gotta show you what I brought you…they’re in the cab…no…in the trailer, in that delivery of washing machines.” He paused. “Right Sammy?”
Sammy still was in a sort of hell. “Yeah, the washing machines, just careful taking off the sealer on the tub….”
I looked at him. “Friend, when you have the rig parked, get back here, we are going to a bar, I am going to get you loaded then you are going to tell me a story involving who, what, where, how…and whatever else I can think of. Then I’ll decide whether to beat the shit out of you or fuck you or both.” I tried to smile.
Somehow my son, my no longer innocent’s son’s, voice drifted up… “….found these bullets at a place outside Nashville, the guy showed us…they’ll go…..”
Before I could get to him, Sammy got up and walked out. “Later.”
“Yeah, but not much later…..”
My gifts, which were beyond what I could have expected, were lavish. Remembering what I’d taught Coop about giving someone what you’d want them to have, seeing what I got gave me an interesting insight as to how my relationship to my kid had changed. What he gave me were the sort of things adults give each other apart from the ones that were just very adult. Example? A picture book of porn you could NOT have sent through the mail in a plain brown wrapper or, for that, a plain brown UPS truck. A whip with my name embossed on the handle….custom fetish leathers….it not only showed thoughtfulness but how much he loved me, wanted us to be part of each other’s lives.
Somehow I’d forgot to notice him, the man. I was so used to seeing him in his run down clothes-his disguise which coincided where we lived; By then we easily could have moved but Rocco said it was like his clothes, no one would live in a dump like this if they could afford better. And we could afford better even prior to the ten grand which needed an explanation. He was so comfortable in his almost sexy leather jeans, a simple, close fitted T that showed a good body as well as two pointed nipples, simple chain and his signature, the handcuffs on one wrist. This was my son.
His eyes glowing with pleasure, he stripped, got into bed…. “Ya know Dad, I know it’s not night but you sleep now and….I’ve missed sleeping beside you.”
“Thought it was real comfortable in that sleeper with Sammy?”
“Yeah, it is but….well….” He put his head on my bare chest. “Dad, I love you so much. I missed you….thought about you.”
“What about Rocco….?”
“Yeah, Rocco.” He looked right at me. “He hasn’t even fucked me yet….I want that…I love him..” He rolled slightly away from me. “When I met Rocco…that’s when it all came together, just something….you know….I was sitting on a curb, somebody just did me out of ten dollars when Rocco came along…from then…well, I fell in love with him. That’s about it….”
I put my arms around him. “Yeah, that’s about it with anyone when you love them.” I looked into space. “I’m glad for you…I….I really like Rocco, love him a little myself.”
“Good.” He snuggled close to me. I did need to sleep and did.
Somehow we made it work. What I’d hysterically lined out proved to be very easy to do. Cooper is a great guy, except professionally when he was in his gangster mode, trusting, loving….with a lot of men who loved him and whom he loved.
I did find out about the ten grand, had to laugh, then found their plans to move me out and into a new home, new job and a lot more comfort. Cooper, however, stayed on the street, his disguise like his clothes, stayed shabby although the gun he had under his shoulder was not. He and Rocco had less time together than either had thought, business, which they both enjoyed, took a lot of their time. Then there were my days. Having moved, not working nights, and also not living with Cooper, Rocco came to me…often.
Sammy was the one who knew; Sammy was the man who chastised both of us. Never quite got a reading on how he felt about Cooper but his genuine affection for him was irrefutable. Not quite meaning to, he made it easier for Rocco and I to have some time, not much, just as he was all business with Coop, same with me. However…Sammy had the sense, which we did not, to realize that getting everybody separated, in a sense, now and again was an excellent idea. That meant loading him up in the truck for wherever.
There was something else. Maybe you never quite get over your first love, or fuck, but the two men in the truck had an amazing ability to be together. They enjoyed each other and, as will happen when you’re confined, developed their own intimacy that was good for them and fitted the long hours on the road. (Sammy said he’d tried to teach my kid to drive the big Mack Diesel but he didn’t have the real interest for it although he was good enough to finally get his CDL license which meant he could spell Sammy on really long hauls.)
He had also become, occasionally, a full time whore. Devon, from the cocktail lounge, and later upstairs as his tutor in sex, really liked him, said he was a professional quality piece of ass not to mention the body, his personality, his good looks. I found this out when Sammy went out on a run with Cooper but came back without him. Naturally I asked where he might be. Okay, he’s an adult but he’s my kid, even if he is a gun carrying gangster, has a boyfriend…shoots people on occasion, he’s my son-as a father you learn how to overlook things, a profession, which, in others, you would not. Hey, he’s my son. Looked at from a more conventional way, he had a job, a good one, at which he was doing very well….I’m hesitant about saying something referring to chance for advancement….How may Dads can say all that plus have their son give them a substantial part of their…wages? You can’t.
“Listen, Jim, I had nothing to do with this, they set it up and I got snapped.”
“Sammy, you’re a pro, my kid got around you?”
“Yeah, well, now and then we’d go back to the place where I fucked….there. I’d see Steve, he’d see Devon. What I did not know was that Devon had effectively made a sort ad for him, his picture…the suggestion of what he did or would do….I don’t know…said for a lot of money….he’d….” I didn’t need the rest. “When they did some of it, there were pictures of Cooper, Cooper and Devon, professionally photographed….some of it on line….” He paused, wondering how much was too much to tell…. “Jim, don’t ask me to prove it but….Devon really likes your kid.” Fine, well, I really liked his boss so no kick there but one thing…
My voice was flat. “Is he tricking around here?”
“Nope, with Rocco around? Listen, Jim, he likes the sex, he likes getting out of town…..but he really likes Devon.” There was one more thing….maybe. “Could be that Devon likes him more than Cooper understands…..”
“You said that….”
