Conrad Part Two

    On the streets of the town, away from the ocean, the August air was warmer, almost sultry.  I was out of breath and sweating from my sprint down the beach.  Although I felt bad about having bailed on Conrad, I knew I had to be alone to sort things out.  The alternative – strolling back down the boardwalk together – would have been grotesque.  On the far side of town was a 7-Eleven.  Still dazed from what had happened and blinking in the fluorescent light, I bought a coke and took it to a side street, sat down on the curb, and considered the situation.  Not the sex so much (that I was saving for later), but how things stood with me and Conrad and Mom.  Laughter and car sounds from the main drag occasionally pierced the crickets' and cicadas' edgy racket.

    So Conrad wasn't exactly the straight arrow he seemed to be.  Just who had Mom married, anyhow?  Was he some kind of Don Juan, a seducer so compulsive that he'd even go after a scrawny kid like me?  If he wanted to cheat on Mom, Conrad certainly had every opportunity.  The airline scheduled crews to fly for several days in a row, putting them up at airport hotels.  I thought about Conrad and the flight attendants – foxy stewardesses; complaisant stewards – and imagined them holed up together in the dreary hotel lounges.  Obviously he could have his pick of partners a lot more desirable than me.  The notion of Conrad feeding his cock to some eager little uniformed flight attendant made my dick stir in my pants, but I fought the image back; I needed to do some serious thinking.

    On the whole, I decided, there had been something about Conrad's manner, some tentativeness or awkwardness, that argued against his being a chronic sexual predator.  And yet surely he'd had a cock in his mouth before.  Inexperienced as I was, I could tell that technique like Conrad's wasn't something you were born with.  There was an almost military precision to Conrad's competence.  Maybe that was the clue – maybe his years in Colorado Springs had included drills he never spoke about.  Yes, that was probably it.  Conrad had sucked my cock as though to satisfy an exacting sergeant.  But how had he known I'd let him, and that I wouldn't tell?

    Hours later I finally crept up the creaking wooden steps that led to the cottage.  Putting my ear to their bedroom door, I satisfied myself that both Mom and Conrad were there and asleep.  Then I brushed my teeth and went to bed.  In the darkness I summoned up vivid memories of what Conrad and I had done.  I spat on my thumb and rubbed it around the head of my dick, reproducing as best I could the feel of Conrad massaging my pre-cum onto it.  Images flooded past me:  Conrad squeezing my crotch, Conrad's fingers in my pants, Conrad so excellently hoovering my dick, Conrad willing me to shoot in his mouth, and finally Conrad jacking himself off in front of me, legs apart, back arched, arms bulging like an action figure's.  Remembering Conrad's sharp, repeated intake of breath when he held himself at the brink of ejaculating I shot my own load.  After the contractions subsided I drew my fingers up my spermy belly, put them to my lips, and licked them.  So this is what he was so eager to taste, I thought, and drifted off to sleep. 

    Over my cereal the next morning Mom really let me have it about being out so late. 

    "You know, Josh, being old enough to go out at night by yourself also means being old enough to be considerate of other peoples' feelings.  We had no idea what had happened to you."  She warmed to her topic, painting me pictures of a mother's helpless anxiety, of there being creeps out there who preyed on youngsters; of wondering whether it might not be wiser to alert the police; of Conrad sent out into the night to find me . . .

    At this Conrad broke in.  "Aw, Helen, let the kid alone.  Josh is okay; he isn't reckless or dumb.  He was probably with a girl." 

    Mom blanched at this possibility.  "Josh . . . ?  Oh, alright you two, I guess it's a guy thing." 

    Which, in a manner of speaking, it was.       

    I had been afraid it would be awkward, being with Conrad and Mom, but somehow it wasn't.  It was easy.  In fact, it was better, because I wasn't so much on the outside anymore.  It wasn't just me-and-Mom, and Conrad-and-Mom.  Now there was me-and-Conrad, too.  We had a secret.  It made us somehow more like a real family, where everyone has something going with everyone else.  And Conrad was as easy and sunny as ever, the total alpha male.  Which was funny, because after all it was Conrad who had been on his knees before me, with my cock in his mouth, which was supposed to be the most humiliating posture one male could show to another.  It occurred to me I still had a lot to learn about life. 

