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I”m required to remind you of the fact that this story is not a documentary. Nothing in this fictive story ever happened, it”s all fibs and fantasies. Still, this story is not for you if your laws say you”re too young to indulge in smutty stories. Neither is it for you if your laws say you can”t indulge in smutty stories regardless of your age. You may think this stupid, but there it is: If these laws apply to you, go away.

If not, I hope you have fun. If you do, you”re welcome to tell me here:

wintermagnus@protonmail

Or ota

And to keep this site going, please do your best and fty/donate.html

(And when reading, maybe you should keep in mind that English is a foreign language to me.)

 

A small and maybe unnecessary introduction:

Those of you who have read one or more of my earlier stories may have noticed that I harbour a certain fondness for big ones, and yes, I know there”s a somewhat derogatory word for that, but who cares. True to form, this story will again reveal my affection for the aforesaid organs. There will of course be the usual amount of complicated feelings, exhausting mental conflicts and/or challenging social conditions, as always in my stories, but most of all this story will, behind the trimmings, be an ode to a boy and his father and their superb cocks.

 

And now for the proper introduction:

This story takes place in a small coastal town in a year when Norway was a somewhat insignificant country and by many considered the backwoods. Years before the country made it to the top five of almost any list regarding human rights, wealth, standard of living, happiness and all that shit. Years before the population got overfed and demanding. Years before surveillance was as intrusively present in everyday life as it is today; your movements were then mostly monitored by inquisitive neighbours. Cars were few and far between, there was no TV unless you lived close to the Swedish border and had aimed your antenna that way, porn was as good as inaccessible, and doctors appeared in full page cigarette commercials. Sex before marriage was officially frowned upon, sex between men was illegal and punishable. The word gay meant happy, and the word fuck did not blossom on the lips of every maiden in the land. Post-war puritanism prevailed, rigid standards of behaviour were seemingly upheld, whenever sex was mentioned, unless as an equivocal theme in jokes, puritans would start to make loud noises. Unquestioned “morality” and class distinctions bordering on bigotry ruled the scene, at least on the surface. Under the surface, however, people were people and did what people have always done. And under the surface secrets could be kept secrets. Most of the time.

 

 

Harald Lange, 1959

(Six remarkable days in August.)

A short story by Magnus Winter

 

Dramatis Personae:

Harald Lange, 14.

Henrik Lange, his father, 34.

Anna Lange, his mother, 35.

Tom, his friend, 14.

Olav, Tom”s friend, 16.

A few extras,

among them a schoolmaster and a naked stranger.

 

Monday

In from her weekly ride, Anna Lange, n�e Kortner, absentmindedly watched the stableboy hang up the saddle and start rubbing down the sleek bay stallion. Normally she would exchange a few brisk words with whoever was present when she got back, and then rather purposefully take herself off, but today she seemed distracted, almost incapacitated, and just stood lamely by. Watching, but not really seeing.

Not until the stallion”s obvious enjoyment with the grooming made a massive penis start to crawl out from its sheath, and her faraway eyes inadvertently focused and fixed on the growing appendage. This she had seen countless times before, so why it suddenly should invade her mind like this, she couldn”t fathom. And when she lifted her eyes and met the lewd grin of that impudent boy with the bristle brush, inexplicable hot and cold waves rushed through her body, and she fled the scene with wobbly knees and a flushed face.

She got on her bike and pedalled off, but the long nose of the bicycle seat was suddenly very prominent and impossible to ignore. Out of sight, she leaned her bike against the barn wall and, still sitting on the bike and her inner vision filled with forbidden images, rubbed her crotch back and forth against the hard beak of the seat until she reached a shattering climax.

Later, when she sat with her friend in the small corner caf�, she confessed she didn”t know how to cope anymore.

*

All kids dismissed save one, the schoolmaster slash churchwarden slowly strode back and forth in front of the teacher”s desk. A dried-up stick of a man in a shapeless pre-war black suit, bristly grey hair, glasses halfway down his nose, you”d never think there was much authority there. You”d be wrong, though. What he lacked in physical command, he made up for with biting sarcasm and an impeccable, ice-cold calm that somehow put the fear of God into his underlings more than blustering rage would ever do.

He stopped in front of a seated ginger boy. The eyes in the freckled face were downcast. The hands on the slender thighs were trembling with nervous unease.

“Paragraph 201. Cutting through the legal jargon for the benefit of your pea-sized brain, it states that indecent exposure in public qualifies for fines or prison. I trust you are familiar with the word indecent?”

Two steps closer, fingers drumming on the boy”s desktop.

“Now, Lange. Tell me this: What on earth gave you the impression that your … ahem, physical attributes are of interest to anyone but yourself?”

The boy mumbled something, eyes still glued to the floor between his legs.

“Speak up, Lange! And I”d appreciate you looking at me while explaining yourself, if you would condescend to do so.”

The boy reluctantly looked up, then quickly down again.

“I was asked to, wasn”t I?” A whispered Sir came as an afterthought.

The mockery in the older man”s voice was undisguised.

“You were asked to! And did it never occur to your limited intellect that there would perhaps be other venues more suited to such activity than a classroom?”

The boy suddenly looked up again. Blushing, but defiant.

“They keep on asking! They nag and they dare me! So what am I supposed to do? … Sir?”

“I suppose the word “no” never springs to mind? Instead, you seem find a career of self-exposure at any given location sensible and pertinent? This is not good, Lange. Not good.”

The schoolmaster returned to his desk. Unscrewed the cap of his fountainpen, started to write. Apart from the ominous, faint scratch of the pen silence dropped like a curtain in the room.

Finally, the written note was put in an envelope and sealed. Glasses were pushed up.

“You disappoint me more than I can say, Lange. You”ve shown some potential up till now, don”t go waste it on vulgar dares and silly pranks like you were a five-year-old. It”s unworthy of you.”

The envelope was held aloft.

“You are suspended for the rest of the week. Take this note to your mother. Or your father. Or to whomever you are staying with at this moment. You”re dismissed.”

The subtle jab at his parent”s divorce stung. Scowling and still trembling, Harald Lange left.

*

“Harald!”

Running footsteps and a high-pitched voice sounded behind him.

“What did he say? What did he say?”

The darkhaired, pixie-faced and skinny boy caught up with him as he stopped by the bike shed to tuck his shirt properly in and tighten his belt a notch, almost too tight, but the way current fashion dictated.

Harald”s greenish grey eyes narrowed in mock reprimand.

“A lot. Thanks to you!”

His darkhaired mate looked almost repentant.

“Seriously! Was he like hopping mad?”

“Ever see old Stoneface hop? Got suspended for five days, though, didn”t I?”

“Oh, hell.” Then a fit of giggles. “But it was brilliant! You should have it out all the time!”

“Bloody perv! Why don”t you have yours out all the time?”

“Who wants to look at mine? Yours, though … I mean, it”s something else!”

“Got a letter as well. To take home, you know.”

“Shit. Your mum”s gonna kill you!”

“She”ll never see it. I”m with Dad this week.”

“Even worse!”

The ginger boy bit his thick lower lip and shook his head.

“Got a cig?”

His brunette friend gave him a calculating look. Tilted his head backwards.

“Sure. Behind the shed, then. There”s no one around now.”

*

Harald Lange leaned against the wall in the sheltered nook at the back of the bike shed, puffing on his cigarette. Mentholated unfortunately, but beggars can”t be choosers.

As the unwritten rule prescribed, his fly was open, and his cock was on display in exchange for the cig. His mate, inhaling smoke like a pro, admired the still flaccid, but suspiciously growing cock with his customary awe.

“Jesus! Hell! How long is it now?”

The owner of the exhibited member put on a nonchalant and indifferent face.

“Same as it was this morning, you idiot. I don”t know how long.”

A blatant lie. He knew to the millimetre the length and girth of it. For the last five months, or more accurately, from the minute he realized that his cock was superior to the few he had seen among his contemporaries in the communal bath house, where he had no business to be since there were bathrooms in both of his homes but had gone with his darkhaired, elfin friend just out of curiosity, he had measured it at least once a week. And in the beginning, sometimes twice a day. But no way would he admit this.

His mate wasn”t fooled.

“Bullshit. Get it up! Let”s see it real stiff!”

“You queer or what?”

But to a cock that”s been in this world fourteen years and two months, being admired and talked about is all it takes for it to raise its head. No touch is necessary, all by itself it wants to show its full potential. Also, the thrill of exhibitionism helped it along, and within seconds the sleek cock had filled out and lengthened and lifted, and now stood proudly at a 45-degree angle, elastic foreskin stretched tight to reveal just a little bit of pale, pink head with its little eye. Not the fattest of cocks, no, but its relative slenderness made the length look all the more impressive. At least to the less blessed darkhaired boy whose mouth felt like parchment. As it always did when he gazed at his mate”s miraculous junk. His fingers itched to touch. But no, he couldn”t possibly …

“Oh, wow! I wish mine were as big!”

Carrot-top Harald sniggered self-consciously. Cigarette now a butt on the ground, he manoeuvred his hard cock back into his underpants, wishing he could put it upwards under his belt for that lovely pressure against the head, but the belt was too tight, and it would mean a lot of rearranging, and enough was enough. His mate”s plea to make the magical cock squirt its juice fell on stony ground, now was the time to go home and face the music.

*

Anna Lange, n�e Kortner, entered with a ding “Lange”s Watches and Jewellery”, looking flustered and impatient. Strode briskly up to the counter where a prim and proper lady in her fifties held the fort.

“Where is he?”

The lady gave her a haughty once-over, clearly disapproving of the silk blouse” with its three top buttons undone and the four-inch stiletto heels. Tight-lipped, she turned from the counter and knocked on the door at the back of the shop.

“Your … eh, wife is here.” Very marked, very deprecatory.

The door eventually opened. A medium tall, slim man sporting slicked back, rust-coloured hair that almost glittered from the amount of pomade in it came into view, white collar and dark tie visible in the opening of his blue lab coat. His full lips curled into a vinegary smile.

Anna Lange rushed past the counter and into the backroom workshop, pushing the man into the room with her and slamming the door, much to the disappointment of the shop assistant whose strict upbringing withheld her from listening at doors. The temptation was certainly there, however.

Inside, Anna Lange stood facing her ex-husband Henrik, looking agitated and resigned at the same time.

“It”s Harald. I”ve decided I don”t want him back with me for a while. He has to stay with you from now on, I just can”t take any more from him.”

The man studied her disgruntled face.

“According to the plan, he is to go back to you on Friday. Should I remind you that a week with me every other month, no more, no less, was your non-negotiable wish? Why this sudden change?”

She looked at him almost with hatred.

“Because it”s time you had to deal with his … his insolence, and his obstinacy. Not to mention his laziness. I”m sick and tired of it all, it feels like he”s forcing me to become a nagging witch. And I”m fed to the back teeth with cleaning up after him and all his crusty socks and mountains of tissue … The stink! I mean, his room smells like … I don”t know what!”

The man hadn”t forgotten what it was like to be fourteen and a bit, and horny around the clock, but he found it best not to argue.

“Okay, okay! I”m fine with having him until further notice.”

She almost sneered.

“You had better be. Because I”m going away. Maybe for good. I”ve had it with this godforsaken little shithole. And I want to date again. Find someone. I haven”t had… I mean, it”s been years!”

She suddenly looked destitute and sighed heavily.

“I want to go home!”

He frowned, deep in thought.

“If you mean what you”re saying now, I want a new agreement, and I want it in writing. We don”t have to take it to court, but I want your signature on a paper where you agree to leave him with me with no reservations. It may not be legally binding, but in case you change your mind, I want something to strengthen my case. We can do it right here and right now.”

He sat down, brought out a sheet of stationary and a pen and started writing. He looked up once.

“You see, unlike you I actually like him.”

*

“Harald! Will you please come out here?”

The boy, safely ensconced in his small room in his father”s flat above the shop, had simply left the sinister letter from school on the kitchen table and gone into hiding.

“Not if you”re mad!”

“I will be in a minute if you don”t come out. Pronto!”

There was no way out of this, he”d known that all the time. One could always hope, though, but obviously no go. Fearing the worst, he unlocked the door and came gingerly out.

His father stood in the narrow hallway, waving the letter. His face, though, wasn”t contorted with rage, as the boy had feared. There was just an ironic grimace adorning those lush lips.

“You”ve got some explaining to do.”

Blushing, the boy followed his father to the living room.

“Sit.”

His father sat down opposite him, smoothed the letter out on the low table between them.

“Now tell me how you could be so stupid as to get yourself in this soup.”

The boy looked pleadingly up.

“It was a dare! It was Tom who dared me to do it. And he got two of the others in on it as well. I couldn”t back out, could I? Like a coward or something?”

His father, who really wanted to laugh the whole thing off, knew he had at least to pretend this was a serious matter. His index finger followed the written lines.

“Suspension. Indecent exposure. What did you do, moon the teacher or what?”

“It wasn”t like that. I couldn”t have known teacher would notice, could I?”

“I”m still in the dark here. Why don”t you start at the beginning?”

The boy pulled at his shirt collar, as if he had problems breathing.

“It”s Tom. He always wants me to get my … to get it out, you know. Just because I showed it to him once, and now he wants to see it all the time. And now some of the other guys have started, too.”

His father”s control slipped, and a small involuntary chuckle started in his throat. He hurriedly put on a harsher attitude than he had planned to cover himself.

“Honestly, Harald. Are you seriously telling me you got your penis out in class? Have you no sense? And now I have been summoned to meet with the schoolmaster because of your idiocy. Thank you very much!”

The boy was close to tears. But he was fourteen and two months, and no fourteen-year-old boy should resort to tears, and three years of mostly living alone with his mother had honed his defiance. He threw back his head, rather insolently.

“You think it”s easy, everyone teasing you and nagging you and badgering you to show them your … you know? So, I show them! To shut”em up!”

“For God”s sake, Harald! There are hundreds of places where you can do that more … well, discreetly. But in class? What were you thinking?”

His father was about to lose his mask. There was suppressed laughter in his voice.

“So, everyone wants to see your little pecker, huh? And you”re happy to comply? Why?”

The boy”s face was flushed a deep red, almost hiding his freckles. But the belligerent streak in his nature wouldn”t let him pull out of this. Not until some misconception here was corrected.

“It”s not little! Tom says it”s the biggest in our class! By far! That”s why!”

Now his father”s laughter filled the room.

“Tom says, does he? And he”s inspected all of them, has he?”

“I shouldn”t wonder. He”s obsessed with cocks.”

His father pulled himself together. Some seriousness was required here. Never mind the use of a four-letter word.

“Listen, my dear, misguided boy. I haven”t quite forgotten what it was like, you know. Being young and crazy and horny all the time and all that. And what”s done is done, but will you please show a little more prudence in the future?”

The boy nodded a few times in agreement. His stiff neck relaxed a bit. His face lost its fire.

“And by the way, you”re staying with me now. Your mother wants you out of her hair. Do you mind much?”

The boy”s chin dropped. He looked wildly at his father, dazed and gaping.

“Are you too old for a hug? If not, come here!”

And the boy did. And fourteen or not, his tension and his reserve dissolved with a snap and threatened to set off the waterworks, but he bit his lip, sniffled two times and rested his head like a little boy on his father”s shoulder.

*

To bed, earlier than strictly necessary, but he craved a long and proper wank instead of the fast and frantic one he”d had in the toilet a little while ago.

There he was now, flat on top of his duvet, stripped of all inconvenient clothing, looking down his flat chest and concave stomach, down to where his joy and pride, yes, there was no denying it, was fast crawling from its small nest of reddish pubes towards his navel. Well, before it got that far, it had lifted and stood like a steel spring up from his belly-skin. He pushed it down flat to see if it had finally grown past his navel. But just like yesterday, the tip just touched the small hollow.

His fingertips petted and caressed the faintly curving shaft, lightly and lovingly, felt the spongy ridge on the underside, softly rolled the foreskin halfway down, tickled the frenulum. He rubbed his index finger against the slit, pushed harder to see if he could squeeze out a bit of precum, but he wasn”t there yet.

His left hand slipped gently over his smooth balls and into that place behind them that felt so exquisitely good to touch, fingertips danced along the stringlike thing there, he had looked the name up: Perineal raphe. He whispered the name as he gently stroked and tickled, then with thumb and index finger he followed and softly squeezed the sides of the long, swelling mound that was the continuation of his cock, again and again whispering the name penis bulb. He enjoyed those words so much. They sounded so swollen and juicy.

His right thumb pushed his rigid cock up and backwards and then let go. He loved the sound his cock made when it slapped hard against his stomach. He did it again, sniggering as he happily thought how nice it was that his mother wasn”t anywhere near to hear what he did. Again, and again. Slap! Slap! He began wondering if the sound could be heard through the door, or the walls. He guessed it could, the walls in this apartment were thin, he had several times heard his father cough or rummaging about in the next room. Maybe his father could hear him now. He would surely recognize the sound, wouldn”t he? His cock jumped and twitched at the thought. But no, his father was in the living room with the radio on, wasn”t he? And suddenly he felt a weird kind of emptiness, almost sorrow that his father was out of earshot, sorrow that he couldn”t share this sound with him.

“Listen, Dad,” he whispered. “Listen to what I”m doing.”

