This story is a work of complete fiction. Any resemblance of characters to real persons and reality is a coincidence. This story eventually includes descriptions of sex between adult males. If you are a minor, if this material is illegal where you live, or if this material offends you, please don't read it. Please donate to Nifty. Find the donation button on the Nifty web site to help you to pay your share of their expenses to provide these entertaining stories for you. All rights reserved.
This One Might Be Different: Different-Chapter 7
Luke and Colin arrived from Tokyo on a weekend some six weeks later after first finishing their work, taking their contractual paid-for visit to England to see their friends and family, then returning to Tokyo to submit their resignations skipping the contract with the onsen for the following month. They took the Shinkansen down to Tokyo where our Gulfstream picked them up at Narita. The jet flew them directly to the ranch's runway where we met them, still relatively fresh after the long flight, but the cabin had only been pressurized to 4,000 feet so their heart and lungs didn't have to work so hard to oxygenate them, unlike commercial jets.
We had worked hard with double shifts to prepare the resort and a place for them to live. We had taken the model of a typical Fort Lauderdale resort, married it to a typical Palm Springs resort, taken the Oregon weather into consideration and built the result. We knew there would be enough cloudy days even though we were on the cusp of dry, arid land of Eastern Oregon. The elevation worked against being outside on some otherwise sunny days and the pine trees didn't provide tons of shelter against the wind sometimes. Like never.
So, high rock walls with chinks filled in and painted black to absorb any natural heat were the first order of business and the cabins were built within those walls. A glass rooftop over the whole compound was built and like giant lanterns from the ceiling were hung ceramic heaters of large capacity fueled by propane. The cabins were coated in stucco painted a bright salmon color with a tropical decor inside each room. The suites varied from 1-3 bedrooms, kitchenette to full gourmet kitchen, half-bath to bath and a half, heating lamps in the bathrooms along with fans,large tub and shower units, as in the multi-occupant 'let's have a ball' kind, a washer and dryer in each unit, plus complimentary luxury soaps, shampoos, and skin care products along with complimentary alcohol of various kinds and the equipment for mixing drinks. We obtained a license to sell recreational marijuana in our reception building.
The outdoor pool in the central courtyard was surrounded by deck chairs and heated to 101 degrees F with yep, a grotto at one end, giant filters for the pool, chlorinated properly. There was a vending machine in the reception area for snacks, sandwiches, soft drinks activated with a key card and we thought that a limit of five free items a day would be welcome.
There was a playroom with a sling and a St. Andrews cross and various handcuffs, etc. Curtained areas on a raised platform allowed a guy to watch over a wall at the sling activities while another guy took care of their needs through a glory hole. We installed a slave cage in case. We also built a mile-long 'Oregon man-hike' in the woods with all kinds of nice surprises. Clients completing that course felt like they'd been through the mill on a number of different levels, depending on their choices of the options offered there.
For those clients who didn't or wouldn't cook, they could order meals delivered from the main kitchen round the clock for an extra fee, naturally. The waiter/escorts were uber-friendly; meals were expected to be a real money maker for the resort.
Medications of various kinds including sunblock, tanning lotions, Viagra, Levitra (prescribed and dispensed by me after an exam and interview), Tylenol, Advil were also available in the clinic.
Luke and Colin settled in and began to recruit escorts. We planned to not advertise this in the media, figuring that 'word of mouth' is the best advertising. After a contingent of ten had arrived, all Brits, French and Germans as it turned out with a sprinkling of Australians, Japanese and Nigerians, we were ready for our first clients to arrive. Having advertised in gay media with a campaign to end all campaigns, we weren't surprised to see a full house the first week and only a few of those were reporters from those media who were given a free pass for a review.
Charley and I mingled with the group of clients but stayed in the background to watch traffic flow, hear complaints and praises. Our goal was to compare what we heard the first day with day six and seven of the week-long stays with emphasis on the client's opinions of the 'free' escort services.
Most clients were stunned to get laid for free and some to get laid at all. To a man, all wanted a return trip. We had entered the gay resort business with a bang and a pop, so to speak.
Our computer reservation system worked pretty well. All payments were processed in advance and key cards made up in advance, so the registration process involved only a greeting and a handover of the key cards. A folder advertising the amenities greeted them along with fruit and booze in their rooms.
The clients could look up photos of the various escorts on the monitors in their room and click on their preferred waiter but were told at the time that their choice wasn't guaranteed. I wondered out loud to Charley if Asians would prefer Asian escorts and if one race would prefer their own race in general...he didn't know either.
