Swim Team Dads

Slade and Chris draw closer as Keith heals

This is an original work of fiction. All characters engaged in sexual activity are over 18. This is the second of three chapters that have been completed. No AI was used in the production of this story. © 2023, all rights reserved. Brunosden

[In Chapter 01, after a long friendship, and as a result of an accident involving Slade's son Keith, Chris and Slade discover that they are attracted to each other. They spend the night together. Next day:]

We arrived at the hospital around 10:30. It was a day off for Chris and the nurses in the ER were kidding him about his addiction to them and their department. He just couldn't stay away from the hospital. Chris had been the admitting, and he thought that he could accelerate the discharge process. Unfortunately, he was wrong.

(This hospital like many others charged for hospital stays on a quarter-day basis. Holding a patient beyond noon, even for a few minutes, automatically added a quarter-day to the bill. No one was in a hurry to accelerate release—primarily when the patient was ready to go and required almost no care. There were empty beds, so what's the hurry? Administrators were not inclined to make the bureaucracy more efficient, particularly with a detriment to the bottom line.)

But in Keith's case, the release was going to be complex. He was still bound at the chest and both legs were in casts and were being elevated mechanically. Theoretically, if Chris had not insisted, they would have kept him for several more days. A special wheel chair was requisitioned, and the hospital safety officer wanted to inspect my car before he would sign off. Chris assured them that we had a hospital bed and regular care at home, and that the SUV had been prepared to cushion the short road trip. Like many MDs, Chris was of the view that long stays in germ-laden hospitals were often worse than the alternative—provided reasonable home care can be arranged.

Finally the paperwork was completed, and Keith was discharged and installed in the car—in the back seat with his legs outstretched over the reclined front passenger seat. Maria was in the back to stabilize him. Chris would follow in his Jag. As we drove, I explained to Keith that arrangements had been made for us to move in with Chris and Sean—and that we would have a part-time nurse for him, and that Maria was going to be full-time for the next two weeks. He brightened noticeably. Then I mentioned that the school had recommended a tutor and that he would be having regular classes throughout. The smile dimmed a bit.

We arrived at the Crescent, Kevin was transported in a special wheel chair that kept his legs out and raised--to his new room. We moved him to the bed, engaged the hoists, and looked up to see that Keith was already asleep. The morning had taken its toll, and he was still on meds. Since the two of us would be available for the rest of the day, and Maria would be doing double shifts for the next few weeks, Chris suggested that she might want to leave. She protested, "I haven't done dinner for my guys yet." But Chris countered that Keith had asked for Chinese that night. (When did that happen?) Soon Maria was gone and the house was quiet. Sean was not expected home for a few hours.

Chris had obviously thought this all out and set it up. "My turn, cowboy. I want a riding lesson." I checked with the office, signed off for the weekend, and turned off the cell. Then we walked to his bedroom. Chris locked the door, turned and removed his scrubs. He was commando.

"Are you the same doc that I used to know?"

"Slade, it's been more than ten years. I can't wait another minute to feel you deep inside me again."

I didn't need any further invitation. I stripped and threw myself on the king. "I absolutely cannot believe how big you are, cowboy. I think somebody might have confused you with your horse when they gave out dicks." Chris picked up a bottle of baby oil and squirted it on my chest, gut and thighs. Then he stretched out over me and started to squirm. "I've always wanted to do this. Another of my top ten checked off." Meanwhile, my hands were massaging his ass. No surprise there. It was exactly as I remembered: soft over hard, hot, and alive to the touch. And just the right size to fit into my hands.

Then he sat up and his legs straddled my waist. "Let's have that riding lesson, cowboy." I guess he was really into that cowboy image. I was rock hard and pointing straight up, but first, I wanted to worship that ass.

"I need to prepare your bum for the saddle, Doc. You're just a tenderfoot. No, tender-bum." I grabbed the lube and pushed him off. I squirted the lube in his cleft and around his cheeks. Then I massaged and slipped a few fingers inside. Just touching his ass raised my temperature. Then, I lay back on the mattress and invited him. "Get in the saddle up, boy."

