PLATONIC LOVEPart 5aWARNING: This story will contain graphic descriptions of a variety of sexual acts between men and MINOR boys. Generally, relationships are mutual and are based on informed consent. In later chapters, the relationship becomes incestuous. It should be noted that the Prologue is used to provide an historical perspective for what follows. If the subject of man/boy sex offends you, or you are under 18, do not read further! You have been warned! Read at your own risk! COPYRIGHT: Copyright is held by the author at an27868@anon.penet.fi. February, 1994. Fair use consists of copying and distributing via electronic means in the public domain only. In printed media, copyright protection remains for more than individual copies. ALT.SEX.STORIES.NOVEL OR COPIES OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS: It is expected that this story will exceed several hundred pages and will take some time before it is finished. Obviously, I am a frustrated author, but it is difficult to get a publisher for this stuff! I apologize for the abuse of bandwidth. Requests for earlier chapters etc. will not be met, primarily because of respect for the laws of other countries and the desire not to excessively burden the anonymous server in Finland. If you are missing some part(s), too bad! BTW, don't bother asking for other stories I have written! FACT OR FICTION: The story is almost fiction. Any resemblance to individuals, alive or dead, is either the result of unfortunate oversight or fond memories! "Platonic Love" is an interesting alternative to Judaic-Christian morality. It needs your support. REPLIES,SUGGESTIONS,ETC: E-mail comments and criticisms to an27868@anon.penet.fi, or post to alt.sex.stories.d. I will generally respond to all sincere email. Your support and suggestions are both welcomed and appreciated. Please do not post here! Please feel free to comment or point me towards ftp sites for similar stories. The continuation of this story will depend on the level of interest of readers. This story takes a lot of work and a lot of time. Your support, comments and encouragement are invited. FINAL WARNING: If you're under 18, or man-boy relationships aren't your thing then exit now PLATONIC LOVE. DAY TEN. Cape Sounion. Late Afternoon, August 2nd, 1993 "A lion does not love another lion, nor do male bears and boars seek out their own sex, but the love of the female reigns alone in their hearts." Lucian, Dialogues of Love. He was born and raised as a typical, late-twentieth-century child in America's heartland. The more I got to know him during that first afternoon we spent together, the more I came to realize that my son was a spoiled, petulant, selfish, precocious brat. As we motored out of Piraeus I quickly discovered that the boy had never been on a yacht before. In fact the biggest boat he had been on was a friend's speedboat on a lake some sixty miles south of where he lived in Kentucky. I knew, without being informed by anything other than my own eyes, that he had few friends and he was probably lucky to have the one who took him on the speedboat. Who could stand him long enough? His awkwardness on board my boat was to be expected but I was not prepared for his unwillingness to even try to help. From the outset, I sensed that he was lonely and I could easily understand why. Although I was no psychologist, one did not need a college degree to see that he lacked both self-esteem and self- confidence. He was an exceptionally nervous child. His stuttering appeared to be even worse than it sounded on the telephone. It was saddening to watch as my son stammered and stuttered, desperately trying to communicate, then giving up on partially finished sentences as the effort and embarrassment became too much for him to bear. We had a short, though very pleasant sail that afternoon, a broad reach under full sail for about two hours on the sparkling deep-blue Aegean Sea. However, I did not want to leave the mainland so close to evening so I decided to run back to the coast. We would spend the first night at Cape Sounion. I dropped the sails by myself as Jason sulked by himself in the cockpit. We had enjoyed another fight when he had hesitated in untangling the main-sheet for me. I tried to impress upon him the fact that his tardiness might one day be the cause of an accident. It was like talking to a rock. I gave up on him and motored in to a little cove and dropped the anchor by myself. It was nice to relax for a while, swinging lazily at anchor below cliffs that sprang from the sea and rose vertically until they towered two thousand feet above us. A normal kid, like Jeff, would have been jumping up and down at the chance to be swimming in the azure-blue bay where we anchored. But not Jason. He sat in the cockpit and read a book. When I suggested that we hike up to the top of the cliff and look at the Temple of Poseidon in the sunset he gave me a 'drop- dead' stare, shook his head, and went back to reading his book. Where was his appreciation of history, his sense of romance, his youthful energy? He was in the cradle of western civilization and he was bored. At first, I thought that he might be fatigued from his journey but he did not look tired. Palled, yes, even a little sea-sick, but he did seem to be engrossed in his book! It was with some surprise that I recognized it as one of mine. I decided to indulge him for one more day. As I tidied up on deck, I began to think that he regretted his decision. I observed him sneaking quick glances at the cliffs that towered around the bay, at the majestic, pure-white marble temple glowing in the late-afternoon sun. It was postcard material. Even for a disagreeable, whiny, little boy, it was an awesome sight. As the sun moved steadily closer to the horizon I began to think of dinner. I remembered Harry's advice; 'take the boy fishing' even as I heard fish breaking the surface. I picked up the binoculars and searched the water between the boat and the shore. A school of whiting were in the shallows near the beach. It was as good a chance as any that I would have to breach the chasm between us. Jason was still absorbed in his book when I reached forward and pulled it from his hands. "Come on, it's time to put the book down, Jason. We're going fishing." I took the book with me as I went down the companionway to get some bait from the freezer as my son complained loudly behind me. "W-w-what if I d-d-don't w-w-want to?" he griped as I disappeared down the hatch. "I think I'd r-r-rather stay h-h- here and read. That is, if you d-d-don't mind!" A few seconds later I reappeared. He was still upset. "I w-w-want to stay here, thanks. You go f-f-fishing, if you w-w-want to. I'd r-r- rather not." I stopped in front of him. "Sorry, it's not something that you have a choice about, kid. What I said was 'we are going fishing'. We, Jason! That's the plural form, you know." The boy shrugged disinterestedly. "There's n-n-no need to get p-p-pissed at me." I sighed and stepped out of the cockpit and began to unfasten the straps that secured the rubber dinghy. I glanced at Jason from the corner of my eye. he stood still, considering his options. He was visibly pouting. "You want to give me a hand