    And it washed over me that my being queer wasn't a secret anymore, because Conrad knew about it.  Finally someone knew, someone who obviously didn't think it was weird or sick: someone I could talk to.  And that someone was Conrad, Conrad of the jockish gestures, my stepfather!  I almost laughed out loud.  But as much as in the abstract I liked the idea of being able to talk to Conrad, the thought that he himself might broach the subject filled me with anxiety bordering on nausea.  Maybe he sensed that, because he didn't make the slightest allusion to it. 

        .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .   

    Before I was up the next morning, Conrad left for a three-day tour of duty.  When Conrad was away the household settled down to a lower pitch, and I had time by myself to further get my bearings.  The conviction grew in me that it was no accident that things seemed brighter than they had in a long time.  The net effect of what Conrad had done was to take away my alienation and lift the terrible burden of my secret.  Conrad was deep.  It came to me that he must have guessed, have somehow known, that the only way he could get through to me, get past my resentment and distrust, and transform me from a sullen outsider into a willing member of his new family, was through our doing something sexual together.  But at what a risk!  I dimly knew that what he had done could get him in a lot of trouble, with Mom, even with the law – he played for high stakes, did Conrad.  And skillfully.  I was overcome with admiration for his audacity and his generosity.  For surely there hadn't been much in it for him sexually.  I mean, I was about as removed from sexy as you could get, with my baby-fat cheeks, my peach-fuzz sideburns, my awkward legs.  Bitterly I reflected, not for the first time, that I looked like Snow White with a buzz cut.  If it had been cock Conrad wanted, he could have done a lot better than my little dong.  Yes, Conrad had been magnificent.  As I worked it out I felt terribly ashamed of the way I'd run off and left him under the boardwalk.  When he returned I would let him know that I would be totally grown up about it, that I got it, that everything was cool.

    Conrad spent the day after he got back from his tour of duty lounging by the pool.  Mom was off showing houses; after the summer doldrums the real estate market was picking up.  I just hung out, watching TV, watching Conrad.  I wanted to speak to him, to let him know that everything was alright and that I appreciated what he'd done for me, but somehow I couldn't.  I guess I just couldn't talk about what had happened between us – I mean, for Christ's sake, I'd shot a load in his mouth.  So we were both hanging out, him by the pool, me in the house, both of us waiting for something to happen – the air was thick with it, like humidity.  I kept thinking about taking a nonchalant dip in the pool.  In my mind I rehearsed diving in and pulling myself dripping up the ladder to dry out casually in the sun beside him, but something held me back.  Maybe it was the idea of being alone with him with only a bathing suit on.

    So I went to the kitchen for a coke.  As soon as I walked in I saw Conrad's back at the refrigerator.  He was barefoot and wearing his Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned over his bathing suit.  I wanted to pad quietly back out, but the thought had no sooner formed itself than I realized that Conrad had already sensed my presence.  I couldn't run out on him again.  Conrad continued rooting about in the refrigerator, perhaps to give me a chance to bolt, but then he turned around, empty handed, and looked me in the eye.  For a moment neither of us said anything.  Then he broke the silence.

    "You okay?"

    "Yeah.  Yeah, I'm fine.  Really.  And I'm sorry.  I'm sorry I . . . sorry I ran off like that."

    "I was worried at first.  But then I guessed it was just natural.  Probably just what I would have done when I was your age, I guess."

    This was a courteous untruth.  I was pretty sure no one had ever seen Conrad turn tail and run.

    "It's just  . . . It's just I was, like, upset about . . . "  I paused and swallowed.  This part was hard.  ". . . about you and Mom, that's all."

    "There's nothing wrong between me and your mother," Conrad instantly replied.  "Me and your mom are like this."  He held out two fingers pressed together.  His tone was stern, the tone of a man who would brook no conversation about his wife under any circumstances whatever.

    "Yeah.  I know.  But it . . . I . . . I didn't get it." 

    Conrad looked at me, eyebrows pulled together.  "Didn't get what, Josh?"

