Watching Brad

[Trent0n1]

Wow! What a fantastic story GSDX. I sat here and read all parts in one sitting......and I can't wait for the next! Thanks mate....I loved it.

Trent

 

[gsdx]

Thanks again. I've almost got the next part finished and I just started it this morning. If it's okay when I proof it later, I'll post it tomorrow.

I think the reason I'm writing it so fast is because I want to see what happens myself! It's one of those stories that writes itself. I have no idea where it's going or what's going to happen. I just start typing and the story appears on the screen and each word leads to the next and each sentence spawns the next.

It's a strange way of writing, I know, but life doesn't happen in predetermined 'point form'. It just happens. That's the way this story is going, and what happens next is going to be just as much a surprise to me as it is to you. I just hope I don't disappoint myself. . . or you, either.

 

[Craiger]

Neil,

I am really excited with this story. There is so much involved other than sex and it is really refreshing. The hints and dialog about sex add that zest, but for the most part the forming relationship is what is important at this time.

I'm glad the story takes it's own direction as you type. Much more feeling of reality. Like and_rew said: " When we read your stories it's like reading a movie, i could play them in my head." I look forward to each new chapter.

Craiger

 

[Kyanimal]

"Whoa!", indeed!!

I also have a "thing" about heights! And you caught it just about right! I could feel my Heart rising up through my throat, and then "whooshing" back down to my feet! But ... darn it! ... one of these days I'm going to "Do" the CN Tower! (Or, rather, have it "Do" me!)

I'm finding your story Mezmerising!! And, I, too, can't wait to see what happens!

You definitely have "The Gift", Neil!! And I THANK YOU!, with all my Heart, for sharing it with "Us"!!

And, Yeah! ... You were absolutely right about what Brad said!!

Keep smilin'!!
Chaz

 

[gsdx]

Thanks again, everyone. I wrote Part VI today. I'll proof it in the morning and post it.

As for the 'Canadian Content', and_rew, I needed specifics with this one. I knew Brad was in university, and I knew it would be needed. I had to pick a university I knew and the areas around it, so I picked Ryerson. I'm glad I did. It let me bring in the CN Tower, which proved (and will prove in the next Part) a very valuable location and adventure.

I just hope there's a Tim Horton's off the 401 in Pickering. They're everywhere, so I think it's a pretty safe bet.

 

[ThatVoodooRabbit]

The story is excellent, and I can't wait for more; but living in Florida, I miss much of the references. Don't worry, I get most of them after reading the context, I'm smart like that.

I do have one question though: What are Timbits? ^^

 

[gotenkst5]

I do have one question though: What are Timbits? ^^

Rawr!

 

[caddymac]

I did not know what Timbits were either. Thank you for the information.
Just love the story so far. I look forward to more, Thank you.

 

[gsdx]

(FYI - a 'two-four' is a case of 24 bottles of beer. And thanks to gotenkst5 for the 'Timbits' link. I didn't even think about that.)

WATCHING BRAD
Part VI​

There was no smile on my face anymore. I wasn't laughing anymore. I was standing beside a young man who thought he might be falling in love with me. Why, I couldn't imagine. I mean, look at me. I'm no slouch, but I'm not something you want to take home to meet the family. Hell, I lost my virginity the same year Brad was born! I was old. I was ancient. I was Gilbert Gottfried to his Chris O'Donnell.

He thought he was falling in love with me. Shit! What in hell do I do now? Being Brad's friend was one thing. Setting up house and buying curtains with him was another. Gee-sus Murphy! I wasn't even gay! Sure, I had been fascinated by his prick, but it wasn't like I wanted to jump his bones or anything. And, frankly, the thought of it turned my stomach. I mean, Jackson Pollack did some nice work, and I didn't mind looking at it, but I wouldn't want something he did hanging over my fireplace mantle. Just because Brad was a nice young man, and not at all unpleasant to look at, he wasn't someone I wanted to wake up beside every morning, let alone have sex with.

