For Love of a Man 4
FOR LOVE OF A DREAM - 4
Copyright 2012 by Carl Mason
All rights reserved. Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without the written permission of the author. However based on real events and places, "For Love of a Dream" is strictly fictional. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Further, as in real life, sexual themes unfold gradually. Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to the author at carl_mason@verizon.net
If you would like to read additional stories by this author, please turn to the "Authors/Prolific Authors" link at the beginning of the Nifty Archive.
This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both adults and teenagers. As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the personal enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature, adults. If you are not of legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral dilemmas in your life, please leave. Finally, remember that maturity generally demands safe sex.
CHAPTER 4
(Revisiting Chapter 3)
"D-A-D? D-A-A-A-D!" Mind and body staggering under the pressures of fast returning awareness, the naked youth burst into tears as he threw himself onto his father. "Dad, oh Dad... Oh, Dad, I love you so!" For several minutes they stood as if glued tightly together, nearly nine inches of hard, young cock pressed hard into his father's crotch. "Dad, this isn't my bedroom, is it? Why am I here? I'm falling...falling... Everything is going dark!" The lad almost fell, but his father's arms would not let him go.
Looking up from his father's shoulder, Nels' gaze fell on Bill. Fresh tears filled his eyes as he kissed his dad's neck and then wheeled towards his best friend. Two massive erections jammed into each other as the two powerful jocks collided with a force that was felt several feet away by the older man. A couple of involuntary jabs and they were both covered in a sea of jism!
(Continuing Our Story: What Really Happened?)
Jason and Nels did remain in Japan for the next few months. (Needing to be in California for his senior year at Crocker Memorial, Bill returned considerably sooner.) Supporting a somewhat longer stay, Ishikawa reminded Jason that they were working on the far edge of scientific knowledge. Man's relative inability to control for genetic and environmental influences upon human behavior - let alone chance or accident - almost guarantees failures in shaping desired behavior. (Further, this contention ignores continuing disagreement among human beings as to which behaviors are "desirable"!) Ishikawa was frank: The problems encountered in "programming" a complex humanoid robot, i.e., android, had proved to be frustrating. This early attempt was undoubtedly attended by many failures...not all of which were presently visible. On the positive side, he did announce that eating and drinking problems had been solved. Humanoid robots could now eat and drink moderately. That ingested could feed growth, while the residue was completely destroyed by a chemical system incorporated into the kidneys.
One night as that sat in the moonlight softly illuminating Professor Ishikawa's garden, Bill, who was frustrated - and sounded it - was speaking. "I'm completely confused sir. I accepted that Nels died on that damned mountain. I thought you had, too. Now I meet someone who causes me to dump a full load into my briefs - a someone who looks and sounds like Nels, feels like Nels, and smells like Nels. Have you figured out what's up, sir?"
Having decided that the circle of those who knew all (or even most) of the story was best restricted, Jason responded, "Believe that you're not the only one who's confused, Big Guy". "I only wish we had more information. I did hear one story - though I don't know how much credit to give it. Is it possible that Alaskan low-lives found him in great snow drifts before he died - and did something horrible...like bringing him back to health and then selling him? Let's face it, Bill, he is quite a physical specimen. That would be easier for me to understand than believing that Ishikawa brought him back to life or even combined original body parts with mechanical parts to fashion a new Nels. Even if there was mental damage, one suspects that a blond-haired, magnificently built young Caucasian might have even greater value on that side of the Pacific than in California. Maybe the Japanese eventually offered the highest price? You can't have slaves in modern Japan. It would have to be someone like Professor Ishikawa who would be interested...and have enough money to make an acceptable offer for whatever was found. In my nastier moments, the thought has struck me that he also has the connections and the skills to recoup his investment. I'd like to think far better of him, Bill. Until I have hard evidence to the contrary, I'm going to do just that."
(Return to the San Francisco Bay Area)
The day finally came when all concerned agreed that Nels was sufficiently stable to return to California. Nels had apparently recovered just about a far as was possible in a quasi laboratory setting. Not that all of Jason Sears' concerns, let alone his medical questions, had been answered. Far from it! The elder Sears, for example, had always rejected having sex with his son. Here he was a traditionalist: Youngsters need space and support to work out their unique position on the sexual continuum! And, other than for a very few moments during middle adolescence, Nels showed few signs of needing more. As the young man's recovery continued, however, problems developed. For example, Nels became far more aggressive sexually...and his father was the clear focus of those desires. Intellectually, Jason accepted the argument that this was expected given the limited possibilities. Emotionally, however, he felt that something had definitely changed in his son's makeup. Further, he had his own needs for occasional homosexual activity - and his frustration was increasing exponentially.
