Lessons To Be Taught, Lessons To Be Learned

Some mornings just walk out of the night as perfect. You're rested, glad to wake up, enthused about the day...even though there may not be much to do. That was my Saturday. Rolled out of bed, took a long, hot shower then a fast cold one, close those pores, and finally THE SHAVE. When I have the time, shaving is a male ritual that is to be savoured, considered, indulged. All the elements have to be just right, you have to be in the mood to challenge every follicle on your face to a contest, your stealth in finding them to their elusiveness in not being found. When I built this house, I structured my bathroom to accommodate me, the way I like to do things, sized it to me, never been happier. Each day when I put my hand where I expect something to be, it's there. Not that it's perfect. One of the things I like to do is shave with one foot on the toilet to brace me as I use my other foot on the ground to help me tension my hand pulling my skin, stretching it, making it better for the shaving. Naked, just me, my mug of shaving foam, my best quality badger brush, a German Merkur razor, their blades, the head of my cock just skimming the edge of the sink...which is ten inches higher than the usual-no playing Giraffe at the water hole when I need to lean over. Tho I wasn't looking for it, I found a home version of a hot towel dispenser that sits on the vanity and, when I want one, there's a hot towel to wrap around my face. Granted, standing I have to tip my head back to accomplish this but, hey, a hot towel before, between the two shaves (one with the grain, one against it) then after a shave? What's better?

This is a process in which I get very involved, almost lost, there's something about the hot foam, the furry swirl of the brush, the masculine sensuality of it. If I'm really relaxed, I'll sprout a little wood which is worked down to finally splatter into my shaving mug, mixed with the hot foam then applied. Kinky? Well, maybe. But why waste good milk on the sewer system? although the routine for me is to slobber down what just came out.

Some days my son wanders in, naked, complaining that there's no hot water. I tell him that patience is a virtue, there will be, come on in, talk to his old man while he shaves. These are intensely intimate moments between a father and his son, the simple act of having your son watch you, naked, shave, says you're teaching him to be a man, the kind of man you'd like him to be. Okay... you know he's admiring you, the size of your balls, how they hang making your cock drape over their sack. I've caught him looking at his own set and wonder.....sometimes I laugh, snap him with a wet towel telling him that I only raise stallions, he doesn't need to worry.

That day as he lounged against the toilet tank, not quite there, happy to be in the warm humid room that smelled richly of men, cleanliness, semen, foam, warmth, affection all good things, he seemed restless, as if there was a question coming but it was stuck part way up. At these moments every father wants to help his son, try to give him a path but...it has to come from him; Second guessing what's on his mind derails him. As would have happened this day. I was doing the intricate bits around my horse shoe 'stache and my attention was wholly on that. One slip and fur I wanted was sliced off, one moment of inattention, I’d be reaching for the styptic pencil to daub a slice, a nick or a cut. I’ll admit it, sometimes the gush of blood can be a turn on, just not here, on my face….slopping into the white porcelain basin. Now tendrils of it first starting on white sheets….My kid snaps me out of whatever else I was...almost seeing.

“Dad, can I grow a moustache?”

“Do you want to?”

“Well, kinda....I shave, need to, almost every day and Pete, well, he's growing one...”

I've seen Pete's attempt at a furry lip; In the broadest, most generous sense of the word he has bits and pieces of a 'stache but a full man’s moustache? No. I reached to Jason, take my thumb to give his face a clinical, appraising feel, his upper lip, his chin, his sideburns.…

”Well, you could grow hair there, see what it looks like but, son, I think you're about nine months to a year before you can raise a man's moustache. Take a good look at Pete, that's chicken shit, no form, no texture, feel mine, now that's 'stache quality hair and when you get to that point, I'll be proud to buy you your own shaving mug, soap, brush, razor. All the best, from Trumpers in London. Show Pete that, see how that compares to his Bic disposables and a can of Burma Shave. Look under you arms, look at your nuts, see that hair? You're gonna to be like your father, tall, broad chested, good shag on you, another in the stallion line. Think about your grandfather, even at sixty he could do push-ups with his dick and just 'cause he doesn't have one doesn't mean he couldn't raise a fine moustache. Nah, let Pete feel all manned up because he forgot to shave their; It looks just as stupid as he is. Give it some time, I promise you'll get what you want.” Reaching down, hold his balls in my hand then smiled at him before returning to looking for a stand of fur that was hiding near my ear lobe. “Son when those are getting covered with crotch hair...that’s when you can grow anything on you anywhere you want.” I Smile. He smiles back, replaces my hand with his...I wonder if he’d like to jerk off into my mug?

