This is a work of fiction. I love getting email so if you’d like to contact me you can at taarob@yahoo.com or if you’d like to see some of the other things that I’ve written you can go to my web site at http://www.mygaystories.com .

The Good Doctor

By Terry Audette

Chapter Nine

I was lying on my back, my legs were pushed up and rested on the top of Pete’s thighs. What had looked impossible to me ten minutes ago, like it had many times before, was now a reality.

He leaned forward and kissed me, his hips were pumping slowly back and forth causing his swollen cock to rub against my, happier than shit, prostate.

Pete smiles and talks while were fucking. I never, ever thought that that would make a difference in…well, anything but it does.

He runs his fingers through my hair and then kisses my forehead. “You doin okay?”

I reach out and touch his hairy chest. “Ohhhhhh yeah!” He’s slowly stroking my cock with his other hand.

He smiles at me and speaks softly. “You look good this way.” He’s holding me at mid-boil. Part of me needs to get off like NOW and the rest of me is loving this exquisite torture.

I smile back at him. “Maybe we could do a picture of this for like our Christmas cards.”

He laughs. “That would improve the cardiac referral end of things.”

I can’t help but wonder what my mom would think of this. Do moms think about stuff like this? She’d probably blame me. “He wouldn’t be doing that to you if you hadn’t encouraged him!” Well, she’d be right. I did encourage him.

He runs his hands slowly and softly from my hips to my shoulders. His balls are swinging forward rhythmically slapping up against my ass. Oh God! The thought of that alone is enough to make me shoot! Big hairy balls! Oh geeeeez!

There’s another person in me! Well a big part of another person. I can feel him moving within me…and oh fuck it feels good! I can practically feel every muscle in his body as they work. We need a mirror on the ceiling so that I can watch his back and butt muscles.

I rub his pecs. “You must have been an athlete in college?”

He tilts his head and smiles. “We weren’t allowed to get a letter in this.” Orgasm building, orgasm retreating, I’m gonna blow a hole in the fucking wall when I finally go off. He’s soooo gentle and that’s soooo sexy!

I gently pull him forward to kiss me again. I can’t get enough of those kisses, they’ve gone beyond want all the way to need. And still, just gentle rhythmic fucking.

“Oh! Ahhhnnnn!” A moan! That’s been happening lately.

His hand on my cock is persistent, never ending. He smiles down at me. He’s in total control and uses it to increase my pleasure. A slight adjustment of his position and he’s pounding directly against my prostate. I begin pushing back against his forward thrusts. I can’t help it, I grab his thighs and pull him forward, urging him to fuck harder. Somewhere in here rational thought went on a coffee break and wanton sluttiness came out to play. My brain has made the move from my head to somewhere below where my belt usually is and is sitting there knocking back double vodka martini’s.

Minutes later it’s like firefighting boats greeting the HMS Queen Elizabeth II in New York harbor. Semen is being sprayed everywhere. Not that they greet the QE II with semen…but you get the idea.

He pulls me against him our slick softening dicks squishing together, his lips never really leave my face. I’m lying on my right side while he’s lying on his left, he’s running his hand slowly down my back until he gets to my butt and he slides a finger in, just in and out, not a big deal. He’s the only person on earth that I ever experienced this with. Okay the trucker too but I didn’t love him and he didn’t fuck me. Besides a guy has gotta start somewhere.

It’s like his lips are sensors cruising over my face, my lips my cheeks my nose, like one long continuous kiss. I want this man in my life forever. It’s been such a short time and a big part of me says that I shouldn’t make snap decisions but this isn’t just me, just my need, I know that it’s not.

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Jase comes running up to me with his arms outstretched. “Up, Dad!”

I scoop him up and hold him tight, his warm wriggly little body safe in my arms.

Jase has his arms tight around my neck and his legs wrapped around my waist. “Dad can I have a bologna sandwich for lunch? Non of the other kids have stuffed zucchini.”

We walk over to the frig like this and peer inside. “Jase, I can do Presciutto and mozzarella, you know a sandwich. How would that be? Maybe some fresh basil on it?”

“Dad! Nobody eats like that!” He doesn’t know the half of it.

“The bread is fresh. You’re grandma just made it.” He rolls his eyes.

“Jase, there’s nothing I can do about it right now. I promise that I’ll stop on the way home and get some bologna and maybe some peanut butter and jelly. I touch my forehead to his. “But listen to me; you can’t tell your grandma! My life hangs in the balance with this and besides, if she finds out that you’re eating that stuff she’ll go to school WITH you.” I get an inspiration. “How about mortadella? It looks like bologna and your grandmother wouldn’t be able to say anything.”

“Dad, it doesn’t really look like bologna it’s got those little things in it.”

