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All the usual disclaimers that are usual apply here. This is a work of fiction involving sex acts between consenting persons of various ages and conditions of life. If you can't handle that or if you are not of the legal age or mindset, go no further but remove this material from your possession forthwith.
If you have faggot sensitivity, you ought not read this story. I'd really like to hear from some of you with either positive or negative comments. I have no idea really if I'm bringing any of you pleasure or what it is you'd like me to write about. I only hear from a few people on each story. I'd really like to hear from YOU so I'll have some idea how I'm doing. Thanks.
I used two returns between paragraphs to simplify formatting for you. This is a hyphen -. This is an en-dash --. This is an em-dash ---. Other high-ascii characters that PC's can't understand have been stripped.
Try to keep in mind that while 42 is the meaning of life, it is not the only possible solution and that sexual dimorphism is Mother Nature's excuse for being kinky. Jon
The Beau Cycle, X06
by Jon Hold
copyright ©2002, 2014 by Jon Hold
This is a cycle of stories inspired by the art of Beau. I do not have the entire series of his pictures that have been posted to the web. These stories are my imagination of the time surrounding the static slice of time shown of young men growing up by someone I consider a superior artist. Your fantasies will be (I hope) different than mine. I hope that my fantasies will be entertaining anyway. Beau, if you see this, thank you for some wonderful time in a different place that you have created. I hope I can find the rest of your work.
Jon Hold 7 Feb 2002
BEAU_X06
Toric was one of the Swedish kids from the north side of town. Around here the Swedes are pretty clannish and don't have a lot to do with outsiders. Most of the boys have chores to do on their parents farms so I can seldom talk them into joining any of the sports teams because of the time required before and after school. Toric was different. Always.
"I want to run!" were the first words I heard from the tall, dark blonde Freshman who was darkening my doorway. One look and I shook my head. One of those damn Swedes.
"Why can't I run?" came at me more like a demand than a question. Like so many of the northside kids, this kid had a pretty heavy accent, but his English was good and it was pretty obvious that he was making a real effort to overcome his accent.
"Because if you qualify for the team you will have work-outs and practice and some meets after school. If you're really good, you'll have workouts before school. Sometimes we are away overnight or for a weekend. Sorry, but you Swedish kids have too much to do at home and can't keep up."
"I want to run!"
I sighed and dropped my pencil. Pushing the papers to the side I leaned forward on my desk and supported my head with both hands. "And what am I supposed to do? Spend my time training you so that when I need you and your teammates need you you'll have to stay home because your dad wants you to milk the cows?"
"My father says I can run. I want to run!"
If this kid could run half as fast as he could stubborn, he was really going to be something. "Okay. First practice is after school today. Be there in your gym clothes. If you qualify we'll change your PE class to sixth period and get you some running clothes. You're going to need to come up with about sixty bucks for track shoes if you get selected for the team. Any problem with that so far?"
"No, Sir."
"See you after school."
That began the best four years our Track and Field Team ever had. Toric was beyond stubborn. He had the kind of stubborn that rubbed off on everyone else. "I want to run." became the catchphrase for the entire athletic department.
I worked with that boy for four all too short years. He ate at my home and worked out in my garage gymnasium on weekends. My wife had left me and taken my son with her when he was only seven. We never could find her... or my son. Toric kind of filled in the empty space in my heart. His "Dad" was actually an uncle who took him in after his parents death and the two of them really didn't get along too well and the man had five sons of his own. Toric got a job at the hardware store and started renting the old shack out behind my place. He fixed it up real nice too. That was one of my requirements before I'd let him move in. His Uncle never said anything about him leaving.
He never did grow beyond the 5' 8" he stood at when I first saw him, but his body sure filled out. That boy had long, lean muscles everywhere. At 50 and 100 meters the fast boys had to be very careful or Toric would take their metals for himself. At anything over 100 meters he was virtually unbeatable. The 880 and cross-country were his totally, starting with his first races. I knew that the boy was something special from the way he worked and inspired others. He was the only Sophomore ever elected Captain of one of the sports teams and he remained Captain of Track & Field all through the rest of his years in High School.
The boy was special. Special enough that I asked a friend of mine, Coach Simmons of the local University Track and Field team if he would mind giving me some pointers with one of my kids. Sam silently watched Toric practicing and goofing around with his team mates. Sam was pretty much of a talker and I was worried that he was pissed with me for dragging him down to the High School and wasting his time. After practice we caught up with Toric in the dressing room. All Sam said was, "You ever hear of the Decathlon, Boy?"
And so Toric got introduced to the hammer, Javelin, shotput, and all the other tools of a decathelete. I tried to help him with money, but he insisted on working after school and on weekends so he could buy the extra equipment he needed that the school didn't provide. Old Mr. Ames at the hardware store was good about letting Toric work whatever hours he had free and never missed a track meet, at home or away. He came to me one day with a story about Toric spending nights sleeping on the loading dock. That led to me renting the shed to the boy.