with this?" I asked. He shook his head and I continued by myself. I had a system and it wasn't all that difficult to attach a pulley to the dinghy and lift if up by the mizzen boom, pivot it out over the water and ease it down. I guided it around to the stern swim- platform and held it steady while Jason slowly and very reluctantly boarded. I started the outboard on the second pull and chugged over towards the beach. Jason sat silently on the center thwart, his baby-ego thwarted. I was frustrated too. He showed no interest as I pointed out the shapes of the fish running just below the surface and even less interest in putting bait on a hook. For his first time, I did it for him, after that he was on his own. If it wasn't for the little shit in the dinghy with me, it would have been one of the best times I have ever had. The dying sun left red trails across the almost-still water. Seagulls wheeled and dived, screeching plaintively. The fish were biting aggressively. I caught two within ten minutes and then settled back and listened to the water lapping against the hull. It was an easy life, a good life, except for Jason. Curiously, he had risen to my challenge. I had two fish, he had none. My ten-year- old son was not to be outdone. He tried as hard as he could. With fish practically jumping out of the water in their eagerness to be caught, his inability to catch anything at all was very telling. The peculiar thing was that I liked watching him. I enjoyed his quirky movements, the shyness, the timid care with which he baited a hook, only to feel a sharp tug and miss yet again. As I contemplated the little boy, I conceded that while my son was effeminate, he was also extremely attractive. He was so good looking that I found it impossible to be angry with him. Somehow, deep inside me, I knew that he needed a friend. Finally, I decided to accord him some companionship. I also needed to apologize to him. "Jason,..." I began slowly. He looked up from peering over the edge of the dinghy. "I,...I want to say something." "Yeah?" "I'm sorry,... about what I said at the airport, about your earring thing. I didn't mean it." He smiled shyly and blinked. He swallowed and pressed his lips together. For a moment I thought he was going to start blubbering, but he began to smile. Jason's smile widened even further. "I-I-I think your tee s-s-shirt s-s-sucks. You l-l-look like a queer, too," he replied cheekily. I was wearing my favorite tee-shirt, the one with a big, bright-yellow, stylized sun on it and 'APOLLO' printed underneath and 'SUN GOD', on the back. I liked it a lot. I began to laugh. "Okay! We're even now. But I am sorry, Jason. It was a mean thing for me to say." He nodded as he continued to smile, then brushed his golden locks back by running his fingers through his hair. "Okay!" He started to laugh with me. His boyish giggle was infectious. I started to tell Jason the story of how the Aegean Sea got its name. He listened intently, his interest clearly visible. "Theseus was the son of the king. He was sent to Crete as part of the sacrifice to the Minotaur. The Minotaur was part-man and part-bull, according to the legend. He had told his father that if he was successful in killing the Minotaur he would sail home using white sails, instead of black ones. Anyway, Theseus killed the Minotaur," "Yeah, I know the story," Jason interrupted. "He used a ball of string to find his way out again." "That's right. Well, he was so happy that he forgot about the sails. His father was waiting up there on the cliffs and when he saw the black sails he believed that his son was dead so he jumped over the edge." I grinned as Jason made a "wheeeeeeeee" sound from the back of his throat. "Oh! I forgot to tell you, his father's name was Aegeus, hence we get the Aegean Sea." Jason grinned back at me. He had a happy look about him. All too soon it was time to go back to the boat and get dinner. Them as I started to pack the fishing gear away I saw a look of disappointment on his face. I wanted to hug him tightly and tell him I still loved him. I wanted to tell him that I had never stopped loving him. The words stuck in my throat, my thoughts unspoken. "I guess we better head on back," I said quietly. Jason smiled. "At l-l-least I t-t-tried to catch s-s- something." "You will next time." I started the outboard and began the trip back. "How do you like, uh, what's his name, Carlo?" I asked. Jason shrugged. "He's o-o-okay. I l-l-like him, I guess. I was s-s-supposed to go with them to P-P-Paris, you know. B-b-ut we had a f-f-fight." "What about?" I asked curiously. "N-n-nothing. You w-w-wouldn't be interested. C-C-Carlo changed his m-m-mind, Mom too. I g-g-guess they both w-w-wanted me out of the w-w-way for a w-w-while. I s'pose, they..." he murmured. It was obvious that Jason had no desire to talk about it and no intention of telling me. I let the subject die. During dinner, he became quieter and the ray of hope I had for something approaching a normal relationship was slowly extinguished as the evening progressed into night. He missed his television, or his mother. I wasn't certain which but I assumed that was the problem. He was agreeable enough, for a while, because I had a vcr on board and he was able to watch a pirated tape of The Never-Ending Story, Part 2. I had purchased it as a Christmas present for him and forgot to send it. But it went downhill from there. There was nothing else of interest to him on the television and even though we still had some reception from Athens, all the programs were in Greek and the picture was fuzzy. As I sat watching him, I decided that, all things considered, I didn't like Jason very much. And he was my son. If the truth be told, I didn't like him at all. I tolerated him, barely. He was a spoiled, unpleasant, joyless, little shit! He whined endlessly. He communicated by grunts. He rolled his eyes. He was rude. He was exactly like my ex-wife. If he had one redeeming feature it was that he was good-looking. But even then it was in a cute, girlish way. The first time I saw him, as he walked off the boarding ramp at the airport, I noticed his hair. The boy is fair-haired and curly, just like his mother, but his hair on top looked like it had been moussed. No wonder I made my comment about his likely sexual orientation. Jason is my only offspring, he's barely ten, and he looks like a faggot. I thought that it would drive his mother crazy. It was poor compensation, but the possibility gave me some amusement and a little revenge. >From the moment he stepped off the airplane in Athens and I saw him for the first time in seven, or was it eight years, he sulked continuously. He didn't want to be with me. Fine, I didn't want him around. It certainly wasn't my idea to have him stay with me. He didn't want to talk to me. Fine, I didn't want to talk to him. He probably thought that I had walked out on his mother. If only he knew the truth of it. Other than the inescapable fact that half of him had come shooting out of my dick a little less than eleven years ago, we had absolutely nothing in common. I scrutinized him closely as he watched the television. >From the look of him I didn't think he had ever been outdoors. Kind