It turned out to be a wild mix, unpredictable, with every combination possible. Diversity rocked and ruled.
When the resort reached a waiting list of 9 months, we stopped advertising. We never started again. We finally restricted the list so that even by computer a client couldn't get a spot sooner than 9 months after the first visit or later than 12 months after a visit. Finally, that window closed too.
At some point our prices went up and that brought the waiting time down by a few months, but we were always full at any season in any weather. Our jet runway brought in private jets from as far away as the Middle East, Britain, Malaysia and India. We had to buy a jet de-icing unit though for use during a few weeks in the winter.
We discovered that some men were unhappy if they couldn't live there full-time and some were happy with a visit every couple of years.
Our escorts stayed an average of two years before leaving with a pocket full of money, mostly salary, but a chunk of tips as well. I doubt any of them left without some delicious stories to tell. None left sick, however. They learned to be very good waiters!
It was a warm day in June one year when Chris arrived...as a guest. He had arranged with Karen to audit the resort he would likely inherit someday and decide about the ethics of the place or something. I had been informed of his reservation and for some reason couldn't bring myself to talk to him about it before the fact.
His security detail came with him and they stripped down just like he did. Chris spent the week naked like the other guests. I dropped by one day during his stay to ask him how things were going for him. He didn't cover up; just dived into the pool, grinning and splashed water on me. There was only one response to that. I splashed him back and jumped into the pool. We were all wearing our birthday suits.
I had managed to go through Chris's entire lifetime without perving on him. I had delivered him. I don't do kids. Pedophiles make me angry and frustrated to even read or hear about. He was now a grown man with a child of his own. He was definitely related to his dad. I saw a similar version of the familiar much high-school-maligned cock on a magnificent body and I wanted him.
I told myself to get a hold of myself. I again thought of mashed turnips and dead rats for supper, but my cock had other ideas. I climbed out finally and when Chris saw my erection he sauntered over. "Daddy, I can see at least one more reason why Greg loved you. I want you. Come with me to my room."
I didn't have a heart attack. I did get short of breath in a good way. My cock jumped and got as hard as titanium, not mere steel. I imagined myself as dying of lust...but I didn't. I heard a voice (mine) say, "Sure, Chris, lead the way."
Then inside, he and I were together, locked together part to part, heart to heart, dad to son, son to dad, mouth to mouth, cock to cock, cock in ass until we both exploded in a roar that must have had potential to level the place. There was a knock on the door and when I answered it, Charley walked in and after a little while all of us were together, two dads having lost a husband, one son bereft but whole now. Another knock at the door... Luke entered with food from the kitchen in leather and a leather tube for his long cock. Chris blushed and chewed furiously like a kid finishing his supper quickly to be ready for some main event.
Chris was a happy dad with an ass on fire when Luke got through with him that evening. Charley and I got to watch and help... we helped them and each other. Charley remarked that Luke had tricks that no other man had imagined yet. Chris was the delighted beneficiary of Luke's escort experience, producing pleasure like water from a fountain. As for Luke, he didn't get to be with a straight dad very often and I think he fell for Chris but was a little reluctant to do more than show it. As Charley and I watched them fall off to sleep in each other's arms still sweaty and naked and glorious, Luke whispered a few words in Chris' ears, Chris opened his eyes, looked into Luke's eyes, grinned, raised an eyebrow and nodded.
Chris left for his house and family an hour later after giving Luke and Charley and I a hug and kiss and a loving tug. I got a note from Karen the next day.
"Dear Simon, Chris got home safe last night, a different man after spending the day with all of you. He told me he had man sex with you and Charley and Luke. Don't worry. I don't consider that cheating since I knew before he left. It was our plan to help Chris understand his biological dad better (and his adopted dads) and his own sexual heritage. I'm not going to send him over to the resort every day, but if he does come over, please make him feel welcome and loved still. If Luke wants to have sex with him, there shouldn't be any babies at least and that's ok with me as well. Please don't think I'm a loose person. I do see that men have needs a woman sometimes cannot fully fulfill and that thought just makes me want to do everything I can do to help my husband happy. I think you and Charley can relate to that. Love, Karen"
'Flabbergasted' might not be the precise term for the effect this letter had on me, but Charley truly was shocked. He'd never met up with that level of giving and comprehension of reality as demonstrated in her letter. Luke and Chris got together again from time to time, once every three months or so perhaps. Colin had a turn or two with Chris. Charley and I and Chris did hook up one other time but that is a subject for another day. We had both briefly made a connection to our ex and were satisfied that our son was on track to becoming the kind of man Greg would have wished him to be.