Toric trusted me totally. If I told him to do something, he did it. He was proud of his body, and took good care of it. Watching his diet and never smoking or anything like that. He was totally casual about being nude with his teammates or me and was pretty much always in the middle of whatever mischief was afoot. Two or three times a week Toric would talk me into giving him a massage and my hands got to know his body well. I could touch Toric anywhere and he didn't mind. He really wasn't body conscious at all with those he trusted.
When It started looking like Toric was going to be an important member of the team, I started tracking his grades, checking regularly with his teachers to keep him out of academic trouble. I was wasting my time. Toric had already been skipped several grades and was a straight A student all through High School even though he was taking all the Advanced and Honors classes offered at our school.
School officially let out the week before our final track meet, the State Finals which were being held at our school that year. Agents and scouts from colleges and universities were all over the place. Toric took gold in every event he was entered in. He took the pentathlon, the decathlon and was voted overall best athlete and overall best sportsman. The voting was by all members and instructors of all the Track & Field teams.
I was exhausted by the time the last of the athletes and coaches had left the gym. I sat at my desk and just slumped, worn out. And I admit, I knew that Toric had his choice of schools, everyone was offering him all sorts of inducements to come to their school. The guy from the Olympic Committee was practically groveling and begging and licking Toric's track shoes. I was going to really miss my star athlete.
"Hey, Old Man. You gonna get cleaned up for the awards dinner, or you just gonna sack out right there?"
I looked up at Toric and had one of those moments of really seeing him. The towel over his shoulder didn't hide the man my boy had become. Strong, sturdy, self-reliant and willful. I was so proud of him. I wondered if my son was anything like Toric.
Before I could really tear up, Toric laughed, "Come on, Old Man. Let's get you a shower before you turn all maudlin."
Toric teased me through getting undressed and followed me into the coaches private shower. There were two pretty good sized tile shower stalls. Toric didn't take one of his own. Throwing his towel on the bench, he followed right behind me into the left-hand stall. I adjusted the water and Toric was standing there with my bar of soap. Efficiently and taking no nonsense, he washed me from head to foot and after I rinsed off he repeated the entire wash job. It felt super good and by the time he was doing his second wash I was half-out of it, standing there with a silly grin on my face and an almost complete hard-on, which Toric paid no attention to except to give it exactly as good a washing as he had given the rest of me. My pulling back from his hands made him laugh.
When I was done rinsing off the second time Toric handed me the soap and then turned around, spread his legs and leaned his hands against the wall. He obviously had no intention at all of washing himself.
I stopped and looked, really looked at the boy I'd help raise. Dark blonde and long jawed. Powerful neck and strong, defined body. An amazing mixture of a weight-lifters bulk and a runners lean hardness. Track, field or swimming pool, my boy ---- and I suddenly realized that was how I thought of him --- was a triple threat that could not be ignored. Just as the body before me couldn't be ignored. Stripped, it was obvious that his whole physique, his entire self was there as the proud bearer of the boys sexuality. I'd seen him, and I'd seen him with his buddies. The most charismatic thing about the boy was the casual, yet intense sexuality that just oozed out of him in quarts. His buddies were always punching him and grabbing him, and he accepted their adoration as his due, and made nothing of it. Other boys would have ended up spoiled and self-centered. Toric just... well... Toric was just Toric. There for his team mates, there for his buddies and his many friends, but favoring none over any other.
I caught myself staring at Toric's cock and balls. Shook my head and grinned at Toric. He knew I'd been checking him out, but, typically Toric, had just waited for me to catch up with him. The boy had a tight set of nicely shaped balls and a cock that, while not all that long, was obviously a hole stretcher. I wondered how many of the schools girls had been stretched out by that whopper ---- and if any boys had tangled with it yet. Toric had come to me for the standard sex lecture when he was 14, and I did my best. Assuring him that masturbation was perfectly normal and, in light of the current STD problems, probably safest. I was adamant that when he started fooling around with his buddies or when the girls started getting into his pants that he always use rubbers --- for his safety --- and theirs.
I shook my head to break the day-dreaming and grinned at Toric. "I'm going to miss you, Boy!" Before he could say anything or notice the tears forming in my eyes I grabbed his shoulders and turned him around. He just spread his legs and leaned forward, bracing himself with his hands against the wall. I washed him down good, rinsing and washing twice just as he had done --- and washing out the crack of his ass and his cock and balls --- just as he had done for me. I was so proud of this boy that I had to turn and leave the room before I said something stupid or started bawling.
Toric came out of the shower room a few minutes later, toweling himself off and acting just as he always did. He had seven-eights of a boner, but just ignored it as he always did around me or his friends. Toric was always boning up and his ease with the facts of his teenaged horniness helped his buddies whenever they sprang a boner. Toric would just make a joke about his "best buddy wanting to join in all the fun." Everyone would laugh and Toric would just go on about whatever he was doing. More than a few times I walked into a weightlifting room full of boned up athletes who had let their equipment escape from the confines of their jockstraps for "a breath of fresh air," as Toric liked to say. It was always great for me to see a bunch of teammates so at ease with each other. That was when I first truly realized that, elected Captain or not, Toric was the natural leader that all the others looked to, and molded their actions by.
