This story will contain graphic descriptions of a variety
of sexual acts between men and MINOR boys. Generally,
relationships are mutual and are based on informed consent. In
later chapters, the relationship becomes incestuous. It should
be noted that the Prologue is used to provide an historical
perspective for what follows.
If the subject of man/boy sex offends you, or you are under
18, do not read further! You have been warned! Read at your own
risk!
COPYRIGHT:
Copyright is held by the author at an27868@anon.penet.fi.
February, 1994. Fair use consists of copying and distributing
via electronic means in the public domain only. In printed
media, copyright protection remains for more than individual
copies.
ALT.SEX.STORIES.NOVEL OR COPIES OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS:
It is expected that this story will exceed several hundred
pages and will take some time before it is finished. Obviously,
I am a frustrated author, but it is difficult to get a publisher
for this stuff! I apologize for the abuse of bandwidth. Requests
for earlier chapters etc. will not be met, primarily because of
respect for the laws of other countries and the desire not to
excessively burden the anonymous server in Finland. If you are
missing some part(s), too bad! BTW, don't bother asking for
other stories I have written!
FACT OR FICTION:
The story is almost fiction. Any resemblance to
individuals, alive or dead, is either the result of unfortunate
oversight or fond memories! "Platonic Love" is an interesting
alternative to Judaic-Christian morality. It needs your support.
REPLIES,SUGGESTIONS,ETC:
E-mail comments and criticisms to an27868@anon.penet.fi,
or post to alt.sex.stories.d. I will generally respond to all
sincere email. Your support and suggestions are both welcomed
and appreciated. Please do not post here! Please feel free to
comment or point me towards ftp sites for similar stories.
The continuation of this story will depend on the level of
interest of readers. This story takes a lot of work and a lot of
time. Your support, comments and encouragement are invited.
FINAL WARNING:
If you're under 18, or man-boy relationships aren't your
thing then exit now
PLATONIC LOVE.
DAY TEN. Cape Sounion. Late Afternoon, August 2nd, 1993
"A lion does not love another lion, nor do male bears and boars seek out
their own sex, but the love of the female reigns alone in their hearts."
Lucian, Dialogues of Love.
He was born and raised as a typical, late-twentieth-century
child in America's heartland. The more I got to know him during
that first afternoon we spent together, the more I came to
realize that my son was a spoiled, petulant, selfish, precocious
brat. As we motored out of Piraeus I quickly discovered that the
boy had never been on a yacht before. In fact the biggest boat
he had been on was a friend's speedboat on a lake some sixty
miles south of where he lived in Kentucky. I knew, without being
informed by anything other than my own eyes, that he had few
friends and he was probably lucky to have the one who took him
on the speedboat. Who could stand him long enough?
His awkwardness on board my boat was to be expected but I
was not prepared for his unwillingness to even try to help. From
the outset, I sensed that he was lonely and I could easily
understand why. Although I was no psychologist, one did not need
a college degree to see that he lacked both self-esteem and self-
confidence. He was an exceptionally nervous child. His
stuttering appeared to be even worse than it sounded on the
telephone. It was saddening to watch as my son stammered and
stuttered, desperately trying to communicate, then giving up on
partially finished sentences as the effort and embarrassment
became too much for him to bear.
We had a short, though very pleasant sail that afternoon, a
broad reach under full sail for about two hours on the sparkling
deep-blue Aegean Sea. However, I did not want to leave the
mainland so close to evening so I decided to run back to the
coast. We would spend the first night at Cape Sounion.
I dropped the sails by myself as Jason sulked by himself in
the cockpit. We had enjoyed another fight when he had hesitated
in untangling the main-sheet for me. I tried to impress upon him
the fact that his tardiness might one day be the cause of an
accident. It was like talking to a rock. I gave up on him and
motored in to a little cove and dropped the anchor by myself. It
was nice to relax for a while, swinging lazily at anchor below
cliffs that sprang from the sea and rose vertically until they
towered two thousand feet above us.
A normal kid, like Jeff, would have been jumping up and
down at the chance to be swimming in the azure-blue bay where we
anchored. But not Jason. He sat in the cockpit and read a book.
When I suggested that we hike up to the top of the cliff and
look at the Temple of Poseidon in the sunset he gave me a 'drop-
dead' stare, shook his head, and went back to reading his book.
Where was his appreciation of history, his sense of romance, his
youthful energy? He was in the cradle of western civilization
and he was bored. At first, I thought that he might be fatigued
from his journey but he did not look tired. Palled, yes, even a
little sea-sick, but he did seem to be engrossed in his book! It
was with some surprise that I recognized it as one of mine. I
decided to indulge him for one more day.
As I tidied up on deck, I began to think that he regretted
his decision. I observed him sneaking quick glances at the
cliffs that towered around the bay, at the majestic, pure-white
marble temple glowing in the late-afternoon sun. It was postcard
material. Even for a disagreeable, whiny, little boy, it was an
awesome sight.
As the sun moved steadily closer to the horizon I began to
think of dinner. I remembered Harry's advice; 'take the boy
fishing' even as I heard fish breaking the surface. I picked up
the binoculars and searched the water between the boat and the
shore. A school of whiting were in the shallows near the beach.
It was as good a chance as any that I would have to breach the
chasm between us. Jason was still absorbed in his book when I
reached forward and pulled it from his hands.
"Come on, it's time to put the book down, Jason. We're
going fishing." I took the book with me as I went down the
companionway to get some bait from the freezer as my son
complained loudly behind me.
"W-w-what if I d-d-don't w-w-want to?" he griped as I
disappeared down the hatch. "I think I'd r-r-rather stay h-h-
here and read. That is, if you d-d-don't mind!" A few seconds
later I reappeared. He was still upset. "I w-w-want to stay
here, thanks. You go f-f-fishing, if you w-w-want to. I'd r-r-
rather not."
I stopped in front of him. "Sorry, it's not something that
you have a choice about, kid. What I said was 'we are going
fishing'. We, Jason! That's the plural form, you know."
The boy shrugged disinterestedly. "There's n-n-no need to
get p-p-pissed at me."
I sighed and stepped out of the cockpit and began to
unfasten the straps that secured the rubber dinghy. I glanced at
Jason from the corner of my eye. he stood still, considering his
options. He was visibly pouting. "You want to give me a hand
with this?" I asked.
