This fictional story is a work of complete fiction. Any resemblance to living persons or the departed is a coincidence. This story eventually includes descriptions of sex between adult males. If you are a minor or if this material is illegal where you live, or if this material offends you, do not read it. Please donate to Nifty. Find the donation button on the Nifty web site to help you to pay your share of their expenses to provide these stories for you. Remember that authors depend on feedback for improvement and encouragement. All rights reserved.
James Robert Nolgren MD: Nolgren MD-Attending-2
Lawrence began his teaching position at the dental school a year later. His education at Oxford made him a superstar instructor and his progression through the ranks to full professor was rapid. Like most dentists, his nights and weekends were free to be a dad. He loved to cook, loved his son and adored James.
James continued his gyn oncology academic and practice career at OHSU, publishing, doing research, making a good living for his small family of three.
His dream was to take Lawrence and Dennis (Denny wasn't Denny anymore at his own request at age 13 and in his newly minted deep voice asked for 'Dennis', a request promptly granted) to Oxford to show Dennis the oldest universities in England, a collection of colleges begun in 1096, itself younger by over two hundred years than the world's oldest in Fez, Morocco, begun in 859 AD.
The two men had accumulated a lot of vacation time and took a full month in June when Dennis was 15 years old.
He didn't make friends easily, was girl-crazy, infatuated with the topic of sex, and an accomplished rapper in private only.
He had discovered a love for classical music quite unlike the majority of his peers. Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven...Mozart's Horn Concerto #4 in E flat major might have been his favorite. He didn't play it when his friends came over.
The process of teen rebellion in a house with two dads was different than the dad-mom dynamic in a bunch of ways. These educated dads recognized manipulation when they heard it, weren't above it themselves and when push came to shove, they shoved harder than Dennis. It didn't happen often, however.
Dennis thought like an adult at 13.
The family flew from Seattle to London on British Airways, first class, which impressed Dennis no end. He wanted to travel that way for the rest of his life. His dads reminded him that making a good living was a prerequisite. James reminded Dennis that saving money and education facilitated the process.
The rooms at Oxford were toured after a porter heard their story. Dennis thought they were pretty small. James said they had seemed enormous then.
In London they toured Buckingham Palace and watched the changing of the Guard. Dennis' eyes were glued to a horn player in the Marching Band.
James happened to notice but said nothing. He looked over to Lawrence, motioned with his eyes down to Dennis, then motioned to the horn player and raised an eyebrow and smiled.
On their return home, Dennis asked if he could take music lessons.
"Sure son, have you given thought to what instrument you might take up?"
"I'd like to take French horn."
James' heart skipped a beat and then he replied, "Sure, I'm pretty sure there's money in the budget for horn lessons."
With Lawrence's assent, Dennis soon filled the house with sound all day long in his room. His teacher reported that he'd never had a student so determined to not only learn the notes but make a world-class tone and become a world-class musician. His dads bought a horn made in Paris for $2400 and change.
The teacher told Lawrence that it would take some time, but they could expect the best. In time the sounds coming from Dennis' room became music and difficult scales sounded easier. They got him good seats for the symphony season and built shelves in his room for the major horn scores, sheet music worth many thousands of dollars, and thick symphony scores.
Dennis plowed his way through the world horn literature with the help of his second teacher, the first hornist of the Portland symphony. He spent hours working on his embouchure, strengthening the muscles of his lips formed into the shape necessary to make a great tone on the instrument.
The first time that Dennis invited another music student home for dinner, he had turned 18 and was seriously into the horn literature. They excused themselves after dessert to the living room to work on their embouchures.
A little curious and hearing no music from the living room, Lawrence and James quietly opened the door a crack to see Dennis and a cute male clarinet player one on top of the other, each lying naked on the couch kissing, sucking, and 'buzzing' each other in the soixante-neuf position giggling all the while.
The two young men were busy working on their 'embouchures' naturally.
James looked at Lawrence once they were back at the table trying to recover from the sight.
"Men will be men, James."
"Yeah, we sure can be, Lawrence Favre. Now we know what exercises strengthen an 'embouchure'...for sure."
They both giggled, both hoping that clarinet player knew how good he had it. "I wouldn't throw him out of bed." Neither was referring to the clarinet player.
James and Lawrence talked about privacy that night in their room. They knew that single room dwellings existed around the globe and that children were bred, born, and raised in those rooms. If some of the parents kicked their children out of the house so the parents could play, what did they do during a cold winter?
