My Gothic Grandson from the big City

My career was over. Retirement was coming up and I couldn’t wait until it would start at last. Since I live alone with my dog and cat I decided to sell my house in the city and buy me a nice little cottage in the outback up north to spend the joyful “third half of my life”. But I had no intention to become a monk so I opened an account on a gay-site, just to make some new contacts and, if I was lucky, to end up with a date so every now and then. Because some of my body parts were certainly not ready to retire at this stage.

On a quiet Friday night I was surfing on that site. It wasn’t exactly mesmerizing I found. For a guy who goes for slim and even thin the pickings were limited. One beer barrel on legs after another went by, not really the kind of guy I fancy. But after about an hour I hit a picture that really had my attention.

It was a boy that called himself Micha. I studied his picture again and I felt if I was hit by lightning. He had a very delicate face that showed a strange mixture of female and male features. Especially his full lips gave it a female expression. They looked as if they were made for the sole purpose of tender kissing. The true highlights in his face were his two dark-lined, beautiful dark eyes that sparkled with vigor and strength, even on the picture. He had long raven-black hair that was longer on one side of his face than on the other. Around his neck was a leather collar with small metallic, glistering pins. I’m no specialist on youth cultures, but somehow it gave me the impression he was in the gothic scene. But it nothing to diminish the pure beauty I saw on the picture. I clicked his home page open and was rewarded with more pictures of his face but also of his torso . It was exactly the kind of body that has always turned me on and still does: it was slim and delicate but beautifully proportioned in all his androgyn and skinny appearances. I looked at his age…22….and the place he lived: not exactly around the neighborhood, some big city down south. So I decided it would stay the phase of sweet dreams. It made no sense to send him a message. Apart from the distance, I could have been his grandfather. He was a dream and an unattainable one on top of that. So I got off line, took a book and a nice whisky and with that the image of the gorgeous boy from the big city slowly faded from my mind.

About a week later I was on line again. It was on a quiet Friday evening. I was bored and , yes, I was horny. I had forgotten the whole the whole boy down south.

So it surprised me when I saw he had been on my visitors list and, even better, had sent me a message:

“Hi, for an elderly man you look very cool!!”

I admit: it stroke my ego. But it also caused suspicion. What was a beautiful young boy of 22 looking for with an old fool of over 60? It was one of those things I had not been able to understand, not for years and especially not now. I checked if I had missed his message some days ago or if he was on line. He was on line!

“OK”, I thought, “ Might as well send him a reply then!” But I’m always quiet straightforward so I started typing:

“Hi, Micha, thanks for your sweet compliment. It makes me shy. But was does a beautiful boy like you search for an old man?”

He replied astonishingly fast, a lot faster as I had expected and it baffled me completely:

“I’m looking for a father figure!”

It took me some time to think that one over, not knowing what to write back. Only after a few minutes I wrote:

“Father figure? Don’t you think I’m more the granddad figure in your case?”

It sounded cynical, even acid although it was not my intention. I regretted it immediately to have sent that message. It was not to get him in my bed, but the boy had given an honest reply to my question and my return question looked as if I wanted to ridicule him. But things were done: I had pushed the “Send”-button, so he would read it and draw his own conclusions.

He wasn’t impressed and sent a long message in return:

“So what? I’m not particularly interested in age. For me it is all about that a sweet man gives me what I didn’t get in the past: warmth, love, security and respect. And give the same things in return to him. And if I read your profile right, you are the man who can give me that and is able to receive it from me”.

Again my reaction was limited to the “Stupid Questions Department”:

“But what about your actual father?”

He answered with the speed of lightning:

“Oh, that one? Hey, the fool fucked my mother, made her pregnant with me and disappeared over the horizon”.

Wow…it confused me. I was thrown back and forth between suspicion and total fascination for this boy. If he wanted to play games with me, he had things prepared very, very well. Every word he wrote looked like being the truth. His answers were too fast and too spontaneous to be a ploy. There was only one question left lingering in my head, so I wrote to him:

“I’ll be honest: I’m also looking for sex! And in my opinion it can’t be that the foster-granddad has sex with his grandson!”