He shook his head and I continued by myself. I had a system
and it wasn't all that difficult to attach a pulley to the
dinghy and lift if up by the mizzen boom, pivot it out over the
water and ease it down. I guided it around to the stern swim-
platform and held it steady while Jason slowly and very
reluctantly boarded. I started the outboard on the second pull
and chugged over towards the beach. Jason sat silently on the
center thwart, his baby-ego thwarted. I was frustrated too. He
showed no interest as I pointed out the shapes of the fish
running just below the surface and even less interest in putting
bait on a hook. For his first time, I did it for him, after that
he was on his own.
If it wasn't for the little shit in the dinghy with me, it
would have been one of the best times I have ever had. The dying
sun left red trails across the almost-still water. Seagulls
wheeled and dived, screeching plaintively. The fish were biting
aggressively. I caught two within ten minutes and then settled
back and listened to the water lapping against the hull. It was
an easy life, a good life, except for Jason. Curiously, he had
risen to my challenge. I had two fish, he had none. My ten-year-
old son was not to be outdone. He tried as hard as he could.
With fish practically jumping out of the water in their
eagerness to be caught, his inability to catch anything at all
was very telling.
The peculiar thing was that I liked watching him. I enjoyed
his quirky movements, the shyness, the timid care with which he
baited a hook, only to feel a sharp tug and miss yet again. As I
contemplated the little boy, I conceded that while my son was
effeminate, he was also extremely attractive. He was so good
looking that I found it impossible to be angry with him.
Somehow, deep inside me, I knew that he needed a friend.
Finally, I decided to accord him some companionship. I also
needed to apologize to him.
"Jason,..." I began slowly. He looked up from peering over
the edge of the dinghy. "I,...I want to say something."
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry,... about what I said at the airport, about your
earring thing. I didn't mean it."
He smiled shyly and blinked. He swallowed and pressed his
lips together. For a moment I thought he was going to start
blubbering, but he began to smile. Jason's smile widened even
further. "I-I-I think your tee s-s-shirt s-s-sucks. You l-l-look
like a queer, too," he replied cheekily.
I was wearing my favorite tee-shirt, the one with a big,
bright-yellow, stylized sun on it and 'APOLLO' printed
underneath and 'SUN GOD', on the back. I liked it a lot. I began
to laugh. "Okay! We're even now. But I am sorry, Jason. It was a
mean thing for me to say."
He nodded as he continued to smile, then brushed his golden
locks back by running his fingers through his hair. "Okay!" He
started to laugh with me. His boyish giggle was infectious.
I started to tell Jason the story of how the Aegean Sea got
its name. He listened intently, his interest clearly visible.
"Theseus was the son of the king. He was sent to Crete as
part of the sacrifice to the Minotaur. The Minotaur was part-man
and part-bull, according to the legend. He had told his father
that if he was successful in killing the Minotaur he would sail
home using white sails, instead of black ones. Anyway, Theseus
killed the Minotaur,"
"Yeah, I know the story," Jason interrupted. "He used a
ball of string to find his way out again."
"That's right. Well, he was so happy that he forgot about
the sails. His father was waiting up there on the cliffs and
when he saw the black sails he believed that his son was dead so
he jumped over the edge."
I grinned as Jason made a "wheeeeeeeee" sound from the
back of his throat.
"Oh! I forgot to tell you, his father's name was Aegeus,
hence we get the Aegean Sea."
Jason grinned back at me. He had a happy look about him.
All too soon it was time to go back to the boat and get
dinner. Them as I started to pack the fishing gear away I saw a
look of disappointment on his face. I wanted to hug him tightly
and tell him I still loved him. I wanted to tell him that I had
never stopped loving him. The words stuck in my throat, my
thoughts unspoken.
"I guess we better head on back," I said quietly.
Jason smiled. "At l-l-least I t-t-tried to catch s-s-
something."
"You will next time." I started the outboard and began the
trip back. "How do you like, uh, what's his name, Carlo?" I
asked.
Jason shrugged. "He's o-o-okay. I l-l-like him, I guess. I
was s-s-supposed to go with them to P-P-Paris, you know. B-b-ut
we had a f-f-fight."
"What about?" I asked curiously.
"N-n-nothing. You w-w-wouldn't be interested. C-C-Carlo
changed his m-m-mind, Mom too. I g-g-guess they both w-w-wanted
me out of the w-w-way for a w-w-while. I s'pose, they..." he
murmured. It was obvious that Jason had no desire to talk about
it and no intention of telling me. I let the subject die.
During dinner, he became quieter and the ray of hope I had
for something approaching a normal relationship was slowly
extinguished as the evening progressed into night. He missed his
television, or his mother. I wasn't certain which but I assumed
that was the problem. He was agreeable enough, for a while,
because I had a vcr on board and he was able to watch a pirated
tape of The Never-Ending Story, Part 2. I had purchased it as a
Christmas present for him and forgot to send it. But it went
downhill from there. There was nothing else of interest to him
on the television and even though we still had some reception
from Athens, all the programs were in Greek and the picture was
fuzzy.
As I sat watching him, I decided that, all things
considered, I didn't like Jason very much. And he was my son. If
the truth be told, I didn't like him at all. I tolerated him,
barely. He was a spoiled, unpleasant, joyless, little shit! He
whined endlessly. He communicated by grunts. He rolled his eyes.
He was rude. He was exactly like my ex-wife. If he had one
redeeming feature it was that he was good-looking. But even then
it was in a cute, girlish way. The first time I saw him, as he
walked off the boarding ramp at the airport, I noticed his hair.
The boy is fair-haired and curly, just like his mother, but his
hair on top looked like it had been moussed. No wonder I made my
comment about his likely sexual orientation. Jason is my only
offspring, he's barely ten, and he looks like a faggot. I
thought that it would drive his mother crazy. It was poor
compensation, but the possibility gave me some amusement and a
little revenge.
>From the moment he stepped off the airplane in Athens and I
saw him for the first time in seven, or was it eight years, he
sulked continuously. He didn't want to be with me. Fine, I
didn't want him around. It certainly wasn't my idea to have him
stay with me. He didn't want to talk to me. Fine, I didn't want
to talk to him. He probably thought that I had walked out on his
mother. If only he knew the truth of it. Other than the
inescapable fact that half of him had come shooting out of my
dick a little less than eleven years ago, we had absolutely
nothing in common.
I scrutinized him closely as he watched the television.