But, shit. I liked him. And not for all that meat stuffed in his jeans. I liked him because he was a good person - a nice young man. I didn't ask him for help yesterday. He just gave it to me. He grabbed that dresser and he helped me. Good people do things like that. And he made that ‘fatherly' thing of mine kick in. Back there in the Tower, he was scared shitless. He grabbed my hand like Lindsay always does. He found strength in me. He looked to me to keep him safe. But, shit! That's not love!

His voice drilled into my thoughts. "I'm sorry, Ted," he said. "If you could open your trunk for me, I'll get my bag. I can make it home from here."

I looked over at him. He was standing up now, facing me. He looked beaten. He looked small. He looked like a little boy who had just been told that Santa Claus wasn't coming this year.

"Get in the car, Brad," I said.

"Please, Ted," he begged, "just let me get my bag out of your trunk and I'll leave you alone."

"Get in the car," I repeated, more slowly this time.

Brad didn't move.

I flicked the butt away, stood up and turned to face him. I exploded. "Damn it, Brad! Get in the Goddamned car!"

Brad jumped and went rigid. A look of terror flooded his face. His eyes opened wide, the sparkling green surrounded by a sea of white. His left hand reached out and found the front fender of my car, and then he began to back away, his eyes locked on mine. When he reached the front, he moved sideways to the left, his fingertips guiding his way along the front of the car, and he walked around to the door and got in.

I stood there for a minute or two, gathering my thoughts and my breath. I wasn't handling this very well. No, it was worse than that. I had screwed up royally! I had yelled at him. He was a grown man and I had treated him like a little boy.

‘Daddy' mode kicked in then and I began to think of how I would handle this situation if it were Lindsay. I knew what I had done with her, and it seemed to work okay. All I could do was to try it with Brad and see if it would work for him as well.

I sucked in a deep breath and held it for a long moment before letting it out again. Then I sucked in another one for good measure. When I was ready, I opened the car door and climbed inside. Brad was sitting there, already buckled in. His head was tilted down, looking at the hands in his lap. The fingernails of one hand were nervously picking at the fingernails of the other.

I turned in my seat as best I could, reached out my right hand, and placed it squarely on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Brad," I said in my best, apologetic voice. "I yelled at you and that was the wrong thing to do."

Brad sat there for a moment, and then his head turned to look at me, still tilted to one side. His sideways gaze bore into me. "Don't patronize me, Ted," he sneered. "I'm a man. I'm not a little boy."

Still, he stared into my eyes. I nodded once. He had seen right through me. I sat back and pulled my hand away from his shoulder.

"You're right," I said.‘Daddy' mode kicked out and ‘friend' mode kicked in. And then I repeated as I nodded my head. "You're right." I held out my flat hand to him, the palm facing sideways. "I'm sorry, Brad. I shouldn't have yelled at you."

Brad's head straightened and the sneer disappeared. He looked at my hand for a long time and then he reached out his right hand and shook it in a firm grasp before releasing it. His hand returned to his lap.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head. "No. Not right now," he said quietly. "I didn't even know I was feeling anything until I said it. I have to figure it out in my own head, first. But I think I want to talk about it later. Is that okay?"

I nodded my head and smiled. "Sure. Just let me know." I buckled up, pushed the key into the ignition, and started the engine.

"Ted?"

I looked at Brad.

"Do you hate me?"

My smile grew larger and I shook my head. "No, Brad, I don't."

I really didn't hate him. I didn't know what was going on, but I didn't hate him. I think he saw that somewhere in my eyes. The corners of his lips slowly pulled up, and then his eyes began to sparkle again. His lips parted as the smile grew and his chipped tooth appeared.

* * * * *

Brad grabbed his shoulder bag out of the trunk. He was carrying the remaining Timbits and fritters. I picked up the two-four of beer and closed the trunk.

"Do you still want me to help with the unpacking?" Brad asked.

"You don't have to if you don't want to, but I was kind of hoping for some help moving the furniture around."