Though Ishikawa assured Jason that all was well with his son, his recovery was painfully slow. He had to reach a certain level of well-being before attempting the long flight home. Even then, on his return, Nels often seemed totally out of it by eight or nine o'clock in the evening. He would finally retire to his bedroom in the far wing of the mansion, leaving Bill and his father downstairs, commonly on the stone patio off the library. The elder Sears remembered one particular night with especial pleasure. It had been warm for the Peninsula. Though Mr. Sears was dressed normally, Bill, now eighteen years old, had stripped down to hiking shorts and a T-shirt as soon as he returned from school. (For hiking, Bill wore an old pair of lightweight khaki shorts with a 6-inch inseam and legs that were a bit wider than usual. Given his...generous...build, that occasionally got him in trouble when he went camo!)
Bill grunted - a frustrated and unhappy grunt - and came over to sit on the outdoor sofa next to Jason. He sat, his head on Jason's shoulder, Jason's hands slowly massaging his smooth, muscular thighs. "Ah-h-h," he gasped. "That feels good." "You feel good, monster-bait," the older man retorted. For a long minute, Jason worked at getting comfortable - and working his hands just a bit further up the heavily muscled thighs that literally glowed with vigorous youth. "You've kept the hair off," the older man observed. "Yeah, it feels good, and I know you like it," Bill admitted A note of growing physical tension coupled with mock seriousness entering his voice, Jason growled, "Anyone who has muscles like yours has an obligation to share his beauty with others!" Bill giggled and guided one of Jason's hands up to the three bottons on the fly of his old shorts. Awkwardly, Jason unbuttoned them, hoarsely directed the youth to get rid of his (Jason's) shirt and T-shirt, and then used his free arm to lift the front of Bill's torso up against his abs and pecs. Jason could feel the young man's hardness just below his sternum. Within seconds - as pressure, heat, and scent increased exponentially - Jason freed his second arm and, continuing to raise the lad, guiding a long, almost frighteningly thick prong directly into his mouth. His hands on two of the choicest buttocks he had ever held, the journey continued until it was lodged deep in his throat. Whether the explosion was as violent as Bill always claimed, is one question. It does seem, however, that the brown haired one did lose consciousness for a short time as his body was being shaken to and fro as if in the grasp of an epileptic seizure!
As the lad worked to regain his faculties - especially the ability to focus his eyes and concentrate his attention - Jason Sears realized that not all of the cries were coming from the muscular treasure in his arms. Rather, he too was screaming for release. He abruptly stood up, tore the remaining clothes from his lower body, harshly seized Bill and turned him over onto his stomach. Dropping to his knees, he first used his cat-like tongue lightly to sandpaper the enormous balls that in their reddened sack protruded sensually from between the lad's thighs. Realizing that he had just run out of self-control, he hurriedly slapped some KY onto Bill and himself and, in one powerful lunge, drove his cock deep into the teen's bowels.
The great grandfather clock in the entry had just stuck two o'clock when the two naked figures, slumped as if aged and stumbling with fatigue, were able to make their way up darkened stairs and halls to Jason's master bedroom. Entering, they fell...still naked... onto the bed. Before they slumped into a complete stupor, light was showing in the East.
For better or worse, Nels hadn't been able to fall asleep. Nor did he miss all of the action.
(Hail to the Chief!)
Gradually, Nels recovered physically and emotionally from his ordeal. He wasn't particularly happy that his father had turned so strongly to his best friend for support - but, then, he knew that Jason had also experienced a difficult period. (Had he realized how much of that "support" had involved sex, he might have been considerably more disturbed!) Bill had actually begun to behave like the social animal that his buddy had been during his senior year at Crocker Memorial. On his part, Nels finally began to feel the energy needed to leave the protective bunker in which he had buried himself. Naturally, invitations had been pouring in since his return flight across the vast Pacific. Given some severe depression and serious efforts to adjust to the sexual pressures that were gathering strength, they were set aside. He even strenuously resisted Jason's efforts to involve him with family friends invited to their home. His first steps involved accepting invitations to a few parties hosted by old friends, most of whom were now enrolled at Cal-Berkeley, the College of San Mateo, the University of San Francisco, or Stanford. Only some sharp comment by close friends about the cavalier manner in which he had handled the breakup with his longtime girlfriend, Vicki, marred this part of his recovery. Evidently, the Crocker Memorial headmaster never heard these comments, for on behalf of the faculty and the student officers he invited Nels to visit the school.
