I had known Jamie since he was a small boy. My wife and I had been friends with Jamie's family for years. His dad, Stephan, was the pastor of the church we had attended for the last 10 years. We had been away together as families numerous times and we had polished off many bottles of wine together. Ours was a friendship that allowed everybody to be exactly who they were—the best kind.
Jamie is a caring boy. Somewhat self-absorbed, but not in a bad way. He is, after all, a teenager. His sweet nature had always impressed me. I have to admit I have always had a real soft spot for him.
Not to mention empathy. He was, after all, the eldest boy in a Greek family, and much was expected of him. Whether he wanted to or not, he would lead the clan one day when his dad passes on the baton. He felt the leaden weight of the responsibility, and even though he is a member of a new, different generation, he would take on the mantle and the concomitant responsibility.
One weekend when we went away together his parents were in the process of considering moving to another country to support a church there. His mother is a pretty ginger who understands the world from her personal reality. Not unusually she thought it would be a good idea to uproot her family of two boys and a younger girl because she needed a change.
Understandably, the boys were in a state. Jamie particularly saw it as an assault on his way of life. What young man would like to go to a completely different country, regardless of how "godly” the reason was, and how clear the “calling” to go?
While the seriously inebriated mom and dad were debating to pros and cons with my (tee-totalling) wife in the living room, my daughter and I were consoling the distraught boys in the bedroom.
I was holding Jamie's hand and trying to talk the teary boy down. On the face of it I was a willing uncle trying to intervene in a family crisis that I was close to. What disturbed me was the depth of the feelings that I had for Jamie. He attracted me in a way that my heterosexual mind couldn’t compute. I assumed it was because my own son had died as a boy and I would never see him grow up as I was seeing Jamie do.
The night passed and nobody perished. The parents decided against changing countries. Mom and dad sobered up and the next day we all knew everything was OK.
The following night we were all sitting around the fire pit braaing (BBQing) meat. Jamie was feeding his little sister while his mother nursed a glass of wine on the porch. All of a sudden Jamie turned to me and looked at me intently.
“Uncle D you have a beautiful mouth,” he said.
I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything. It was a curious remark under any circumstances. It did make me feel strangely good, why I didn't know. But a warmth rose in me from a place I couldn’t identify. It called to my heart with an anonymous signature that somehow cracked a nod from my mind. It appeared I was the victim of a conspiracy between the parts of my own psychology.
Jamie himself combined the best of his father and mother's looks. When I say his mother is pretty, she is a ginger, with a killer smile around perfect teeth, a generous mouth with "lucky lips"; the kind that Cliff Richard uses to "kiss his chips" and to ensure that he'd "never be alone". Jamie had it made for sure. My daughter, for one, had a crush on him for as long as I remember, but he had never seen her as anything more than a sister to protect from bad guys out there. Instead of being ginger like his mother, he'd inherited most of his colouring from his Greek dad, so his eyes were a dark, sparkling version of his mom’s blue peepers when nursing a "glass of personality", something we did together frequently.
As he'd grown and proved to have not inconsiderable rugby talent, his 5ft 8 body had thickened out, becoming meatier. His ass filled his pants nicely, joining with his solid thighs in a way that I was sure that the girls found led them to fantasise about what the twin globes powered in the front.
His mother was unique, as pastor's wives go and had given offense to many parishioners over the years: chiefly the ones that took themselves and their "holiness" too seriously. The reason I mention this is that Jamie's mother had been known to embarrass her sons on occasion. The incident I recall is when she described how Jamie was fond of prancing around the house naked and then swinging his member from side to side and letting his mother hear how the not inconsiderable weight of it slapped against the sides of his hips. The picture stuck in my mind and made me vaguely uncomfortable. I was curious how well the young man was endowed, as I would have loved him to be interested in my daughter and end up having babies with her. I did sometimes look at the front of his jeans and wonder what he kept so well hidden.
On occasion I did see most of his body, like when they were swimming or when the three of them, his brother David, my daughter and Jamie went running in the rain on at a timeshare venue we went to together, coming back in their underwear, covered in mud from head to toe. I was intrigued as I sprayed them with the hose to remove all the mud. As Jamie pulled his jocks away from his washboard abs to let the water wash into his crotch area, he glanced at me under his heavily lashed eyelids and smiled knowingly.
Kind of like the time he climbed out of his dad's car when they came to fetch my daughter for an outing. He leaned back against the car, and slid his hand up his trim tummy exposing the line of his Jockeys above his shorts, and the intriguing, light treasure trail that enticed the eye downwards. He had that same look on his face as he watched me intently, his smile telling me he knew something I didn't. I didn't know what was happening and just kind of vaguely thought the boy is quite full of himself, just like his mother who also flirted mercilessly with anybody at all to get her way. Still, I love him as if he were my own son, I thought and left it at that.
When my daughter turned 18 we took her and a handful of her closest friends to a very posh deck at a nearby posh hotel for her first cocktails. Jamie (also 18) and his girlfriend were two of the teens we dragged along. I watched Jamie interact with his girl and he was the gentle, considerate boy I had gotten to know, murmuring comforting words to her when she looked shy and out of place in the small crowd of unfamiliar people, and freshening up her drink when she was low.