    "Like, you just wanted us to be . . . to be more like . . . ."  I stumbled.  For what precisely had Conrad wanted us to be more like?  Surely not father and son, unless you saw getting blown by your dad at the beach as a typical filial activity.  "You know . . . to be more like a real family.  I mean, for us . . .  for you and me . . . and, like, to let me know it was okay about being . . . you wanted to let me know that you knew, and that, you know . . . (why wasn't he helping me?)  . . . and you wanted us to be more close, you know, more like . . . ?"

    My straggling sentence had turned itself into a question.  Conrad looked at me in blank puzzlement.  After a moment or two he squinted his eyes and cocked his head just slightly to the side.

    "You mean you thought I wanted to be your daddy?  To send you a message?  Josh, Sport, you been reading too many of them damn novels!"

    I didn't know what to say to this.  In my confusion I finally stammered “Then why . . . ?”

    "Why?"  He paused, considered.  Then took aim and fired:  "Because I couldn't keep my hands off you any longer, you sexy little fucker, that's why. 


    "Yeah, from the moment I set eyes on you I wanted you.  I hadn't wanted a boy for a long, long time, but you look just like . . . well, like someone I was once real close to, back in school.  Doesn't matter who.  And you had a way about you, like you were sulking but trying real hard not to let it show . . . it got right to me.  But I never would have done anything about it.  That is, not until I noticed you sort of studying my zipper."  The customary twinkle had returned to Conrad's eye.  I had of course guessed that he must have had something to go on to have dared to do what he did, but it shocked me to hear it put so baldly.

    "So I reckoned I'd show you what you seemed to want to see.  I started leaving the door open when I changed clothes, even pissing with the door open.  To give you your chance.  I'd stroke it a bit, keep it nice and big.  I could tell you wanted to see it.  And I was pretty sure it'd beat anything you'd have seen in gym class.  I was beginning to think you'd never come along at the right moment, but then you did.  Oh yeah, I heard you in the hall alright.  Heard you stop.  I figured you could only have stopped to watch me, there was no other reason for you to stop like that.  And after I flushed and you ran inside your room, I just walked on up and put my ear to the door.  You sure weren't doin' your homework, Sport."  He said this last with a broad grin.  Conrad flopped his tongue wetly in and out against his upper lip, making a lewd slip-slop sound.  "I knew then that you were at least a little bit more interested in me than you'd been willing to let on.  And I just took the first chance that came along to do what came natural."

    While he was telling me this my blood began to beat a rhythm in my ears.  It all came back to me, the dizzy way I'd felt on the boardwalk.  And it seemed to me the whole elaborate explanation I'd spun about Conrad's motives was nothing more than a defense against this sick dizzy feeling, the confusion I felt when I came face to face with the heat of his desire . . . and mine.

    So after shaking the piss from his dick, Conrad had listened through the door while I'd jerked off leaning against it!  Jerked off in a frenzy over the forbidden sight of his grown-up cock!  The shaming thought was incredibly exciting.  I wondered if he had heard me lie down on the bed immediately afterward to do it again.  And here he was telling me about it, and suggesting it had led to what "came natural."  Natural?  What then was natural now?  Was there an invitation in his words?  The thought made my cock pump up and ache for it.  Surely he could guess that it would arouse me to hear him talk this way . . . he must want me to be turned on to him.  Thinking about how he knew he was turning me on made me all the more aroused – it was like a chain reaction.   

    Conrad's eyes dipped to where my cock was straining against my shorts.  From the shine in his eyes I was pretty sure that he was hard too, but I was afraid it would commit me to something if I looked at his crotch.  The refrigerator hummed against the pregnant silence, and then the more vigorous purr of the air-conditioning kicked in.  The breeze from the vent caught his flimsy open shirt and blew it slightly back, so that the fabric caught on his left nipple, which held it open, like a curtain.  I stared at that nipple as though mesmerized – I knew it was out of bounds but I couldn't look away.  Besides, if Conrad had all along caught my furtive glances, what point was there in pretending not to look now?  Conrad followed my gaze.  A long moment passed, and then he simply shook the shirt back off his shoulders and let it slither to the floor.  He didn't say anything – he didn't have to.  The gesture said it all.  "Go ahead . . . or not.  We both want it.  Choose." 