Such a deliciously forbidden thought! Blood rushed to his temples and pounded in his ear. He gripped his cock with closed fist, pumped hard a few times, stopped, then pumped again. A drop of clear fluid trickled down the head from the slit. The need to come swelled in him, but also the urge to prolong it.

He stared at his cock. It was at its biggest and hardest now, looked so … so stylish was the word that came to his mind, and a sudden impulse to measure it gripped him. Regretting the fact that his tape measure was still in his drawer at his mother”s place, he scuttled out of bed to get the ruler from his schoolbag, but in his haste didn”t take into consideration that he wasn”t in his usual room. He stumbled, tried to steady himself on the chair with his bag, but the chair wobbled and fell with a clash and a clatter. He swore.

“Harald? Are you all right in there?”

His father”s voice boomed from behind the thin wall.

“Yeah. Yes, Dad, I”m fine.” Breathless and half choked. Shit!

He threw himself back on the bed, never mind the ruler. Pulled the duvet up to his chin, and under it grasped his still raging cock and wanked it like mad.

“Oh, Dad,” he whispered, “you heard me. You heard me!”

And he came in a frenzy, shot his young, still somewhat watery juice all over his chest and his belly, and left it there to be soaked up by the flowery duvet cover.

*

Tuesday

He was ruthlessly awakened by a series of sharp knocks.

“Harald! Open the door!”

He rolled out of bed.

“A minute!”

He searched for his underpants. Then perversely decided not to. How naughty wouldn”t it be to let his father see him naked! He trotted over and unlocked the door.

His father, fully suited for work, gave his son a quick once-over and raised a sardonic eyebrow. He pushed the door open and marched in.

“I”ve been thinking, since you don”t have school for a few days, you might as well make yourself useful. Mrs Froland is due some days off, and I want you to help mind the shop while she”s gone.”

The boy slithered past him and went to sit on the bed. His father continued, seemingly unaffected by the expanse of smooth, pale and freckled skin and the obvious remnants of morning wood in front of him.

“You need to go get your good clothes. If your mother is not there, come back, and I”ll give you money to get a new shirt and a tie. Okay? Good. I”ll tell Mrs Froland she can have the rest of the week off.”

Being naked with his father did funny things to the boy”s dwindling morning erection, and suddenly bashful, he covered the now refilling protuberance with his hands. His father turned to leave. But in the doorway, he looked back over his shoulder, grinned a bit uncertainly and again raised his brows.

“Well, what do you know! So that”s why your friend Tom is so fascinated!”

His just a little forced laughter echoed back into the room as he left.

*

He stopped by his school on the way back from his mother”s place, canvas shopping bag full of clothes dangling from the handlebar. Long recess was due in a few minutes. He wanted to see some of his mates and sound out their reaction to his punishment, hoping for consensus that the whole thing was bloody unfair.

Kids finally started to pour out of the double doors, milling about, jostling, shouting. He spotted a couple of guys from his class, tried to wave them over, but they just waved back and made no signs to approach him.

But then a couple of boys came jogging towards him. Tom, of course, and with him a boy he didn”t know, a tall, lanky guy from the year above them. Tom was grinning and giggling and acting like a little girl.

The older boy just nodded in Harald”s direction. His voice when he eventually spoke was as deep as a man”s, quite unlike Tom”s which hadn”t yet changed.

“Hear you got yourself expelled.”

“Nah. Not expelled, just suspended. Few days only.”

The tall guy suddenly showed his teeth faking a disapproving grin.

“And for some stunt, eh?”

“You heard?”

“Everyone”s heard. Quite famous, aren”t you?”

Tom tittered like crazy. His feet couldn”t stay still either. He got even worse when the tall guy nonchalantly looking at nothing suggested they sneak away for a fag.

Harald immediately sussed the inference. And although he, if he was one hundred percent honest, loved the attention his cock was getting, now was not the time. Absolutely not.

“Are you daft, or what?”

“Not.” The older boy cocked his head to the right and gave it a small jerk. “There”s a place behind the shed in the park. Safe to smoke there.”

Harald”s reserve was waning.

“Old enough to smoke, are you?”

“I”m sixteen, you little shit. I”ve been smoking since I was ten.”

“I”m not little.”

Tom almost suffocated from trying to contain his titters. Tall boy grinned broadly now.

“So I hear. Are you coming, or what?”

Hesitation. A bit of looking around.

“I will if you got real cigs. Not the candy ones that Tom hands out.”

*

Close to the wall was a small clearing surrounded by thicket on all sides. As private and protected as you could wish. Tall boy lit Harald”s cigarette with his zippo.

“Let”s see that fire hose, then.”

No beating about the bush anymore. A small rush ran through Harald”s body.

“What if I say no?”

“Then you say no. But you won”t, will you?”

Their eyes met. And locked. Something in there made him shiver, he wondered if tall boy sensed it. Or even felt equally weird.

“All right, then.”

He unbuttoned his fly and hauled out his half hard cock. Half hard, but not for long. Out in the air it seemed to take on a life of its own and quickly rose to its utmost expanse.

“Yeah! That”s some bratwurst!”

Before he knew it, a hand had closed around his now achingly hard cock, sliding up and down, assessing, measuring, evaluating. He drew his breath sharply in. As from far away he heard Tom”s strained giggles. And then tall boy suddenly bent down and sucked the head into his mouth.

With a shocked yelp he pulled back, panic rode through him like a bolt of lightning, but he was helpless. His body shook like a leaf, his cock throbbed and twitched and spewed out its content with a force he had not known before.

“Oh, shit! Shit! Shit!” he cried out, feverishly tucking his still throbbing cock back into his trousers, pushing tall boy away, ploughing his way through the bushes, vaguely aware that some of his squirts had landed on Tom”s trouser leg.

Blood still sang in his ears as he pedalled like mad through the streets.

*

They had finished their supper but remained seated at the kitchen table across from one another. His father”s face had looked bothered and hard ever since he came back from the meeting with the schoolmaster. Yet he hadn”t said a word about it. Now he leaned back.

“He”s a cold fish, that man.”

Harald looked questioningly up from his empty plate.

“I tried to defend you. Tried to remind him of … but …” He spread his hands in a forbidding way. Blew air out through closed lips. Noisily.

The boy felt awkward. Repentant.

“I”m sorry,” he whispered.

Heavy sigh.

“The man”s not human. He”s just bloody rules and regulations carved into a bloody stone tablet.”

“I said I”m sorry. I know I was stupid.”

His father looked at him for a long time. Then a small smile curled his luscious lips.

“I wasn”t best pleased with you yesterday, you know. Funny though, now that I met with that man, I”ve rather moved over to your side. But please never do anything like that again, no matter how brave or how challenging it may seem to you on the spur of the moment.”

“I won”t. I promise.”

“Good.”

*

Later.

His father sat hidden behind his paper, socked feet resting on the coffee table, the boy himself was curled up in the opposite corner of the sofa, quietly thinking.

His father folded the paper and put it down. Yawned.

“Dad?”

His father turned his head with a small grunt.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure. Fire away.”

Long pause.

“It”s kind of … personal.”

His father lifted his eyebrows expectantly.

“Well?”

“How big is your … you know?”

Eyebrows fell into a frown.

“That certainly is personal.”

Silence. Then reluctantly:

“It”s big enough.”

Strange look in his father”s eyes, full lips pressed tightly together. The boy looked like he was sitting on eggs. Brooding, wondering if he dared ask more. But he felt like bursting, he needed to get it out.

“Did you ever … I mean, when you were younger, did you … you know, measure it?”

His father sighed resignedly.

“You won”t quit, will you? You said Tom was obsessed. Seems to me he”s not the only one.”

But then he seemed to think maybe it was time to be a little more open with this boy of his. Take his juvenescent ponderings seriously, accept that puberty always raised questions in a boy”s head. Not be so conventionally stuck inside his own reluctance to reveal anything about himself.

“I think most boys have done that, you know. We”ve all at one time wondered about our size and all that. And been curious about others.”

He removed his feet from the table and straightened in his seat.

“When I grew up … before the war, you know, we used to swim naked. Boys and men together, right? Bodies weren”t all that mysterious then. But for some strange reason that … that culture if I may call it that, just died, and by and by everyone started to wear swimsuits, and without really knowing it, we were made to think that genitals were something unmentionable, even sinful. Dirty. Immoral. Untouchable. It just sort of snuck up on us. But that, of course, didn”t make us stop thinking about them. On the contrary, being told to leave them alone, being told not to mention them even, our penises somehow became even more important, what with all the secrecy and dark warnings of what could happen if we indulged in … you know, self-stimulation and all that. You know, forbidden fruit has the stronger pull.”

He shook his head, as if he wanted to empty his head of memories. Looked almost apologetically at his son.

“You know, when you reach the age when all the changes happen, and … things grow … and feelings change and everything … Well, our culture doesn”t recognize any big interest in or appreciation of the penis … unlike they do in some of those cultures that we rather arrogantly call primitive … What I”m trying to say, is that it”s understandable, even natural, to be preoccupied with your penis, or other penises for that matter, especially because our culture has such a distorted notion … such a reticent attitude towards all things sexual.”

He cleared his throat, moved his thick lips in and out a few times, like they were dry and needed moisture. The boy was suddenly struck by desire to find out what a kiss from those lips would feel like. The feeling grew until it felt like he had a vacuum his stomach that ached to be filled.

His father wasn”t finished. A bit haltingly, he went on.

“To be honest, Harald, I can understand the excitement … the thrill to show off a bit when someone urges you to … exhibit your penis … especially because it”s such a … well, forbidden thing. But I hope you”ve learned now that it”s something you should never do in public, no matter how flattering it is that someone wants you to.”

The boy sat quietly musing for a while.

“You”ve seen mine. Would you let me see yours?”

His father now looked a bit bothered. His face had taken on a deeper colour. Again, he sighed.

“I couldn”t very well stop you if it should happen naturally, like in a changing room or something, but if you mean would I show it off to you, the answer is no. It”s not something I think a father should do.”

“Even if the son wants him to? And asks nicely?”

His father rose. Edgy, almost exasperated.

“Leave it there, Harald. You”re out of line now.”

The boy blushed, bit his lip. But a strange and unwelcome anger rose in him.

“You don”t know what it”s like! Living with mum all the time, listening to her going on and on about everything that is wrong with me … and bad, and disgusting, and no one to talk to about … you know, sex and stuff, because you never talked to me about that stuff either, the few times I got to be with you. And it”s not my fault that my cock is so stiff all the time, is it? And what am I supposed to do with it if she”s right, and it”s bad to … to touch it and that … and disgusting and sick … and the only one who thinks it”s a nice cock is Tom, and … you know? What?”

His father”s fingers were nervously rubbing against each other. His voice came out strained and unfriendly.

“Mind your language! There”s no need to be vulgar.”

But then he saw his son desperately trying to blink his angry and frustrated tears away. He regretted his harsh reprimand, and his annoyance softened.

“You”re right, I don”t know what it is like. I can imagine it, but that”s doesn”t change anything. All I can say is I”m sorry you”ve had a rough time with her. And hope you”ll have an easier life here with me.”

And then, out of the blue and with no clear understanding of why he suddenly felt he should do this, he stepped a little closer to the boy. Unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his trousers. Let them drop to the floor along with his loose boxer shorts. Held his shirt tails apart, displaying his long, flaccid cock with its extended foreskin like a tiny spout and his rather low-hanging balls below his reddish blond bush.

“This is what it looks like. Satisfied?”

The boy stared open-mouthed, dumbfounded. He felt the hairs at the back of his neck rise almost painfully. The sight bewitched him, emptied his brain of anything else, filled him to bursting point with a yearning hunger that almost choked him. He closed his mouth so hard his teeth clattered, swallowed and swallowed, but his mouth was so dry there was nothing to swallow.

His father quickly bent down and pulled his trousers up, and the spell was broken. But not forgotten. Weakly the boy whispered, “Thank you.” And ran off and locked himself in his room.

*

Much later.

In the small, dark room the boy kneeled by the wall, his ear glued to the painted surface, his whole being concentrated on picking up every little sound from the next room. His right hand held his rigid cock in an iron grip by the root, not daring to move the hand for fear he would come to soon.

Faint creaks from the bed in there. Straining his ears, he thought he could detect a very vague squishy noise, soft and rhythmic, and his cock twitched in his hand. He held his breath.

It all got more distinct. The regular faint creaks sounded almost like groans, but the creaking unfortunately drowned out most of the muted, wet, flopping sounds he was sure he could also hear. He slowly let his breath out.

“Yes, Dad,” he whispered under his breath, “I love you, Dad.”

And then he clearly heard a muffled moan, and he couldn”t hold back any longer. His cock throbbed in his unmoving grip, he felt how it jerked and pulsated as his sperm shot out, splashing to the floor like drops of rain.

*

Wednesday

Looking very dapper in his white shirt and blue dotted tie, perfect double Windsor knot tied by his father, Harald had just finished jotting down name and address on a brown envelope and inserted the customer”s defective watch into it, when he was suddenly aware of a vaguely familiar figure standing with his back to him, gazing at the watches on display in the glass showcase just inside the door. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach and his knees felt all at once like jelly.

He couldn”t understand why. Rattled by his own reaction, he hurriedly put the envelope in the drawer marked Repairs, desperately trying to force his breathing to work as normal and not feel like it wanted to fly out of his chest. A small tremble shook his hand as he straightened his back and pushed a lock of unruly, red hair back off his freckled forehead.

The tall boy by the watches turned his head and acknowledged him with a quick lift of eyebrows and a little backwards nod. He responded in kind, steading himself with both hands on the counter.

Tall boy came forward as the other customer left.

“Hi.”

His own hi got stuck in his throat. He coughed.

“Thought I”d find you here. Tom said I probably would. You all right?”

Harald”s smile was tense as he shrugged. Found his voice.

“Fine, I guess. What are you doing here?”

Tall boy also shrugged in an offhand way. Looked casually around him. Then suddenly looked straight at Harald, there was something intense and unsettling in his eyes.

“Thought maybe you”d like a cig.”

Goosebumps. Dry mouth. And a shiver that screamed yes! in his brain.

“I don”t know. We”re open for another two hours.”

Same disturbing, piercing eyes. “Pity.”

“Wait.”

He walked over to the closed door behind the counter, opened it and stood in the doorway.

“Dad? A boy from school is here. Can I take a break now?”

His father put away his magnifying eyeglass and his tiny screwdriver. Got up and came to the door.

To the tall boy out in the shop the two of them first looked like brothers, a school example of the laws of genetics, but then he became aware that it was mostly because of the hair colour and the lips. For one thing, there were no freckles on the father”s skin.

The man came all the way out, Harald in his wake. Hand was reached out, but tall boy seemed to lose some of his cockiness and almost unwillingly held his hand out, waiting for the man to grip it. The man”s handshake was firm and forthright.

“Afternoon. And you are?”

Tall boy did not look the man straight in the eyes.

“Olav.”

The man repeated his name.

“Olav. So, what have you boys planned? Anything special?”

Tall boy looked at Harald. Harald looked at tall boy, then at his father.

“Nothing special. Talk. Hang out. You know.”

His father”s eyes went from one to the other. Smiled a bit wryly and turned to his son.

“Be back in a half hour. I need to finish what I started before we close. Okay?”

“Yes. Sure. Thank you.”

The boy sounded relieved and anxious at the same time, and then both boys hurried out the door.

*

Out on the street.

“Where do you want to go?”

“Don”t know. Anywhere near here?”

Harald thought a bit, then grimaced.

“Nah. Not really. We could …”

He stopped abruptly. Tall boy Olav looked queryingly at him. He blushed.

“We could go to my room. But we can”t smoke there. My dad doesn”t smoke, and he doesn”t like me to.”

Tall boy got back his intense, penetrating stare. And now he was a bit red in the face as well.

“I didn”t really come here for the smoke.”

*

In the side door, up the stairs, into the flat and into the boy”s room, all in a frenzied hurry. The boy felt every nerve in his body tense up, his knees trembled, his chest felt too narrow.

He hadn”t but closed the door when tall boy dropped to his knees in front of him and, with fingers that appeared as shivery as his own body felt, went for his fly. Buttons popped, fingers fumbled and found what they searched for, and deep voice sounded almost breathless.

“Wooh. Your cock! It”s just …”

The boy leaned back, unbuckled his belt and opened his black dress trousers all the way. Tall boy pulled them down, white underpants followed. The boy held his shirt up, exposing all of his lower body. Then:

“Olav. I want to see yours, too.”

Tall boy looked up from the cock that had nearly hit him in the eye.

“No, you don”t. It”s nothing like yours.”

And then the boy”s slender, long cock was buried halfway into a warm, moist mouth. The boy gasped, grabbed tall boy”s head and tried to push it off, but his hands were firmly removed and another third of cock went in until he heard and felt tall boy gag. The mouth released his cock, and a nose burrowed into his groin as panting breath tickled the upper inside of his thigh and a hand closed around his rock-hard shaft.

The boy tapped his fist several times on the crown of tall boy”s head.

“I want to see it no matter what. It”s only fair! Please!”

Tall boy sighed and got up off his knees. Looked around him, scooted over to the bed and slumped down. Half lying, half sitting, he opened his khaki trousers.