of skinny, practically no muscles, a wimp of the first order. At least he wasn't fat, another redeeming feature. The first time I showed him how to winch in the genoa he gave up after two-and-a-half turns and left it flapping wildly. That was the first time I noticed how skinny he was. He had a waist that couldn't have been any more than twenty-two inches and hips and chest that were only a few inches bigger. Like any true wimp his shoulders sloped downward from a scrawny thin neck. In an ill-conceived attempt to get through to him, I told him that he could even call his mother every day, if he wanted to. Collect, of course, or by SSB if we were away from a phone box as we were now. I thought that the suggestion of a radio call to his mother might have provoked some excitement. My suggestion raised little more than a shrug of his shoulders as he told me he didn't think she was still in Italy and he wasn't certain how or where to contact her. I felt sorry for him then. He had abandoned by the one person who he knew with certainty loved him. Even as a baby he had been fanatically possessive and naturally, he missed his mother. I also suspected that it would be hard for him to accept her relationship with a man. I anticipated that Jason had a very rude shock awaiting him when he next saw his mother and her new boyfriend. I gave up trying to be friends with him and started to revise my manuscript. Shortly before ten o'clock he angrily turned off the television, gave me another 'killer stare', and grumpily went off to his cabin. I sat outside for a long while, gazing up at a pitch-black sky and a myriad stars. Below, I could hear the faint sounds of his guitar and his sweet high- pitched voice as he played and sang. Strangely, I felt a romantic urge, a bizarre need to share the spectacular sight with my son. I knew he had never seen a night-sky as awe- inspiring. Instead, I left him alone. PLATONIC LOVE Part 5b WARNING: This story will contain graphic descriptions of a variety of sexual acts between men and MINOR boys. Generally, relationships are mutual and are based on informed consent. In later chapters, the relationship becomes incestuous. It should be noted that the Prologue is used to provide an historical perspective for what follows. If the subject of man/boy sex offends you, or you are under 18, do not read further! You have been warned! Read at your own risk! COPYRIGHT: Copyright is held by the author at an27868@anon.penet.fi. February, 1994. Fair use consists of copying and distributing via electronic means in the public domain only. In printed media, copyright protection remains for more than individual copies. ALT.SEX.STORIES.NOVEL OR COPIES OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS: It is expected that this story will exceed several hundred pages and will take some time before it is finished. Obviously, I am a frustrated author, but it is difficult to get a publisher for this stuff! I apologize for the abuse of bandwidth. Requests for earlier chapters etc. will not be met, primarily because of respect for the laws of other countries and the desire not to excessively burden the anonymous server in Finland. If you are missing some part(s), too bad! BTW, don't bother asking for other stories I have written! FACT OR FICTION: The story is almost fiction. Any resemblance to individuals, alive or dead, is either the result of unfortunate oversight or fond memories! "Platonic Love" is an interesting alternative to Judaic-Christian morality. It needs your support. REPLIES,SUGGESTIONS,ETC: E-mail comments and criticisms to an27868@anon.penet.fi, or post to alt.sex.stories.d. I will generally respond to all sincere email. Your support and suggestions are both welcomed and appreciated. Please do not post here! Please feel free to comment or point me towards ftp sites for similar stories. The continuation of this story will depend on the level of interest of readers. This story takes a lot of work and a lot of time. Your support, comments and encouragement are invited. FINAL WARNING: If you're under 18, or man-boy relationships aren't your thing then exit now PLATONIC LOVE. DAY TWELVE. Aegean Sea, in the Cyclades. Mid-day, August 4th, 1993 "There are two opposing kinds of love, and each ignites a different flame in our souls. One is like a child, interested only in childish things; it cannot be guided by reason; foolish men are swayed by its violence; it produces the desires that drive them into the arms of women... The other is sincere and serious-minded and everything about it proclaims its healthy origins; it engenders virtuous feelings and its influence greatly penetrates our souls; when it favors us, we enjoy sensual pleasure combined with virtue..." Lucian, Dialogues of Love. Apollo heeled over to port and dipped the lee rail in the water. White foam and crystal, azure water swirled past the stanchions. The water scooped the foot of the genoa, turning the bottom five feet of the sail darker. It splashed over the straining sheets and the boat groaned slightly. Forty-four thousand pounds of wood and aluminum, fifty-three feet of yacht accelerated. The mast and shrouds reverberated with increasing stress, humming in a perfect equilibrium of tension and compression. Then as the gust strengthened, over eleven hundred square feet sail filled to capacity. The boat heeled even further and plunged into the waves. There was a crash against the hull and spray burst outward thirty feet. The same wave sent a cascade of water rushing past the coaming. Five or ten gallons surged over the side and into the cockpit, sloshing back and forth until it found the drains. The wind had swung further to the east and within seconds had strengthened by at least ten knots. Well balanced, Apollo swung closer into the wind, tracking the change in direction as the pressure increased on the wind vane. A moment later, the luff of the genoa began to shiver, breaking into a tremble, then backwinding with a frenzied, whip-like cracking. I waited for a few more seconds, hoping that the wind would shift back to the south or that the gust would pass. It didn't. I tossed my book into the open locker and went to work. With a sideways glance I saw Jason scrambling away from the port seat. I held back a laugh. It would have been easy to laugh at his discomfiture, the look of shock and anger, the embarrassment like a crimson shame that flushed across his face. Jason was suddenly one wet, little boy. For just one or two of those few seconds that passed as I scrambled back to the helm I saw him looking at me angrily, as if it was MY fault he was wet. I was far too busy releasing the wheel and disconnecting the self-steering to worry about a wet, ten-year-old boy who was still pouting from an argument we had two hours earlier when I had finally given him his breakfast at ten o'clock in the morning. Still, I was sorry for him. I suppose I should have warned him. Too late now. He had been soaked. Seconds earlier he had been dozing, half asleep on the seat, curled up slightly and braced securely in the curve between the seat and the coaming, enjoying the warmth of the mid- morning sun on his bare legs. Now he was wide awake and soaked to the