Sixty-nine chapters I have to wait before Charlie lets me write a paragraph! But Charlie moves away from his computer with great reluctance, so I am honored that he is willing to let me tell this next bit of his story. I'm Fred, the moneybags, sometimes the stepfather, the angel, the old man. They had better never call me the "dirty old man." That was Felix, and for some strange reason he loved being called the "dirty old man." He wasn't a dirty old man, but loved that persona. It's not me, though that bunch is dragging me down that path, as Charlie has pointed out in the last few chapters.
The last chapter tells of Marty becoming the 43rd member of the Gang, and having the number inscribed on his buns. I never got a number on my buns; in fact, I never got a number. I went back over things to try to figure out just what number I might be. In responding to Franklin's letter I said that I guessed that I would remain a POG. That changed in Champaign; it changed in a big way. I think that makes me the last Gang member before Tim's grand marking of the buns. I claim number 38.
I note that when Charlie has let others write a chapter they like to take advantage of the situation and provide a little biography. Charlie has actually encouraged me to do that. So here goes.
I grew up on a farm in North Dakota not too far from Grand Forks. My parents were sharecroppers. The African-American sharecropper experience in the South has made sharecropper a dirty word. But it isn't in other areas of the country. There are basically two possible relationships between a landowner and a non-owner farmer: tenant or sharecropper. A tenant pays rent, uses the land, and makes what money he can. He assumes all the risk, and keeps all the profit, simply paying his rent. A sharecropper and a landowner share the risk. In a good year both do well. In a bad year, both do poorly. There is a complex formula as to who pays for seed, machinery, livestock, feed, everything. At the end of the season, the money is split - labor being considered half the value and the land being the other half. The costs are shared going in. If the crops fail, both lose. My parents were very successful farmers and had a good, long-term relationship with the man that owned the land. He had bought it as an investment during one of the land busts before World War I. My father married his bride and moved onto the farm shortly after returning from the war. Mom was pregnant with me when they moved to the farm. I came of age during the Depression. When I graduated from high school I got a job selling sporting goods wholesale. My territory was North Dakota and northern Minnesota. I learned a lot. War came, and I served in Europe. I pounded a typewritter in England as a clerk and went to Germany behind the troops. By 1946 I was home. My parents staked me to the money I needed to open my first little sporting goods store. Retail was the right place to be in the post-war boom and I've prospered. I lost my parents and then my wife and was a pretty lonely guy until Tim walked into my life - looking for money for gymnastics at UND of all things.
Tim says it's a tradition in this story to provide a sexual autobiography as well. OK, as a farm kid I certainly knew about pigs, cows, dogs, birds, bees, etc. Unlike a lot of stories of farm kids - and a few real kids - I let the pigs, sheep, and cows have sex with each other and not with me. I had a few girl friends, but this was rural North Dakota, and a little petting in the movie was going pretty far. That got me through high school. It was still the depression; dating was for people that had money or a future. I had neither. Then war came and I enlisted in the Army. There were some nice girls in England, but nothing happened. Girls were so scarce in Germany that it was hopeless. Then I was home, met Marge, didn't have sex with her until after we were married, had five wonderful years with her, never had a child, and lost her to a fall from a horse. Pretty boring, wasn't it?
Tim dreams the most improbable dreams. It was truly fun to be a part of making them come true. Soon I met Charlie, and they started bending my mind: Two guys in love. Out in the open. Kissing. Hugging. Not at all what we North Dakotans were used to. But these were Tim and Charlie, the nicest guys in the world. Athletes, not pansies. One day I said that to Tim, and he responded, "What if Charlie and I were very effeminate? Would that make any difference?"
Obviously, there was no possible answer other than, "No." At that moment I understood what I really hadn't understood before: None of that stuff made any difference at all!
Tim and Charlie are still bending my mind. I'm almost 90, and Tim can still stretch my mind. Tim says that says more about me than him; I guess he's right. But if I have a mind that can still be stretched at my age it's because of the influence of Tim, Charlie, and that most remarkable Gang.
Charlie's mom, Mamie, was a trip. Believe me, it's more mind stretching to have your son fall in love with Tim than to meet him as a college student. Mamie told me that the night after Charlie had introduced Tim as his lover, she'd cried all night. The next morning she got out of bed, took a shower, and said to herself; "I have a gay son. He has a wonderful partner. That's what life dealt me; go with it." She did, and she never looked back. What a wonderful woman. I was blessed with the chance to love her, marry her, learn from her, have sex with her, mourn her, and now remember her. I see her every time I see Charlie. It isn't sad; it reminds me of some of the best times of my life.