“Come over, then.”

The boy, trousers around his ankles, stumbled over to the bed, sat down on the floor, his hands pushed the fly wide open and delved istanbul travesti into the cotton within. Finally out, tall boy”s cock wasn”t all that impressive, he was right about that. Quite a bit shorter than the boy”s, and if one was generous, maybe a tiny bit thicker around the head, but anyway, it was a pretty cock, slick and clean-looking and at close range so nice-smelling, it must have been recently washed with perfumed soap. At first the boy found it strange that such a tall body hadn”t grown a proportionally longer cock, but it felt so nice in his hand, so silky and smooth. So hard and so soft-skinned. So appetizing. He wondered if he would be expected to put it in his mouth, and if so, could he really do it?

He didn”t have to decide. Suddenly he was pulled up, flung down on the bed, and pushed down deep into the mattress by the weight of tall boy”s body now on top of him. Humping and grinding his crotch against the boy”s, holding the boy”s shoulders with hands that shook from tension, tall boy moaned and grunted. In a moment of panic the boy wondered if they could be heard down in the shop, but the wild sensation in his body and the extraordinary pleasure it gave to feel another body, another boy”s skin, another boy”s cock, against his lower body instead of just his own hands drove all misgivings away.

But then the humping got rougher, and the weight was almost crushing him, and he felt he could hardly breathe. This wasn”t pleasant anymore, not at all. He tried to squirm out from under the pressure, but tall boy held him forcefully down, and with a gasp and a gurgling sound in his throat emptied his throbbing cock between them. And, exhaling loudly, rolled off.

Without a word, tall boy Olav got off the bed, hurriedly pulled his trousers up without bothering to wipe the sticky fluid off and rushed out the door.

The boy was left lying there, listening to the doors slam. Disappointment turned into a feeling of betrayal. Betrayal turned into anger. Anger turned into remorse. Remorse turned into nervous alarm. This was all wrong! This wasn”t just forbidden, this was awful! If this was what it was like to do it with another person, then he”d never do it again, he”d make the most of his own hands.

Feeling abused, abandoned, dirty, he scampered off to the bathroom. Disgusted, almost nauseous from tall boy”s sticky leftovers, he vigorously scrubbed himself clean, ignoring his still stiff cock that was begging for release, avoiding his face in the mirror. Tried desperately to kill the hollow suction in his chest that made him want to cry.

Down in the shop, his father”s scrutinizing looks made him all but run away in panic. He knew his father noticed his wrinkled shirt and creased trousers; he knew his father read his face like an open book and clearly saw his distress. He could see the questions and the worry in his father”s eyes, but luckily no words were spoken.

*

Later, at table, his father broke the somewhat oppressive silence.

“There”s something wrong, Harald. Care to tell me about it?”

The boy shook his head.

“It”s nothing. I”m fine.”

They continued eating. His father occasionally cast him a worried glance.

“This boy. Olav, right?”

Silence. At long last a reluctant answer.

“What about him?”

“He seems quite a bit older than you. How do you know him?”

The boy squirmed. Shrugged.

“He”s Tom”s friend. Neighbour, I think. I … I only met him once. He seemed nice.”

His father stroked his chin, uncertain about how much he should pry.

“It”s obvious to me that something happened between you that was not so … Something that bothers you. Sure you won”t tell me about it?”

“I said it was nothing!”

“Okay, okay! I won”t badger you. If you should change your mind, I”m right here for you, you know.”

They boy abruptly got up and left. Dashed into his room and locked the door. His father sat back and sighed heavily. His brows came down into a deep frown as he rose and started to clear the table.

*

Darkness had crept into the rooms when the boy sheepishly gave up his isolation. In the living room his father had lit the standard lamp in the corner where he sat listening to low music floating softly from the radio; well, not so much listening as thinking. Warm, yellow lamplight highlighted his dark red silk dressing gown, a garment a bit too flamboyant for his taste, but he had, however, inherited it from his own father, and no matter how he felt about the man, it was of such good quality that he couldn”t make himself get rid of it.

The boy, in his white singlet and Y-front, came almost tip-toeing in. He stopped by the kitchen door, fidgeting with the door handle behind him.

“I just want to say I”m sorry. I didn”t mean to be so standoffish.”

His father studied him thoughtfully.

“Feel better?”

“Yeah. Can we talk?”

“Of course. Come sit.” He indicated the chair next to his.

The boy remained where he was, though.

“I wanted to ask you something … but you may get mad at me.”

A small smile from the corner met the boy.

“I”ll try not to. Come here, don”t just stand there!”

The boy came over, sat down and drew his knees up and put his bare feet on the edge of the seat. The warm lamplight made his smooth legs look almost golden.

“It”s … it”s a bit difficult.”

“I”ll brace myself, then. Spit it out.”

The boy seemed to have a problem coming out with what was on his mind, but eventually his light tenor voice found the words.

“How old were you when you first … you know, did it?”

A small twitch was seen in the man”s features.

“So, it”s going to be about sex again, is it? Okay, I”ll try to be as straight with you as I can. But I can”t promise anything if it gets too … intrusive. Understand?”

The boy lifted his chin from his knees. Looked expectantly at his father.

“If you mean full sex, like intercourse with a woman, I was nineteen, and it was with your mother. That”s why you”re here, you know.”

“Didn”t you … like … I don”t know, play … with others before that?

Small chuckle.

“Is this what your problem is about? Would it make you feel better if I said yes?”

The boy nodded pensively.

“With girls? Or … with boys?”

His father sat up, hunched his shoulders, then slumped back again.

“Okay. I see. Well, listen, a lot of boys experiment with each other, especially in early puberty, and it doesn”t mean anything, really. It”s less serious than going about it with girls, I suppose. And yes, I did a bit of that.”

“Did you like it?”

The boy suddenly coughed, like he wanted to cover up his question with another sound.

His father reflected a bit how to phrase his answer. No way would he divulge the unvarnished truth, that wouldn”t do at all.

“At the time I never thought about it in terms of liking or not. It was just hormones, you know. Urges and needs. Curiosity. Our rather innocent experiments came out of convenience, I guess. We were more available to each other than girls.”

He looked intently at his son.

“Are you having bad feelings about these things? Is that why you want to know about me? You don”t need to have a bad conscience about it, you know. It”s actually quite normal. Quite natural.”

“It”s not that. Not really.”

“Listen, Harald. Your friend, did he do something to you that you didn”t like, or didn”t want him to? Is that why you feel bad?”

The boy looked away. A muffled, destitute moan came from his throat, almost inaudible, but it alarmed his father.

“I think, Harald, you had better tell me.”

The boy picked at his toes.

“You won”t like it. You”ll be mad at me.”

His father reached out and touched the boy”s restless fingers.

“If I promise not to be mad, no matter what you”ve done?”

The boy withdrew his fingers. Wrapped his arms around his knees.

“Okay.”

Silence. Then a deep sigh.

“I don”t know how to say this. It”s to do with my … you know, my thing.”

His father interrupted.

“Go ahead. Use the words you would use with your mates; I won”t scold you.”

“All right, it”s to do with my cock. Because it”s … The thing is, I like it when they want to see it, and when they tell me it”s so big and all that. It makes me feel good. Excited, even if I”m supposed to think it”s wrong. But no one”s ever touched it until … except me, you know … Okay, that first day after I got suspended, I was outside the school and Tom came with his friend and they offered me a cigarette … It”s what Tom always does, isn”t it, gives me a fag and I sort of have to show him my cock in return, and I”m sorry, I know you think I shouldn”t smoke. Anyway, we were smoking, and my cock was out, and Olav touched it and it felt so … I don”t know how to explain, like I wanted to do all sorts of things because it felt so good. And strange. Like I couldn”t have guessed how different it felt from my own hand.”

He stopped and suddenly met his father”s eyes.

“Have you ever had your cock in someone”s mouth?”

“Whoa! That was a bit abrupt. I don”t think I”ll answer that.”

The boy looked away again. Then, and rather stubbornly:

“I just wanted to know if it”s supposed to feel so good it hurts! Because … you know, Olav took the tip of my cock in his mouth and sucked, and I felt like I was breaking into little pieces and I got … almost frightened, it was so intense, so I pushed him away, but I squirted anyway, and it was embarrassing so I ran away.”

His father didn”t answer. He looked uncomfortable and flushed, his hands covered his lap. The boy was still not looking at him, into his own tale like he was.

“And he came by yesterday because he wanted to do it again, and I wanted it too, and it started kind of nice and I got to see his cock because I wanted to, but then it got so strange. Because he was on top of me, and it felt like he was going to destroy me, and I wanted him to stop, but he just kept on until he squirted and then he just left. Just like that. Like I wasn”t there. It made me feel so bad … awful … Like I was just shit … Is it supposed to … I mean, is it always like that? Because if so, I never want to play with him again. Or anyone!”

The boy noticed that his father”s breath sounded strained, heavy. Suddenly he felt terrible. Frightened and on the verge of tears. His voice almost broke.

“Please don”t be mad at me! Please!”

He jumped out of the chair and started running towards the door. His father stern voice called him back.

“Don”t go away like that! Come back here!”

The boy stopped on his heels but didn”t turn around. His father”s voice changed from barbed wire to velvet.

“No, Harald. It”s not supposed to be that way. Please come back here. Just for a second.”

Slowly the boy complied. When he was there, in front of his father, the man lifted his hands and took hold of the boy”s shoulders, held him in a strong grip. Like his hands were there to convince the boy of something. Care, perhaps even unspoken love.

“I”m sorry you had a bad experience, but believe me, it”s not always like that. I”m going to say just one thing to all this: Be careful, Harald. Be very careful whom you trust. If you”re not, your …your … I”ll say it, your cock is going to land you in trouble.”

Bashful, the boy looked down. The little hairs on his body all rose and prickled painfully as he saw the slanting tent in the middle of his father”s red dressing gown. He tore loose and ran off before his father could see what the sight did to his own white underwear.

*

Thursday

A subdued and ill at ease boy showed up for breakfast. He”d not had a good night. His sleep had been disruptive, his mind full of worry and remorse, even guilt. I shouldn”t have told his father all that stuff. He”d laid himself too bare, too exposed. Awkward. Humiliating.

But what troubled him the most, what prevented him to meet his father”s eyes this morning, what made him want to crawl into a hole and hide, was what he had seen: His father had had an erection. A big one. And all he had wanted was to touch it, grab it, hold it, look at it, smell it. And his night had thus been a chaos of contradictions, cursing himself and regretting his unrestrained confession, knowing his father would despise him, and at the same time wanting his father more than he had ever done, wanting him in a much more explicit way than he had ever wanted anyone before. At least not consciously. He had indulged in all kinds of scenarios involving the two of them, and then the minute after had felt hopelessness, and shame, and confusion.

So, stare at his corn flakes and pretend not to be there at all seemed the right thing to do.

His father didn”t seem to notice his quandaries. Or at least he pretended not to. His voice was bright and sunny.

“So, my boy, ready for another working day?”

He couldn”t for the life of him look at his father. He wanted to cry. He wanted to die. He wanted to disintegrate. But suddenly his father was right behind him, stroking his hair. Stroking it, not ruffling it as he usually did.

“Feeling bad this morning? There”s no need for that, you know.”

No answer from the boy.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you I appreciated our talk yesterday? That I felt I got to know you better? Please don”t feel embarrassed. Or that you said too much. You didn”t.”

The boy”s head was spinning.

“You had a stiffy!” he blurted out.

The hand on his hair disappeared. The short silence that followed felt disastrous. The finally:

“You can”t control those things. As I think you know.”

The boy was sinking into a black hole. But then his chair was pulled backwards from behind so fast he almost fell off it. Two strong hands gripped his upper arms and hoisted him up, turned him around. Staring desperately at the floor, he still felt his father”s eyes upon him like knives.

“This may not be the best time. We have to be down in about five minutes.”

Then his father”s arms enfolded him.

“I don”t think I ever said this to you, at least not since you were two or something. But I love you. I love you more than I can say.”

Fourteen-year-olds must be cool. Fourteen-year-olds must not cry. But this fourteen-year-old clung to his father like he was trying to get inside him and bawled like a baby.

*

The day passed uneventfully. Father and son worked quietly and easily together, most of the time with the boy behind the counter and the father doing repairs in his workshop. Their conversations, when they happened, were work related and impersonal. Still, heavy things were obviously still going on in the boy”s mind. His father was not blind to it, and a little apprehensive, like he was waiting for another crack in the dam with a consequential flood.

It didn”t come, though. And after the boy had sat stiffly through their evening meal and only given one-syllable answers, his father got a bit impatient and felt that knocking a hole in the protective shell the boy seemed to sit inside would be a good idea.

“There”s a lot on your mind, if I”m not mistaken. You know you can talk to me now, don”t you? About anything!”

“Maybe.”

The boy didn”t know if he really wanted to talk. His thoughts were so chaotic, most of them so unfinished and blurred, and most of them had to do with sex. And he had discovered something that disturbed him quite profoundly: Almost all his sexual images and thoughts centred around cocks. Men and boys and cocks. He couldn”t quite understand why girls never seemed to take up much space in his head, and it had started to worry him. It vaguely felt like he was heading for somewhere dark and dangerous, somewhere connected with a word. A word both strangely titillating and at the same time terrible, scary, repulsive. The word homosexual. And now his father had told him he could talk to him about anything. Really? Even that?

He looked up. His father”s friendly gaze rested on him. Friendly, but for how long? Only one way to find out, wasn”t it?

“Dad.”

One expectantly raised eyebrow said go ahead.

“Do you hate homosexuals?”

His father”s lips twitched involuntarily. He drew his breath sharply.

“What? I mean, why do you ask?”

The boy chewed his lip.

“If I was a … you know, homosexual … would you hate me?”

“No!”

It came quickly, harshly. Then a bit more gently:

“Of course not! Are you worried about that? But you”re far too young to … I mean, nothing is settled at your age!”

The boy clearly noticed how his question had flustered his father. His father, on the other hand, saw the boy”s anxious eyes pleading for more.

“I would never hate you. Never! But I would wish for your sake that you weren”t.”

“For my sake?”

His father sighed. And sighed again.

“It”s not a good life. Most people consider it sick. And criminal. They would shun you if it came out, and ridicule you. Even send you to prison. It would be a life in secrecy, you would have to hide your feelings. Like an essential part of you would always be in … in darkness, right? You would feel like an outcast.”

“Oh.”

His father looked suddenly tired, strained.

“Let”s not talk about this anymore. Not now, anyway.”

He rose from table. Busied himself with the dishes, his back to the boy.

The boy felt destitute, like he had broken something valuable and didn”t know how to fix it, so he did what he always did when things got too much, he ran to his room and locked the door.

*

There was a knock on the boy”s door. He wanted to ignore it. Two more knocks.

“Harald! Please open!”

He dragged himself to the door, unlocked it but didn”t open it. Went back to sit on his bed, fully dressed, looking out of the tall, narrow window.

His father came in, obviously ready for bed in his wine-red robe, blue striped pyjamas” legs visible above his long-toed bare feet. He remained in the doorway, looked conscious-stricken and apologetic. His voice was cautious. Very gentle, though.

“You run away from me a lot. I”m sorry if I you feel I cut you off, I didn”t mean to make you feel bad.”

His fingers ran through his hair and disturbed the carefully slicked back coiffure.

“You have been so open and honest with me, and I … well, I haven”t been the same with you. Not entirely.”

The boy turned his head and met his father”s strangely insecure gaze.

“I think I want to tell you something. About your mother and me. Well, mostly about me, I guess. Unless you”d rather I left you alone.”

The boy felt a bit alarmed but at the same time weirdly thrilled.

“No! I don”t want you to leave.”

His father sat down on the spindle back chair by the chest of drawers. Leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, folding his hands.

“What I”m going to tell you now … it may shock you, or it may disgust you, but I”ll risk it … because of what you said after supper, I suppose. Otherwise, I don”t think I would have dared.”

Deep inbreath, then slowly out.

“Didn”t you find it … strange, maybe, when you asked if I would hate you if you were … that I didn”t fob you off and condemn the whole topic, like most people would have done? Didn”t you wonder why I instead tried to tell you what it would be like if you, in fact, were … homosexual?”

The boy”s skin tingled, not unpleasantly, more like the small excitement you feel when the answer to some vague riddle suddenly seems within reach.

“I was nineteen when I met your mother. The war was still on, you know, everything was chaotic, and my father had just been killed because he happened to have an errand in Oslo and was on a tram nearby when the allied bombed the Gestapo headquarters … Sorry, that”s got nothing to do with it. I met your mother, and she showed me a lot of interest. It seemed … or she seemed to be the solution to some uncomfortable questions, some dark fears that I”d had for a while, maybe similar to thoughts that you are having, sort of constant and anxious worries about my sexuality … “

His fingers twisted and turned nervously.

“I wasn”t quite honest about it when you asked if I had experimented with other boys, I guess I diminished the importance of it. Fact is, it was very important to me. As I found out, much more so than to the other boys. And it became such a problem, wondering if I was sick, frightened that I”d be found out, thinking I had better kill myself, because I couldn”t stop longing for those … those encounters with other boys. And then your mother came along, and I figured I could have a normal life after all, I just had to stop thinking those forbidden thoughts and concentrate on … Anyway, I was nineteen, as I said, and flattered and horny and … Well, the short of it is I slept with her once, and she got pregnant with you, and we had to get married.”

