* * * * *
I am Donald Oscar Crowley. Dad probably thought it would be cute to give me a name with the initials D.O.C. especially if I followed in his footsteps and chose medicine as a profession. Visions of embroidered guest towels, glassware, handkerchiefs and cocktail napkins no doubt ran through my mom’s head. The “O” was handed down to me in honor of my paternal grandfather. Dad and I shared that honor though I doubt that Grandpa and Grandma attached any significance to Dad’s monogram “J.O.C.”
Like my dad, I have a nice head of jet black hair, which I choose to wear in a style reminiscent of 60s college frat boys. Not long, not short, but just a nice manageable length. Deep blue eyes accentuated by my rather fair skin complete the picture.
My physique is nothing spectacular, weighing in at about 150 lbs at five-ten. Thanks to my love of swimming, my chest, waist and ass are smooth and tight. So far I haven’t much body hair to speak of. The “treasure trails” many of my friends take for granted, I desperately covet. Dick-wise, I’m deeply proud of my nice uncut six inches, which was probably spared the indignity of circumcision because my dad is similarly intact.
James Crowley, MD, is a well-respected Urologist at Forsythe Medical Center located in Forsythe, Wisconsin. We live a very comfortable life in our mission-style home situated on a half-acre lot in a subdivision called “La Foret.” I don’t consider myself spoiled – more privileged since I’ve had the privacy of my own very large bedroom since I was old enough to walk. On my seventeenth birthday, I was allowed to get my driver’s license, and Dad took me shopping for my first car, a maroon, 2001 Chrysler Sebring convertible. At that point, I felt sure my life was complete. The next milestone was my graduation from high school, which coincided with my eighteenth birthday in spring 2002. I had pretty much spent that first spring and summer goofing off with my friends who, like me were trying to “find” themselves. It was during this down time that my best buddy for many of those school years, John Rocco and I “found” ourselves in a way that would change my life forever.
My mom, Elizabeth, is a homemaker, and she is very good at it. She has her clubs and church activities that keep her busy; Dad has his medical practice plus the outside activities he enjoys with the group of partners who, together, own the cabin at the lake.
Dad spends a lot of his spare time in his basement workshop/lab tinkering with various mechanical and electronic instruments. He has never been one to share information on what he is working on or what he has successfully invented. He has always discouraged Mom and me from even visiting his private little world. We leave him alone. After all, he works hard at the medical center and deserves a little peace and quiet.
Mom and Dad had met just after graduation from high school. They were just nineteen when they married. Dad already knew he would enter the field of medicine. They must have forgotten the condoms one night since just about nine months later, I was born. The difficulty of supporting a wife and a child at such an early age while starting on his medical schooling apparently hadn’t occurred to either of them. They managed somehow and were now enjoying the benefits of the years of hard work.
At thirty-eight, my father is a fine specimen of manhood. The few specks of gray starting to appear around his temples only serve to enhance his handsomely mature face. He usually sports a natural tan on his very athletic body.
Entering my teen years, whenever I got an opportunity to see him shirtless or better yet, naked, I had to suppress some very strange feelings. I found myself wanting to be near him at these times; even wondering what it would be like to touch his firm stomach or chest and to have his strong arms hold me close. He was not much of a hugger, and the most I usually got was a pat on the shoulder or head.
Dad had not yet had the “talk” with me about sex, so all my information was obtained from my schoolmates, fountains of misinformation as usual, so I didn’t have a clue as to what was going on in my mind and body. I got my information from whatever I read in a few medical journals and magazines I found around the house.
My discovery of masturbation at age eleven was a total surprise as I am sure it is to most guys. Nothing ever compares with the first time.
