Tuesday, November 27, 2012

A Touch of the Son. Digital Edition, by Barry Lowe

Their secret passion will lead them to hell. Will they be able to find their way back?

A chance sexual encounter at the airport with a hot college twink leads to nothing but trouble for the older Buzz, especially when Cal moves in with him until he find can suitable accommodation at the university he is to attend. Buzz attempts to fight the attraction the two men feel, Cal upping the ante when he offers to sleep with all Buzz’s friends just to make him jealous. But when the erstwhile friends take up the offer it leads Cal down the path toward self-destruction, becoming more degraded as he deserts Buzz and his real friends for the new ones who see him as little more than a sex slave for their gratification. When Buzz discovers their plans for Cal’s final humiliation could lead to his death, he realizes how much he loves Cal and sets about fighting back with everything at his disposal. In so doing he might reveal the illicit secret he and Cal have hidden from all but their closest allies.

** This edition includes – Man Of The Hour, Like Father Like Son, Sonny & Shared, Sonny Side Up, Eclipse Of The Son, Son & Games, Where the Son Don’t Shine, The Son Shines Out of His Ass, and Have Son, Will Travel – all previously published as individual eBooks by loveyoudivine Alterotica.**

Excerpt: From Man Of The Hour

I swore out loud, and got my reward in a number of withering glares from passing adults with children. Abashed, I mumbled an apology but I was seriously pissed off having taken precious time from my busy schedule to come to the airport to pick up my son only to discover his flight had been delayed and was not due for two hours. Not enough time to get to the city and back.
I briefly toyed with the idea of chucking the whole pick-up business aside to let my secretary do the honors, leaving me time to investigate several important management problems that were bugging me. She loved kids and I had no doubt my son would much prefer a hot twenty-three-year-old babe for a meet-and-greet than his almost forty-year-old gay dad. Not that I don’t like kids. Just not my own.
Our last meeting had been anything but auspicious. He’d been fourteen and a stuck-up twat who’d just learned about my sexual predilection from his mother who’d revealed all in an effort to drive yet another wedge into our non-existent relationship. I suppose she had every right to be angry with me since the afternoon she’d come home early from her job as a nurse at the local hospital to catch me with my prick buried up the ass of the very cute college student who supplemented his income by moonlighting as a pizza delivery boy. And, God, did he deliver!
One pizza with everything equals messy divorce, plus losing custody of our two-year-old son, Jason, who’d been spending the night at his grandma’s which is why I’d decided to lash out and experiment with my gay side. I’d suspected for a long time that I might swing both ways but after one night with Mr. Pizza, I defected to the opposing team. Full time.
My wife moved away to a small town on the other side of the country, spurred on by my infidelity and dissatisfaction with city life in general. It brought out the redneck in her and she, in turn, passed it on to my son who contacted me rarely and then only via email. They became few and far between. The few attempts at visitation rights had been rebuffed with the suggestion a visit would not be looked upon with favor by either my wife’s new husband or any of their redneck friends who regularly referred to me as ‘The Faggot’ in front of my son.
It didn’t hurt as much as it could have because I threw myself into my new-found sexuality with the sort of missionary zeal that comes with conversion. My embrace of my new religion saw me worshipping at the altar of cock and male ass at every opportunity, whether it be in bars, back rooms or the open air splendor of public parks. I never let a chance slip by, indifferent as I was to color, creed, age, body shape, or political affiliation. I was a sucker for any man’s cock, and any man’s ass was fair game as far as I was concerned. Over time, and much experimentation however, I learned that there was one physical type that got my gonads churning like no other: college-age boys in their early twenties.
They were so special I had even allowed a few of them to tap my ass.
