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Poppa's Cub Ch. 02

By: LadyTigeress



Chapter Two

Kyle woke slowly the next morning, Sunday. He felt someone warm under him and realized that he liked that sensation. He felt the rhythmic breathing of Mike under his right ear, and softly heard the gentle, 'thump-thump' of his heartbeat. He listened to Mike's respiration and felt the big man's left hand as it had hooked itself under Kyle's left armpit and held the two of them together.

Kyle felt protected, and wanted. This was a feeling he'd sought for all of his life, a person that would shelter him, and hold him. Is this was what being gay was about? His friends from high school would never have understood this. His mother would scream, his father, well who knows what his father would say?

None of that seemed to make much difference now though. Mike was here. He could feel his breathing, could smell him. Mike had a man's smell, a real man's smell. He had scars on his furry body, odd pockmarks that Kyle was sure had a story behind every one of them. Kyle wanted these stories, he wanted this man. He felt like a child.

Mike snored softly, and Kyle opened his eyes, and stole a look at him. Mike's nostrils flared as he snorted softly and took a deep breath of air in, and moved his lips. He shifted his arm softly and then tugged Kyle even tighter, letting off a soft sort of pseudo purring sound. Kyle smiled.

Mike's eyes opened to slits, the pupils looking about and fixing on Kyle's emerald green eyes. He pursed his lips to the air and blew Kyle a kiss.

Kyle blew one back and smiled.

"Morning," Mike said softly.

"Morning," Kyle replied. He leaned up and nuzzled the stubble of the big man and clenched at his body needfully.

Mike smiled, and softly petted Kyle's head, scratching it as you would a dog.

"How you feeling?" Mike inquired.

"Good. Real good."

Mike smiled.

"Unfortunately, you got to move," Mike said.

Kyle looked up.

"I got to pee," he explained, sheepishly.

Kyle grinned, and while he too had to urinate, had not thought about moving to do so, not with Mike there.

Mike nudged Kyle softly and Kyle moved away, sitting up in the queen bed of the flat.

Mike's apartment was simple studio, consisting of a bed, television, some furniture, a sort of open kitchen area and a shower. He had a few posters on the walls, including a rare off printing 'Revenge of the Jedi' poster. His collection of video tapes was well maintained and he had a VHS top loader as well as an older, Beta machine. Mike wasn't a tidy soul, and clothing littered the trail between the front door to the bed, and the bed to the bathroom.

Mike sat up, and rolled his shoulders, Kyle could hear his bones creak, and saw a few scars on his back, long tracing things. Kyle gasped and Mike looked over his shoulder.

"Look worse than they are."

"How?" Kyle barely gasped out the word.

Mike's one word reply was simple, "'Nam"

Kyle was in shock. Not that Mike was so much older, but that he would fight anyone. To Kyle's brief exposure to Mike, he was a gentle man, a man who helped others, and tried to do the right thing.

Mike stood, went to the bathroom, and exhaled audibly in relief as he urinated.

Kyle's bladder spoke to him in the same manner and he made a line of one outside the tiny bathroom. He listened to the dripping sound as Mike shook his member between his fore and middle finger to get the urine off.

Instead of turning, he reached a hand over and flipped on the shower, letting the cold water purge from the venerable piping. A short spurt of crimson water came out, as then steam began to fill the bathroom.

Kyle had stepped up to the toilet and was relieving himself when he found Mike watching him with a grin.

"Shower?" He offered, gesturing.

"Yeah," Kyle smiled.

Inside the mini steam room, both men became hard again. They softly rubbed against each other during the soaping, forced to by the small confines.

Kyle had turned around to let the water pound on his neck and Mike loomed to one side, wrapped his powerful arms under Kyle's armpits, and squeezed him tight.

Kyle shivered, his erection becoming more dominant, poking out past the soft overlap of tummy that his weight created. His nipples were pert and he even had some fatty breasts, which Mike spent some time soaping and playing with. He felt Mike's tool against the crack of his ass, and while that felt good, he knew he wasn't ready for it.

Mikes hands soaped the young visitor, even past his own personal scrubbing, using the bar softly on his skin. He soaped up Kyle's armpits, chest, stomach and pubis, even giving his tool some soft hand care. Then the soap went between his ass cheeks, creating a sensation the like of which Kyle had never imagined.

Mike did not need to hear Kyle, he felt him, and whispered, "Come by again, and we can go slowly. I want you to enjoy it." He stepped aside, holding Kyle's ass apart, and letting the hot water drift from the small of his back down the crack of his butt. Kyle shivered, and nodded.

"Hungry?"

"Starving," Kyle answered as Mike wrapped a towel around Kyle's head and rubbed briskly.

"All I got is cereal and toast," Mike said. "Didn't honestly figure anyone would be coming home with me."

Kyle shrugged, "that's all I've got at home, and I didn't know I would be going home with anybody."

Mike laughed a belly laugh and then wrapped his hands around Kyle pulling him tightly. Kyle's breath was squeezed out of him as Mike's mouth invaded his lips. Kyle had only the barest of stubble on his chin, it was soft, and dewy. Mike broke away and patted Kyle on the rump.

Kyle's pulse was pounding and while he didn't want to leave, he understood, on some subconscious level that he was supposed to do something. There was a deep need inside of him, to not want to disappoint and he scuttled into the kitchen.

Mike watched him go, his tool rising to half-mast as he saw the pale white ass. It had been a very long time since he'd had someone so young. Hell, since he'd had anyone at all. Usually he just was ignored as the old man.

Kyle had washed out some bowls he found in the sink and put milk, what cereal he could find, and tossed bread in the toaster. He did these things without thinking about them, automatically. He smiled as Mike came out, wearing a towel around his waist, carrying one for Kyle.

"Trust me, you don't want your butt on that Naugahyde," he said, handing the towel to Kyle.

Kyle smiled and wrapped it around him. He put the toast on the table and brought butter and jam.

Mike looked at the spread, "damn, Kyle. You're gonna make someone a good wife."

Kyle flushed red, but also felt a certain sense of pride. He sat down and waited until Mike was done pouring his cereal and milk to get his own. As he was waiting, he looked at the four sparse photographs on Mike's dining area wall. Mike watched him and explained:

"Okay, top left. That's my family. My dad, mom, and my sister. This was taken in sixty-eight, before I left. I was twenty-five then. I think my sister has a few more kids now than then. I lost track after three, I just send them money. One on the right is my squad. I ended up being the old man of the group, and so they called me poppa."

Kyle nodded. Poppa was not a name used in his family of origin.

"Down here," he gestured with a spoon, "is pride of last year."

"Pride?" Kyle inquired.

"Gay Pride. It's a big deal around here. You start hanging with us long enough and you'll get snagged into it. Kind of like a big party." Mike said. Kyle swallowed and began to understand his entry into the gay subculture.

"And that's my little brother, I just got him two months ago. In fact, I'll have to kick you out about noon or so, as I go to see him on Sundays."

"Your parents had a kid late?" Kyle asked, confused.

"No no, hell I don't think my parents even have sex anymore," he laughed. "I do volunteer work for the Big Brothers of America. Jimmy there is eight. It's like having a grandkid, you go out, buy 'em crap, pump 'em full of sugar and send 'em home. Jimmy's grades aren't none too good, so I go over some schoolwork with him, and have him read and stuff."

Kyle nodded. His grades were poor although he was literate and well read, he just hated school.

"So how about you?"

"Not much to tell. Graduated in eighty-five, moved out. That kinda thing."

"So you ought to be getting close to twenty-one. The bar scene will be calling you." Mike noted.

"I don't know. I guess so, but I'm not sure. I watch from my apartment, the front part of the North Bank, the men come, the men go. A lot of them look plastic, unreal. I'm not sure any of them would want me. I'm fat, I'm not attractive. I don't know what I'm doing." He looked down, away from Mike.

"Hey, Kyle. We all had to start somewhere. No law says you have to go to the bars anyway. You can always hang out in the theater along with the rest of the pervs," he grinned.

Kyle nodded, "it's darker in there."

"To each their own," Mike said. "Personally I hate bars, but then again, I don't smoke. North Bank is always oozing with smoke."

Kyle made a face and nodded adding, "Both my parents smoke."

Mike smiled, watching Kyle's face. He was holding himself back from trying to get emotionally involved but Kyle made it hard. He was so innocent, so needful.

"You can always hang out with me and the guys," he offered.

"Really?" Kyle's eyes lit up like a child on Christmas Morning.

"Oh yeah, we'd love some fresh blood."

"Wow. Thanks!" Kyle replied enthusiastically.

Mike loved seeing that smile on Kyle's face, it was like the look on Jimmy's face when he took him to the movies.

Kyle picked up his dishes and moved to the sink with them running water. Mike's eyes did not leave his round, plump butt, and his mouth watered. He slid out his chair making a screeching noise but did not rise.

When Kyle turned back toward the table, Mike was beckoning him with one finger and patted his thigh. Kyle sat on him. Mike wrapped an arm around him and pulled him down in the awkward position, kissing him roughly on the lips.

The scent of soap and arousal were powerful for Kyle, who had spent many hours stroking off in the shower. His cock poked up and grazed Mike's furred stomach.

Mike's lips ran down Kyle's neck causing him to shiver and landed softly on a nipple, his teeth rubbing against the puffy aureole, sucking hungrily. His right hand slowly stroked Kyle's tool. It was short, and circumcised, and Kyle was embarrassed for it's lack of length. Kyle could feel Mike's tool poking up, against his thigh and he reached down. Kyle was left handed and his fine fingers stroked the tip of Mike's cock, rubbing preseminal fluid across the glans.

"It's a long time until noon," Mike said.

Kyle had wished he hadn't said anything, for he didn't want to leave Mike. He nodded by way of reply.

"Let's go get comfortable, huh? These chairs are hell on me," Mike said, raising Kyle bodily with the one knee and thigh as he arched his heel up. 

Mike didn't need to be told twice and padded over to the bed.

The queen sized mattress lay on the floor, bedding wadded in a line at the center. Kyle took his place on the left side, as he had slept there. Mike stepped over him like a giant in Lilliput and knelt down, crouching, grabbing at Kyle's tool.

Kyle reached for Mike's cock as the men kissed hungrily, lips and tongues intertwining.

Gently they stroked at each other making it last.

Kyle enjoyed the oral part, the lips against his, the stubble of Mike's manliness.

Mike lapped at Kyle's smooth lips and kissed his cheeks. His nips trailed down to Kyle's neck. Kyle moaned as the big man took a couple of rougher bites onto his nape. Mike sucked at the flesh, and made an obnoxious kissing sound.

Kyle hissed, the pain was slight, but steady, he gasped, "nnn."

Mike pulled away, smiling at his handy work. 

