A Dilemma

I was about to come out with some feeble remark or other, but I mentally toughened my stance and decided that attack was a better form of defence.

Adopting a more adversarial approach therefore, I determined to reprimand him, rather than let him embarrass me further.

"Well, first let's go back a bit further than just the other night Michael. You and I both know that you've been pretty provocative towards me in front of all your mates - in fact, so provocative that on more than one occasion I've even felt quite embarrassed by it and had the feeling that perhaps you were trying to show me up for some reason."

To my surprise, the smile left his face and adopting a rueful look, he appeared slightly shameful,

"Yeah, that's true actually . . . . . guess I hadn't looked at it that way before . . . . you know, showing you up and all . . . . but yes, I can see your point. I'm really sorry Tom, I didn't mean to embarrass you."

Still staring straight into my eyes though, he relentlessly continued but not before the knowing grin returned to his face,

"Anyway Tom. . . . . . . you were about to say something more . . .?"

Once again his response put me off my stroke for a few seconds but pulling myself together, I carried on in the same reprimanding tone,

"The trouble is Michael, you always seem to do it in front of your mates and I ..."

"Oh, I see. So you'd rather I did it when they're not around then would you Tom . . . . only when it's just you and me?"

His tone was conspiratorially bantering, and it heightened my confusion. I was constantly being thrown me off my course . . . . yet underneath it all, I think that secretly, perhaps I wanted to agree with his last suggestion that maybe he should actually continue doing it . . . . but only when nobody else was around!

Instead, I said,

"That's not the point and you know it Michael. You've been up to a lot of things for well over two years now and while I didn't think about any of it too much at first, you've been so persistent that I found it was beginning to affect me.

"Then Roy told me one evening that he'd caught your hand playing about outside my jeans when I was asleep and he'd stopped you. I believe that's true?"

"Yees . . . . . .?" he replied slowly, still with the same grin. I was surprised how easily he unashamedly confirmed what I said.

On a whim, I thought I'd extend the truth a little, to see if there was anything more,

"Well . . . . and then on another occasion, I understand you actually undid not just my zip but also my jeans and had your hand inside about to explore my crotch before someone said something about taking advantage of me while I was asleep?"

I didn't actually know about any such other situation. I'd invented it and thought I'd use the myth to test his reaction. His silence though, told me I'd actually hit a nail very hard on its head,

"Well?" I said.

"Yeah, I know - sorry 'bout that! Pete came in just as I was about to . . . . "

He giggled slightly and looked just a trifle embarrassed but certainly not in any way contrite, despite his words.

So I'd been right about my 'speculative' incident and here was Michael not making the slightest effort to deny it. I didn't know how to address that particular one so I went on rather lamely - trying to inject a note of levity into the situation before the conversation got completely out of my control,

"Yes indeed. I think we both know what you were about to do Michael! But setting aside that particular instance, I reckon it's time you stopped and thought about the effect your unremitting provocation has been having on me. I may be an ageing womanising sex maniac but I emphasise the 'womanising' bit and in that respect, I've got a reputation to consider you know!"

His response was immediate and archly provocative,

"I see Tom . . . . so I've been having an effect on you have I? Well now, that's very interesting Tom because I think that maybe after all, you . ..."

I didn't give him a chance to go on,

"Effect or not mate, that's as far as I'm going with this particular conversation at the moment, because I don't think further discussion will get us anywhere? I think it's best if we call it a day and go off to bed now Michael and I'm sure you agree!"

Again he responded archly with no delay,

"Agree about what Tom . . . . . about our conversation, or your going off to bed? Either way, you still haven't fully answered my question yet. I thought you were going on to explain more about that night when you came into the sitting room while I was in on the sofa and you . . . . "

This was no good. Here he was, a teenager - directing the course of the conversation. He obviously intended to continue his persistence, so in an effort to finally end any further discussion of the subject, I said purposefully,

"Can't help that Michael, it'll just have to wait for another time . . . . if at all. It's getting far too late now and I'm going to bed whether you like it or not old lad.