I wrote the rest of the script, suddenly felt sorry for Devon who might be more attracted to his sex buddy than the buddy realized. Somewhere in all this we needed, all of us, to remember Cooper was still young….whatever else he might be or do, I still suffered about what he’d been put through which, doubtless, was what made him an adult too soon-that’s what fathers think…..especially when they’re the person who forced his rapid aging.
I did not know but….it ran through my mind that Rocco might not be as averse to this as I thought. Hard to forget that while he loved Coop, it wasn’t at the level he loved me so…if he wanted to make some cash let him do so-what the two of them did was about making money, that and control. Well, show me a more controlling element than sex if you’re the one controlling where it’s going. He’d set up getting him screwed the first time so he couldn’t really object to his taking what he’d learned to a higher level. Who knew? It wasn’t something I planned to bring up the next time he and I were cuddling with an idea to whatever we had an idea to do….
“Then this with Devon and the pictures….”
“When we’d go out on a run, he’d only go as far as the airport, catch a flight to wherever. He and Devon only took big clients” He looked at me to make sure I understood that ‘big’ was spelled in all caps. “ always at resorts, places like that…when you import your boys for sex for however long, it ain’t cheap. One time, I think they went to Jamaica, each of them came home with a clear ten grand plus some gifts, tips-that’s when he told me some of the resorts had him on file to call if a guest, well, you know, wanted companionship.….also had a good time, cost them nothing.”
He seemed to want to say something a little more.
“So?”
“I sometimes wonder about….whether the two of them….I mean…I knew they fucked, hell Coop and I fuck, damn that man loves the sleeper….”
“Get back to Devon….”
“They’re young. Jim, look at what your kid does pretty much every day, he’s, well, he’s…”
“He’s a full fledged, gun carrying gangster who’s lover is another gangster, arranged for him to come out….He and Devon, forget what they’re doing, this is like Spring break, guys going to the beach….”
“Show me a guy from Tufts or Harvard or wherever that goes to the beach and comes back with ten grand, flies First class….”
Sammy just hung his head.
“Ah, fuck, forget it, I’m just being a Dad…..”
I remembered seeing that Cooper had a passport, just assumed it was excellent ID, better than a driver’s license or your J.C. Penney credit card. Might be interesting to see which places had stamped it when he went through passport control….
Weirder was that….Devon had come to visit us when we still lived on poverty row. Met Rocco, the people on the street (Cooper said it was a riot taking him to Goodwill, turning him into a poor man….looking for his next meal.)….clearly he knew what Cooper did, when they weren’t screwing for fun and profit, and equally clearly they were fucking each other plus….whatever else. In my mind I wondered….would he have taken Devon to see Rocco’s place, the one with the metal cross? Never know. I’d liked Devon, which probably was the reason he’d visited. No matter how adult as well as accomplished he got, he would always be my son, sometimes wanting Dad’s approval. It was like bringing home the new kid who just moved down the block…although, even though I liked him, Devon struck me as…something more than a nice guy whom Cooper met working in a bar. That I never figured it out, then, is due only to my not bothering to think it through. Way back when I was fresh out of jail with the memories of what I’d learned and knew, then I could have spotted him for the hooker he was…which didn’t stop him from being a really nice guy. As well as a top quality, expensive fuck.
I was in town temporarily; Phil who’d given me my first job, had hired me to work on their taxes. He’d made a really generous offer-based on the fact I’d worked there, would know their systems, could do it more easily than hiring someone who would have to start from the bottom up. He’d also offered to put me up in one of the properties but the chance to be with my kid….he understood; Phil had met him, liked him and, I found, had been told about the ‘job offer’ involving my leaving him in the lobby then collecting him on Sunday. If he knew the fate of the person who’d made that suggestion, we didn’t talk about it….sometimes you do want to know ‘the rest of the story’ but here was one…nope.
Cooper made an effort to be home nights, spend time with me….now that we both knew what the other did there were no concern, we enjoyed sleeping together, no clothes, as before but now we were both queer adults. Makes a difference. Almost like guys in a fraternity, yeah, we jerked each other off, kidded about ‘equipment’, watched games we enjoyed, as close to father and son as we’d been in years. Having a beer with your kid while he curls up on the floor in an old jock, athletic socks, cheering on a team….such a rare experience it was almost surreal.
While it was great being with him, even staying there wasn’t all that good. He kept it clean but there was only so much you could do. Neither of us had ever been into decorating so the way we found it was pretty much as it was…with the exception of a new mattress. Loved being with him, hated where he continued to live; Business before pleasure…. And, I knew both from Rocco as well as Coop, business was good and improving.
Maybe it was just the night, it was hot, our window air conditioner wasn’t the best, kept him up. Being back I remembered how noisy it was, or seemed so to me. Street noises formerly just accepted, now were overwhelmingly loud.
But there are some noises you never forget and know immediately what they are.
Cooper got up, said he was going for a glass of water, was in the kitchen at the window when I heard the gun shots. Before I could even get out of bed, I heard Cooper screaming, hauling ass out the door, down the stairs still stark naked. I lay there grateful I knew where my son was so he wasn’t involved.
But he was.
Not too many minutes later he appeared covered with blood and hysterical. Out of bed, grabbed him….he looked at me, hollow eyed, couldn’t speak, holding things in his hands, dropped them. A gun, one I knew…..
“Rocco….shot…street….”
I didn’t need to ask if he was dead, I was sure he was; This was a kick in both our balls, a big one, but I had to be Dad, knew with his history it wasn’t long until the cops would be knocking.
Hustled him into the shower, scrubbed him hard; I found he’d laid on top of him, trying to make him breath so his whole torso was bloodied.