There isn't much to tell about my business, except for Andy's role in it. He moved out to North Dakota after college and came by and asked about a job in one of my stores. As a member of Tim and Charlie's Gang he was going to get the job no matter what. The promotions, however, he earned. When I'd worked with him for four years, it was quite clear that he was going to take over the business some day. Besides being a genuinely nice guy, he was a very astute businessman and buyer. There was really only one reason to question his working for me: Sex. We'll talk more of that later.
The Munich Olympics. I guess I love to play Sugar Daddy. Well, what the Hell else is money good for? I have no children, no family. They didn't know it then, though I had hinted to Tim and Charlie, all of the money was going to end up in two places: supporting the things that Tim wanted at UND and the Gang. I was still figuring out how this was going to happen, but it certainly was going to happen - that was pretty certain.
OK, I was playing Sugar Daddy before I got side tracked. I really blew their minds with the QE2 business. It was a blast. The ten days before the Olympics were wonderful. For the five boys, the Opening Ceremony was the usual upper, though for Tim it didn't compare to walking with Charlie in Mexico - that may have been the high point of his life. But once the games got going, things were just a little off for the boys. It wasn't just the terrorist affair - that came in the second week - it was the kids. Despite a pile of medals that we almost needed a wheelbarrow to move, things just didn't seem to go quite right for them. They aren't used to that; things just always seem to go their way. They needed to deal with things not going their way. It was pretty obvious they had a little problem when winning 13 medals was the basis for feeling down in the dumps. I wondered if these kids were ever going to acquire some realism. Then I realized that if they ever did, they wouldn't be the loveable Gang that they are.
When we got back to Michigan Tim and Charlie had to go right to school and work - Michigan's trimester plan meant that the term started September 1, and the Olympics had already made them late. I told Tim and Charlie that whether they liked it or not, they were going to take a long weekend the third weekend in September. We three were going to the cabin on Pike Lake for a weekend to relax and enjoy the color. I would charter a little executive plane with a pilot and fly over from Fargo, pick them up, fly to the UP, rent a car, drive to the cabin and we'd have three days of quiet reflection.
They agreed. I didn't even need to talk them into it; they were eager.
On Friday we landed at Iron River, Michigan, about 4:30 p.m. We transferred our luggage to the rental car and said goodbye to the pilot, who would be back at 8:00 a.m. on Tuesday morning. Tim is usually very gracious to Charlie, offering him the front seat of the car and deferring to him in a variety of ways. He saves his need to be in control for important things. That evening he very subtly negotiated Charlie into the back seat and took the front seat next to me as I drove. Not typical Tim. We hadn't gone far before Tim spoke up, "Fred, you have something important to talk about this weekend, don't you?"
"Yes. Several things."
"You going to tell me what? Now or later?"
I noted that he said, "Tell me," not "Tell us." He was leaving Charlie out of this conversation. I looked in the rear view mirror and saw that Charlie was dozing, or at least paying no attention."
I said to Tim, "There's more, but I'm worried about both of you. The Olympics didn't seem to go too well for you, and I don't think you've really recovered. Can I help?"
Tim said, "I think I'm worse off than Charlie. I don't want to talk now, but you're right. I haven't recovered. Charlie hasn't either, really. I don't know whether you can help. I hope so."
I said, "Well, Tim, you've jumped the first two hurdles: admitting that you have a problem and expressing willingness to accept help. For a lot of young men, getting that far might've involved the whole weekend. But let's wait till tomorrow to really get into this."
"Thanks, Fred. You're wonderful."
"So are you, Tim. Do you think Charlie's past those hurdles?"
From the back seat I heard a groggy, "He is."
Charlie kind of shook himself awake, saw that I was glancing at him in the mirror, and said, "Fred?"
"Have you made up your mind yet whether your libido is going to conquer your reticence?"
"That's an interesting way to put it."
"And that isn't an answer."
"Well, I'll be honest with you. I had an incredible time on the trip to Champaign. But I had to think long and hard about what it meant. I simply wasn't ready in Munich. I think there were just too many people; it was too much. I know you cautioned Marty about that, and the same caution applied to me. I enjoyed the night with you two, and sort of kicked myself the next day for stopping your hand, Charlie. But it was the right thing to do."
Tim interrupted with, "So, you've been thinking. Reached any conclusions?"
"Yes, Tim, I have."
"Am I going to be disappointed?"
"Let me go on. I had to think through a lot of issues. Money is an issue."
Tim said, "What?"
"Tim, when money's flowing in one direction and sexual favors seem to be flowing in the other, people draw conclusions; justified or unjustified."
Charlie said, "Shit. That's bunk, at least in your case."
"I know that; at least I was pretty sure I did. But you guys are being unrealistic if you don't perceive that to be an issue. You worry about parent-child relationships; adult-child relationships; coach-athlete relationships; you need to think about relationships involving money, and whether you like it or not, ours does. You didn't pay for that airplane to come up here. I did. And if we have sex up here what might people conclude?"