"Sure," he said. "Look, um, Mom and Dad are home. Why don't you come over to meet them and Mom can show you the paint and paper. If you still want to hire me to do it. Besides, I want to change into something cooler anyway."

"Sure, if you still want to work for me, but I've got to take a leak."

"We've got a bathroom," he giggled.

"Okay, then," I said. "Lead the way. Oh, maybe we should leave this stuff here," I said as we passed my front door.

"Might as well take the doughnuts. Mom will make you stay for coffee anyway."

"Just a sec, then." I unlocked the door and opened it, set the case of beer inside, then closed and locked it again. I followed Brad across the lawn and into his home.

"Mom? Dad?" he yelled as we entered and closed the door behind us.

"Kitchen, dear!" a woman' voice called back.

Brad glanced at me and started walking. I followed again. We entered the kitchen and he dropped his shoulder bag onto the floor near the cupboards. His parents, sitting at the small kitchen table, rose to their feet when they saw me. They were older than I had expected. I figured, with Brad being an only child and nineteen, his parents would be in their forties. They were closer to their sixties, if not in them.

"Oh, Bradley," the woman said as she quickly smoothed out her apron and skirt and pushed at her hair with the palm of her hand. Brad set the doughnuts on the table. "You should have told me you were bringing company. I must look a mess."

"You look beautiful, Mom," Brad said, giving her a peck on the cheek. "Mom? Dad? This is Ted de Villiers. He bought the Perkins place. Ted? My Mom, Bernice, and my Dad, John."

Greetings and welcomes and handshakes were exchanged. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Yes, please," I said, "but first, um. . ."

"Oh, yeah," Brad said. He grabbed up his bag. "Bathroom's this way," he said. To his mother, he said, "We'll be right back. I'm going to change."

I followed him down the hall to the bathroom and entered. He continued on down the hall to his bedroom.

The piss felt good. I should have gone back in Pickering, but. . . well, you know already. Anyway, I was still letting it fly when I heard Brad's voice.

"Mom, where's my shorts?"

"In the dryer, dear," his mother called back. "I'll get them for you!"

"That's okay," Brad answered. "I'll get ‘em!" I heard his footsteps passing the door.

I finished, flushed, washed my hands and dried them, then found my way back to the kitchen. Two extra mugs of coffee sat on the table now, along with a plate containing the Timbits, fritters, and an assortment of Peek Freans cookies.

Bernice indicated a chair and I took it. I began preparing my coffee.

"So, Ted, will your family be moving in with you?" That was from John.

"My daughter, Lindsay, I hope," I replied cordially. "She's living with her mother right now, but I'm trying to get custody."

"Undoubtedly for the best. How old is she?" That was from Bernice. At the word ‘custody', she must have realized that there was a good possibility that ours had been a messy divorce - which it was - and that I might not want to talk about it. She was right.

"She's nine," I said. Anticipating her next question, because other mothers always ask, I pulled out my wallet and let the stream of photos cascade into a long row. I handed it to Bernice.

"Oh, my, isn't she just the little angel! You must be so proud of her."

"Yes, I am."

"Is this one from a dance recital or something?"

"Yes."

Bernice looked up at me. "Could you tell me when the next recital is? I'd love to go see it."

"Sure," I said. "They hold the main one once a year, but they have mini-recitals all the time. They're just about due for one. I'll let you know when it is."

"Oh, good," Brad said as he entered the kitchen. "You left me a fritter." He was dressed in his cut-offs again, and that mountain of a crotch led the way. He wore a tight, white T-shirt with short sleeves. Emblazoned on the chest, in large, dark blue, metalic letters, were the words, "Kiss Me. I'm Beautiful." He took his chair and grabbed up a fritter.

"Bradley, dear," his mother said. "Couldn't you wear another T-shirt?"

Brad placed his free hand on his chest and looked down. "What's wrong with this? Aren't I beautiful?"

"Of course you are, Bradley, but I bought that for you as a joke," she said. It sounded like she was quite embarrassed. "It looks as if you're advertising."