He rose, brushed his hands down his robed thighs. Then sat down again.

“Do I embarrass you with this?”

The boy had sat motionless listening, intensely aware of his father”s presence, every nerve and muscle in his body so tense that it hurt. He vigorously shook his head.

His father gave him a quick, nervous smile.

“The marriage wasn”t a success, as you must know. Well, to me it worked okay for a while, it gave me a feeling of not being … doomed, I guess, but … When we … when we were in bed, however, I discovered I needed … forbidden fantasies to go through with it, and I despised myself so much for it, I guess I wasn”t very … attentive … or loving may be the word I want. I felt forced into a place that felt all wrong. Like prison or something. And she always complained that my … that I was hurting her, and well, a year or so after you were born, we didn”t even touch each other anymore. And honestly, it felt more like relief than failure. And then I discovered she had an affair, just before you turned eleven, remember? And with the neighbour, of all people. But to me that was a heaven-sent, I finally had an excuse to get out of the whole bloody situation, even if it meant seeing less of you. But I figured you”d be better off without too much contact with a father who … Well, a father who was as sick and abnormal as I felt.”

The boy saw moisture sparkle in his father”s eyes, and it filled him with strange feelings, something like pity, or compassion, but also a feeling of fellowship. And a nagging and unpleasant helplessness because he couldn”t think of anything that would put his father at ease.

Very tentatively he rose and came towards his father, stopped two steps away.

“I don”t think you”re sick. I think you”re the best dad ever.”

His father blinked hard. One single drop got loose and trickled down his cheek.

“But my life is a sham. It”s all pretence!”

The boy came one step closer and fleetingly touched a red silk shoulder. The father scrambled to his feet, hugged his boy very quickly and timidly. On the way to the door, he looked over his shoulder.

“I”m sorry, Harald. I shouldn”t have laid all this on you. Please forgive me.”

He disappeared and left the boy standing with a hollow longing tearing his insides apart.

*

Friday

Anna Lange, n�e Kortner, came striding into the shop, flimsy summer coat flapping around her rustling taffeta skirt and the usual number of open buttons on her blouse. She stopped dead when she saw her son behind the counter.

“You! You should be in school! Why are you here?”

The boy stared back. Almost aggressively.

“That”s none of your business anymore, is it?”

Her hands came up in the air, like she was capitulating.

“As impudent as always! God almighty!”

“What do you want anyway?”

Her voice rose to a whine.

“I will not have you speak to me in that tone!”

At that moment the boy”s father, her ex-husband, showed his rather forbidding face in the open workshop door. He came marching out to the spot where she had planted her spiked heels to the floor.

“I think he”s entitled to use any tone he likes under the circumstances. What do you want?”

She rolled her eyes.

“To tell you that all of Harald”s things are packed in boxes and I want you to pick them up today, because I”m going away for the weekend.”

The man”s voice was dripping with sarcasm.

“How considerate of you. And how am I supposed to get those boxes here?”

“Not my problem. Bike, bus, whatever, I don”t care. I”ve put them all out on the steps, there are four of them.”

At that she turned on her heels, threw her head back almost comically dramatic and strutted out.

Father and son looked at each other, exhaled in unison and giggled uncomfortably.

*

A feeling of camaraderie flowed between them, like they had gathered forces against a common enemy. Well, enemy was perhaps too strong a word, opponent or counterpart would probably be more accurate.

It took two trips with their bicycles to complete the mission. The boxes were too large to balance safely on the luggage racks, they had to walk their bikes on the return trips, steadying the boxes with one hand, causing the way back to the shop to take a good three quarters of an hour each time.

It was almost dark when they carried the last two boxes in and stacked them with the others in the hallway outside the bedrooms.

The father, hands to his waist, stretched his body. Groaned loudly.

“That is quite enough exercise for today! Let”s just sit a minute before we start fixing something to eat.”

He took hold of the boy by the neck and gently pushed him ahead of himself into the living room, sat them down on the small sofa and put his arm around the boy”s shoulder. Light floated into the room from the open kitchen door, lit up half of their faces, creating a soft but distinct contrast between shadow and light.

“I guess it”s just the two of us now.”

The boy snuggles closer.

“I don”t mind.”

“Sure you don”t? Even after what I told you yesterday?”

The boy looked up, saw his father”s face all shy and flushed.

“Especially after what you told me. You shouldn”t feel bad about it. Because it made me feel … I don”t know if there”s a word for it. Not bad, in any case.”

Suddenly he gripped his father”s wrist and drew his arm tighter around himself, leaned in and kissed his father”s cheek.

“I love you,” he whispered and felt his ears burn as he blushed a deep red.

They sat in silence for a while. And then the boy shifted a bit under the arm that held him.

“Can I ask you something?”

His father chuckled self-consciously.

“Here we go again, right?”

“Yes, but I want to know something, and you haven”t told me. Not really.”

A somewhat resigned sigh.

“Okay, then. Shoot.”

“When you said mum complained that it hurt, was it because your co … your penis was too big?”

Long silence. The boy was starting to get uncomfortable, thinking he”d annoyed his father again, made him mad. But if he didn”t want to talk about these things, why had he been so candid yesterday, and yet so reserved and guarded when it came to stuff about his cock? He must have known there was still unfulfilled curiosity. Still questions.

His father eventually spoke.

“That”s what she said. But listen, I know you think a lot about penises and size and stuff, and I understand why, I think. But a big penis is not an achievement, you know, it”s just genetics. It”s even a problem sometimes. There”s no real reason to feel proud or superior, even if it may be difficult for you not to, with all the focus your mates seem to put on it.”

“But … why are you talking about me? I know exactly how big mine is! Why won”t you tell how big yours is?”

“You”re being persistent to the point of obnoxious about this. I showed you, didn”t I? Even though I said I didn”t think it was at all a right thing to do. What do you want, centimetres?”

“Yes! Stiff!”

His father sudden laugh sounded pinched.

“Please, Harald.”

The boy tore himself loose and jumped out of sofa.

“Okay, okay! Tell me this, then. What do you see?”

He struck a pose in front of his father. Light fell on him from the side, creating a sort of artistic photo shoot effect. His father was so stressed and harassed by trying to avoid all that curiosity about his cock, this sudden change felt almost comforting.

“I see … I see a boy that I like very much. Most of the time. I see a carrot-top and a nice face with lovely eyes and a funny, freckled nose. I see a checked shirt and a belt so tight I think wasp. And I see a boy who can be so one track minded and so exhaustingly persistent that I”m on the verge of a breakdown.”

The boy”s shoulders slumped.

“I”m not much to look at. I know.”

“What on earth makes you say that?”

The boy struggled his shirt out of his tight-belted trousers, unbuttoned it and threw it on the floor, followed by his white singlet. The sidelight accentuated his right shoulder and arm and half of his flat chest. One slightly swollen, protruding nipple cast a small shadow. The boy let his hand slide over the highlighted square shoulder and slender upper arm.

“Just look at me! Look at all these ugly freckles! And no muscles! Just … bones!”

His father felt his chest tighten. Memories flooded his brain. How many times had he himself stood in front of a mirror when he was that age and thought exactly the same thing? His heart ached for the boy. Ached for all adolescent boys who had to go through all this insecurity, all this pain, all this self-doubt. And so unnecessary! If only he dared tell his boy how beautiful he thought he was. But how could he? The boy must never know how devastatingly and hopelessly attractive his father found him, how disastrously much his father wanted him, how perversely he longed to rid himself of all those rules and conventions in his head that said NO! And suddenly he was so frightened by himself and frightened by the memories of boys in the past, frightened that he might lose his control and destroy everything around him … and these terrible thoughts disturbed him so much he felt like he lost the feel of his arms and legs and was afraid he would faint.

Oblivious to his father”s turbulent mind, the boy just carried on. Loud, challenging, almost whiny.

“Freckleface! Connect the dots! The roof”s on fire! It”s what I hear all the time! I even have freckles on my legs! If it wasn”t for my cock, no one would like me!”

All of a sudden, the belt was unbuckled, and the trousers dropped to the floor. The boy stepped out of them, and in his underpants came closer to his father, slapping his slim, hairless thigh, strewn with faint dots.

“Just look! My skin looks sick! Ugly! I”m never going out in the sun again ever!”

Something snapped in his father”s brain. He grabbed the boy”s waist and drew him in between his widespread legs, tight against his body. His hands roamed up over the boy”s back until they held both sides of the boy”s head. He pulled until the freckled face was close to his.

“Stop it! Please stop it! You”re so wrong, Harald. You”re not ugly!”

He kissed the boy”s forehead, kissed the tip of the boy”s nose.

“I know you don”t believe me. I mean, no youngster believes what a parent says, and okay, I may be as biased as any father, but to me you are the most precious and beautiful creature on earth. If only I knew how to convince you! How to stop you putting yourself down like that!”

He let go of the boy”s face, pulled the standing body even tighter into his embrace, laid his cheek against the boy”s chest, held him hard and rocked him. The warmth of the soft, smooth skin against his face sent waves of feverish and dangerous emotions through his body, but he couldn”t let go. He knew he should, but he just couldn”t.

He knew the boy was certain to notice his trembles. He willed his muscles to be still, but it only made the quivers worse. And as the boy now melted even more devastatingly into him, panic rode through him like a thunderstorm. Because he felt something move and harden against his chest. He abruptly let go of his hold, pushed the boy away, almost causing him to fall over as he fiercely rose.

The boy stood frozen watching his father”s wild eyes. Without thinking, he adjusted his cock that was bent the wrong way down, made it slant upwards past his hipbone instead. Spread his hands out apologetically, but his voice was stubborn.

“I can”t help it!”

His father groaned like his was in pain.

“Neither can I!”

And suddenly the boy had a kneeling father in front of him and a father”s face pressed hard against his crotch. But only for a second. Swift as the wind his father was again seated where he just was, wringing his hands, looking totally crushed.

“I”m sorry! I”m so sorry. All I wanted was to make you feel better about yourself, I never meant to cross any lines. Forgive me!”

The boy looked confused, like nothing made sense to him.

“I don”t understand! Am I stupid, or what? I mean, because now you make me feel bad again about … you know, having a stiffy … and wanting to look at cocks and play with them and all that … and the other day you said it was just fine and normal and everybody did it, only not in class and stuff? So, we”re not in class, are we? So why is it suddenly wrong if I get it up and … you know, think it would be nice to … play?”

His father was on such thin ice. Or way out at sea, desperately looking for a straw to clutch on to.

“But you can”t play with me! I never said you could! I”m an adult! Even worse, I”m your father!”

“What difference does that make? If I want to do it and you want to do it? And don”t tell me you don”t, because that is a lie, and you”re only afraid of what people would say if they knew!”

His father sagged down, flat on his back on the floor, fists in his eye sockets.

“Oh, bloody, bloody hell! How did we get to this? And we haven”t even eaten!”

And then his whole body convulsed, and his loud sobs hit the boy like sledgehammers in his stomach. The boy threw himself down next to him, his hand tugging at his father”s shirt sleeve.

“Don”t! Please Dad, don”t!”

But his father seemed deaf and unreachable, and the boy saw no other way than the customary escape to his room.

*

A small half-hour later. The boy sat lost in thought on his hard wooden chair, naked now, absentmindedly toying with his balls. A knock came on his door.

He hurried to his bed and under the duvet.

“It”s open.”

His father came in, looking a bit dishevelled. His shirt was crumpled, his tie was askew, and his hair was untidy. He carried a tray of sandwiches and milk into the room and put it down on the boy”s desk. Seated himself on the chair, leaning forward, elbows on knees.

“My father … My father was a very hard man.”

He stopped. Stared at the boy with a questioning look, as if to ask permission to continue. The boy felt a suction in his belly, like a premonition that something awkward or embarrassing was about to happen. He inhaled deeply, trying to settle his unease.

“Yes?”

His father seemed to relax a bit. His voice became less insecure.

“He never showed feelings, my father … that is, feelings other than irritation, or rage. He never gave us the impression that he liked us, let alone loved us.”

He took the plate of sandwiches and offered it almost impatiently to the boy.

“You need to eat! You haven”t eaten since lunch!”

“I know. Go on!”

He put the plate down on the bed beside the boy. Straightened his back and sat upright.

“My father, yes … He never apologized. Never admitted he was wrong or could have done things differently. Any misdemeanour qualified for cuff on the ears … or a spanking. He even had a special paddle for that … And if we asked for something, no matter if it was something we really needed, or something we just wanted, he would make us feel like we were unreasonably demanding, even naughty for asking. Humiliating us into … I don”t know, submission. Or some kind of slavish dependency. And on top of it all, he demanded gratitude! I swore that I”d never be like him if I ever had children. I”d be a loving father who never grudged his children what they wanted.”

He took a sandwich and bit into it. The boy did the same. They chewed and swallowed like two synchronized clockworks.

“I”m not doing too good, am I? But this I will at least do; I will apologize for my behaviour. I”m truly sorry that you had to see me like you did just now.”

The boy didn”t say anything, just kept on chewing. His father kept giving him searching glances, looking for … forgiveness? Understanding? Love?

They had almost finished the somewhat sparse meal when his father”s eyes suddenly focused on the paraphernalia on the boy”s desk. And then, like a flash of lightning through his brain, he knew there was something he could do, something he knew he would have a hard time justifying for himself later, but something he knew only too well the boy wanted, although he feared he would probably never get rid of the regrets and the anguish he was quite certain would follow.

He removed the almost empty plate. His eyes never left the boy as he pushed his chair closer to the bed, pulled the duvet off the boy, and unbuttoned his own trousers. Picking up the ruler from the desk, he laid it down between them, rose from the chair and let his trousers fall to the floor, followed by his pale blue boxer shorts. His hands shook a bit. He gulped. Sat down again.

“Let”s do this, then”

The boy”s jaw had dropped, his breathing came in strained gushes. His whole body tingled with suspense; his fingernails bored into his palms as he clenched his fists hard in almost unbearable anticipation and excitement.

The father kept watching his son. Filled his vision with the pleasant face he so loved, now looking almost wanton, the square, bony shoulders with their smattering of freckles, the skinny arms and the clenched fists, the yet undeveloped chest with rather large pink nipples, looking a bit puffy and, God forbid, suckable. The flat stomach with two creases from the way he sat, and the slender cock that now, in front of his eyes, grew to stand rock hard and, from the way his body bent, past his navel like it was aiming for his sternum. And the sight drew all moisture from his mouth, goosebumps ran down his spine, his hands shook even more when he gripped his own swelling cock.

The boy felt he wanted to explode when he saw his father spread his shirt and grab hold of his cock. He dared not move. An involuntary moany snort came from him as the cock in front of his eyes grew and rose to its full splendour, an awe-inspiring pillar, a staggering column of flesh.

His father smiled. A pinched, insecure smile, but he was firmly determined to go through with this.

“So, are we going to measure them?”

Life seemed to return to the boy”s body. He spun around until he sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread to fit between his father”s. His eyes had a strange expression in them.

“Do mine!”

The boy”s cock was timidly seized by trembling fingers. The ruler was picked up and held alongside it, the end pressed against pubic bone. The boy shivered, his cock jumped and twitched. He bit his lip hard, desperately trying not to come.

A small, strained snigger escaped his father.

“Not bad”, he mumbled.

“Tell me. How long?”

“As if you don”t know! Well, if we subtract the blank bit at the end before the scaling, it seems to be, say a couple of millimetres short of nineteen.”

The boy still had goosebumps all over.

“Last time it was eighteen and a half. I think you holding it made it bigger! Can I do yours now?”

His father drew a shaky sigh.

“Well, we”ve come this far, so why not. But you can never, ever tell anyone about this. Promise?”

He leaned back to give the boy access. The trembles in his muscles and the tingling and the prickling on his skin returned with full force as he felt his boy”s hand lift his achingly rigid cock to stand straight up. Then the hard, dry touch of the lukewarm wooden ruler.

“I knew it! My ruler”s too short. The scale only goes to twenty.”

He leapt up, leaned across his father to open his desk drawer. His cock bumped against his father”s arm, sliding across it as he rummaged through the drawer and came up with a tape measure.

“Can I do it … the way I want?”

His father seemed to have given up, to have lost any objection he might have had. He sighed and shook his head slowly from side to side, face flushed and chest heaving.

“You can do whatever you like now.”

The boy sat himself astride his father”s thighs, his own slender and beautifully curved thighs flattened against his father”s a bit more muscular legs. Pushed himself a little further forward until their cocks stood only a finger”s breadth apart.

His thumb pushed the end of the tape measure into the ginger bush at the base of the majestic cock in front of him, the fingertips of his other hand slid up, flattening the tape along the shaft, all the way up to the torpedo head where the stretchy skin now had pulled a little back and revealed a dime-sized bit of pink and slitted spongy flesh. The skin followed his gliding fingers upwards, and the opening closed and almost completely covered the head. The boy almost squealed.

“Gosh! Twenty-four point two! That”s almost a quarter of a metre, God dammit!”

His father frowned.

