Lessons To Be Learned

Some mornings just walk out of the night as perfect. You're rested, glad to wake up, enthusiastic about the day...even though there may not be much to do. That was my Saturday, I'd cancelled two foursome and five lessons. 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 savored, considered, indulged. All the elements have to be great, 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 and have 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 the 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 and their blades. 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, I'm standing and 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) and 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 almost sensuality of it. If I'm really relaxed, I'll sprout a little wood which is worked down to finally splatter in my shaving mug, mixed with the hot foam and applied. Kinky? Well, maybe. But why waste good protein? Some days my son wanders in, complaining that there's no hot water and I tell him that patience is a virtue, there will be, come in and talk to his old man while he shaves. These are intensely intimate moments between a father and son, the simple act of having your son watch you shave says you're teaching him to be a man, the kind of man you'd like him to be. And you know he's admiring you, the size of your balls, how they push out making your cock drape over that. I've caught him looking at his own set and wonder.....sometimes I laugh and 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, semen, sex, cleanliness and good things, he seemed restive. 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 and 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 and I would be reaching for the styptic pencil to daub a slice, a nick or a cut. 

“Dad, can I grow a moustache?”
“Do you want to?”
“Well, kinda....I shave, need to, every day and Pete, well, he's growing one...”
I've seen Pete's attempt at a furred lip; In the broadest most generous sense of the word he has bits and pieces of a 'stache but a full moustache? No. I reached to Jason and took my thumb to give his face a clinical, appraising feel, his upper lip, his chin, his sideburns....”Well, you could grow hair there and see what you 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 and 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 pushups 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 his upper lip. It looks just as stupid as Pete is, give it some time, I promise you'll get what you want.” And then smiled at him before returning to looking for a strand of fur that was hiding behind my ear lobe.

I could see him puff up a bit, gain pride. And 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 in this swamp with him before about this issue; He wants to get a tattoo, and, I fear, it's partly because I have some and partly because he genuinely wants one, I just not sure which part wins out. The bottom line to this is that he's not 18 and would have to have my permission. We've been over this topic a few too many times and 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 maybe before you're 18, I, myself, will take you to Buzz's for you first tat. He does my work and my son will have only the best.”  His anxiety is that in some months he will be eighteen and then I'll have to live up to my word which I'll do. Privately, I wonder if he wants ink just to stick it to Pete and his partial moustache.

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 and seemingly poured, like a water fall, between my fingers. He was entranced by the colours and 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 redone, deeper, and, one day he found his name, new, prominently on my forearm. All it said was, “Jason, My Son” and it broke him up just as when I got him, it broke me up; The people at the hospital from which I'd adopted him said they'd seldom seen a man as grateful to have a child as I'd been. 

He'll get his ink alright, maybe as much as he wants and maybe after one or two, that will be it. But, by damn, I'll walk him in for his first time, him to the guys and tell them that this is my son and he's here to get his badass tattoo cherry popped.

Sensing that, as usual, the tattoo question is 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, 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 and shower heads all over the place, a rain shower, and, 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 and our minds open, it's a great form of togetherness without any structure or plans. Just a father and his son, naked, enjoying the water, the warmth, being together. Some place I have a photograph of the two of us when he was just a few weeks old, we're both naked, full frontal of both of us, starting life together; I suppose redoing it now, naked etc. would be considered weird, still....it would have meaning to both of us and fuck what other people think; Maybe I'll ask him. After all, I'm not going to have it blown up and hung on the wall in the living room. 

Also another good thing to using my shower is I have a large supply of bath sheets for drying off and just sitting around in. After that last cold splash, it's a good feeling to be warmed by the towels, easily five feet by eight feet and just be together. 

“Can I go look at your list, see if there's anybody around here...?”
“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 and found a new file. “Here, you look it over, see what you think, it'd be a good days drive out and back. And there's a great Mexican restaurant I've wanted to go back to...”
“Do I have to sit in the car for this one? You know like, well, that time...”
“No, you can walk right in, I think I may have mentioned having a helper and just so long as he doesn't catch on that you're my son, just remember to call me 'Sir' and not Dad or some such.”

I looked 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 the page, not bad, maybe Jason can be useful. He's never quite done this before but it's easy enough....Nothing too complicated, nearly straight forward, in and out in two hours tops, drive back, hit the Mexican place and pocket two thousand dollars.

Never knew the day I got bored and walked away from Med school that what I'd already learned about anatomy and how to use it could be turned into tax free income. And I'm a rare breed, there aren't many private performers and I'm at the top as I come with both actual medical experience and the willingness to give the guy what he wanted in the way of scenes but it always ends the same way; They're so dried out, they won't come for a month. That last, vicious jack almost cuts their foreskin off but puts the feeling right through to their prostate-We've already done a prostate massage, several of them. With my cock, externally, with my fingers, a little frottage in front. Yep, that's one used up prostate.

Jason looked in. “Found one? Something I can do?”
“Yeah, and 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 and I'm thinking he'd like young dick 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 jerk. We better take our own tie down straps, okay? Hop to it.”

This one was pretty tame and pretty routine so I felt comfortable with Jason. As we go along he can see 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 him his last dick jerk, spewed almost the last fountain of people that he will do for some whilel. Of course, it may be that he goes off to college, decides he wants to be an astronomer, an accountant, 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 Major in the Air Force and would faint dead if he knew what his son did. His son, and now his grandson, in the sex industry, selling themselves as performers, even private performers. Dad finding out was part of the thrill. He'd been staying with us for a couple of weeks when what I'd style "a regular customer" showed up. As I've mentioned, my father is in great shape and so the guy thought he was part of the act. THAT was a tricky moment or two. Somehow I got my dad to believe the guy was there about golf lessons and he thought we could make a threesome or a foursome. 