As Bill reported to Jason that very night, Nels had never seemed more comfortable....or more himself than he had during that morning at Crocker Memorial. True, the school hero was visiting his alma mater for the first time since his death had been reported the previous summer. If one ignored the present seventh graders, roughly 83 percent of the student body - and nearly all of the faculty - had viewed that magical athletic contest. Short meetings in the home rooms - even those of the Lower School where he received a tremendous reception - convinced the Headmaster that the young man was riding the crest of a tremendous wave of excitement and good will, the kind of wave that bonds a school tightly together. At a noontime rally in the school's outdoor amphitheater, a noted local artist presented the school with a large oil painting of Nels heading a ball into the net at last year's conference championship game. The painting was to be hung in Crocker Memorial's library. Nels proudly accepted a handsome plaque presented by the President of the Student Council, though the final moments actually meant far more to him. As the band played at the end of the rally, students and staff stood shoulder to shoulder, singing the Cougar alma mater.
Came the next week, Bill invited Nels to attend the Bay Area Regional Interscholastic Bodybuilding event that was slated for Crocker Memorial. Bill, one of the school's premier contestants, absolutely wiped the auditorium up with the competition, save one ninth grader from a San Francisco public high school. Nels almost gasped audibly when his friend came onto the stage. Bill's tanned body, his beautifully defined muscles were perfection itself. His opening pose brought an overwhelming percentage of the audience - at least half of which represented competing schools - to its feet with wild shouts and applause. The young athlete never faltered. He would go on to represent the Bay Area at the Northern California State Bodybuilding Competition.
Following the presentation of awards, Nels accepted Bill's earlier invitation to join him in the locker room. It was a good moment for the blond headed one, for he was quickly recognized as a top-rated jock among a premier group of fellow athletes. He also met the fourteen year old freshman from Las Espadas High School. Jack Anderson had just thrown a towel over his shoulder and turned towards the showers when Bill called him over and introduced him to Nels. Nels was impressed. For an early-middle teen, Jack had a fine build and a smooth, easy-going manner that was somewhat rare in his age group. Further, even at fourteen, he was drop-dead handsome! Preening (if only just a bit!), he made it entirely clear that he viewed the opportunity to meet Nelson Sears as considerably more important than the "Third Place Overall" trophy.
Late in the next week, Bill asked Nels if he had had any further contact with Anderson. Nels admitted he had met him one afternoon at his school and invited him up to the house in nearby Hillsborough. He reported that the youngster had been really impressed with the gym, but before leaving had turned down his offer to help him continue his physical development. "Strange," Bill had mused. "Late last week he couldn't stop talking about his excitement at having met you. On Wednesday, I thought it might be fun for all three of us to do some fishing up in the state park this weekend. I couldn't have been more surprised when he turned me down flat. Obviously uptight, he didn't give any reasons. I then asked him if he were looking forward to the Northern California event for which his award at our regional qualified him. He said - again rather curtly and with a sour look - that his parents had said that his bodybuilding season was over. It was time to begin planning for his summer up in the High Sierra. Strange... Got any ideas about what's bugging him, Nels?" "Nope," the blond replied in an offhanded manner. "Hard to tell with fourteen year olds. More often than not their hormones have them standing on their heads..." Bill shrugged as Jason joined them and began talking about dinner.
As the school year ground to its inevitable close - with Nels increasingly standing on the sidelines - the blond Adonis did maintain a strong work ethic in the pool and gym. Unfortunately, heavily involved in major projects at work, Jason completely missed the signs of early problems with drugs and "the wrong crowd". To make a long story just a bit shorter, there was a brief exercise in drying out in a private sanatorium down the Coast. This was followed by a very concerned father arranging a midsummer internship with a strong legal firm in the City. It didn't go well. Jason never did get the full story when Nels mumbled that he didn't intend to return. When he asked the firm's partners, they seemed unwilling...even slightly embarrassed...to tell him all that had happened. The best the two men could do was mouth several badly shopworn banalities such as "personality clashes," "jealously on the part of junior attorneys who would never enjoy his advantages," "inability to respond to the challenges of senior staff, and the like. Jason didn't believe that...anymore than they did. Atypically, Nels refused to say a word.