I could see him puff up a bit, gain pride...But then there was the next question that wasn't so easily handled.

“Dad....you know what I really want only....well, only you'd have to give me permission.” I've been through this swamp with him before about this issue; He wants to get a tattoo, and, I fear, it's partly because I have some, partly because he genuinely wants one, I’m just not sure which part wins out. The bottom line to this is that he's not 18 so would have to have my permission. We've been over this topic a few too many times so he's taking advantage of a situation he knows I'm happy in to get what he wants.

“Jason, no. When I think you can handle one, and that may be before you're 18, I, myself, will take you to Buzz's for you first tat. He does my work, fuckin’ fine work... my son will have only the best.” When he was young one of the things he enjoyed doing was tracing with his young finger the elaborate whirls and colours that descended down my right arm, over my hand then seemingly poured, like a water fall, between my fingers. He was entranced by the colours; In his play room I'd find his easel with attempts-in Crayola-to draw what he remembered from my arm. It was interesting to see, as he got older, how his grasp of colour and shapes was more accurate. Also, I'd had the whole sleeve redone, made the black lines crisper, the colours more intense, deeper, then, one day he found his name, new, prominently on my forearm. All it said was, “Jason, My Beloved Son” which broke him up just as, when I brought him home, it broke me up; Then and now he was and is my beloved son. Remembering that day, I raise his face, lean down, kiss him...he throws his arms around my neck so that when we release, he’s got shaving foam on his nose.

He'll get his ink alright, as much as he wants but maybe after one or two, that will be it. However, by damn, I'll walk him in for his first time, introduce to the guys, tell them that this is my son; He's here to get his tattoo cherry popped and I’m there to hold the gun for his first mark.

Sensing that, as usual, the tattoo question just became DOA he wondered aloud what we might do today. This is a son to love, his first thought is doing something with his Dad rather finding his buddies and kicking around, if you were ever young you can hear them; “ I don't know what do you want to do? How about going over to the Jones...””They’re out of town so...what do you want to do?” It's almost a vicious cycle of youthful conversation which is why when Jason hangs back, waits for me to take the lead, I'm proud and grateful he's my son.

“I bet there's hot water now, wanna use my shower? You're right here.”And he does.

Using my shower is something of a big deal, all tiled, made for me, spigots all over the place, a rain shower, when there's time to get it perking, a steam shower. He and I have spent some very relaxing times in there, not saying anything, just letting our pores as well as our minds open, it's a great form of togetherness without any structure or plans. Just a father and his son, naked, engulfed in foggy steam. enjoying the water, the warmth, being close. Some place I have a photograph of the two of us when he was just a few weeks old; We're both naked, starting life together. I suppose redoing it now, naked, would be considered weird, still....it would have meaning to both of us so fuck what other people think; I make a mental note to find a photographer who’ll do it. As to Jason? If he’d had the idea first, he’d be in the Yellow Pages looking for a man with a camera. Hell, I'm not going to have it blown up or hung on the wall in the living room just someplace to remind me that my kid is almost a man...those few more months until he grows hair on his face, his chest...his ripening testicles now mostly awake in their sack.

Another good thing to using my shower is that I have a large supply of bath sheets for drying off then just sitting around, cuddled by the thickness, an all over body rub just no hands.... After that last cold splash, it's a good feeling to be warmed by the towels, easily five feet by eight feet, just be together, me and my son, he always leans against me...has for years but more recently...what he admired earlier? The big, firm nuts? The clean cut cock? His hand holds them not as a toy but knowing they’re a promise...I’m sure other fathers don’t allow that, would be shocked but….there’s pride in me when I remember the first time I jacked him off, sperm came out, real sperm, man’s sperm, sperm that makes babies...from my son, released from him by his father, me…then slowly squeezing his nuts which teaches him another lesson, the one too few men learn; Pain follows pleasure so I slowly clasp my fingers, lightly restrain him until he begins to softly moan, squirm. One last hard grasp while I kiss him. I love my son, love the lesson he learned, remembered the first time we each held the other’s nuts, squeezing up to the deep man on man kiss that said ‘I Love You’. In the mirror I can see that memory be real………...for both father and son.