>From the look of him I didn't think he had ever been outdoors.
Kind of skinny, practically no muscles, a wimp of the first
order. At least he wasn't fat, another redeeming feature. The
first time I showed him how to winch in the genoa he gave up
after two-and-a-half turns and left it flapping wildly. That was
the first time I noticed how skinny he was. He had a waist that
couldn't have been any more than twenty-two inches and hips and
chest that were only a few inches bigger. Like any true wimp his
shoulders sloped downward from a scrawny thin neck.
In an ill-conceived attempt to get through to him, I told
him that he could even call his mother every day, if he wanted
to. Collect, of course, or by SSB if we were away from a phone
box as we were now. I thought that the suggestion of a radio
call to his mother might have provoked some excitement. My
suggestion raised little more than a shrug of his shoulders as
he told me he didn't think she was still in Italy and he wasn't
certain how or where to contact her. I felt sorry for him then.
He had abandoned by the one person who he knew with certainty
loved him. Even as a baby he had been fanatically possessive and
naturally, he missed his mother. I also suspected that it would
be hard for him to accept her relationship with a man. I
anticipated that Jason had a very rude shock awaiting him when
he next saw his mother and her new boyfriend.
I gave up trying to be friends with him and started to
revise my manuscript. Shortly before ten o'clock he angrily
turned off the television, gave me another 'killer stare', and
grumpily went off to his cabin. I sat outside for a long while,
gazing up at a pitch-black sky and a myriad stars. Below, I
could hear the faint sounds of his guitar and his sweet high-
pitched voice as he played and sang. Strangely, I felt a
romantic urge, a bizarre need to share the spectacular sight
with my son. I knew he had never seen a night-sky as awe-
inspiring. Instead, I left him alone.
PLATONIC LOVE Part 5b
WARNING:
This story will contain graphic descriptions of a variety
of sexual acts between men and MINOR boys. Generally,
relationships are mutual and are based on informed consent. In
later chapters, the relationship becomes incestuous. It should
be noted that the Prologue is used to provide an historical
perspective for what follows.
If the subject of man/boy sex offends you, or you are under
18, do not read further! You have been warned! Read at your own
risk!
COPYRIGHT:
Copyright is held by the author at an27868@anon.penet.fi.
February, 1994. Fair use consists of copying and distributing
via electronic means in the public domain only. In printed
media, copyright protection remains for more than individual
copies.
ALT.SEX.STORIES.NOVEL OR COPIES OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS:
It is expected that this story will exceed several hundred
pages and will take some time before it is finished. Obviously,
I am a frustrated author, but it is difficult to get a publisher
for this stuff! I apologize for the abuse of bandwidth. Requests
for earlier chapters etc. will not be met, primarily because of
respect for the laws of other countries and the desire not to
excessively burden the anonymous server in Finland. If you are
missing some part(s), too bad! BTW, don't bother asking for
other stories I have written!
FACT OR FICTION:
The story is almost fiction. Any resemblance to
individuals, alive or dead, is either the result of unfortunate
oversight or fond memories! "Platonic Love" is an interesting
alternative to Judaic-Christian morality. It needs your support.
REPLIES,SUGGESTIONS,ETC:
E-mail comments and criticisms to an27868@anon.penet.fi,
or post to alt.sex.stories.d. I will generally respond to all
sincere email. Your support and suggestions are both welcomed
and appreciated. Please do not post here! Please feel free to
comment or point me towards ftp sites for similar stories.
The continuation of this story will depend on the level of
interest of readers. This story takes a lot of work and a lot of
time. Your support, comments and encouragement are invited.
FINAL WARNING:
If you're under 18, or man-boy relationships aren't your
thing then exit now
PLATONIC LOVE.
DAY TWELVE. Aegean Sea, in the Cyclades. Mid-day, August 4th, 1993
"There are two opposing kinds of love, and each ignites a different flame
in our souls. One is like a child, interested only in childish things; it
cannot be guided by reason; foolish men are swayed by its violence; it
produces the desires that drive them into the arms of women... The other is
sincere and serious-minded and everything about it proclaims its healthy
origins; it engenders virtuous feelings and its influence greatly
penetrates our souls; when it favors us, we enjoy sensual pleasure combined
with virtue..."
Lucian, Dialogues of Love.
Apollo heeled over to port and dipped the lee rail in the
water. White foam and crystal, azure water swirled past the
stanchions. The water scooped the foot of the genoa, turning the
bottom five feet of the sail darker. It splashed over the
straining sheets and the boat groaned slightly. Forty-four
thousand pounds of wood and aluminum, fifty-three feet of yacht
accelerated. The mast and shrouds reverberated with increasing
stress, humming in a perfect equilibrium of tension and
compression. Then as the gust strengthened, over eleven hundred
square feet sail filled to capacity. The boat heeled even
further and plunged into the waves. There was a crash against
the hull and spray burst outward thirty feet. The same wave sent
a cascade of water rushing past the coaming. Five or ten gallons
surged over the side and into the cockpit, sloshing back and
forth until it found the drains.
The wind had swung further to the east and within seconds
had strengthened by at least ten knots. Well balanced, Apollo
swung closer into the wind, tracking the change in direction as
the pressure increased on the wind vane. A moment later, the
luff of the genoa began to shiver, breaking into a tremble, then
backwinding with a frenzied, whip-like cracking.
I waited for a few more seconds, hoping that the wind would
shift back to the south or that the gust would pass. It didn't.
I tossed my book into the open locker and went to work.
With a sideways glance I saw Jason scrambling away from the
port seat. I held back a laugh. It would have been easy to laugh
at his discomfiture, the look of shock and anger, the
embarrassment like a crimson shame that flushed across his face.
Jason was suddenly one wet, little boy. For just one or two of
those few seconds that passed as I scrambled back to the helm I
saw him looking at me angrily, as if it was MY fault he was wet.
I was far too busy releasing the wheel and disconnecting the
self-steering to worry about a wet, ten-year-old boy who was
still pouting from an argument we had two hours earlier when I
had finally given him his breakfast at ten o'clock in the
morning. Still, I was sorry for him. I suppose I should have
warned him. Too late now. He had been soaked.