"Gotcha," he said.

Kyle smiled his winning smile, and flushed red, almost leaping on Mike kissing him harder, and more feverishly. Kyle was now straddling Mike and could feel his cock poking at his butt. Kyle was still not ready, and Mike wasn't about to push for that right now.

Softly, he stroked Kyle's member, using both hands, cupping them as if they were in prayer. Gently he massaged Kyle's tool. It was an incredible sensation, the callused hands against the sensitive flesh.

"I'm, I'm..." Kyle gasped, his eyes glazed as his glans fired off a streaming load of hot semen that sprayed Mike from his chin to his navel. The thick gushing jets were like a shower all of their own. Mike held up a hand.

"You got me all wet," he said, playfully.

Kyle blushed.

Mike grabbed at Kyle's face, softly rubbing his own scent in it, playing with him gently, as you would a dog's muzzle.

"I think you better clean me off," Mike said.

Kyle smelled the scent of the white cream on his hands. He softly licked at the hand, tasting the musky saltiness of his own seed.

Mike tapped at his drenched shoulder and Kyle leaned down, softly drawing up his semen into his mouth with his tongue, in a long, erotic dance. He had never done anything like this before, and found it incredible. His entire moment was taken by this simple, tender act.

Gently, his warm, soft tongue cleaned Mike's chest, exchanging the dampness of semen for the dampness of his saliva. His mouth ran down from just above Mike's pecs to just above his navel where he shot his load. He was moving his body back in order to keep up with the trail, he used his hands to move his body back down, and felt Mike's stiffness poke him in the upper chest, and throat.

He sat back softly and used his left hand to softly stroke Mike, his cock naturally lubricated by the big man's abundance of precum.

Mike closed his eyes and enjoyed the pleasure. Kyle's stroke was consistent, slow, almost teasing. His other hand softly stroked Mike's testicles. Mike felt the warning of hot breath along his public area and then the soft roll of the tongue against the cock head.

His eyes opened to see Kyle's lips withdrawing, soft, sticky strands of clear fluid making lines. Kyle licked his lips, and looked Mike square in the eye.

Mike's eyes bored into him. 

Kyle lowered his head and licked again, kissing very softly.

Mike smiled ever so softly, just enough to say something without having to speak. Kyle sensed it.

Kyle's desire to please kicked in, and he let about a half inch of the head into his mouth, creating gentle suction. He found the sensation of the glans in his mouth to be oddly full filling, and let the whole tip in.

Mike grunted gently, his hips rocking up as Kyle stroked in rhythm. Kyle did not take more than the head in, he was scared of hurting Mike's tool with his teeth.

He stroked firmly, with a deliberate even hand, rubbing the base of his tongue against the cock, lips rubbing.

Mike grunted and sneered, his thighs trembling softly.

A clench of musculature came from his groin.

His liquid fire dropped into Kyle's mouth in a thick, rich froth of man cream.

Kyle's eyes widened, and he had no idea how to swallow it as came forth. He let it rest in his mouth, dribble from his lips, and run down his fingers.

"Looks like you need to clean me up there, too," He observed.

Kyle nodded and licked the big man dry.

Mike's finger beckoned and Kyle curled up against the left side.

"So, boy. I'd say you were a cocksucker now."

Kyle nodded softly.

Mike held him gently until the shock set in. He held Kyle's chin directly, to control his sight. It was a firm, unyielding grasp.

"Say it." Mike said.

Kyle swallowed, his mouth still rank with musk.

"I... I'm a cocksucker."

Mike looked at him soberly, "I don't think the sky fell."

Kyle nodded gently.

"I just don't want to be alone," Kyle said.

"Nobody does. I've lived here for a good five years now, by myself. Once in a while I'll trick. Sometimes, we have to take what we can get, Kyle. Life isn't perfect. Pleasure is something we rarely get, so we must cherish it."

Kyle closed his eyes, nuzzled his face into Mike's protective hand, and rested there for the morning. Mike softly stroked his face and hair and wished that someone had been this gentle to him, once upon a time ago.

Poppa's Cub Ch. 03



Chapter Three

Kyle said he preferred to walk home, so he could clear his head and ended up wandering. The day was bright, and he was surprised at the amount of traffic downtown. It wasn't something he'd paid much attention to. On weekends, he would usually spend in bed, reading comic books and cheap science-fiction novels.

He headed across the lower side, considering going to Ester Shore Park, and then heard a loud, obnoxious squeal.

"Kyle! Oh KYLE!"

He spun on a heel as Darla scooted across the street, causing a car to stop. She blew a kiss to the driver who flipped her off.

She looked at him in shock.

"Kyle?"

He looked at her.

"Wow, the old boy got you good, huh? Oh my stars and garters! Well fortunately you're talking to the best make-up artist in all of Vancouver, I can get that all fixed up."

"What are you talking about," Kyle asked.

"That big honker on your neck, boy. Mikey must have seriously taken a liking to you."

Kyle blinked, and then smiled. He put a hand on neck.

"That bad, huh?" he said.

"It looks like you had a date with the monster from the black lagoon."

Kyle blushed.

"So you and Mikey, huh? Sitting in a tree!" she squealed, singing the rhyme. "K-I-S-S-I-N-G, first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage!"

Kyle turned beet red.

"Hell honey, with that color you don't need no rouge," she teased further.

Kyle tried to strike back, "what are you doing out here?"

"It's Sunday boy yo! One of my best days. I got the god-fearing church boys who are all feeling sacrilegious and need head jobs." 

Kyle's mouth went slack.

"I'm not kidding. They go to confessional at ten, and by one o'clock I've got a hundred bucks in my pocket! I only take Monday off, really." 

Kyle's mouth went dry. There was something about this that turned his stomach, but he didn't know what it is.

"Say, Frankie's hanging out, selling lids. Let's go chat him up, see if we can get a free smoke."

Kyle pondered this for the briefest of seconds before she grabbed his arm, and drug him down the corner and down to the park end.

Amongst the bums and hangers-out, Frankie was there, chatting with some guy. They shook hands, although for anyone that looked carefully it was clear that something was exchanged in the shake.

Darla drug Kyle over to Frankie and squealed, "Will you take a look at this? We have to have a talk with Mikey!"

Frankie's eyebrow cocked.

"He did you good all right," Frankie said.

Kyle wasn't nearly as embarrassed, and sort of seemed to like the attention by this point. He shrugged.

"I was actually kind of worried about the big lug. I thought he'd have to settle for old heels-and-hose here," He said, thumbing his hand at Darla.

"Now you take that back!" She squealed at him.

Frankie, it seemed, loved nothing more than to yank the queen's chain. "Oh come on Darla, you've wanted him for ages. Everyone knows you've got a crush on him a mile long."

"Well I never!" She said, putting her hands on her hips.

There was a honking in the distance and Darla spun on a heel. She squealed loudly as a regular customer flagged her down. Flouncing over, she took off in the car.

Kyle was dumbfounded. He had really wanted some personal time, and was now drug halfway across the neighborhood.

"So you and Mike are an item?" Frankie inquired.

"Um, well, I don't know, I hope so," Kyle stammered.

"I hope it works, Kyle. Mike's a good man, and really he needs someone. He gets all lonely in that stupid little studio. He'll buy a lid from me now and then, or sometimes come down and stroke it off in a booth, but really, he's needing someone to love."

"You think?" Kyle asked hopefully.

"You get him drunk enough, and he'll cry for you. I tell you, that man is a romantic. Don't get me wrong, he can be a mean son of a gun if you push him, but he's very romantic."

Kyle would never want to be on Mike's bad side.

"Did you and he ever..." He trailed off.

"All I do is stroke, kid. That's me. I don't do no kissing, no romance. I'm strictly a fisting man."

Kyle looked at him as Frankie gestured, his hand was balled up around an imaginary cock.

"I don't like giving head, and you can just forget about the back door, but there's something cool about stroking that I can't get over. In the back room, nobody cares. I get to handle a lot of cocks, and I get myself off a time or two. Heck, if you want to head over there, I'll do you now." He said smiling.

"Uh, no, not right now," Kyle said. He had to talk to Mike, he really felt very unsafe.

The glint off Frankie's watch gave him an idea.

"Say, do you have the time?" He asked.

"Sure, it's a bit after noon."

"Damn, I'm late, I'm supposed to be over at my mother's house." He fabricated.

"Well get your butt outta here, I'll tell Darla you're gone, so she won't go hunting you down. I'll be seeing you around, right?" He asked.

Kyle grinned, "You sure will."

He walked home to his seedy apartment across from the porno store and climbed the stairs to the third floor. His apartment was number three-oh-three and inside it was a contract to the mess outside.

His prized collection of comics were all tidily bagged, alphabetically arranged and numerically sequenced. They were in acid-free boxes that sat under a card table, stacked neatly with a plastic tablecloth over them. That table held a goldfish tank with five fish in it, which he fed immediately and then sat on his futon.

He rose again, thinking about their comments, went to the bathroom.

What he saw astonished him.

Kyle's bruise, Mike's hickie, was huge. Easily three inches in diameter, a deep, rich purple with thick red striations. No way even his shaggy mane of strawberry blond hair could cover that thing up. What would he tell his mother? Oh hell.

It was true that he usually went over to her house on Sundays. He had to take the bus to do it and C-Tran, the local bus service had only a limited schedule on Sundays.

He decided to call her instead. The phone rang a half dozen times and she didn't answer, so he suspected that she was out in the back, gardening. That was fine with him, he wanted some time to himself.

He went over to his futon and shifted it into couch position, and then lay on his side, in a sort of fetal position.

From here, he could listen to the traffic outside, and watch his fish. This was his retreat, his space. It was how he dealt with being a customer service representative at St. Joe's Hospital. He just sort of curled up into a ball, and let it all come out.

He cried a soft bit, trying to curl up with the body pillow his mother had given him for Christmas last. It was comfortable, certainly, but didn't feel like Mike. It didn't breathe, it didn't have his heart beat. It didn't tell him the sky wasn't going to fall in because he was a cocksucker.

Kyle thought a lot about that moment. He had no idea how he got it into his head that he should put his face down there. It seemed so natural. He wanted to please Mike, in any way he could. If it was a little head he wanted, then that was no problem.


But Mike hadn't even asked Kyle to stroke him, much less give him head. That was all his own doing, wasn't it? Somewhere deep inside, Kyle began to accept his attraction to the big man. The physical side of it was strong, and the emotional side huge.

He felt a twinge of another emotion. Jealousy.

He felt jealous of Jimmy.

Jimmy was eight, and frankly there wasn't much to be jealous of, but he took time away from Mike. Time he could be using to make Mike feel good, and time he could use to be pleasured by Mike's strong hands as well. 