For all intents and purposes, the young athlete became a spectre that did little more than haunt the great Hillsborough mansion. One rarely heard him move about; one didn't even hear his music! He turned away his father's best efforts to involve him in conversation with silence, feigned sleep and, occasionally, open disinterest. Long-held habits of good grooming, his devotion to work in the pool and gym - even his avid interest in food - all went by the board. Increasingly, try as he might to be supportive, Jason was scarcely aware of his presence. During one especially trying period at work, for instance, he actually looked up from his after dinner coffee and realized the he hadn't seen his son for two, perhaps three, days! Bill joined him on request, but alone or together they were unable to find him anywhere in that great stone monument to the "Robber Barons" [Author's Note: California's great 19th century entrepreneurs, i.e., Crocker, Hopkins, Huntington, and Stanford]. Another three days passed before the police contacted him, telling him that his son had been found and that they were sending a car to pick him up.
The car took Jason and Bill deep into a decrepit industrial section east of the freeways in the far southeastern reaches of The City. Jason was beginning to worry about their exact location when the car came to an abrupt stop, They sat for several minutes in the courtyard of a crumbling, cement-walled enclave containing a factory building and a small, ramshackle house. Finally, three men accompanied by several soldiers in full battle gear exited the latter building and strode towards the auto. "FBI," grunted Jason, nodding slightly towards the conservatively dressed individual on the right. "Military," he hissed as the middle figure marched along as if on the parade ground at West Point. "Can't tell about the last person," he whispered. "Could be an academic...maybe a scientist". They didn't have long to wait before they discovered the strange situation into which they - and Nels - had blundered.
All three of the men knew Jason Sears from professional contacts. Seemingly sincere courtesies were exchanged; in Jason's case, regret was expressed. Finally, the smoothest of the three took charge and led them into the ruined factory building. Its light fixtures were things of the past, but a beam of light sweeping back and forth from a searchlight down by the Bay sent enough light through the broken panes of glass in the roof to make do. Other than for an old and battered gurney, the large workspace was empty. Despite his best efforts to maintain control, Jason felt his skin begin to crawl as he realized that there was a figure on the cart. Immediately, he reached out and placed a calming hand on Bill's arm. As their guides stepped back to give them a modicum of privacy, Jason quickly realized that his son's nude body was stiff as a board. In fact, his back was slightly arched off the gurney as if quick-frozen at the height of a vicious muscular spasm. His skin, seemingly turned to a particularly sickening shade of a light grayish, urinous yellow, seemed lifeless. More like leather than living flesh.... The boy's eyes, rolled up into his head, were fully open, but they were sightless and registered no emotion. Tears ran down the father's face as his hand cupped the youth's chin, his son whose natural beauty was almost enough to overcome the reality of death. Suddenly, he became aware of the pressure from Bill's fingers on his forearm. Placing a heavy arm around his mentor's shoulders, Bill directed Jason's attention to something very strange. A cable of moderate thickness, made of metal or, perhaps, glass, had evidently been inserted through Nels' anus well up into his abdominal cavity. Appearing from between his upper thighs, it ran over to a large machine, a machine that was still warm to the touch. Instinctively, the elder Sears felt that it resembled some sort of power generator. A quick glance in the direction of the professor/scientist suggested that they were in essential agreement.
Finally, Jason Sears cleared his throat and stood tall. Looking down on his son's ravaged body, he said, "I have an international specialist in mind whom I would like to conduct an autopsy. Naturally, I shall willingly share the results of his investigation."
The three figures whom he faced - each a consultant to the National Security Agency - had their orders from about as high up the security chain as possible. In short, they were to determine the details of this outrage to the son of an individual important to the Pentagon. The fact that the elder Sears was personally involved suggested that a thorough study would take place, that it would begin immediately, and that they might escape full responsibility for a potentially monumental expenditure. (It also said that there would be a high price professionally for failure to satisfy Sears.) His offer and their promise to guard Nels' body and to deliver it as requested were accepted before the Government men left the site.
(To Be Continued)