Charlie said, "OK, I see your point. Certainly within the Gang it wouldn't be an issue, but to an outsider it might be. But we aren't going to talk with outsiders about what we do up here."
"Exactly. And I agree with that. I'm only trying to point out that the issues aren't as simple as, 'I love the guy, so sex is OK.'"
"Other issues?" That came from Tim.
"Age, obviously. And, Charlie is my step-son. How sure am I that I could be comfortable in gay sex? Charlie, I have to ask myself what your mother would say. I really loved her, you know. Those are the biggies. By the time we went to Munich I simply hadn't had time to deal with them all."
"And now you have?"
"I think so. There is one final issue."
"And that would be?"
"Exactly what would our relationship be, if it became sexual?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, are you, and the other members of the Gang, especially the original eight, able to consider me a regular member of the Gang? I think that that applies to all of the new members, of both generations. Is Marty an equal? Can you treat him the same? What about Herb? Frank and Adele?"
"Good question," said Tim, and Charlie nodded agreement.
"So here's the deal for this weekend. Can you treat me as an equal? Can you treat me the same as you'd treat Hal, or Jim, or Ronnie? And can I accept being an equal; as opposed to the honored old man, or the angel, or the step-dad, or the store owner? I want you to know that I've been struggling with this with Andy. Can the relationship of employee-employer not get in the way of being fellow Gang members? I'd like to talk more about that with you two, but not till the end of the weekend."
Charlie said, "Fred, you really do have an agenda for this weekend. Let me pose a question: Will that agenda, in itself, preclude our being able to treat you like a regular Gang member?"
I said, "Perhaps. But you and others in the Gang have dealt with incredible issues, I think of you and Tom, Charlie. I think of Hal's questioning his sexuality and needing to spend the night with you, Charlie. Tim you've been Billy's mentor as well as his friend, and that role continues. Through all of that you guys have been able to maintain a collegiality that has never been broken. Can we?"
Tim said, "Yes, and we have three days to prove it. Let me get one thing straight. You want to be a regular Gang member? That means in every way, including sexually, right?"
"And that means that from now one, we don't talk about this relationship, we just live it, right?"
Tim reached over and put his hand on my fly, squeezed a little, and said "Fred, it's going to be a great weekend. Charlie, give us some guidance here."
Charlie said, " About two miles up on the right is a little road. Turn down it."
It was a little two rut road. We were now only about five miles from the cabin and Charlie knew this country like the palm of his hand. About a mile down the road we got to a little lake, with a small beach. The moon was out, it was cool, but not cold. It was a lovely setting. As soon as the car stopped Tim was out the door stripping off his clothes and heading to the lake. He looked back and called, "OK, you two. The last one in sucks me first."
Charlie was out the back door and stripping off his clothes. There wasn't any question who was going to be last. Tim was being Tim, the teenager that he truly hoped that he could be all of his life. Charlie was a dozen years away from his teens, but his mind worked just like Tim's. Could mine? This was the test. I opened the door, and realized that my first test was more complicated than just keeping up with these two. I was dressed in a business suit, tie, wing tips, the works. They were in sneakers, jeans, polo shirts, and not much else. They'd flung their clothes with wild abandon, not really caring what happened to them. Could I?
Yes, God dammit, I could. I never found the necktie, but the rest of my clothes were fairly easy to find in the moonlight when, an hour later, we picked up our stuff, put ourselves somewhat together, and headed for home.
Charlie, of course, beat me to the water. But, now completely naked, I chased Tim into the water. I knew I'd never catch him until he decided to let me, but I reminded him that if he wanted his suck he'd have to let me catch him. He slowed and I picked him up. "Charlie, help me hold him, and I'll suck him right here."
We were in about three feet of water. Charlie held Tim up, and I sucked him. He spurted in my mouth quite quickly and I immediately kissed him and let him have his own cum. Charlie pulled me a little closer to shore so that my dick was out of water. He knelt down and sucked me. Tim is certainly right when he says there's a little gay in everyone. There sure is in me, at least when I'm with those two. Before long Charlie was kissing me and inviting me to help myself to my own cum. Thirty minutes before, I couldn't have imagined that, much less done it. Now it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
Tim knocked us over into the water and said to me, "Let's take Charlie up on the sand and torment him a little. Soon Charlie was up on his back in the sand by the lake, and Tim and I were keeping him just short of an orgasm. Tim knew his target well, and made sure that I never pushed him too close. Charlie begged for release, but Tim knew his man and kept up the torment for almost a half hour. Then he said to me, "Suck him."