That was all silly, he eventually concluded, and felt good that he'd been able to actually pull himself out of that mental morass. With that confidence in his head, he drifted happily to sleep.

The phone rang, shattering his hard-won peaceful state.

He grumbled into the phone, "hello."

"What, you aren't even out of bed yet?" The voice, reminiscent of Darla's bellowed at him.

"Hi ma," He replied.

"What did I do, wake you up?" Kyle's mother blared out of the phone.

"Well actually, ma, you did." Kyle said grumpily. He did not like being awoken, particularly by the telephone and even more so by his mother on the telephone.

"Well why aren't you over here?" She nearly shouted into the phone.

"I missed the bus." He said.

"Well why didn't you call?" He could see her gesticulations in his mind's eye.

"I did. You didn't answer."

"I was out." She said.

He didn't bother to explain to her that that meant that if he would have shown up he would have been knocking on the door to an empty house. This of course did not stop her from bellowing at him.

"You're a schmuck leaving me all alone. What would your father say?"

"He'd probably be jealous." Kyle muttered a little too loud.

"What? What was that you little putz! Oy! If you were here I'd put your over my knee right now!"

Kyle smiled into the phone. Same old ma.

"So when are you going to move out of that dingy little apartment, and get a proper job?"

"Let the griping begin." Kyle said aloud, this time, quiet enough for her not to hear.

"I like my job, ma. Gives me freedom." He said to her, clearly.

"Freedom! FREEDOM! Bah! Your grandfather is rolling over in his grave, rest his soul. Freedom." She snorted.

"If I don't want to work, I don't have to. If I call in, and want work, I work. It's a good life." He said. To him, it was paradise working for St. Joe's in the float pool.

"As a secretary, a secretary! My son the male secretary! Oy vey!" 

Kyle was smiling madly at this point. He'd scored the job through his intimate knowledge of computers and software, and had functioned in many different places at St. Joe's doing a variety of things. They called him frequently, and paid well.

"The least you could have done is go to school like your father and older brother."

"They're rabbis, ma." He said.

"When was the last time you went to temple? Huh? Tell me boy! You stopped going after your mitzvah!" She squalled at him.

Kyle let her rant for a moment or two, and then asked about her sister whom she could rant off on forever for quite some time.

"Oy! That little rat! Did you know she's still living with that filthy lesbian! In that dingy little apartment! Who knows what crap she's filling in my poor baby sister's head. Do you know she's twenty-eight and not even married? My mother, oy! She calls me every day asking about Sylvia," Kyle's mother ran the sentences together almost like a long, drawn out expletive.

Unexpectedly, there was a soft knock on the door, like a child's knocking.

Kyle frowned.

"Ma? Ma, hang on a second, there's someone at the door." He wondered who the hell that could be.

The knocking came again. This one was stronger, and more dominant. 

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Kyle muttered. "No ma, I'm not coming over, I meant who ever is at the door."

His eyes bugged out of his head when Mike stood there with little Jimmy around his shoulders, grinning madly.

"Ma? Are you there?" He bellowed into the phone, beckoning them inside to sit on the tattered kitchen chairs.

"Yes, boy who is it? Some more of your good-for-nothing friends no doubt!"

"Yeah, ma, some friends of mine."

"Oh so that's how it is! You'll entertain your friends on a Sunday, but you can't be bothered to go visit your poor old mother while your father is in New York."

"Ma, you weren't even home." He said exasperatedly.

"Well how do you know, you didn't even show up!"

Mike was grinning madly, as he could hear most everything.

"Ma, I've got to go, I have guests. You don't want me to be rude, do you?" He said, fishing a couple of sodas out of the fridge and dropping them in front of them.

"Who is it?" She demanded, "some good-for-nothing harlot no doubt! You just wait until I tell your father you're with a whore!"

Jimmy giggled and Mike couldn't restrain himself and let loose a belly laugh.

"What is that sound?" She exclaimed, "Is there a dog loose in your house? You have a whore who brings her dog over. Filthy things, dogs, you'll get fleas, you'll get rabies! Oy!"

Jimmy was laughing himself so hard he had some trouble breathing, and Mike immediately closed his mouth, watching the boy quickly. True to form, Jimmy's asthma kicked in and he took a couple of hits off his inhaler.

"Ma, I got to go now." He said again, becoming irritated.

"You just shack up with your whore, boy! See if I care! Your poor old mother living all alone. Don't you forget we pick up your father on Wednesday, come over in the afternoon, we'll have lunch."

"Yeah, ma," He said. "Love you ma."

"Oy my baby boy, I love you too even if you are going to meet with a harlot and her dog instead of sitting at home with your poor old mother. Shalom."

"Shalom," he said, hanging up the phone. To slam it down would have meant an immediate phone call back.

"That's quite a ringer you got there, Kyle." Mike laughed.

"Oy," Kyle said and then looked at him.

"So how..." he started.

Mike flipped Kyle's wallet at him.

"You left it at my house this morning when we were watching movies," Mike said. He emphasized the last part of the sentence.

"Oh." Kyle said. Considering the speed that Kyle had removed his pants, he wasn't entirely surprised by this development.

"Let me introduce Jimmy, my little brother." He said.

Jimmy offered a tiny hand, and Kyle shook it. He noticed the boy's hand's fingers were curled in, and didn't appear to be able to straighten. This he ignored and shook it firmly.

Jimmy was still having some problems breathing, and started to take slow, long deep breaths.

Kyle knelt before him, and put his hand on his knee.

"You gonna be okay? No dying in my apartment, we just met," he said concerned.

Jimmy giggled which caused him to cough a little more. Kyle watched him carefully as he took deeper breaths and said nothing, lest he go into further spasms.

Mike watched the two of them intently, feeling very good about Kyle.

"Hey," Jimmy said, pointing at Kyle.

"Hey what," Kyle said playfully.

"You got a girlfriend, like my cousin," he pointed to the mark.

"A girlfriend?" Kyle looked blankly.

"Yeah, my big brother's girlfriend makes marks like that on his neck. It's gross!" He affirmed importantly.

"So I have a girlfriend. So what?" He challenged the boy, and then looked at Mike.

Mike was not amused.

Kyle further pontificated, "She's cute too. She has an hourglass figure." 

He looked Mike directly in the eye.

Mike's lips bunched up as the muscles around his nose and face contracted in a look of utter disgust. 

He was about to say something when Jimmy piped up again:

"So have you knocked her up yet? My cousin says she's got a bun in the oven." 

"No not yet, she hasn't let me get past first base," Kyle explained.

Mike sat back and crossed his arms.

"Aw," Jimmy said.

Kyle smirked, and enjoyed giving Mike a jab.

"You should talk to this old boy, I know a girl that's after him, too!" Kyle thumbed toward Mike.

"Yeah, but girls are icky! That's why I like Mike, he doesn't have a girlfriend!"

"Oh is that it?" Kyle said.

Mike interjected, "these girls, they are bad business. I tell you Kyle, you'll get her pregnant and the next thing you know, I'll be the best man at the wedding." He oddly mimicked Kyle's mother which was spooky to Kyle.

"I guess I'll just have to watch what I'm doing," Kyle said.

"Um, Kyle?" Jimmy asked. "I've got to go pee, where's the bathroom?"

"Down that hall, it's at the end. Don't trip on the towels." Kyle said.

When Mike heard the click of the door he spoke softly, "girlfriend huh."

Kyle stuck his tongue out at him and then walked to him, softly tracing Mike's high hairline.

"What am I supposed you say? Your big brother took me home last night, and turned me into a cocksucker," Kyle said. "I'm glad you came by, I needed to talk to you."

"About?"

"Darla and Frankie. I don't understand some things. They were really picking on me."

"You told them you were with me?"

"Darla just knew." Kyle said, his face a mask of confusion trying to read Mike.

"Don't worry about it," Mike offered.

Kyle felt relieved.

They both heard the flush, and Mike leaned up and kissed at Kyle's hand as the heard the bathroom door being unlocked.

Two steps down the hall, both the adult men said in stereo, "Wash your hands."

Jimmy grumbled, turning mid-way as both men stared at each other.

"Got dinner plans?" Mike asked.

"Top Ramen is my special friend," Kyle retorted.

Mike snorted, smirking. 

"Let's go grab a pie," He said. "I'll buy."

"Wow. Thanks," Kyle said.

"No problem, you little schmuck," Mike said, emphasizing the vowel sounds in an almost perfect imitation of his mother.

Kyle stuck his tongue out at Mike.

The last thing Mike said to Kyle before Jimmy rounded the corner was, "you stick that tongue out on me, and I'll put it to good use."

Kyle flushed as Mike scooted Jimmy out the door. 

He called, "pick you up at six."

Kyle nodded and went back to his couch to try to pretend the pillow was Mike, but this time, took off his pants.



Poppa's Cub Ch. 04



Chapter Four

Kyle blinked groggily as the door was pounded upon again. He gasped and realized that he'd slept straight through to six, and grabbed for his jeans.

He opened the door to find Mike standing there, in a thick leather jacket, gloves, jeans, and black Doc Martins.

"What? Don't tell me you slept in," he grinned.

Kyle waved him in as he rubbed his eyes.

"Serious? I didn't mean to wake you, I thought you'd be up." Mike said.

"I was pretty groggy, Mom woke me earlier when you guys came by," He admitted, buttoning his fly.

"I'm starving, so get it together," Mike replied, ruffling him on the head.

Kyle smiled his winning smile, and pulled on a light jacket, stuffed his feet into his sandals and grabbed his wallet.

"Yeah, you better take that. I don't want you leaving it at some strange guy's house," Mike poked.

"You're right, my girlfriend might not like it." Kyle retorted.

Mike snorted at him and leaned over, pursing his lips.

Kyle leaned into his strength and kissed him solidly.

"You kiss better than any of my girlfriends ever did, anyway." Kyle said.

"I've often been told I'm an old softie," Mike admitted.

"So I've heard," Kyle said as he locked the front door and headed down the stair.

"You must have been talking to Darla," Mike said, somewhat seriously.

"Frankly I didn't want to talk to either one of them. I wanted to go home, then she grabbed me, and drug me to Frankie."

"That's good," Mike said. "I sort of like my private life, private."

"I can respect that," Kyle replied as they hit the street level. "Where's your car?"

Mike pointed to a fifteen hundred cubic-centimeter Harley-Davidson touring bike.

"Car? I don't do cars," Mike said.

"That's quite a bike," Kyle said. He was no motorcycle aficionado by any means, having only been on one once or twice.

Mike handed him a helmet and swung around, kick starting the beast with a single swipe.

Kyle took a moment and got on the back of the bike, pulling himself tight against Mike and leaning in. The throb of the machine was powerful, and Kyle felt it down to his very bones. He felt Mike's butt against his crotch and smelled leather and Mike. These were good smells.