    So now it was in the open between us.  I couldn't swallow.  I could hardly breathe.  I stared at his chest, at the hair on his chest and stomach, at the barely noticeable rise and fall of his pecs.  His shoulders were lightly dotted with freckles you could just make out through the tan.  But his nipples fascinated me more than anything else.  They were so big, as big as the erasers on those real thick pencils they teach you to write with in first grade.   I looked down at the shirt on the floor, then up again.  And sure enough, his cock jutted out the material of his swimsuit.

    My own cock was pulsating to my heart beat, and I longed to take his nipple into my mouth and suck it.  But I was frozen.  It was too weird.  There was something so strange in his offering me his chest right there in the middle of Mom's kitchen!  But then I was afraid that Conrad might decide he'd given me enough of a chance, that he might pick up his shirt and coolly walk away.  I felt sick with need – to have him, to cum – the thought that he might suck my cock again was intoxicating.  But I was paralyzed.  I felt as if we were at the edge of some divide; we were off the path, but not yet in the thicket.  My mouth hung open as I looked back up at his face, pleading.  He must have read my look, because he raised his hand and rested it lightly on the back of my neck. 

    Did he pull me, or did his hand merely rest there as I slowly bent to take his nipple in my mouth?  I don't know, and as I ran my tongue over it I forgot everything except the sensations of the moment.  I pushed the sturdy nipple back and forth with my tongue, tasted it, then sucked at it.  Conrad sighed his satisfaction.  From pleasure, perhaps, or perhaps with relief at having won on the strength of a dubious hand.  A mild scent of chlorine and sun-warmed skin rose off him as I buried my nose in his chest hair. 

    I sucked on his nipple cautiously at first, but with increasing freedom, testing the rubbery nubbin with my teeth and swirling my tongue over it.  As I licked and suckled at it I felt it harden in my mouth.  I started to lap the hairy pec it sat on, slicking his hair down with my saliva.  Then, embracing him, I returned to the chewy knob.  My nose was jammed against his chest.  Whether or not he had pulled me to him, he was holding me there now.  Then suddenly I was airborne.  With one arm under my knees and the other about my shoulders, Conrad picked me up as easily as a duffle bag and carried me through the house.

    As he swept me along in his arms with a powerful loping stride, I lolled my head against his shoulder to drink in the smell of his underarm.  I couldn't remember when I had last been picked up and carried, and it stirred vague yet potent memories of my father carrying me through the house.  He lay me down on the living room rug, and pulled a pillow off the sofa and put it under my head.  I let Conrad pull off my tee shirt and shorts – everything about me but my dick was limp.  Then he pulled down his bathing suit.  This was the first time I'd ever seen Conrad totally naked.  What thick and bushy pubic hair he had, and how white his ass and belly gleamed against the deep tan of his chest and legs!  His hard-on swung out in front of him like a club, and his enormous balls hung low. 

    As helpless as a dreamer I lay there stunned while he knelt beside me.  Conrad lightly ran his big hands over my body in sweeping stokes, from my thighs to my chest and down again, drawing thrills of electricity in their wake.  He took my straining cock in his cupped hand and pulling on it.  His stroke was rough and could have been painful if I hadn't been so thoroughly aroused.  As it was, the roughness of his stroke matched the intensity of my desire for it.  He was quickly ratcheting me up to the point where I would shoot. 

    Then he let go of my cock and swung his huge body across and over me, kneeling so that his thighs were on either side of my of chest.  Although his ass grazed my chest, his legs bore the brunt of his weight.  He towered over me as he stroked his massive cock right at my face, just inches from my mouth.

    "This is what you really want to suck on, hunh, Sport . . . this big fat cock of mine.  Isn't it . . . isn't it."

    I nodded, witless.

    "Go on, say it.  Tell me."   


    "Tell me."

    "I want . . ." Why was it so hard to say?  I guess because at that unreal moment there was nothing left of me but my throbbing cock and wordless cravings.  Looking up at him I tried to focus, and finally brought it out:  "I want . . . I want it."

