Disclaimer: The following is an intimate love story between two men. If this offends you, please go elsewhere. It is a work of fiction and neither the characters nor the situations have any reality or actuality in fact.
TOMORROW'S PRIZES
By Robert J. Cutter
Copyright 2000 by Robert J. Cutter - All Rights Reserved
Please Note This Very Carefully: The author retains all rights to this story. You cannot distribute this story, put it on another web site and/or display this story without the written consent and permission of the author.
Chapter 1: Arrivals
God! The water is so-o-o-o great today! The waves are huge! That storm off the Baja must be creatin' 'em. Shit, man! This is going to be one awesome competition. And I'm ready! I'm really pumped! I've never been more ready. I am jammed! Jeez, am I ever ready!
Clarisse is here - Christ, she looks great! - the folks are here. It's time for me to be at my coolest and fuckin' best. I know I'll be totally awesome.
Okay! Grab the board and out we go! Here we go! Just stay cool! You're really lookin' good! Real, real good. Yeah, everything goin' great! How much further? Just a little ways - not much more. Okay, far enough. God! These waves are awesome...totally...awesome.
Now! Wait for a good one...wait for the proper one. That's it...wait...patience...patience. Here's one. Nah! Not good enough. This one! Yes! This is the one. Get into a good position. Balance...balance. Good...good!
This is really rougher than I thought. What's happening?
Why am I so unrteady?
Hell!
I also think I'm gettin' a headache.
Shit! Where'd this come from?
All of a sudden?
Ignore it!
It's so strange, though.
Just ignore it. Okay, now, stand up.
W-what the f-f-fuck?
Why...why...can't...I...I...stand?
Oh, shit! Oh fuckin' shit!
What's goin' on?
What the FUCK is...going...on?
Why's this happenin'...to me?
Why? Why now?
And this...fuckin'...headache...is...gettin'...so...bad!
And...the...sun...is...
so...fuckin'...bright...
Why is...it...so...goddamned...bright?
Why is...everything...so...fucking...bright? And...this...pain...
This goddamned...pain!
Where the...fuck...did... it...come...from?
Shit, man!
GOD!
GODallfuckinmighty!
The pain! The...fucking...PAIN...
"Those goddamned lousy fucking bastards! Those bloodsuckers! Work and slave and try to create the best possible product and all they do is nickel and dime you to fuckin' death! What a bunch of motherfucking sorry-assed leeches!"
These, and other impure thoughts, were clogging up my brain (or what was left of it) as the plane made its descent into Logan Airport. After spending eight months in Los Angeles creating, writing and supervising the production of a television program broadcast on national television, I was finally on my way home. Thank Christ! Los Angeles was my least favorite city in America (and maybe the world). After what the network brass did to me I vowed never to return.
The program was a tremendous success - a goddamned great success - one of the very few hits of the last television season. We were number one in our time slot across all demographics and in the top five of all programs. We were number five. Pictures of the stars were on the covers of every one of those popular weekly "fan" magazines and teen rags. Some were beginning to make the covers of the weekly tabloids. This was one huge success.
The network wanted to pick the program up for three more years, guaranteeing future syndication. However, I demanded that it be shot in New York City and this immediately precipitated a catastrophe. I mean, the show was set in NYC; why shouldn't it be filmed there?
Anyway, now I would be home with a few weeks to myself; I vowed to make the most of this all too brief respite. Of course, I would be writing (it was my profession after all) but I'd definitely not be working on episodes - well, at least not until June.
Ah, my home! MY home! Home was in the beautiful Berkshire Mountains in western Massachusetts. I was thrilled at the prospect of spending springtime and early summer in that part of the world I loved best.
I thought again about those hideous months on the west coast again. The shitty lifestyle was what I hated most. How can people function there? Everything - absolutely everything - seemed to draw all of the creative and life affirming juices from me. I was fortunate to have had outlines of all twenty-four episodes before I went there to shoot. That really saved my ass. I had zero fresh ideas while there.