On that happy day, I was sitting on the toilet and proceeded to get a hard-on. This was not unusual, but for some reason this day’s woody felt different. As I gripped my hardening cock, instinctively my hand started sliding my foreskin back and forth, covering and uncovering the head of my now very sensitive penis. The sensation was so incredibly good that I could not stop, and I damn sure didn’t want to. I was in heaven and really couldn’t comprehend what was about to happen as the wonderful sensation became even more intense. Suddenly, my cock exploded with a gush of thick white liquid, leaving me in a state of absolute awe and exhaustion. What had I done? What had been lurking in my groin just waiting for me to bring it to life? Was my precious little jewel damaged? I sat stunned at the wonder of the event. Never had I felt anything to compare with it. Slowly, I raised a semen coated finger to my nose. The smell was not what I expected. It was sort of like the odor of fresh washed bed sheets. Quickly running to the sink, I carefully washed away any traces. The combined feelings of relief, bewilderment and extreme pleasure occupied my mind for several minutes – then an epiphany! This must be what the big boys called cuming.
Reasoning that I was not the only kid to have experienced this magical moment, my mind popped back to reality, my heartbeat returned to normal, and I resolved to do some research the following day, and the day after that, and up to this moment, I am still conducting “research.”
Through further experimentation, it didn’t take me long to find out that this was a renewable resource to be enjoyed anytime, day or night and as often as I felt the need.
Naturally, I couldn’t wait to share my new knowledge with my best friend Phil and assorted guys in the neighborhood. They all seemed to be as amazed by my discovery as I was and no doubt passed along this knowledge to their friends. Scout camp was probably a lot different that summer. Oh, to have been a fly on those tent flaps.
After a few years of dating various girls and getting nothing from them but an occasional kiss and maybe a quick feel of tit, I found that I was looking more and more at other males as objects of my sexual fantasies.
At eighteen, I had my first truly passionate affair with another guy, John Rocco, and it changed my life dramatically (more about that later). It was a bit hard for me to accept, but now the realization that I was “queer” set in. As far as I knew, my parents had not a clue that I was gay and that was fine with me. Sooner or later they would figure it out.
* * * * *
Now, here I am at ripe old age of nineteen, and my libido is running wild. I can get a hard-on from eating a banana. For sure, this summer was going to be anything but dull now that I was to be introduced to life at the cabin on the lake.
“Happy Birthday, Don … now go pack your bag, we’re leaving for the cabin in the morning.” Dad was beaming as he spoke those magic words.
I had arrived.
There were four other members of the group plus my dad. Since they had been part of our family life for many years; I had grown to regard them as benevolent “uncles.” All of them were about the same age as Dad and were more or less successful in their professions.
My favorite was Bruce O’Reilly, a red-head of Irish descent with a great sense of humor. I guess what made him so appealing to me was his ability to entertain me and my friends with an endless stream of jokes and stories that he told in a fake Irish accent. Solidly built, about five-ten with well-muscled arms and legs, he had his own architectural practice and was still single. Bruce appeared to really enjoy his life as a bachelor. This intrigued me and caused me to wonder about his sex life. Could he be …?
Then there was Russ Gordon. A pretty ordinary guy, brown hair, cut short in a military style. I suspect this was a holdover from his Army days. Married, but no children, his wife, Barbara, was somewhat of a recluse and never appeared at
any of the picnics or other social functions the group held. This was a sexless marriage for sure. Russ didn’t display a muscular build, but more lean and tight like a seasoned swimmer. He had some vague connection with a stock brokerage firm. His biggest feature in my young eyes was his sexy, red Jaguar XK convertible, which was probably his solution to a mid-life crisis.
The bear of the group was Jack Braun, who was six-feet tall and about 220 lbs, partially bald with just a ring of blond hair around ear level. Jack lifted free weights three times a week and was very proud of his ability to impress his fellow muscle boys as well as his alleged stable of “hot chicks.” He was big, but well proportioned. I was always intrigued by the amazing amount of hair on his arms and legs and could just imagine how the rest of him looked. More than once, Jack had been the object of my masturbatory fantasies. By far, he was the easiest for me to talk with since he was the most down-to-earth type of guy. Not surprisingly, he was the managing partner of a local gym, which catered to the big guys. At his insistence, I visited the place a couple of times. You could practically peel the testosterone off the walls. It was a bit over the top for my taste, all that posturing and preening, and I seldom went back.
