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
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
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
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.
"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
"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
"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 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
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
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."
"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
"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 . . .
chapter and verse
faith and morals
jacking off bodyworkers