Of course, I couldn't really complain that much. After all, two million dollars a year was quite a nice living. I could have easily fallen into the prevailing pattern of spend, spend, spend. Fortunately, I didn't. I lived rather frugally for a person in my high profile position and chosen profession. I shared a large house with a two actor friends and attended as few "Hollywood" functions as I could get away with.
I picked up my luggage (including my dog Cindy, a black Labrador retriever, and my two Abyssinian cats, George and Ringo) and took a shuttle bus to the car rental station. After a small hassle there - Why is it that they never have the car specifically requested? Why bother to ask if they will not have the right car? And why do they insist on calling it a "Courtesy Counter" when it is nothing of the kind? - I was finally on the road.
It was dark but I didn't mind the drive - after getting out of Boston. I was listening to familiar and favorite radio stations and it put me in a good mood. The forecast was for warm and sunny weather tomorrow and that would mean I would wake up to see my home in the crisp, clear air of a glorious New England spring day.
When I arrived in the town, everything was closed. I passed the one traffic light (still a blinker) and drove through, looking at the shop windows. I passed The Playhouse, where every summer famous Broadway and Hollywood stars came to our little town to play summer stock in revivals and new works by top playwrights. The four miles between town and my home flew by; the headlights picked up some of the long familiar markers and one or two that were new to me. I pulled into the long driveway and stopped right in front of the house. God! It was great to be home!
Cindy bounded out of the car and did a lap or two around the place. I carried George and Ringo into the house. Everything looked to be in A-1 condition and ready for my return. While I'm away, a caretaker looks after the place. He and his family live about a quarter-mile away, in a house on my land. He farms the land I owned. It was a very good arrangement for all concerned.
I awoke the next morning amazingly refreshed and trouble free. I drove into town to pick up some supplies and to get reacquainted with my fellow townies; Cindy accompanied me. It was a close-knit community that swelled in size during the summer months as the vacationers and culture vultures descended. I had grown up here. My parents had both taught at a very prestigious small liberal arts college nearby.
As I walked into Krause's Market I met Walt Paterson coming out. We greeted each other and walked over to the café to have some breakfast. We caught up on current events - he telling me the happenings in town since my last stay and me relating the gossip of Hollywood and tales out of school about his favorite stars.
"Something strange has been happening in town recently," he said. "There've been a few break-ins - some shops and even one or two homes. Nothing much was taken - mostly food and some clothes and nobody's made a fuss; but it's a bit unsettling."
"It does seem strange. I can't remember this ever happening before."
"Neither can I. Did you notice anything out of sorts out at your place?"
"Truthfully, I haven't checked closely - but I will when I get back."
When I finished my chores, I loaded my pickup and drove back to the house. After depositing the stuff in the house, I slowly walked around the property and checked things out. Nothing seemed out of sorts and I found this to be very reassuring. I did see a few strange footprints in the mud near the barn but these didn't bother me. I didn't keep anything of real value in there.
I went into the barn to get some hand tools I'd need to do some gardening. I have no animals on the property (except for the dog and cats, of course) and use the barn as a big (a really big) storage shed. Inside the barn I did notice some things that seemed to be out of place - items had apparently been moved around. Some blankets had been unpacked from a carton where I stored them; they were piled up in a corner and looked like they had been slept on. I figured that a passing stranger probably had used the place during the winter months and did not think any more about it. However, I told myself to remain alert for anything out of the ordinary.
After getting the gladiola bulbs and the cannas in the ground (Cindy was a great help), I was ready for lunch. I put the tools back in the barn and also put the blankets back into their proper carton. I then went in to prepare my lunch. Cindy followed me inside to the kitchen. I fed her scraps of the roast beef I had bought and put some pieces in the cats' dish.
After grabbing the newspaper I sat down to eat.