Seconds earlier he had been dozing, half asleep on the
seat, curled up slightly and braced securely in the curve
between the seat and the coaming, enjoying the warmth of the mid-
morning sun on his bare legs. Now he was wide awake and soaked
to the skin. Thoroughly drenched. His white-cotton tee-shirt,
one of the few pieces of sensible clothing he had brought from
with him, was clinging to his chest and belly. His shorts were
similarly wet. Jason was saturated, from head to toe. Water
drained in rivulets down his arms and legs and his long hair was
bedraggled as he shook himself like a wet puppy.
"G-g-goddam! Shit!" he swore loudly.
Two days out of Athens and he still didn't have his sea
legs. He staggered everywhere, grasping in a frenzy every time
Apollo rocked. Most of the time the boy looked as if he was
scared, scared absolutely 'shitless'. He looked awfully pale as
well, though fortunately not too green, yet. I suspected it
wasn't far away, but at least he hadn't been sick, so far. Thank
God for that small mercy. If he ran true-to-form he would save
it for down in the cabin. Kid-vomit, I knew it would stink for
days down there, if he did. The thought grossed me out.
How in the hell did I ever get tricked into this mess? Two
days down, twenty-five more to go. Twenty-five more days of this
complaining ten-year-old baby before I could ship him home,
collect. Having Jason on board had become a pain. I had been
planning to run down through the Cyclades, spend for a few weeks
bumming around on a few of the islands like Lindos and
Santorini, then head on down to Crete. I needed to be there
sometime during September to work on a photo assignment for a
few weeks. I was looking forward to diving on the ruins of a
Roman galley off the coast. The marine life was supposed to be
something else. With luck, I might get enough material for an
article in a diving or sailing magazine as well as complete my
contract with The Geographer.
The problem with having Jason on board was that I really
didn't like kids very much, especially my own kid. With the
single exception of Harry's son, Jeff, I tolerated them, ideally
at a distance. Jason, and his mother, screwed both my schedule
and my life up. She wasn't very happy about my idea of taking
her precious little boy to the Greek Islands. When she had come
up with the idea that I keep Jason for the holidays I think she
expected that I would stay around Athens, certainly no further
than the adjacent coast of the Peloponnesus. I didn't see what
the problem was. Precious, little Jason could easily fly or take
a ship from Rhodes, or where ever it was where we were at the
time when I packed him back off to his mother.
On the bright side, I was headed on my way back to Paros
and Harry's Bar. At least there, Jason could hang around with
Jeff (poor Jeff) and leave me alone. It was a pity Jason was ten-
years-old and equipped with a dick and balls, and not fourteen
or fifteen and furnished with tiny tits and a hot little pussy.
Now, that might have been fun.
I started getting an erection even as I remembered Tina.
For a few months about three years earlier, I had operated the
boat for private charters in the Caribbean while I was waiting
for my publisher to accept my first book. The second charter I
had taken was one that I picked up at the last minute from
another boat when it was damaged in a collision at the dock. Two
days later, Tina and her mother and stepfather stepped on board.
Tina was cute and I ogled her from the moment I saw her. It was
impossible not to. Tina was a real 'Barbie-doll'.
Within ten minutes I found out that she was fourteen years
old. She was into puberty by maybe a year. Her tits were tiny
and pointed and they stuck out like little, ripening hemispheres
under her flowered sun-dress. The straps of her training bra
showed through the thin material. What followed was absolutely
Freudian. It was pure, unadulterated depravity. Tina flirted
with me in front of her parents and with what appeared their
complicity. From the time she reappeared on deck, to the time
she stepped off the boat a week later, she wore a micro-bikini.
The bottom halves were mere patches of neon-orange nylon
attached by black cord. The sides of her nicely shaped, little
butt bulged out of the back end but the front was even more
revealing. When it was wet, the thin nylon clung to her body and
her pussy was defined and clearly revealed. Not only that, her
crotch was barely covered and the still-hairless sides of her
pubic mound were always openly displayed because she insisted on
sitting with her legs splayed out. A red-blooded male could
never get tired of gaping at the wonderful view.
By the third day, things were getting out of control.
Tina's voice teased me the entire time and her parents did not
'bat an eyelid' when their daughter nestled up to me and did
everything except curl up in my lap. That was the day they took
off for a few hours in St. Martins. I took Tina and the dinghy
over to the other side of the lagoon.
How was I to know it was a nude beach? Tina lost no time
getting her bikini off and I wasn't far behind. We swam for a
while before we went up into the sand hills. The kid fucked me
into exhaustion. Tina was anything but a virgin and I filled her
up three times that afternoon. I thought that it was an
acceptable performance for a forty-year-old man. That night,
Tina and I slept in her bed and we fucked again. In fact, we
fucked every day and night for the rest of the week. Her parents
knew that tiny-tits-Tina was getting screwed and they gave me
the biggest tip of the three months I was in the charter
business. Two hundred dollars. I figured that each orgasm I had
with Tina was worth about ten bucks apiece. I didn't hear from
Tina again and for a while I wondered if she got pregnant.
I switched my mind back to the present and gazed at my
soaking-wet son. It was hard to believe that Jason was my son.
The fact that he was so pale that I insisted he keep out of the
sun did not help matters. Perhaps I did him an injustice. He
needed fresh air, sunshine, and exercise. The only problem was
getting his head out of his book. The wave that came over the
side and soaked him solved that problem. His book was as
drenched as he was.
Jason stared at me indignantly. He was enraged and
obviously affronted. His self-esteem reached its lowest level.
He shivered with cold as the wind blew through his wet clothes.
He looked very unhappy and truly miserable. I watched guiltily
as his jaws clenched tightly together, either resisting the
temptation to cry or preventing his teeth from chattering. I
heard him snivel as I refastened the steering lock and reset the
wind vane of the self-steering mechanism. He sniffed again as I
turned back and sat down again. Water was still dribbling from
his clothes.
"I-I-I,... w-w-want,... t-t-t-to g-g-g-go g-g-g-get ch-ch-
changed," he spluttered falteringly.
I wanted to hug him. He looked so devoid of warmth and
vitality that I loved him. He was mine. I had to love him.
"You can't go down there like that," I warned him. "You'll
get water everywhere. I don't want things soaked."
"I-I-I'm c-c-cold," he whined.
"I'm sure you are," I observed. "You're wet! Get your
clothes off."
Jason looked at me uncertainly as if taking off his clothes
was prohibited. At the time I thought of the boy as being
undersexed, almost to the point of being asexual. I shrugged.