He clenched just that much tighter and Mike took a hand to tap his affectionately and then let loose on the throttle, gliding into the minimal traffic of the Sunday night.

Softly, he went up Main street, past Joe Brown's and the Kiggen's theater. He cut right on Mill Plain, left at the Fort Vancouver Library and whizzed passed Clark Collage. He drove through a couple of neighborhoods, over the State Route interchange, and into the edge of the neighborhood of Minnehaha. He cut through a parking lot, and landed in front of Smokey's Pizza. Their trademark, the little red devil, sat on a large illuminated sign for, 'hot oven pizza'.

Kyle was sorry when the machine was turned off. It was like a flying on a cloud, sweeping in and out of traffic. Mike didn't go very fast at all, and the machine had little noise to it.

Mike took his helmet off and offered his open hand for Kyle's. 

He took his off, ruffling his unruly mane, handing it to the leather gauntlet.

Mike left them both on the machine, and they walked in. Kyle stood as close to him as he could while trying to give him space, and not wanting to seem like a couple. Yet, if Kyle had his way, that's exactly what he wanted to show. It was frustrating.

"What's your poison?" Mike asked, looking at the menu board.

"I don't really care." Kyle replied.

"Large Double pepperoni, extra well done, and a pitcher of beer," Mike ordered.

The clerk looked at Kyle's boyish face, then looked at Mike.

Mike looked back impassively.

The clerk took in Mike's leathers, and thought perhaps it wouldn't be the best thing in the world to mess with the big man. He put two beer glasses next to the pitcher as Mike laid a twenty on the till.

Mike's stuffed a couple of bucks in the tip cup and carried the tray to the darkest corner he could find. 

The restaurant was not well lit at the best of times, being largely made of thick, old, dark-stained oaken panels. It had high, heavily padded bench seats with brass rivets holding the Naugahyde together. A tubular, vertically mounted light fixture came from the ceiling. It was filthy and had cobwebs that clung to the metal cap that covered the wiring.

Kyle slid in on the other side, against the corner as Mike poured him a beer.

He looked at it, and sipped. 

"Not your first, I hope," Mike said.

"No," Kyle admitted.

Mike seemed resigned, worried. 

A silence ensued.

It became slightly darker as the moments drug on.

"What did Darla say?" He finally asked.

"She noticed the hickie, assumed you'd put it there. She told me Sunday was her best day, and then drug me down to Frankie. He said you were an old romantic softie and that he liked using his hands."

Mike looked displeased.

"I didn't think I could be that easily summed up," Mike said.

Kyle gave him a half smile, and shrugged.

"Is that so wrong, that your friends know you? My friends in high school never really knew me."

"I've known Darla for about as long as you've been alive, Kyle. I would think, that perhaps she might give me some leeway."

"Frankie said she's got the hots for you," Kyle said.

Mike nodded, "you remember that picture on my wall, those guys in 'Nam? Darla's the one on the far right. We used to take our leave together, and pick up the Thai hookers. She was tossed out when she was shot. They peeled her clothes to get to the wound and was found wearing panties."

Kyle mouthed, "Wow."

"As a guy, we'd have sex, like out in the jungle. It'd be all quiet, she'd come back from a scout patrol, or be on rotation, and if I was up, we'd do the dance. Whole squad knew, didn't care. I treated 'm good, but everybody knew, Papa was queer. Best damn scout I ever had."

Mike drained his beer and poured another, topping Kyle's.

"So what happened?" Kyle asked, "What made him become Darla?"

"I don't know. Don't get me wrong, Darla was never masculine. Nothing like, say, you," Mike said.

Kyle did not think of himself as a masculine man, under any circumstance. In some ways, he thought being male was a bit of a cruel joke.

The serving girl wandered up and down with their pizza until Mike snapped his big paws. She brought it over and set it down.

"Thank you," Mike said, dismissively.

Kyle dished Mike up, and then himself.

"So you came back, and she was Darla?" Kyle asked.

"Pretty much. Don't get me wrong, she still has a tool down there, and she uses it from time to time. I guess on some weekends she does a little show at Darcelle's in Portland. Mostly she turns tricks. She tells me she's trying to save up enough money for the surgery."

Kyle was mid-bite into a piece, and an eyebrow cocked up.

"Surgery?" He asked, with a mouthful of pizza.

Mike made a snipping motion with his fingers.

Kyle gulped the food down.

"You're kidding," He said.

"It's who she wants to be. She says afterward, she'll marry one of her good little church boys and be his wife," Mike said.

Kyle drank beer.

Mike nodded, and drank some too.

"So she wants to be your wife?"

"I'm sure that's in there. I just can't go for that. I admit it, I'm gay. A queer. A fag. A homo-freaking-sexual," he said each word clearly.

"I don't like to sleep with women. I like real men, men who don't shave themselves, men who are casual, men who are real. Maybe that's why I came on to you." He gestured.

Kyle finally got down to the end of the beer.

"I'm not much of a man," Kyle said. "I have a short dick, and I'm fat."

Mike wagged his finger in Kyle's face.

"Those Thai hookers I told you about, they had," he gestured with his thumb and forefinger a span of about two inches, "nothing. But they used it, they made you feel good. They were skilled in pleasure."

"I don't have that, either," Kyle said defiantly.

"Not yet. Word will get around, though," Mike said.

"How? I don't want to do things with Darla, or with Frankie, or with any of those other guys. That's not what I'm about. When Frankie offered to do me, I felt sick to my stomach. I felt like I'd be screwing over your head.," he said.

Mike looked at him.

"Do you want to come home with me again?" He asked.

"Yes," Kyle replied.

Mike nodded.

"Put up your feet," Mike said

Kyle looked at him oddly. 

Mike beckoned with a slice of the pizza.

Kyle shrugged and stuck his feet up. Mike slipped off the sandals, eating with his left hand, and kneaded toes with the right.

Kyle's eyes lit up.

Mile smiled.

"Kyle, you're a man. Maybe a young man, but you're a man, to me."

Emotionally the words struck Kyle. No one had ever told him he was a man. Not even his own father, much less his mother, and brother.

"Thanks," Kyle said.

"I mean it," Mike affirmed. "You took a chance on me, last night. You did things this you'd never done before. You could of thrown me and Jimmy out of your flat. I know guys that would have."

Kyle looked hurt.

"How?" He gasped.

"The gay community, the gay male at large community isn't known for a lot of long-term relationships. In all the people I know, I only know of a few couples who have made it in the long haul. They have to work hard. It's a lot easier just to turn a trick in a booth somewhere. For me, it's not easy on the heart to do that. I mean, I at least wanted to know your name. I wanted to talk with you, I wanted you to meet my friends. To me, at least, that makes sense."

"I was pretty scared," Kyle said.

"You still are, but we have the same fear, Kyle. I just suppress it more," Mike said.

Kyle looked at him. He was in awe of the big man, for having any fear at all.

"We're afraid of not having someone. We're afraid of being alone."

Mike softly rubbed Kyle's feet and listened to him:

"My friends in high school, I don't think any one of them got laid. We'd all get together and play Dungeons & Dragons, and other games. It was crazy, this group of guys, we never talked about girls, we all were too fat, or too ugly. It wasn't who we were. But none of them were gay, I don't think. My best friend, Roger, we'd sit in his backyard on sunny days and draw. I'd put myself just down south of him so I could look up his shorts, as he never wore underwear. He had," Kyle gestured with his hand, "these big fucking balls. I always wanted to touch them."

Mike gestured to him to continue.

"We'd spend the night, stay up late, just wearing bvd's. I wished I had an ounce of courage."

Mike softly stroked Kyle's feet, and Kyle wiggled his toes playfully.

They picked at the last two slices of the pizza.

"So what do you do?" Mike asked. 

Kyle explained his technical knowledge and his job at St. Joe's. Mike listened intently, fascinated.

"You?" Kyle inquired.

"I'm a driver manager for Swift Transportation. I used to run for them, but got a hazardous material exposure and ended up doing desk duty. I work the night shift, three twelve hour days, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. It's not bad work. I have a lot of time off," he shrugged.

Kyle nodded. He rarely worked more than four days a week.

"I like to take long rides on my bike. I try to make the coast a couple times a month. Sometimes do the mountains, camp out under the stars, that kind of thing."

Kyle grinned, "My folks hate all that stuff. I like it as long as I'm comfortable. I don't like being cold."

Mike nodded.

They talked softly for quite some time, almost intimately, Mike started to feel more relaxed with Kyle, and Kyle started to feel safer.

When they left, Kyle clung even tighter to Mike, literally grinding his crotch into the butt of the older man. Mike's erection stayed with him the entire ride to his flat, and he nearly tore Kyle's shirt off after the door clicked shut.

Kyle's lips sought out the bushy moustache, he felt vulnerable, and excited with Mike's tool poking at his own.

Mike took off his leather jacket, and then draped it around Kyle's shoulders. Kyle looked at him quizzically and then Mike pulled on the arms, enveloping him in the rich scent of the tanned cowhide. Kyle shivered softly and opened his mouth as Mike's tongue pressed into him.

Feverishly, Kyle ran hands that unbuttoned his shirt, wanting to feel the soft, scratchy fur against his own chest. The stim causing him to become even more aroused.

Both men hit the mattress, Mike on top, pinning Kyle, and marking him on the other side of the neck. Kyle quivered and then gasped as each of his nipples was given a similar treatment. Mike softly rubbed his nose into Kyle's small blonde tuft of chest hair, and trailed kisses down his tummy.

He unbuttoned Kyle's pants and let his flag fly free.

Mike smiled at Kyle, and then opened his mouth.

Softly, his tongue rolled under the shaft deftly rubbing the underside of his glans with the tip, near the younger man's circumcision scar.

Kyle's eyes went wide as he felt his penis go past the tip of Mike's tongue, and into the tip of his throat. His eyes closed and he writhed. 

Mike sucked ever so tenderly, and then started to move his head up and down, draining his lover of ever drop of preseminal fluid that came out.

It took very little time at all, as Kyle couldn't withstand the pressure. His hips rose up, thrusting into the mature man's mouth, and fired a huge load down his throat.

Mike paused movement only slightly long enough to swallow, and let Kyle's damp penis flop out of his mouth.

"Holy shit." Kyle gasped.

Mike grinned, and pounced, kissing Kyle with the vestiges of sperm in his mouth. He raised his hands to the neck of the big man and held their heads together as hard as he could.

Mike responded by tickling Kyle ever so slightly, making him squirm, which turned them both on.

Kyle reached under Mike's arms and found him incredibly ticklish, and eventually ended on top.

They were hungry for each other, in a way that only men can be hungry for one another.