Now I was waiting for my own college-age brat, the antithesis of all I held horny. A non-athletic book botherer, a worrier not a warrior. A self-opinionated, homophobic pimple-faced blight on humanity. And they expected me to ease his way into the local college. After he had humiliated me, and my friends, by referring to us as ‘fags’ at the age of fourteen when I’d last seen him. His three-week stay then had been an unmitigated disaster and led to total estrangement. I loathed the little bastard and his efforts to denigrate me and my ‘chosen lifestyle.’ Initially, I welcomed the opportunity of rapprochement, hoping for a little dad/son bonding. If anything, it drove us farther apart. Especially when he boldly informed me that he would lock his bedroom door at night and if he so much as heard me breathe outside his door, he would call the police.
The final straw was the night he called me a ‘fat faggot slug’ in front of a man I had been trying to impress for almost a year. I had finally succeeded in getting him to my home only to be humiliated by my son, a veritable little Billy Bunter himself. His name calling had one good result, I took up exercise and the gym. The little bastard would hardly recognize me now. We’d see who had the last chuckle over body weight.
Once he returned to his mother, confirming her conviction that I was the anti-Christ, I never kept in touch. Not on birthdays, not on Christmas, not on any occasion of importance in his life. If he had any. For all emotional purposes, he was dead to me.
That’s why it was surprising when I got the phone call from my former wife. Our dealings were usually lawyer to lawyer. I was about to hang up on her when I realized her first words were not the usual, “Hello, faggot” of our infrequent phone conversations. I put the phone back to my ear.
“What do you want, Irene?”
“It’s our son,” she said hesitantly.
I wasn’t even father enough to get that tight clutch around my heart that something may have happened to him.
“Oh, he’s our son now after he’s been your son for how long now? Eighteen years?”
She turned my sarcasm back on me. “He’s twenty. Almost twenty-one.”
“How much is this going to cost me, Irene?”
I had paid alimony without missing a week until he turned eighteen. Thereafter, I had paid, no questions asked, for ‘incidentals’ that she passed on via legal representation. This must be a whopper if she felt the need to ring me personally.
I heard her sigh down the phone. Now we were getting to the point. “Look, Buzz.”
It must be serious; she was using her pet name for me that she never uttered outside the bedroom. I got it because I always wore my hair in a buzz cut. Back then at any rate.
“The sooner you spit it out Irene, the sooner we can put an end to this painful conversation and get back to our respective lives.” I guess I was more brutal than was necessary. “This is the first time you’ve spoken to me in what is it, seven or eight years, since you foisted that nasty little fourteen-year-old sprog on to me. And you know how well that went.”
She sounded as if she were about to disagree but must have thought better of it.
“He wants to visit again, Buzz.”
I groaned. “Christ, Irene. What for?”
“He’s got a scholarship to the college where you are. The only one he could get.”
I found that difficult to imagine as he never had his nose out of a book. He wasn’t exactly the athletic type. By now, he must be goggle-eyed from study. It’s all he did during his three-week stay with me. That, and turn insults into an Olympic sport.
“He wants to stay with you until he can find accommodation and settle in. We’re not wealthy people, Buzz.”
She was playing every blackmail card at her disposal.
“He won’t be any trouble,” she said after a long pause.
“I’m not changing my lifestyle for the little shit,” I said, mentally calculating what I would have to do to make my home non-threatening to a twenty-year-old heterosexual boy. There, I’d already reneged on the promise I made myself the day I pushed his fourteen-year-old butt through the departure lounge gate wiping my hands of him and vowing I would never compromise myself for anyone in the future. Now I was doing that very thing.
“You don’t have to. He won’t be there long.”
“Why couldn’t he have found a college closer to you?”
“Look, there’s no use moaning over what’s done. He’s your son, although I admit, you’ve never done anything to show it. You owe him this much.”
“I don’t owe him squat,” I said, close to yelling, then calmed down. “Okay, if it’s only until he gets himself acclimatized to the big scary city and finds somewhere to stay, I’ll put up with him, but…” I paused to gather my thoughts. “But, he has to obey a few rules this time.”