“Two things. kadıköy travesti Please refrain from swearing. And secondly, look at your thumb. The way you hold the tape down is cheating. It”s just slightly over twenty-three, and that”s it.”

His father blushed deeper, suddenly self-conscious about revealing that he knew the exact length of it.

“Still! It”s … it”s so … I don”t know what. I just love that it”s so big!”

The boy pushed even closer, wrapped his hands around both cocks, holding them together. His father”s was a bit thicker than his, and so mesmerizing he had to come up with something to distract himself quickly, because he felt an almost irresistible urge to have it in his mouth. For he couldn”t do that, could he?

“See? It”s like two fingers longer than mine! At least!”

He moved his hips, still clasping their members, and pushed his cock up along his father”s until the tips were level, then down and up again. His father gasped and shivered.

“If you keep doing that, it”ll have consequences.”

The boy sat still. He was on the verge of exploding himself, but he wanted this to last as long as possible. But both cocks were leaking now, so how long could he hold back?

“Will mine be as big as yours? What was it like when you were my age?”

His father tried to ignore the pleasure of his son”s cock against his, mustered up all his resistance against the immense and forbidden lust that was rising in him. He swallowed hard before he could answer.

“I believe it was about the same as yours is now. It still grew a bit until I was seventeen or so, yours will probably do the same.”

His son moaned. His fingers closed harder, almost cramped around their cocks as his thighs tensed, and the hands that tried to hold their cocks still trembled harder, and his breathing turned into hoarse panting.

His father couldn”t tear his eyes away from their cocks when he noticed what was about to happen with his son. And there, no jerking movements necessary, and accompanied by a guttural, voiceless moan, clear liquid erupted from his son”s cock. A small spurt first, then a powerful jet that hit his chin, another weaker jet, then several trickles. The throbbing against his own ready-to-burst cock got too much. He gripped his boy”s wrists, jerked the hands that still held their cocks up and down fast, almost ferociously, and holding his breath, his whole body seemed to be torn to pieces. Then everything seemed to rush like electricity down from the back of his neck and centre in his groin, and as his breath gushed out of him, so did his sperm. Flying wide and high, clearer and thinner than the thick, white sauce one might expect from a grown man, splashing droplets on his boy”s hands and arms, and on his own white shirt, even his tie that hung pushed away across his shirtfront got a small shower.

Panting subsided. The boy looked almost crestfallen. Voice just a whisper.

“Sorry. I couldn”t help it.”

His father shuddered a final time. Then held the boy”s face between his hands, limbs still tingling like from fever, and his words faltered.

“I know. Couldn”t possibly avoid … So beautiful when you … God, I love you so much.”

Forehead leaning against forehead, they remained sitting. A deep feeling of unity, of belonging, swathed them both. Regrets might come later, but for now they were in a peaceful place where all that existed was this warm fellowship.

*

Saturday

Peace never lasts, though.

By morning, the father was again fretting and struggling, shocked and infuriated with himself for his lack of rectitude and moral strength. Last night should never have happened. It was wrong, it was not how a father should act with a son. The most disastrous part, however, was the sneaking and very disturbing suspicion that one move from his son, and he”d be as weak and as yielding as a blob of clay again, not at all able to withstand the just barely controlled desires inside him, these terrifying, dangerous and devastating desires to totally merge with his son, to put his cock into every possible place it could go in that lithe, wonderful body, and to feel that delicious, but forbidden fourteen-year-old cock take possession of him, own him and fill his screaming needs to the brim. And why, for God”s sake, could he not let go of all these destructive thoughts?

He fumbled with the tie when his boy came to him for help. He avoided the boy”s eyes when he felt a finger stroke his cheek as thanks for the help. He couldn”t answer when his son blithely and untroubled told him I love you, Dad …

He hated being so off balance, hated that words stuck in his throat. He loved his son, loved him more than anything in the world. He should care for him, teach him right from wrong, protect him. How could he do that, what kind of preparations for life would he give the boy, if he was guided by, even ruled by such depraved and wanton thoughts that lurked in his soul?

The boy was now by the door. The father shuddered as his eyes fell on the boy”s belted waist and the way his trousers hugged the top of his beautifully curved ass before they loosely draped his legs.

*

They closed early on Saturdays. The boy had locked up and was busy with bucket and rag when sharp knocks disturbed his cleaning. Outside two male figures waited, looking big and dark and rather ominous.

He opened and let the men in. He knew them from sight, the uniformed police constable and the dog-collared, haggard-faced priest. His heart fluttered and chest tightened. The policeman”s voice was subdued as he nodded a brief greeting.

“Good afternoon. Is your father here?”

He gulped and silently pointed to the door at the back where his father still worked on an antique pocket watch. Apprehensions and misgivings numbed body and brain as he stood like frozen to the wet floor watching the two dark and to him sinister-looking figures knock and then disappear through the door.

All kinds of dreadful possibilities ran through the boy”s head as he stood staring at the closed door. When the door finally opened and the two men came out, just the two of them, a sudden relief rushed through him. At least they hadn”t come to arrest his father! But then a jolt of panic: Why had they come?

And then his father showed up in the doorway, looking pale and miserable, slowly shaking his head, again and again.

*

The boy couldn”t stop crying. Head on his father”s shoulder, convulsive sobs and fits of cramps and spasms rose and subsided only to rise again between wailing, choked sentences.

“I said such bad things … I didn”t … hate her! I didn”t! … No!”

His father stroked the boy”s hair, made soothing noises, but his face looked helpless and pained. The boy continued, still choking on his words.

“I loved her … I used to love her … I feel so … mean!”

His father rocked him gently, but he couldn”t find the right words. His throat felt all constricted, like someone had tied a string hard and tight around it.

“If I hadn”t been so bad … I should have … Maybe then she wouldn”t have gone off … If I”d been there, she couldn”t have gone away, and this wouldn”t have happened … It”s my fault!”

Finally, his father found his voice.

“It is not your fault! It”s nobody”s fault! There”s no way anyone could have known this would happen, so don”t ever blame yourself, do you hear? Never ever!”

The boy whimpered and wailed.

“It IS my fault! Because I wanted to stay with you!”

His father lifted him off his shoulder, held the boy”s upper arms in an iron grip.

“Stop it, Harald! Please! It was her choice! She wanted some space, some time for herself, you know. She wasn”t happy. If anyone is to blame, it”s me!”

The boy still jerked and shook. His voice sounded like a squeezed rubber duck.

“Poor mum!”

He wriggled loose from his father”s grip, leapt up and ran for his room. His father”s weak call after him made no difference. Nothing, no one could take away the hollow pain that pierced his heart.

*

Henrik Lange stood by the telephone in the hallway, trying to pull himself together. Everything felt surreal, the whole impossible situation numbed him, made him feel powerless and incapacitated. If only he had been in better standing with his former in-laws, he might not have felt so impotent, so reluctant to contact them, but there was no getting away from the fact that this would only result in more bad blood between him and them.

He had to do this, though, didn”t he? He cursed himself for saying he would when the police officer had asked him if he would contact the remaining family. Perhaps it would be easier if he postponed it until after it was likely they would have heard about the accident on the radio or read it in the papers. Or maybe that would just make them feel passed over, and they would hate and despise him even more. If that was possible. And that would surely create more conflict and problems for his boy, although if he was honest, there had never been that much of a bond between the boy and his aunts and uncles, either on her side or on his.

And then there was the dilemma of who to call first. He started leafing through the phone book. But then he chickened out. Called the police station instead, told them he wasn”t up to dealing with the relatives. Felt like a coward, but …

He sat heavily down on the floor. He felt so unspeakably lonely.

*

He had lost track of time. His senses returned when his thighs and seat muscles felt so stiff and sore, he wanted to scream. Wearily he got up, dragged his feet past his son”s room, listening for sounds from within, but hearing nothing went to the bathroom and started to run a bath.

He scattered his clothes all over the bathroom floor, not caring if his dress trousers or his silk tie would eventually get ruined from the steam or the spray. Climbed in when the water was only a hand”s breadth high, leaned his back on the cold enamel of the rounded end, waiting for the tub to fill up.

Suddenly the door opened. His son came in, walking like a zombie to the toilet. The splashing of piss into the water in the porcelain bowl mingled with the sound of water filling the bathtub.

“Don”t flush!”

But he was too late, the boy had already pulled the chain. He quickly lifted his legs out of the way, the water from the tap had become scalding hot. The boy turned and lamely watched steam rise from the bathtub while the cistern slowly and noisily filled. Then it was like he suddenly became aware of his father sitting there with his legs spread and his heels resting on the edge of the tub to avoid the hot water. Naked. He had never seen his father completely naked before, not that he could remember, anyway. In a flash, the boy”s face came alive, he tore off his clothes, dropped them on top of his father”s bundle on the floor and climbed in. His father protested loudly.

“Are you crazy? There”s no room for two people in here!”

The boy paid no heed to his father”s objections. He squirmed and wriggled until he was lodged knees up between his father”s spread legs, leaned back against his father”s chest and sighed deeply. His father sighed with him, resignedly. And then they just sat there while the tub filled.

The closeness, the skin contact, and the sharp realization that they both were dangerously and defencelessly naked had effects, though. The boy felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle as he felt his father”s cock grow and harden and worm its way up along the small of his back. He pushed himself even closer, the tip of his own cock now peeping up from the water. His father”s arms closed around his chest, and he felt his father”s breath against his neck.

They sat like that, quiet and unmoving, until the water started to get cool. The boy shuddered, got up and out, his long, slender cock pointing diagonally in front of him. He shuffled the heap of clothes on the floor to the side with his feet, cock bouncing up and down from the manoeuvre. He grabbed the only big towel that hung from a peg.

His father rose and stood in the water, slim and sinewy body glistening, majestic cock swaying and dripping water.

“Hey! Don”t hog the towel!”

Out of the tub, he stepped close to the boy and grabbed the flapping corners of the towel. Pushing even closer to his son, he wrapped the towel around both of them, their cocks squashed side my side between their stomachs. The boy tried to pull the towel out of his hands.

“I”ll dry you off.”

The man let the boy take over. Turned his back on his son, skin tingling as the terry cloth rubbed his shoulders and back, seat muscles tensed as the towel found its way into the crack between the cheeks, a small feeling of regret as the cloth disappeared and slid down over thighs and calves.

“Turn!”

Looking into his father”s eyes, the boy dried off neck, shoulders, chest. Bending his knees, the boy rubbed down his father”s flat stomach, muscles tight, almost chiselled from nervous tension. And now on his knees, face only centimetres from the raging cock in front of him, the boy towelled his father”s crotch, gently but thoroughly, deep between the thighs, eyes fixed on heavy balls moving in their hairy sack. Suddenly an image popped up in his head.

“Some Hindus shave their heads when someone dies. Did you know that?”

And then he started to cry again. Softly, almost inaudibly, but enough to make his father notice despite the strange bubble of bliss he was in from the towelled hands fondling his privates. He gently pushed his son away, grabbed the towel.

“Your turn.”

The boy rose, tears trickling from closed eyes, full lips quivering as he fought the hopeless grief that again came in waves over him. He rested his forehead on his father”s shoulder.

There really was no ned to dry the boy off. He was already dry but for his ass-crack and genitals, and his feet. The father softly towelled his boy”s pubes and balls, something held him back from touching the boy”s half hard cock, but the crack got a more thorough treatment.

He spread the towel out on the toilet seat cover and gently pushed his son down to sit on it. Snatched the hand towel beside the basin, kneeled in front of the boy and took his feet one at a time in his lap and dried them, carefully and tenderly between the toes. Kissed each toe and whispered to them, like the boy was a baby, wondering at his own enjoyment and attraction to those long, slender digits.

But he had to let go of the feet. There was something his son had said that reminded him of something, and this something stuck in his head now, something he needed to put into action, something he”d been wanting to do for years, but had always put off as, if not perverse, at least silly.

“Go put your jammies on, will you? There”s a thing I must do, but I need to do it on my own, okay? It won”t take very long.”

*

At long last Henrik Lange was in bed, trying to silence the noisy thoughts that crowded his head. The last days had been just too much, his body as well as his mind felt strained and worn out, like he was suspended in air, desperately clinging to a thin rope that could snap at any minute.

His son had gone through a few more bouts of grief and self-blame and had finally fallen asleep on the sofa, exhausted from crying. He had carried him to bed, even if the weight of the boy threatened to make him stumble under it. He had stood watching him for a while, eaten by sadness that he couldn”t ease his son”s pain, bitterly resigned to the fact that no one can carry another person”s sorrow, no matter how much one would try or want to. His helplessness had clawed and torn at his heart.

And now, tossing and turning and waiting for sleep that wouldn”t come, he felt even worse. What kind of a monster was he, that even now, with the woman who was once his wife cold and mutilated in the morgue, the longing for his son”s body was what filled him and tore through his whole being. The image of his son shone glowing and bright on his retinas: Face. Skin. Cock … He wanted it all so badly. How could he?

He felt regrets, even a touch of remorse, for his ex-wife. He did, didn”t he? He hadn”t wanted anything like this for her, and yet he felt strangely remote and cold about the whole thing. He tried to picture the scene, tried to see the bus go off the road and down the rocky ravine, wondering if it had been quickly over, or if she had suffered, searched his soul for the feelings he knew he ought to have, like real sorrow, or maybe bitter anger, but all he felt was a brush of meaninglessness.

Guilt grew in him. Guilt that he felt so remote, guilt that there was no real grief in him for her. What was grief anyway? A feeling of love lost, or love with no longer a place to go? Maybe that was the reason for his guilt, the fact that he had never really loved his wife.

And topping this, there was that dark guilt he felt over the burning ache for his son, the all-consuming yearning to feel him close, feel him here, here in his bed, so he could touch him, caress him, make love to him with no limits at all. Forget about everything else, just melt with the boy into an alloy, be united with him in every possible way, body and soul.

What kind of a beast did that make him? What kind of evil person was he, that even as his son was dissolved in grief, all he wanted was to stick his cock in him to satisfy himself?

But that wasn”t the whole truth. It was more than just stiff cock, all this that burned in him. Suddenly he realized that he had no words for what he felt for his son. It was more than the care and the safe keeping any father would feel, and it was more than the damning, perverted needs in his loins. It was something no wank would ever get out of his system, and by God, he had tried that. It was way beyond normal parental fondness or love, way beyond the forbidden sexual urges that scared him. It was too huge to fathom.

How could he resist? How could he fight it? How in bloody hell could he live with it?

And then his tears came. Shook his body, drained him of power, and finally, finally sent him to sleep.

*

A feeling of constraint stirred his sleep-numbed brain, like he was tied to a tree trunk with a soft but firm rope around his chest. Still half asleep, his hand automatically came up to investigate and found that the rope was an arm. And the tree trunk was a fourteen-year-old body. Breathing regularly, clearly asleep.

A cold flash rushed over his skin as his hand searched behind him and found smooth, naked skin pressed tight against his pyjamas-clad back.

He hadn”t noticed when the boy got in his bed, all he could remember was that he had cried himself to sleep, and not because of his former wife”s miserable end, but because of his own egocentric and self-absorbed mind, or perhaps obsessive was the right word. What now? Should he wake the boy up and send him back to his room?

He carefully loosened the arm around him and put it aside. The creature behind him stirred and made a murmuring sound, and the arm came back, fingers sneaking in between two buttons. He shivered. But maybe the boy needed some comfort, something to ease the sorrow and the guilt that had ridden him so badly? He opened one button and softly nudged the hand further in. If the boy needed a bit of warm skin, why couldn”t he have it?

The hand on his chest moved a bit. Two fingers touched his nipple and sent goosebumps over his skin. He listened to his boy”s breath. Was he awake?

The fingers kept moving, slowly caressing and teasing his nipple. And then they withdrew. Found the row of buttons on his pyjamas top and started to unbutton them. Trembling, he let it happen. Blood pounded in his ears; his temples almost hurt as his pyjamas top was pushed open, and the hand slid over his chest and belly and a finger dug softly into his navel. He should stop this before it went too far.

But it had already gone too far. He was helpless now. Overpowered by the touches, paralyzed by trembling anticipation, lost in the clutches of fear of where this would lead and yet filled with a burning hope that it really would lead somewhere. Anywhere. There was no resistance left when he felt his son”s lovely cock grow hard against his pyjamas-clad buttocks and the caressing hand move to untie the string of his pyjamas trousers. And as the hard pole behind him pushed against him in small but determined movements, the hand crept down into his pants and closed around his swelling cock.

“Take `em off!”

The persuasive murmur in his ear seemed simply logical and right. Of course he had to get out of his pyjamas. Of course he had to be naked with his son, there was no question about it. He pulled away from the clinging body and struggled out of the garments that were no longer a needed protection but a hindrance, rolled over and pulled his boy close to his naked flesh, skin against skin, cock against cock, eyes seeking eyes in the warm darkness enveloping them.

Shivering and with a brain that shouted, “Do it!”, he moved his face closer, closer to another border that needed to be crossed now. His lips opened slightly as they found the boy”s cheek, moving softly over to the corner of the boy”s mouth, tip of tongue lightly fluttering. The boy turned his head just enough, and their lips met, gently at first, just cautiously feeling the strange wonder of this new intimacy. But it was not enough. Mouths opened, lips moved together, and tongues met. Deeper now, sucking harder, hips grinding against hips, hands clawing at backs, boy”s voice moaning into father”s mouth.