Whatever the reality, we needed another reality, one that looked real but wasn’t. Time, very much on my mind, how long until they came to the door….also we didn’t need to be naked however normal that might have been. Too, I was in my own form of shock, I loved Rocco deeply, maybe profoundly….was just lucky, if that word can even be used in our situation, he was too distraught to notice that I, too, was having trouble holding it together.
I found a couple of t shirts, amazingly, since we didn’t wear them anymore, some rumpled boxers, got us into those, steered him to bed, turned out all the lights, turned up the AC if only to provide noise. I finally remembered so took all the things he’d been holding, the gun, money, billfold, put it in a paper grocery bag and, don’t ask me why, first put it in the freezer part of the fridge but then, just as stupid, shoved it under the bed with a shoe on it. Still shaking, I found my way to Cooper, held him, pulled a sheet over us then lay there, waiting, listening, waiting, knowing what the sound of unfamiliar shoes on our staircase would sound like. Waiting. Ocean combers of shock came at me, crested, seemed to have an image of Rocco in the foam, crashed, disappeared. Waiting for the next noise…
It was a relief to hear the rattle of the outdoor downstairs doorknob as it was turned. Time now would go forward, the surf pulled back taking Rocco out to sea, I hugged Cooper, held him….waited.
They took longer than I’d thought to knock on our door, probably saw the blood on the staircase. Twice, in the dark, I’d gone into the kitchen to see whatever was going on out there. CSI, cops, the body was gone…you could see they were looking for casings, anything they could. Fear hit me…Cooper had blood on his feet….they would be followed to our door…it was just a matter of how soon.
The cop knock, it’s own sound. I answered, hopefully defused their visit by immediately admitting that my son had seen the body fall, just not shot, he was a close friend of ours , had gone down to help him….the bloody foot prints were his. Whether they bought it? who they were interested in was Cooper. I was on a deranged autopilot. Of course they knew Rocco and my kid were in business together. Blood or no, they’d have come for him just to see what he knew. It’s the dichotomy of police work; Like now, you may hate what the person does but….he’s lost a partner, a friend, you treat them with some sort of ersatz respect…just now you need something from them and knocking them around won’t get it. Also….looking at Cooper, still almost a kid…hard to believe what you knew; He was in with the gangsters, worked the streets and….well, there were kinds of his personal work about which they knew….nothing.
He sagged into the room, loosely dressed, his street clothes….if I could help. They thanked me, my son went with them and I went back to bed….just to lay there wondering what came next? At least he hadn’t been arrested but then, there was no reason to suspect him. Jail time came back to me, stories, hell, if they wanted to hold him, they would. Those footprints could walk him right into a cell….for a while. That ‘while’ be until they were convinced he could tell them nothing…and how long might that be?
Morning. The cops came back, asked if they could come in, sure, we all sat at the table-I cautioned them to sit lightly on the chairs…. Their questions were related to Rocco, how well I’d known him, when I’d last seen him, our relationship, about my son, what had I seen, heard….it was standard, but I did try and help, I wanted to, this was about the man I loved….maybe they got that. The up side was that I had a real job-told them they could call Phil. One thing I knew was to volunteer nothing that went beyond what a journalism student would ask or a cop could legally ask….. No ‘Miranda Rights’, they left. Whatever they thought, my only connection was providing the place where my son lived.
A few hours later they brought Cooper home; He fell into my arms, cried, almost passed out, put him in the shower again…..hit him with a cold blast. It calmed him. Standing there, water running off him, he reached out to me, I moved to him, held him, put his head on my shoulder then let him cry…for both of us.
Rocco had no family so some of his ‘clients’, plus Cooper and me, paid for arrangements-a memorial service at the undertaker’s chapel (virtually the only people there were the cops to see who might attend)-before the cremation. It was the last heart slashing thing I had to do, tell the mortuary people to hold the ashes, there was no place to bury him….
My gangster son played it perfectly. His father….less so. He actually thanked the officers, told them, well, they knew, he worked with Rocco. He was hard, cold, almost a movie version of a grieving criminal forced to work with authority; I could see their respect for him….just then, it was mutual. They also knew, for now, he was their ally, what he found out….he’d see they knew.
There were two problems, the first one…..no. The other one was to get him moved, if only for a while, to my house, away from whatever. Reluctantly, he did but, after a couple of days, went back into the city, made the rounds, the collections, saw whomever he needed to see but, even after the first trip, brought home a bank bag with a lot of money. I looked at him, must have registered…something. He looked back.
“My cut.”
Okay, no questions asked. His Cut. Didn’t bother to ask me, put most of it in a bank account, something respectability, plus having income, allowed me to have. No refusing it, couldn’t. Did he tweak that Rocco and I…..was his giving me money the same as paying the partner of his deceased lover? We never discussed it, I never wondered.
The second problem; Right after I got out of jail, left Perez, I needed to fuck…bad. My kid, although he might have, wasn’t an answer I could swallow. Incest wasn’t the issue, the problem revolved around the idea that once we’d had each other, no more father/son. No more sleeping naked-although we would but….nakedness then would be like the ‘open invitation’ those really close to each other extend and mean….whenever you want….just go for it, Yeah, that’ll feel good, fuck me.
The mail almost brought an answer. Plain envelope, addressed to me, no return, just a few words:
“Heard about it, real sorry, think of you….miss you. P.”
Perez. Had to be. Sat there, my face in my hand crying, remembering…I missed him, too. It would have been possible, I suppose, to find him. Apparently he, also, had decided moving away was a good idea, the franking over the stamp said, “San Francisco”. I kinda laughed as I thought of something, a saying but twisted. “That cell door is closed forever.” Threw it out.
A few days later, Saturday, Cooper was with me, puttering, nervous, jumpy…we both were. I wondered if he needed….if he needed to be fucked like his old man did.
He passed through the room, out the door into the garage then a scream. His voice. I got him just before he could pound his cock with a hammer again. Right there, keys in car, dragged him, ER, consultation, name of Urologist….ask, and got, psych hold for 72 hours. Home.