I was suddenly jarred out of my quietude by Cindy's loud barking. She ran to the front door and was creating a terrible ruckus with her barking and growling. I got up and walked to the front door - and immediately saw there was no one there. I stepped out onto the porch and saw nothing or no one; Cindy, however, ran out of the house and toward the barn. I followed her and as I turned the corner of the hose, I could swear I saw the small door to the barn closing.
I walked to the barn; Cindy was continuing her fierce repertory of noises - she was really excited. I tried to quiet her (unsuccessfully) and made her stay outside as I entered the barn and began to look around. Nothing seemed to be out of place - except for those damned blankets again. There they were, piled up in the corner again, as they had been this morning. I walked over to the area and began to pick tem up one at a time.
"Pweeze, mitah."
The low, pleading voice startled me. I turned slowly. There, seated on the floor, next to one of the old stalls, was a young man. He had incredibly blond hair, beautiful large green eyes, and a very attractive sunburned face. He seemed to be almost seated in a heap - like all of his bones had been broken or something. It was very, very strange and more than a little upsetting to find a person in this shabby condition on my property. He almost looked as if he had been seriously wounded. I slowly walked up to him. He held out his right hand, almost begging.
"Pweeze, mitah," he repeated. "I...nee...dem."
Chapter 2: Gathering Friendships
Jake and I sat at the kitchen table. He had told me his name, he was from California (I shuddered when he said that) and he was nineteen years old. His speech was very halting and extremely indistinct. It took a long time for me to get even this small amount of information from him. He was also severely crippled. His left arm was stiff and held across his body with the elbow bent at a right angle. He dragged his left leg very badly; it did not seem to be functional as a leg at all. He used a single crutch and used it rather poorly and haltingly. He could maneuver it only with his good right arm. He made very slow progress when he walked. The crutch was in terrible condition and was patched and repaired in various places with lots of duct tape. He had a ratty backpack that he clung to almost desperately.
I made a sandwich for him, gave him a salad and poured some iced tea; we ate quietly. Jake ate exceedingly slowly. He took very small bites and chewed very carefully. Eating seemed to be a slow and tedious (maybe even torturous) process for him. Also, he seemed to be very serious, as if he needed all his concentration to be on the activity at hand - and right now it was eating. He was incredibly hungry; I made him another sandwich after he devoured the first.
He was not much of a conversationalist. I held up that end exceeding well. I told him about myself, that this was my family home and that I had just returned to the east after spending eight months in California. I think he was happy to hear about California, so I told him, in detail, about my stay and described some of the activities I was involved in. I told him about actors I knew and he seemed to brighten when I described some of the experiences I had with filming a television show. After we finished eating, I cleared the table and Jake pushed his backpack to me.
"Upin...it...pweeze."
"Open it?"
He nodded and pushed it closer to me.
I took the pack and opened it. The first thing that struck me was how crammed it was with stuff and how terribly nasty everything smelled. Jake had a distinct odor too but it was not as concentrated as that being emitted from the pack. There was a rather weathered and worn envelope on top of his possessions. I picked it up and Jake nodded at me. I opened it.
I glanced at it quickly. It appeared to be a one page, typed summary of Jake's life and his current problems. And it had been typed - using a typewriter. I hadn't seen a typed letter in I don't know how long. There were many, many mistakes.
"Did you type this Jake?"
He nodded. "Pweeze...wee...it."
He wanted me to read it so I did. At the top were two telephone numbers to be called in case of a serious emergency. Then came a paragraph about him. His name was Jakub Conrad Steiner and he was from Ventura, California. His nickname was Jake. He was eighteen years old - or was when he wrote this. He had been in high school and an excellent surfer and swimmer when he suffered a major stroke while participating in a surfing competition. He was sixteen at the time.
"You look like a surfer dude, dude," I said to him while smiling. "Blonde hair and everything."
He managed to give a crooked smile back (only half his face seemed to be under voluntary control) and nodded. It was the first time I had seen anything but a frown on his rather beautiful face and it certainly brightened my attitude.