The father reluctantly broke the kiss. He sounded like his vocal cords had been done over with sandpaper.

“Oh God, Harald, we shouldn”t be doing this! But I love you so much! Nevertheless, no one can know about this. You know that, don”t you?”

The boy whispered a breathless consent. His hands slid down his father”s smooth back, stroked and kneaded firm buttocks while he felt his father do the same to him. The boy”s hands moved forward, needing to feel what seemed to him the essence of his father”s being. Sneaking into the tight space between them, his hands found their target. Trembling fingers fondled and petted the skin-covered cockhead, rolled foreskin down and back up again, then slid down the long shaft. Stopped at the base, fingertips gliding searchingly over smooth pubic bone.

“Where”s your hair?”

His father, still caressing the boy”s slim, but sweetly curved ass-cheeks, stifled a small, tense chuckle that rose in his throat.

“Tell you later. Please don”t stop! Please, Harald, I don”t want to think right now!”

The boy”s breath came out as voiceless moans. Hands gripped the mighty cock again, hips wriggled to create a small space between them, and the now wet and slippery cockhead was lodged firmly between smooth boy”s thighs, pushed in and slid along perineum. The boy shivered and shook as he felt the spellbinding length glide through his closed thighs. Fumbling behind him, he found the cock as it came out on the other side and shivered again as slick cockhead slithered into his fist. He withdrew his upper body from his father”s chest, as if he needed all sense of touch concentrated to the feel of the cock in his crotch and his hand, pelvis grinding slowly but relentlessly, every thrust causing his own ready to burst pole to rub against his father”s belly.

His father”s hands gripped his upper arms hard. The deep voice was just a groan.

“Oh Christ! I can”t hold back!”

The boy stopped moving, clamped his thighs even tighter, felt his father”s hips take over. Pulling back and pushing in, cock swelling and pulsating in the warm, smooth tunnel between his thighs, and with an unsteady, low moan his father shot his spray of spunk across the sheets behind the boy, the second and third blast went past the edge of the bed and landed on the floor.

Panting, the father pushed his son over on his back. Sat up to fill his eyes with as much as he could see in the darkened room. The boy”s hands came up to hide his face, but he pulled them aside.

“Please, Harald. Just lie still.”

And he bent down and kissed the boy”s slender neck, planted little kisses down the middle of smooth boy chest, moved to find a small mound of boy nipple, tongue now pointed and teasing. The boy moaned as lips closed over swollen nipple and sucked.

Father”s face and father”s nose nudged the boy to spread out his arm, and nose burrowed into armpit, inhaling the intoxicating whiff of fresh and slightly musky adolescent sweat, tip of tongue gently tickling the sparse young smattering of hairs in the hollow.

The boy trembled all over, his legs twitched restlessly. Father”s hands glided over hairless thighs as if to soothe the trembles. Not successfully, though, the young body shook like a leaf. And now lips moved over tense stomach muscles, tongue dug softly into navel, then licked and teased the shallow furrow leading down to where torso stopped and legs began.

The boy”s short moans sounded both astonished and alarmed, pleasure combined with suspense was almost too much to handle. And when the tongue swept over his tight, drawn-up balls and wandered downwards, the enormity of it all threatened to blow his mind. Instinctively he spread his legs even more to give access to the industrious and ardent tongue. His father”s tongue! His loving father! And God Almighty, this tongue now moved dangerously close to his … his hole, his shithole! Panic struck him. What if he was dirty! Shivering, he closed his legs to stop his father from going there.

His father sensed his sudden insecurity. Kisses covered the boy”s taut ball sack, kisses crept up along rigid shaft of boy cock, pointed tongue teased rim of foreskin and lightly prodded piss-slit, and now soft lips closed around swollen head, lips that tightened and rolled foreskin down as cock was sucked in and cockhead slid along palate, and the boy”s hips rose all by themselves, pushing throbbing cock in, wanting all of it inside this moist and warm cave.

There”s a limit to how much mouth-worship a fourteen-and-two-months old cock can withstand. Detonation was inevitable. In his daze, the thought to warn his father didn”t even strike the boy, and with a gasp he held his breath, his skin tingled like crazy, his buttocks clenched, his groin exploded, and his cock pulsated and twitched and spewed out jet upon jet of adolescent semen deep into his father”s mouth and throat.

Breath was let out with almost a whistle.

“Oh shit! In your mouth! I”m sorry, that”s so gross!”

His father crept up alongside him until they were face to face. Nose to nose, forehead to forehead.

“Tell you a secret? I loved it!”

The boy sighed deeply. Snuggled closer. Hand found long, almost flaccid cock and heavy balls, smooth as silk.

“You said you”d tell me why your hair”s gone.”

The father rolled over on his back, pulling his son with him to lie on his shoulder and chest. The boy”s hand still caressed the strangely hairless genitals.

“It”s something I”ve been thinking of for years. Off and on, that is. What you said about the Hindus shaving their heads reminded me. So I shaved.”

“But why? I mean … why?”

Silence. Almost too long. Then:

“A man I knew … well, I didn”t really know him, I didn”t even know his name … Okay, a man I was once with had his crotch shaved. It seemed weird at first, but … you know, fascinating, and I … I mean, ever since I”ve kept wondering what it would feel like to do it myself.”

The boy sat up, turned on the bedside lamp. Studied his father”s naked, almost childlike pubic area. Childlike but for one thing.

“It makes it look even bigger!”

His father stretched out and turned out the light.

“We should get some sleep now. It”s almost four!”

He spooned the boy, rejoicing in the feel of soft skin against his chest and belly, trying to ignore the acute awareness of firm boy butt so close to his cock. Also trying to ignore the sneaking, destructive feeling of panic that grew in him.

*

He was just about to drift off when the boy”s voice roused him out of his drowsy limbo.

“Have you been with lots of men? Like that, I mean?”

He was tired, didn”t really feel like talking, first impulse was to cut the boy off. But then, how could he deny his boy anything, the way things were between them now? The boy wanted to talk, so … And it was Sunday, they could sleep in if they wanted to. Could stay in bed all day, for that matter.

“Not that many, no. Just a few.”

“Did you do … like, everything? What was it like?”

The thought of his father with other men stirred something in the boy”s loins. A titillating, prickly feeling. Images of his father”s wondrous cock between strangers” lips teased his mind and blood streamed down to his cock.

His father nuzzled the back of the boy”s neck. His voice was warm and very soft.

“It was nothing like what we just did.”

The boy got hold of his father”s hand, pulled it down to feel his now stiff cock. A few seconds of passive silence, then fingers closed around the hard pole and that balmy voice poured into the boy”s ear again.

“What we did was … Oh, I don”t have words for it. With the others, it was just urges, you know. Needs. Quickly over and always tainted with the unavoidable elements of anxiety and fear. It”s illegal, you know, for men to do stuff with each other.”

“I know! You don”t have to go on telling me. But it”s so stupid, isn”t it?”

“Maybe. It”s the way it is, though. And you may feel like I”m going on about this too much, but anyway … I repeat that what we just did must be our secret. Our very own but very deep secret. No one can know. And we can”t do anything like this again, because then the anxiety and the fear I just talked about will take over completely and eat us up. There”s enough fear as it already is. I want as little fear as possible between us, even if it might be impossible to completely avoid it.”

Deep sigh.

“I”m sure I”ll feel terrible about what we just did in the morning, but I don”t want to think about it right now. Can we just cuddle and sleep now?”

The boy pushed his cock gently trough his father”s soft grip. Yawned.

“Yes. But … I want to do this again.”

And another yawn.

“Want to do it a lot.”

*

Sunday

Daylight bathed the room. The boy stretched his sleepy limbs, reached out to find nothing. He sat up. He was alone in his father”s bed.

He flopped down again; his mind flooded with images and feelings and thoughts. Gnawing sorrow fought tingling excitement for room, the contradictions felt too enormous to handle, he wanted to cry, and he wanted to laugh. His mother was dead. His father had sucked his cock. Nothing would ever be the same as it was before. Everything that once was there was shattered, his world was burning like a pyre, and he had no idea what would rise from the ashes.

Restlessness overcame him. He slid out of bed, and in doing so, his hand passed over the stiff stains on the sheet. Goosepimples rushed over his skin as he bent down to sniff the spots. And a sudden need to find his father cut through him like a knife.

Not bothering to dress, he rushed out, calling for his father. Found him in the kitchen by the counter, pouring coffee into a mug, wine-coloured robed back beckoning him. He ran up, threw his arms around the man and clung to him like a limpet. Coffee spilled out onto the countertop.

“Hey! Easy!”

The boy ground his face against the silk.

“I missed you!”

Small laugh as pot was set down.

“I”m right here, I”m not going anywhere.”

The father loosened to boy”s grip and turned around. Held the boy”s face between his hands and kissed the tip of his nose. A small, worried frown crept over his brow.

“Feeling out of sorts?”

The boy clasped his father”s neck, pulling him closer. Boy”s lips met father”s full lower lip and munched on it, tongue wormed its way into the closed mouth, fingers ploughed through thick, slightly oily hair. Taken aback, the father first tried to pull away, but soon the intensity of his boy”s need won him over. The kiss got deeper, tongues battled and played, and father”s arms enclosed the boy and drew him even tighter as small trembles chased through both bodies.

Panting, the boy broke the kiss. For a while the two of them just stood looking into each other”s eyes, hearts pounding, wordless, almost stunned by the overwhelming fever of the kiss.

The boy took a couple of steps backwards. Stood broad-legged staring at his father, clad only in his pale and freckled skin, beautiful with his upper body tapering to slim waist and narrow hips, delicious and seductive with his long, slender and rock-hard cock slanting up in the air. He bounced his stiffy from side to side.

“Look,” he whispered. “See what you do to me!”

His father stared wide-eyed back, unreadable expression on his face. And to the boy”s alarm he suddenly slithered down the front of the counter, like his body had turned liquid, until he sat on his ass, legs straight out on the floor.

“What?”

His father slowly shook his head, closed his eyes and leaned back against the cupboard doors. His voiced seemed to come from inside a box.

“I”m a bad man. A bad, bad man.”

One tiny tear got loose. Then a long, shivery sigh, and his voice came out of the box. Harsh now. Bitter words gushed out of him.

“Too much. I can”t cope … can”t cope at all. I thought I could, but … You”re so beautiful, you”re so perfect, and all this love in me feels like it”s going to choke me. It scares the hell out of me, because …”

He drew his knees up. His robe parted and fell aside, and the boy had full view of long, semi-hard cock that snaked out on the floor between his father”s raised thighs.

“I want you so bad. How can I not want you, every cell in my body screams out for you, but it”s so … hopeless, so dangerous … and I”m so afraid! I shouldn”t want you like this! Everyone, everything around us says this is wrong, this is doomed, this is bound for catastrophe, but how can I let go of it? How can I let go of you, now that I”ve had a taste of what it could be like … to be with you completely … to love you with my body and my soul … but how can I live with this, when the whole bloody world says No! No! No! … and it”s going to destroy everything … Oh, why don”t you shut me up? Stuff your cock down my gullet and shut me up! Fuck my face and make me forget!”

The boy stood stock still and frozen, shocked by his father”s language, totally stymied, incapable of dealing with this. His arms and legs felt like lead, his cock withered and sagged down.

“Dad! Please!”

His father opened his wet and shiny eyes. Breathed heavily through his open mouth. Stretched his legs out and pulled the robe close, hiding his exposed crotch.

“Come here!”

The boy didn”t move. His father held his hand out. Looked quite devastated.

“Please don”t desert me now. I”m sorry I lost my restraint. I shouldn”t pour all my morbid darkness over you like that. You”ve got enough to deal with as it is, your mother and all. Forgive me, will you?”

The boy hesitantly took his father”s hand. An unpleasant feeling of exasperation grew in him, turning into anger. Not with his father, though, and certainly not with himself. Anger that seemed to revolt against some huge, shapeless and intangible monstrous obstacle impossible to conquer. Anger that had no place to go. A frustrated, choked whimper left him as tears welled up in his eyes.

His father pulled at his hand. The boy flopped down, hid his face in his father”s lap, convulsive sobs shook his body. He whimpered and wailed between the sobs.

“Why do you … make it so … why does it have to be so … bloody difficult? Why can”t we be … just … happy?”

His father”s fingers ran through his boy”s hair, ruffling and then smoothing. Again, and again. He could barely hear his own whispering voice over the half-choked noises his son made.

“I don”t know … I don”t know …”

*

It is the way of all nature to strive for balance when disorder has tipped the scales. From chaos comes order. Henrik Lange stumbled through the maze in his brain, desperately trying to find the way. You must have chaos within to give birth to a dancing star. Now, who said that? Nietzsche. Right.

Sitting there now, his boy sobbing in his lap, as miserable and despairing as he himself felt, it dawned on him that all he had done for his boy was to add to his misery. These last days must have been shattering to his young son, full of thunderbolts as they had been, and instead of helping, he had just poured out his own inherited narrowmindedness, dumped his fright of being exposed and fear of his own feelings on him. And instead of giving birth to a dancing star, his chaotic feelings had done nothing but trample the flowers.

And Nietzsche in his head had not left, but sat put and whispered, “Those that were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music”. Should this last category of people be the ones who ruled his life, and his boy”s life? Or should he rise above them and their dogmatic and limited perceptions, turn up the volume and let the music play? Could he do that? Could he stop fearing the damned laws, written and unwritten, could he strip himself of all these prejudices and restrictions that seemed to be burnt into him, all these unchallenged notions of what was acceptable and what was offensive, notions that seemed to be determined to keep them imprisoned and deny them both what they needed most of all?

Oh, if only …

His fingers weaved into his boy”s hair. His felt suddenly dizzy. Maybe it was because of the blood that was ringing in his ears from the exhilarating glimpses of wild hope that had popped up in his brain, crazy, new thoughts of possible freedom from all the crippling and senseless preconceived ideas that had made his life so full of anxiety and depression. When he spoke, his voice seemed to him to come from a strange place outside him.

“Harald! Please Harald, get up and let me look at you!”

Reluctantly the boy lifted his head and turned his wet face halfway towards his father.

“You got to help me now. Help me learn to dance.”

The boy sat up, taken aback.

“Huh?”

His father put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him back to sit beside him. The boy leaned back against the cold cupboard door, feeling suddenly very small and very naked.

“I don”t understand. What do you mean, dance?”

“It”s a metaphor … What I mean is that you”re still young and not yet embossed and ruined by all those musts and must-nots that surrounds us. You”re still not stamped with all this … all this guilt … and shame … and I need you to stay that way. I need you to help me get around all this … and stop me pour out all this negativity that drowns what should be a happy dance, do you understand?”

The boy mused over this, then shrugged.

“Maybe … or maybe not. But … how can I do anything about it? It”s all you, isn”t it?”

His father sighed.

“You”re right. And I”m not sure how, but I know I need to get rid of a lot of shit in my head that”s accumulated over the years. Because … well, see what it does to me? Or to us? I mean, all this crying … and panic … and remorse and guilt. I know I”m overreacting, but I can”t seem to help it. But you”re not there yet, and I need your … I don”t know, innocence … or freedom … to show the way, sort of.”

“I”m not innocent.”

“Yes, you are. They haven”t imprisoned your thoughts with dogma yet. They haven”t destroyed you. And please, don”t let them.”

The boy almost whimpered with exasperation.

“But I don”t know what to do! Seems all I”m good for is to show off my cock, and that hasn”t exactly helped, has it?”

The arm around the boy tightened.

“Oh, our bloody cocks again! The importance of them has become so out of proportion! And it”s their doing, you know, the priests and the lawmakers and all the rest of them, for attaching so much sinfulness and so much forbidden naughtiness to them. Always shouting we shouldn”t enjoy them, and certainly not together with other males, and their voices in our heads are making us, at least making me feel so rotten about giving in to temptation. And I don”t want those voices there, but I don”t know how to shut them up! And besides, we”re more than cocks, aren”t we?”

“Are we? I”m not so sure I am.”

“Oh yes, you are. And I love all of you. I love your stubbornness and your curiosity; I love your zest, I love your normally so high spirits, I love the way you question things, the way you don”t give in to conventions. I love your cheeky smiles and your funny freckles. And I love your body, penis included, and I want to allow myself to love everything about you, not just bits of you. And that”s the difficult part. Do I make sense?”

The boy just sat quietly for a long time, feeling the pressure of his father”s slightly trembling arm. Did his father make sense? He tried to put himself in his father”s place but failed.

“I don”t know. You”ve said a lot of things these days, but it”s like it”s all just variations of the same theme, you know. All about problems and bad feelings, and one shouldn”t do this, and one shouldn”t do that. It”s like one minute you love me, I mean really, and then the next minute you don”t. Like Olav, almost. You know, take what you want and then panic and try to run off.”

“Oh God! Is that how I come across? Jeez, I”m sorry! But it”s not true. I”m not like that. I don”t want to run off. That”s why I”m asking you to help me get rid of all those idiotic bakırköy travesti stumbling blocks in my head!”