Sammy happened to pull in, parked his tractor out front. The open doors, no one home had worried him so he stuck his gun in his cargo pocket then pretended to be the owner sitting in his garage watching the neighborhood; He did a fine job, I almost believed him but the tractor blew it.
I was beyond logical or sanity. What I said to him? Later he told me that it made no sense, all he could get was that his favorite rider was in hospital with a wrecked dick….Later I told him the longer version which….still made no sense to either of us. And in all that, I had something to ask him. His only answer was…
‘…you want it inside or maybe try the sleeper in my rig? Jim, I’ve wanted you for a long time so while I’m sorry as fuck about Coop, you are clearly a man who needs the whole treatment, hard, long, twice, rest and then take it again.” I walked toward the driver’s door, got it open, hauled myself up, stripped, pushed back the curtain, lay out face down waiting for him to grease me, if he felt like it, or just ram his cock up my ass…
We spent the first part of the night in the sleeper; Cooper had been right, it was great back there, private but, also like he said, Sammy had some really fine porn…we tried to keep up with the guys on the screen but….got lost in our own physical environment, real, not over in eighteen minutes. When we stopped, we were not finished, I didn’t even bother to put on some shorts, my home, my driveway, my bare ass. Only stop we made was the kitchen to grab some beer then to the bed.
It had been too soon to start up so….he put me over his lap telling me that bad boys needed to be spanked….He had a way of…when his hand came down, his middle finger was turned under, down so it went up my tail, not as far as a cock but far enough to combine the real pain he was delivering with the pleasures his finger was promising.
“Okay, now I want it, get us both red assed….”
Later when there really was nothing left in us to do anything we lay there, soft cocks in mouths, tongues almost too exhausted to lick, just try and find a home by sticking into the piss opening. Son of a bitch, we went to sleep like that.
I’d got my fuck….didn’t think of Rocco once.
The next day was medical time, met with the Urologist who, mercifully, did not ask too many questions about why but said, maybe, Cooper had badly injured his erectile muscles and tissue; Only my getting to him when I did saved him from having to have his penis amputated. Some blood flow was going but….that medical ‘but’….only time would tell how much recovery he’d have. Suggested when I got home, give his office a call for, say, six, eight weeks from now, make an appointment. This next I knew was coming….told me my son needed some therapy…if I’d like a reference….I took it mainly to satisfy him. I knew why he’d done it, if he’d told me, I’d have joined him, beat the shit out of both our cocks, some things to put in the ashes with Rocco….
He tried to be upbeat, dealing with a young man, telling him that….his penis had been badly damaged maybe, he couldn’t say, but perhaps….he might be able to get some form of erection. Cooper just nodded; He was sitting on the examining table, his naked organ in the hand of the doctor who had just delivered a verdict few men could stand to hear; Cooper just looked at him.
“What about all that shit medicine you see advertised, get you up, keep you up…? Any of that worth trying?”
I liked this guy, he laughed. “Yeah, it is shit medicine. What I can give you, any doctor can give you will…..help. What most men do not realize is that a good part of an erection comes from imagination, what you think about….That’s what produces those spontaneous erections sometimes….we just think about something sexual and the penis, like a well trained bird dog, picks up the scent and follows it.” He paused, needed to qualify what he’d said. “Sir, your problem is going to be that you’re still going to get horny, if you’ll excuse the expression, but can’t quite get horned up….remember I said time may help, maybe you’ll regain more than I think but….I’m not going to lie to you, it’s a seriously bad injury.”
Cooper swallowed.
“Anything….medical beside those pills on television?”
I watched this good man, trying to offer something but determined to keep too much hope our of it…..
“There’s a medicine, not widely prescribed simply because most men have trouble using it, can cause damage just in the application….”. He paused, I could tell he was assessing as to whether to go on.
“It’s called Alprostadil, it’s a cousin to all the ED pills you hear about but this is delivered in two ways, as a spansule, introduced through the piss slit then allowed to go down the urethra….or by injection-it has the same ingredients as they do but in a much more condensed form, delivered right where it’s needed, not after a trip through your digestive system…. That’s the best way but most guys…” He tried to suppress a laugh… “most guys see that needle headed into their meat and….just can’t do it. Kind of a shame ‘cuz it really works. You know those ads that say if you’re still erect after two or three hours, go to the ER? Well, if you injected yourself with this, at two or three hours, you’ll still be hard. How long it takes to wear off…..depends.”
Cooper was immediately interested-actually, so was I (instant hard on? Who wouldn’t be?), both of us for similar reasons.
“Uh, is it possible to, uh…..”
“Give you a demonstration? Young man I can do it, just not all the way but you’d get the idea.”
“Please, doctor….show me.”
I overcame my embarrassment…. “Uh, me too?”
He looked at me, laughed, “Sure, you too.” I liked him even more. “Get naked from the waist down.”
We looked at each other. Certainly we were used to being without anything on but, somehow, being in a doctor’s office, waiting for….something to be stuck in our dicks to see how hard they’d get….not your typical, or even atypical, father/son experience.
For a lot of reasons, we didn’t have anything to say but almost jumped up when he accidentally knocked a covered metal tray he was carrying against the door. It occurred to me that…this wasn’t the normal, if there was such a thing, father/son experience Urologists treated. It was one thing for a dad to take his very young son for a sort of tutorial about his cock and balls but….taking your son, and yourself, to get shot up to get a stiffy…..different.
“Okay….who’s up first? Dad? Always show the kid there’s nothing to worry about.” From the pan he took a short needled syringe that didn’t appear to have much in it….
He looked me right in the face, probably gauging how likely it was I’d jump, jerk, draw back….as he’d mentioned, there are a lot of people to whom even a sewing needle was terror inducing; I wasn’t, knew my son as well, were not in that group; He didn’t know but was about to find out.