Operating the resort made us a ton of money, but little compared to our original inheritance for the amount of work it took and the lack of being able to brag to anyone about it. Charley and I decided to continue operations for another year then either shut it down or sell it or replace it. Charley was the one who came up with the idea to operate a male gay-friendly retirement village. He suggested the traditional model of part assisted living and part memory care center.
We studied a lot of institutions before deciding to house the assisted living in a much larger facility since those clients traditionally wanted newer digs.
It was also necessary to raze the original resort because a pool was dangerous for the memory impaired, so a new building consisting of eight pods of 9 rooms each having two residents and a common room for each pod doubling as a dining room, with exits to walled gardens with trees and flowers, each pod with a small library, a central art room for the memory center, an industrial size laundry for the building and a locked front door. A centralized kitchen for that building with carts to take the meals to the pods at meal-time was planned. Offices for the administrative and nursing staff were included as well as visitor bathrooms.
The assisted living center was lovely. The finest materials and furniture, gourmet chefs, custom meals ordered from a touchscreen in every unit for every meal served in the resident's choice of dining room or in the resident's unit, assistance with bathing, assistance with medications, legal and financial services, daily vital signs and weight checks, a bus to Salem to shop twice each week, an in-house laundry included, maid services daily, a concierge for travel services, and a small computer center access...all were included.
We began at once the design process, this time without Theresa, using a great new gay-friendly architect firm in Portland and a construction company familiar with nursing home construction. Permits were obtained along with licenses. Our escorts were encouraged to stay and work at the assisted living or memory care units...they had rare people skills. The rest of the staff either were offered work or moved on by choice.
We had more applicants than rooms. Families of prospective residents of the memory unit loved the layout and the attentive skills of the aides. The aides were trained in distraction techniques, weren't afraid of showers and cleanup and everybody thought they did a great job.
Management of personnel on a day to day basis rapidly becomes the hardest part of resident operations. The residents must be cared for regardless of an employee's family emergency and that takes a toll on the employee. We tried to have roving employees for those times and might have succeeded.
This project launched, Charley and I left for Houston. Halfway there, Charley asked me casually if we could divert to Denver. Puzzled but willing, we filed for DIA, landed and took a limousine to an address in the suburbs. An old man answered the door and Charley introduced himself and me. We were invited in. "I've been expecting you for many years now. And for several hours. I noticed a Gulfstream with a flight plan from central Oregon to Texas diverting to DIA on an app and that got my attention. Can I get you something to drink or eat?" Mr. Johnson was hospitable. "We just ate," replied Charley, "but water sounds good."
Now I was really puzzled. Charley drank water every two hours or so. He couldn't possibly be thirsty. "Mr. Johnson," Charley began, "Let me get right to the point. I understand that you were a college buddy of my grandfather. I inherited Alain Industries a few years ago." A look of pain briefly crossed Mr. Johnson's eyes.
"Yes, he was my friend."
"I am trying to find his correspondence to you in regard to nuclear fusion and haven't been successful."
"That's because he mailed it all back to me before he died. He wanted me to be taken care of later in life and knew that this information should be kept from the Russians and the Chinese, from any other government for that matter. Perhaps even our own government."
"I didn't have the money to follow up on this data and with the history of progress in nuclear fusion, it was a risk I couldn't afford to take."
They continued to discuss their way around the issues involved and Charley convinced Mr. Johnson to accept his protection in exchange for access to the data.
Scientists at Alain had already determined that the problem was not a lack of knowledge about how fusion works...the melding of hydrogen atoms to form helium which released gazillions of electrons and enormous heat which, at some point, helped to sustain the further melding.
The problem wasn't money. It wasn't even transmitting the energy down the line.
The problem wasn't the desire to get the project done. It was the holy grail of engineering.
The problem was a simple engineering concept in the works...what kind of container holds this reaction under this intense heat, where is cooling best applied if at all, and when is cooling best applied to achieve successful self-sustaining fusion?
Does one use new concepts in materials science to build the type of container to withstand the heat? Does one apply cooling to the outside of the container? The inside? How close to the central reaction?
How long after fusion starts should the cooling process begin? Using which method of removing heat? Air? Water? A super-cooled dielectric coolant, man-engineered? How rapid should the cooling process be? Those engineering solutions changed every year and the first company or laboratory to answer all of those at once got the prize.