I did, and he blew almost instantly. Tim kissed me and took about half of his cum, and then we both kissed Charlie simultaneously. What a mess, and it was clear that that was exactly what Tim had in mind. Then, as if they were of one mind, they turned on me, pushed me on my back, and started tickling my balls. It took about fifteen minutes, but I had a second orgasm. I'm not sure that I had ever before had two orgasms that close together. My lesson for the evening was that you may not ever be a chronological teenager again, but you can act like it; and it's fun!
Tim said, "All we need to get to the cabin is pants. Throw everything else in the trunk." I started to put on my boxers and he said, "Just pants. You don't need those. All the pants are for is if we have to stop for someone or something. I'd rather just drive over there naked."
I said, "Tim, aren't you at least cold?"
Charlie said, "He never gets cold, and never lets anyone else talk about being cold. You'll get used to it."
We drove on to the cabin. The caretaker had gotten it ready and had lights on for us. As soon as we'd carried everything in, Tim headed for the lake, jeans left in the middle of the living room floor. Charlie and I followed. We just swam. Way out in the lake. Then we floated on our backs, watched the moon, and Tim said, "I don't want to break the mood, but Fred, you passed the test. Did you enjoy it, or just put up with us?"
"Tim, I wish you'd been around when I was a teenager. God, I would've had a wonderful time."
Charlie said, "The same for me."
Tim said, "Well, guys, the same for me. I never did that sort of thing as a teenager. Remember, I was in the closet. We aren't reliving the teen years, we're making up for lost years. Fred, welcome to the Gang."
Nothing was said about who would sleep where. We all three simply headed for the master bed and climbed in. Charlie just naturally spooned behind Tim, and I spooned up to Charlie. I let his hand wander where it liked, but sleep overcame us before anything happened. The next morning we were sprawled all over the bed. I looked over and Tim was sucking Charlie, but with no degree of seriousness. When he saw I was awake he stopped and said, "Breakfast is ready. Clothes are not permitted."
It was clear that they were going to give it to me in spades this weekend. Oh, well. I'd asked for it.
We finished breakfast; I was drinking coffee, Tim iced tea, and Charlie Coke. Their beverage habits were outlandish, but I'd learned years before that they weren't going to change. It was time to tackle my main job for the weekend.
"Tim, you're down in the dumps over the Olympics. Why?"
"It didn't go right for anybody. You know all of the reasons. The Gang was upstaged. Nobody did anything unfair or inappropriate to us. It just worked out wrong."
I said, "I think that's bullshit, to use a phrase often attributed to you, but which I don't hear you say very often."
"I think the issue is Billy. And you're feeling guilty. And it's eating you up. Am I right?"
Charlie said, "Billy?"
"Yes, Billy. Am I right, Tim."
"What do you mean?"
"Are you really saying that you don't know what I mean? You're the kid that wants every statement to be accepted at face value. Well, then don't ask questions to which you know the answer."
"Yeah. It's Billy."
Charlie said, "He may know what you mean, I don't."
"Tell him, Tim."
"I'm not sure I can."
"Well, I can. Tim is feeling guilty. Billy got totally upstaged by Mark Spitz. If Tim'd stopped competing with Billy before the last Olympics, instead of right after the last Olympics, then Billy would've been the big hero of the last Olympics, and it wouldn't matter that he was upstaged this time."
Charlie looked flabbergasted. "Is that right, Tim?"
"Yeah. I was selfish four years ago. Billy was ready. I should've gotten out of the way."
"Oh, my God. And I didn't see it. I guess I was too close. Fred, I can't believe your insight."
I said, "Wait, Charlie. I know the next things you're going to say. Don't say them. Leave this to Tim and me."
I could just see Charlie saying something like, "Tim, that's nuts." Well, it wasn't nuts to Tim, and now that this was out in the open Tim was going to have to work through it on his own. He didn't need Charlie getting in the way.
I said quietly to Charlie, "Charlie, he needs exactly what Tom needed that time in Detroit."
By this time Tim was tearing up. I wasn't sure he was going to really cry, but it was close enough. Charlie sat down on the sofa and patted the seat beside him. Tim came and sat, and leaned on Charlie's shoulder. I let them sit that way a while. I was pretty sure, however, that Tim was going to need more than a shoulder.
I said, "Tim, what would Billy think of this conversation?"
"He'd say, 'Bullshit'."
"I think he might. You know, you could've had your year in Tokyo, Billy in Mexico City, and Mark Spitz in Munich."
"I didn't go to Tokyo."
"No, I couldn't. Charlie wasn't in Tokyo."
"Oh, I see. What do you think Billy would've done if you hadn't gone to the diving trials for Mexico City?"
"Told me to go."
"And if you hadn't."
"He wouldn't have gone, either."
"Then how could you have made it Billy's year, if he wouldn't go? Just like you wouldn't go to Tokyo, out of love."