They doubted the parents would make them freeze. Then they decided that the parents just did it undercover when the kids were all asleep. Statistically that method had to fail on occasion. Children woke sometimes with the slightest rattle or noise, let alone the noises that often accompany sex.
Lawrence couldn't figure it out until an 'ah-hah' moment struck. "What if some of those parents just played not caring who was watching or awake?" What Victorian notion dictated the Anglo-Saxon fuck had to be done in private?
James was interested now. "What's your point, lover? We already have departed a long way from Victorian standards in this house. All of us are nude at home unless company wanders in and not always then...take the clarinet player, for instance."
Lawrence replied. "You take him. I'm in love already with a certain doctor. I happen to like his 'clarinet'."
James pressed the point. "Just saying. I think there's no reason to shut the door when we make love now or try to be quiet. He's old enough to hear what we do and ask questions if he wants. If he wants to watch his dads fuck, that's better than the stupid, idealized porn that people come to believe is normal."
Lawrence must have looked askance. "I'm not sure I'm ready to invite him in, although I have a button somewhere connected to my cock marked 'Push Here' when the idea having my adult son taught by my lover and best friend comes to mind."
James said, "I agree. We're nude in this house because we're not ashamed of our body's structure. If we leave the door open for Dennis to view function of those same bodies, the message is that the function isn't anything to be ashamed about either."
"There are probably people who would say that's inviting someone to copy that behavior. I say 'poppycock'. It's called education. Dennis will be attracted to women or men; his gender preference isn't a parental choice, not his choice either. If he chooses men, we should be educating while the educating is good. If he chooses women, nothing we do will distract him from the breeding quest."
"Succinctly put," Lawrence grinned. "Why are you always right? It's annoying sometimes."
Neither of the dads saw or heard their son watching at the darkened door that night. Neither felt constrained. Both fucked each other senseless as the night flowed past the house with its English garden in back.
Dennis walked back to his room, astonished that his dads actually had fun, turned completely on by the sight, illuminated by a soft night light and their obvious love for the other, giving, taking, earthy, open pleasure.
He was pretty certain that door had been left open on purpose and guessed at the message. He got it and never forgot the gift.
Dennis was home the next day and his dads were at work. He called his friend the clarinet player who promptly came over. Dennis told him what had happened the night before. Within minutes, Michael, the clarinet player, had taken his shoes and socks off, his jeans and his briefs, kissing Dennis the whole time.
His shirt was next and the gold chain around his neck was all he wore as Dennis took him to his room, licked him from top to bottom, kissed him some more, then lubed him and his own cock...then made sweet love to his friend.
"What the fuck got into you, Dennis? Did watching your dads do it turn you on... or what?"
"You turn me on, Michael. Just you. Last night was just learning about how much fun it is. I enjoyed playing with you just now. We may or may not get married some day or even live together or even live in the same town forever, but I'm always going to remember you and your smooth skin, your great curves and your fantastic ass and how much you wanted me, how much you wanted my cock at least."
"You loved it when I came in your ass and kissed me so hard I thought my teeth would fall out. You're pretty special, you know that?"
"Yeah. They say that about all of us clarinet players."
"Ouch!" Michael yelped as Dennis swatted his ass. "Do that again, man."
Dennis became a world-class horn player. Soloist in some demand, he delighted audiences for a few years, then realized that he wanted also to be a dentist or doctor.
He decided that choosing either would be awkward at home.
At a local cafe one day, he happened to listen in to a conversation between two attorneys who were discussing a court case about discrimination in the workplace.
They were still talking when he finished his meal and he decided on a whim to ask them how they came to the law as a profession.
He stood after wiping his mouth and taking a deep breath. Then he came around the corner and saw two startled faces turn to him.
"I'm sorry to disturb you but I couldn't help but overhearing a part of your conversation and decided that you might be attorneys. Am I correct?"
They nodded and he went on. "I'm a horn player, a musician. I'm looking for another profession. Would you have a minute to tell me a little about your path to law and what you do and don't like about what you do?"
"If this is an inconvenient time, I could make an appointment or..."
"Sit down. I'm Paul and this is Barry. We're legal partners and we've got a minute. I'll let Barry speak for himself, but I decided when I was twelve years old that since my dad was an attorney, I'd do the same. I always admired him and his work."