“Jase, you’ve eaten it before and besides nobody is gonna look that closely at your sandwich.” He looks at me like I’m hopeless and I’m left with the impression that the whole class inspects his lunch. “You know there’s lots of kids that would love to be eating food like this!” As the words are coming out of my mouth I realize what a nonstarter that is, he couldn’t care less.

“Okay, okay, bologna!” I’m trying to think of someplace to hide the package without her seeing it except that she sees EVERYTHING!

A chilling thought occurs to me. She does see everything! “Jase? Does grandma ever have to go into my bedroom?” I’m turning my son into a squealer but, of course, he doesn’t know that.

He’s chewing on a piece of plain white bread that he found somewhere. “Sometimes she cleans.” Oh fuck! Why does she do that? I make the bed!

I grab a plastic grocery bag and trot to the bedroom. It’s like a crime scene! Open bottle of lube on the nightstand, scrunched up wads of Kleenex in the wastebasket and the sheets! I know that this is nuts! I know that she knows that we do…stuff. Why does this bother me? I clean up the room and then sit on the bed for a moment. Jase walks in and leans against my leg, he tilts his head backwards until he’s looking at me upside down.

I bend down and kiss his nose. “One these days you’re gonna bend yourself in half and break.” He giggles.

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Carl walks by and slaps me on the butt. He’s way overweight and sways when he walks. “When you gonna give me some a that, Sweetheart?” I’m writing on an order pad and ignore him. Carl is the only other person, at least as far as I know, that suspects that I’m gay. Well, except for Rose, Eleanor, my mother, my dad, Pete and whoever else they may have told in strictest never to be breached, confidence. Carl caught me parked at the rest area out by the interstate and is convinced that that means that I’m gay.

“You’re gonna really have to increase the size of your orders if you want some of that, Carl.” I smile at him.

“Baby, you wanna talk size? I got your size right here!” He grabs his crotch.

“Doesn’t your wife feel like she’s got first dibs on that, Carl?” Of course he’s married.

This conversation has happened so many times in exactly the same way that we no longer need to adlib. It’s like MacBeth or Hamlet or something, the actors are not encouraged to make changes.

On the surface, Carl may seem like a jerk and in some respects he is but on the other hand he is a great machinist. If it’s made of metal, Carl can make it and probably make it better than most.

“Charlene and me we got an understanding. She don’t ask and I don’t tell.” He laughs. I laugh. Okay clear the stage for the next scene!

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I pull off my raincoat and hang it to drip on a hook in the hallway between the garage and kitchen.

Mom’s pointing with her bigass wooden spoon at my feet. “Eric! Your feet! You’re tracking dirt in!” She waves her hand in disgust and goes back to what she’s cooking.

I look down at my feet. “Huh?” A clever reply that she obviously wasn’t anticipating.

Jase comes barreling into me and I scoop him up. “Hi kiddo!” I kiss his neck and he screams. He’s still at an age when going ultrasonic is a walk in the park. “Grandma didn’t like beat ya or anything, did she?”

I’m cruising perilously close to the edge. “Eric,” hands on hips, “why do you say stuff like that to him? You think that I would ever hurt him?” She runs over and plants a big grandmotherly kiss on Jase’s cheek to prove her sincerity. “He’s my little angel!”

I whisper in Jase’s ear. “You grandma’s little angel?” Being the smarter of us and the one with the least to hide he instantly nods a vigorous “Yes!”

“So when am I going to meet this friend of yours?” RED ALERT! First of all has she forgotten the part the SHE played in all of this? Second of all how did Pete get demoted to “this friend of yours”? Third of all…ahhhhh third…okay, so why does she want to meet him now, all of a sudden? I knew there was a third.

“We were just talking about that, Mom.” A lie. “We were thinking that we’d like to take you and dad out to dinner at a really nice restaurant.” Yep another lie but needed. For one thing she can’t or at least probably won’t yell in a public place and for another thing she’d be off of her home ground, the kitchen. For another thing, while I might look like some sort of Neopolitan wharf bum, Pete looks like a hundred million tax-free bucks. There’s just one hurtle.

And here it comes. “A restaurant? What restaurant is going to serve you food like I make for you?” She’s right, of course, but this isn’t about who’s right about what, it’s about survival. I glance up and realize that, probably for years, when she gets excited and gestures with that spoon she’s been tossing a fine mist of pasta sauce up onto the ceiling. I smile.

She puts one hand on a hip and gestures towards me. “You know, sometime you make me wonder if you’re not simple.” This calls for drastic action.

I walk over to her still holding Jase in one arm and wrap the other arm around her. “Mama!” An important word! It trumps all aces. I kiss her forehead. “We just don’t want you to have to cook. We want you to have a night when YOU can relax. You work too hard!”

Now all that I have to do is tell Pete.