"You can stand there shivering if you want, Jason. Or you can
take your clothes off and get dry. Take your pick. There's
nothing to be embarrassed about. I'm your father, remember. You
might not like the idea, but I am. It wasn't all that long ago
that I used to change your diapers and wipe the crap off you."
The boy blushed shamefully. It was, at least, a sign of
some life. It was followed quickly by another. "You're a real
shit, you know that!" he said under his breath.
"Why Jason, because I don't put up with your whining,
stupid nonsense? You're a boy, you ought to grow up and stop
trying to be a damned girl."
He wailed. A sob started deep inside him and burst out of
him. He rushed forwards, his small fists clenched tightly and he
began to hammer impotently on my chest. He tripped on the sheets
that were coiled in the cockpit and started to plunge towards
the lee side as the boat heeled over in a sudden gust.
After years at sea, responses become automatic. I lunged
after him. If I had not caught him by the legs, the lifelines
might have stopped him, but I doubt it. The boat was moving in
excess of ten or twelve knots and the wind was gusting over
twenty knots. If he had gone overboard it would take several
minutes to get the boat turned around and back in the same spot.
With the waves increasing in height, I would have been lucky to
find him, assuming of course, that he had not drowned by then. I
locked my arm around him as tightly as I could and hung on to
the binnacle. For about a minute he struggled violently against
me until the gust passed and the boat righted itself. He seemed
to want to go over the side.
He was hysterical. Tears poured out of him, in a howling
wail. He sobbed incoherently but between gasps I managed to
catch a few words. He repeated the same thing over and over.
Simply, he wanted to know why I hated him so much. I didn't know
the answer to his question. Maybe it was the fact that he looked
so much like his mother to my eyes. Maybe it was because he
appeared to be so little like myself. Maybe it was because he
was not what I expected him to be like. He was small and
sensitive, he was beautiful, and he was not at all like Jeff.
But, if he had been cold before, now he was freezing. I
held his small, shaking body against me and pulled his tee-shirt
upwards. It peeled away, clinging wetly to his skin. As I
reached his arms, he obediently lifted them upwards so that I
could pull it up and over his head. I reached down and placed my
hands on his narrow hips as I gently eased him away from me. He
was still blubbering, endlessly, as I unfastened the button at
the front of his denim shorts and tugged his zipper open. I
stripped his wet, dark-blue shorts off him with a quick,
downward motion and dropped them in a sodden pile with his tee
shirt.
Except for his little, white jockey-underpants my son was
naked. It had the most disturbing effect on me. I looked at him
long and hard and it started to make me hard. Other than the
occasional erection when I wrestled with Jeff, I had never been
aroused by another male. My eyes travelled down Jason's pale
body. He was lightly tanned and he appeared to be devoid of
hair. There was not even a trace of the soft 'peach fuzz' that
most children have. It was the total absence of hair and the
fact that he was perfectly formed with the elegant, classical
proportions of a master sculptor that made his smooth body more
like marble than living flesh.
His underpants clung to his body. To me, that last vestige
of my son's modesty was more exciting than if he had been naked.
I shuddered as I realized that my own son was infinitely more
arousing to me than Tina had been, in her bikini, or out of it.
In the wet, thin cotton the outline of his small genitals was
clearly visible. The shape of his tiny penis and testicles held
my eyes riveted. He was wearing high-rise briefs that started
above his navel. Then, unbelievably, the urge built within me,
the urge to take his underpants off and see all of him.
He looked up at me, still shivering as his skin started to
become pock-marked with goose-flesh. His lips were compressed
tightly, tears still trickled down his soft, small cheeks, he
looked at me desperately, anxious for my sympathy, still
wondering why I despised him so much. Without thinking, I pulled
off my own tee shirt and began to dry him. I wanted only to take
my mind of the fearful thoughts that were forming in my mind.
Even as I dried him down I realized that my goal had not been
solely to make him warm. I had wanted to touch his perfect,
little body. More than anything, I wanted to pull his underpants
down.
I moved back guiltily, wanting to feel revulsion for
thoughts that should have been repugnant to any normal male. My
tee shirt was damp but my son was dry. Well, most of him was dry
because I had not dared to touch the part of him that was still
covered by his little, wet underpants.
"You feel better," I asked softly.
"Yeah. Th-a-a-nks," he shivered.
"You better go put some warm clothes on, Jay-boy," I
suggested.
Jason's head jerked as he looked at me uncertainly. I had
startled him. "Y-y-you used t-t-to c-c-call me that w-w-when I w-
w-was a b-b-baby," he stammered painfully.
"Huh? Oh! Yes, I guess I did. You used to be my Jay-boy,
remember?"
My son nodded slowly. "Do you still feel cold?" I asked
gently. Instinctively, my hand reached forward and despite the
frenzied warnings from my left brain not to, I touched him. My
hand brushed the small, slender body, feeling the smooth skin of
his belly immediately below his ribs. Suddenly, my feeling that
the boy was inert and made of marble vanished. I felt live, warm
flesh. The impulse to tear my hand away came back but by then it
was too late. My fingers caressed him, pressing into the silky
skin as they stroked back and forth.
I glanced up at him, finally taking my eyes away from the
tiny bulge between his legs. "Do you still feel cold?" I
repeated.
He was startled out of his own reverie. "Huh?" he said
absently, then after thinking for a moment, shook his head.
"Do you want to go put some dry clothes on?" I asked
gently. The idea that lurked at the back of my mind sprang
forward. "Or, if you want, you can stay up here and warm up in
the sun. You've only got to lie here on the seat and stay out of
the breeze and you'll be fine."
"M-m-may I? D-d-don't you m-m-mind?"
I grinned at him. Why would he think that I would mind if
he lay around the cockpit naked all day? Suddenly, I felt very,
very hot. I swallowed nervously. I wondered if Jason sensed my
desire. It was over-powering me and it seemed to be so obvious
that it would be impossible to miss. I tried to think of Tina. I
tried as hard as I could but each time my thoughts were pulled
back to the present. My penis lurched as it tightened still
further in the confines of my shorts. Already I could feel it
bulging as it became harder. What was happening too me? Was I,
what I had accused him of? Was I the queer, the faggot? I wiped
away the sweat that formed on my brow. I nodded. I would do
anything to keep him here on deck with me.
Slowly my courage returned. "Of course not, Jason. Why
would I mind?" He smiled shyly and shrugged as he settled back
on the leeward seat. There was still a risk that another wave
might come over the side, but he was safely out of the wind and
in the sun and no matter how far the boat heeled he would not
slide more than a few inches at most.