“Dad, can I go look at your list, see if there's anybody around here...?” I’m back with him, flicking the blade clean. Opening it, making sure it will dry properly laying on a towel.

“Sure and, I hadn't thought about that, I got the paper work from a guy yesterday but got distracted.” I found my horn rimmed reading glasses, looked until I found a new file. “Here, you look it over, see what you think, it'd be a good days drive out and back. Plus”, another memory, “there's a great Mexican restaurant I've wanted to go back to...check to make sure it would be worth the drive just to eat there...”

“Do I have to sit in the car for this one? You know like, well, that one time...”

“Nope, you can walk right in, I think I may have mentioned having a helper to him just so long as he doesn't catch on that you're my son, just remember, kid, to call me 'Sir' not Dad got me?” I get a big smile back. Goddam I love him….he hates it but, fuck, I reach out and rustle through his hair which, and, he knows it’s coming, like his ink, is a butch cut. Administered by his father..something about like father like son but now…About the time those gonads fill out a bit more as well as the hair covering...yep, that’s when he gets a man’s peel, not that floppy mop he’s sporting now.

...Holding him, letting him see his hairy head, wisps over his ears, his eye brows...hearing the snap as the clippers go on. I’ll start pushing them up the back part of his head so he can’t see, not at first. This is going to be a big change for him….part of his transition to being more of a man, the cut that says, Fuck You, I don’t give a shit about combing, gel, making it part, following some fad, I’m a muthafukin’ man, I shave it off in two minutes then get on with life.

I’m looking at the file; 42 year old white male, bi sexual, unmarried, unhappy, referred to me by someone whom I trust and, turning the page, what does he want? I scan it, not bad, maybe Jason really can be useful. He's never quite done all of this before but it's easy enough....Nothing too complicated, nearly straight forward, in and out, two hours tops, drive back, hit the Mexican place having pocketed two grand.

Never knew the day I got bored after several years then walked away from Med school that what I'd already learned could be turned into tax free income. And I'm a rare breed, there aren't many quality cutters who do it for the money and not a way to slice ‘em off to add to a very personal collection so I'm at the top as I come with both actual medical experience plus the willingness to give the guy what he wanted in the way of scenes but it always ends the same way; I chop off his balls.

Jason looked in. “Found one? Something I can do?”

“Yeah, you can play, too. He wants the usual surgical setting so, you know, scrubs, masks, booties, do it nude under that. He wants to suck off some dick but I'm thinking he'd like young meat so if you haven't yet, don't jerk off, give him a mouthful. Watch us strip, tie him down, according to the pictures he sent, he's already got his 'operatory' all set but we'll have to check and ….this ones a pain junky, so nothing injectable to soothe the final cut….but we better take our own straps, okay? Hop to it.”

This one is pretty tame, even almost routine so I felt comfortable using Jason. Eventually I can tell him about some of the weirder ones but, for now, it's enough to learn the basics, break him in, let him see what happens and, today, letting the guy suck his cock will be a first for him.

On occasion when I had the client banded he's given his dick a jerk, spewed almost the last fountain full of people that will never be but I can see he's not into that, although it can be part of the business so he needs to learn to do it all. Of course, it may be that he goes off to college, decides he wants to be an astronomer, an accountant-please lord, not a bean counter- a lawyer, fine, I'm all for that but he'll always have a side trade that for a few hours work brings in a lot of cash. I've never told him that this was a family business, carried on from generation to generation; Fuck, my dad was a Colonel in the Air Force, would drop dead if he knew what his son did. My “real” business was as a golf pro at the largest municipal course, nice people, good, healthy outdoors also perfectly respectable-not the sort of place where I hardly expected (or wanted) to meet ‘clients’ for my ‘other’ profession-even if the tats disturbed some golfers, I could punch a ball 275 yards straight down the fairway which made the colorful arm immaterial.

Dad would come into town several times a year, we'd play a few courses and he'd be proud of his son, everyone knowing me, glad to see him. A son he could take pride in raising which was correct, he could take pride in me. Only one thing...when I dumped Med School, we had words that turned into a beating I knew he had to give me and I had to accept. Took a while but...the marriage, the son, time...just like it’s supposed to be, your Dad is your best friend. I can see that as he’s standing outside baggage claim when he arrives, looking for me, his son; He’d never admit it but...he’s almost pissing himself waiting for Jason and me….tell me he doesn’t love me? Fucker, you can’t. Oh, and for an Air Force Colonel something a little unusual, that tattoo about loving his son and grandson. Buzz did a fine job, even incorporated the Air Force emblem. Yeah, the old man loves us, yes he does.