He moved over me and began the process of dropping down onto my rigid pole. He was slow and methodical. Lubing several times. I saw a flash of pain, then the joy of pleasure as I stretched and filled him. Soon he was in the saddle and his balls rested on my pubes. My thick pole was crowding his prostate. He smiled, bent down and took my lips. "My first time. I can't believe how good it feels. I think I'm going to like riding." Then he rose up a few inches and dropped back down, sliding carefully over his prostate. Then again. And again. He was clearly enjoying his ride. "Talley ho!"

"Time for the second lesson." I planted my feet flat on the mattress and my hands on his ass cheeks. Then, I leveraged my thighs and rose from the bed to plunge my dick inside when he withdrew. I pounded a few times as he hissed in pleasure.

"You are so deep. I know you're moving some internal organs. I never dreamed it would be this good. Fuck me Slade. Pound him in. I love having you inside."

I gripped his cheeks ever harder and began to really buck. I could feel the hard nut with each stroke. His pale color was darkening. His eyes were growing wide, almost wild. Once again my distinguished quiet friend was morphing into a sex machine. I couldn't believe the transformation. He was one hot and sexy guy.

Suddenly, he moaned, a deep moan from the pit of his gut, and his cock began to spasm and shoot long ropes of creamy cum on my chest—one even reaching my chin. I followed and once again filled his hole with my spunk until it dripped onto the sheets. Then I pulled his chest to mine and planted my palms on his ass. "This is my bum, Chris. I'm staking my claim. I'm going to be digging for gold or drilling for oil for a long time."

His lips dropped to my nipples and he sucked this most sensitive spot. Apparently, if I was an ass-man, he was a nipple-sucker. I could live with that. But they were so sensitive. And I was still semi-hard. I thought maybe I could go again. I didn't feel much like a thirty-something at that moment. He was an incredible turn-on.

Then we heard the call from the intercom which we had set in Keith's room. He was awake and hungry. "Later, doc. Duty calls."

I dressed and went to his room while Chris dressed to go to pick up Sean at school. Keith wanted pizza—and fortunately we had some in the fridge which I heated in the micro, returning to his room a few minutes later with a tray containing the pizza and a glass of fruit juice. I set it in front of him. He initiated a smile. Then the smile turned to a distorted face of displeasure. "Dad, you need a shower. You really stink."

"Gee, thanks, Keith. I really needed that boost." So I moved off to the easy chair in the corner to continue our conversation.

"I'm not sure how much of what is going on you understand. You were drugged and a little out of it. Here it is the condensed version: Your shoulder and ribs will heal in a week or so. The bandages can come off then. Next week when the danger of blood clotting is low, we can get rid of the elevation for the casts. They'll change the soft casts for hard ones when they're sure there is no infection. But, you'll be in the casts for some time—probably a couple of months. Your knee was destroyed—but they haven't decided whether they can replace it now—you're still growing and it they do it now, you will need to have the procedure repeated in a few years as you grow. That means you won't be walking before summer. And then you may need a crutch or a cane."

"You're not going back to school this year. We've hired a tutor for a few weeks. If she works out, she'll stay to the end of the year. If not, we'll try someone else."

"You'll have a nurse for several hours each day—mostly dealing with your meds and making sure you are healing—you had dozens of stitches. They are watching for infection."

"Chris has been incredible. He was your ER doc. Now he's invited us to stay here. Maria will go full time—I'm paying for that. She's going to move into the casita on Monday. So you'll always have someone here—even when Christ and I have to return to work. I don't know how long this will take. I can't tell you how much of a friend Chris has proven to be."

"Incidentally, Sean went to school today, but for some weeks, he can't use the bus—so we'll need to handle the transportation to PB Country Day. Chris' hospital schedule makes that very hard. Maria can't leave you here alone. So it would be me. Or maybe, if it works, the tutor can work with both of you."

"I really love you Keith. You really scared me. And Chris has been a life-saver."

"We're going to be okay, Dad. I can handle this. And if Sean is around, it won't be so bad for me. In fact, I think it will be great. I just hope that you will be able to handle not having any private time to yourself. Sometimes you worry me, Dad. I know how lonely you are and that you do it all for me. Sometimes I think you're built that way—that you need or want to be alone. Sometimes I think you just have put your life on hold for me. We'll make this work. Thank you. I love you."