"You're right. But Mexico should've been Billy's year."
Charlie said, "No, Tim. Mexico was your year. Just ask Billy."
We all sat there quietly for about forty-five minutes. Tim didn't stir. I had a feeling that Charlie's shoulder was getting pretty tired, but he didn't stir. Nor did I.
Then Tim got up, walked over to me and took my hand and pulled me over to the couch, which Charlie had vacated. He had me lay down, and hw laid on top of me, and kissed me. His tongue pushed inside like he was trying to find my tonsils, but I'd lost them as a kid. I pushed back, and our tongues played - it seemed like forever.
Then he slid down my body, nibbling my nipples, licking my belly button, and arriving at my genitalia. He rubbed his hand through my pubic hair and said, "Charlie, this lovely, thick hair is just too tempting. Get shaving cream and a razor and let's shave it."
My God, Tim was really putting me to the test. I knew that there'd been some shaving of pubic hair in the Gang, but I wasn't sure how much. I remembered Tim had threatened Billy with being shaved, but I didn't think it had ever happened. I decided that Tim was putting me to the test and that it was a test I wanted to pass. Besides, being shaved "down there" was almost beginning to sound exciting. I was told to lie down in the middle of the living room floor, where they had spread a raincoat. Soon I was lathered up from my belly button to my knees. Tim got out a Shick injector razor and was ready to start, right at my belly button.
Then Charlie said, "You're an incredibly good sport, Fred. But you don't have to be shaved to be a part of the Gang."
I asked, "Have you two been shaved?"
"Yes. I shaved Tim once, and Franklin shaved me. Up here at the cabin."
"Proceed guys, but one of you is going to get it tomorrow."
"OK," came back from both of them. I hoped they were wondering who I had in mind. I didn't know myself.
It's an interesting experience to be shaved in the groin. We are so used to hair there that it is a little strange to lose it. They were very thorough, and I don't think there was anything left from my waist to about an inch below where my balls hung. At the bottom they sort of feathered it, so there didn't seem to be an abrupt line. They left a clear line at my waist. I was rolled over and my buns shaved, right into my crack - that felt funny.
Then we went for a swim; in September the lake was empty and skinny dipping was possible - it's the only way we swam for the three days. The lake was cold, but that didn't seem to phase Tim. It clearly phased Charlie, but he seemed determined to keep up with Tim. Well, if he could, so could I. Whew, I'm not sure that I ever want to be tested that way again.
At lunch Tim said, "OK, I'm over the Olympics. I don't know what to think about Billy, but you're right, there was no way that Mexico was going to be his Olympics. I've always said that in life you go forward, and that's what I'm going to do. Enough said. Right, Charlie?"
"Right. I'm fine. You seem to be. It's behind us."
Tim went right on. "Fred, you're a good sport. We're going to test you further, though. We're going to be your sex slaves for the rest of the day. It's a game Franklin likes to play. Your job is to figure out how to enjoy us as your slaves."
I'll have to admit that was an unexpected turn of events. I wasn't sure what they had in mind, or what was possible. But then an odd thought occurred to me. "OK, guys. I want to see you two do 69. I've heard about it but never done it, and certainly not seen it."
Tim shot up and said, "To the bedroom, Charlie. Onto the bed."
Charlie lay back on the bed and Tim climbed on top of him, head to toe. Immediately they were doing 69, and looking like they were having all kinds of fun. They both came, almost together; each swallowed everything; then they hopped out of bed, bowed in front of me, and said, "At your service."
They were, but what service did I want. I decided that lunch was what I really wanted. I said to Tim, "OK, here's the deal. I want lunch. You guys figure out how to make lunch sexy."
Leave it to Charlie and Tim. I was told to stay in the bedroom while they got lunch on. I was called and there was Tim, laying in the middle of the table. The lunch meat was spread over his belly. Chips were in one hand, pickles in the other. Cheese was spread down his leg. His groin was spread with a pile of mayonnaise on one side and catsup on the other. "Let's eat," said Charlie, taking a plate and helping himself to bread piled just below Tim's chin.
He picked up ham with a fork, and Tim said, "Careful with that thing."
Charlie just said, "You'd better hold still." He piled up the sandwich and then used Tim's dick to spread catsup on top. He took chips and sat down to eat."
I fixed a sandwich, choose mayonnaise and wiped it on with his scrotum, took pickles instead of chips and we both munched away on lunch. I'll have to admit that these kids were a trip.
After we'd eaten a little Charlie made Tim a sandwich of what was left on top of him, and wiped his groin with a piece of bread that became the top of his sandwich. Tim stayed on top of the table while we all ate. An after lunch swim cleaned him up.
I had to ask, "Are all of your trips to the cabin this outrageous?"