He gazed back at me as I started to pick his wet clothes up
from the cockpit floor where I had dropped them. I squeezed out
as much water as I could and placed them over the wheel so they
would dry off. I met his eyes with mine and I smiled at him
reassuringly. He gave me a slow, shy smile in return as he
curled up in warmth of the sun.
I found his book in the corner of the cockpit, next to the
drain hole. It too, was soaked from cover to cover. I picked it
up and a stream of water trickled out it. Playfully I squeezed
it out the same way that I had squeezed his clothes out. Jason
started to giggle as the water dribbled down my forearms. In all
likelihood the book was ruined but I placed it over the wind-
direction indicator.
"It'll be a while before you can read that," I laughed,
then added, "Unless you don't mind peeling the pages instead of
turning them." My son gave me a big grin. It made me feel
happier than I had been for a long, long while. It also made me
feel braver. Before I could stop myself I had said what I had
wanted to say for the last few minutes.
"If you take off your underpants I'll hang them here to dry
out as well," I said in barely disguised innocence.
Jason still grinned at me. His big, blue eyes were
magnetic. They reflected the innocence of childhood and I felt a
rush of adrenaline as I realized that he was considering my
suggestion.
"M-m-my underp-p-pants," he asked. "Then I w-w-won't have
anything on."
"So? I have seen you naked before, you know." I smiled at
him teasingly as I added, "Lots of times. You used to like
running around in the raw when you were younger. For a while I
used to think you were born to be a nudist."
Jason regarded me uncertainly. This close, I wasn't
prepared to stop. I continued to smile at him. "I have seen it
all before. I even know you aren't circumcised. But do you know
why you aren't?" His eyes flashed downward momentarily as if
trying to remind himself whether his foreskin was, or was not
intact. He shook his head slightly. "Because I said no. Your mom
wanted you cut and I wanted you natural. That was one fight I
actually won."
His grin widened as his perfectly white teeth appeared.
Unless I was mistaken he still had some baby teeth and there was
a gap on the right side where he was waiting for a replacement
model. "Yeah?" he said curiously.
Emboldened, I persisted in my recollections of my two years
and seven months with Jason. "Really! I used to give you baths a
lot too. Back then, you were my favorite person in the whole
world Jay-boy." I began to laugh as I remembered more details.
"W-w-what's s-s-so funny?" Jason demanded.
I shook my head as I tried to restrain myself. "I was just
remembering something. Just about every time I bathed you, you
used to get an erection. It was the tiniest little thing but it
would stick up so hard and proud. You used to lie in the bath-
tub and play with it." Jason reddened slightly. I enjoyed the
boy's discomfiture as I wondered whether he could remember the
games he played. I decided to help him along. "Your favorite
game was to tie your toy boat up to it. Now let me think, what
was the name you called it. It wasn't pee-pee or anything like
that. Uh! Hmmmm! It was a name you made up for it and it was
really funny at the time. Well I'm sure it will come to me
sooner or later."
"W-w-why d-didn't you w-w-want me c-c-c,... c-circumc-c-
ised,... l-l-like you, Dad?" he asked with a curious expression
on his face. He twisted onto his back and put his hands behind
his head.
I thought for almost a minute before I answered. "I guess
because that's the way we you came. I couldn't see the point in
cutting off part of you. Anyway, you were mostly foreskin, back
then." I grinned, "You wouldn't have had much left afterwards.
Besides I think boys look better with it on. It looks a lot
sexier."
Then his words hit me. How dumb could I be? My beautiful
young son had just called me 'Dad' and I hadn't noticed. I
stared at him in disbelief. The smile on his face was almost
mystical. Without a word he arched his back and lifted his
buttocks up off the seat. He pushed his wet underpants downward
to his knees before he settled back on the seat. I turned away
deliberately as soon as I realized he was undressing completely.
I saw only the briefest glimpse of bare, alabaster-white flesh.
I gazed out over the ocean, examining the horizon for signs of
other boats, for floating debris, for anything to take my mind
of the fact that my son was probably naked on the seat only a
few feet away from me.
"Heh, Dad!" he called out suddenly.
I reacted by turning back, just in time to catch his
underpants was they came flying through the air in a wet, sodden
ball of cotton. I grinned at him as I tried hard to keep my eyes
from searching out and focusing on the one part of him that I
wanted to see more than I could stand. Again, I endeavored to
keep my mind on other things, to avert my eyes from what was now
definitely very naked and grinning as he lay on the seat next to
me.
I carefully unfolded the balled-up cloth. They were turned
inside out and as I flipped them out it was impossible not to
marvel at the small size. To my eyes, my son's underpants seemed
no larger than they had been when he had first stopped wearing
diapers and started wearing 'big-boy' pants. In a rush, my
memory came back to and I started to laugh.
"I remember now," I finally chortled. "I started calling
your dick a puppy. After all, if a girl has a pussy, then a boy
has a puppy, right? Actually, I think it was kind of appropriate
as well. He was always getting into mischief in the bath-tub."
My son smirked cheekily. "S-s-so w-w-what did I call it?"
"Let me think. It was a doggy name, from one of your books.
Uh! Yeah! I know! Pokey! Boy, was that ever on the money," I
laughed, "He was always poking his head up." Jason blushed
slightly. "He was, Jas'. It was pretty funny at the time, but
it's only natural for it to happen. It's nothing for you to be
embarrassed about, now, or then. It used to happen all the
time." I grinned. "At least when you were with me. I don't think
your mother liked it when Pokey stuck his head up. And she
certainly didn't like either of us calling him Pokey."
I turned his underpants around. There was a little brown
'skid' mark in the seat. It was an enchanting reminder of the
way he had once been. Just before he was out of diapers his
bowel movements had become quite substantial. He used to
regularly be covered from his spine to his fat, tiny scrotum. On
some occasions, it went all the way up his belly and over his
back. There had been what I could only describe as an intense
closeness to him, almost an enjoyment in cleaning him up, wiping
the smelly mess that fouled him, ensuring that his scrotum and
penis were absolutely clean of it. I even wenet to the extent of
folding a point in the toilet-wipe and inserting it into the
tiny opening of his foreskin as deeply as possible. That used to
bring forth a fit of wild giggles, and frequently, a nice,
little erection. Even at two-years-old, Jason was a sensuous
and erotic child.