"People pay big bucks to advertise, Mom," Brad announced. "What did this cost you? Four ninety-nine at Zellers? That's a bargain."

I had to smile to myself. Here was Brad, showing off Mount Everest between his legs, and his mother was worried about the saying on his T-shirt. Brad looked at me and said, "Mothers. What can you do, eh?"

I laughed. "I think I'm going to enjoy living here," I said.

"Oh, I hope so," Bernice said. "You're much nicer than Mr. Perkins. He gave Bradley such a hard time."

"So I've heard," I said. She had no idea how loaded those words were.

"Mom? When we're done, can you show Ted around to look at the painting and papering? He wants to hire me to do his daughter's bedroom. There's some landscaping he wants help with, too."

"Of course, Bradley," she said eagerly, "but do you think you can handle the papering?"

"Well, I was kinda hoping you'd help me with that."

She patted Brad's hand. "I'd be happy to, dear."

"How much is he paying you?" John asked.

"Three dollars an hour plus all the pizza and beer I want."

"Too much," his father said.

"I can afford it," I said.

"Too much, Bradley," his father continued, ignoring me. "I'll give in to the pizza, but if you want beer, you buy it yourself, you hear?"

"Dad!"

John looked at me. "Pizza. No beer. My son is no mooch."

I realized John wasn't being mean. He was being reasonable.

I nodded finally. "Agreed. He helps to buy the beer."

"He doesn't help. He buys it or he doesn't drink it."

"Dad," Brad complained, "I'm doing this to help you pay for my school. If I spend it all on. . ."

"Bradley Nelson Hayes," his father said. I knew Brad was in trouble when all three names were used in the same sentence. "We have never denied you a penny when it comes to school, and we never will. Your education is our concern, not yours."

"But Ted made the deal, not me."

"And you should be ashamed of yourself for accepting it." John's voice was surprisingly calm, yet intimidating. "We raised you better than that, Bradley. Food you need. Beer you don't. Either you buy your own beer or the whole deal's off."

"Your Father's right, Bradley," Bernice said, laying her hand on her son's forearm. "I have to agree with him on this one. You mustn't take advantage of Mr. de Villiers like that." She pulled her hand away again.

Brad looked at me and shrugged. "Okay, Ted, no beer. Deal?" he asked.

"Deal," I said, and we shook hands on it.

We chatted then. Drank our coffees and ate our treats. Afterwards, John Hayes cleared up the table as Bernice and Brad took me on a tour of their house. The paint jobs were professional quality, and Bernice was, indeed, an excellent wallpaper hanger. I had no qualms about letting Brad do Lindsay's bedroom.

* * * * *

Who knew that unpacking could be so much work? I was getting exhausted just trying to keep up to Brad. Within an hour of returning to my place, he'd kicked off his shoes and stripped off his T-shirt. He was a whirlwind of activity, moving boxes and furniture without complaint and seemingly without effort. But, even with the air conditioning, his body was soon covered with a light sheen of sweat. By the time the pizza arrived at nine o'clock, we both flopped down on the sofa to eat it, anxious for a bit of comfort and relaxation. We ate our pizza and drank my beer.

"For a single guy, you've got a whole lot of shit," Brad joked. He glanced around the room. "But it's nice shit."

"Well, thank you, Mr. Bradley Nelson Hayes."

Brad shivered and looked at me. "What kind of mother names her son ‘Bradley Nelson'!"

"One of the best mothers I've ever met," I said. Brad actually blushed. "They might not have done a good job with the name, Brad, but they've done a bang-up job with you. If I ever have a son, I would want him to be just like you."

"You really mean that?"

"Every single word."

Brad looked at me. He just sat there and stared. He didn't even blink. His lips parted and I could see his chipped tooth. He closed his lips again. And then he started to lean forward. Slowly. His head tilted slightly and I realized he was going to kiss me on the cheek. He was close. I could feel the breath from his nostrils brushing against my skin. Then he stopped.