Just like I took pride in Jason; Few young men his age had the first hand working knowledge of sexual perversion as did he and, of course, I was careful to balance it with normal, everyday sex. He had a girl friend; I suppose they “made out” but he had instructions as to how far he could go. He could let her jack him off, give him head, he could finger fuck her, eat her snatch... but no intercourse, none-unless she’d take it in the ass in which case, Fire One!! He also knew that in his future, and one getting closer as his ability to raise a 'stache approached, was a vasectomy. What he knows, what I've said is....I want a household full of stallions, fillies when wanted or desired but, under no circumstances, any ponies. Although you have to know what you're looking for, you can, with a magnifying glass, see where I was slit. Still a stallion, still get it up just...no baby making additive in the man milk. As of now he's okay with that, knows I adopted him as a single father and, if he wants to follow along, great. Just one thing….he’ll get that surgery...he wants to marry, have children, he’ll remember he was a child, how he became the son to a man….who had been sterilized. That was one family tradition. One day I’ll tell him how my old man had me semi-gelded...just like he’d been only, back then, there was no ‘semi’ just the full empty bag...so Jason would join the line of men shooting man sauce that just couldn’t produce men right through his cock.

My own Dad had been made a widower less than a year after their marriage. They’d planned on adopting so he followed through. That’s also when he got a buddy, who was a surgeon in the service, to castrate him-leaving the bag filled with big fake nuts usually put in show dogs. He raised me-along with half the Air Force it sometimes seemed-but that worked out well enough. And my side business? Well, I learned it in med school so the first time some guy asked me to make him a eunuch and, apparently, as I lacked any medical scruples, I did. It's a powerful thing to know what you can do to another man, just like surgery only more intimate, more intense-in surgery the object was to cure the but here, desecrate them permanently. And I enjoy it. Got turned on by it. A lot of times, when the job is just over, the testes, maybe the scrotum as well, laying in a dish, a little blood still dripping from the excision site, I have to drag out my dick then stroke it down; Some guys, just nutted, really get off on watching that, some even try to stroke along; Seem to get off when I blow my load right in their mouth...

I geve the client a ring, tell him this was his lucky (?) day; I'd be there around 2:30 give or take a wreck on the expressway with my assistant but he need do nothing. I usually don't get into conversations with them when I confirm the appointment, if they're going to back out, I want them to do so when I'm there as my fee is still collectible-although usually I’ve already got a substantial down payment. And, frankly, it's nothing to me whether they get it done or not right then, eventually, if the urge is strong enough. they’ll me back, which is when they find, that fee, already paid, represented services rendered, or not, on that day in that place. There was no negotiation, plus, they were sorry to learn, when I had to prepare plus do all that was necessary a second time, I slap a five hundred dollar service and handling fee on them. Sure they'd yelp but...who they gonna call? Ghost Busters? Not for what they want and I don't give referrals to other guys I might know-I do know of a couple-who provide the same service. If being butchered to get what you want to lose done is your taste. Maybe it is, some guys might get off on ending up in a hospital, maybe losing your cock, prostate...we all hear about men who lop them off all by themselves….they must really want some sort of thrill which, also, will involve the ER if not death.

We've always enjoyed just getting out, driving around. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, we'll get in the car, the second one, the one that was formerly a police cruiser which still looks vaguely as if that's what it's heritage was. Also, few cars are more comfortable than a Ford Crown Vic even now, dinged up, bent, a banged in quarter panel, it was still a great car with the Interceptor Engine, the exterior was simply for the casual viewer who would just see two guys in a beat up old car, would never remember it. But road trips were special, even if they weren't very far as was the case today. Jason followed our progress on maps, mentioned every little town we weren't going through then finally our destination town, just a quiet place, not quite tired, but its best days behind it.

My client had provided instructions as to how to find him and, apparently feeling I'd pull up with “I Castrate Men” written on the side, asked me to pull around so “nobody would see you....”. Fuck, what was there to see? two guys getting out of a car, carrying a back pack plus a duffel bag then going into the house? Maybe we're buds, our laundry machine broke down so we're using his. Nobody was going to think anything and, just to make sure, I carried a spare set of tags-from another state-which I put over my real ones using magnets when I was in doing a job. I really didn't want to be followed home by curious parties such as the law summoned by a client who had a sudden case of buyer's remorse-with some very visceral proof concerning his dis-satisfaction. (That happened….once….but the cops, applying logic, told him that, fuck the law, if he wanted his balls whacked off, that’s what had happened: Call the American Medical Association...oh, and might just want to hit the ER to make certain everything was okay, like he wasn’t facing death.