"You should be alright here on the sofa . . . . let's face it, your lot all sleep on it often enough, so you should be used to it. Help yourself if you want another cover - you know where they all are and where everything else is if you need anything. 'Night Michael, sleep tight."

Without giving him a chance to argue, I went off to my bedroom, undressed and climbed into bed . . . . . . . . . . . where I then lay with my eyes tightly shut for ages.

I was completely unable to sleep for want of the myriad of thoughts and questions which were now rushing through my confused mind as a result of our conversation and of my recalling what I'd done that night and how much I'd really enjoyed playing with his naked cock - so many doubts though . . . . and questions also - all of them swirling around in my head like an out of control torrent.

The prime question was of course, what the hell was actually going on here?

Here was me, a separated mature parent of three kids, with an ex-wife and probably more years lying behind me than ahead. Not only that but I was also one of that happy band of blokes whose teenage years and early twenties had been peppered more times than we cared to mention with threats from irate fathers who, often notwithstanding frequent family friendships, had been hopelessly unsuccessful in locking away their daughters from our dogged attentions.

I'd started early and had continued in my role as a very enthusiastic womanising youth, with an extremely healthy appetite for relationships and fruitful beddings with a series of very pretty girls. They'd always been my primary occupation, almost to the exclusion of all else and given my advancing years, that situation still prevailed - I might be middle-aged now but there was still plenty of life left for the ladies!

Yet there was Michael - a nineteen year old youth - an apparently self-confessed bi-sexual teenager who, if my thoughts were correct, seemed to be having a strong effect on me. He'd seemed intent on investigating my body at every opportunity when I was asleep . . . . yet I'd done next to nothing by way of reprimanding him for his outrageous behaviour.

Nor, it appeared, had I exhibited any outward reaction at all against his increasing invasions of my space.

In the normal course of events it would have been understandable if I'd hit the roof when I discovered what he'd been up to while I slept. Yet nothing had been done or said until this evening.

Furthermore, and apart from the odd laughing 'Oh just fuck off Michael', I'd done nothing either, to discourage his increasing familiarity with me in front of his peers.

It was only now, as I started to think deeply about what had been happening over the last couple of years that I realised the growing effect his behaviour really had been having on me. He was perceptive lad and it had been way too long before I'd even begun to understand just how perceptive he might have been in his reading of me.

He'd obviously known exactly what was going on from the very word go. Most of his provocations had been overtly sexual - even if they'd been presented under the guise of banter - and like an idiot, I'd not recognised them. In fact, my reticence to remonstrate had probably served to encourage him.

Did then my lack of remonstration indicate that I sub-consciously enjoyed his seemingly endless provocations?

Was I perhaps on the turn?

Or was I undergoing a delayed orientation crisis . . . . merely a late maturing bisexuality perhaps?

If so, were my seeming feelings just a brief aberration . . . . something transient - a kind of temporary diversion from what had hitherto always been a wholly hetero lifestyle? Or were they something more; and if any of this were the case, would they become a permanency?

My generation had been brainwashed and heavily influenced by the homophobic culture of our time. Except with a few known homosexuals, it had always been a prerequisite that we should all revile the slightest hint of same sex behaviour, let alone react positively to advances from others - or worse still, to actually act on them.

Yet here had been I - undeniably deriving a sexual thrill from fondling another guy's cock. Did this therefore mean that my initial intention that night never had been one solely of revenge but of something deeper?

I knew that I'd really enjoyed the feel of his cock and if I were to be honest, the thought of doing it again excited me. But exactly how far did I want it all to go?

I thought about the other possibilities and was instantly turned off at thought of any anal penetration - I'd experimented with that a few times with girls and found it was not my favourite past-time. Since then, I'd only indulged it because various ladies of the time enjoyed it and really, who was I to deprive them of pleasure, particularly when their enthusiastic response worked so well in my favour with other activities!