He pulled away quickly, stood up, and walked to the bathroom. I could hear him pissing, then flushing and washing his hands. When he came out again, he sat on the sofa where he'd been sitting before. He stretched out, his ankles crossed. He was looking at the carpet beyond his feet.

He sucked in a deep breath and let it out. "I think I need to talk to you now, Ted."

"Okay," I said.

He glanced down his body - at his shorts. He probably saw the mound I saw. To me, it looked like it was bigger. He sat up straight, grabbed his T-shirt and crumpled it into a loose bundle, and placed it over his crotch. He put his hands in his lap, hiding himself even more.

"You don't have to hide it, Brad."

"Yes, I do."

"Okay," I said softly. I waited for him to speak, but nothing came out. Maybe he's waiting for me, I thought.

"I'm not gay, Brad," I said.

"I know."

"Are you?"

Brad shrugged. He was still looking down at the carpet. "I don't know. I don't think I'm anything."

"I'm sorry. I don't understand what you mean."

He looked at me. "Neither do I."

A young man in search of himself, and he had no idea what he was looking for - or where to find it. He wasn't even sure if there was anything to find. And I didn't know how to help him look. I wished Warren was here. He would know. What questions would Warren ask? I had no idea. I was on my own.

"You've only known me for one day, Brad," I said. "What makes you think you might be falling in love with me?"

"I don't know if I am," he answered. "I only know how I felt after I met you."

"Okay, how did you feel? Maybe we can figure it out together."

Brad was quiet for a long time. Then he said, "Ted? Could you look away for a minute, please?"

"Take your time," I said. "Toidy break." I got up from the sofa and went to the bathroom. I took a leak, flushed and washed up. I opened the door and stood there. "Okay to come out now?"

"Yeah," he shouted back.

I wasn't sure what to expect when I went out there. Would he be sitting there naked? Would he be jerking off again? Would he be dressed? I didn't know. I tried to prepare myself for anything.

Brad was sitting as I had left him, but he had rearranged his T-shirt. He was now covered from crotch to his pecs. His left arm lay across his groin, covering his balls. His right lay across his abdomen. It was obvious what he was hiding.

"Sorry," he said. "It just happened. It was starting to hurt."

"I. . . um. . .," I stammered as I pointed over my shoulder with my thumb. "I can go back for awhile if you need to take care of it."

"No, that's alright," he said. "But if it makes you uncomfortable, I'll go home."

"Do you want to go home?"

He shook his head. "No. I need to talk."

"Then that's what we'll do." I sat down, crooking my right leg onto the sofa and tossing my right arm along the back so I could face him. "So," I said, "you were going to tell me how you felt."

He nodded and looked at me. "I'm not sure, Ted," he began. "I just feel. . . different. I liked you right away. You were nice, and I liked talking to you. You made me feel comfortable. You looked at me the way everybody does when they see me the first time, but then you didn't look anymore. At least not much. You looked at me. You talked to me. And you didn't touch me."

"I touched you," I said. "We bumped each other lots of times."

"That's not what I mean. You looked at my crotch like everybody does, but you asked me if it was real. Other people usually just reach out and grab hold of it. They don't ask me or anything. They just grab hold, like they think I'll enjoy it or something. Like they have the right to molest me like that."

"And you don't enjoy it?"

"No. Not when they do it like they squeeze tomatoes in the grocery store. I'm not a meat market. I'm not something that people can just poke at because they want to check out the merchandise. There's a ‘me' attached to my dick. You didn't do any of that. You asked, and then you treated me like a real person. You treated me like ‘me'."

Brad was on another roll, and I let him go.

"I was scared to death up there in that Tower this afternoon, Ted."

"I know."

"No, you don't," he said seriously. "I hate elevators. I hate heights. I can't even stand on a second-floor balcony and look over the edge. I've never climbed a tree. I've never hung Christmas lights along the eaves trough. I've never been up in a plane. I've never done any of those things that people do all the time." He paused, and I waited. "I think I could do all of them if you were with me. You make me feel safe, like you won't let me fall. You make me feel like you won't let anything hurt me. You make me feel like I'm more important than. . . ." Brad looked down at the T-shirt lying on his lap.