The usual alcohol swab about half way up my penis, followed by a quick, almost painless stick. Needle didn’t go in very far and was withdrawn while I was still contemplating it going in.
“Okay, Son, your turn. I’m giving you a bit more as you have a known erectile problem so….we’ll see if this helps.” As with me, in out, done. Two men sat there with their cocks hanging down while a man in a white coat repeated the alcohol wipe where the needle had gone in.
“Okay, guys, here’s the boring part….maybe.”
He reached in a desk drawer, pulled out some magazines, handed them to us….porn, heterosexual porn. I appreciated his effort but…..this wasn’t what would work.
My son issued a simple declarative sentence. “Doctor, I’m gay…..so’s my Dad….just so you won’t wonder or worry, fucking each other? Uh Uh.”
He almost mumbled…“I wish more men were honest.” He took away his first offering, put them away then pulled out another bundle. “These don’t do it….I don’t know what you are but ‘gay’ isn’t one of them. Enjoy. I’ll give you some privacy, check back to see, uh, what comes up…” He was laughing as he left the room, closing the door. Came back in.
“Guys, when you begin to feel….well, help it along with a little hand action.” Winked a friendly guy to guy wink then left us to whatever was going to happen.
Something was happening; We both had hot thoughts, just not the same ones. The clock on the wall told me that about ten, fifteen minutes after we got stuck, I was definitely hardening up. It was rising, not as hard as usual but then….I’d done nothing and, bingo, hard on. I looked at Cooper who also was having some sort of effect, maybe not like mine but definitely getting a chub.
He looked at me, smiled, “He, Dad, it works…..” And, hot damn, it did. We were both clearly getting stiff, without a touch our dicks were climbing up, looking around. Not fully hard, not that oh so satisfying cement feeling but definitely more than a morning woody, you knew this wasn’t going to fade when your eyes were completely open.
We almost mugged him when he returned. Gotta say it, as he looked down at a pair of cantilevered hunks of flesh, he grinned. “Well, so….I guess we can say it was a success.” He examined Cooper, checked for not just length or girth but internal firmness, listened to hear blood pulsing….smiled at him. “You know….this is how you’ll probably get the sort of erection that produces great sex, if you’ll forgive my saying so. As you’r-e both homosexuals, that means anal intercourse which takes a harder penis, one that won’t give in…I think you can see that won’t happen…. Now for the lecture on how and where and when…..”
Before we left he required that we both demonstrate we knew how to load, how much then where to inject-this done with empty syringes; We were already hard enough for one day. If you’ve never stuck yourself in your dick, it’s a new experience but given the results, who gave a fuck? Also, and this was damn fine of him, he gave Cooper a small vial of topical anesthetic explaining that deadening his cock head would on occasion make his medically induced erection easier to use; The tissue there was, intentionally, softer, more easily torn but deadened, you didn’t sense you should withdraw before you normally would. Shook our hands, said he’d be interested to hear how ‘things’ went in a few weeks then showed us out.
I looked at Coop as we drove home, even behind his sun glasses, there were tears, a few, whether for his new prowess or Rocco….? Reached over, punched his bicep with my fist which made him look at me and smile. Scooping my pants crotch up, you could still see either I was hung like a field animal or the hard on hadn’t collapsed. His smile broadened as he did the same thing. Yep, two orders of tough man meat to go….
No way of having something like this and not test flying it….It was therefore lucky, though maybe not for Sammy, that he showed up about the time that curiosity was about to drive us to try it again….all we could do was jerk them then see how many times they could be edged….but… Up the driveway, smiling, waving, almost dragged into the house, splayed across the kitchen table his pants pulled down. While we did that, we gave him a running commentary on what we’d learned; He was to be our test subject.
Neither of us had trouble loading the needle or popping it into our just recently deflated dicks-we stood in front of him so he could see this. Remember the bit about men who are needle shy? That’s Sammy. Of course, you don’t know that as you’re upending the glass vial, sticking in the syringe just far enough to be able to draw out….that’s when you notice that your test subject has passed out. Just as well, if one needle did that, the second might have pushed him in to cardiac arrest.
(While he was out Cooper, rather sadistically, suggested his pants were already off, easy enough to roll him shoot him up let him discover the wonders of science…just forget to tell him why he was suddenly harder than a stick shift on a car….)
We finished stripping our soon to be well fucked friend, tossed some cold water on him which brought him around. Stood in front of him so he could see the twin bridges being raised, greased then, after a walk around the table, first me, then Cooper fucked him. Never tried it but, somehow, we got both poles up him and while we’re doing him he’s….looking odd, trying to reach under himself, feel something, something getting stiff. Okay, turn about…so we rolled him over, by then he was mucho hard and straight up. Clearly needed some servicing so….using the copious cum he was drooling, oiled up my crack and…sat down on his ready to roll dick, got real comfortable. Up and down….while a puzzled Sammy, but oh so happy man, pinched his tits, yelled with pleasure and found, yep, he did have another load that could be edged out of him when my hard dicked son took my place and rode our trucker buddy like the stallion he was.
Not for nothing had Sammy made his living sitting on his ass, took it all then demanded a trade; Fair enough. He damn near dragged my kid out the door then into his sleeper-fortunately by then it was dark and he’d pulled up on the driveway. Ours wasn’t the sort of neighborhood where the occasional naked man would cause a sensation so….Not wanting to interfere too much with their privacy, but thinking this might be a good moment for some ‘casual’ family photos, I waited until they could get established then crawled up-using the passenger side from which I could get a better angle. Jointly our favorite was one of his ramming his lumber into a nicely widened ass while simultaneous giving the photographer, who was next up to get fucked, the finger.