There was a very short reply at first: “Hihi”

But then followed:

“And why not? Isn’t sex the highest form of expression of love, warmth, respect and security?”

I was dumbfounded. I had no idea what to answer and that is what I wrote him, that I wanted to think about all he had written. He answered he understood, but that he truly hoped that we would stay in touch. To be honest: I had no other intention. Because he was becoming more and more fascinating and interesting with every line he wrote.

In the weeks afterwards we chatted regularly, so every now and then several hours on a day. I told him what had to be told about me. But being only a moderate guy and not some unique person that was done pretty fast and it was impossible to fill hours with it. He told me, that after his father has disappeared, his mother had done the best she could to be father and mother at the same time with the unavoidable result that she failed in both of them. He said it without anger or hate. She had to fail, preoccupied with making a living as well. Some food had to come on the table. So she worked irregular shifts as a nurse in the local hospital, leaving the small Micha to sink or swim for long periods of time. During the days he walked around in the desolate old industry town, full of unmaintained buildings, a key of their apartment on a piece of cord around his neck. And when it got too cold to be outside during the winters he spent hours in a department store or in the library, not to buy or read something, but just searching for a warm place to be.

His story hurt me. There were many parallels. Yes, for other reasons and in other circumstances, but I had also been a kid with the key of the house around the neck. It only made me to appreciate him more and more, especially his frankness and his kindness of character. Nothing he wrote contained an accusation to his mother. She had just done what she thought the right thing to do, had given every effort and then some more on top of that to give him love and care and he was grateful for it. At least she had taken care of the fact that he would finish school and not drop out of it. But he then added that he had no idea at all what he wanted to do with it.

While chatting about a lot of things the evenings were timeless while time was rushing by at the same time like the wind. After about four weeks he suddenly wrote:

“You know, I want to get away from here. It is so sad and depressing in this town. Every election the politicians promise better times for us but it seems they forget about us directly after they have gained their nice parliament seats”.

I reacted spontaneous, without thinking and wrote:

“Then come over here!”

For a long time there was no reply. I just started wondering if I had gone too far this time when after a full five minutes an answer became visible:

“Are you serious about that?”

My reaction was short and to the point: “Yes!”

Again no immediate reply came. Then followed a hesitant:

“I don’t know how to get there. I have no car”.

“The train maybe”, I suggested.

“Yeah, I just checked. But I have no money for the ticket”.

I couldn’t help it. After all this weeks of chatting suspicion crawled back in my mind. Was it in the end only about the money? That old fool would pay him for the train ticket: “Just transfer the cash, granddad, and you’ll never hear of me again”? Honestly, I found it hard to believe. I needed a time out to think and that’s what I wrote him. We agreed that I would come up with a solution next evening and that I would be on line again.

Actually, I already had the solution. I happened to be an on line client with British Rail, so it was a simple truck to book a ticket on his name and on my account. Yes, the money would be gone as well if he didn’t show up, but at least he had no cash to squander around, just a useless train ticket if he had no intention of coming over in the first place. But it was more to find out for myself: did I really want this?

It was late when I went to bed. Lots of questions popped up in my mind and had to be answered. Was it that I was just looking around for a young, beautiful, sexy and seducing playmate in bed? Or was there more? Was it that I, as a childless man, had unused fatherly feelings that I wanted to give to him, he who needed them so much? Or had I simply fall in love on line? Was that possible, fall in love on line?

No matter what the reasons were, I decided to do it. If it wouldn’t work out I could always buy him another train ticket to go back.

Next evening I was on line, as we had agreed. But he was there as well. My first message was pretty business-like:

“Do you trust me enough to give me your full name and e-mail address?”

The answer followed in seconds: “Yes!”

“Then give it”.