I don't know who sweated more, Jason or me.

My “real” business is being a golf pro at a municipal course, nice people, good, healthy outdoors and perfectly respectable-even if the tats disturbed some; I could still punch a ball 275 yards straight down the fairway. Dad would come into town a few 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. Just as 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 but no intercourse, none. 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 needed or wanted 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 done. Still a stallion, still gets it up just...no baby making fluid 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.

I gave the client a ring, told him this was his lucky  day and I'd be there around 2:30 give or take a wreck on the expressway with my assistant and he need to 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. And, frankly, it's nothing to me whether I do the show or not, eventually if the urge is strong enough but when they call me back, and they will, that fee they have 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 and do all that was necessary a second time, I slapped a five hundred dollar service and handling fee on them. Sure they'd yelp but...who they gonna call? Ghost Busters? The thought of a naked Ghost Buster was not a happy one. Not for what they want and I don't give referrals to other guys I might know-and I do know a couple-who provide the same service, just a slightly different clientele. 

We've always enjoyed just getting out and 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 and still looks vaguely as if that's what it's heritage was. Also, few cars are more comfortable than a Ford Crown Vic and even now, dinged, bent, 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 and never remember it. But road trips were special, that's when we shipped out in the top of the line Ford 250 with every bell and whistle, great for land cruising even if it wasn't very far as was the case today. Jason followed our progress on maps, mentioned every little town we weren't going through and 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 Dance Naked and Mow Lawns” 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 duffel bag and going into the house. Maybe we're buds and our laundry machine broke down and we're using his. Nobody was going to think anything and, just to make sure, I carried a spare set of tags 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 sudden case of buyer's remorse.

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-I'd send him a copy 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, started getting him tied down and explained that I “pretty much” know what I'm doing and his wasn't the first time I'd done the performance where I'm the doctor and he's the patient and I'm going to lop off his nuts. Or the hundredth for that matter; Jason once asked how many guys I thought I'd striped and fucked ever since I dropped out of med school adopted him, became a full time golf pro and a part time male showboy and the truth is...I have no idea. There might be two in one week and 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 need to-Jason and I stand in front of him and strip, play with ourselves, emphasis on the cock and nuts, 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-that's a guaranteed hard on. Tied up, some guy with a straight razor.... He's bound but, I want him to miss nothing, he's paid for it, so his head is elevated so he can see everything. To make sure, I put a mirror on a stand opposite the “job site” so gets the feeling and the side view revealing when they come off. Generally I do it in what amounts to slow motion. This is at once the most erotic and thrilling time for them; They've reached the stage of which they've dreamed, it's happening and they know, no matter what they now do, however they thrash and try to scream to stop it, they're playing to dead ears, I'm in surgery and what the patient wants is of no concern to me; My schedule is set and a full orchietomy is on it so that's what he'll get. No SNAFUS, no fuck ups where a clamp or a sponge gets left behind. There will be something left behind but what he does with them is his concern; I'm not in the medical waster disposal business. 

Before I get down to the actual show, he wants some pain so he'll get some. And, prior to that, he's gonna drink Jason's cock, twice actually and then I'll jack him off commenting that it's his last time  for a long timeas I look at him sadistically. Sometimes I'll take my finger and wipe it through their puddling come and force it into their gagged mouth. And, today, my kid surprised me, as he squats down over the guys chest I find he's removed the crotch of his pants and his cock and balls are dropping down. Great Idea! I'll think up something special as a congratulations for that. 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 on him and I begin to make a ladder of play 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 and he 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 it shut. Tiny sutures, maybe fifty of them and then, if he's been the usual, mostly circumcised, draw up the remaining foreskin and sew that into the head as well. It's exquisitely painful and frightening. 

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 and whack it though each one or, as today, paint it with BetaDyne and start nutting him. No trying to catch his nuts, no worrying with their retreating into his body. Jason and I strip out of the scrubs, waving hard cocks and our filled ball bags-my kid will be a stallion-suck each other, fuck each other which is when I noticed our audience has passed out. Happens oftener than one might imagine.

Jason is already dressed, he's taking still photographs of the finished product and I'm jerking off into his face. Part of the service. Packing our things up takes two minutes and then we're almost out the door. He's carefully “unpacked” just to the point when 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 some guy show up, give the illusion of castrating him, playing with himself, playing with the client....what ever comes to my mind. Or, like today, our minds. That stunt with the crotchless scrubs is awesome.

Driving back I mention the crotchless scrubs to Jason and he smirks, trying to hide a smile, congratulate him on a job well done and 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 and has made a contribution, for that he gets paid. 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, 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 and 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 and 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 was kind of amused, wondered what he thought about that would get him off so I asked him. 

He ducked his head a tinge of blush growing from the green ringer on his T shirt-and this is a kid who never blushes. I wait, it's in there but he has to say it as I know he wants, just what?

I want you. I want you to be.....my partner, also my dad, that first, but fuck buddies, love buddies. Suck buddies......If we were someplace else, I'd kiss you."

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 rings in his tits and, yeah, his ink, we'd have kissed many times. But this day I threw some bills on the table and got up.

"Come on, Son, we need to take this outside, hop in the truck and there's nothing I want more than a kiss from my Partner."

Maybe I'll take him to Buzz and let him have a little ink.......