When Kyle's erection manifested itself again, Mike lubricated his hand, and got him very slick.

Softly, Mike sat on his tool, feeling the penetration. It was an act of trust on his part. Mike liked to be fucked.

Kyle had never felt anything like this whatsoever. He immediately understood the power that was fucking, and slowly thrust up into him, seeing the pleasure. He stroked Mike with one hand, and held off his own ejaculation until the big man sprayed all over his belly.

He sensed Mike's pleasure and then fired his own load into Mike's bowels.

Kyle piped up, "I guess I'm the one that needs cleaning now, huh?"

Mike laughed his gentle belly laugh and then proceeded to give Kyle his first tongue bath.

They did not part until Kyle had to go to work on Tuesday morning.



Poppa's Cub Ch. 05



Chapter Five

Sunday, August 25th, 1985

Kyle felt the warmth under him as he fluttered, waking early on this day. He had a broad, bright smile, for today was special.

He felt the ruffle of Mike's callused hand, and wondered how he always knew that Kyle was awake. Softly he moved up the dark mat of chest fur and curled under his chin.

"Hey," Mike said. "Happy birthday."

He leaned down softly and laid a kiss onto Kyle's forehead.

Kyle leaned up and softly licked at the big man's lips.

Mike kissed back, softly chewing on Kyle's lips, nursing on them ever so tenderly.

Kyle's eyes closed, lost in the passion. 

Mike's tongue slipped into Kyle's mouth, felt the pastiness of the unwashed mouth.

Kyle grunted softly sucking on the tongue, moving his head ever so slowly, back and forth. He felt Mike's member go from a flaccid state to a semi-erect state. This of course caused his own arousal to begin to form.

So Kyle, you all ready for your big day?" Mike said, whispering tenderly.

Kyle nodded, "I really don't think it'll be a big deal. I just want to have a couple of beers down at the bar."

It's a Sunday, so it's going to be pretty quiet. Free pool all day. We'll have a couple pitchers, maybe go out into the garden."

Garden?" Kyle asked.

It's, kind of like the arcade. Guys go in the back, and, do the rumba," Mike smiled at him.

Kyle bit his lips and had an odd look.

Mike sensed trepidation.

"What's on your mind," He asked.

"I'm not sure about the garden part," Kyle said.

"Nobody says you have to do anything. This time of the day it'll be dead, we'll be the only ones there anyway. Maybe Frankie stroking somebody, but that's about it."

Kyle had something on his mind, and asked, "Do you want to be with anybody else?"

"No," Mike said quickly.

"So why go there?" Kyle replied.

"I don't want to inhibit you," Mike said.

"I'm not inhibited. Don't treat me like a child, I'm an adult, and I'm making adult decisions. I'm happy with our life. I don't need to see more. I get enough of that just hanging out with Darla."

Mike laughed briefly, and then became serious.

"I have never thought of you as anything but an adult," he said quietly, almost sternly. "I never will. If you don't want to go into the garden, you don't have to. However, you must admit you do have a slight exhibitionist streak in you."

"One time, one time in the park, and you call me an exhibitionist," Kyle protested.

Mike bear hugged him, pulling him to look directly into his eyes. 

"Tell me it didn't turn you on. You were the one that crawled under the picnic table."

"You were the one that threw the Frisbee under it," Kyle pleaded, turning scarlet.

"I just happened to sit there while you were getting it. I was innocent." Mike said, attempting to shift the direction of the conversation.

"Liar. I was under there and you..."

Mike at this point was roaring with laughter.

Kyle was bright red, and his cock was rock-hard.

"I can feel your dick," Mike said. "You liked it and you know it, you little cocksucker."

Kyle laid his burning face on Mike's chest. 

He had loved it. He loved being on his knees.

He loved the thrill, in mid-day.

He loved the freshly washed scent of Mike's dick in his mouth.

When he came up, Darla had chastised them both, and he loved the humiliation.

Softly Mike stroked at Kyle's dick.

"Make you a deal," Mike offered.

Kyle tilted his head.

"Let me take you into the garden, with the understanding that if anything does happen, it'll be between you and me. Fair?"

Kyle nodded emphatically, and felt much better.

"Besides, it's no fun if I can't give you a spanking on your birthday." Mike whispered.

Kyle's eyes popped open.

His mouth went dry.

A couple of times, Mike had swatted him, but nothing ever serious. Mike knew it was a sure fire way to arouse Kyle, and get him ready for a good solid fucking, something that Kyle was still getting used to.

Kyle shivered ever so softly, and Mike tenderly combed his hair with his big, strong fingers.

"Kyle, are you okay?" Mike asked. The level of concern in his voice was high.

"Yeah, I'm just sort of thinking about that spanking bit," he admitted.

Without warning, Mike's other paw slapped his butt. It stung only mildly, and made Kyle shiver. It was the right sort of swat, the kind that brought stimulation, and only the hint of real pain.

Kyle's excitement betrayed him and his penis throbbed.

Mike's hand went down to rub his tool softly, teasingly.

"Would you like a spanking, birthday boy, Hm?" He said, softly stroking Kyle's hair. "One for each year of your life."

Kyle quivered, more from the emotional issues than the physical ones. What was happening to him? Why did he have these needs? It was scary, frightening. Mike was his Rock of Gibraltar and teacher. He challenged his boundaries and made him feel safe.


Kyle rolled off the bed and sat up. He was misty-eyed.

Mike's pulse pounded and he turned toward him.

Kyle nodded, and turned toward the side.

"I, I... would like that. But I'm scared."

Mike moved catlike, from being lover to being friend. He put a big bearish arm around his shoulder.

"Say no," He prompted. "You know I'll respect you. Always."

"That's not an issue," Kyle said. "I'm scared. There's a part of me that knows I'll like it, and there's a part of me that's scared what's past that part."

"Do you see then, why I worry about inhibiting you? There's a huge world of sexuality to explore."

"Which is all the more reason I need to stick with you," Kyle said. "You'll stop. What if other people don't."

Mike took a deep breath.

"I can't argue with that logic," He said.

The two men sat on the edge of the queen bed, the Hollywood frame sagging slightly under their combined weight at one point.

"Kyle, I have something I have to tell you. Something important, that we haven't discussed. I have been wrestling with it for a while now, and I had to make sure it was something that I felt both you and I could handle."

Kyle shivered, slightly with fear.

Mike reached out his massive paw, tugged onto his chin, and looked him directly into the eye. A single tear was coming off his aged, lined face.

"I love you," He said.

Kyle burst into tears, sobbing with relief and happiness, and Mike broke down as well. They lay in the bed and cried together, gently.

The power of the emotions was tiring, and they dozed gently until Kyle's cell phone rang.

Mike's eyes opened as Kyle groaned.

"It's for you," Mike said.

RING

"How do you know?" Kyle said.

RING

"It's your mother," Mike said.

RING

"Oh, god," Kyle said.

RING

Mike picked up the phone and held it out, as Kyle's mother started to scream, ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY' at the top of her lungs at him, singing horribly off key.

Followed by the song was a stream of mostly one-way babbling, she thought he was going away, he explained they were just getting ready to leave. 

"We? Who is this we? Are you with that harlot that leaves the big things on your neck and the dog with the fleas? Oy! Boy what am I to do with you? Does this slut have a name? Why don't you go to temple, find a nice JEWISH girl, like your brother."


Mike made a barking noise.

Kyle softly made a swiping motion at his face, his nails grazing his cheek, a sensation that Mike enjoyed immensely.

His mother babbled more, and more. She was in a serious mood, it being his birthday and all. Her baby was turning twenty-one, and he'd be out drinking tonight, and whoring around.

Mike on the other hand maneuvered down to the end of the bed, attempting to appear innocent. He stretched his arms out, and rubbed his neck. He turned back to look at Kyle and then decided to become evil.

A quick pounce found Kyle's flaccid penis in his mouth, which he hungrily sucked upon, nearly drawing his entire scrotum in as well.

Kyle gasped, he shook his hand at Mike.

"Hey, wait," He yelped.

"What? What is that? Wait, wait for what? I will be old in the grave when you get good Jewish girl, you know that? Oy! You are such a schmuck, you know that!"

Kyle became erect in Mikes mouth, and felt utterly confused.

He put his hand over the phone and said, "Quit that."

Mike unsuccessfully tried to look contrite, and withdrew his mouth, but kept his hand softly stroking. Kyle shot him a dirty look.

"Ma, we're getting ready to go. Serious, I've got to go. I love you, give my best to dad, and thank him for the nice birthday presents, Shalom." He said. The moment he heard her say that she loved him, the disconnected.

"I am SO going to kill you!" He cried, and began to tickle Mike mercilessly.

The big man was soon reduced to a pile of giggles and snickers until he bodily restrained Kyle, which was no easy task.

Softly, they kissed.

Their kissing became feverish, passioned lips rubbing against each other hungrily, and, without discussion, Mike climbed upon Kyle, and leaned over him lengthwise so they might engage in a sixty-nine.

Mouths hungrily found hot, fleshy dicks, and lips wrapped around cockheads. Kyle softly lubricated a finger of his and slipped it into Mike's furry ass, knowing the big man's passion for anal play.

Not to be undone, Mike slipped his smallest finger into Kyle's hole, wetting it only with his saliva. Kyle winced a bit, and unclenched his ass. 

Mike softly rocked his hips, tenderly face-fucking Kyle as the big man was able to deep throat his younger partner's tool without difficulty.

Kyle had to use his hand to somewhat hold onto Mike's tool, stroking it's base in time to the fucking, pulsing the hand softly, feeling the precum draining into his mouth.

Both men pumped into each other, the stimulus was incredible, and within a few moments of each other fired thick, salty loads of sperm into each other's mouth.

Kyle was still not used to swallowing and had to pull Mike's tool off him, gasp for air and then chunk it down. Then he happily rubbed Mike's tool on his lips and licked the additional dregs of cum off his cock head.

Mike gulped Kyle's jism hungrily, as if he were a starving man.

Kyle gasped and had to roll away, panting heavily. He winced again as Mike's finger worked it's way out.

Softly they rolled toward each other and tenderly kissed.

"I love you, too." Kyle said.

Mike nosed him softly, and did need to hear that.

After a hot shower, a trim for Kyle's budding goatee, and a fellow grooming for Mike's beard found them at the table by the sink. Mike was making waffles for Kyle's birthday breakfast.

Mike's four photos looked at them. Kyle now knew all the people in Mike's squad by name, including Darla's male name, which he had been sworn to secrecy about. 

The Naugahyde chairs had been draped with towels and neither man found the need to wear clothing. Kyle hadn't quite moved in, but had started buying the weekend fish-feeder tablets most every Friday. 

