Swim Team Dads Ch. 03

"The second blew my mind with its deviousness. He wants to bring back the tutor for the summer. Five days per week with homework. We can get a jump on next year. And if he needs to be here every day for school and homework, and with swim team practice, how much time could he have left to be with her?"

"He's a genius. I guess he's now talking Keith into giving up his summer."

"Oh, I think Keith will support him. It's a great idea. I'll engage the tutor tomorrow. But, now I think it's time for me to give you some support, some TLC. Do you want to ride? Or do you want me to take you to that special place."

There was no answer, but Chris rolled onto his belly and wagged his bum in my direction. It was like the red flag in front of the raging bull. "You got it, bum boy. But first I want to taste the forbidden fruit."

I flipped a 180, pushed him over and the dove for his cock. I licked and sucked, and stuck my tongue into the slit while my hands sought out his balls and pulled them into a hard grip, pushing him deeper into my throat. I rolled back and pulled him on top, never releasing his cock. I rolled it around inside, sucking harder and harder. Then my hands dropped his balls. I released his cock, and my tongue trailed over the balls to his taint as my hands found purchase in his soft globes and pushed hard into him.

Meanwhile, he was not passive. He took my head, used his tongue to push down the hood and circled the deep purple glans with purpose. He pulled my thighs apart and fingers probed my entrance. We were in sync: sucking, probing, squeezing, poking the prostate and raising the temperature in our bodies. The bed reeked of our musk. Our noses were flooded with the aphrodisiac of male arousal. We were both at the edge.

Suddenly, he pulled off. "Don't finish me like this. I want to feel this guy inside." He released my cock. We flipped again. I lubed his gate and without further prep, invaded with a purpose, pushing hard and harder, not to punish, but to fill his every void with my healing essence. It didn't take much. The involuntary muscles took over. I was soon shooting my stuff into him. Then I strained to stay hard and inside, hoping my healing cum would permeate every part of his body. Then, I felt his body tense in arousal. And he started to erupt, shot after shot of his cream, covering our joined chests. We were one. My strength could be his. My body was his. My cock was his. But, then I reached down, grabbed his cheeks and pulled them into me. Yes, his bum was mine. A good trade if I ever knew one.

By the next morning, Sean and Keith announced they were in agreement. They were going to do a summer term and prepare themselves for advanced placement before the coming year's entrance exams into the elite secondary school programs for the gifted and talented. They were genuinely enthusiastic—and seriously into intrigue.

Late the next day (a Saturday), Sandy called. She was in Ft. Lauderdale, staying with a friend—who, we later learned, was a former boy friend and EMT associate. She wanted to meet.

Chris stuck to the script. "My lawyer says we should not meet. We are currently looking into my legal rights and responsibilities. However, if you want to meet Sean, he's willing to meet you—tomorrow for an hour at the Starbucks on Federal Highway and Glade Road at 3 p.m. sharp. You get one hour. He will not leave the coffee shop, and he'll be accompanied by a bodyguard."

Sandy fulminated for several minutes. "You can't do this, you bastard. I have rights. He's my son. I have no way to get to the meeting location. I want you to deliver him here to me at this apartment for the day."

"Sorry. Those are the terms and the deal. If you don't want to see him, that's okay. Call me back if you agree to these conditions. If I don't hear from you, I'll assume you don't really want to see him."

She signed off with a "Fuck you, Doc. We'll meet in court."

Needless to say, the Starbucks meeting did not happen. And we didn't hear from Sandy for two weeks. These were tense weeks. We were constantly expecting the "other" shoe to drop. Edie advised us that her initial instructions were dead on. And within a few days, Chris filed for sole custody, outlining eleven years of abandonment and noting that he had no way of reaching Sandy to give notice.

Notices were published, per legal requirements, in the local papers, but once again we heard nothing from Sandy.

The tutoring started, and the boys didn't even seem to mind giving up a summer for a greater objective.

A month later, a hearing on the ex parte petition was scheduled—and notice was given to Sandy, again by legal published notice.

We knew from security at Sacred Heart that she had applied as a nurse—and had been rejected because of a recent drug conviction. The same security official confirmed that she had tried elsewhere with the same result. Then, she had disappeared. She never called Chris again.

With a great deal of tension, Chris and Sean appeared before the judge as I sat as inconspicuously as possible on a rear bench. The details of the original order were reviewed. Chris carefully entered into evidence Sandy's requests, her recently discovered drug record, and his desire to confirm sole custody. The judge, a woman, was sympathetic and listened carefully. Then she called upon Sean. "Is this what you want?"

"Yes, your honor. This man is the only parent I have ever known. I love him and would do anything for him."

"It is so ordered. Sole custody is awarded to Dr. Chris Morrissey. All rights that Ms. Sandra Morrissey—or whatever alias she currently uses—are hereby terminated. This boy and his father have endured enough. It's time to make this all final."

(I almost expected the judge to intone the famous, "You may now kiss the bride.")

It was over. And all of us could celebrate. Keith suggested the O'Leary Seafood Shack. It wasn't exactly what we had in mind, but why not? The boys would love it. And we could have our dessert later. I was already horned enough to be ready to skip dinner. And all through dinner, as the boys joked and enjoyed, Chris and I were trading meaningful glances. I was already hard. His knee was stroking my inner thigh. And I could already imagine his soft, pink bum, inviting me to fill it up. I had decided. We were going to make this official. I would tell him later...after...

Fortunately, I don't think the boys noticed. Or maybe they did, but were so happy and approved.

That night was predictably wonderful. Keith and I were going to add an "ey" to the end of our last names. But not until after I had filled the esteemed Dr. Morrissey's bum with a good dose of my Morris cowboy seed. It didn't take much convincing—or much time—after we got home. And once again he nestled into my big spoon as my semi rested in his cleft, a perfect fit. And a perfect end to a perfect day.

BD