"And you think that's love?"

Brad looked back at me again. "I don't know. If it isn't, it's the most ‘like' I've ever felt before."

I think Warren would have been proud of me. In fact, he was when I told him about it later. "You couldn't have handled it any better for him, Teddy," he told me. "You did the right thing."

"I think I understand, Brad," I said honestly. I really think I understood.

Brad shifted himself on the sofa, but held the T-shirt carefully in place. "I didn't know you were outside when I jerked off last night," he said after he'd made himself comfortable again.

"I know," I said. "You told me."

"But I didn't tell you that I jerked off again," he said. "After I saw you out there. I watched you finish your cigarette and I watched you leave. I turned off my light so I could see better and you weren't there anymore. I sat back down and I jerked off again, and. . ." Brad turned away and stared at the carpet again.

I waited again. "Say it, Brad."

He looked at me, but he remained silent. He held my gaze for a long time before looking back at the floor. His voice was very quiet, as if he was ashamed of what he was saying. "I wanted you to be there with me."

So, there it was. A young man, desperate for acceptance. Wanting nothing more than someone to like him for himself. Like his parents. They weren't concerned with what Brad carried around in his shorts. That was part of being Brad. That was his life. His mother had been more concerned with his T-shirt than the display he couldn't hide. All Brad wanted was someone to be with. Someone who cared about him, and someone he cared about.

And now, here I was, treating him like the man he was rather than the sex machine most people saw him as. I had allowed him to be someone who needed someone by letting him hold my hand in the Tower. I hadn't scolded him, or got angry with him, or treated him like a little boy. I had let him do it because he needed me to do it. In one day, I had become a good enough friend to him to let him be himself. He felt safe around me. He didn't have to be afraid of me or worry about what I might do.

I could see how Brad might think that was falling in love.

But, there was more going on right now. Brad still had an erection. That was obvious. It had been there since I came out of the bathroom. The fact that I had more or less ignored it in favour of talking about his feelings meant something to him. Still, though, it was there, and I think Brad was waiting for me to give him permission. He'd just told me he had wanted me to be there with him. Maybe that's what he was waiting for now.

"Warren? What do I do now?" Warren's voice appeared somewhere in my head. "Do what you think he needs you to do, Teddy." That was Warren. It's no damned wonder he was my best friend. And, somehow, I knew what I thought Brad needed me to do.

"Brad?" He looked at me. "You want to masturbate." I made it a statement rather than a question.

"Yes," he said softly.

"You want to do it now."

"Yes."

"And you want me to watch you do it."

He paused. Swallowed. And then he whispered, "Yes."

I reached out with my left hand and lifted his arm away from his stomach and set it beside him. I moved his other arm from his crotch and put it on the sofa between us. And then I grasped the T- shirt between my thumb and finger and lifted it away, dropping it to the floor. I did all this while looking into Brad's green eyes, studying his face, looking for reactions. His expression never changed until I lifted the T-shirt, and Brad closed his eyes and sighed.

I looked down.

Brad's cock was solid and immense, at least compared to my own. It was lying against his stomach and pointing to the small patch of brown hair between his pecs. Up close and personal and not exaggerated by distance, fascination, or imagination, it was easier for me to judge. His cock didn't look longer than a paper towel tube anymore. It was shorter, maybe by a few centimetres. At a quick guess, I would say it was about, maybe, twenty-three centimetres, or, as Lindsay would say, "about nine, maybe nine and a half inches to old fogies like you, Dad." But it was still thick. If I wrapped my hand around it, I doubted that I could touch my fingertips to my thumb unless I squeezed really hard.

I could see why it would scare the hell out of that girl Brad told me about. It kinda scared the hell out of me. It wasn't the length I found intimidating. It was the thickness. I knew what it was like for my doctor to stick his finger up my ass. I shivered at the thoughts of something like Brad's cock being shoved up there. I have to admit, though, it was beautiful to look at, if cocks can be called beautiful. It was a bit paler than the rest of him. No nude sunbathing going on here. And it was smooth. Only pale, blue lines showed where the veins were. There were no bumps or ridges on it.