The main exception to my lack of interest in anal had been when one of my girl-friends had gently insinuated first one finger and then two into my butt during a blow job once. The exquisite sensation which resulted from the combination of her tongue movement around my cock and her fingers massaging my prostate had me hooked on that particular receiving element of it for ever.

On another tack, the thought of kissing another guy held no delight for me either.

However, looking back, I remembered an instance when I'd been kissed in the dark many times under the mistletoe at the Christmas party. I'd always laughingly gone along with it, for some of the girls really were very attractive with lovely bodies. Just this one time though, I'd had a teeny doubt when an open mouth had sent a prying tongue into my mouth and excited me - but I'd dismissed my doubt and just assumed it must have been one of the girls, because the face was so soft.

Later on in the kitchen and in front of everybody, Michael had laughingly asked me if I'd enjoyed my 'Mistletoe kiss earlier' and at the time I'd thought no more about it, other than he must have seen what was going on.

On reflection now though, I realised that because he'd still had very little need to shave much at the time, it might well have been his soft face which had pressed against me and kissed my lips with open mouth and tongue out.

Strangely enough, the thought of it perhaps being Michael didn't seem quite so bad now. Again, what the fuck was happening here?

I knew I'd always had a soft spot for him, largely because he'd forever gone out of his way to be helpful around the place and was generally well mannered - almost a rarity in his generation. But did I now feel perhaps my liking for him was trifle more than I would at first have imagined?

But then again, was I reading too much into all this, making a mountain out of a molehill - building up something in my mind which really didn't matter in the general scheme of life?

As I thought further about what had motivated me to take the recklessly fraught step of exploring him physically, I accepted that I had really wanted to explore his body further . . . . and that was a physical lust - but it wasn't just that.

One of my kids had once pointed out that I would always let Michael get away with anything and as I reflected further, I realised that he'd been right. I now understood that I was in fact not just rather fond of Michael. My feelings were much stronger; certainly nothing like conventional love but definitely something more positive than mere liking. It must be . . . . sex? But did I really want a sexual relationship with another guy, let alone one so much younger than me?

On further analysis, my thoughts were now leading to a strong wish for some reason, that I could make him feel really good physically - by whatever means I wasn't sure. It could be by massage or, as was more likely, by playing with his cock and masturbating him.

In effect, it appeared that any satisfaction of my own lust was now becoming secondary to my recognising a growing wish to give him sexual pleasure. I felt at once, both lustful and protective.

So was I just the victim of my generation's conventions, in that I'd hitherto suppressed hidden feelings and been too inhibited to either realise or act upon them? Or was I simply over-reacting to what had been nothing more than a brief whim?

Then why was I still feeling this way about a young man, however more mature he was than his peers. Surely the old womaniser in me should have been more likely to succumb to one of the very attractive teenaged girls in my kids' friendship group - and yes, I had often wanted to succumb! Heaven knew, I'd had enough provocation from one or two of them over the years as well - but as the adult, I'd always avoided letting myself become involved with any of them. Sometimes this had been hard to do - particularly with the precocious ones who'd offered serious temptation when they came on to me; but I'd always managed to resist.

So why was it so different with Michael and why apparently, did the same generational rule not apply to him?

What was it all about? What the hell indeed, was actually going on here?

The inescapable question as I saw it was to discover whether my feelings were merely a transient thing brought on by his provocation - a kind of temporary diversion from an otherwise totally heterosexual life - or something a deal more solid . . . . . or finally, was it all indeed, just my imagination?

For a good hour or so, I tried to resist vestigial repressions in an effort to identify my true feelings; but I sensed there was something missing in my understanding and I needed help if I were to reach a convincing conclusion.

Whether I liked the thought of it or not, I had to admit that Michael's professed bi-sexuality indicated that he probably had a far better understanding of these things - certainly he appeared more at ease with himself than did I. Moreover, I needed to know whether he'd sensed something in my make-up that I'd never been aware of myself. Perhaps then, it was now time that I should reverse our previous position by asking him for advice.