"Oh," Mike said. "Don't bother getting dressed. That's my job today."

Kyle's eyebrows cocked.

"I happen to have your birthday presents."

Kyle's eyes glittered.

"Oh, really?" He said.

Mike nodded slyly.

"Took me a while to get it all together. I had to go through your wardrobe a couple of times to get it right," He said.

"Clothes?" Kyle said.

"Well, sort of. Let's just say these aren't clothes you'd get from your mother," Mike retorted.

Kyle had produced a box last night that his mother had given him, some sort of hideous purple, paisley and striped shirt. It contained a card with an obscene amount of money in it, and Mike had been unsure which had upset him more.

Mike would say nothing more, instead deftly dodging the topic and plying Kyle with waffles. 

Kyle ate, and ate until he was full, and then some. 

Mike passed him the Sunday comics from both the Colombian and the Oregonian. Mike smiled gleefully as the morning passed, and about elevenish, he asked Kyle, "You ‘bout ready?"

Kyle replied by tickling under Mike's armpits.

"Hey, hey, now. Cubs that do that don't get their birthday presents," he said.

Kyle stopped, this was the first time that Mike had ever referred to him as a cub.

"Cub?" He asked.

Mike stood, his six-foot, thick frame loomed over the seated Kyle.

"In many subcultures an older, dominant, furry, fat man is called a Bear. Often times, bears will have younger partners, and they are called cubs. You're my cub," He said.

Kyle raised an eyebrow and let it sink in. A sort of smile formed as it did. He nodded slightly, and felt the emotional warmth of the connection.

Mike padded over to the bed and reached under, pulling open a box. He opened the top, fished into a plastic sack, and pulled out a pair of wool socks, and a white T-shirt. In the top left of the shirt was a black paw-print, and in small white lowercase type it read, ‘cub'. These he threw at Kyle.

"Put those on, cub." He said.

Kyle caught them, and did as he was told. He had to admit that he was expecting something a bit more for his birthday, but said nothing.

"Now get your cute little butt over here."

Kyle grinned at this part and stood in front of him, trying to see in the box.

"Shut those eyes, cub."

Kyle looked at him, and saw Mike's wrinkled face smile warmly. He shut his eyes.

Kyle felt the rustling of paper and movement of something. He heard the sound of zippers.

"Sit," Mike said.

Kyle felt for the bed and sat down, nearly tripping on the box.

Mike got down at his feet and slowly put them into the leather trousers. The crotch had a zipper that went from the front all the way under the groin and up to the back waistband. It had been zipped, so Kyle did not feel the potential for draft.

Mike then pulled out the boots. They were identical to his own, other than being brand new. Stenciled into the outside of each was the name, "Kyle". He fitted them onto Kyle's feet and laced them strongly.

"Alright then. Stand up, Cub."

Kyle stood, wobbling a touch in the inch heeled docs.

Mike smiled. His erection was reforming himself, and quickly her pulled on his own boots, zip-lined pants and a T-shirt that had a similar paw circle, on the right side. It read, "Poppa Bear". The T-shirts Mike got from a vendor at Portland Pride while Kyle was at his father's house for father's day. 

To this ensemble, Mike placed upon his own, and on Kyle's head leather caps, of a military nature. Other than the larger stomach, Mike could have been a model for a character out of Tom of Finland.

Kyle shivered, his manhood straining against the leathers.

Mike softly marched him into the bathroom, and closed the door. Behind it was a full-length mirror. To see Kyle like this did things for him. 

"Open," he whispered. 

Kyle's jaw dropped.

"My cub," Mike said. "Welcome to my world."

Kyle looked at himself in the leather pants, the white T-shirt, and then saw the zipper.

He reached down for it, and as he did, Mike reached behind him, and grabbed the rear entry zipper and pulled it down.

Kyle's eyes bugged out as Mike put a hand on his bare bottom.

His eyes glazed and then Mike zipped him up.

"One last item," Mike instructed.

Kyle looked at him.

Mike lead him into the front room, and opened up the coat closet. He handed Kyle a burly leather coat.

"August is hot for this sort of thing, but no cub of mine rides on my bike without protection," he growled.

Kyle put it on. He felt the power of the animal that it took to make it, his nostrils flared.

Mike slipped behind him and whispered into his ear:

"Let us understand something, as a cub, a submissive, I have only the power you grant me. I will never violate the trust you give me, nor would I betray the love you have given me freely. I will be your poppa, your friend, your lover. In time, your mate. If you say you don't want a spanking, you don't want to suck a cock, then it ends there. Period. That is respect. That is what I owe you, as my friend."

Kyle cried softly and fell into his arms.

Mike held him tightly and softly ran his lips into the corner of his eye where the tear duct was. The tip of the tongue tasted the salty tears. 

Kyle took deep breaths.

"I have never felt anything like I do with you. It's more than sex, it's more than friendship. I may have loved before, but I haven't loved like this. Is this what gay love is?"

"I'm not sure it's an issue of homosexuality, honestly. Our relationship is about power, and the exchange of it. It's about layers and levels of trust. I know of heterosexual players who have our type of love, as deep."

"Players?" Kyle asked.

"It's a slang term. People who are involved in BDSM, often they calm themselves players. It's something deeper than mere sexuality. When you love in levels of power, and in trust of this nature it's transcending. At least I have found that to be the case."

"Is this like when I fuck you? You love it."

"Precisely. I am a very masculine man. I am a former phoenix force member. I have a master's degree in psychology. I am fortunate to have you as a lover, and yet, I have needs that few men have. When you mount me, when you spread my legs and slip your cock into me, it allows me to trust. Nothing else will do. Nothing is as fulfilling as trust."

Kyle nodded and they sat on the bed for a time, holding hands.

Mike had set the clock radio for noon, and Portland's Classic Rock station, KGON snapped on.

Freddie Mercury's cool slick voice played out:

"...this is, a kind, of magic..."



Poppa's Cub Ch. 06



Chapter Six

The Harley throbbed to life as Mike passed the bar. He could feel Kyle's puzzlement and put a reassuring hand on his knee.

He swooped in and out of local traffic gracefully. Kyle's new jacket protected him from the onrush of the air, the leather was stiff, and felt like armor. He wondered where they were going, but trusted Mike.

He reflected upon their conversations as Mike pulled onto SR 14 and headed east.

Past Camas, he pulled into the quiet little community of Washougal, Washington.

Kyle had never been here before, and softly Mike maneuvered through the quiet streets.

Weaving through the long, rural neighborhoods was like a soft dream to Kyle. He loved the quiet, loved the space.

Mike pulled to one side and unzipped his jacket, flipping up his visor.

He extracted a strip from a classified newspaper, which had a red circle in ink around it.

Kyle strained to see, and Mike handed it to him, restarting the bike.

It looked like some sort of house listing, and Mike eased around the neighborhoods and found a mailbox with the same number.

He stopped and looked up the drive.

The old farmhouse was not in the best of condition, and the for sale sign in one window made it obvious that it was in some sort of abandonment.

Kyle tilted his head.

Mike purred the bike up the drive and parked it.

He took off his helmet and shook his head.

"I grew up here," he said softly.

Kyle's eyes widened.

"Before my mom went into the nursing home, this is where she raised us kids," he explained. "It's been thirty years or more since I've been up this road."

He took a brochure from the plastic container on the front of the home and carefully folded it in four quarters.

Kyle watched him.

"Besides we had to make sure those leathers of yours looked good," he said, trying to lighten the mood.

Kyle tilted his head.

"Poppa, why did we come here?" He asked.

"I needed you to see where I came from, I think. I'm not sure. I did want to ride some, and for some reason this place called. All of the parks and places they would have been crowded, but here, nothing. It's dead."

Kyle looked at the magnificent fur trees, the cedars which threatened to spear the sun itself and turned to him, "dead, no. Nothing close to dead. Maybe some bad memories?"

Mike shook his head.

"Not here, not until we moved into Camas. This was the place of my innocence. Maybe I needed to feel that again. To feel fresh."

Kyle leaned up for a kiss.

Mike leaned down, he liked the solider feel of Kyle in leather, and his moustache softly tickled his lips.

Their tongues brushed only softly.

"Com'on cub, let's get to the bar."

"Yes Poppa."

Within minutes they had returned to the heart of downtown. Kyle led the way inside.

"Can I see some I.D. please?" The barkeeper asked.

Kyle proffered his wallet and smiled a bit.

The man behind the bar smiled at him.

"Now son you do know where you're at, right?"

Kyle replied by pulling back his jacket and showing off the, ‘cub' paw print. He thumbed at Mike behind him.

The bartender eyed Mike.

"So you finally got laid, huh old man?" He teased.

"You might say that," Mike said.

Kyle's stomach tightened. 

"So what'll it be, birthday cub?"

Pitcher of Miller," Kyle replied.

Two iced glasses were put on the corkboard serving tray as the large pitcher was on it. Kyle dug into his walled but the bartender waved a hand.

"Not on your birthday, cub," he said. "First one's on us."

"Thank you," Kyle replied, carrying the load. 

Mike walked past the cigarette dispenser into the secondary room. Tables to the left, a billiard table with red felt to the right. In the distant right, an incredibly small stage and dance area. Kyle had not been expecting much and at the North Bank, he hadn't been disappointed.

Darla swished at him effeminately from two tables that had been pushed together.

"Kyle, oh, Kyle! Oh my lord, you've gone butch! Isn't he so CUTE!"

Sitting at the table was Darla, Frankie and two other friends, Markus and James.

Carefully he sat the pitcher down, and took his place at Mike's right. He was feeling both shy and excited, the mixture of birthday right-of-passage and new-kid-on-the-block. The beer was very helpful. 

The group en masse' had small birthday presents for him. 

From Darla he received a small bottle of good whisky and some condoms for, ‘family planning' as a gag gift. Mike advised him that those damned things, ‘tasted like rubber' and got a big laugh. 

Frankie slipped him a very fat baggie of marijuana under the table as well as a funny little jar with a yellow wrapper around it marked, ‘rush'. He eyed it curiously and was told in hushed voices that it made everything just a little more fun. Kyle was all for fun, and both were slipped into the enormous pockets of the leather jacket.

Marcus, was the second youngest to Kyle, he was twenty five, and enjoyed the look on Kyle's face as he unwrapped a short stack of books, gifts from he and James. The top two were Meatmen #1 and #2, anthologies of gay male comics, and the bottom one was a rare copy of, ‘the joy of gay sex'. Kyle's eyes lit up as the delicate drawings played across his sight.

"Like he needs any help..." Mike growled playfully at them.

Kyle poked at his poppa, pointing out a particularly graphic pose and giggling slightly.

"Oh, right, like my back is gonna be able to handle that," Mike said.