I continued to read. After two years of extensive and concentrated rehabilitation and physical therapy, when he was eighteen, Jake decided to hit the road. Considering what the doctors had told him, he figured that he did not have too much longer to live and he wanted to see the country - the whole country. He made an arrangement with his family to permit him to do this traveling without their close supervision. It took a lot of persuading and arguments before Jake and his brother on one side, agreed with his parents and his doctor, on the other side. I imagined that it must have been a very rough time for Jake since he could barely talk; it must have been very frustrating trying to get his points across when so horribly handicapped.
In less than one year he had worked his way across the country and was in New England. He intended to head back west in July.
I looked at him when I had finished reading. I was quite surprised that this severely handicapped individual had come so far. The character - the greatness of a person's character and the strength of his or her will and determination - has never ceased to amaze me.
"How did you make it across the country, Jake?"
He held his right hand out in the universal sign of hitchhiking. "An…bus…"
"You hitchhiked?" He nodded. "That's fantastic! Absolutely fantastic!" He gave me his crooked smile. "You have more guts than I have. I think that's really great, buddy." I reached across the table and shook his hand.
"That's really terrific!"
He took back the letter, put it into the envelope and put it all into his pack. "Tan...kew...fuh...ebbry...tin...Gray." He stood up slowly, took hold of his crutch and pack, and began heading gradually for the front door.
"Where are you going, Jake?" I asked, slightly stupefied.
"Leebin."
"You're leaving? Why?" I was shocked that he would just want to continue his journey.
"Neeta...moob...on."
I walked behind him as he made his way to the entry foyer. "Jake, please don't go," I heard myself saying. "Please stay here a couple of days and rest and gather your strength." I surprised myself - I was really begging this kid to hang around for a while. And I really didn't understand why. Yes, he seemed like truly pleasant person and I knew I would enjoy his company. I also knew that he needed the time to rest and relax from his probably exhausting travels. I would be extremely anxious if he were on the road hitchhiking and I didn't know what was happening to him.
He turned and gave me an unbelieving look. Then he smiled at me. "R-r-ree-wee?"
"Yes. Definitely! Stay here. I've lots of rooms. You can see this is an enormous house. We can get your stuff washed and you can rest and relax and do whatever you want. I'm a very good cook and Cindy here seems to have taken a real liking to you." He bent over and petted Cindy who was at his feet. She wagged her tail. "What do you say, Jake?"
He stood up straight and tall, and looked very pleased. He moved toward me and kissed me on the cheek. He was crying. "Otay. I...tay...eer." He tried to give me a nice smile. I was very please that he accepted my heartfelt invitation. We walked back into the family room and sat on a couch facing the rolling hills and mountains of the Berkshires.
"I...muss...tawk...tuh...pehwent," he suddenly said.
"You want to call California? Hey, no problem."
"Oooo...tawk...fuss."
I dialed one of the numbers on his information sheet. A woman answered. "Hello. Mrs. Steiner?"
"Yes, I am Gerhilde Steiner." She spoke very precise English and I was certain that I caught the trace of a German accent.
"Mrs. Steiner, my name is Craig Shaeffer. I live in Massachusetts. Your son, Jake, is..."
She quickly and excitedly interrupted me. "You have seen Jakub?" she blurted out.
"Yes, Mrs. Steiner. I've seen him. In fact, he's here with me right now." I heard her starting to cry. "Are you all right, Mrs. Steiner?"
"Yes, yes. I am fine, thank you. Please tell me, how is Jakub?"
"Mrs. Steiner, Jakub...er...Jake seems to doing very well. I met him today...he seems fine...and he has agreed to spend some time with me at my home."
"Thank you, Mr. Shaeffer. Thank you very much for...for taking caring of my boy."
"Don't mention it, Mrs. Steiner. Would you like to speak to him?"