Tim said, "Not all, but most. We agreed after the first trip that when we weren't able to have this kind of fun at the cabin that we were getting old and that life might well be over. We've managed to remain completely beyond all convention here at the cabin."
I said, "OK, I'll admit that I'm at a loss for how to use my two slaves. So here his how the rest of the day is going to work. Starting now, and for an hour, Charlie is going to be the slave and Tim the creative genius. Tim you tell Charlie what to do on my behalf. Every hour you trade. If, in your hour, you aren't adequately creative, I'm going to spank you. I think that a master is permitted to spank a slave, right?"
Tim looked dubious, but said, "Right."
"OK. Tim, you're up."
"Fred, you haven't had an orgasm yet today. How do you want it?"
"You tell me."
"Let's go up to the bed and, Charlie, you explore his prostate. I'll bet that's a new experience."
It was. Oh, man. When he was finally done I needed to come so bad, I just said to Charlie, "Jack me off." He did. Oh, God, it felt good.
Charlie said, "Let's tell Tim to put on a show. He can do a little burlesque, and then jack off. He can do it standing up, and we'll see how far he can shoot."
Tim wasted no time. He can put on a good show; he has the perfect body for it. When he jacked himself off he aimed at me and hit me in the face.
I know you are probably getting bored reading this stuff. But it wasn't boring doing it. It was so new for me, I just couldn't believe what was happening to me. With Marge, and even with Mamie, sex had been pretty routine. I don't mean to suggest that it wasn't fun and exciting. But we played, we fucked. We tried new positions. We tried oral sex. We fingered each other's asses from time to time. I did more of that sort of thing with Mamie than I had with Marge. But the idea of shaving each other, doing other outrageous things, running naked in the woods, swimming naked, stopping by a lake for skinny dipping just never occurred to us. For Tim and Charlie it was normal.
I'd watched them enough in North Dakota to know that they could be very serious: about sports, studies, the University, helping people, you name it. But clearly, in the privacy of being with each other, or with the Gang, they had another side to them. And here they were, letting me in. And to think that I had to debate with myself whether I wanted to be let in. Those thoughts are running through my mind as an old man, thinking about days gone by. I guess I'm not spoiling Charlie's plot to tell you this. Life and the Gang have been good to me, and since I let the Gang share themselves with me, it's been spectacular - more spectacular than I could possibly imagined at the time. However, that's for another episode and a different story teller.
Let's just say that at age 89 they still pay attention to me, love me, and engage me sexually. I know they all come by to be nice to the old man, but they swear it isn't so. "By God," they say, "you're one of the Gang, and we all share the good times together." It's been thirty-five years since I joined the Gang. At that time I thought my best years were behind me. Oh, God, was I wrong.
The thoughts of an old man are allowed to wander, right?
You are supposed to say, "Right," at that point.
Good. Thank you. Back to the cabin. It was Tim's turn to be creative. His suggestion involved both of them, so he whispered it in my ear. I chuckled and told him and Charlie to face each other, grab each other's dicks, and get them good and hard; I would be right back.
They were standing there; I don't know whether Tim had told Charlie what to expect, but I don't think he did. I grabbed both dicks to make sure they were hard. Tim hadn't mentioned this part, but I realized they weren't the same height. I got a dictionary and another big book and had Tim stand on them. Then I put their dicks together, side by side, tip to pubic hair. Then I got out my duct tape and wrapped them together, several times, and pretty tight. "OK, guys. Cook me a nice dinner."
You've never seen anything so funny. First, as soon as Tim got off the books, he bent Charlie over. Charlie picked him up a little and they headed for the kitchen, Tim carrying the books. They stood in the middle of the kitchen, Tim on his books, trying to reach what they needed. Charlie would carry Tim over to the refrigerator every time they needed to get something out of it. It took most of the hour for them to put together a fairly rudimentary dinner. Of course, nothing was speeded up by our laughing ourselves silly.
I told them they could untape to eat, and Charlie worried how much that would hurt. However, Tim said, "Don't worry, if you can get flaccid, you'll just naturally get unstuck."
"Just how am I going to get flaccid when you're wiggling like you are?"
I went over and tickled both of their balls. "I don't want to make this easy for you two."
Finally they settled down, and did, in fact, find that they could pull apart easily when they weren't hard. By then dinner was cold, but we ate it anyway.
I've forgotten whose suggestion it was, but in the evening they pushed each other's faces into their asses. Shoved their tongues inside. It looked disgusting to me, and I certainly would never have suggested it, or told them to do it. But it clearly wasn't a new thing for them, and they did seem to take some pleasure in it. I ended the day by asking them if they would fuck each other and let me watch. I knew fucking me, or anybody else, was off limits for them. But they were glad to let me watch their doing it with each other.