"Well you could try letting me on top for a change," Kyle countered as playfully.

"Why you little," Mike growled in mock ferocity. "I'll put you over my knee."

"Like you weren't planning to do that anyway," Kyle replied dryly.

"Ladies, pul-lease. I don't know what I'm going to do with either one of you," Darla gestured.

Birthday wishes were given, toasts and cheers made.

Kyle felt very comfortable. He was understanding that he'd made a large social breakthrough. This was the last taboo, the last barrier to not just his adulthood, but also his education as a gay male. From this point on, he had all that he needed to learn about his new culture.

Food was ordered, delivered and devoured, and the beer flowed freely. 

They talked about everything, nothing, and all places in between. 

Despite his youth, Kyle felt also included. He and James could talk comics across the table. On occasion Mike would drop a Vietnam comment to Darla or Frankie. Marcus was very technically literate and Kyle and he had many computer discussions.

As the pool was free on Sunday, the men took turns playing. Mike was quite a sharpshooter billiards wise and ran the table until he got distracted by Kyle bending over and muffed an easy sink. Frankie wouldn't let that one go and neatly retired the older man off the table. He, Marcus, and James tag-teamed for the lead a few times, until Darla smoked Marcus.

Kyle couldn't shoot a ball to save his soul, however none could best him at missile command. His nimble fingers played the trackball deftly, keeping the machine alive for easily a quarter hour. His only competition was Marcus who gave a respectful showing.

When Kyle flipped the asteroids machine twice, they all groaned something about sandbagging.

Kyle's winning smile rarely left his face even as the late summer evening drew long. 

Mike plied him with drinks and Kyle enjoyed the warm, fuzzy glow. He nauseated easily and was not able to put down the vast amounts others did, but enjoyed himself none the less.

Nature called, as often it did to those who drank copious amounts of beer.

Kyle went back into the bar room, down the short hall and at the end, toward he left was the men's room. It was tiny, and dingy, with two rust stained urinals and two stalls. Kyle had always used stalls, feeling self-conscious about himself, and as he went into the far stall, he sat down. After conducting his business he stepped out to see a chalkboard along the wall. It had various telephone numbers, and in a corner, was the outline of a paw-print. In it read a short note:

‘K, whenever you're ready. Love, M'

Kyle shivered, and wiped the board clean. He scrawled back:

‘M, I'm ready. Love, K'

Kyle washed his hands, combed his hair and goatee.

He returned to the group and sat down, this time sipping at a glass. In a few moments, Mike went and came back. He whispered into his ear.

"Be sure. Be very sure."

Kyle responded by kissing him.

Mike's eyes traveled to Frankie who headed out to the garden.

A quick nod from him at the doorway and Mike tapped Kyle on the shoulder.

Kyle stood.

Darla watched him, as did James and Marcus.

He walked tall, dignified. 

Mike had already gone, and Frankie was at the door. As Kyle passed through, he reached behind, and flipped the privacy lock.

Mike sat in an armless Adirondack style chair made of cedar, next to a matching table, smiling slightly. The Garden was poorly lit, and they were the only ones in it. He sipped from a glass of ice water.

Kyle heard the door shut, and unbeknownst to him, Frankie took a small sign and tacked it to the door. It read, 'private party'. He nodded to the bartender who understood that such things happened from time to time.

Kyle walked to him, and Mike patted his lap to sit down for a moment.

"It's pretty quiet," Kyle said.

"I asked if we could have some space," Mike said. "I know you'd love to show off, but perhaps just being outside, might be enough."

Kyle blushed and nodded.

Mike beckoned with a hand, and softly they kissed. Both men grew aroused and Mike groped at Kyle's crotch softly.

Kyle rubbed his lips against Mike's mustache lovingly, and their kissing grew feverish. Mike unsnapped the button at the top of the pants and gave them a yank down.

Kyle's eyes grew wise as he was tugged down, his ass laid up.

"Count with me, cub," he growled.

With each strike, each spank, the intensity grew. Mike stopped at every third spank or so, and the longer it went, the higher Kyle's voice got, as if he were going through a reverse puberty. At seventeen or so, his butt was a brilliant fuchsia, and he was gritting his teeth, hissing the count. At twenty, a single tear ran down, and at twenty-one, he nearly passed out.

Mike helped him stand, eased him onto the table. 

The endomorphs coursed through Kyle's body like heroin, his face was flush. Mike looked him over carefully to make sure all was well.

Kyle nodded in a positive manner.

Mike took an ice cube from his drink, and softly rubbed it against the pink butt.

The contrast of the hot spanking and the ice cube had a calming effect on Kyle.

Mike pulled the chair up, to softly taking his domain of the younger man.

Softly, he lowered his head and ran a gentle tongue at the base of Kyle's scrotum.

Kyle moaned, his tool jutting toward the sky.

Mike's flickering tongue went up and down the penis, teasing, as it never would strike the head, nuzzling the shaft, and back down. Deeper he went and tenderly rolled his tongue around Kyle's tight pucker.

Kyle began to breathe deeply, his head lolled to one side. Softly he said something.

Yes, cub?" Mike asked, and returned to his rimming.

"Please," Kyle weakly gasped.

"Please what?" Mike teased, speaking to Kyle's groin, the hot, moist air complimenting Kyle's crimson tanned ass.

"Please, poppa, please."

Mike leaned forward and stuck the length of his tongue into Kyle's ass, softly gnawing on the perianal area.

Kyle moaned, and then outright begged, "Please, Poppa! Please fuck your cub!"

Mike's failing of course, was that he could never turn down a begging man.

He stood, and unbuttoned his fly, the head of which dripped it's clear fluid.

Without lubrication other than saliva, he pressed the tip against Kyle's soft rectum.

Gently he stroked Kyle, which caused him to writhe. When Kyle had gotten used to the pattern of the stroke, Mike dropped an inch of his thick penis into the younger man's tightness.

"Gah!" Kyle said.

Mike smirked his hungry smile and slid another inch in, slowly parting the muscle. Kyle had only barely remembered to relax himself.

Mike started to fuck Kyle gently, the dry friction causing them both to excite even more.

"Yes, poppa," Kyle slurred, his mouth open.

Mike's cock pumped the younger man faster, and harder, in time to his hand which was wrapped around Kyle's dick.

Quicker, and quicker both men went, until Kyle couldn't take it any more.

A long, thick stream of semen arced into the air, staining his new shirt and even reaching the lowest part of his chin. His ass contracted and Mike reacted, roaring with pleasure as he shot hot sperm into Kyle's wanting bottom.

Both men rested for a while, staying in position.

Mike took his hand off Kyle's dick and softly licked off the semen.

"Kyle," he said softly.

"Yes, poppa?" Kyle replied.

"Happy Birthday, cub," He said, reaching for Kyle's hand.

"Thank you, poppa." Kyle said, smiling.



Poppa's Cub Ch. 07



Wednesday, December 21st, 1988

Kyle picked up the dishes from the supper table as Mike pulled on his leather jacket and boots. Kyle heard the zip of the jacket and then felt Mike come behind him, wrapping his bear arms around. Mike softly nuzzled.

"So you're off for a week?" Mike asked.

Kyle nodded happily, nuzzling the furry paws. 

"I'm going to be tidying up the place, a bit. James and Marcus are due over on Saturday. I think I'm going to make a lasagna of some sort, but I'm not sure. Lots of hours o'derves and munchies."

"Make those little cheese and celery thingies that you made at Thanksgiving. Those were good."

"Considering that's the only way I'm going to get any vegetables into you," Kyle said, petting Mike's tummy.

"Hey now, I just ate veggies," Mike protested.

"Mashed potatoes slathered in butter and cheese is not a vegetable."

"They grow in the ground, don't they? That makes them a vegetable. Next thing you'll tell me is something stupid, like Tomatoes are a fruit," he said.

Kyle turned around and nipped him on the shoulder playfully.

Mike growled at him in mock ferocity and chewed on Kyle's neck, making him squirm.

Kyle replied to this by tickling him, even able to make him back off despite the thick leathers. He playfully chased him around the table, and Mike dodged back and forth, easily.

Mike tackled Kyle to the floor, pinning him down, hands to wrists and stuck his face down to lick the younger man on the neck.

"Yuck!" Kyle cried.

Mike bit.

Kyle squealed happily, his feet kicking as the clock chimed half past five.

"Damn!" Mike said, releasing him.

"Duty calls, poppa bear." Kyle smirked at him.

"Oh I don't want to hear it, cub," Mike groaned.

Kyle reached out and pinched Mike's butt, a big hunk of flesh, goosing him.

"Hey! I'm supposed to be the poppa bear here!" He roared.

Kyle slithered behind him and pressed his hardness to the big man's jeans. He was hard, and put his cock right on the seam, and pulled at his hips.

"I feel like riding a bear," Kyle growled aggressively.

Mike shivered.

"When I get home, cub. We'll have the whole holiday season."

Kyle smiled and softly they kissed each other.

"I love you poppa," Kyle said.

"I love you cub," Mike replied.

Mike grabbed his keys, helmet and wallet and walked out to the attached garage.

Kyle ran water in the sink and heard the telltale VROOM of the Harley. He watched from the kitchen window as it's lights went up the rural road.

He set the dishes in to soak, made up a double pot of coffee and pulled up the phone book. He flipped through to the 'N' section and found the closest Nursery to their home in Washougal. It had taken them nearly four months to get the old farmhouse livable again, but thanks to their hard work, it had been well worth it.

Kyle had never imagined that he'd be living so far out in the country. He often walked the three acres, and saw deer and squirrel. He had to admit that he missed the hustle and bustle of the city. Being so far out was somewhat difficult, car wise, to drive back and forth to work. He'd recently had to have the carborator of his Ranger rebuilt.

Kyle punched buttons and found out that this particular nursery, Shorty's in Ridgefield, carried live trees. He asked when they would close and for directions.

Into his coffee people ceramic travel mug he poured the muddy brew, adding a dab of pure cream, and copious amounts of sugar. He sped north on I-205 winding the Ranger to seventy and ended up in the sleepy blanket community of Ridgefield. 

The Yule night was crisp, and clear, and he passed several Christmas tree stands, before finding Shorty's.

He quickly found the live trees and plunked money for the largest one that had already been hardened to indoor temperatures and quickly loaded it into the back. It required a considerable amount of wrestling about.

From there he drove the back roads back to Washougal, not thinking that the tree could take the high freeway speeds. In Hazel Dell he stopped at Fred Meyer and picked up several sets of lights, bulbs and decorations.

Driving back quietly, he felt a certain source of sorrow. His mother had become upset with him when he said he would be out of town during haunnakah. She badgered him and dodged him so much he did not leave his cell phone on anymore, instead just listening to her babbling voice mails.