skin. Thoroughly drenched. His white-cotton tee-shirt, one of the few pieces of sensible clothing he had brought from with him, was clinging to his chest and belly. His shorts were similarly wet. Jason was saturated, from head to toe. Water drained in rivulets down his arms and legs and his long hair was bedraggled as he shook himself like a wet puppy. "G-g-goddam! Shit!" he swore loudly. Two days out of Athens and he still didn't have his sea legs. He staggered everywhere, grasping in a frenzy every time Apollo rocked. Most of the time the boy looked as if he was scared, scared absolutely 'shitless'. He looked awfully pale as well, though fortunately not too green, yet. I suspected it wasn't far away, but at least he hadn't been sick, so far. Thank God for that small mercy. If he ran true-to-form he would save it for down in the cabin. Kid-vomit, I knew it would stink for days down there, if he did. The thought grossed me out. How in the hell did I ever get tricked into this mess? Two days down, twenty-five more to go. Twenty-five more days of this complaining ten-year-old baby before I could ship him home, collect. Having Jason on board had become a pain. I had been planning to run down through the Cyclades, spend for a few weeks bumming around on a few of the islands like Lindos and Santorini, then head on down to Crete. I needed to be there sometime during September to work on a photo assignment for a few weeks. I was looking forward to diving on the ruins of a Roman galley off the coast. The marine life was supposed to be something else. With luck, I might get enough material for an article in a diving or sailing magazine as well as complete my contract with The Geographer. The problem with having Jason on board was that I really didn't like kids very much, especially my own kid. With the single exception of Harry's son, Jeff, I tolerated them, ideally at a distance. Jason, and his mother, screwed both my schedule and my life up. She wasn't very happy about my idea of taking her precious little boy to the Greek Islands. When she had come up with the idea that I keep Jason for the holidays I think she expected that I would stay around Athens, certainly no further than the adjacent coast of the Peloponnesus. I didn't see what the problem was. Precious, little Jason could easily fly or take a ship from Rhodes, or where ever it was where we were at the time when I packed him back off to his mother. On the bright side, I was headed on my way back to Paros and Harry's Bar. At least there, Jason could hang around with Jeff (poor Jeff) and leave me alone. It was a pity Jason was ten- years-old and equipped with a dick and balls, and not fourteen or fifteen and furnished with tiny tits and a hot little pussy. Now, that might have been fun. I started getting an erection even as I remembered Tina. For a few months about three years earlier, I had operated the boat for private charters in the Caribbean while I was waiting for my publisher to accept my first book. The second charter I had taken was one that I picked up at the last minute from another boat when it was damaged in a collision at the dock. Two days later, Tina and her mother and stepfather stepped on board. Tina was cute and I ogled her from the moment I saw her. It was impossible not to. Tina was a real 'Barbie-doll'. Within ten minutes I found out that she was fourteen years old. She was into puberty by maybe a year. Her tits were tiny and pointed and they stuck out like little, ripening hemispheres under her flowered sun-dress. The straps of her training bra showed through the thin material. What followed was absolutely Freudian. It was pure, unadulterated depravity. Tina flirted with me in front of her parents and with what appeared their complicity. From the time she reappeared on deck, to the time she stepped off the boat a week later, she wore a micro-bikini. The bottom halves were mere patches of neon-orange nylon attached by black cord. The sides of her nicely shaped, little butt bulged out of the back end but the front was even more revealing. When it was wet, the thin nylon clung to her body and her pussy was defined and clearly revealed. Not only that, her crotch was barely covered and the still-hairless sides of her pubic mound were always openly displayed because she insisted on sitting with her legs splayed out. A red-blooded male could never get tired of gaping at the wonderful view. By the third day, things were getting out of control. Tina's voice teased me the entire time and her parents did not 'bat an eyelid' when their daughter nestled up to me and did everything except curl up in my lap. That was the day they took off for a few hours in St. Martins. I took Tina and the dinghy over to the other side of the lagoon. How was I to know it was a nude beach? Tina lost no time getting her bikini off and I wasn't far behind. We swam for a while before we went up into the sand hills. The kid fucked me into exhaustion. Tina was anything but a virgin and I filled her up three times that afternoon. I thought that it was an acceptable performance for a forty-year-old man. That night, Tina and I slept in her bed and we fucked again. In fact, we fucked every day and night for the rest of the week. Her parents knew that tiny-tits-Tina was getting screwed and they gave me the biggest tip of the three months I was in the charter business. Two hundred dollars. I figured that each orgasm I had with Tina was worth about ten bucks apiece. I didn't hear from Tina again and for a while I wondered if she got pregnant. I switched my mind back to the present and gazed at my soaking-wet son. It was hard to believe that Jason was my son. The fact that he was so pale that I insisted he keep out of the sun did not help matters. Perhaps I did him an injustice. He needed fresh air, sunshine, and exercise. The only problem was getting his head out of his book. The wave that came over the side and soaked him solved that problem. His book was as drenched as he was. Jason stared at me indignantly. He was enraged and obviously affronted. His self-esteem reached its lowest level. He shivered with cold as the wind blew through his wet clothes. He looked very unhappy and truly miserable. I watched guiltily as his jaws clenched tightly together, either resisting the temptation to cry or preventing his teeth from chattering. I heard him snivel as I refastened the steering lock and reset the wind vane of the self-steering mechanism. He sniffed again as I turned back and sat down again. Water was still dribbling from his clothes. "I-I-I,... w-w-want,... t-t-t-to g-g-g-go g-g-g-get ch-ch- changed," he spluttered falteringly. I wanted to hug him. He looked so devoid of warmth and vitality that I loved him. He was mine. I had to love him. "You can't go down there like that," I warned him. "You'll get water everywhere. I don't want things soaked." "I-I-I'm c-c-cold," he whined. "I'm sure you are," I observed. "You're wet! Get your clothes off." Jason looked at me uncertainly as if taking off his clothes was prohibited. At the time I thought of the boy as being undersexed, almost to the point of being asexual. I shrugged. "You can stand there shivering if you want, Jason. Or you can take your