“I’m sure that will be no problem. As long as you and your mates keep your hands to yourselves.”
That was low even for Irene. I hung up the phone on her but she rang straight back. I was tempted not to answer although that would have been childish. As punishment, I did let it ring for the longest time. That gave me time to get my rage under control and actually chuckle at the thought of any of my friends even contemplating a tryst with my lard-assed flabby son.
“I’m sorry, Buzz,” she said, “That was uncalled for.”
I put my foot down. “I’ll agree to this on one condition.”
“That is?”
“He show some respect. Okay, he doesn’t have to like the fact his old man is gay, but I will not tolerate him calling me and my friends ‘fags’ in my own home.”
“He did that?” Irene sounded genuinely surprised.
“As if you didn’t know.”
She went to interrupt but I kept right on. “I will do everything in my power to help the ungrateful bastard. I expect…I want nothing in return. But he will not disrespect me.”
“He called you names?”
“Oh, like you didn’t know, Irene. I wonder where he got it from. Could it be from you and that redneck husband of yours? Like you said, it’s in the past, let’s leave it there.”
She must have decided withdrawal was the best solution and after giving me his flight details and his mobile phone number, she hung up.
That’s why I was at the airport; grinding my teeth after discovering his flight had been delayed. I rang his mobile but it was switched off so I left a message asking him to call me to let me know if he was on the next flight. I decided to have a coffee and ring the office to see if there was anything urgent that required my attention.
There was a small cafĂ© nearby that sold my favorite brand of heart starter and the tables gave me a perfect view of the Arrivals board. My secretary informed me, with the sort of superiority to her voice that suggested a raise in pay would be welcome, that she was perfectly capable of holding down the fort in my absence, and that there was nothing urgent that needed my attention. To while away the time, I got myself a coffee and some sort of non-descript pastry that hadn’t seen the inside of an oven for days and which, at airport prices, cost the equivalent of a meal downtown. I took one bite of the flavorless sawdust before pushing it across the table, to concentrate on the coffee, which was as good as the pastry was stale. No point in wishing I’d thought to bring my laptop with me. Instead, I settled for a newspaper, yesterday’s as it turned out, flipping to the business opportunities at the back. I still had ninety minutes or more to fill in.
I was engrossed in the comics when a shadow fell across the table.
“Personally, I don’t think comics have survived the retirement of Bill Watterson. I miss Calvin and Hobbes.”
My interest was piqued. Watterson’s strip had been a guilty pleasure and I had a bookshelf lined with his comic omnibuses at home. I’d always wished Jason had been more like Calvin.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked.
He took my lack of a response as a rejection. But he was wrong. I’d been gobsmacked by his beauty.
“Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to disturb you.” He began to move away.
He hadn’t disturbed me. Well, perhaps, my libido had been disturbed.
“Sorry, where are my manners. Please, sit down.”
He smiled, pulled out the chair, and sat gracefully, giving me an eyeful of a packed crotch that promised nirvana, and a body scarcely contained by a tight T-shirt that strained around his biceps and across his chest. My cock hardened instantly.
I folded my paper and leaned across the table, offering my hand. “My friends call me Buzz,” I said.
His handshake was firm, without that aggression that some men feel they need to exude authority.
“I hope you’ll count me as one of your friends, Buzz,” he purred. If I wasn’t an old cynic, I would have thought he was flirting with me. “I’m Cal. I guess my parents liked the strip as well.”
“You want a coffee, Cal? I was about to get a refill.”
He appeared embarrassed. “Look, I gotta be honest,” he said. “One of the reasons I sat here was that neglected pastry. I thought I might be able to snatch it while you weren’t looking.”
I laughed. “You’re either very poor or very hungry.”
“Both,” he interrupted.