Then, unable to resist the temptation a moment longer I
took my first long look. I had not seen my son naked for more
than seven years. I had adored him as a baby. Even the 'terrible
twos' were wonderful. He was wonderful. How could I have ever
left him alone for all that time? The beauty of his face was
reciprocated in his perfect young body. He was lightly tanned
except for his middle section. There the skin was all but pure
white, a deliciously soft, creamy-pink color. It was the color
that Fraggonard used for flesh. It was a delicate tone that
bespoke of the fact that this part of him had never witnessed
the rays of the sun.
No, that was a lie. As a baby I had often let him play
outside in the yard. I would watch him splashing in his paddle-
pool or covering himself with sand in the sand-box. On most days
he would be naked. The summer he turned two, he had the most
gorgeous tan from head to toe. What had happened to the
confident little boy? He had never stuttered then. I could
remember those afternoons we shared vividly. He had been so
happy and playful as we frolicked in the grass, wrestling, him
cool and wet and naked, me hot and sweaty and clothed.
I wonder whether my astonishment was revealed on my face. I
felt it with a sudden jarring shock. In one way at least the
passage of time appeared to have stopped. My son's little penis,
his testicles too, for that matter, seemed to be no larger than
they had been more than seven years earlier. Now, his genitals
looked disproportionately smaller as the rest of him had grown.
My eyes were riveted to his groin as I stared, lovingly. His
genitals were, like the rest of him, perfect. His foreskin still
appeared to be inordinately long relative to the short length of
his penis. His scrotum with its tiny precious cargo was tight.
It formed a little wrinkled lump between his thighs. The skin
was somewhat darker and it emphasized that wonderful part of him.
Even though I had no basis for comparison, I knew that his
scrotum was small for a boy of his age. It had been small when
he was young and now with the retarded growth of his genitals,
it appeared even smaller. In that respect, my son was similar to
me. For most men, the scrotal pouch hangs at least as far as the
penis. In my case, the scrotum is compact and when fully
relaxed, barely comes past the halfway point of my penis. In
Jason's case, his scrotal development was further restricted so
that his testicles were so close to his body that they were
barely visible. I realized instinctively and sympathetically
that he would be the brunt of more than a few 'locker-room'
jokes as he grew up. But in its smallness, his little scrotum
was jewel-like. Like the sparkling, diamond stud in his ear, it
held my full attention. I breathed slowly as I gazed upon the
naked boy, marvelling at his beauty. I could never hate him.
I looked too long, too hard. Jason began to blush. Suddenly
filled with embarrassment, his hand moved downwards and covered
his exposed sex organs. His eyes met mine as we glared at each
other silently. I needed to say something, anything to divert
both his attention and mine from what confronted us.
"Like I said, Jay-boy, you were mostly foreskin," I said
softly. I smiled weakly and breathed outward and then forced
myself to turn away. If I had not been standing behind the
binnacle, Jason would have seen my erection. I busied myself,
tidying the sheets, taking in a little more of the genoa, giving
more tension to the back stay, adjusting the helm.
The rum-line from Cape Sounion was 75 miles, almost a
direct line southeast between the islands of Kea and Kithnos.
The wind had definitely changed direction by nearly twenty
points to the east. If I wanted to reach Paros by nightfall I
would have to beat into the wind. The waves were starting to
build and I knew that it would be a rough ride. Personally I
enjoy a rough sea. There is something very satisfying about the
power of a yacht as it surges from one wave to the next and
white spray cascades outwards. I also knew it would probably
make Jason seasick very quickly.
I considered the options. The best idea was to ease off the
sheets and take the less demanding course towards Mykonos. It
was too far to go to tack down to Paros today. If the wind kept
swinging to the east, there was a strong probability that it
heralded the meltemi. That was an unpleasant thought. The winds
could reach fifty knots as hot air swept down into the
Mediterranean from the Russian steppes. Sometimes it lasted for
days at a time. The forecast had not mentioned a meltemi but my
experience with Greek forecasts was not reassuring. We needed to
be 'holed up' somewhere in the lee of an island before dark.
I eased the sheets and reset the self-steering for a course
that would take us eastward towards Mykonos. For a moment I gave
some thought to staying at Siros. It lay off the port beam,
about three or four miles to the north. I took a quick peek at
Jason. He seemed to be doing fine, almost enjoying the rise and
fall of the boat as it lifted up into each wave and rushed down
its face into the next one. For a while at least, seasickness
would not be a problem.
I stepped into the cockpit and examined the chart. On our
current course, nearly due east, was Mykonos. I guessed the
distance to be about twenty five miles, certainly no more than
thirty miles. I checked the log. We were making over ten knots.
Three hours at most, we could be there by three o'clock at the
latest. The chart showed that there were some protected
anchorages but one in particular caught my eye. We could stay at
a cove near Super-Paradise Beach for the night. I glanced at
Jason, wondering what he would think if he knew what was in my
mind. If the wind abated tomorrow we could head for the village
of Mykonos, or if it swung back towards the west again, we could
go south to Paros. If it strengthened, we could stay over on
Mykonos for a few days.
Slowly my aching-hard erection subsided. I felt relief. I
also felt disbelief. Looking at the slender, naked body of my
own son had made me hard. I had been much harder than I had ever
been before and considerably more that I had been with Tina. It
was an intensely disturbing thought. It was a thought that made
my heart beat faster even as I tasted bile in my throat and
guilt settled over me like a furtive cloud.
For the next ten minutes I kept my eyes averted, stealing
only an occasional glance and always avoiding the one place that
I wanted to feast my eyes on. Jason had stretched out on the
seat. One arm was crooked under his head providing a pillow of
sorts. His other arm was above his head, his fingers hooked
around the drum of a winch. The effect was startling. It
stretched the skin of his chest and belly taut. Thin, sharp
lines marked the position of every rib. Slender, gently swelling
muscles of his belly formed a flat groove from his chest to his
groin. Again I forced my eyes away.
I reached into the side locker and extracted a plastic
bottle of suntan lotion. It was the amber, oily type with an SPF
close to zero but it was all that I had aboard. I made a mental
note to buy more. I should have done that in Athens, the price
doubled in the islands and from the look of his skin he would go
through a few gallons by the time he left for home. I leaned
forward and passed the bottle across to Jason. Fortunately, his
right knee was drawn up so that I saw nothing beyond his
slender, beautifully shaped thigh and leg.