clothes off and get dry. Take your pick. There's nothing to be embarrassed about. I'm your father, remember. You might not like the idea, but I am. It wasn't all that long ago that I used to change your diapers and wipe the crap off you." The boy blushed shamefully. It was, at least, a sign of some life. It was followed quickly by another. "You're a real shit, you know that!" he said under his breath. "Why Jason, because I don't put up with your whining, stupid nonsense? You're a boy, you ought to grow up and stop trying to be a damned girl." He wailed. A sob started deep inside him and burst out of him. He rushed forwards, his small fists clenched tightly and he began to hammer impotently on my chest. He tripped on the sheets that were coiled in the cockpit and started to plunge towards the lee side as the boat heeled over in a sudden gust. After years at sea, responses become automatic. I lunged after him. If I had not caught him by the legs, the lifelines might have stopped him, but I doubt it. The boat was moving in excess of ten or twelve knots and the wind was gusting over twenty knots. If he had gone overboard it would take several minutes to get the boat turned around and back in the same spot. With the waves increasing in height, I would have been lucky to find him, assuming of course, that he had not drowned by then. I locked my arm around him as tightly as I could and hung on to the binnacle. For about a minute he struggled violently against me until the gust passed and the boat righted itself. He seemed to want to go over the side. He was hysterical. Tears poured out of him, in a howling wail. He sobbed incoherently but between gasps I managed to catch a few words. He repeated the same thing over and over. Simply, he wanted to know why I hated him so much. I didn't know the answer to his question. Maybe it was the fact that he looked so much like his mother to my eyes. Maybe it was because he appeared to be so little like myself. Maybe it was because he was not what I expected him to be like. He was small and sensitive, he was beautiful, and he was not at all like Jeff. But, if he had been cold before, now he was freezing. I held his small, shaking body against me and pulled his tee-shirt upwards. It peeled away, clinging wetly to his skin. As I reached his arms, he obediently lifted them upwards so that I could pull it up and over his head. I reached down and placed my hands on his narrow hips as I gently eased him away from me. He was still blubbering, endlessly, as I unfastened the button at the front of his denim shorts and tugged his zipper open. I stripped his wet, dark-blue shorts off him with a quick, downward motion and dropped them in a sodden pile with his tee shirt. Except for his little, white jockey-underpants my son was naked. It had the most disturbing effect on me. I looked at him long and hard and it started to make me hard. Other than the occasional erection when I wrestled with Jeff, I had never been aroused by another male. My eyes travelled down Jason's pale body. He was lightly tanned and he appeared to be devoid of hair. There was not even a trace of the soft 'peach fuzz' that most children have. It was the total absence of hair and the fact that he was perfectly formed with the elegant, classical proportions of a master sculptor that made his smooth body more like marble than living flesh. His underpants clung to his body. To me, that last vestige of my son's modesty was more exciting than if he had been naked. I shuddered as I realized that my own son was infinitely more arousing to me than Tina had been, in her bikini, or out of it. In the wet, thin cotton the outline of his small genitals was clearly visible. The shape of his tiny penis and testicles held my eyes riveted. He was wearing high-rise briefs that started above his navel. Then, unbelievably, the urge built within me, the urge to take his underpants off and see all of him. He looked up at me, still shivering as his skin started to become pock-marked with goose-flesh. His lips were compressed tightly, tears still trickled down his soft, small cheeks, he looked at me desperately, anxious for my sympathy, still wondering why I despised him so much. Without thinking, I pulled off my own tee shirt and began to dry him. I wanted only to take my mind of the fearful thoughts that were forming in my mind. Even as I dried him down I realized that my goal had not been solely to make him warm. I had wanted to touch his perfect, little body. More than anything, I wanted to pull his underpants down. I moved back guiltily, wanting to feel revulsion for thoughts that should have been repugnant to any normal male. My tee shirt was damp but my son was dry. Well, most of him was dry because I had not dared to touch the part of him that was still covered by his little, wet underpants. "You feel better," I asked softly. "Yeah. Th-a-a-nks," he shivered. "You better go put some warm clothes on, Jay-boy," I suggested. Jason's head jerked as he looked at me uncertainly. I had startled him. "Y-y-you used t-t-to c-c-call me that w-w-when I w- w-was a b-b-baby," he stammered painfully. "Huh? Oh! Yes, I guess I did. You used to be my Jay-boy, remember?" My son nodded slowly. "Do you still feel cold?" I asked gently. Instinctively, my hand reached forward and despite the frenzied warnings from my left brain not to, I touched him. My hand brushed the small, slender body, feeling the smooth skin of his belly immediately below his ribs. Suddenly, my feeling that the boy was inert and made of marble vanished. I felt live, warm flesh. The impulse to tear my hand away came back but by then it was too late. My fingers caressed him, pressing into the silky skin as they stroked back and forth. I glanced up at him, finally taking my eyes away from the tiny bulge between his legs. "Do you still feel cold?" I repeated. He was startled out of his own reverie. "Huh?" he said absently, then after thinking for a moment, shook his head. "Do you want to go put some dry clothes on?" I asked gently. The idea that lurked at the back of my mind sprang forward. "Or, if you want, you can stay up here and warm up in the sun. You've only got to lie here on the seat and stay out of the breeze and you'll be fine." "M-m-may I? D-d-don't you m-m-mind?" I grinned at him. Why would he think that I would mind if he lay around the cockpit naked all day? Suddenly, I felt very, very hot. I swallowed nervously. I wondered if Jason sensed my desire. It was over-powering me and it seemed to be so obvious that it would be impossible to miss. I tried to think of Tina. I tried as hard as I could but each time my thoughts were pulled back to the present. My penis lurched as it tightened still further in the confines of my shorts. Already I could feel it bulging as it became harder. What was happening too me? Was I, what I had accused him of? Was I the queer, the faggot? I wiped away the sweat that formed on my brow. I nodded. I would do anything to keep him here on deck with me. Slowly my courage returned. "Of course not, Jason. Why would I mind?" He smiled shyly and shrugged as he settled back on the leeward seat. There was still a risk that another wave might come over the side, but he