Barry thought a moment and looked at Dennis. "It wasn't so cut and dried for me. I had business in mind rather than law in college. At the time, a pre-law track was a business major. A recruiter from a law school came along and I signed up to talk to him out of pure boredom and because one my business professors encouraged me to explore (among the other things he taught me)."
"I got A's in everything (perhaps related to that professor's attentions), but my favorite was business law...which, come to think of it, he taught too."
"My boyfriend at the time was horrified that I would even talk to a legal recruiter. He felt that attorneys were scum; the south end of a mule facing north. I wondered what experience he'd had that made him feel that way; he said it was what his dad said to him all his life."
Dennis told them his dads were a dentist and a doctor and he felt strange choosing one or the other due to awkwardness about the choice. Paul asked him if they were gay and he said they were indeed. Dennis told them he was as well. The two men looked at each other for a second then Barry spoke. "Why don't you come down to the office tomorrow at 10 am and we'll show you what we're working on and how the law looks at disputes and how we interface with that process."
Dennis was delighted with that and told them so. "What should I wear."
"If you come in a suit, we'll have to hurt ya," Barry smiled. "If you wear dockers and a shirt plus or minus a tie, you'd fit right in. Nobody wears tennis shoes or jewelry except for Paul here."
"I do not, lover boy, and for your information, Dennis, as long as you wear clothes on the top and bottom half of your awesome body, you can't be arrested, although you may be charged or something." He grinned.
"In fact, if you want to come home with us now, I'll show you just what we wear on certain occasions."
Dennis threw him a look of faux horror. "Will ah be safe in yoah establishment?"
"Do you want to be safe?"
"No."
"Come with us...oops, I mean walk... with us to our car or follow the Lexus to our house
"See you guys in a bit," Dennis said. He didn't know what he was getting into or if someone was getting into him, but he was bored and ready for something new and different. At the house, he pulled in behind them into a long driveway winding through trees into a huge clearing where a magnificent, two-story home stood. They gave him the nickel tour which included the large pool and hot tub in the back.
Paul began, "This is our home which we, um, built ourselves through our talented carpentry skills cuz being attorneys and all wasn't bringing in enough money to pay the bills."
"Yeah," said Barry. "After Paul got out of jail for lying so much, we started making more money. Anybody want to soak in the hot tub?"
"I didn't bring a swimsuit," Dennis replied.
"We have a procedure for that," Paul giggled. "We don't wear em."
"Oh good, I thought that might make you say that. I'll be sure to take my swimming suit off, the one I wore today under my slacks."
They looked at Dennis with respect. "You're sharp, boy. It's a good talent for an attorney-at-law and better for an out-law. Off with the skins, boy. We want to look you over so to speak."
"I thought you'd never ask."
"Don't underestimate lawyers, kiddo. The urge to splurge is one thing. The urge to perve, however, trumps that."
Dennis peeled off his clothes on the spot as the two amazed men watched, rooted to the spot. Apollo had nothing on Dennis. His crowning feature wasn't on his head, exactly. It was about mid-way down his body and hung half-way to his knees along with balls the size of chicken eggs.
"I think we've got a live one, Rufus," said Barry.
"Why don't you go read a book somewhere, Barry," replied Paul, "and I'll interview Dennis."
"Not in this world would I leave him alone with your tender mercies," Barry replied. "We'll all just climb in and have a group soak."
"You never let me have any fun."
Dennis just looked on and grinned. He liked these guys already and had deduced that they were more than legal partners. He thought he'd check that assumption. "You said you were legal partners. Are you lovers as well?"
"I told you the boy is quick, didn't I?"
"Yes, we've been an item since high school. If only those hallowed halls could speak. It's better they don't. We've an open relationship and bring in guests for 'legal' advice though, like today, and play safely."
"You up for some play time after our soak today, Dennis? We should have asked if you had a partner."
"A handsome lad, a clarinet player."
"May I say, purely out of turn, that your clarinet looks like a fine instrument for him to play."
"I, myself, am a world-class horn player."
Barry and Paul looked at him with amusement. "Of course. You must be dear... with that instrument, you couldn't be a bad horn player. Would it be too much to ask which end of the horn...no, of course it would have to be the large end...My guess is that none of your horns complain much."
Paul brightened. "If any do, may we take the case? We could use something a little more salacious than workplace discrimination for a change."
The conversation continued in the same vein until Dennis got to thinking about fucking and then his parts and pieces did stir and did get noticed. They all trooped up to the bedroom where both men got fucked royally after Dennis wrapped his cock.