I handed the phone to Jake and walked into the kitchen. I told him to call me when he was finished. I loaded the lunch dishes into the dishwasher and began cleaning up when I heard him call me. He handed me the phone. I spoke to Jake's mother for another few minutes and gave her my telephone number in case she needed to contact Jake.
"She seems like a very nice woman, Jake." I noticed he had tears in his eyes.
He nodded. Then began to cry. I moved to sit next to him and put my arm around him. He leaned toward me and let his head rest softly on my shoulder. We sat that way for almost five minutes, I think. I felt comfortable and relaxed and Jake calmed down considerably. I took out my handkerchief and wiped his eyes and let him blow his nose. He gave me a wonderful smile in return and then put his right hand on my thigh, squeezing it lightly.
His move completely took me by surprise. I looked down at his hand and then into his smiling face - smiling through his tears. I put my hand on top of his and also squeezed it lightly. It was then that I first noticed how really awesomely attractive he was - the blonde hair, the green eyes, the smooth complexion, the straggly blonde whiskers he sported. He seemed to have a magnificently tight body - definitely a surfer dude - and seemed to possess a nice personality - what I could learn of it. I felt myself beginning to be attracted to this rather beautiful boy - this very strange person who suddenly appeared in my life as if by magic - this young, disabled person - this man whom, I certainly knew, needed a caring friend.
Chapter 3: Ruminations, Renewal and Release
I knew Jake had fallen asleep. The poor guy must not get too much sleep at night - always on the alert for someone finding him. His head was still resting on my shoulder and his breathing was slow and somewhat regular. His hand still rested on my thigh; it was a very comfortable arrangement for both of us. He cuddled closer to me and I put my hand around his shoulder pulling him a little nearer.
I was gazing out the large glass doors that opened onto the stone terrace. It was a sizeable area with a swimming pool situated on the far side. Beyond were empty fields that would soon be filled with acres of plantings for the upcoming growing season. And then beyond the fields were the beautiful hills of the Berkshires. I was home now - back where I belonged - and I delighted in the warmth, the comfort and the protection that this home afforded me.
The house itself was very old. Its beginnings dating to the time just after the American Civil War. My great-great-grandfather began to build it when he first settled in this area of western Massachusetts. He was primarily a farmer and had a wife and two children when he first moved here. He was also a local merchant (selling dry goods) and lent money on the side, mostly to fellow farmers who could not get regular loans from an established bank. He did very well, prospered and expanded the house when his family kept growing.
My great-grandfather improved and expanded the structure when he moved his family into it and so did my grandfather. Their dry god store was overwhelmingly prosperous and the family opened branches throughout western Massachusetts, eastern New York and southern Vermont and New Hampshire. The bank also thrived and numerous branches were established. No longer working the land, the family leased it to other farming families. When my grandfather died at the age of 102, my mother inherited the property.
She and my father made major structural and design changes to the house in a sort of "This Old House" type of complete overhaul. The best of the old was preserved while the property was expanded to include newer features like modern heating and air-conditioning, new plumbing, new electrical services plus the addition of garages, the swimming pool and new landscaping.
When my parents retired to Arizona, they left the house to me. The only stipulation was that they would be able to use it during the summer months of the year. In addition, my brothers and sisters (and their families) could also have access to the house during the year. It was in a great location for winter ski weekends.
The house was very large after its various additions and modifications - too large for any one person. There were eight bedrooms, nine baths, a very large professional kitchen and eating area, plus large family areas and a huge (and dry) basement. There were also separate provisions for live-in help. And, of course, there was the barn. It was in excellent condition but now only used for storage and sometimes for family gatherings; my older sister had her wedding reception in that venerable structure.
I thought of my long heritage and my family ties to this land as I comfortably sat on the sofa in the family room and gently held Jake. As I snapped myself out of my reverie, I noticed that he was still asleep and snuggled even closer. "Will my relationship with this attractive man/child go any farther than simple holding and kisses on the cheek?" I wondered.