was safely out of the wind and in the sun and no matter how far the boat heeled he would not slide more than a few inches at most. He gazed back at me as I started to pick his wet clothes up from the cockpit floor where I had dropped them. I squeezed out as much water as I could and placed them over the wheel so they would dry off. I met his eyes with mine and I smiled at him reassuringly. He gave me a slow, shy smile in return as he curled up in warmth of the sun. I found his book in the corner of the cockpit, next to the drain hole. It too, was soaked from cover to cover. I picked it up and a stream of water trickled out it. Playfully I squeezed it out the same way that I had squeezed his clothes out. Jason started to giggle as the water dribbled down my forearms. In all likelihood the book was ruined but I placed it over the wind- direction indicator. "It'll be a while before you can read that," I laughed, then added, "Unless you don't mind peeling the pages instead of turning them." My son gave me a big grin. It made me feel happier than I had been for a long, long while. It also made me feel braver. Before I could stop myself I had said what I had wanted to say for the last few minutes. "If you take off your underpants I'll hang them here to dry out as well," I said in barely disguised innocence. Jason still grinned at me. His big, blue eyes were magnetic. They reflected the innocence of childhood and I felt a rush of adrenaline as I realized that he was considering my suggestion. "M-m-my underp-p-pants," he asked. "Then I w-w-won't have anything on." "So? I have seen you naked before, you know." I smiled at him teasingly as I added, "Lots of times. You used to like running around in the raw when you were younger. For a while I used to think you were born to be a nudist." Jason regarded me uncertainly. This close, I wasn't prepared to stop. I continued to smile at him. "I have seen it all before. I even know you aren't circumcised. But do you know why you aren't?" His eyes flashed downward momentarily as if trying to remind himself whether his foreskin was, or was not intact. He shook his head slightly. "Because I said no. Your mom wanted you cut and I wanted you natural. That was one fight I actually won." His grin widened as his perfectly white teeth appeared. Unless I was mistaken he still had some baby teeth and there was a gap on the right side where he was waiting for a replacement model. "Yeah?" he said curiously. Emboldened, I persisted in my recollections of my two years and seven months with Jason. "Really! I used to give you baths a lot too. Back then, you were my favorite person in the whole world Jay-boy." I began to laugh as I remembered more details. "W-w-what's s-s-so funny?" Jason demanded. I shook my head as I tried to restrain myself. "I was just remembering something. Just about every time I bathed you, you used to get an erection. It was the tiniest little thing but it would stick up so hard and proud. You used to lie in the bath- tub and play with it." Jason reddened slightly. I enjoyed the boy's discomfiture as I wondered whether he could remember the games he played. I decided to help him along. "Your favorite game was to tie your toy boat up to it. Now let me think, what was the name you called it. It wasn't pee-pee or anything like that. Uh! Hmmmm! It was a name you made up for it and it was really funny at the time. Well I'm sure it will come to me sooner or later." "W-w-why d-didn't you w-w-want me c-c-c,... c-circumc-c- ised,... l-l-like you, Dad?" he asked with a curious expression on his face. He twisted onto his back and put his hands behind his head. I thought for almost a minute before I answered. "I guess because that's the way we you came. I couldn't see the point in cutting off part of you. Anyway, you were mostly foreskin, back then." I grinned, "You wouldn't have had much left afterwards. Besides I think boys look better with it on. It looks a lot sexier." Then his words hit me. How dumb could I be? My beautiful young son had just called me 'Dad' and I hadn't noticed. I stared at him in disbelief. The smile on his face was almost mystical. Without a word he arched his back and lifted his buttocks up off the seat. He pushed his wet underpants downward to his knees before he settled back on the seat. I turned away deliberately as soon as I realized he was undressing completely. I saw only the briefest glimpse of bare, alabaster-white flesh. I gazed out over the ocean, examining the horizon for signs of other boats, for floating debris, for anything to take my mind of the fact that my son was probably naked on the seat only a few feet away from me. "Heh, Dad!" he called out suddenly. I reacted by turning back, just in time to catch his underpants was they came flying through the air in a wet, sodden ball of cotton. I grinned at him as I tried hard to keep my eyes from searching out and focusing on the one part of him that I wanted to see more than I could stand. Again, I endeavored to keep my mind on other things, to avert my eyes from what was now definitely very naked and grinning as he lay on the seat next to me. I carefully unfolded the balled-up cloth. They were turned inside out and as I flipped them out it was impossible not to marvel at the small size. To my eyes, my son's underpants seemed no larger than they had been when he had first stopped wearing diapers and started wearing 'big-boy' pants. In a rush, my memory came back to and I started to laugh. "I remember now," I finally chortled. "I started calling your dick a puppy. After all, if a girl has a pussy, then a boy has a puppy, right? Actually, I think it was kind of appropriate as well. He was always getting into mischief in the bath-tub." My son smirked cheekily. "S-s-so w-w-what did I call it?" "Let me think. It was a doggy name, from one of your books. Uh! Yeah! I know! Pokey! Boy, was that ever on the money," I laughed, "He was always poking his head up." Jason blushed slightly. "He was, Jas'. It was pretty funny at the time, but it's only natural for it to happen. It's nothing for you to be embarrassed about, now, or then. It used to happen all the time." I grinned. "At least when you were with me. I don't think your mother liked it when Pokey stuck his head up. And she certainly didn't like either of us calling him Pokey." I turned his underpants around. There was a little brown 'skid' mark in the seat. It was an enchanting reminder of the way he had once been. Just before he was out of diapers his bowel movements had become quite substantial. He used to regularly be covered from his spine to his fat, tiny scrotum. On some occasions, it went all the way up his belly and over his back. There had been what I could only describe as an intense closeness to him, almost an enjoyment in cleaning him up, wiping the smelly mess that fouled him, ensuring that his scrotum and penis were absolutely clean of it. I even wenet to the extent of folding a point in the toilet-wipe and inserting it into the tiny opening of his foreskin as deeply as possible. That used to bring forth a fit of wild giggles, and frequently, a nice, little erection. Even at two-years-old, Jason was a sensuous and erotic child. Then, unable