Inside was the client wearing, for God's sake, a mask which was promptly ripped off him. It was pointed out that I had a full picture of him, naked, with his face showing. Plus, as I hoped he recalled, he'd agreed to have this put on tape for his personal enjoyment. Nervous, a lot of them are, he flustered, tried to remember what he wanted to say, forgot, start over....I finally stuck a gag made like a cock in his mouth then explained that I “pretty much” knew what I was doing, this wasn't the first time I'd done this. Or the fiftieth for that matter. (Jason once asked how many guys I thought I'd deballed in the past fifteen plus years, ever since I dropped out of med school adopted him, became a full time golf pro and a part time cutter but the truth is...I have no idea. There might be two in one week, then three months would go by so an honest answer was almost impossible. I told him, lets just say a lot and let it go at that.)

Our client secured-I make it take longer than it actually needed to-Jason and I stand in front of him, strip, play with ourselves, emphasis on the testicles, put on our see through scrubs and I get down to realities. I don't know his standard of hygiene so I re-shave him plus using an astringent that hurts like shit when applied, wipe down the area around him. He's bound but, I want him to miss nothing, he's paid for it, so his head is elevated so he can see it all, those moments when the blade falls, his nuts get cut away, his sack goes empty. To make sure, I put a mirror on a stand opposite the “job site” covering the reverse as well. Generally I do it in what amounts to slow motion.

This is at once the most erotic and frightening time for them; They've reached the stage of which they've dreamed, it's happening, they know, doesn’t matter what they now do, however they thrash or try to scream to stop it, they're playing to dead ears, I'm in surgery, I’m doing the cutting so what the patient wants is of no concern to me; I see their testicles and want to slice them open, rip out the slimy orbs inside, cut that long narrow pipe that keeps them as men until...it, too, falls in two pieces. That may be my favourite part, ever so slowly separating the cord, telling the guy that...this is it, oh yeah, just a little bit further, feel the blade finally come out the other side, two pieces fall with a plop on him. That’s it, no more man, just a fool with no balls who wondered what it would be like to be like a farm animal, next in line, get ‘em slashed off….permanently a steer.

Before I get down to the actual snipping, he wants so pain so he'll get some. And, prior to that, he's gonna drink Jason's cock, twice actually, then I'll jack him off commenting that it's his last time as I look at him while telling him it’s gonna hurt him a lot more than me but...I’ll enjoy watching him thrash in his bindings and...suffer. Sometimes I'll take my finger and wipe it through their puddling come on his chest then force it into their gagged mouth. However, today, my kid surprises me, as he squats down over the guys chest I find he's removed the crotch of his pants so his cock and balls are dropping down. Great Idea! I'll think up something special as a congratulations for that sexy maneuver. We're at no turning back time. He's fed on Jason, admired his equipment so his cock gets secured to his belly and I indulge in a little ball torture. Well, I expand it. Jason puts on a pair of nipple clips, the sort that have teeth in them, while I begin to make a ladder of long piercing pins. Start at his perineum and, every eighth of an inch, another pin, first one way, then the other. For a while it's okay but then I start up the back of his cock which is when the ‘patient’ begins to wonder...how far will I go? He's about to find out, all the way. Right up to the edge of his piss slit which, after a rough edged hollow sound is put in it, I suture shut. Tiny sutures, maybe fifty of them and then, if he's had the usual circumcision, draw up the remaining foreskin and sew that into the head as well. It's exquisitely painful….even more so when he’ll have to cut them open cuz the way I do it, they’re each individual, no snipping one place so they’ll all fall away. Nope. Hope he has the sort of scissors he’ll need, trying to do it with ones standard to a household, he’ll probably lop off part of his cock head, they usually do...somethings you really do need to let professionals remove; Any ER Doctor would recognize that the sewing was done by a professional, one who knew precisely what he was doing….wanted to make it hurt.