Just then Jake began to stir. I looked down at him and smiled; he smiled back.
"Torry...Gray. I...faw...aslee..."
"Hey, no problem, man. I know you're tired. And I'm sure you didn't have a great night sleeping in the barn."
He shook his head. "I...ha...a...grey...slee...las...nye..."
"Super. It was comfortable and all?" He nodded. "Well, tonight you'll sleep in a real comfortable bed. And maybe Cindy or one of the cats will join you. That will make it even cozier." He smiled again. "What do you say to taking a shower or a bath?" His face brightened. "And we'll get your clothes washed so everything will be fresh. Okay?"
"Yeh...otay..."
He straightened up; I helped Jake stand and handed him his crutch. I took him to my bedroom wing of the house, which contained two large bedrooms and two complete (very complete) bathrooms.
I led him into the bedroom that I usually reserved for close friends of mine. I put his pack on the floor and asked him if he wanted to shower or take a bath. He said bath. I walked with him into the bathroom and he smiled when he saw the immensity of it. I love big, comfortable, well appointed bathrooms, compete with every amenity possible. One could actually live in these bathrooms. The particular one we were going to use was pretty much set up as a handicapped person's facility. It was modified for my father's use; he suffers from arthritis. There are handrails in various strategic locations and everything was done to make things convenient for the user. I thought it would be great for Jake and to make things a lot easier for him.
He set his crutch against the wall and began to undress. I stopped him. I told him I wanted to help. He nodded his assent. First I ran the water into the Jacuzzi tub, then stood and began to undress my new friend Jake. And this was no easy task. His stiff arm and the need for him to hold on to one of the wall bars made removing his shirt and undershirt difficult. Once they were removed, however, I was struck by the extreme beauty of his body. He had a real surfer/swimmer's body and the esthetics of it just floored me.
Standing there, naked from the waist up, he did not look like a cripple. He was a rather beautiful teen. His biceps were large and strong, although I could see that the bicep on his left arm was definitely smaller. His chest was quite well defined and his nipples were tiny and pale...and very cute.
His skin had a wonderful bronze color and a torso that tapered down to a very slim waist. He had no hair on his chest and a small amount in his armpits. A minute trail of silky looking blonde hair led from his navel, only to disappear at the top of his shorts. I looked up at him; he had this almost panic stricken expression on his face.
"Mah...body...ess...pwetty...tehwable...haint...hit...?
"No, Jake. Absolutely not, buddy. You have a beautiful body - a very beautiful body."
He smiled and lowered his head. "Tank...hew...Gray."
"C'mon! Let me get the rest of these clothes off of you so you can get in the tub and soak and relax, and I can put your stuff into the washer."
He held on to the bar tightly as I began to undo his jeans. They dropped to the floor. He was wearing beautiful boxer shorts - with a surfing motif. I laughed and Jake smiled. I pulled them down and had Jake sit on the bench near the tub. I took his sneakers and socks off and then removed his jeans and boxers. Finally, I helped Jake stand up.
I was stunned. I was absolutely stunned by his physical appearance. He was gorgeous! I mean he was absolutely and positively gorgeous! His body was lean and very muscular, his good leg powerful and strong. He was practically hairless, except for a small amount of striking blonde hair in his crotch and those small tufts in his armpits. And what a magnificent crotch it was! Truly magnificent - it practically had me drooling.
Jake had a penis to die for. It was superb; an unequaled example of the beauty of the male organ. It was about 6-1/2 inches long - and it was flaccid. I didn't know then if he could have an erection, but even so, it was a work of art. Jake's cock was uncut and a long foreskin covered the entire head. It had the cutest ruffled collar opening - just enchanting, and so very tempting. Jake's balls hung quite low in a fabulously large, hairless ball bag. Each testicle was quite large, looked to be beautifully shaped, with the left one hanging much lower than the right one.