I had his full name and e-mail address within 10 seconds. It made clear that his name was actually Michael, but that his friends always called him Micha. I explained to him what I was going to do: book a train ticket on his name and my account and mail it to him so that he could print and use it. We spoke about the day and the time the ticket had to be made out and after a pretty short chat I went off line and started the booking with British Rail. I had the ticket within five minutes on my mail and pushed it through to his mail address. The only thing I had to do now was just wait if he would indeed show up on the agreed day.

At last the day of his planned arrival had come. Out of pure nerves I was at the station way too early. I smoked one cigarette after another and glanced at my watch every five minutes. To make things worse, the local slow train was delayed for fifteen minutes. But finally the old train rolled into the station.

I was at the parking lot in front of the station and saw a couple of passengers coming out of the train. He was not one of them but that didn’t mean a thing. The actual station building obscured my view on part of the train. Some people came out of the station. Part of them start looking for their own pick up cars, others walked to the bus stop. I was totally uptight, there was still no Micha.

Only after some minutes he finally walked out of the building, packed with a rucksack, a bag and a guitar case. I recognized him immediately: he was as beautiful as he was on the pictures on the site. OK, we won’t mention the t-shirt that was washed too many times, the torn jeans that were tucked in old army boots and a black leather jacket that had been seeing better days as well. But his face and especially his eyes…they were gorgeous! His whole body had the appearance of a deer. He descended the station stairs with the moves of a young panther. I couldn’t suppress a broad grin at the thought that the gothic scene had finally also invaded a sleepy province town in the Northumbrian Borders.

When he saw me he put his luggage on the ground and walked towards me to give me hug and a wild, passionate kiss, devoid of any embarrassment.

“Well, here I am…finally!” he grinned.

I looked at his luggage with a smile and asked:

“How long did you plan to stay?”

Still with an infectious grin on his face he shrugged and answered:

“I don’t know. We’ll find that out later. If you’re fed up with me you can always throw me out!”

I loaded the luggage in my car and we started driving home. Not a word was spoken during the trip. He was totally enchanted by the surroundings which were an unknown to him, coming from an industry town. Here it was only green moors with small ponds of water and an abundance of waterfowl and other birds. The only thing he said during the drive was:

“It is beautiful over here. No, …it is like heaven over here!”

When we finally arrived at my cottage I couldn’t avoid a stormy welcome from my dog. It is the kind of dog who wants to become friends with every living thing on earth, especially when they are visiting.

But finally we sat down and I asked him:

“Tired?”

He gave me an exhausted smile and said:

Yeah, what do you think after sitting in a train for seven or eight hours?”

I made tea for us and after that was finished he said:

“I could do with a shower”.

So I showed him the shower and gave him a towel. I then politely withdrew into the living room. I had to make every effort to restrain myself, because the thought of this exceptionally beautiful boy naked under the warm water of my own shower aroused me enormously, but I managed to behave myself. I didn’t want to push him and just give him time to rest and to get used to his new surroundings.

It turned out he had other ideas. After about fifteen minutes I heard his footsteps in the hall and he walked into the living room, stark naked and a seducing smile on his face. It was a breathtaking sight: his long wet-glistening black hair stuck to his light cheeks and his frail body moved towards me in an unprecedented delicate and elegant way. His big, semi-hard smoothly-shaven cock swung left and right with every step he took.

Without saying a word he sat on my lap and started to kiss me vigorously. He stopped for a short moment, looked at me mischievously and whispered with a smile:

“But I’m not that tired!”

I held his head in my hands for a long time, while we kissed and tongue cushioned. I almost swallowed the delicious looks in his eyes, couldn’t get enough of it. Slowly my finger tips caressed his neck and his frail shoulders. His skin felt as if it burned with excitement.

“Where’s the bed room?” he asked panting.

“Then you have to get up, sweetie”, I said laughing, “Otherwise I can’t bring you there”.

He rose and I took him by his hand, guiding him slowly towards the bed room. With lust and a lot of expectations I watched him following me, slowly turning his hips while walking.

When we got in the bed room I was naked as well in a very short span of time. I lifted him in my arms, marveling at how light he was and laid him gently on the bed, lying down beside him. I looked at his small, delicious nipples that rose like two small erotic hills from his chest. I licked and sucked them, causing a voluptuous groan.