I started then to write "doing it TO each other." But I remembered that they were particularly offended by the idea of doing it TO someone. Whether a top or a bottom, they insisted that it was always WITH. And as I watched that evening, I know that it was both WITH each other and WITH love.
What a day.
That was only the first of three for the weekend. We hadn't had a stitch of clothing on all day Saturday. Sunday I felt like getting dressed. They dressed as well, and I wondered what the day would bring.
I fixed them a nice breakfast, and they cleaned up the kitchen. Then we set off for a long walk in the woods. They very graciously let me set the pace; I would've been unable to keep up with their pace. I think we covered about twelve miles before we got back, looking for a late lunch.
After lunch they were sitting side by side on the couch, holding hands. God, they were cute together. They were as in love as newlyweds. I envied them. But this was not the time for sentiment.
"Stand up, you two."
"Pull down your pants."
"Lift your shirts up, I want a clear view."
"Now see how soft you can get."
They didn't. Well, could you? I walked over and squeezed both. No doubt about it, Charlie was softer. Tim was hard as a rock. I said, "OK, Tim, you get shaved."
Charlie burst out laughing. Tim followed.
He was a good sport. We stripped him, and I grabbed his dick and pulled him out into the woods. We laid him down and lathered him good. Then I took out the old straight razor that I'd left at the cabin the last time I'd been there with Mamie. Tim's eyes really widened at the straight razor. I said, "You want to be very still."
He was. Actually, I am pretty good with a straight razor, and shaved him very easily and thoroughly. From his neck to his ankles. I did under his arms, but didn't shave his arms. I worked very carefully around his nipples and didn't leave a bit of hair.
Completely shaved Tim really looked like a little kid. It was clear that both Charlie and I were getting aroused watching him lay there. Charlie leaned over him and tickled his balls. I tweaked his dick. Tim grinned and said, "Oh, no. If you're going to play there you have to take your clothes off."
We stripped, but as soon as we'd put our clothes down, Tim snatched up our undershorts and pants - he missed Charlie's but got mine - and headed for the lake. We were soon all in the lake, wrestling for our underwear and my pants. All three pieces ended up ripped to shreds. Then Tim said, "OK, we're going to have an underwater circle jerk. The last guy to come fixes dinner, and then takes care of all of our needs for the evening."
You can guess who lost. They both came and then wouldn't let me finish. I was told to go up and get dinner. They came up and dressed, but wouldn't let me dress. I served them dinner, and stood with my dick almost in Charlie's face as he ate. I ate in the kitchen as I cleaned up. Then Tim called me and said, "I need a suck."
He was sitting in a chair, and I knelt between his legs, opened his fly, reached in and pulled it out, and sucked him till he came in my mouth. I kissed him and let him eat it. Charlie wanted the same service, and he got it. Then Tim wanted a back rub, with emphasis on his buns. Charlie wanted the same thing. Then Tim wanted a genital massage. Charlie the same. Then Tim wanted a tongue massage on his nipples. Charlie too. Then Tim wanted his belly button wiped out, with a dick. Yeah, Charlie too. I wondered what Tim would think of next, when he said, "I'm out of ideas. What about you, Charlie?"
I want to watch this man jerk off.
I was ready. The day before, at least early in the day, I would've been greatly embarrassed to jack off, or jerk off, whatever, in front of anybody. Hey, that's private, isn't it? These kids didn't think masturbation was private. Within their Gang nothing was private. Everything was shared. As I stroked myself I realized that the relationship that I'd developed with these two boys that weekend was going to change my life. They were going to change my life. They had changed my life. I shot over my stomach, and instantly their hands were on me spreading my cum all over my front. We headed for bed. I wasn't allowed to clean up, it was part of the cuddling for the night. Charlie seemed to really enjoy having me sort of stick to him. I think Tim felt left out.
The next day, as we awoke, I said, "We have some serious things to talk about today. Clothes on. Let's take a shorter walk than yesterday, and we'll start our conversation on the walk.
We just had fruit and juice for breakfast, along with a couple of cookies. I think Tim deliberately avoided traditional meals, on principle. He pointed out that there was essentially no difference between a cookie and a sweet roll.
As we walked, I talked about my business and Andy's roll in it. I said that I thought that the weekend had convinced me that I could relate to members of the Gang both as a member of the Gang and in a professional relationship, without the one getting in the way of the other, but only because the Gang are such special people.