The total effect on me was remarkable. I felt myself getting weak and sat down on the edge of the tub to regain my equilibrium. I looked up at Jake. He had a very peculiar expression on his face; it looked to be something between dread and horror. I managed to smile at him. He tried smiling back.
"Duh...ya...wike...mah...dick...an...baws...Gray?"
I was stunned that he asked this. He obviously saw me staring at his equipment for a rather long time. I nodded. "Yes, Jake, you have a beautiful penis and ball sack." I paused and looked directly at him. "You have a very beautiful body, Jake...a very beautiful body."
He gave his biggest smile yet. I stood and hugged him lightly before turning to shut off the running water. This kid really needed a good bath. I helped him into the tub; he let me assist as much as I wanted; soon he was soaking and relaxing up to his neck in the swirling waters. He looked great there. I was happy for him. But mostly I was happy for myself, knowing that I would have this remarkable and beautiful teen spending time with me, keeping me company - at least for a few days.
"Why don't you just soak for a while, relax and I'll be back in a while to wash your hair, if you want. Okay?"
"Yah. Tanks...Gray."
"You're welcome, Jake. Want me to turn on some music for you?"
"Yah. Lassic...mootik...pweeze."
"Classical music? Wonderful. I love classical music." I selected the local college radio station for him and left him alone.
I grabbed his pack and pulled out the articles of clothing. He had his possessions beautifully arranged in smaller packets and pockets inside. He was a very well organized kid. I went back into the bathroom to get the clothes he had been wearing. He smiled up at me and I smiled back. I threw everything into the washer and set the cycle for HOT.
I went into my bedroom and flopped on the bed. I lay back on the pillows staring at the ceiling. It was simply undeniable; I was being drawn to this young man - this crippled, beautiful California teen - this one time epitome of surferdom. Why? How did this happen? Why did this happen? Was I so desperate for love or affection that I wanted to bed down with anyone who came along? No! This I knew for a fact!
I had had my share of beautiful ass while working in Hollywood. In that town, the beautiful (and I mean beautiful!) young male (and female too) hopefuls would literally throw themselves at anyone with even a modicum of influence. And here I was, the creator and executive producer of a tremendous TV smash. I had plenty. Believe me! More than I could comfortably (or possibly) handle.
Then why? Why did I feel this need to smother Jake with love and affection? Was it his neediness? Was it this feeling that a young person like this should not be loose in the harsh reality that is our world? Jake, with his crippled arm, his crippled leg, with his incredibly indistinct speech, Jake with his beautiful body, Jake with his marvelous equipment, Jake with his very winning manner.
I began rummaging through my closets and bureaus to find clothes for him. He was thinner and shorter than I was; knew most of my things would swim on him. I did manage to find some of my older things (from my teenager days - mom never threw anything out) that would fit him nicely. Out of style definitely, but very wearable.
My thoughts were still fixed on Jake. I would soon be going back into that bathroom to wash his hair...and to wash any other part of his body that he wanted (or needed). The prospect made me incredibly hard. After washing, I would hopefully dry him. The thought of Jake's naked body, his beautiful flesh, responding to my loving and painstakingly tender ministrations made it necessary for me to quickly open my pants, and to drop them and my shorts. I had to relive the extreme pressure caused by my rampant cock. I immediately grabbed it and began jacking myself for all I was worth, while a beautiful image of Jake floated before my eyes, and my confused and fevered brain went into overdrive.
(To Be Continued...)
-----> Author's Note: This is first episode in a new series about Craig, Jake, the farm in Massachusetts and their futures. If you have any comments, please send them to me at my new address: cutter57@hotmail.com. This is the only feedback I get, so take a minute and make your opinions known.
-----> One More Thing: If and when you write to me, please put /RJC57/ on subject line of all communications in addition to the regular subject. Everything without this notation will be automatically dumped into the Trash Bin. Sorry. I'm just getting spammed too much.
Thanks,
Bob Cutter