to resist the temptation a moment longer I took my first long look. I had not seen my son naked for more than seven years. I had adored him as a baby. Even the 'terrible twos' were wonderful. He was wonderful. How could I have ever left him alone for all that time? The beauty of his face was reciprocated in his perfect young body. He was lightly tanned except for his middle section. There the skin was all but pure white, a deliciously soft, creamy-pink color. It was the color that Fraggonard used for flesh. It was a delicate tone that bespoke of the fact that this part of him had never witnessed the rays of the sun. No, that was a lie. As a baby I had often let him play outside in the yard. I would watch him splashing in his paddle- pool or covering himself with sand in the sand-box. On most days he would be naked. The summer he turned two, he had the most gorgeous tan from head to toe. What had happened to the confident little boy? He had never stuttered then. I could remember those afternoons we shared vividly. He had been so happy and playful as we frolicked in the grass, wrestling, him cool and wet and naked, me hot and sweaty and clothed. I wonder whether my astonishment was revealed on my face. I felt it with a sudden jarring shock. In one way at least the passage of time appeared to have stopped. My son's little penis, his testicles too, for that matter, seemed to be no larger than they had been more than seven years earlier. Now, his genitals looked disproportionately smaller as the rest of him had grown. My eyes were riveted to his groin as I stared, lovingly. His genitals were, like the rest of him, perfect. His foreskin still appeared to be inordinately long relative to the short length of his penis. His scrotum with its tiny precious cargo was tight. It formed a little wrinkled lump between his thighs. The skin was somewhat darker and it emphasized that wonderful part of him. Even though I had no basis for comparison, I knew that his scrotum was small for a boy of his age. It had been small when he was young and now with the retarded growth of his genitals, it appeared even smaller. In that respect, my son was similar to me. For most men, the scrotal pouch hangs at least as far as the penis. In my case, the scrotum is compact and when fully relaxed, barely comes past the halfway point of my penis. In Jason's case, his scrotal development was further restricted so that his testicles were so close to his body that they were barely visible. I realized instinctively and sympathetically that he would be the brunt of more than a few 'locker-room' jokes as he grew up. But in its smallness, his little scrotum was jewel-like. Like the sparkling, diamond stud in his ear, it held my full attention. I breathed slowly as I gazed upon the naked boy, marvelling at his beauty. I could never hate him. I looked too long, too hard. Jason began to blush. Suddenly filled with embarrassment, his hand moved downwards and covered his exposed sex organs. His eyes met mine as we glared at each other silently. I needed to say something, anything to divert both his attention and mine from what confronted us. "Like I said, Jay-boy, you were mostly foreskin," I said softly. I smiled weakly and breathed outward and then forced myself to turn away. If I had not been standing behind the binnacle, Jason would have seen my erection. I busied myself, tidying the sheets, taking in a little more of the genoa, giving more tension to the back stay, adjusting the helm. The rum-line from Cape Sounion was 75 miles, almost a direct line southeast between the islands of Kea and Kithnos. The wind had definitely changed direction by nearly twenty points to the east. If I wanted to reach Paros by nightfall I would have to beat into the wind. The waves were starting to build and I knew that it would be a rough ride. Personally I enjoy a rough sea. There is something very satisfying about the power of a yacht as it surges from one wave to the next and white spray cascades outwards. I also knew it would probably make Jason seasick very quickly. I considered the options. The best idea was to ease off the sheets and take the less demanding course towards Mykonos. It was too far to go to tack down to Paros today. If the wind kept swinging to the east, there was a strong probability that it heralded the meltemi. That was an unpleasant thought. The winds could reach fifty knots as hot air swept down into the Mediterranean from the Russian steppes. Sometimes it lasted for days at a time. The forecast had not mentioned a meltemi but my experience with Greek forecasts was not reassuring. We needed to be 'holed up' somewhere in the lee of an island before dark. I eased the sheets and reset the self-steering for a course that would take us eastward towards Mykonos. For a moment I gave some thought to staying at Siros. It lay off the port beam, about three or four miles to the north. I took a quick peek at Jason. He seemed to be doing fine, almost enjoying the rise and fall of the boat as it lifted up into each wave and rushed down its face into the next one. For a while at least, seasickness would not be a problem. I stepped into the cockpit and examined the chart. On our current course, nearly due east, was Mykonos. I guessed the distance to be about twenty five miles, certainly no more than thirty miles. I checked the log. We were making over ten knots. Three hours at most, we could be there by three o'clock at the latest. The chart showed that there were some protected anchorages but one in particular caught my eye. We could stay at a cove near Super-Paradise Beach for the night. I glanced at Jason, wondering what he would think if he knew what was in my mind. If the wind abated tomorrow we could head for the village of Mykonos, or if it swung back towards the west again, we could go south to Paros. If it strengthened, we could stay over on Mykonos for a few days. Slowly my aching-hard erection subsided. I felt relief. I also felt disbelief. Looking at the slender, naked body of my own son had made me hard. I had been much harder than I had ever been before and considerably more that I had been with Tina. It was an intensely disturbing thought. It was a thought that made my heart beat faster even as I tasted bile in my throat and guilt settled over me like a furtive cloud. For the next ten minutes I kept my eyes averted, stealing only an occasional glance and always avoiding the one place that I wanted to feast my eyes on. Jason had stretched out on the seat. One arm was crooked under his head providing a pillow of sorts. His other arm was above his head, his fingers hooked around the drum of a winch. The effect was startling. It stretched the skin of his chest and belly taut. Thin, sharp lines marked the position of every rib. Slender, gently swelling muscles of his belly formed a flat groove from his chest to his groin. Again I forced my eyes away. I reached into the side locker and extracted a plastic bottle of suntan lotion. It was the amber, oily type with an SPF close to zero but it was all that I had aboard. I made a mental note to buy more. I should have done that in Athens, the price doubled in the islands and from the look of his skin he would go through