When we Cum Face to Face

From your Author:

I have said how much I love YouTube, my appreciation for music, and my Grandsons. When they were little their Dad and mom would cum over so I could put them to sleep when they couldn’t. It was a good feeling them acknowledging something I could do, that they can’t. 

The boys were so… different when they were young: still are. Robby was Simply Red and his brother Savage Garden, The Stray Cats, and it still works today but they don’t know why. I mean it wasn’t just those groups; there were others along with my bouncing legs.

Robby is the eldest and we had more time. He loves the Stylistics, Bertie Higgins, and Milli Vanilli. His Dad, my eldest, we don’t get along anymore. I love babies, well, I love my grandsons.

We got to St. Marie’s and I pulled over. I asked the fourteen-year-old face sitting next to me? “It’s a bitch of a road; not like the coast,” and he nodded. It wasn’t like the coast and more like the road to Hana, in a bus.

His smaller frame sat in the bark-a-lounger of a driver’s seat, he’d adjusted it up and closer to the stirring wheel. I watched him think big with sometimes only one hand on the wheel being so… relaxed and talking about how the bus handled. There was no hard breaking, I don’t think he ever went on the other side of the line; well, maybe once or twice.

Now cums our disclaimer:

In NO way do we promote underage shit in and form or fashion. But the truth remains, kids are on this site and many others. Just click the ‘I’m over eighteen’ button.

How old is your teen or tween? Do they have a smart phone? What can you do on your phone, DAD? I have been down this road with our host, and the only thing I can come up with is; It’s up to you. RJC.

He pulled up next to the cabin and hit the air-horn. My oldest friend is a decade older than me, his herd celebrate his Birthday here every year. This year, two more would truly be added to their herd.

I parked the bus where all the slides could slide, and drank some Scotch that tasted like caramel.

This was before we left and Is my collaboration with him.

I was listening to the play-lists that used to put them to sleep when Robby tapped my foot. It actually startled me. ‘Billy Idol,’ he said to me.

“Sweet Sixteen,” I answered back with a smile.

“Let’s do it together, Grampy.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I remember,” He told me.

“You remember what?” I questioned.

“Everything.” And I understood.

Fine. “Well? Grampy loves little baby ducks, old pickup trucks, slow moving trains, and you.” I reached touching his nose. It made me smile.

I could hear him in my air buds, “I’d do anything for my sweet sixteen, and I’d do anything for my runaway child. You built a room for a rockin chair,” And he rained his fingers over my face.

“OK? What’s up?” I asked. This was not him.

“Don’t be pissed, Grampy. I’ve written a story.” He said that part quietly.

“Don’t be pissed; isn’t how you start a sentence if you’re trying to sell your shit, Jr. And?” I asked with a scowl.

“I want you to read it. Tell me what you think, and don’t be pissed; please.”

“What do you want to do with it?” I questioned with an eye. This boy was showing me a different side.

“I want you to publish it.” And that was all there was too it.

“Send it to me and it better not be full of sex.” I gave him the eye again.

To see pictures of things you shouldn’t remember, might be scary to some; not me. I see lots of things. My Grampy is an Author on a gay website I happened on; I read his stories. RJC is what caught my attention when scrolling popular Authors; those are the same initials as mine.

I did remember a lot but the way he put things to words just wouldn’t let me stop reading. I read about him and Robby, ‘The Start’, ‘Something Different’, and his shorts Like ‘When I was Seventeen’ and ‘Dirt Road Main Street’.

My Grampy, my Grampy. He was pissed when he found out I had been on GD. Even more so when he realized I’d read his stories and watched some vids. I should have known.

His stories are personal for him, things he shares, and I could see the embarrassment knowing I knew what he wrote. What I thought I knew.

“We’ll be young forever, Grampy.”

I never read about sex but more of two individuals sharing themselves; making love, as he says. Teenagers who fell in love again after lifetimes apart finally found each other again in the seventies.

There are no pictures of my Grammy who was gone long before I was born; well, there is one. Everything was just a shrine to Robby and their life together.

I won’t go into the ‘lives thing’, will not share why I remember a ton of stuff I shouldn’t, or how this all came to be. I feel the love they had and it is so clear in the pictures.