    "Come on and say it, Josh. Tell me how you want to suck my cock.  Go on.  Tell me how you want to suck my cock."  Conrad was coaxing but firm, as though training a puppy.  "Tell me how you want to suck my cock."  Panting, I felt the last reserve drain from me like water from a broken pot. 

    "I want . . . to suck your cock."

    "There, that wasn't so hard now, was it, Sport?" crooned Conrad as he fed his cock head to my open lips.  He held the thick base of his cock with his fist, and gradually fed me just the head, then stopped.  I had to open wide for it, and he put the head part way in and pulled it out again several times before he let me really close my lips around it.  With his other hand he held the back of my head, not forcing me, but rather supporting me.  Cautiously I licked and sucked on the bulbous head filling my mouth.  With the tip of my tongue I searched out the piss slit, then licked the undershaft and finally sucked on the whole round head.  At first I was afraid that after a moment he might sink the rest of it down my throat, and that I would gag or even puke on it, but Conrad never gave me more than I could handle.  I only hoped I was doing it right and that it felt good to him.

    "Yeah, that's what you wanted, isn't it, Sport.  You wanted that for a while now, didn't you?  You even beat off thinking about it, didn't you?  And you thought I didn't know.  But I knew.  Oh yeah, I knew alright.  Now suck it.  Suck it.  Lick it.  Suck it.  That's right.  That's right.  Use you tongue.  Suck it.  That’s good.  Yeah.  Yeaahhhh."

     I sucked and licked on the big, firm, plum-shaped head of Conrad's cock.  Sometimes he half fucked my lips with it, pulling it a bit back out and inserting it again, but mostly he just held it in my mouth and let me suck on it.  Soon I was rewarded by a little slippery salty taste that I recognized as pre-cum.  This was a great relief, because it signaled Conrad's pleasure.  It made me want to suck harder.  I realized that I very much wanted for Conrad to cum in my mouth, and then I knew how it must have been for Conrad when, on the beach, he gripped my butt and pulled me deep into his mouth, in those shuddering moments just before I came.

    "Whoa, slow down there, Sport -- do it like before.  Yeah.  Yeah.  That's it. 
Yeaahhhh . . ."

    Obediently I resumed the easier lick and suck motion I had been using.  Conrad stopped giving me instructions, but merely drawled "Yeaahhhh" over and over again.  His low tone suggested immense power held in reserve, like the purr of a leopard, or the growling of a sports car at the light.  With anxiety and desire I wondered if I could swallow all of it if he came in my mouth.  As much as I longed for it, when I remembered how much he'd cum at the beach, I was afraid.  But instead, Conrad pulled out of my mouth, crawled backwards, and lay down on top of me, pinning me to the floor with his massive body.  He began to eat at my neck and shoulder and dry-hump me, rubbing his undercock in a silky rhythm up and down my belly. 

    Conrad closed his mouth on the sinews of my neck and shoulders and half bit and half sucked on them.  He thrust his tongue hard and deep against my throat.  I could hardly believe what intense pleasure he was causing in my neck.  It sort of tickled, yet mostly it threw flashes of delight up and down my body.  I wanted to scrunch up to protect my vulnerable neck and throat from his attack, but I forced myself not to, because it felt so good.  Conrad reached under and grabbed my cock again and pulled on it as he continued to fuck my belly and mouth my neck.  I was half disoriented from the intensity of the sensations.  Then for a moment I heard the sound of the sea as Conrad pushed his tongue deep into my ear. 

    Squirming and pinioned by his weight, I gave myself up to it.  Conrad licking my face, licking my ears, pushing his tongue deep up under my chin, chewing on my neck.  He pinned back my arms and lapped at the cornsilk hairs that had at last begun to grow in my armpits.  All this without ceasing to rut his cock up and down my belly.  He was a hungry lion, and I was his helpless prey.  All I could do was moan for it, moan, and try to meet his fucking motion with answering upward thrusts.  I felt his thick cock shearing hard along my belly in repeated strokes, and wondered how this compared for him with having sex with Mom.