Imagine that level of perception from a 13-year old boy! He really was a special kid.

"Can you tell me something about my mother?"

"I'll tell you what I know—but what I know is quite old news. I met her just after we graduated—me from NYU, she from Columbia School of Journalism. We met at a bar in the Village—that's Greenwich Village in New York. She was with friends; so was I. We had both just started internships in New York. I was with a giant real estate firm. She was a photo-journalist trainee at The Times. Hers was the prestige job."

"She was small and I thought pretty cute. Curly black hair. Pug nose. Bow-tie red lips. Freckles. Dressed like a boy. And she was very serious and super-intelligent. Sophie always wanted to be in the thick of the action. She was absolutely fearless. You remind me so much of her."

"We had a summer romance—and she got pregnant with you. She didn't want to marry. She said she was too young and had too much life to live. I wanted her to keep you and promised that I'd be responsible. We had a small cramped apartment in the Village, but we were happy, I thought. When you were about two and ready for pre-school, Sophie came home one night and announced that she had an offer she couldn't refuse. Agence France Presse, the major Western press watch-dog for French Africa had offered her a spot—as a staff photographer in one of several war zones. It would require a move to Africa obviously, as quickly as she could get the shots and visas. Two weeks later, she was gone."

"I followed her by-line on newspaper photos for a few years, but then I lost her. Never during this time did she write, call or return to me and you. I'm pretty sure that she considered our life together to be a closed chapter in her life. Maybe she thought that if she had a child, her wartime options would be limited. I heard that she had met a guy, a seasoned French war correspondent and that they were together. That's all I know. I guess I never really loved her as I should have. Certainly, I don't miss her. I've got you. And you remind me a lot of her."

"I decided to move from New York. I had you to consider and being a single parent there is almost impossible. Grandma was down here and offered to help. I applied for a transfer to this area and they gave it to me. You probably remember the rest: we got a house, grandma moved in, and we've lived happily ever after."

"I know that it's tough to be a young boy whose mother has abandoned him. I've tried to make up for the loss by being there for you. After a few years, I struck out on my own. The business is pretty successful now. And we moved to the nicer house here. You are everything a Dad could hope for in a son."

"You have done it all, Dad. I love you. But, I think maybe it's time for you to find someone for you. Before I find someone and leave you alone."

"Very funny. You're only 13. I'm not expecting to be a Granddad for at least 20 more years. Remember that."

"Actually, I'm almost 14."

"When I do find someone, you'll be the first to know—and I'm going to give you a veto. But, I'm not prowling the clubs."

An hour or so later, a loudly slamming door announced the arrival of the other teen resident in this house. Sean hobbled into Keith's room, quite adept already on the aluminum crutches. "Keithie! I'm so happy to see you. But you look like one of those cartoon characters who got clobbered by a train." He pulled out his cell and started snapping shots from various angles. "Wait until our class sees this. And, I'm going to be the first to sign your cast—both of them in fact."

The next few weeks were, to quote Dickens, the best of times and the worst of times.

Keith moved from good days to bad. Sometimes in pain. Always frustrated that he couldn't work off his growing energy. Elated to be with his best friend all the time. Getting pretty much anything he wanted to eat as Maria doted on him. But denied most companionship and the pool. He missed his teammates and his classmates.

The tutor worked out pretty well, and we're going to try a few weeks with the two boys being "home schooled"—so to speak, although the teacher is a professional. They're both making terrific progress. Schooldays that used to be 10 plus hours with commutes are now 4 hours, with another hour or two of homework. These boys are really bright, maybe geniuses. This may be a blessing after all. Classmates, male and female, have visited—and the library of computer games has tripled.

The "gantry cranes," as Keith had dubbed them, were finally removed. The bands around his chest and shoulders were also removed. The soft casts were hardened. And he's moving—in a wheelchair. Fortunately, although we didn't realize it when the arrangements were made, Chris had purchased the house from someone who had made it disability-friendly. The doorways were wide; the baths permitted wheelchair access, wall-switches were doubled at a slightly lower level etc. But it was still very much a physical challenge—both legs were in casts and one of the casts was from hip to ankle. Keith claimed to hate the sponge baths that he was limited to—although he did suggest that a certain friend had volunteered to help. No thank you.