“Are you daft? I can”t get into your head, so how can I help? By listening to you gushing out issues and complications? I”ve done that, and it seems you”re just as full of all this shit as ever!”

The boy bounced to his feet and ran to his room, door slamming behind him.

*

The boy washed and dressed. Sat for a few minutes fuming in his room, wondering why he felt so rotten.

Why should he feel so thwarted and frustrated? Because when he really thought about it, his father hadn”t rejected him or denied him anything, he had actually done what he could to make him feel less bad about the loss of his mum, and it wasn”t his father”s fault that he himself still felt guilty and hollow about his unfortunate mum and wanted to forget everything by wanking his brains out and having his cock sucked into oblivion … not that it had taken the pain away, only temporarily, and it had made him want more, want everything … But bugger all, he couldn”t listen to one more of his father”s harangues about all this I-want-you-but-I-shouldn”t-stuff. He had to get out.

Passing the kitchen on his way out, he saw his father still sitting where he had left him, leaning back against the kitchen counter, legs stretched out in front of him.

*

On his bike, racing like mad through the almost empty streets on this warm Sunday morning. Slowing down a bit as he pedalled past his school, vaguely reflecting on how long it seemed since he was there, and how on earth it was possible that such an unfathomable amount of both heaven and hell could have been crammed into these past few days. But thinking only made him feel worse, his whole inside felt like a swarm of creepy crawlies rummaging about, busily gnawing holes in everything in there.

Speeding up again, blindly, as if exhausting himself would diminish the turmoil. And then, like he was suddenly waking up, he found his frenzied pedalling had taken him where he least of all wanted to go: The row of small, yellow semi-detached wooden houses with their little patches of lawns and shrubbery in front. His violent braking almost threw him over the handlebars.

The hopelessness, the sheer finality of it, cut through him like a knife: He would never see her again. Never again argue, never shout at her, never say he was sorry and never crawl in under her arm and lean against her warm body.

Lost in the unbelievable and aching emptiness, his left leg planted on the tarmac supporting him and his bike started shaking and suddenly gave way. Like in slow motion he keeled over until he sat on the sidewalk, his bike halfway over him, tears streaming down his face. And there he sat. Blind to his surroundings, disappearing into the total eclipse of his desolation.

“You poor thing! You can”t sit here!”

The sharp, nasal voice and the weight of the hand on his shoulder stirred him out of his black-out. He recoiled as from a venomous snake, jumped up from under his bike. The metallic clatter as the bike fell to the ground made him wince. He stared wildly at the woman from next door, hating her presence, loathing her squishy figure and her piercing voice. A choked growl left his throat.

“Get away from me!”

He spat it out at her, hurriedly grabbed the handlebars and raised the bike, threw himself on it and raced off.

*

The sun was at its highest. Henrik Lange, in his shirtsleeves and with his careful coiffure windblown and ruined from bicycling frantically through the streets looking for his son, finally rode past the harbour and saw the boy sitting on a bench outside the offices of the steamship company, bike left carelessly on the ground beside him.

The small local steamer had just moored and tied in at the wharf. The boy”s gaze was fixed on the small number of passengers disembarking, seemingly blind to everything else that was going on around him. Henrik Lange stopped dead, left his bike as untidily on the ground as his son had done, and just quietly came over and sat down beside the boy.

They sat for a while just watching the quayside activity, lazily basking in the glorious sunshine, neither of them feeling up to breaking the silence. But eventually the father spoke.

“Want to go swimming?”

The boy slowly turned his head, stared at his father for a long time. Then nodded his consent.

*

“This is the wrong way! And I need to get my swimsuit first!”

His father just smiled.

“We”re not going to the beach, and you won”t need your swimsuit. Just indulge me.”

The boy frowned but held his tongue.

“I”ll take you to where we used to go when I was a kid. I took you fishing there once, remember?”

The boy grimaced.

“That”s so far off!”

His father smiled.

“Nah. You were little then, I guess it seemed a lot further away than it really is. Half an hour, maybe? Less than an hour anyway.”

*

They bicycled the rest of the way in silence. The father in front, every now and then looking behind him to make sure his son kept up with him. The last bit of the road through the birch forest was a long and rather steep climb. Midway up the hill, the father stopped and signalled a break.

The boy was leaning over the handlebars, feet planted on the ground, slightly out of breath. The father wheeled his bike over next to him. A triangle of sweat darkened the boy”s shirt back, and his hand stroked the boy”s shoulders softly, caringly. Still no words were spoken. They just stood quietly breathing, father”s hand resting on son”s shoulder. And the boy”s tumultuous brain slowly wound down.

Finally, they came to a small lake, more of a pond, really. The boy vaguely recognized the place, and a faint memory of disappointment came back to him, disappointment that he hadn”t caught a single fish and had been bored out of his tits. His father, if he remembered rightly, had hauled in one after the other and had amicably teased him for being a lousy fisherman. Suddenly that old resentment welled up in him, and he glared almost angrily at his father.

“I had a shitty time here!” he burst out.

His father laughed.

“I remember. It”ll be nicer this time, I promise.”

They wheeled their bikes along the narrow and uneven path following the shoreline until they reached a strip of grass half hidden between smooth boulders sloping down into the water. The father laid his bicycle down next to the smooth rock, and without more ado tore his shirt off, then his singlet, and spread them out on the warm, stony surface.

And then, holding his son”s gaze, he unfastened his belt, opened his trousers and let them drop.

“Just like when I was a boy!” he sang out as his underpants followed his trousers. He stepped out of the heaped garments, stretched his arms up and wide, threw his head back and laughed.

The boy stood spellbound watching him, shivers running down his spine. Here, outside in bright sunlight, his father”s pale but beautiful body seemed so overwhelmingly naked, much more so than in soft bathroom lamplight. The now hairless pubic area accentuated that long, long flaccid cock and sent blood pounding in his ears, and his mouth went all dry.

His father waded out in the water, warily first, getting used to the temperature, then splashing forward and throwing himself down with a loud shout. He rose again in a cascade of glittering spray.

“Are you coming, or what?”

The boy, snatched out of his stupor, hurriedly undressed. Trying his best to hide his stiffy behind his hands he ran into the water. Not that cold, really, just pleasantly cool. He plunged in, swam away from where his father was waiting for him, hoping his hard-on would go away.

The father, a far more accomplished swimmer, soon caught up with him, grabbed his ankles and held the squealing boy still, then ducked under him and slid along the boy”s body to come up in front of him. The water wasn”t that deep here, only up to the father”s nipples as he planted his feet on the bottom and drew his son into an embrace, pushing against the still hard boy cock in front of him and whispered in the boy”s ear.

“I love you. I do.”

The boy, now facing the shore, suddenly wriggled and squirmed, trying to escape the hug.

“Dad!”

“What?”

“There”s a man watching us! There, on the other side of the rocks!”

His father let go of the boy and turned his head.

“Oh, yes. Well, let him!”

“But … But Dad! Looks like he”s … he”s playing with his … you know!”

The father just put a heavy hand on his son”s head and pushed him under. The boy came spluttering and heaving up, went at his father to wrestle him down. Half-heartedly, it must be said, the sighting of the man on the beach occupied too much of his mind to get into the horseplay with much enthusiasm. His eyes darted back and forth between his father and the very tanned stranger lying on a towel on the small patch of grass, hand appeared to be absentmindedly stroking and caressing what was there between his legs.

“He”s still peeping at us!”

The father chuckled.

“Well, think! In a way that”s a good thing, isn”t it? It means he”s …well, let”s say he”s on our side, right?”

The boy stared lamely at his father. His father still looked amused. Struggled a bit to explain himself, though.

“Listen. This is one of the few places where you can … you know, show off a bit with no danger of … well, angry letters from stuck up schoolmasters for one thing … because this is where people … mostly men to be honest … well, they come here to be naked and … enjoy other naked people. Discretely and quietly, all right, but nevertheless …”

The boy gaped. His father gave him a wink and a crooked smile.

“What do you say, should we give him a little show?”

The boy looked absolutely flabbergasted. What on earth had gotten into his father? This was not the man he had left sitting in the kitchen, all consumed by troubled thoughts and misgivings. What was he talking about, a little show? He shook his head.

“I don”t get it. What kind of show?”

A mischievous smirk crept across his father”s face, made him look quite silly.

“Let”s just walk slowly ashore and give him the full view.”

“Are you daft? I have a stiffy!”

“That should make him all the happier. Come on, you”ve told me you like to show off. As I said, this is a far better arena for it than your classroom!”

The boy looked at his father with wonder.

“You”re not the man I left this morning.”

A parental finger stroked the boy”s cheek caringly.

“I”ve had time to think.”

The boy felt a wave of sparky recklessness rush over him. His sudden peal of exuberant laughter echoed from the surrounding shores. This was how he wanted life to be, life with his father, carefree and unrestricted and full of … understanding, maybe? And a feeling of unity. And also full of exciting little secrets and possibilities. Could it be that his father was really over all his misgivings now?

He gave his father”s cheek a quick kiss.

“Okay. I”m on!”

*

The middle-aged man on the shore couldn”t believe his luck. Normally the only guys showing up this early in the day were old geezers, either fat and flabby or haggard and emaciated with too much sagging and wrinkled skin. And here, almost right in front of his eyes, were two extremely attractive men, one of them quite young by the look of it, cavorting in the water, wet drops glittering on smooth, firm skin. Brothers was his first thought, the red hair being an indicator, but what he could see of the way the acted together seemed perhaps a bit too intimate for that. They certainly weren”t regulars here; their skin was much too pale to belong to sunbathing habitu�s. The hot sun licked his own deeply bronzed skin, he tickled his balls softly and wished they would come a bit closer so he could see them clearer.

Joyous laughter suddenly reached him. He sat up on his towel, leaning on his hands. The two out there now swam side by side in a curve towards where he sat, and a shiver of anticipation rushed through him.

*

Their short swim took them closer to land, and when they were about twenty meters from shore and directly in front of the stranger, the father signalled a halt. They rose, water still waist high. The father spoke almost in a whisper.

“Now, don”t look at him. Let”s just walk out of the water towards the other side of the boulder. Nonchalantly, you know, like nothing is happening.”

The boy grinned conspiratorially. The father put a hand on his son”s shoulder as they started wading slowly ashore, diagonally towards their own place between the rocks, but in full view of the unknown man now sitting up on his pale blue towel.

*

Not brothers, surely father and son, the somewhat jaded voyeur on the beach thought, and the notion made his skin prickle. The boy was even younger than he first thought, his bony and slender torso yet undefined, and his freckled face, now that he could study it closer, was the face of a very young teenager. And as they slowly emerged from the water, the small hairs at the back of his neck rose almost painfully. The boy”s hard cock slanted upwards and swayed a little, and what a cock it was! He could scarcely believe his eyes. It looked quite incongruous on that slight and undeveloped body. His own dick started to rise.

And now the father came into view from where he had waded behind the boy, a casual hand on the boy”s shoulder, and the man who thought he had seen most of what there was to see in this world felt his heart jump up in his throat and his mouth turn into parchment. Smooth, hairless crotch, as opposed to the boy”s small reddish patch, and one of the longest flopping cocks he”d ever had the pleasure to peep at. Not hard like the boy”s cock, but surely on its way, and in that state, it looked like it could grow to any impossible length. His own tired dick filled out even more. But his raging excitement was all of a sudden marred by a feeling of inadequacy, and envy as well, as he looked quickly down on his own little stiffy. He immediately hid it behind his hand. His hungry eyes, however, still followed the two as they neared the shore and disappeared behind the low boulder, two sets of buttocks side by side, one tight and narrow, the other with a more swelling curve. Oh God, the beauty! The perfection!

And suddenly he wanted to cry.

*

Back in their place between the rocks, they stood a bit apart, looking at each other. The boy tittered.

“That was weird! I”m so horny I could die!”

His father”s eyes had a strange light in them. His hands opened and closed, like he didn”t know what to do with them. Then he closed the distance between them, and without a word turned the boy around and pulled him in, the boy”s back against his chest. Looking watchfully around him, he closed his hand gently around his son”s rock-hard cock and slowly slid it back and forth. His other arm held the boy still and close to his body, and then fingers crept up to tease the boy”s slightly puffy nipple.

The boy moaned loudly. His father shushed him, put his lips to the boy”s ear and started whispering, still alert to their surroundings.

“Don”t make a sound, just feel my hands on you … Let my hands make love to you, your lovely nipple, your wonderful cock … Just feel it … feel it.”

The grip on his cock tightened, and the pace quickened just a little. The boy writhed and quivered like jelly. And then those fingers pinched his nipple and squeezed hard. There was no way he could choke the sharp gasp that came out of him. His whole body shook, and when his father”s teeth softly bit into his earlobe, his body tensed and stiffened, and he came with a breathy, shivery whimper. His sperm shot out so hard it almost hurt.

Panting, the boy leaned all his weight against his father, he gripped his father”s wrist to hold his hand still. The whispers in his ear told him again and again that his father loved him. His heart pounded. His body felt like it was suspended in some strange and unreal space. His skin tingled and wanted to stay stuck to the skin behind him forever.

When the body behind him let go and eased off, reality gradually seeped in and took over the boy”s brain. He abruptly turned and looked wildly at his father.

“Dad! What if someone saw that!”

His father just smiled.

“The only one here is the fellow behind the boulder. And if he should have crept up to spy on us, all he would have seen was my backside. The rest he would have had to guess at.”

The boy seemed to relax a bit, then looked down at his father”s half hard and yet majestic cock.

“You didn”t … I mean, you didn”t squirt, did you? Was that selfish of me?”

“No, no, no.”

Then a wry smile and small hand gesture.

“We might see to that later. In private. If you want to, that is.”

The boy”s jaw dropped again. He shook his head.

“I don”t understand what”s happened to you.”

*

The ride back was leisurely unhurried. The boy pedalling lazily in front every now and then turned his head to scrutinise his father, wondering if this new attitude would stick or, like before, give way to remorse and anguish. But his father”s face looked serene and untroubled, and now a small, whistled tune caught his ears. The boy felt a relaxed contentment chase his apprehensions away.

Finally home and striding two steps at the time up the stairs, his father continued to whistle short stanzas in between humming the rest of the tune. The boy tore his sweaty shirt of. His freckled shoulders had taken on a pink hue from the sun.

“I never heard you whistle before. Or sing. What”s happening?”

“Nothing. I just feel good. Shouldn”t I?”

The boy drifted closer, holding his father”s gaze, and up close kept staring searchingly into his father”s eyes, frowning. The man chuckled and pulled the boy into his arms.

“Stop worrying, Harald. I”m not going to relapse into all that morbid guilt again. I”m through with that. At least I hope I am.”

The boy tightened his arms around his father”s torso and laid his head on his shoulder. Sighed deeply. Mumbled into his father”s shirt.

“You smell nice.”

“I smell sweaty, I”m afraid. I”ll go wash and change my shirt.”

“No. Not yet. Just hold me.”

Two hands grabbed the boy”s buttocks and lifted him up. The boy made a chirping sound and moved his arms to encircle his father”s neck, and as he was lifted higher, locked his legs around his father”s hips. Growing excitement rushed like electricity through his body as he was carried off.

In his father”s bedroom the boy was dumped on the narrow, rather chaste bed. His father stood watching him for a minute, his eyes glassy and his mouth half open, his breath heavy and unsteady.

“Okay?”

The boy”s skin tingled. Something in his father”s face told him this was serious stuff, no longer an unplanned game going a bit wild. He stared wide-eyed at his father, nodding his consent, his whole being itching and quivering with suspense and wonder.

His belt was undone, and his trousers were unbuttoned, and then slowly pulled down along with his underpants. And there, naked but for his socks, the boy could smell his own sweat and the special scent of cock that had the remnants of an orgasm still clinging to it. As a nose buried into his crotch and a tongue softly lapped at his taut ball sack, his insecurities kicked in.

“Dad! I should wash!”

His father raised his head.

“Uh-uh. You smell like boy. My boy. And I just love it.”

And he dived down. Boy balls were bathed in saliva, stiff boy shaft was licked along its length, boy cockhead was sucked into warm, moist mouth, full lips closed and rolled foreskin down, tongue swirled around swollen head, cleaned it and teased it, and smooth thighs were stroked and caressed. Breathless moans filled the room. Young body squirmed and shivered.

“Dad!”

His father”s head came up again, red hair all tousled, face flushed. Glazed over eyes met the boy”s pleading eyes.

“You”re still dressed!”

No answer. Hands gripped the boy”s legs under his knees, lifted and bent back, exposing his most private place, and before the boy could react, lips met his tight and wrinkled little hole, and tongue started to tickle.

The boy wriggled and twitched as much as he could for the iron grip that held his legs, torn between alarm and unbelievable pleasure. A frightened whimper escaped him. It felt wrong … it felt so …crazy … but oh, so exquisitely good, so unfathomable! How could it?

But just as the boy gave in and succumbed to the incredible pleasure of having his hole tongued, his father let go and rose.

“Watch!”

Shirt was slowly unbuttoned and swept aside, revealing smooth pale chest. Hands caressed pectorals, fingers pinched pink nipples. And now belt was teasingly unbuckled, fly was opened and flaps spread out, white waistband of underwear pushed down, lower hairless abdomen came into sight. And a hand delved into the white cotton and leisurely rummaged about, making the tent that strained the trousers halfway down his thigh move from side to side. Tongue licked lips seductively.