I grinned at him as he reached forward to take it from me.
Already his body looked warm and dry. "You better put some of
this on, Jay-boy," I said with a wink. "And make sure you put a
lot of it on all over you. If you get Pokey sunburnt you'll know
it."
My son giggled as he flipped the cap off. He squeezed the
bottle over his chest and the amber oil squirted out into a big
puddle on his pale flesh between his nipples. He began to
massage it into his skin. It was about the sexiest thing I have
ever seen. My penis lurched again as my heart rate surged and my
normally low blood-pressure doubled. I forced myself to look
upward. I gazed at the sails. The main mast towered more than
seventy feet above me. The sails seemed vast from the
perspective that I had and the glare was intense. I closed my
eyes and willed my thoughts away from Jason, trying hard to
think of anything else but him and the motion of his small deft
fingers rubbing into his belly. I tried to think of Tina, of the
soft brown triangle of hair between her legs and the narrow,
very wet, slit that had sucked my cock in and held it tightly.
But the desire to look at my naked son became stronger and
stronger. A minute passed. I opened my eyes and turned to him.
He was sitting up, rubbing both hands against his legs. He
glistened with a lustrous, oily sheen. He worked intently,
absorbed in his self-indulgent self-pleasuring. Because that was
exactly what it was. His eyes were half-closed and his mouth was
half-open as he soaked up the life-giving energy from the sun
and radiated his own vibrant energy. Jason was every bit as hard
as I was. Casually his right hand slid from his legs to his
groin and I watched, mesmerized as his fingers stroked against
the tiny rigid shaft that lay flat against his lower belly.
After only a few moments of gently fondling himself, two of his
fingers encircled his scrotum and he began to rub at his
testicles. His thumb and one finger, his first finger remained
looped around his little, hard penis.
Without warning, his eyes flashed open, met mine, and his
hand jerked away. Instinctively both knees came up to his chest,
blocking my view of his tiny boy-penis. He blushed self-
consciously, visibly embarrassed. That he had been so engrossed
in achieving his own pleasure as to be unaware of my presence
both excited and fascinated me.
"It looks as though Pokey's up to his old tricks again," I
teased gently.
Jason reddened slightly but I smiled reassuringly as I
added, "I bet it felt nice. It's nothing to be ashamed about,
Jay-boy. Every boy does that, you know. That's one of the
reasons why its there."
He swallowed nervously and he considered my smile for a
moment or two. "Yeah?"
I nodded. "It's certainly a whole lot more fun than just
peeing through it, isn't it?"
He smirked and nodded back at me. Slowly he settled back
down on the seat and stretched out, though he was careful to
keep his right leg crooked and the knee lifted up to ensure his
privacy.
For the next two hours I stole quick, surreptitious
glances, peeking at him when he was absorbed in reading his book
or dozing, catatonic in the warmth of the sun. He was very
careful not to touch his penis again while I was near him. By
two o'clock, Mykonos was fast approaching. I went below and
retrieved a navigation guide and a pair of bright-yellow
swimming shorts that I found in Jason's cabin. His cabin was a
mess. The motion of the boat had tossed his suitcase to the
floor and it had opened. Clothes, books, and toilet articles
littered the floor. I shrugged. A day earlier, even a few hours
earlier, I would have shouted at him to clean it up. It wasn't
his fault, if anything, it was mine for not having told him to
make sure that everything was secured down. He would clean it up
in his own good time.
I started back up, climbing the stairs carefully since I
had only one hand free for the boat and it was still heeling
considerably with each strong gust. I barely suppressed a heart
attack. Jason's head was towards me and I looked along his
slender, young body to his groin. He was playing with himself.
His penis was hard again and his fingers grasped it tightly. He
was trying to pull the foreskin back, endeavoring to retract it
past his glans. It was nearly past the head but the last eighth
of an inch was still too tight to pull past. He breathed heavily
as he pushed and pulled at it.
I could have stood there on the second step and watched all
day. And during the night too for that matter. He was obviously
enjoying himself. His penis was oil-slicked and glistening and
it was evidently slippery as his fingers kept losing their grip.
It was only the overriding importance of making a safe approach
into Mykonos and avoiding the rocks around Delos, that demanded
my attention and took my interest away from him. I ascended the
stairs, making as much noise as I could to give him warning and
then tossed his shorts at him. They landed over his genitals. He
jumped as if I had given him an electric shock. He had been in
another world, living in a fantasy of his own making. His hand
instantly dropped down and covered his aroused genitals as I
came through the companionway and stepped into the cockpit.
"You better put these on," I grinned, "Before the locals
get a look at Pokey. They might arrest us," I teased.
He smirked at me with a mysterious beguiling shyness and
for a moment I wondered whether Jason had known that I had been
watching him from the companionway. He slipped his feet through
the legs of his shorts, pulled them along his legs and thighs,
then came to his feet to finish the job. I caught a last glimpse
as 'Pokey' disappeared behind opaque, bright-yellow nylon. It
probably saved me from a stroke.
He dropped back onto the seat and resumed his shy, knowing
smile. His blond hair was radiant in the bright afternoon
sunshine. Again, I gazed silently, captivated. I was enchanted
by his beauty. He was still the wonderful little boy that I had
loved so dearly, seven years ago.
"We have a choice, Jay-boy," I stated. "No, this time you
have a choice. We can go round to the other side of the island
to the town or we can find a nice, quiet cove on this side and
stay there. You pick."
"W-w-hat would we do if w-w-we went to the town?"
"Well, I guess we'd tie up at the harbor and walk around.
Maybe get dinner at a restaurant. Most villages on the islands
are very pretty and Mykonos is one of the best. It is real
touristy, though," I answered.
Jason grinned. "Hmmmm! I d-d-don't know. The c-c-cove, I
guess."
I nodded. "Good choice. We can go swimming if you want." I
changed course to take us in closer to the coast. "Jason?"
"Yeah, Dad?"
My heart leaped again. "Jas',... when did you start
stuttering?" I asked gently.
I saw Jason's lips press together. He breathed out slowly.
"I-I-I d-d-don't remember, b-b-but it w-w-wasn't long after y-y-
y-y-you left."
I shook my head sadly. "God, I'm sorry Jas'. I loved you so
much. I wanted to take you with me. I really did. I've missed
you so much."