The piss tube was huge, though. It looked like a pencil lying along the underside of his dick. His cut line was there, but the scarring was amazingly absent and only showed up as a pink ring around it. But it was the head that captured my attention. I've seen a lot of cocks in my days, and I've seen all sorts of cockheads, and this was the most perfect I've ever seen. The glans ridge flared out at just the right angle and swept up on the underside to make a perfect ‘V'. The head itself was a pretty, purplish-pink hue and as smooth as the rest of his cock. I couldn't see the tip, or the piss slit, but I imagined it was just as nice as the rest of him.

Yes, I would have to admit that it was definitely beautiful, but it was frightening at the same time. If Brad didn't care who he fucked, he could be in Fuckers' Paradise. People would line up for it. But I could see how he would have trouble trying to find someone he really liked to share it with. Brad had what I had wished for all my life, and now I realized just how lucky I was not having it. At least I had sex. Quite a bit of it. A nineteen-year-old man as handsome and nice as Brad should not be a virgin. He shouldn't have to rely on his own hands to feel good.

Brad's cock grew like the branch of a tree out of the opened zipper of his shorts, held down flat against his belly by the elastic band of his underwear and extending beyond his indented belly button. I watched as it rose and fell in tempo with Brad's breathing, like a long rubber tube floating on an ocean of skin and soft hairs.

I looked back up to Brad's face. He was looking at me. Staring, really. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his left hand moving back to the denim-covered balls which were clearly outlined there. His other hand wrapped itself around the shaft and began to stroke slowly.

I could see him working up a good dose of saliva in his mouth. He released his cock and brought his palm close to his mouth and spit in it. I followed his hand down to his cock where he rubbed the saliva on the massive cockhead, twisting it around and moistening it. He spit another load into his hand, and then another, my eyes following every move. His left thumb hooked itself into the waistband of his underwear and tugged it closer to his balls. And then he started to jerk off.

Just like last night, I was mesmerized. Watching Brad make love to himself was unlike anything I had ever seen. It was an exercise in art. It was a display of beauty. There was nothing dirty or pornographic about it. It was symphonic. And I was surprised that I was enjoying watching it so much.

I didn't know how much I enjoyed it until I saw Brad look down at my own crotch and I realized I had my left hand shoved into my jeans, moving my cock upward and to one side so it could grow more comfortably. I should have pulled my hand back out, but I didn't want to. I left it there. Brad's eyes moved back up to watch my face again.

My own eyes travelled down his body to the hand sliding easily and gracefully up and down his shaft. A drop of pre-cum appeared at the tip. It grew with each stroke of his hand, expanding into a droplet, until it grew too large to hold itself in place. It began to sag, lower and lower, and it became so heavy that it fell slowly to his lower chest, dangling from the slit with a glittering strand of fluid. Another droplet began to form and it followed the strand, slipping downward to join its partner.

Brad worked his cock like a sculptor works with clay. He played the flesh like a violin virtuoso. Each stroke was precise and planned, dancing across the skin, and each stroke had only one purpose, and that was to bring pleasure to him. A shiver of excitement shot up my spine when I realized the tender care with which Brad loved himself.

His hand slowly picked up speed. So slowly that I barely even noticed. I don't know how much time passed. Time didn't mean anything. I could only watch the hand working its magic.

I could see Brad tensing up. He leaned into the sofa and arched his back, pushing his hips forward and up. His thumb dug deeper into his underwear. I watched intently as his hand reached the bottom of the shaft and stopped. He pushed his cock straight up with his thumb and held it there. It was like looking at my own private CN Tower. He tensed again, and I could see the cockhead pulsing, growing bigger and smoother. His cock began to move on its own, a breathing, living entity. It was alive and it was about to give birth. And then Brad sat upright. His cock continued to pulsate and he looked at it. And then he leaned down.