My hand went over his soft belly towards his cock that had in the mean time swollen to his combat-ready length of 8 inch. I was very sure I wanted to taste it. So I whispered in his ear:

“Make me young again and let me taste all your young, impetuous semen”.

Only a moan was given in reply.

I took his damp cock head in my mouth and started to suck it tenderly. He reacted with excited panting and moaning, the muscles in his belly contracted convulsively. His head rolled left and right with closed eyes.

It didn’t take long. With a deep groan, coming from the inner parts of his body, he ejaculated everything in my mouth. I tried to swallow it but it seemed it had no end. It was years, even decades ago, that I had tasted young sperm. It was when I had been eighteen myself but it was still as delicious as then.

“Ooooh, sweet granddaddy”, was the first he was able to say, “This was so incredibly good!”

I looked with warmth into his gleaming eyes while his sperm dripped along my chin.

When I finally managed to swallow it all I laid beside him. He looked at me with languorous eyes and said softly:

“Make me yours in a very sweet and tender way. I’ve longed for that during all this weeks!”

I felt some doubt: could I really do that to a boy his age?

“Please….?” he begged with a soft voice, putting on a touching pout.

I rolled him over on his side, his back turned towards me. I kissed his buttocks that felt like two soft, beautiful peaches, put them apart and caressed his pink boy’s cunt. Slowly I opened him up, making him ready to receive me. The tip of my tongue tickled the anus. Slowly the sphincter opened up and I was able to put my tongue a little bit inside him. I tasted his internal juices that were that delicious that they catapulted me into a rage that I hadn’t felt for a long time.

His crevasse opened up more and more. The inner pink tissues smiled at me invitingly. He twisted like mad and gave me a hard time to follow all the movements his ass made.

I decided he was opened up enough and snuggled up behind him, skin to skin. Expectantly he pushed his buttocks against my crotch in a gesture that expressed his desire: “Take me, take me!!”

Very slowly I went in. I had never experienced such a narrow corridor. Each already totally aroused nerve cell in my dickhead was provoked to the extreme and had no relief, not even for a macro-second, from the intestinal wall that fitted as tight as a narrow velvet glove, stroking incessantly over my tool. Without thinking I kissed and licked him continuously in his neck, while I started to thrust inside him. I was unable to postpone the explosion for long. The already maximal excitement only increased to a level that I was only capable to spray my juices in him, roaring with pleasure. The whole white mass disappeared in him. Well, mass? I’m sure it wasn’t as much as he had given me. The price of age, I guess.

I didn’t want to leave him, go out of him. Actually, I felt as if I never wanted to go out of him for the future. But nature has its own laws so after a while the corpus delicti slipped out all by itself, limp and harmless. With beaming eyes and a smile that made me dizzy he turned around and whispered:

“Now I’m yours!”

“And I am all yours, sweetheart”, I whispered, still panting and catching my breath.

He snuggled up very, very close to me. The only thing I could think of is to put my arms around him and stroke his soft skin in a soothing and caressing way.

We laid against one another for hours and hours. We kissed a little, stroked a little, said sweet things to another. We enjoyed each other’s smell and warmth and I stroked his long black hair, while his head lay on my breast. Suddenly he said:

“I hear your heart beat. The heart of my own sweet granddad that I’ve always wished for!”

After the physical intimacy it was now the time for the emotional bonding and intimacy. It was even more intense and a headier wine that the sex before it. In those hours we forged a strong emotional bond that looked like it would endure the ages.

He never went back to that industry town down south. A week after his arrival we picked up his other things by car and he moved in with me. Yes, there were some years that he was away during the week days but he came back every weekend to spend it together. That was when I enabled him to study at the academy of music. But for the rest we were inseparable, the old retired man and the gothic grandson from the south.

Was I his granddad or was I his lover? I hardly found the question worthwhile bothering and neither did he. We were happy together, me in my role as granddad and lover, he in his role as grandson and lover. And isn’t that what is life about? About being happy together?