When the evening was over, I took Jamie and Nadine home. She had one or two too many and slept in the back of the car. Jamie was up front with me. It is a small car, a Chevy Spark, so the likelihood of rubbing hands against legs while changing gears is large. I had had my own fill of two beers, just under the limit, so my guard was down. As we drove I felt that it was hard not to bump into Jamie's thick thigh every time I went from first to second. In my country we use right hand drives and most cars use a stick shift. Normally somebody in the passenger seat would make an effort to avoid being touched after the first time, but Jamie didn't.
‘He obviously found it hard to keep his thick thighs together around the package between them,’ I found myself thinking. ‘Where did that come from?’ was my next alarming thought.
I looked over at Jamie in the dark and found his black, shiny eyes were looking straight at me. He had a half-smile on his attractive mouth. He looked far too knowing for an heterosexual18-year-old.
I quickly looked away and made every effort not to collide with his leg again. Then suddenly his leg was gone. I hastily looked over at him and was trapped by his gaze. ‘I knew you noticed!’ it said. This time his smile was brazen, triumphant. I looked away again and tried to concentrate on my driving while feeling his eyes on me all the time, and ignoring my thumping heart, which I was sure was audible over the muted sound of the small engine. I was very confused, a 40-something-year-old heterosexual father and husband responding to a hunky teenager like an adolescent girl.
The next Sunday I was leading worship in church so I was there early. So was Jamie, having come with his dad, who was of course preaching. Jamie sat in his customary spot right at the back of the room in a pew with his knees up against the pew in front of him.
‘Typical teenager’ I thought. He had his beanie pulled right down over his eyebrows and he didn't look quite as cocky as he usually did. I walked over to him as usual and put my hand on his shoulder.
"Hey, what's with the disguise?"
He pulled the hat up a fraction and exposed his shaved eyebrows.
"I got into the first team," he muttered.
I laughed quietly and asked, "Is that all they shaved?"
"No," he chuckled and pulled the beanie further up to show me his bald head.
I also chuckled.
"Is that all?" I raised the stakes as I raised my eyebrows and nodded at his crotch that nestled between his chunky thighs in his denim shorts. I didn’t think the question was out of place as I was alluding to a practice that was common in hazing all over the western world.
He went bright red and shook his head. He sat up out of his relaxed position and put his beanie in his lap as if to hide the embarrassment of his shaved pubic area.
I put my hand on his shoulder again and laughed quietly.
"Don't worry, it'll grow again. But it will get very itchy first. Very itchy." A ‘lol’ was implied in my tone although I didn’t openly laugh at the mortified teenager.
I felt oddly powerful, as I knew that for once I had the boy at a disadvantage. Somehow I had crossed a line that he had nudged closer in some of his interactions with me and I felt naughty and somehow exhilarated although nothing inappropriate had happened.
Later that morning after church, as I was in my car exiting the church parking, I passed Jamie and his mother in their car. I waved at her and Jamie stuck his head out of the window.
"Bye, pretty man," he called.
I felt my stomach drop like an elevator in a shaft. My heart thudded.
That afternoon I made love to my wife after lunch during our Sunday afternoon nap. She was pleasantly surprised since it had been years since the last time I had spontaneously elected to approach her like that during our nap time. As I penetrated her, all I could picture was Jamie's shaved genitalia. I wondered whether he was circumcised or not. As I thrust into my wife his denuded crotch forced itself into my mind and past my straight defences. I pounded my wife mercilessly.
For some reason I could see Jamie thrusting into somebody from behind, his muscular ass contracting as he pounded away at whomever he was penetrating. His lower back worked as he used his virile power to fuck the juice out of some young recipient. His upper back was hunched over his victim and his meaty arms held her in place so he could nail her thoroughly. Then I imagined my own face where his young cock entered her juicy cunt as he increased his pace to shoot his sperm into the slimy destination of her waiting receptacle. He slammed into her with deep groans as his ejaculation hit. I could imagine the loads of warm white sperm squirting out of the little eye of his tumescent penis head as his baby makers scurried to find their mark and do their deed. As he came in my mind's eye, so did I, our orgasms perfectly timed. Then something shocking suggested itself to my already reeling mind. As he pulled out of the dripping pussy, and I saw the ridges of his virile young rod appear, followed by his drooling cock head, in my fantasy he gently turned my head to face the sopping cunt before me. He pushed my face forward until I was making contact with the cunt lips. I pouted my mouth and stuck my tongue out. I had “gone down” on pussy before, of course, and loved it. But this was new territory: His white, pearly goop was oozing out of the glistening cunt lips and I began greedily to suck his spunk from them. I had never tasted semen before, but knew it smelt clean and alkaline. In my fantasy I sucked the cunt dry to get every last vestige of his essence from it. I wanted to know what his spunk tasted like. I also wanted that part of Jamie in me.
I was very confused but extremely turned on. I shot a huge load deep into my wife’s grateful pussy. She climaxed with a shout and the muscles in her vagina clenched my cock and sucked me deeper into her receptive cunt.
My wife and I drifted off to sleep afterwards. As I did, Jamie's deep brown eyes floated before mine: knowing and mysterious.