I know it pisses my Dad off, my Uncle as well, but he has the smarts to understand. He gets his Dad, knows the relationship they had, and truly understands his lose. He doesn’t feel robbed of attention when he was young, understands without really knowing because he’s never read his writings; I presume.

The biggest picture on the left is one taken for his graduation; my Grampy’s, Robby. Grampy knelt behind Robby, the smiles with his chin on Robby’s shoulder, hand in his shirt through a slipped button over his heart, and cheeks touching.

They could have been brothers, best friends, team mates. That picture alone told the story of love so deep words try and can only leave it to the reader’s imagination. My Grampy.

He was nineteen at the time, forty-two years ago. Robby would be eighteen in September after graduation. They had been together for over two years when that picture was taken. The story told was a photographer blew it up, hung it in the studio, and gave it to them for free two months later.

The room is nothing but pictures of their life together along with my Dad and Uncle. Around the fireplace are pictures dedicated to me and my brother. J, doesn’t have it; doesn’t have what I do; and I’m happy for him.

The large picture to the left is the only one my Grammy was in hanging long ways. It was taken on the Grand Opening of his Lake House; a restaurant Grampy built from the ground up. Robby, the only one not in the picture. I remember that as if I was there in my Dad’s shoes.

I knew so many people I didn’t know. I know Sugar now, Parker and Cassidy, and the L&O. When Grampy fell I didn’t know what to do so I called Dustin and the next day there was an intervention. Grampy was so… pissed.

My Uncle is way too gruff with his Father. “Jesus… Christ… Dad…” That’s what he said cuming in the night before.

My Uncle is scary smart, holds multiple degrees, and makes a butt load of money at Amazon. He always messes with my hair because he knows I don’t like people fucking with my hair; he does it anyway and smiles at me.

It’s hard sometimes. Grampy lives what he writes, and for me it is difficult to decipher between what he wrote and what he remembers or lived through. I see him wipe tears from his eyes as he writes.

He fabricates fiction now, his life shared, but I see him when he writes. He’s told stories about the pictures but never the whole story behind the pictures or what he writes. He’s funny that way.

A smaller snapshot on the left showed Robby in a tree, a pained face trying to scramble back down a branch because he had been stung in the ass hanging over the river. It was meant to be a pose for Grampy’s camera. It was the first time they went camping together and the sex they had after was something Grampy didn’t share with us readers or me today.

If I was a few years older, met my Grampy back in the day, he would definitely be my type. Just saying. Maybe it’s his dimples or eyes, the way he kind of tilts his head, or maybe just the whole fuckin package. Robby, fit the bill as well, in a different way. And maybe, Cass?

Another small picture held Robby and two guys around a camp fire. It was one of the last pictures with Robby. Story be told; time allowed them to get away in ‘the luv shack’, as he called it; it was so special for Grampy.

They made their way back to a tree where a celebration of Rob’s birthday and sex happened years ago. And was recreated again. The picture was Robby and two hot guys young enough to be their sons on each side of him.

The seines made so much more sense reading his stories. I put myself in the picture, everybody stoned, Grampy playing and singing, and the boys knowing they were ‘The Chancellors’.

“Just one year of love is better than a lifetime alone.” How true.

Lower and further left was a picture I remembered as if I was there. It was a picture of Robby behind the wheel of a sports car with a smile so big; I remember that and where they stopped for lunch.

The one further to the right was a picture of Robby under our willow with a dogs head on his lap.

It was like I knew that dog named Lady, by Robby. She was in a lot of pictures. My Grampy tells me so much and holds back more. ‘The Accident’. He has never shared any of that.

I know about it because I read it. It is something Grampy keeps deep inside, like many things. He was ready to give his life and almost did; for Robby.

I looked to the right not stopping at the picture that would make me cry, remembering. Grampy must have been about twenty, a smile like a ten-year-old, his hands glowing, holding fireflies. It was a birthday present from Rob; a gift so special only someone who truly knows and loves you, would think of.