Would have worked if Sammy hadn’t needed a breathing spell not to mention wonder when his long meaty best friend would…go back to hanging down. Did we laugh? Was that unkind? Sure, and we did. Telling him what was, uh, up was interesting especially the part about how he’d been given a shot….for once, didn’t even notice the needle. While I’m not sure we converted his fear to a modest acceptance, he did allow as how carrying a syringe full of cement making liquid wouldn’t be all bad. As he said, “Fuck, as much time as Peter Pecker has spent behind the wheel, no reason when it was upright, why it couldn’t steer….?
The two of them spent the night in his sleeper. What Cooper needed, whether he realized it or not, was the assurance of another man, one he would believe, that however they salted the mine, it could still produce milky gold….This was not a moment for a dad, I’d done my bit….was grateful to Sammy but this was going to give a lot of Cooper back to Cooper. Only another man could reassure him that he was virile, desirable, a stud. Through the night I thought I heard noises, sometimes loud, sometimes, well, as if someone was getting spanked….nah, probably just a family of owls fighting over a freshly killed mouse. Can you smile in your sleep? I believe I did.
Fine…to an extent. After a couple of ‘business calls’ down town, he got whoever now worked for him to make the pickups and deliveries while he was out of town. I’m guessing here but the street might just as well have Rocco painted on it. The people who talked about him, good or bad, just the spirit of the man. And, of course, he’d kept the dump from which he could see the place on the street where he lay on top of Rocco….it was time to get away.
My old post prison problem was again upon me; I needed sex, fucking, being sucked off, spanked, whatever….but now rather than later. When it’s your son, they know things…said one day he’d be late for dinner, had a call on the far side of town. (We were almost domestic, well, in one sense.) He was right, he was late, far later than usual and, something strange for me, I was concerned. That he could and would take care of himself I knew but, he was now established-odd to write this about your son whom you love-as a gangster, carried a gun and even if he still dressed just one rung above a bum, it did not alter what he was. By eleven I’d talked myself into believing he’d been jumped which meant the next thing to my front door wouldn’t be the plop of the morning newspaper but the official knock of two officers coming to give me news I would fucking hate….
How far can your shoulders sag in relief? If he dressed looking like Goodwill could help him, he drove something discreet, expensive, black, bullet proof glass….and a very familiar emblem on the front. When he bought it, he’d heard the story, he said it was go give that bitch of a mother and wife something she never got: A Benz. How many bells and whistles, generally directed at making the driver comfortable can one car have? This one had ‘em. He said we should have a mating pair, he’d get one for me, leave in the garage and see if they could come up with a VW but….that was a memory, a scab that did not need to be pulled off; I settled for something domestic, a Ford SUV. And, yeah, he paid for it.
He paid for everything for me. Nothing was enough. For the rest of his life I am sure he would try and compensate for those three years in jail. No point in telling him to stop as he had memories himself….the one we both had but did not speak of, me, straddled, cuffed to a table, barely able to raise my head….if there is one thing in my life on which the word ‘indelible’ is etched, it’s that memory….and waiting for the imaginary pirate to come along, strip off my shirt then leave scars where I was whipped while my son watched, helpless to do anything. Until now when he could and would and did do ….everything.
I had grown afraid to look at the clock; It was simply…dark. Laying there thinking about my son, how I loved him….until I heard the garage door go up, the discreet thrum of a Benz engine pull in, doors open….I lay there, didn’t care what else, he was home. Voices, happy, masculine voices, the sort you hear outside the stadium after your team has won but then….silence. No door opened, no foot fall, just….silence.
He lay down beside me, turned me to him…that great behind-the bar-smile: Devon. “Ya know, your kid is very persuasive…said he thought you needed your ass over hauled….and you know what we say, your kid and me, at that point You Go To Professionals….How the fuck are you Jim, been a while?”
He was on top of me, holding my head, kissing my face, one hand working its way to lower basin street while the other squeezed a nipple. “You wanna be tied down….for the first time? Name it and claim it….I can do it all and there’s nobody to whom I’d rather do it than….this wonderful man.” He paused, thought about something. “Cooper said he wanted me to have more stamina so, on the way over, we paused for the fuck that refreshes. Damn, that’s some jalopy….How hot is it?”
I tried to mumble a word in answer to his question, “Not…” but he was at my neck, licking, kissing, working his way up to my face where he again held my head between both hands. “Something I always like about you…..treated me like a dad but fucked me like a whore….I like that combination.” He loosed one hand, moved it down, diddled with my cock and balls then moved on around. No pause, just started a large finger up my ass while he kissed me, got that tongue full in….. sort of an odd ball cockless ‘deep throat.
My ass was responding to his playing with it. “Want it? Hmmm? Want my hard meat stuck up there? Tell me Daddy Jim, I’m as naughty a boy as you’re gonna get so just tell me….”
“I want to be fucked, oh holy shit, Devon, I need to be fucked so bad….please, please, please….” I was tearing up.
He rolled me on my side, held me in his arms, softly kissed me. Pulled back, even in what little light there was I could see his smile. “Jim….I came for you….Cooper didn’t pay for this, I did, cuz I wanted my Daddy man….I wanna fuck him and just leave my pole in there till my jizz comes up and paints your ass. Your gonna like that cuz….Jim, I guess Cooper never told you but…..somewhere back there, the first time we made it….I knew something…not just Daddy cock, sorry, no role playing here, I want you….tonight, tomorrow morning, fuck breakfast, in the shower, on the floor, just like I want you to take me….no holds barred. Beat me, tie me up, piss on me….cuz I want you….” He was quiet; I tried to sort out just what he was saying.
Devon was a first class, premium quality he whore who could and did command enormous fees for his oh so good services. I knew because my son occasionally went with him-they thought it hilarious to pretend to be two innocent brothers who’d answered an add. Yeah, sure. They didn’t believe it, their johns didn’t believe it but the scenario was well thought out, well played and very well paid.