I told the boys - Hell, I still thought of them as boys, and the weekend had certainly proved it - that I expected Andy to slowly take over the operation of the business over the next ten years. He would be partly paid in stock distributions that would bring his interest up to 40%. On my death Andy, Tim, and Charlie would receive 20% each, so that Andy would be in sole control of the business. However, that was just the voting stock in the corporation. There was a large block of non-voting stock, which, in fact, received the bulk of the dividends, or profits. While I wanted Andy to have control, I wanted to have the bulk of the profits that the business generated more broadly distributed. Andy would be well-paid as a manager, but beyond that others would share. The non-voting stock would be divided two ways. Half would go to the University of North Dakota, in a special fund controlled by Tim and Charlie. The other half would go into a trust, the details of which an attorney was still working out. It would be for the personal benefit and use of the members of the Gang, somehow legally defined.
"Tim, Charlie. I have to protect my interests while I'm alive, but I expect to transfer a lot of this stock during my lifetime. I don't want to sit and dream about how you and the University might use the money. I'd like to watch. I'm going to start the transfers as soon as you two have moved back to Grand Forks."
Tim and Charlie were in shock. "Fred, that's incredibly generous. But we shouldn't be...."
"Bullshit. I'm using your word. You guys mean more to me than anything on earth. Your Gang is a wonderful group. They do wonderful things for other people, including me, and for each other. I can't think of a better place for my money. It'll bring me great joy in my last years, however many they may be, to watch you, and join with you, in doing all of the great things you're going to do. Never, if I can help it, will a lack of money keep you from the great things in store for you. And by you I mean the entire Gang, not just you two, and not just your generation. Everyone will be able to benefit."
I continued, "I think you should know what kind of money we're talking about. You can't make intelligent decisions without some specifics. I really don't know what the stores are worth, there is value in the real estate, inventory, and the ongoing business. The important thing is how much they produce. It's about a million dollars a year. That would be after Andy is well paid, and the voting stock takes out about $100,000. You won't see any of that until my death. Andy is moving aggressively into new markets. It's quite reasonable to expect that he'll double the profits in the next five years, plus cover inflation. That means the Gang will have about a million dollars a year in income available. The lawyers will have to work out the tax implications, but eventually taxes will have to be paid on that money before you can spend it."
Neither Tim nor Charlie tried to speak; they just hugged me. Eventually Tim got out, "I don't know what to say."
I replied, "You told me you loved me before you heard all that. That's all I needed to hear. I love you, too. With or without the money. I'm just so glad that I'm able to do this. It'll bring me more joy than you."
"When I get home, I'm going to tell Andy, Jim, Kara, and Amy about this weekend and the same financial information that I just told you. We'll hold off telling the rest of the Gang until I'm ready to actually make the transfers. Would that be OK? We're going to have a wonderful time as a bunch of teenage Gang members, and I don't want thoughts of money getting in the way."
Tim continued to hug me, and slowly his hand moved down to my groin. I choose to take that as an intimate way of saying, "I love you," rather than an invitation to sex. Tim seemed content with that silent response, and we three continued to hug. Eventually, Charlie got up and said, "Let's go to the Amasa Hotel for a steak dinner. Tim and I are buying."
I said, "That sounds great. I'll call and let them know we're coming and we want their best steaks."
It was a great dinner. We went home and to bed, and didn't need sex, but there was plenty of holding and hugging. The next morning we headed out early for the airport and the flight to Ann Arbor. Charlie asked me if I would do them a favor.
"Billy's graduating and heading off to graduate school at IU."
"Which school is IU?"
"Indiana University. It's about the only one that puts the word University second. Our house will be empty. Can you keep an eye on it?"
"Sure. You'd better keep heat on at about 50 degrees; otherwise things will freeze."
"We leave it in your hands."
I bid them a fond goodbye. It'd been an incredible weekend.
Back in Grand Forks I walked in to Andy's office the next morning and said, "Andy, we need to talk. First, I want to tell you about my weekend."
Andy was spellbound. I told him the whole thing, including all the financial stuff. He'd known that he was moving up in the company, but this was the first confirmation of exactly what I had in mind. Then I said, "Andy, there's only one condition on all of this."
"What's that, Fred?"
"Can you and I have a professional relationship here in the business and a personal relationship as part of the Gang?"
"I'm sure we can."
"I don't mean that when we're at the office we cease to be Gang members. Or that we can't talk business on social occasions. I simply mean that we need to have two relationships simultaneously."
"Fred, I'm not just saying this because it's in my financial interest to. I really mean it. I consider you a friend and an employer. I see no reason why one has to get in the way of the other."
I said, "That's fine. But I'd just as soon kill the employer-employee relationship. I consider you my partner. I know that I'll control 60% of the stock, and that might make you feel like an employee. But if things go as I expect them to, that'll never be an issue. We're going to run this place as equal partners. Deal?"
"Deal. And Fred? Come for dinner and stay the night."
"I'd love to."
Andy and his family were even younger teenagers than Tim and Charlie.
Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.
[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]
* Some browsers may require a right click instead