Slade and Chris hit a roadblock to their future
This is an original work of fiction. All characters engaged in sexual activity are over 18. This is the final chapter written at this time. No AI was used in the production of this story. © 2023, all rights reserved. Brunosden
[In previous chapters, two good friends and sole parents of teen-aged boys discover they're into each other and commit to try to make it work as a permanent arrangement. I am not repeating the descriptions of the guys or their initial "courtship." Take a look at the earlier chapters for that if you wish.]
It took until summer for Keith's hard casts to be removed—almost three months. His knee would still require a mechanical brace that would supplement his own knee, which was healing, but unreliably. His legs had atrophied and he would be in for a hard summer of physical therapy. And for a few weeks, he would be required to use crutches. But he was healing. And he could use the pool. That pleased him, I think, more than anything. His spirits were high.
Chris was promoted to ER Chief of Staff—a job he had repeatedly refused because it would significantly reduce his time with patients. He wanted to be a doc, not an administrator. But he had worked a compromise. He would work five days per week and reduce his clinical hours to four or five each morning, reserving afternoons for administrative tasks—except in emergencies. Moreover, the ER staffing was increased, and he would have a skilled administrative assistant to handle the paperwork and details.
I had more work than I could handle. And so I too hired two more project managers, and I personally began to specialize: commercial high end boutique "fitting." It was lucrative work. Creative. Prestigious. Predictable hours. I was working with top designers from around the world, typically retained by "second tier" high end brand management to extend their global franchises into the lucrative South Florida luxury market. (Incidentally, "second tier" is brand-speak for new and edgy, expensive and on-the-make.)
Life was improving. We were happy. And a routine was falling into place. Maria went back to a regular schedule. And, because it was summer, the daily tutor visits ended. But, I've always had a fatalistic outlook. Surely, we were due for a crisis.
It came suddenly and with a vengeance that we could not have anticipated. It was after dinner. The boys were in their rooms, playing the last rounds of their computer games and we had just finished our wine on the lanai and were ready to turn in. We were ready for playtime too. And given Chris' start at 6:30, our mornings started early.
Sean's mother (Chris' ex) telephoned around 9 that evening. Chris had not heard from her in about ten years. He almost didn't take the call from an unknown number, presuming it to be spam. And then he didn't recognize her voice, which had deepened considerably, presumably through smoke and drink. She wasn't entirely coherent or logical. It didn't seem that she had rehearsed the conversation before she called. Chris immediately put the call on speaker. And later we pieced together this:
She was divorcing her husband. He had found someone younger, and she had discovered his unfaithfulness. They had been quarreling for some time—apparently because she wasn't "carrying her weight." They had little property. They had been renting their house and their cars and had been enjoying vacations and high living whenever funds came in. (California was a community property state.) She had not worked in years. There were no children. And the husband was currently unemployed—a some-time actor and occasional bartender—so no alimony or child support was likely. Sandy was destitute and desperate. She planned to leave California immediately. She was returning to Florida and would bunk with "a friend"—and she wanted to see Sean. She expected to be in South Florida in a day or so--after ten, nearly eleven years of absence. She said she wanted to "be in Sean's life again." Then she rambled some typical California platitudes about the fact that "feelings" within families were never really extinguished—even when one part of the family needed to time to find herself.
She was sure that she could re-activate her nursing certification quickly—as she had been a nurse in Florida for many years—and nurses were in great demand. But, she needed to "borrow" some money to "tide her over."
There wasn't much that Chris could do immediately. He stalled, explained that the call was a real shock, and he needed time to think before answering.
She exploded on the phone—I could hear it across the room. And it did sound as though she had been drinking. She used a number of four letter words to describe Chris, threatened that he "better cooperate," or she was going to make him regret it. Then she hung up.
Later I learned that he had not formalized sole custody when Sandy had quickly packed and left for California. He never expected to see her again. And he was incredibly busy with his practice. His spare time was used in making arrangements for Sean. So technically, they still had joint custody—interrupted only by Sandy's move and absence.
Chris looked over at me. He was angry, but he was also crestfallen. Why now? Can't we be happy? Now it was my turn to be the rock. Let's see how well I can do.
"I've got a great law firm that I've been using for years for my business. Let me call the partner in charge of my cases to see whether they have someone skilled in family law issues."
"Yes, do it. As soon as possible. I don't know how much time we have before she appears at my doorstep and demands to see my son."
I called Sarah—it was after hours—and left a message. She returned the call less than an hour later. And a few minutes later, she called again—we had an appointment with her partner early the next morning. "She suggests that you do nothing. Don't take any more calls. If by some chance, she shows up, just tell her the matter is in your lawyer's care, and refuse to talk, to admit her or do anything else."