First time Cooper came home he casually dropped five grand on the table, told me to go out and get something I’d like. What I’d liked was…Rocco….we found a really good hotel some ways from the city where we raised sexual hell for two days. Well, he told me to get something I liked. Funny thing, kinda like Devon and Coop as brothers, Rocco and I passed ourselves off as father and son….it was a riot watching him pretend to be a dutiful son, even dressed like a old-ish 20, blue jeans, T shirts, sneakers….Must have worked several of the people at the facility complemented me on how well behaved my son was, they wished their kid was that polite. Shame they couldn’t see that ‘well behaved son’ stark naked, sticking a dildo up his ass, a sound down his cock while tying up his ‘Dad’ in a spread eagle in preparation for an “Icy Hot” rub on his cock and balls followed by a whipping that drew blood…..that well behaved son. Wouldn’t have had him any other way.
In the dark, Devon took off his clothes, his magnificent body, lay back down by me. He put one hand on my head, rumpled my hair, looked at me. “Jim, I’m your man….now, I’m hoping for a long time.”
It was very quiet while I thought that through. Yeah, he could be mine, he really could.
“Cooper?”
“He paid off my boss so I was free to come here. See, like I said, from the first time….I wanted you and not just for a fuck, I wanted you….period. I’m gonna live here, be your man, love you, see you eat properly…brush your teeth after meals…sleep right beside you….”
I tried to pull logic out of….somewhere. “Devon, you have a very successful career….”
“You mean being in the rent a body business? I certainly do and I’m going to continue but….when the jobs are done I’m going to come home to a man, a house, a bed, a kitchen that I love. Particularly the man. Think of me as your traveling salesman….your other not quite son. Okay with Coop, he said he’s always wanted an older, dirty minded brother who doesn’t give a shit about shooting hoops….”
Damn he had a great smile.
“Now shut up, I want to fuck you and I bet you want to get fucked…..”
He was right.
The last thing I remember before Devon gently pushed into me was the sound of a Benz engine turning on then fading as the car it was in went away.
Couple of days later my boys, well, Devon and Cooper, had a job which left me alone. This time, however, I wasn’t horny, just sore from Devon’s many, many times fucking me but not horny, fucking A, Not At All Horny He’s right, when you can use a professional and now two of them are my sort of sons. They way my ass felt, hell, all of me felt, mowing the lawn was more interesting than sex. Until, of course, Devon came home. And who was sleeping in my bed? Well, both of them. I guess they’d worked that out before Devon arrived; Cooper spent more time at his place so the few times he was at my house, no problem, one guy on either side of me. If Devon and I were….doing something, Coop just rolled away, sometimes, depending on the activity, he’d stroll into the guest room, stay there until fun and games were over then come back. Watching the two of them take each other….you knew why they were professionals. I could watch my sons take it in the ass, do any thing sexual, and admire the skill and artistry they displayed. But in the end, my man would roll back to me, kiss me, tell me he loved me then sleep with one hand on my chest.
Devon was how I was able to put memories of Rocco where they should be, in the past. It was also my man who suggested we build a sort of garden seat with the man we both loved buried right here, near us. Devon did it and….it was appropriate to him. Somehow they got me out of the house when they brought his ashes to be put in my garden. Finally with Cooper and Devon with me, I said whatever I’d never got to say to him then went back inside leaving the sun outside covering all that needed to be shone upon.
That trick with stiffening up a cock, I guess it was a big hit…wherever it was used…only, Dev told me, nobody knew about the needle. He’d bet five, six guys he could screw them into the floor, no time limit except the one until they gave up. The only thing that made me gulp was when there was a picture of his hard dick in some porn magazine over the caption, “The Hardest Gun in the West”. His face was slightly blurred but…I’m his father, I knew who it was. There was another ‘informal’ picture with an article about ‘porn stars’ who are also lovers. In this one, Cooper was astride Devon, who was wearing some reading glasses, holding a copy of (no surprise) the magazine in which this was published while on the bottom, Devon was splayed out, cross-eyed giving the clear impression that the expression ‘royally fucked’ was understatement. That’s the one they had blown up-unfortunate turn of phrase-framed and hung in my bed room. Along with a smaller one of just their two stiff cocks touching heads….The only person who ever saw these works of ‘art’ was Sammy who immediately wanted smaller copies to put in his tractor; He got them.
Cooper, I guess, it’s what he told me later, got the call that set him back. Why he didn’t tell me, no idea, maybe he was too stunned.
Anyway, that day when I got home, walked in the back door, as usual, pulling off my tie there sat a person I hadn’t seen in…..years. It was a man, now, but growing up had made no difference; It was the kid who had accused me of seducing him. They sat there, the two of them, both expressionless but I could see my beloved son was so near the edge…so near.
Because it was habit I reached for him, kissed him-he grasped at me, held me close, while I whispered in his ear to just stay with this…person. Keep him there, I wanted to shower, change and then we, my son and I, would do something.
Jail again, another lesson; It was as if Perez had a hand on my shoulder saying, “Oh buddy, have you got this one, he’s all yours, just keep your cool…..keep your…keep”
Fast shower, well dried, needed to be. My full set of fetish leathers over nothing except a jock, the sort that damn near throws your junk through the front of the pants. The custom Wesco Boots, gun, shades, time to go meet our…..well, guest doesn’t quiet catch it. The former kid now sitting next to my son in our kitchen in our home in our part of town….the part where the neighbors, if they’d known, would have made a point to close their blinds then put on something loud not to mention leaving a gas powered lawn mower, running, on top of a cement driveway. The opposite of nosy neighbors but the epitome of true friends.
Even before I returned it was possible to see that Cooper had sweat through his shirt, probably all his clothes. Rigid, his back did not touch the chair, his head looked forward, his feet were flat on the floor; He was a bronze casting painted in flesh tones.