Finally, there was Marc, short for Marcel. A Frenchman by birth, he had been in this country since his teens and was now a U.S. citizen. He taught French at my high school where I just graduated a year earlier. He was quite thin and wiry and only stood about five-six. His light brown curly hair and short stature gave him a very boyish look. His marriage ended tragically when his wife and five-year-old daughter were killed in an auto accident. He remains a widower.
As different as each one of these men was, they had one thing in common; a strong masculine magnetism that was irresistible to me.
Being a forever horny little bastard, my dream plan for the summer at the cabin was simple. Along with the fishing, canoeing and swimming, I would try to have sex with each one of these men in such a way that each of them would be left with the impression that they were the only one seduced. At no time would I be excessively aggressive. I wanted them to want me, but most of all I wanted to learn how to properly satisfy a man. They say experience is the best teacher. I was ready to be taught. My biggest problem would be setting the bait at just the right time and in just the right place. Learning their individual habits and favorite activities around the cabin would be crucial to the plan.
The trip in my father’s GMC Suburban took about five hours. Marc and Russ got the front passenger seats, and I ended up squashed between Jack and Bruce in the back seat. The rear was packed with luggage and coolers. This was not a totally unpleasant situation for me. The tightness and the heat from my two seat mates’ shorts-clad thighs, coupled with the motion of the car caused my dick to stay hard for most of the trip. If either of them noticed, it was not apparent.
After turning off the highway onto a narrow dirt road, we stopped while Dad unlocked and then re-locked a security gate. We traveled a couple more miles, lurching and bouncing over the ruts until suddenly there it was. Shangri La! Xanadu! My pleasure palace for the next four weeks.
The cabin was of log construction and sat on a low bluff overlooking the lake. The air was sweet with the scent of pine, reminding me of the wreaths Mom always hung on our front door at Christmas.
The surface of the lake was marred only by the slightest of ripples. I jumped out of the car and ran for the shore eager to start my explorations. My youthful exuberance was soon interrupted by my dad yelling for me to get my ass back to the car and start unloading our gear. Well, every pleasure has its pain … in the ass.
It didn’t take us very long to get the car unloaded, and the guys tackled the job of putting everything in its place. The coolers held dozens of packaged casseroles, meatloaves, soups and who knows what else that my mom had prepared and frozen weeks before our departure. They had things under control, so Dad suggested I take a look around the place to get my bearings.
The ground floor consisted of an enormous living room with stone fireplace, an eat-in kitchen fitted out with some very fancy appliances and a dining room, which doubled as a TV lounge. I noticed that there were little cameras located near the ceiling in every room. Some sort of security system I supposed. Very nice, but I was more interested in checking out the sleeping arrangements.
Upstairs, there were three bedrooms. Two of them held pairs of double beds. The third had only one bed but it was king size. This turned out to be my dad’s digs. No doubt who was the “alpha male” around here.
At the far end of the hallway was a bathroom unlike any I had ever seen outside of a YMCA. Along one wall was a counter with three sinks. Opposite that were two little enclosed toilet stalls complete with doors for privacy, plus, in one corner was a urinal. At the end of the room was a wide-open, tiled shower room with four spaces, each fitted with an elaborate multi-head fixture. Damn, I could only wonder what this place was like when everybody decided to do their thing at the same time. Soap-dropping would be high on my to-do list. My cute little ass had never let me down in spite of the fact that it was still virgin territory.
My next stop would be the shore of the lake, but that would have to wait until morning. Darkness was coming on fast, and I smelled food.
After a great meal of Mom’s meatloaf and baked potatoes, we all headed for the TV room and caught Gentlemen Prefer Blondes on Turner Classic Movies. For me, it was a dated bore. They loved it for the shots of Marilyn in all her platinum blonde glory.