So I needed to talk further with him; but openly this time, without hiding behind any excuse for what had happened that night. Furthermore, we needed to bring out into the open, what he'd been up to when provoking me during the two previous years.

I thus determined to grasp the nettle and re-open our earlier conversation at some stage very soon. I decided in fact, to do it the following morning before dropping him back to his home.

Having made a decision, I climbed out of my bed to go for a final pee before trying to sleep and on my way, I noticed under the door that the living room light was still burning.

In case he'd maybe gone to sleep without turning it off, I quietly called out to see whether he was still awake and was surprised to receive an immediate, albeit sleepy response,

"Yeah, I'm still awake Tom . . . . for some reason I seem to be having trouble getting myself off."

He giggled quietly - but I ignored the innuendo and just asked him if he fancied a cup of tea.

"Not really thanks Tom, I'm not particularly in the mood for a cup of anything at the moment . . . . . but I wouldn't say no to chatting for a bit if you're up for it, perhaps with a joint if you've got any gange in the house?"

I felt the fates had decided for me and duly said I'd be up for that and would be back in a minute. Returning briefly to my bedroom, I picked up the makings for a spliff, went back into the sitting room and after sitting down in the armchair at the end of the sofa, I started to roll it, waffling on nervously as I did so.

I vaguely noticed his jeans and boxers folded beside his makeshift bed but didn't pay any significance to the little pile - my son's friends always slept in at least their boxers and usually their jeans as well when staying over, so I was used to seeing all manner of clothes lying haphazardly around the room whenever they did so.

As I rolled the joint I started waffling about everything but the point in question. Various sentences inanely tumbled from my lips but I didn't realise just how badly until he stopped me with a laugh, saying intuitively,

"What's really on your mind Tom? At the moment, you sound like you're talking bollocks, so I assume you're actually dwelling on what we never finished discussing earlier?"

I felt myself colour up immediately and despite my decision to re-open our conversation, he was the one who'd gone straight for what he instinctively knew was on my mind - definitely very perceptive indeed was that young man.

I endeavoured to regain the initiative by saying that in answer to his earlier question, I now wanted to clarify the events of 'that night'. I explained that what I'd been up to was really just a revenge for what I understood he'd done to me a couple of times previously when I'd been asleep.

I told him that I'd actually started by looking for my lighter which I thought might have fallen out on the sofa under his bedding. However, when I was about to do so, I'd had the evil thought of taking a photo of his dick by way of revenge for his previous crime and I'd gone back to my room for a digicam before starting my search.

But . . . . when reaching under the duvet to lift the top of his boxers for the picture, I found myself becoming a little carried away and couldn't help exploring what I found there. Then, when I'd felt his hand move and maybe accidentally touch me, I thought he was waking up, so I just shot off to bed in panic before I was discovered.

I purposely left out how excited I'd become when playing with his cock.

He'd grinned sheepishly when I mentioned his own previous behaviour and referred back to it by offering,

"Ah, fair enough then about what I was caught doing while you were asleep, I suppose I deserved the revenge bit."

Then, with an insight I myself hadn't properly recognised, he added very quietly,

"You say you were originally looking for your lighter . . . . . . . but was that really the only reason Tom?"

I ignored his question and went on to say that he needn't worry, for despite his own provocations, my own episode had been absolutely a one-off aberration and would not ever happen again.

He thought for a couple of seconds and with a wry grin on his face, replied with a softly spoken but knowingly hopeful question,

"Are you absolutely certain of that Tom?"

Ignoring the fact that he'd asked me the perfect question for me to pursue what I'd decided earlier, I reacted without thinking and immediately assured him that he could count on it. There wasn't a snowball in hell's chance of it ever happening again, I emphasised. I told him that the least said, soonest mended, and I didn't want anyone to know about it, particularly my kids.