"We can't do anything else until tomorrow. Let's head in. After we shower, I'm going to give you the best massage you've ever had in your life, Chris."
Within minutes, he had pulled me into the big shower with him and we were slowly and softly soaping and stroking each other. I could feel the tension in his neck and shoulders—and I could see a very different kind of tension in his cock. He was hard and ready. So was I. But, first things first. "I want you ready to explode, Chris—but not from nervous tension, from total arousal. I'm not up for a therapeutic fuck tonight. You need love."
We dried off; he spread a towel; and, he stretched out on the bed, belly down. I got out the coconut oil that we all associate with sunny days on a tropical beach and began to stroke his neck, shoulders and back. Soft, then hard, then soft again. He moaned at first in pain as I worked out the knots, and then in pleasure as I eased up and stroked him to relaxation. Then I moved down and repeated the process on his feet, calves and thighs. As I did so, he vee'd the thighs. I knew what he wanted. I pulled him up, slid the bolster under his gut, and pulled his rigid cock down between his legs. I massaged the inner thigh, teasing his balls and taint with each stroke. His shaft lengthened and a drop or two appeared on the slit. His musk began to mingle with the oil. The aromas were intoxicating.
Finally, my hands spread over his cheeks. I massaged and pulled them apart, trailing my thumbs around the rim and into the opening. He began to writhe in expectation, murmuring oohs and ahs. My tongue moved to the rim and then inside. When I felt he was at the edge, I penetrated and began the slow massage of his prostate as his pre-cum began to flow onto the towel. He was indeed very near the edge. But, I wanted to take him to a different place tonight. He needed it, and he deserved it. So I pulled down on his smooth hot balls and ringed the base of his cock. He hissed, aware of what I was doing to him. "You, tease. You, bastard. I need your big fat cock in my bum now. Do it now, Slade. Fuck the massage. No don't, do an internal massage."
"Quiet now. Relax. You know how good this is going to be." I released his genitals, leaned in, sucked on his earlobe for a few seconds, backed up, and placed my cockhead at his entrance. Automatically, his ass rose to meet me, and the head popped in, pushing the hood into a tight corona at the base of the glans. I pushed again and seated myself at the tip of his bundle of love nerves. I felt the shiver in his back—and the quiver in his bum. I rocked a few times and drove deeper, crowding the prostate with each push. Then I bottomed, reached around and grabbed his waist and sat back on my haunches, drawing him into my lap. He bounced a few times and I bottomed repeatedly. God, he felt so good.
Apparently, he felt good also. "Slade, I could sit on your dick all night. It fills me with pleasure. I'm at the edge of paradise." He turned his head and took my lips as my hand rose to pull him tight into me.
Suddenly and unexpectedly, he disengaged. "Sit on the edge of the bed. I want to look into your face when I cum, Slade." I repositioned and he straddled my lap, carefully re-inserting my rigid member inside. Our arms went around each other simultaneously and our chests clashed. He bounced again. And I started a slow pump, carefully scraping his love nut with each pass.
"I'm almost there, Chris."
He backed off just a bit, drew me into a deep kiss and his hands moved to my nipples. I stood, holding him to me as I gripped his cheeks and plunged ever deeper. He squeezed hard and I exploded into him several times as he covered us both with his spunk. I fell back and he collapsed on top, squirming in his cream. And of course, I reached around and began to massage his cheeks, holding him to me and me deep inside him. Would we ever get enough of this?
********
The meeting the next morning was difficult but not unexpected. We met with Edie Hughes. At first, she was surprised to see me. "I thought this was a matter involving Dr. Morrissey?"
"Actually, Mr. Morris and I live together. We are engaged. Anything that involves me, involves him."
This of course was the first time we had acknowledged we were together—as other than roommates of convenience because of my son's accident. It was therefore a milestone. Edie's eyes opened wide, but she made no comment.
Chris detailed everything as Edie took copious notes. Then he handed her the final divorce decree and the joint custody agreement.
"So when she left more than ten years ago, you did not attempt to change this?"
"No, I didn't. She left within a day of her announcement. I was dumb-struck and I had to scramble to make the necessary arrangements for the care of a three year old. I'm an ER doc—and at that time, I had really unpredictable hours. And frankly, it would have taken a private investigator to find her in California—assuming she would have agreed to a change anyway. She never said where they were going—just California. We have had zero, ZERO communication for about eleven years."
"What has Sean said about this?"
"He doesn't know that his mother has contacted me—let alone that she might show up at any moment. He doesn't remember her. He really doesn't even know who she is."
"Can you swear under oath that she has made no attempt to contact—birthday cards? Christmas gifts? Calls?"
"Absolutely nothing. We did move during that time—but I've been at the Sacred Heard ER at all times since she left. She would have had no trouble finding me if she wished."