“Be my guest,” I said, pushing the plate toward him. “But let me warn you, it has seen better days. If it was a horse, they would have shot it.”
He laughed then began to wolf it down. I guess I was a little disappointed that his interest was in my leftovers rather than in me, but I would never have followed up anyway.
“You want a coffee to go with that snack?” I said as I stood preparing to move to the counter. “My treat.”
He mumbled something between crumbs which I took to be the affirmative.
When I got back to the table, he was picking up the last of the pastry flakes on the end of his spit slicked finger. I wondered how it would feel if it were my cock being pushed between his soft lips. I sat down as my cock tented in my jeans.
I pushed the coffee toward him. With a plate of sandwiches.
He looked at me.
“As I said, my treat.”
He opened the cardboard packet and began to devour them greedily. “Thanks, man. Um… Buzz.”
I wanted to soften the burden of accepting food from a stranger. “If you want to pay me back…”
I saw him stop chewing.
“Then maybe some time in the future when you find yourself in a similar situation, then remember this and be charitable to that someone who’s down on his luck.”
He relaxed, polishing off the sandwiches in record time, burping his appreciation.
“Sorry. Habit, I suppose. But they sure tasted fine.”
He watched me closely as he sipped his coffee, leaning back contentedly. I was uncomfortable under his inquisitive gaze and glanced at the Arrivals board. “You waiting for someone?” he asked.
“Yeah. The plane has been delayed.”
“How long?”
“I’ve got over an hour to fill in.”
“That’s good,” he smiled, leaning closer. “There was another reason I wanted to sit here.”
“What was that?” I asked.
“You’re hot.”
I spluttered my coffee. I’d never had a young man proposition me so openly. He pressed his knee against mine so I could feel his heat.
“And you’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” I replied.
“So the only dilemma is where do we go to fill in a very pleasurable hour? They’re not likely to let us into the First Class Lounge. Your car is probably too public. Right here on the table would get us arrested although I have been known to do it for an audience.”
I groaned at the fantasy.
“You like that, eh?”
I nodded my head enthusiastically.
“In that case, follow me.”
He was up from the table, shucking on his backpack, and striding away before I caught up with him.
“It was only a sandwich and a coffee. You don’t have to do this,” I said, taking his arm to slow him down.
He turned on me, his eyes flashing anger. “You think I’d fuck you for a crappy sandwich and stale Danish?”
I mumbled an apology. He calmed down.
“I get off on older dudes,” he said. “Not ancients. But Daddy types. You know?”
I nodded.
“I thought you might get off on guys my age. I was hoping you were up for a bit of adventure. I guess I was wrong.”
Fuck! I was going to lose him. My cock was screaming what a foolish old man I was.
“Nah,” I said warmly. “I love fucking the ass off guys your age till they can’t stand up. Just not used to them coming on so strong.”
He smiled. “Life’s too short to beat around the bush. You up for that adventure then?”
“Fuck, yeah,” I said as he took off again.
I kept pace with him as I knew where he was headed. When we got there, he didn’t even bother to look around but just opened the door as if he had every right to use it.
“Live dangerously, daddy,” he said as he pulled open the door to the disabled toilet and ducked inside.
Following him without thinking, I locked the door behind us. The stall was much more spacious than an ordinary men’s room cubicle and we had total privacy – unless someone came knocking on the door. I’d worry about that when it happened. Right now, I had more on my mind, like the handsome young man who wrapped me in his arms, thrusting his warm tongue into my mouth, sucking gently as he ground his crotch against mine. It was difficult to determine who was harder.
I glanced at my watch, remembering Jason was arriving shortly.
“Plenty of time, old man,” Cal said as he sat on the toilet seat spreading his legs to reveal a very substantial bulge. “Come on, daddy. Strip for me. Show me what you’ve got.”
I fumbled nervously with my shirt until he put his hand up for me to stop. “Come on, man. Tease me. Don’t play this like some back-alley whore who wants it over and done with.” He spoke like we had all the time in the world. I looked at my watch again. “Whoever it is you’re meeting. Let them wait.”


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