a few gallons by the time he left for home. I leaned forward and passed the bottle across to Jason. Fortunately, his right knee was drawn up so that I saw nothing beyond his slender, beautifully shaped thigh and leg. I grinned at him as he reached forward to take it from me. Already his body looked warm and dry. "You better put some of this on, Jay-boy," I said with a wink. "And make sure you put a lot of it on all over you. If you get Pokey sunburnt you'll know it." My son giggled as he flipped the cap off. He squeezed the bottle over his chest and the amber oil squirted out into a big puddle on his pale flesh between his nipples. He began to massage it into his skin. It was about the sexiest thing I have ever seen. My penis lurched again as my heart rate surged and my normally low blood-pressure doubled. I forced myself to look upward. I gazed at the sails. The main mast towered more than seventy feet above me. The sails seemed vast from the perspective that I had and the glare was intense. I closed my eyes and willed my thoughts away from Jason, trying hard to think of anything else but him and the motion of his small deft fingers rubbing into his belly. I tried to think of Tina, of the soft brown triangle of hair between her legs and the narrow, very wet, slit that had sucked my cock in and held it tightly. But the desire to look at my naked son became stronger and stronger. A minute passed. I opened my eyes and turned to him. He was sitting up, rubbing both hands against his legs. He glistened with a lustrous, oily sheen. He worked intently, absorbed in his self-indulgent self-pleasuring. Because that was exactly what it was. His eyes were half-closed and his mouth was half-open as he soaked up the life-giving energy from the sun and radiated his own vibrant energy. Jason was every bit as hard as I was. Casually his right hand slid from his legs to his groin and I watched, mesmerized as his fingers stroked against the tiny rigid shaft that lay flat against his lower belly. After only a few moments of gently fondling himself, two of his fingers encircled his scrotum and he began to rub at his testicles. His thumb and one finger, his first finger remained looped around his little, hard penis. Without warning, his eyes flashed open, met mine, and his hand jerked away. Instinctively both knees came up to his chest, blocking my view of his tiny boy-penis. He blushed self- consciously, visibly embarrassed. That he had been so engrossed in achieving his own pleasure as to be unaware of my presence both excited and fascinated me. "It looks as though Pokey's up to his old tricks again," I teased gently. Jason reddened slightly but I smiled reassuringly as I added, "I bet it felt nice. It's nothing to be ashamed about, Jay-boy. Every boy does that, you know. That's one of the reasons why its there." He swallowed nervously and he considered my smile for a moment or two. "Yeah?" I nodded. "It's certainly a whole lot more fun than just peeing through it, isn't it?" He smirked and nodded back at me. Slowly he settled back down on the seat and stretched out, though he was careful to keep his right leg crooked and the knee lifted up to ensure his privacy. For the next two hours I stole quick, surreptitious glances, peeking at him when he was absorbed in reading his book or dozing, catatonic in the warmth of the sun. He was very careful not to touch his penis again while I was near him. By two o'clock, Mykonos was fast approaching. I went below and retrieved a navigation guide and a pair of bright-yellow swimming shorts that I found in Jason's cabin. His cabin was a mess. The motion of the boat had tossed his suitcase to the floor and it had opened. Clothes, books, and toilet articles littered the floor. I shrugged. A day earlier, even a few hours earlier, I would have shouted at him to clean it up. It wasn't his fault, if anything, it was mine for not having told him to make sure that everything was secured down. He would clean it up in his own good time. I started back up, climbing the stairs carefully since I had only one hand free for the boat and it was still heeling considerably with each strong gust. I barely suppressed a heart attack. Jason's head was towards me and I looked along his slender, young body to his groin. He was playing with himself. His penis was hard again and his fingers grasped it tightly. He was trying to pull the foreskin back, endeavoring to retract it past his glans. It was nearly past the head but the last eighth of an inch was still too tight to pull past. He breathed heavily as he pushed and pulled at it. I could have stood there on the second step and watched all day. And during the night too for that matter. He was obviously enjoying himself. His penis was oil-slicked and glistening and it was evidently slippery as his fingers kept losing their grip. It was only the overriding importance of making a safe approach into Mykonos and avoiding the rocks around Delos, that demanded my attention and took my interest away from him. I ascended the stairs, making as much noise as I could to give him warning and then tossed his shorts at him. They landed over his genitals. He jumped as if I had given him an electric shock. He had been in another world, living in a fantasy of his own making. His hand instantly dropped down and covered his aroused genitals as I came through the companionway and stepped into the cockpit. "You better put these on," I grinned, "Before the locals get a look at Pokey. They might arrest us," I teased. He smirked at me with a mysterious beguiling shyness and for a moment I wondered whether Jason had known that I had been watching him from the companionway. He slipped his feet through the legs of his shorts, pulled them along his legs and thighs, then came to his feet to finish the job. I caught a last glimpse as 'Pokey' disappeared behind opaque, bright-yellow nylon. It probably saved me from a stroke. He dropped back onto the seat and resumed his shy, knowing smile. His blond hair was radiant in the bright afternoon sunshine. Again, I gazed silently, captivated. I was enchanted by his beauty. He was still the wonderful little boy that I had loved so dearly, seven years ago. "We have a choice, Jay-boy," I stated. "No, this time you have a choice. We can go round to the other side of the island to the town or we can find a nice, quiet cove on this side and stay there. You pick." "W-w-hat would we do if w-w-we went to the town?" "Well, I guess we'd tie up at the harbor and walk around. Maybe get dinner at a restaurant. Most villages on the islands are very pretty and Mykonos is one of the best. It is real touristy, though," I answered. Jason grinned. "Hmmmm! I d-d-don't know. The c-c-cove, I guess." I nodded. "Good choice. We can go swimming if you want." I changed course to take us in closer to the coast. "Jason?" "Yeah, Dad?" My heart leaped again. "Jas',... when did you start stuttering?" I asked gently. I saw Jason's lips press together. He breathed out slowly. "I-I-I d-d-don't remember, b-b-but it w-w-wasn't long after y-y- y-y-you left." I shook my head sadly. "God, I'm sorry Jas'. I loved you so much. I wanted to take you with me. I really did. I've missed you so much." |