Charley's grandfather had solved the nature of the coolant and the proper time to apply that process. The remaining problem was the container and ceramics seemed to provide a reasonable first place to look. We provided Mr. Johnson with intense security, that is, a free suite at the assisted living center with assigned security and yeah, drones to watch the approaching vehicles, the surrounding woods for approaching snipers.
We hid him in plain sight among many other older persons who enjoyed making his hospitable acquaintance. A copy of his data lay under intense security at Alain Industries and the original DVD lay beneath his mattress pad, chained there to prevent wandering off in a waterproof case inside a titanium box.
Mr. Johnson lived quite happily and died of natural causes four years later with his friends by his bedside.
Two years later, the first sustainable nuclear fusion reactor was demonstrated at Alain Industries in Houston with the collaboration and under auspices of the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA). Commercial units sold with patents owned by Alain with world-wide net sales in excess of $20 trillion dollars in year one. The supply of petroleum products was so high as demand decreased rapidly cut the cost of gasoline by two-thirds in the first year alone.
Later the same year, Chris came to the house to announce that Karen was pregnant again and we would be grandfathers again. One thing led to another. Luke was the catalyst. He had come over to the house for our usual noon play hour. Chris walked in the door, tiptoed upstairs and entered our room to find the three of us naked and fucking. Chris stripped naked, delivered his news and joined in. Charley blurted out his congratulations and then a weird line came out of his mouth.
"I want one too."
Like so many family moments and family aphorisms and funny moments, this one took on a life of its own. At the breakfast table, someone would say "I want one too." and a ripple of recognition of the feeling would go around the table. I had been loving Charley for long enough to know there was a kernel of truth in what he said and I, for one, fully believed that he wanted a biological child. One of the reasons I knew that was because I did too. I wanted a genetic link as well as married link to progeny and understood the evolutionary impetus behind the wish. Men spread their seed as wide as possible to make certain their genetic characteristics flow to another generation. Women choose the characteristics in a man that they admire or wish to pass on. That's an approximation of how the theory goes.
We both had bucked the trend to reproduce (not that spreading seed wasn't fun and useful otherwise). At some point however our deceased husband's model, however flawed, had affected our thinking or behavior or both to some extent. Charley didn't want a girl friend or a wife... neither did I.
I like his dick and he liked mine and we both preferred, vastly preferred, to play with each other's equipment which turned us on like lighting newspaper with a match.
We talked about our choices: we could share a woman until conception occurred, find out who the father was and repeat until both of us had achieved the status of biological father OR we could hire a surrogate, donate sperm to be joined with an egg and both embryos implanted into the surrogate OR we could adopt, bypassing the biological father part. Unlike some, we knew the good adoption might do, but didn't want to go there.
Over the neighbor's fence one day, I mentioned our dilemma to Karen who got a look on her face and the conversation turned to the weather.
The next day Karen called me at the office and asked me if I had a minute. "I'm sorry I clammed up yesterday when you were talking about your innermost hopes and dreams. It's weird you should have mentioned that yesterday. The night before last Chris asked me for the fourth time in so many years if I knew of a woman that might act as a surrogate mom. I told him that first time he asked that I knew a high school friend who did that work full time in San Francisco. He never mentioned it to you?"
"No, never heard about it."
"The way she works it is that she donates one or two eggs, they are injected by someone's sperm, then the embryo is implanted in her uterus at a certain time. She prefers not to have actual sex with the sperm donors. She does prefer fresh samples donated under sterile conditions. I could give you her number. She works at San Francisco General."
I took the cell number, spoke with Charley, who got excited and wanted to blow me on the spot, and we called the number together. Our story wasn't a new story to Louise. She had heard all versions of most stories but was pleasant, named her attorney to contact, named a general price range and reviewed the general process and we hung up, wondering what process we had set in motion. Our attorneys set up a meeting with Louise's attorney and Louise herself. She was 5' 8", slim and pretty, darker brown hair, hazel eyes and well dressed. She was an RN at San Francisco General and loved being pregnant. She had four normal cute kids of her own and neither her husband nor her could easily afford more.
The total price per embryo exceeded $40 thousand USD and her fee was $60 thousand plus medical costs through delivery including egg donation per egg produced. The price was steep. We both could afford the process, wrote a check, signed a contract that day and scheduled donation time in about a month.
We were tested for DNA defects, infectious diseases, and screened for a lot of more medical problems. Sperm counts followed. We were told we couldn't ejaculate for x number of days before donation, etc. etc. It was starting to feel like a lab experience...it was.
We had to keep telling ourselves that this wasn't a slap, dash and tickle thing, not a seduction thing, not an 'I will love you till the day I die as the mother of my child" kind of process'.