Toric pulled on a fresh jockstrap and laughed when I looked questioningly at him. "Don't want to be popping a boner in front of all those people tonight."
"Why? Afraid one of them will grab it?" I teased him.
"No! Afraid that one of them might not!"
I slapped him in the back of the head and we both laughed.
Toric looked good in the suit I'd had tailored for him for his graduation. I straightened his collar and tie and pushed the always loose hank of hair out of his eye and back behind his ear. He grinned at me and the hank of hair fell right back into its preferred position. Toric just laughed, but I swatted his butt and told him to get into the car before we were late for the awards dinner. We left the parking lot in my old car in silence, both of us caught up in our thoughts.
After giving Toric his third award, the Master of Ceremonies suggested that Toric take a seat on the stage so that he wouldn't wear himself out with all the constant going up and down the stairs. Everyone laughed and Toric, self possessed as always, looked around and took the stage center seat, looking very much like a king ascending his rightful throne. Gales of laughter filled the room and everyone, students, teachers, family and coaches got to their feet applauding. Toric bounced to his feet. Bowed left. Bowed right. And then raised his clasped hands over his head in a victory salute. The crowd went wild.
Toric was up and down out of his throne over and over as the rest of the awards were handed out. Eric Stumpsfer, local athletics guru and Olympic's Committee Chairman took the podium and made a few sharp remarks about how athletics wasn't just about individual performance, but about team spirit, fellowship and support. About honor and ethics and sense of duty. About growing from childhood to adulthood. About honesty, probity, and helping ones fellows. Then he asked the audience if they had any idea who might have won the voting for Athlete of the year.
Laughter was quickly followed by chanting. By Men and Teens and Women and Children getting to their feet and clapping with the beat. "Toric! Toric! Toric! Toric!" over and over and over. Eric Stumpsfer waived the blushing boy over to him and handed him the perpetual trophy. Between them, they held it up in the air for all to see as the audience went into a frenzy of emotional release.
Toric finally managed to waive everyone back down into their chairs and a sudden silence fell as the boy --- the young man I was so proud of leaned forward to the microphone. In the broadest of hammed-up Swedish accents he said, "Walllll. I chust wanted to show you to see how a Sweed does it!"
The laughter was drowned out as every Swede in the room jumped to their feet and roared their approval as they pounded their hands together. I saw Toric's uncle, who had never come to see Toric after he moved away, tears running down his face, clapping so hard his palms were ready to start bleeding, looking so proud that he was ready to burst. His son's were right there with him, just as proud of their cousin as their father was of his brothers son.
Toric waited for the uproar to quiet down. "Now maybe some of the Swedish boys will start joining the teams so that everyone can see what we're made of."
That received a bunch of thoughtful looks, coaches at Swedish boys, sons towards fathers, fathers looking at coaches, mothers looking at everyone with thoughtful expressions that boded ill for those who might impede THEIR son's chances at such fame.
Toric went on, "I want to thank everyone for all their kindness. To the schools who have been so nice about asking me to join their programs, thank you. But this is my home. This is were I want to be. Coach Simmons, if you'll have me, I'll be attending State University right here next year.
Everyone knew that all the big schools, the schools with money, had been after Toric to be a bright star in their athletic programs. Toric pretty much had his choice of any school he wanted to attend. That he had picked the small local state school stunned everyone.
Sam, Coach Simmons, who had known that he didn't stand a chance at outbidding the big private schools, quietly stood and nodded to Toric, "We'd be proud to have you on our team, Son."
That was pretty much the end of the formalities as the crowd went wild and mobbed the stage.
The party moved itself outside. Hours later Toric came up to me. "Can we go home now? I'm tired."
Toric was a hell of an athlete, but he had definite limits. When he ran out of energy, that was that! We said a few final good-byes and headed for the car. Toric didn't head out to his shack when we got home. He came into the house and headed first for the refrigerator where he downed the better part of a half-gallon of milk --- right from the container. Then he headed for the shower. Sometimes, when he was feeling lonely or afraid, Toric would spend the night on my couch. I really didn't mind and it seemed to help him over some of the rough spots in his life. I went into my bedroom, stripped down and climbed into bed. I was tired and depressed. I didn't get depressed often, and wondered why now. Then it dawned on me. Toric was no longer my student. He was a college kid and likely to move into a dorm at school. Suddenly, I felt even worse.
I must of dozed a little, feeling sorry for myself and suddenly alone. I felt something, I don't know what, and looked up. Toric, fresh from the shower with about half a boner arching out over his tight ballsac was standing next to my bed looking down at me.
"Daddy. Can I sleep with you tonight?"
I looked at my son and lifted the blankets.
END
Most people coming out of war feel lost and resentful. What had been minute-to-minute confrontation with yourself, your struggle with what courage you have against discomfort, at the least, and death at the other end, ties you to the people you have known in the war and makes for a time others seem alien and frivolous.
---Lillian Hellman