I think I gasped as I saw his lips meet the tip, and then they split themselves and moved downward. His jaws opened wide and his lips stretched themselves around until they blanketed the entire head of his cock. Brad closed his eyes. I could see the glans pressing against his cheek, and I watched as it throbbed. He began to moan, and moans turned quickly to groans. His breaths came in urgent gasps through his nose and his brow furled. His cheeks moved in and out as he suctioned the air from his mouth. Bradley Hayes was sucking his own cock, and it was something I had never seen before. But it was one of the most incredibly beautiful.

His cock shaft began to expand and Brad's groans turned into grunts. His forehead wrinkled and I could see the fluids pumping through the urethra. Brad winced and grunted loudly, and I could only guess that he was blasting semen into his mouth. From the show last night, I could only imagine the power with which it splashed off the roof of his mouth. I could see him swallowing as he continued to grunt and wince. His cheeks inflated and he somehow managed to pull his lips away from the shaft as he sucked in desperate gulps of air. Streams of semen began to flow down his cock. Too much for him to hold on his tongue. Too much for him to swallow.

I watched his orgasm, and I think I even groaned myself. Finally, he couldn't handle it anymore and pulled away from his cock, sitting back against the sofa, gasping for breath. Semen dripped from his open mouth and down his chin. His hand took over as the orgasm drew to an end. He pumped out the last few shots of semen onto his chest and it ran down his stomach and off his sides, dropping into small pools on the sofa. The rest flowed onto his hands, his fingers.

His hand stopped moving, simply holding his cock as it calmed down and began to soften. Cum dripped off his chin, dripping onto his neck and chest. His scent filled the room. The youthful smell of manly release. His breathing slowed eventually. It was a long time before he spoke.

He finally turned his head and looked at me. Cum sparkled on his chin. "That's what I think I want to do to you, Ted," he said.

To Be Continued​

 

[ThatVoodooRabbit]

WOO!

Excellant! ^^ I can't wait for more!

 

[sizzlerz]

wow...where r we heading to.....!!!!!!!!!!! waiting!!!!!-+

 

[gsdx]

wow...where r we heading to.....!!!!!!!!!!! waiting!!!!!-+

My apologies, but I'm not well-acquainted with the new lingo. Does the '-+' at the end have any specific significance?

 

[gsdx]

I always heard 'em called donut holes, eh.

In 'other' doughnut shops, we call 'em 'doughnut holes', too, but, at Tim Horton's, you have to call them Timbits or they make you sweep the floors

I'll have the next part soon. Haven't started writing it yet, and all I have in my head is the first few opening lines. We'll see where it goes from there.

(PS. Thanks for the heads up on the 'wink' thing. Makes sense now.)

 

[Craiger]

Neil,

Absolutely awesome! You have taken my breath away and I can hardly wait for you to continue. You write with such ease, it's like being there and living it.

Craiger

 

[caddymac]

Oh Man! Keep going with this story, please.

 

[gsdx]

Thank you, Craiger. The 'reading' may be easy, but the 'writing' gets a little tough from time to time.

And thank you, caddymac, for your wonderful PM. It brought me to tears, really. Thank you so very much for your kind words. I promise more of Brad and Ted, and I want to dedicate the story to you.

This story is hereby dedicated to caddymac because, in his life, I have made a difference, and he has made a difference in mine. Thank you, and read on, my friend.

 

[Trent0n1]

Fantastic! Thanks so very much for sharing this story with us.

Trent

 

[Kyanimal]

I am Astonished! Amazed! And ... I believe ... in Rapture!

How you manage to create all those pictures, in MY Brain, "Like watching a Movie", as has been said, is a Fascinating Mystery to me!

Neil ... THANK YOU!!

And, Please, Sir! More??!

Keep smilin'!!
Chaz

 

[pkacrotjs]

absolutely incredible read!!!!

 

[gotenkst5]

Perfect installment. I hope the next one goes just as well.

A for content, as always, and a bump up from B+ to an A for grammar, now, too!