And there's one thing left; Bread boarding. I make one for each client. This is just a piece of plywood with a hole cut in it. His scrotum is pulled through and stretched as far as possible and then the first nail is put in. Eventually, his sac will look like an octopus carcass that's been mounted for a science experience. It's so tightly pulled that his nuts pop up like twin mountains in the middle of a plain. Some times I'll take a ten penny nail then whack it though each gonad or, as today, just start nutting him. No trying to catch his nuts, no worrying with their retreating into his body. Jason and I strip, waving hard cocks and filled ball bags in his face, snap on the latex gloves, take the scalpel from it's sealed container and begin. Because of the way he's presented, it could be done in under ten minutes. When I make the first incision, the pressure is so great that one almost pops out dragging it's last connection to manhood behind it; A sort of masculine comet doomed to die as it enters the atmosphere. When the first one is out, remembering he wanted pain, I again nail it to the board after cutting the cord. Same with the other and we have ourselves a brand new Eunuch. Just to make it clear, I make a straight line incision at the hole where his sac comes thru nailing that to the board as well. He'll figure out how to undo everything in time but, if he's smart-or really twisted-he’ll hang onto that bread board, won't many people have that kind of a souvenir.

Jason is already dressed, he's taking still photographs of the finished product while I'm jerking off into my ‘client’s’ face. Part of the service. Packing our things up takes two minutes and then we're almost out the door. He's carefully “unbound” just to the point so that in a few minutes he can loosen his hands and then how he'll get his bag off the wood is his business. Hope he felt he got what he paid for which was, at base, to have himself castrated, emasculated, hurt, cut, deballed….it all means the same, make him a man with no balls. Steer, Eunuch, Capon….all mean the same thing, you’re life as a whole man is dead...like the dead things in the silver pan left beside him.

Driving back I mention the crotchless scrubs to Jason. He smirks, trying to hide a smile, congratulate him on a job well done then give him five hundred dollars. This is a first but now he's doing more than just being there or handing me something, he's a participant, has made a real contribution and for that he gets paid-I laugh and tell him to add it to his ‘tattoo fund’, Buzz ain’t cheap. It's a quiet time as we drive back looking for the exit for the restaurant. There's an emotional let down after you nut a guy, even if you don't know him, still, he was a man and you still are. I'm curious, but don't ask about Jason's response to today. I thought I detected his taking some pleasure in it but that could be my simply wanting him to.

Over dinner, which is as good as I'd remembered, told he loosens up, talks about the day.

“He was one lousy cocksucker. He better get lessons if he plans to do that again.” I have to both smile and laugh; My kid is making an aesthetic judgment on a sexual act, showing some thought and comparative thinking. Just to make sure I ask him what was wrong. He got thoughtful then said, “Well, there were his teeth. Jeez, I expect a nip or a drag but not the full chomp. Any way you can ask if they have falsies and, if they do then want to suck dick remind them to take them out? Also, I guess he hadn't done this much, he figured that if he just played vacuum cleaner, that was the way to do it. No tongue, no pressure, just suck and not very much of that, I had to think up something to get me off, sure as shit couldn't rely on him, we'd still be there and I'd have a raw cock. I know girls who can suck dick better.”

I’m kind of amused, wondered what he thought about what would get him off so I asked. He kinda ducked his head, shy, not wanting to really reveal a personal secret and yet...wanting to tell his Dad. “Uh, well, I imagine that I've got you tied done, I've got Grand Dad's straight razor and I'm nutting you....” He looked up. “Are you pissed off? I mean, you know, you're my Dad, I never would....”

“Jason, I've never told you this but I get off on about the same thing, A bit more elaborate, but in my mind...you're a grown man, great 'stache, great tats, you’ve got me on a steel plank, the chains that hold me are ones you welded me to the metal…. also there's a collar welded around my neck. You're one muscled up motherfucker, oiled up so your body ripples with every move. Across my mouth there's a steel band that's riveted down on either side with a steel cock stuck down my throat as a gag, I'm ready, I'm yours and you know it. Know I want it, know you want to do it....” We both smiled at each other as I told him. Knew we had our cocks out and were gonna shoot on the floor of the place...sort of our own hot sauce.

I loved him then as much as I ever did. One day, maybe not like that, but one day, when he was a muscled up man with a shaggy chest, big bars in his nipples , bull ring through his septum plus a PA so heavy his dick now is pulled almost to his knees; That day I'd be stretched out, he'd be holding my Dad’d straight razor. One slice and he becomes the new cutter. That's how it had to be.