His father had been gruff, but more civil, admonishing him to merely do good works. It was somehow like his father knew something. He doubt he knew he was gay, but certainly that his youngest child was heading to a place far distant from Judaism.

Kyle had a Torah, and from time to time read from it and the bible, but he had no desire to go to temple. His yamuka was in a small, clear, shadowbox in his room. He had faith, but didn't feel the need to display it. He didn't feel the need to prance it around like a television evangelist.

Mike was an atheist, a dedicated one at that. Once and only once did they get into religion, and Mike had trod so roughly over Kyle's feelings that he cried openly. Mike apologized, they made up, and never did the topic come up again. If he saw Kyle reading his Torah he left him alone. It worked out well.

But a Christmas tree was a whole other matter. Kyle had been taught by Darla that the Christmas tree was actually a symbol of the pagan people. He was fascinated and enraptured.

He and Mike had discussed a tree, but Mike was noncommittal. 'You can get one, if you want. Don't make no difference to me one way or the other,' He had said. Kyle decided he wanted one, but also wanted to do it himself.

With a care, he backed his little pick up truck up to the kitchen door, and gingerly eased the tree out. He cooed over it like a pet and lifted it bodily.

Past the kitchen, onto a piece of plastic, he slid the tree into the living room. He reflected and moved couches not once but thrice, finally finding a pleasing mixture of shrubbery and leather-clad furniture. Feng Shui was not Kyle's strong point.

He had no idea how to string lights, decorate, but after watching several Christmas animated specials, and innumerable variations of, "A Christmas Carol" he felt he would be okay.

Back and forth he made trips from the Ranger to the living-room, making note to himself that he would defiantly have to mop the floors before poppa got home.

Unstringing long strands of lights, he did his best to drape the tree with it. He fussed, picked, re-arranged and after two hours managed to get three strings up to his liking. The bulbs and garland were similarly arrayed and then he hung strands of tinsel, one by one.

At two o'clock in the morning, well past his bedtime, Kyle finished.

He moved to the side, turned out the light and flipped the switch to illuminate the tree. It jumped to life with every possible color and hue, shining and glowing, lighting up the night.

Standing back to admire his handiwork he moved around the darkened room from every potential angle, and then he backed up even more.

He tripped over the Ottoman, hit his head on the hard oak coffee table and knocked himself cold.

He did not hear the roar of Mike's motorcycle.

He did not hear, nor feel Mike shaking him and calling his name.

He did not feel himself being lifted, stuffed bodily into the Ranger, nor the speedy ride to Southwest Washington Medical Center.

He did not feel being wisked through a Cat Scanner, and moved to a bed.

He did not hear his mother screeching and yelling, nor her crying, and sobbing.

He did not not feel the passage of time.

Softly, he responded to the soft, warm drops of tears as they struck his face.

Without opening his eyes, he said, "poppa."

Mike loomed over him, his eyes reddened.

"I'm here, cub." He said softly, with a raspy voice.

"Where?" He croaked.

"You're in the hospitol. You're mother's out in the waiting room, they had to sedate her. Your father's in the chapel."

"Wha...wha did you say?" He asked, the twinge of fear of being outed in his voice.

"I told them you rented a room from me," he said, kneeling. "Your mother was thankful I found you."

Kyle smiled, "smart poppa."

Mike pulled up a stool and softly kissed his hand, covering it with his leather-clad body.

"Cub," Mike said.

"Yes poppa?" Kyle said. He was able to open his unswollen eye.

"You make a beautiful tree, boy."

"Thanks, poppa." Kyle smiled.

His mother burst through the door, sobbing despite the sedation. She tottered, saw he was awake and began to babble incoherently before collapsing. Mike eased her onto the other bed.

Within minutes Kyle's father, the Rabbi came in.

He sized up Mike.

"We cannot thank you enough, you have saved our son's life."

"Good renters are hard to find." Mike said dryly.

The Rabbi laughed a hearty laugh.

His eyes affixed on Kyle's hand. It had snaked through and was trying to reach Mike, trying to touch him.

He became cold, and stared hard at his son.

Kyle looked at him definatly with one eye, but the hand fell.

The Rabbi came up the other side and spoke a blessing in hebrew. Kyle almost subconsciously finished at he spoke, and they both said, 'Sloam' together. He did not point out to Kyle the obvious lie that he would be out of the area during the season.

Mike slipped out the door and down the hall. He fed yet another dollar into the machine and drank his eighth cup of the pasty, chemical coffee.

The Rabbi had moved quietly after him, and as Mike looked at the poker hand printed on the cup, he spoke:

"Who are you," his voice said coldly.

Mike did not allow him to shock him and sipped at the hot muck.

"I told you, I'm the landlord," Mike said.

The Rabbi clearly did not believe him.

"My son was wearing leather boots, like a nazi."

"I don't examine his footwear. He pays his rent, he's clean, he has few visitors."

"Does he have a girlfriend?"

"Not to my knowledge," Mike said. He looked straight into Rabbi Leibowitz's eyes.

"Perhaps then, you might be able to explain the marks on his neck."

"I don't ask questions. It's not my business," Mike said.

The Rabbi prodded, "why isin't it?"

Mike growled softly, "he's a consenting adult. What he does, and who he does with does not concern me, so long as it's with an adult."

The Rabbi looked at him coldly, "you say he has few visitors. Who are they?"

Mike shrugged.

"They watch television, play video games. Things that young people do," he said.

The Rabbi looked at him.

Mike was wearing his motorcycle jacket, his boots and jeans. His face was still puffy from crying, his eyes were lined with the redness.

"What kind of a landlord cries for his tenant?"

"The kind who cares about all of humanity," Mike said. "Yours are not the only oppressed people."

Rabbi Leibowitz was silent.

"My son does not talk to me," The Rabbi confided.

"I clashed with my father many times. I understand," Mike said. 

"I like to think of myself as broad minded. Tolerant."

"Perhaps this is something you should be taking up with Kyle."

"My son, as I said, does not talk to me."

"Tolerance, I have found is a subjective phrase, not an empherical one."

The Rabbi took a few moments to digest this as a doctor interruped them.

"Rabbi, Mr. O'Conner, I've just examined Kyle. I'd like to keep him overnight, then he can go home. Strickt bedrest for a week."

"I'll takehim home tomorrow." Mike said.

The Rabbi breathed deeply. His stomach was tied in a knot. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He looked at Mike and asked:

"Is he happy?"

"Without question," Mike replied. "He has his faith, his friends, his loves. What more does a man need?"

The Rabbi nodded softly.

He put on his glasses, and then and only then spied the small pins on Mike's lapel.

One was two flags, crossing each other, one with a mixture of white, yellow and tan and had a paw print on it, and the other was black and blue and had a red heart in it. Next to it was a small pink triangle.

"One of those I know. The other I do not," he said, his eyes affixed to them.

"Is it important? We were all hunted," Mike replied. "Just not all of us survived."

"It is important to remember. We must forgive because it is good for our souls, but never forget."

"Not all discrimination came from the Nazis," Mike said. "As long as there are any oppressed peoples, then all people are oppressed, this happens even to this day."

The Rabbi looked coldly at Mike.

"Some things are unnatural. They are against the word of god."

"Is that a reason to gas them? Is that a reason to put them on the trains? Or would you rather stone them to death? Perhaps a drowning would be more polite. A simple injection. Times change, Rabbi."

Kyle's father became silent and said quietly:

"Some things cannot change." 

Mike nodded, almost in agreeance and replied:

"I understand, Rabbi. Not everyone can be tolerant," he turned, and dropped the coffee dregs into the trash bin and walked away from the Rabbi.

Mike found Kyle chatting with a pretty nurse. His mother had been taken to a family waiting area and was made comfortable.

The nurse took his vital signs checked the wound with it's few stitches and left them.

Kyle eyed him.

"So where did you and father go?"

"We talked." Mike said.

Kyle's face became ashen. 

"I'm sure he has an inkling, but I would never out you. I can take you home tomorrow, according to the doctor," He said.

They both heard the door open, and Kyle's father stood there.

"I would like some time with my son, Mr. O'Conner."

Kyle's unswollen eye pleaded with him not to leave. Mike stood and said, "I'll be outside."

The Rabbi closed the blinds that faced out into the hall, and Mike went into a waiting room down on the corner. He flumped out in a chair, stuck his legs out, pulled his hat out from his jacket and tipped it low enough to mostly cover his eyes.

Mentally, he went inside himself. He programmed himself to listen for the sound of Kyle's father, and the whiny pitched noise of Kyle's mother. He told himself he'd wake when they spoke near him. 

With that, he put himself to sleep, easily.

Thus, when they silently passed out another exit, he pushing her in wheelchair, he did not waken.

After two hours he snorted, and looked at the clock. 

He stood with a shock, ran his fingers through his black shock of hair, tucked his hat back into his jacket and went back to Kyle's room.

Kyle was sleeping softly. His eyes were puffy and red from crying.

Mike softly stroked one of his hands.

"I'm here, cub," he said softly.

Kyle smiled, and pursed his lips.

Mike leaned down and kissed him.

Kyle slurred his speech softly, fighting the drugs.

"He was hard on me, but I wouldn't tell him anything poppa. I made you proud."

"You always have, cub. I take you home tomorrow."

Kyle smiled his winning smile, and fell asleep.

Mike watched him breathe for a while, and instructed a nurse to call when he could pick Kyle up.

When he returned home, he looked at the tree. It was beautiful.

He went into the bedroom.

He looked at the empty bed that he and Kyle shared.

He softly stripped off his clothes and took Kyle's pillow into his hands. He smelled it, the younger man's clean, strong scent bringing him erect.

He could not bring himself to sleep in the bed, alone.

He padded naked into the living room and collapsed on the couch after angrily dragging the coffee table into the garage.

Kyle's pillow aroused him and Mike spoke aloud to his penis:

"So you miss him too, huh?"

The cock wavered at him.

"Yeah, yeah, so do I."

The cock wavered again, and Mike softly stroked at himself. In his mind, he could feel Kyle's tender mouth, his skillful tongue running up and down his glans, the hot breath against his balls. He envisioned Kyle's dreamy eyes on that cock, sucking it hungrily. The scene in Mike's mind changed to Kyle's tight white ass, how it gripped his dick, how it was like a dozen mouths sucking on him at once. He imagined Kyle's moanings and with his other hand, softly twisted a nipple as Kyle often did.

His cum sprayed long, and drenched him from pecs to navel. 

He opened his eyes and looked down.

"Not quite the same, is it?"

By reply, his penis flopped to a flacid state and lolled to one side, softly oozing semen.

"I didn't think so either." Mike replied. He hugged Kyle's pillow, turned to one side and fell asleep.