The guys finally called it a night and went off to their respective rooms: Bruce and Marc in one and Jack and Russ in the other. Dad suggested we do the same, and we headed up to the king size bed. “I hope you don’t mind that we are sharing a bed, Son. It’s big enough for both of us, and I’m a pretty sound sleeper. If you have any problem with it, we’ll work something out. It may be only temporary anyway as you’ll find out later.” Problem? Hell, this was better than I ever imagined. The only problem would be how to keep my hands off my sexy bed partner.
Rationalizing my sexual interest in my father was easy: I’m a young hot-blooded gay guy, and he is a mature, good looking stud-muffin. This was made all the more difficult by the fact that he traditionally slept in the raw.
“You should try it. We all like the feeling of freedom it gives us. Don’t be surprised if you see a few naked bodies around the house any time day or night. It’s also one of the reasons we are very selective when it comes to visitors.”
The sound of running water coming from the direction of the bathroom caught my attention. “Hey dad, a shower would really feel good right about now.”
“Sure, Son, go ahead, I’ll wait ‘til morning.”
I stripped off my sweaty clothes and made my way down the hall. Sounds of snoring were already coming from the other two rooms so that would mean the showers weren’t all taken. Steam was drifting from the entrance to the shower room, clouding my view of its occupant. Once inside, my delighted eyes took in the sight of Bruce in all his naked glory. His rear was to me, so I made a little noise with my throat, alerting him to my presence.
“Hey, Donny! Come on in and make yourself at home.”
He was in the process of soaping his upper body and seemed to be having some difficulty reaching his back.
“Today, while unloading the gear I must’ve pulled a muscle in my shoulder, and it’s giving me a hard time.” The sight of his soap and sweat covered body sent an electric shock to my prick, which went to a full hard-on in seconds. I quickly formulated a plan.
“Uncle Bruce, I’m not much of a masseur, but at least can help out with the soaping part, so you don’t aggravate the muscles any further.”
“No thanks, little buddy, I think I can handle it. One thing though, I dropped my soap. It’s somewhere on the floor. See if you can find it.”
Picking up the bottle of body wash, I reached around his muscular torso, past his upper arm and lightly brushed his right nipple as I handed him the soap. My rock hard prick was now in
ches away from his slick, wet ass.
“You’re sure you don’t need some help with those tough to reach places?” Something told me he was weakening.
“Maybe you could just do my back and shoulders. I am kinda sore, and since you’re here, you might as well make yourself useful.”
Taking the bottle of soap from his hand, I squirted a nice glob on my palm. As my hands worked the lather across his broad shoulders and middle back and up into his hairy armpits, he sensed the direction my lathering was taking, raising his arms to give me better access. “Oh yeah, Donny, now work my shoulder blades some more. Those hands of yours got talent. You sure you haven’t done this before?”
Accepting that invitation to continue, I gave his upper back a smooth, gentle massage. There was only one direction to go from there, and it was down. As my soapy hands made their way to the top of his furry ass cheeks, he seemed to tense, but then relaxed as I massaged the lather onto those gorgeous globes, working my fingers between them very slowly and gently until the tip of my left index finger barely touched his hot little rosebud. The heat of his ass against my fingertips was causing my head to spin, and I was out of control. He reacted with a sharp intake of breath and a tight clenching of his rock-solid butt cheeks. My heart was pounding with excitement; my cock was throbbing and primed for action.
Not wanting to go too fast and maybe ruin the moment, I backed off and allowed my soap-slicked hands to proceeded down his powerfully muscled thighs until, falling to my knees, I found my face directly in line with his seductively round and deliciously pink ass. The warm water cascading down his back and over those sweet cheeks washed away the suds except for the area deep within the crack. Gripping both mounds, I spread them apart giving me a perfect view of the tight little hole and its ring of ginger-red curls, while the water washed away any traces of soap.
Boys Will Be Boys - Their First Time Page 13