I put my hand on his shoulder, drew him up, took him in my arms, held him, kissed him, told him to get clean….then get what he owned that matched me. He left the room, calmer, his father, his beloved father would handle this all he had to do now was follow instructions. One thing….before he left us, he quietly unhooked the handcuffs he’d compulsively worn for years to remember a time, a trial, a lying, motherfucking, pink shitting son of a bitch who came within a trice of wrecking all our lives. While we were holding one another, he slipped them into my hand, said nothing, I knew.
He stood up, stuck out his hand, tried to speak. For that, he was slapped hard…with a hand that held about a pound of handcuffs. From the floor, this jerk doesn’t learn, he still put out his hand.
“Get up, sit down, hands behind the chair.”
That was the moment, the last moment he had to get out, leave, make some sort of cowardly departure but….he hadn’t learned. As I circled the chair, caught his wrists I thought, “Damn, this putz needed about three years in jail to learn a few things….might have saved him now if only he would have known…The Dumbest Thing He Could Do Was Look Me Up…….
I remembered something, being in a visitors room in jail, I’m stretched out, cuffed to the table so I cannot touch my son. What I want is….for a pirate to come along, rip off my shirt and whip me until I bled….that’s what I thought of but now I was the pirate and it was absolutely possible to splay his arms out on something then whip the shit out of him. But I didn’t. When my wonderful took off the handcuffs, handed them to me, it was the change, it meant, Dad here’s the past, now I’ll take care of the future…..
At least he learned one thing, he shut up.
Twenty minutes later, Cooper came back leathered up, like his dad, only difference, I had the gun, he had the whip. We stood in front of our visitor, let his look, wonder. He was still a cowardly little boy running away holding a Polaroid picture of my cock. He was afraid…now when he should have been afraid….then. He looked up at us….
“Please….don’t hurt me.”
I almost laughed, even a ‘B’ movie could have thought of a better line.
We didn’t bother to answer.
What we did do was yank him up then pull him with us to a room, sometimes used for guests, sometimes used for guests who wanted to play. Plain walls, floors that could be washed, no windows, a floor to ceiling post….some would see it as a whipping post, sometimes it was just not today.
We switched his cuffs so that he was hanging from them on our post. Taking turns, we stripped off his clothes, gagged him then stopped. Behind him Cooper got out his medical friend, filled it, stuck it in his cock, another one of anesthetic in his dick head. Took a while for his nicely shaped dick, just the right slight curve for fucking, to grow, harden, be ready.
He’d removed all his leathers. “Dad, get some cuffs, behind me, I don’t need my hands…..” I did, he turned his head, put his lips on mine, kissed me….
“Okay, help me line up, I’m ready.:” And he was.
My son is strong, well conditioned so when he stuck his seemingly frozen meat in, started the tough, emotionless hard fuck, I knew the end but was just curious to see it.
All his anger, tears, fury, heartache were now stuck deep in the man who caused it; this was a lesson he was going to teach whether it was learned or not…?
An hour later blood was flowing from his ass, down his legs, out onto the metronomic log that continued the debasing fucking. He felt nothing only that he could go on, no sperm left, that went….long ago, just the lead pipe which was anchored in the flesh of a man, inoutinoutinoutinout….
I could see his target wrench his head, try and move away, but, of course, that wasn’t possible. Early on I realized there was some danger, rather like a fighting cock with spikes on the back of his legs, the man being drilled could kick so….spreader bar which, from either end, was winched in until it was…six inches? From the post? NOT GOING ANYWHERE.
Somewhere along the non-stop fucking, he collapsed which ended his riding the Hardest Cock In The West. I could tell my son was tired but my concern was…for his penis…all that had to have damaged it but, we both knew, didn’t matter.
Leaving it to hang, I almost carried my boy to the bathroom, got him clean, did find some tears but, I hoped, nothing serious. Got in the shower with him, still held him, noticed he was still hard….cleaned him then carried him to our bed. As I laid him down he looked at me, smiled…..
“Dad, there’s you ‘Not Guilty’ Verdict.” I smiled back. He stretched, like a cat can do so well….”Think we should call the dick doc and tell him just how well it works?” We laughed.
“Whattya want to do about him?”
His smile disappeared. “Hand me a phone, I’ll fix it, you go clean him up, get my cuffs back, just hog tie him….put him and his shit in the garage….”
Which is what I did. No point in asking how he’d ‘take care of it’, maybe I didn’t want to know. He was still alternately moaning, sobbing, generally making the sounds of a child, well punished, who doesn’t believe they deserve it.
He, too, was run through the shower….I noticed that most of the bleeding had stopped, got out the para-cord, just as instructed, pushed him down on the floor of our bathroom, roped him into a fine hog tie then picked him up, put him where Coop said to, got his shreds, left them with him, closed the door assuming someone would come to pick up the trash.
Back to my son.
He was still hard but was enjoying playing with it…. “Dad, I love you.” We looked in each others eyes….some truths are just obvious as was this one. I slid in beside him, “Ya know son, I love you too.”
Whatever it had been was now concluded. He never wore the cuffs again, smiled more, stayed with me more….and my other sorta son, Devon, Yep, they still went out on business, Coop still went downtown, shabbily dressed to live, now and then, in a shabby apartment, still was a gangster, still kept peace on his streets, still kept the cops one jump ahead of something that he knew shouldn’t happen….
One last thing. Knock at the front door-a rarity at my home-opened it, there stood Sammy holding his cap. “Jim? Can I….?”
“What are you doing? Front door, where’s the tractor…what’s….”
“Jim….” He smiled. “If I know you, and I do, you need a trucker’s fucking right about now….”
I smiled back. “C’mon back…want some toys or just straight sex?”
“Well, are you a toy or just straight sex?”
I smiled….cuz you know? I wasn’t sure. Yet.
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