The father”s face suddenly broke out in a wide, silly grin. Then a rather bashful laughter resounded in the small room.

“God! I thought I could do this, but I feel just incredibly stupid!”

The boy had held his breath, now air gushed out of him.

“No! It”s fun! Make your cock pop out! You know … like, boing!”

A hand gesture followed the request. The father looked probingly at his son, then down on himself as he slowly lowered his trousers and underwear to reveal more and more of his long cock. And there it leapt out, bouncing a few times in the air and stood straight out in its full glory, prominent vein snaking along the faintly upward curving shaft, taut foreskin slightly drawn back to show a small clear drop at the tip, like a tear from an eye.

“Yeah!”

The boy heaved himself up and bent over to grab the enticing protuberance. The father, however, removed his son”s hand and stepped back to undress properly. Leaving his black socks on, he came back to the bed, sat down facing his boy. Both drew their knees up, like they were waiting and wondering what next.

“Give me your foot.”

The father spread his knees out in a semi-lotus position, held the outstretched foot in his lap and unhurriedly rolled the blue striped sock off, caressing the heel and the sole. Looking down at the long, slender toes something stirred in him, even more than it had done in the bathroom yesterday. He didn”t really understand why those toes should move him so profoundly, but they did. His cock twitched where it lay slanting across his hipbone, heavier and less springy than his son”s, which stood straight up with the robust stiffness only a teenage cock is blessed or cursed with. He lifted the boy”s foot to his lips and kissed the toes one by one, and then, holding his son”s gaze, he sucked the big toe into his mouth. The boy tittered self-consciously.

“The other one!”

The procedure was repeated, all toes got their moist treatment, accompanied by giggles and small jerky movements.

“Aren”t they disgusting? I mean … toes! In your mouth and all!”

His father looked at him; patiently, lovingly.

“I think we both have a lot to learn. I just found out that your feet and your toes are quite sexy. As long as they”re clean, I suppose. I don”t know why, but there it is.”

The boy withdrew his feet and leaned forward, stroking the reddish blond fuzz on his father”s shins. Inserted his index finger into the top of one of his father”s socks.

“Looks a bit weird … kind of sleazy … You know, naked with black socks on!”

“Take them off, then. I don”t want to look sleazy.”

“I”m not kissing your toes!”

His father just chuckled. Socks now off, the boy sat staring at and gingerly touching those toes. Then more confident, rubbing and caressing, finger gently prodding between the long digits. And suddenly he agreed with his father, there was something sexy about this. Maybe it was the associations that popped up in his brain: His finger pushing into places where it normally had no business to go, like … He grinned rather mischievously at his father and started quick little in-and-out movements between his father”s big toe and the next.

Father”s hand crept across the sheet and found the boy”s balls. Tickled and fondled, and moved in behind them, fingertips brushed along perineum and index finger dug in down there, lightly touching and then prodding at the tight, puckered orifice. The boy shuddered and gasped. His whole body tensed like a bowstring; his twitching cock couldn”t get any stiffer.

His father suddenly crawled across him to get at his nightstand drawer. A flat, yellow tin came into view in his right hand as his left hand pushed the boy down until his was on his back. The lid was opened, and a finger dipped into the thick, sticky content. A husky voice poured honey into the boy”s ears.

“Trust me. Don”t be so tense, this will feel good. I promise.”

The boy felt the cool substance on his father”s finger, fingertip circling and pushing very gently. Petting. Caressing his little butthole. Wanting in? And panic struck, and the little hole clenched even tighter.

“Dad! You can”t!”

The father, still tenderly fingering his son, leaned over him, kissing his face, kissing his neck, his other hand teasing and tickling a nipple.

“Relax. I”m not going to hurt you. I love you, you know.”

The boy flung his arms around his father”s neck, pulled him even closer. Lips roamed over chin and cheeks, detecting slight stubble, searching for the soft mouth he craved. And lips met, lightly first, but the boy wanted more. Wanted the taste of spit and the soft, moist inside of lips against his tongue, and the kiss got deep and intense.

Father”s tongue in his mouth, father”s hand playing with his frightened asshole, and father”s other hand now closing around his aching cock, a fourteen-years-and-a-bit old body has no way of controlling the torrent of oxytocin and endorphins that floods it. Shaking like a leaf, whimpering like a kitten, the boy arched his back and shot out his fountain of thin sperm.

The father felt the cock in his hand throb and pulsate and the tight orifice at his fingertip clench and twitch and then give in as his son came, and amid the contractions his finger slipped in up to the second joint. He held it in there as his other hand let go of the boy”s cock, gripped his own raging erection, and a few hard yanks sent his juice splashing over his son”s chest and flat belly.

The boy, shivery and breathless, came slowly down from the explosion. Something felt weird, like he was about to take a dump. He gasped. His hole tightened around the foreign object.

“You”ve put your finger in me!”

His father just kissed his forehead, kissed the tip of his nose.

“You”ll get shit on it!”

The father very gently twirled his finger around in the confinement of his son”s butthole.

“Well, if so, there”s always soap and water, you know.”

The boy felt a wild need to laugh bubble up in him. How crazy was this! A finger in his ass, how could that make an orgasm so intense? He raised his head up from the pillow. Looked down at his cum-splattered body, looked down to where his father”s hand was half hidden between his spread legs.

“It feels … I don”t know, good in a weird way.”

“I know.”

The father slowly withdrew the finger, felt the opening snap shut. The boy yelped. Finger was held in the air.

“See? Clean as a whistle!”

The boy shook his head in wonder. The father kissed his boy”s nose again and rose from the bed.

“Let”s wash, and I”ll take you out to dinner.”

*

It wasn”t the unfamiliarity of the crisp, white tablecloths, nor was it the sparkling crystals of the three chandeliers. It wasn”t the beautifully garnished platter of crumbed Wienerschnitzels with their slices of lemon covered with anchovies and capers, nor was it the way the light played with the deep red wine in his father”s glass. No, it was the reaction in the chinless waiter”s face when he saw them. Recognition, sure. And wariness. Was there also worry? Anxiety? And where had he seen that face before? The boy kept musing over this the whole meal through. The strangeness of it all, the posh restaurant with the opulent interior and the unusual food, the weird behaviour of the waiter, everything served to put a blanket over the unwelcome grief he had suddenly felt when they entered; sorrow that he had never done anything like this with his mother, and now never would.

The small incident when his father had poured two fingers of wine from his half-bottle into the boy”s glass added to his speculations. The waiter had quietly come up to his father and in a low, strained voice told him they weren”t allowed to serve alcohol to underaged. His father had stared the waiter down. Challenging him.

“You didn”t serve him, you served me. What I do with the wine is my business.”

The waiter had swallowed, face indecisive and awkward. His father went on.

“On the other hand, I don”t think you”re in a position to tell me what”s right and what”s not.”

The waiter had blushed and hurried away. The boy sat with a distinct conviction that this wasn”t about the wine at all. Images popped up in the boy”s mind. Images that made his blood drum in his ears and made his cock stir disturbingly in his pants.

He had looked queryingly at his father.

“What was that?”

His father had just smiled.

“Nothing for you to worry about. Taste the wine and see if you like it.”

He hadn”t liked it. It had tasted acrid and bitter to him, and he had pushed his glass away.

But now, walking through the streets on their way home in the balmy August evening, the boy had to air out some of his ponderings.

“What”s with you and that waiter? He was acting strange!”

“Was he?”

“As if you didn”t notice! It made me think that you … you know. Did you?”

“I don”t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. All right, have you done … you know, stuff … with him?”

His father laughed out loud. Laid an arm around the boy”s shoulder and kept it there as they walked on.

“You don”t remember him, do you? He lived next door for a short while. And no, I haven”t done stuff with him, as you call it. He, however, did stuff with your mother.”

And suddenly it dawned on the boy why the waiter had seemed vaguely familiar. And again he felt the emptiness, the aching loss of his mother. He swallowed, but could not stop a small, pained sound escape from his throat.

His father”s arm tightened around his shoulder.

The boy winced.

“I don”t want to cry! I don”t!”

But he did. And there, in the middle of the sidewalk, while people passed them in both directions, some staring, some just hurrying past, he cried and cried against his father”s shoulder.

*

The boy sat motionless on the floor by his father”s chair, feeling fingers twirling his hair slowly, lovingly. But the hollowness inside him wouldn”t quite go away. His father finally spoke.

“If you”re not up to go back to school tomorrow, I”m sure they”ll understand the circumstances.”

The boy sighed. His voice sounded small.

“Don”t know. I”ll see in the morning, I guess.”

His father rose.

“Time for bed, I suppose. Think you”ll be able to get some sleep?”

The boy rubbed his eyes, drew his shoulders up to his ears. Looked up with a pleading face.

“I don”t want to be alone!”

Father hesitated for a moment, like he was still hampered by all the stuff that had nagged him over the past days and really shouldn”t suggest this, but hell … he had come to terms with himself, hadn”t he?

“Stay with me, then.”

*

The boy lay on his fathers bed. He had debated with himself whether to put on his jammies or not, but then, why should he? He suspected he”d take them off anyway once his father was in bed with him, so why bother? He was getting restless, though. His father took uncommonly long time in the bathroom.

Finally the door opened, and his father slipped in. In his striped pyjamas bottoms, like a pretence of chastity or something, but honestly: How much pretence was necessary between them anymore? Suddenly he felt had to pee, he”d forgotten to relieve himself in his eagerness to get into his father”s bed. He rushed past his father and into the bathroom.

Afterwards, washing his hands and his dick in the sink, he noticed an unfamiliar object carelessly dropped in the bathtub: a pinkish rubber bulb with a black syringe attached to it. Wondering why it was there and what it was for, he looked a bit preoccupied when he came back to bed to find his father slung on top of the duvet, still in his pyjamas trousers, and another thought took over.

He cocked his head and nodded at the garment.

“Think you need those? Can”t we be …” And then in a childish voice and with a small titter: “Nakey?”

His father just looked at him for a while. Then slowly removed the offending piece of clothing.

“I guess you”re right.”

The boy crawled into bed and laid himself on top of his now naked father. Arms enfolded him and held him tight, lips gently grazed his neck. The boy let out a lengthy sigh, as if he”d held his breath too long. None of them moved for a long time.

Then the boy felt the firm embrace slacken, and hands caressed his back. Up and down, moving further south with each stroke, and now his buttocks were softly stroked. His already half hard cock responded. He ground his hips against his father”s groin, feeling the growing cock under him come alive like a snake lifting its head. The hands on his ass became more assertive and a couple of fingers found their way into the valley between the two hemispheres. The boy”s voice sounded breathless.

“Are you going to put your finger in me again?”

“Would you like me to?”

Pause.

“Don”t know. Maybe.”

The small, yellow tin appeared out of nowhere. His father must have had it at hand all the time. The strange smell of the sticky substance hit his nose, but then he forgot about it as a fingertip tickled and teased his tightly shut orifice. Circling, petting, gently prodding.

“How come this feels so … good? That”s strange, isn”t it?”

“Don”t ask. Enjoy.”

“Do you … I mean, do you like it too?”

Lips kissed his ear. Then down the side of his throat.

“Yes. I do.”

The fingers disappeared from the boy”s sensitive little opening. Instead his father”s hand gripped his hand, and his index and middle fingers were dipped into the tough lubricant. The father turned them both over to lie on their sides facing each other, then grabbed his ankle and lifted his top leg up as an invitation.

The sensation that ran through the boy when he touched his father”s asshole was acutely overpowering. It felt forbidden, intrusive, and at the same time intensely arousing. His fingertips could feel every tiny fold and wrinkle that surrounded the gate to his father”s inside, felt the opening twitch and contract. His father let his leg down and locked the boy”s hand in between his legs. His hand now came around the boy and found the boy”s asshole from behind.

They lay like that for a while, tenderly caressing each other”s most private parts and staring into each other”s eyes. Goosebumps. Shivers.

The father whispered to his boy.

“Now push. Be gentle, but firm.”

The boy felt something give. He pushed harder and suddenly his finger was almost sucked in. He moaned like it was his own ass that was penetrated as his father held his breath, he moaned and slowly pushed his finger in as far as it went. The warm inside felt like it was lined with silk. And now his father gave a small, low moan as well.

“Both fingers now.”

The boy did as he was told. He marvelled at how easily he could slip his two fingers into the tight opening now, like this tightly shut and actually so forbidding orifice had decided to welcome him in. He gently twisted his fingers round, as if to explore what he could find in there, and suddenly his father stiffened and gasped. He stopped abruptly and was about to pull his fingers out, but his father clamped his legs tighter around his hand.

“Don”t stop! You found the good place!”

The boy lifted his head, failing to understand.

“Try to relax, and I”ll see if I can find yours.”

The pressure on the boy”s tight hole increased. Father”s satiny voice crept into the boy”s ear.

“Loosen up! Don”t clamp your muscles together, push out instead.

The finger rather forcefully fought through the barrier. First joint was in.

“Ouch! That hurts!”

Father”s lips kissed the freckled face. Caressed the boy”s buttocks as the finger very slowly slid a centimetre or two deeper in.

“Don”t stress. Just try to unwind. The pain will go away in a second.”

And it did, just like the last time. When he pushed out, the finger almost automatically slid even deeper, like his ass welcomed it in. It felt weird. He knew it was supposed to feel good, but the unpleasant and deep rooted fear that this was a place full of shit wouldn”t leave him. But the finger moved in him, like it was searching for something, and suddenly he felt something he hadn”t expected. Something intense, something that went straight to his cock, something inexplicable, something beyond pain or pleasure as he knew it, something he found no words for, and he yelped. His withdrew his fingers from his father”s ass, his hands gripped his father”s upper arms. Soothing whispers caught his ears.

“There! See what I mean?”

The finger moved. The boy moaned. The urge to cum rose like a flood in him, and he just couldn”t stop it. A low groan rumbled in the boy”s throat, and out flew his semen, splashing against his father”s chest and belly.

“Now, my beautiful boy, do you understand why some like to have more than a finger in there?”

The boy gasped and panted. Unfathomable bliss and a sudden panic fought for dominance.

“You”re not putting your cock in me! No way!”

His father didn”t answer. He just brought a dollop of the greasy stuff from the yellow tin and very softly coated his son”s still hard but a bit sensitive cock. The turned his back on the boy, pushed his butt out and held the young cock so that it pointed at his hole.

“Please.”

That was all he said.

Shivers ran down the boy”s spine. Bells rang in his ears. His brain stopped working as his groin took over, his cock almost shouted to him, begging to be buried inside his father”s body.

He pushed. The first restraining sensation gave way, a soft but tight sheath enveloped his cock. He shook like a leaf as he pushed deeper, all the way, until his pubes tickled his father”s skin. His father whimpered.

“Hold still! Oh God, you”re so big!”

The outburst scared the boy and he abruptly pulled out.

The father turned quickly, and now on his back he lifted his legs and exposed his puckered hole.

“You”re not hurting me! It”s just … it”s so overwhelming that this is happening! Please put it back in!”

The pleading words and the crazy sight of his father in such an incredible position caused the boy”s waning erection to restore itself, and tentatively he moved closer and let the tip of his cock gently graze the closed, wrinkled opening. Back and forth a few times, sliding and slipping in the greasy coating. The hairs at the back of his rose painfully, his skin tingled all over as he slowly pushed his cock back in, in and in and in, deep into his father”s bowels.

When the boy was in as deep as he could get, the father placed his legs over his boy”s shoulders and pulled his face in for a kiss. And tongues played, and moans sounded, and boy hips started a game all of their own, no will or instruction necessary. In and out his cock moved, silky and velvety heat surrounded it, ring muscle clamped and loosened in harmony with the motions.

The father broke the kiss, but the boy was reluctant to let go of his lips. He had to turn his head to the side. Panting. Voice raspy, hoarse as a crow.

“Oh God, Harald! Oh God! You can go faster if you like. Harder. I love you so much!”

He gripped his mighty cock and started wanking as the boy threw his head back, and they began a race that would take them both to the finish line of an arena where none of them had been before.

*

The storm inside them subsided. The room lay in a quiet, sultry heat.

The boy clung to his sweaty father and wept against his bare chest. The man gently rocked the boy. His voice was soft as a kitten.

“You”re crying, Harald. What we did … has it made you feel bad?”

“No. No! It”s not that.”

Sniffle. A small tremble.

“It”s just … I”m scared. Because I don”t want this to go away. I don”t want to lose you like … like I lost her … You”re all I have!”

His father held him even closer.

“I won”t go away. Not if I can help it. You know that. You”re all that I have, too, you know.”

“Promise?”

The father swallowed, cursing all doubts and bad thoughts that wanted to enter his head, fighting to chase away the ghosts that had bothered him all his life. And although he knew there was never a guarantee, never an insurance that life followed one”s wishes, he let the love and the feeling of oneness and harmony, everything he needed more than anything, take hold of him and kill off all misgivings. And against his better knowledge whispered in his boy”s ear.

“I promise.”

 

 

 

If you should want to read more of my stories, put “Winterboy”, or in one case “Wintermagnus”, in the search window, and they all come up.

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