Reading Grampy’s stories put most pictures in to context. I don’t even think about suits; my Grampy fuckin rocked a suit, and Rob did as well. There was a picture of them shaking some guys hand; The Governor he later told me.

Another picture was a lady between them, and then the same lady and two boys smiling with them. Grampy just told me; ‘she got her boys back’.

I thought about the chapter I read; A Council Meeting. Robby had caught a picture of that lady’s son dead leaning against a boarded up store front blocks from The Lake House. It was a hard chapter to read, I read it twice; but like Grampy says, she got her boys back.

What he didn’t go into was how that young boy, dead, changed his life. Rob was on his way to get stoned again, saw the kid, and everything changed. It really didn’t change anything but slowed it down.

I wanted to ask him if he really knew people that could make that happen? I can see it in my mind. Two dump trucks squeezing that man in his car, causing such physical damage, and turning out a pedophile.

One small picture he refused to talk about; him and a blond boy, way younger than him; like my Dads age back then. The hurt in Grampy when I asked. His name too, was Ryan.

I googled him. My poor fuckin Grampy. He advocated for victim’s when he was younger. I called my Dad who surprisingly answered, and he told me the story. A boy of seven, no older than my Dad at the time. He rode his bike to a park not even two blocks from home; a man waited for this boy, any boy.

Horrible things happened to him, tied to a tree with barbed wire around his neck, and then the unthinkable. My Grampy is a champion and my Dad became that boys friend; so he told me.

There is a picture frame with nothing in it. I saw him hang it when he came home one day. ‘Over a Scotch’. He stares at that picture a lot.

I thought back to all I’d read, ‘Robby and Ryan’, Their life. I read, ‘The Start’, twice. ‘Something Different’, and ‘If Truth Be Told’.

Grampy checks my computer at random anymore, wants to know what I’m doing, and would give me shit if he thought I was where I shouldn’t be.

I knew the picture I looked at now. It was taken on Rick’s phone when I docked The L&O in Cali. I was sweating trying to dock a boat almost fifty feet long. I saw Cass and Grampy walk down below.

My eyes moved back over all I’d read, what happened years ago, and was disappointed when the memories kind of faded.

“Jr.” I heard.

“What are you doing?” He asked when cuming in.

“What?” I returned hoping to think of something.

“It wasn’t a hard question, Slick.” He calls me that when he thinks he’s caught me in a lie.

I hate to fuckin cry; don’t ask me why but it makes me feel like a little kid; and it makes him cry. Then I pointed to the picture of them, tears I couldn’t hold back. Two men, naked. You could see they were wet sitting in the rain bare assed, hair wet, and drops running down their backs.

My Grampy had his arm around Robby’s waist, Robby’s head resting on Ryan’s shoulder, and Grampy’s cheek on the top of Robby’s head as they sat in the grass. “Who is, The Shutter Bug?” I asked.

“You little fuck.” But no sound came out.

“I can read lips, Grampy.”

“Good for you. I hired her to capture our last time there. I knew there would never be another. She was Bruno’s niece and has been caretaker; you know her.”

“Shannon?” I asked.

He nodded, “Lady”. And he pointed at pictures. “She took her last breath on his lap. She helped him heal after The Accident, his side of the car took the impact and he gave her the spot she wanted to let go.” Pointing to one.

“That’s why we came back but it turned into so… much more. You need to understand this was time robbed from your Dad and Uncle to lay a dog to rest.”

“I know,” I told him. “I’m sorry I found out the way I did.” And he looked at me.

“Grampy? I’m old enough to hear you tell me this in words; not the shit you posted for readers.”

“Shit, you call it??? Ask me anything as long as it doesn’t have to do with sex.” I smiled thinking I might get there.

From Your Author’s:

Grampy and I are collaborating, I send him stuff and he adds or re-writes it. This is fun, sometimes we sit across from each other writing; my brother doesn’t have a clue. I should have never gotten on this site; just a ‘yes’ button, was all I had to push.

I did see the open confrontations he had with our Host over this very thing. But the answer still remains? What are you doing right now?

Are you reading this or watching porn? What’s your kid or little brother doing right now? Grampy said he’d show me the emails. I hope it makes you feel better. RJC.