Chris returned to his regular ER routine and schedule. I did morning laps again, and then came home to prepare for the day. We set up an office in a spare room and my assistant came to me a day or two per week. It turned out that my business was nearly self-sustaining. I learned I wasn't as all-essential as I had come to believe.

Chris and I stole some time together, actually quite a lot of time—mostly late at night when we were sure the boys were already asleep. We were fucking like rabbits. My dick spent every night in his soft cleft, after a drilling work out. But, it was hard to mask our growing affection. We couldn't touch each other outside of his room. And it was getting clearer and clearer to each of us that we didn't want what we had to end.

Night after night, we hugged and massaged each other. I was infatuated with Chris' "bum". I couldn't get enough. My hands, my tongue, and my cock were stroking it all the time. It always started with a massage (using tasty lubes); then I would lick him clean, spread stuff on my fingers and I would open him up. Then I would take him deep and hard. He always wanted it rough, and, at first, I held back. Except for a few experiments in college, I had always been with women, and had been conditioned to be soft, slow, loving, caring. That was not Chris. He wanted hard, fast, deep. He was transforming me into a naturally aggressive top. I was beginning to think I wanted a relationship. But, if so, I needed him to be a partner.

So after about a month, I insisted that I was going to bottom. At first he refused. "When you're inside me, I've got everything that I want. I don't need anything more. You bring me off every time." But, I prevailed and we decided he would top on our first month anniversary.

I was home that day. So I ate carefully. I told the boys that Chris might be late. And so I fed them early, and they retired to the computer game room we had set up between their bedrooms. I thoroughly cleaned up and out before he came home. It had been years since I had been topped—so I inserted a lubed plug that was a little smaller, but much shorter than his long snake-like cock. Then I put on some sweats that emphasized my basket and a tee that was way too small, and retired to my room and bed to watch TV. I was going to seduce him just in case he had changed his mind.

He got home a little late and looked in on the boys. They were engrossed in the sixth level of a new game. They barely greeted him when he stuck his head into the room. They confirmed they had eaten and were fine. He warned that they had one more hour. Then it was lights out. No arguments.

Then he moved to "our side," stripped and stepped into the shower. When he emerged, he knocked on my door—and was surprised to see the champagne-on-ice and me, stretched out in invitation. His eyes widened as he licked his lips. "I guess you're serious about this?"

"Never more serious about anything in my life. I want you to fuck me, your Lordship. I'm you're boy tonight. I want you inside."

He stepped back and locked the door. Then, he dropped the towel. He was pink, soft, and soapy-fragrant from the hot shower. His strawberry curly hair still sported droplets of moisture. He looked good enough to eat—but wait this is his turn. And he was obviously ready, despite his protests. I actually think he might even be looking forward to it.

"How do you want me, Sir?"

"On your back, cowboy. I want to see those green eyes water when I gallop out of the corral." I guess my proper English motif was going to give way to his cowboy ideas. He approached the bed, knelt between my legs, pulled off the sweats, and bent to take me in his thin-lipped mouth. He sucked me hard, rigidly hard. Then his tongue dropped down, washed my taint, and continued on to the rim. Thick surgeon's arms came up and pushed my legs toward he headboard, rolling me back into position. "I see you've been getting ready." Using only his teeth, he withdrew the plug ever so slowly, leaving me empty and begging. The tongue moved in, followed by several lubed fingers. He knew just where to probe and where to stroke. He massaged my prostate repeatedly until a clear fluid began to drip from my slit. He might not do this often, but he was no amateur.

Then he lubed his long snake and began to feed it into my burrow. He was just the right size. My rings clutched him as he bottomed and began a relentless push/pull. He began to whistle the theme from an old spaghetti Western as his tempo approached a full gallop. Then he released my thighs and I wrapped around his waist, digging my heels into his soft flesh. He bent forward in a jockey's stance, extended his legs out long to establish a solid point of contact and rode and rode, getting me hotter and hotter. I was almost foaming from his relentless pressure. "I'm cumin' round the mountain, pardner."