    Then he paused and, supporting himself over me with his elbows, gazed down into my face.  I looked back up at him in total surrender.  He lowered his face towards mine, never for a moment taking his eyes from mine.  His lips parted; I could see a thin string of saliva hanging from one lip to the other, and behind it the dim luster of his teeth.  He was breathing hard, and I felt the moist warmth of his breath on my face. "He's going to kiss me," I thought, "he's going to French kiss me like he kisses Mom."  It had never occurred to me that Conrad would want to kiss me that way.  In actual fact, I'd never seen Conrad do it even to Mom, although I had imagined it was one of the many sexual things they did when they were alone. 

    Even more than his cock, the thought of Conrad putting his tongue in my mouth was overwhelmingly hot, and all of a sudden I knew I was going to cum.  The very weight of him had become too sexy to bear, and the sense of my cock mashed up hard against his hairy naked body was more than I could take.  A squirt of excruciating pleasure, and I grunted hunh - hunh - hunh - hunh - hunh - hunh as stream after stream of cum gushed out between us.

    Conrad froze over me as he felt my cum shoot out against his belly.  His pupils dilated as the liquid pulsed urgently beneath him.  He hung fire – maybe he thought that since I was shooting my load I wouldn't want him anymore.  But I did – and I had to let him know it.  So with both hands I grasped his meaty butt and pushed my cock, drooling but still hard, into the hairy fold of his groin, and opened my mouth.  His eyes widened as he read how much I wanted it, and after hanging suspended for another split second, he dove down and kissed me square on the mouth.  It was as if he was going for my tonsils.  His lips mashed down in an airlock as his tongue swirled over my teeth and gums and tongue.  Instinctively I licked back.  I couldn't tell anymore where I stopped and where Conrad began.  I didn't care.

    He started humping me again, shearing down hard into the creamy mess on my belly, sliding his cock up and down.  I thrust my cock up into his bush and the crease where his thigh met his trunk.  I could hardly tell where the pleasure was coming from, whether from his fucking down on me or from my own upward thrusts.  The cum on my stomach began to get thick and jammy from the stirring it was getting from Conrad's cock.  His lunges got shorter and more controlled, and he murmured words I couldn't quite make out.  He no longer slid his cock in broad stokes up and down, but rather ground it into one sticky spot, then even that slowed to the merest vibration.  He had to be close.  He twitched a couple of times but held on, and I knew he must be ready to cum and prolonging it.  I tensed, waiting.  Then I felt it; his cum shot out in hot wet spurts like blood from a sliced artery.  He panted over me as he splattered me with his cum.  Then he rolled off onto his back and, cock in hand, milked out the last few spasms.

    Feeling Conrad shoot made me need to cum again.  I scooped up some of his load, rubbed it on my dick, and jerked off with the slimy goo.  Conrad reached over and ran his fingers through the rest of his cum, which lay in streaks all over my chest and neck.  He put two dripping fingers to my lips.  Eagerly I sucked them into my mouth and licked them clean.  His cum was tangier than mine, and thicker.  It felt slippery against my tongue and teeth.  He left his fingers all the way in my mouth even after I'd licked off the cum, and I sucked on them as I beat off, yanking my cock like crazy.  "He's teaching me how to do it," I thought.  I remembered him feeding me the thick plum-shaped head of his cock.  And with that I shot another load.

    Conrad lay on his side, watching me, holding his head up in the palm of his hand, elbow to the floor.  When I stopped gasping and came to my senses I looked over at him.  His eyes twinkled merrily, as if to tease me for my earlier hesitation.  We both laughed, then stopped.  Conrad's eyes grew serious and his grin melted away.  He leaned over and put his lips to mine.  Gently he licked my lips with his tongue, as if politely knocking.  I opened the door a tad to let him in.  He pulled back and looked me in the eyes again, then kissed me again, gently.  It was as if to say "See how good this is, even now, even afterwards?"  I felt such love for him, and as trusting as a baby.  It was amazing, but obviously Conrad thought I was . . . well, hot.  Hadn't he called me a sexy little fucker?  I wanted to hear him say it again.

    "Conrad . . . ?"

    But just then from the driveway came the sound of brakes; a moment later a car door slammed.

    Mom was home!

To be continued  . . .   

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