Both Paul and Barry, sated and happy, showered with Dennis after the fact; they washed his back and chest and shampooed his hair, soaped and rinsed his cute ass and his now more satisfied and relaxed dick. He toweled off with a plush cotton towel, heated on a rack, and considered how good life was.
"Hope to see you at the office at ten am tomorrow, Dennis. Here's the card with the address."
He found his clothes by the hot tub and drove off, considering. Fucking nice guys wasn't his problem. The question of the hour was different. "Is the study and practice of law attractive?"
He had seen some evidence that the pay was attractive bringing that first-class trip to London years earlier to his mind. Exactly what kind of work did it take in the legal profession to bring that paycheck home?
Sharp on time at ten am he cross the threshold of 40 West Downing Avenue downtown, a tall building on a prestigious street in Portland. Consulting the building's tenant location board, he found the name of their law firm on the twenty-first floor and took the rapid elevator up.
The receptionist was a good-looking, serious appearing, well-dressed man in his late twenties, Dennis estimated, who possessed a pleasant smile and a tiny ring in one ear. "You must be Dennis for Barry and Paul at ten. Just call me Dot."
"Right on the nail head, uh, Dot."
"Welcome to our world. Would you like coffee or tea perhaps?" They will be ready in a couple of minutes. I'm not supposed to tell you but they are back in the conference room supervising a catered brunch for some guest they're expecting. Act surprised and hungry if that's you."
A bow at a venture. "Yes mom, and I've washed my hands, combed my hair and put my very best-est shoes on."
The receptionist stood up. "I like you already. I shouldn't say anything, but those boys walked in here this morning with a sparkle in their halting steps. Not that they don't sparkle on occasion but, if I didn't know better, I'd think they both had been fucked two ways to Sunday yesterday. Those men staggered in here. You didn't have anything to do with that now, did you? Don't lie to momma, honey." He waved a life-size pointer finger.
"I didn't grow up with a momma. I have two fathers and a granny in reverse order who raised me. I didn't lie to granny and I didn't tell her everything either."
"There, there, honey. Did your daddies treat you good?"
"They wuz peaches, momma."
"The receptionist raised his wire rimmed glasses and squinched his eyes in mock disbelief. "You ain't bullshittin momma now, are ya?"
"No ma'am."
"Then you go sit down over there. I've got work to do. Never-ending work. Requires pushups at home and stuff."
"I'd noticed your fine shape, Dot."
"I know your type. Shoo, boy."
Paul opened the door to the lobby to find Dennis reading a law journal from the table beside his comfortable chair. "There you are, smack on time. Hope you're hungry. Dot, can you join us?"
"Coming in a jiff, boss, right after I adjust my sacro-iliac from the strains of lifting stacks of heavy paperwork. This one has the inter-personal skills to be in the legal profession, but as my father, Judge Teldrick of sainted memory, told me a thousand times if he told me once: Son, 'ya gotta be a good fucker to be a good attorney.'"
Paul just raised his eyebrows and led them back to the conference room where a brunch feast was waiting on the walnut conference table with a glass top. The crystal glasses held mimosas, a crystal bowl with silver tongs held a large fresh fruit salad, a crystal plate featured warm croissants, several urns were full of coffee and hot chocolate, another crystal plate held sliced and folded ham and cheeses.
There was a crystal bowl with ice in it with embedded cartons of milk and yogurt. Another crystal platter had warm sticky pecan buns with raisins and walnuts. A steaming casserole dish with a warmer underneath had delicate hash browns, another scrambled eggs, another sausage.
Large crystal plates, silverware, cloth napkins, a hunky waiter or two with white linen draped over one arm standing at near attention near the table, comfortable chairs with low tables in front of them provided atmosphere over-matching the occasion.
"Being heathen, we don't pray before meals. I did notice Barry has taken notice of heavenly things, however. Just yesterday he was invoking the Deity's name in some context or other. Let that be our prayer again today. Giving thanks is never a bad idea, no matter the occasion."
"Our featured guest is Dennis here, who made himself known to us, ahem, yesterday as a potential seeker of things legal. He said, er, he is, er claims to be a world-class horn player, which skill I, um, verified yesterday." Dot rolled his eyes.
"I told you so." He spoke to no one in particular. Dennis grinned.
"Let's dig in while the food is hot."