Welcome to The Team!

"Dude! You're gonna be a dad!" Adam, my best friend, grins at me like an idiot.

I toe his sneaker under the table with mine and grin back. I guess he's right. I mean, I've been planning this for months now but it becomes official tomorrow. Papers will be signed and filed. My new roommate will become my new son. Jake Stevens: Proud Papa! I am 34 years old and I never imagined being a father, especially to an 18 year old, but this kid wormed his way into my life and here we are.

Adam is completely onboard. He did play devil's advocate early on, asking the tough questions and ensuring that what I was doing wasn't just the right thing for the kid, but the right thing for me too. But he knew. Dante's coming into my life is one of the two best things that have ever happened to me. And Adam, being my best friend for ten years now, knows Dante well. He knows what a special kid he is.

I own a small hardware store in a small town where I'm lucky that people take pride in buying local. "Big-box" is a dirty word around here; the town's Walmart shut down last year. I like to think that all of us little guys lined up and down Main Street could take the credit. David knocked out Goliath.

Dante started coming around my store every day after school when he was just 14. He would ask me all kinds of questions about tools and hardware and sump pumps and fixing this and replacing that. He told me that his dad traveled a lot and as the oldest kid, his mom expected him to pick up the slack around the house. He said he didn't want to let her down. He seemed like an honest kid and it was almost two years before I realized he'd been lying to me every day.

Little inconsistencies and continuity discrepancies led me to ask too many questions and he couldn't keep up the façade. I looked him straight in the eyes and he crumbled. He broke down and told me the truth about his life. He wasn't the oldest child, he was the only child. His dad didn't travel and his mom didn't need him to maintain the house, his parents both died in a car accident when he was just 13 years old. He was forced to move in with his aunt and uncle, who already had four kids of their own. Dante was given a small corner of their cold, dank basement. One pair of shoes, two pairs of jeans, required school books and a small portion of nightly dinner. That was all they gave him.

The list of material possessions he was not provided with was as long as my arm and he also didn't have anyone's time, attention, love or even a place at the dinner table - he ate alone on his old, stained mattress in the spidery basement. My hardware store became his afterschool refuge. A place with someone to talk to. Someone to learn from. Someone to take an interest in him. Somewhere to be other than alone in the basement.

And he was genuinely interested. He retained every bit of knowledge I bestowed. Over the course of two years, he learned everything I knew about my store, my products and my business. At some point it was almost like he knew it all better than I did. On his 16^th birthday, I gave him a part-time job. I didn't even have to train him; he was a readymade employee. And so good with the customers. He always knew the right tool for the job, the right solution to every problem... He was a walking encyclopedia (or at least a walking cascade of home improvement YouTube videos). My customers loved him from day one.

And he increased my sales. He upsold, he added on... People would come back asking for Dante specifically. And as a small business, many of my vendors and suppliers would treat me as their lowest priority. Shipments and deliveries would go missing, get double billed or simply not be what I ordered. I was often SOL for getting these issues resolved. But Dante changed all of that. Sweet, kind, gentle Dante was a beast when it came to dealing with vendors and delivery drivers. He took no shit from anyone and they quickly learned to give us the respect we deserved. The respect Dante demanded.

It was only three months before I gave Dante his first, and well-deserved, raise. He worked at my store after school every weekday afternoon and all day on Saturdays. I never knew where his money went, but he still hardly had any clothes. His old worn sneakers were literally bursting at the seams. He and I started having Saturday night dinner together after the store closed at 5:00. On one of those nights, I persuaded him to go bowling with me. I did this for the sole purpose of finding out what size shoe he'd ask for. He started by trying a 9 and had to trade up twice with the attendant before deciding that a 10.5 felt good. He had been wearing his old shoes so long that he didn't even know what size he'd grown to.

I'd never met Dante's aunt and uncle, but because of the neglect they heaped upon the sweetest kid I'd ever met, I hated them with a burning passion. I bought a pair of size 11 Nike high-tops and presented them to Dante that next Monday. I rounded up a half size assuming that a 16 year old boy still had a little growing to do. They were simple clean white high-tops with the trademark black swoosh. The look on his face when he opened the box... Shocked surprise was quickly replaced by tears of joy. He hugged me and I had to swallow down the lump in my throat. He actually tried to make me return them. He said he wasn't deserving of my generosity. It took me an hour to convince him to keep the shoes.

I paid him as much as I could afford to pay him, he deserved even more, but then I found out that his aunt and uncle took half of every paycheck to cover household expenses. What expenses? They gave the kid nothing. So instead of raises, I'd get him gifts for made up holidays and anniversaries. Every gift I ever gave him was something practical to fill a need. The kind of things most teenagers would roll their eyes at. I bought him shoes, jeans, new shirts, a winter coat and a backpack.

Dante and I grew really close but he still didn't tell me everything about his sad life. I was never sure if it was pride or shame or something else, but certain things I'd only learn from observation, like bruises peeking out from under his sleeves. The worst was six months ago when he turned 18. It took me two weeks to realize that he'd been sleeping in the storeroom of the shop. He'd sneak back in after we locked up and left each night and he'd leave again before I returned in the morning. He was discreet and clean, always leaving everything as he found it, but I discovered what he'd been doing because of an activity report from the alarm company.

When I pressed him about what was going on, he confessed. Apparently his aunt and uncle kicked him out on his 18^th birthday. Never mind that he was still six months away from high school graduation. Evil bastards. He's just a kid. My present to him on his 18^th birthday had been a promotion to assistant manager along with a big raise. I figured that at 18, he'd have more control over his own income. What I hadn't realized was that he'd have to completely support every aspect of his life with a part-time job. That evening after closing, I took him home with me. I cooked him a real dinner and we talked for hours.

It seemed that when Dante's parents died, the modest life insurance they had went to his aunt and uncle to be used to raise Dante. The monthly payment they received was the policy amount divided by the number of months until his 18^th birthday. When he turned 18, the payments stopped. When the payments stopped, Dante was kicked out. Legally, he was an adult. I have a two bedroom apartment. No one has ever used my second bedroom. It was lonely and waiting for an occupant.

Just like with that pair of shoes two years earlier, the first gift I ever gave him, he said I was being too kind. He didn't want to invade my privacy and disrupt my life. He thought he didn't deserve what I was offering. We stayed up half the night talking it through. Of course he was right. He deserves way more than I could offer. He deserves to go to any college he wants, anywhere in the country, but we can only afford the local community college while he continues to work for me and live with me. That will be his life in a few months when August comes around.

Once I persuaded him that my extra room was his for as long as he could need it, he was hellbent on earning his keep. He kept trying to pay a share of the rent. I didn't want to cut my costs, I wanted this kid, who I cared about, to have a safe place to call home. He would clean too much, cook dinner too often, do my laundry... I had to make him stop. I had to convince him that between school and his job at my store, he was already doing borderline too much. The rest of the time, my only expectation was that he be a kid. Sleep in when he could. Make friends, hang out, relax. For the first time in the five years since his parents died, enjoy life. That was all I wanted of him.

So, he's been living with me for six months now. It was three months ago that I decided to ask him to let me adopt him. Adopting a legal adult is fairly uncommon, but is possible. It does happen. Spending time with Dante, teaching Dante, watching Dante grow into a fine young man and thinking that I had even the slightest bit to do with the awesome human he has turned out to be has been the privilege of my life. I would be honored to be considered a second father to him. When I asked him, we both cried. Happy cries. It's been in the works for three months now and it all becomes official tomorrow. Adam lives in a house with a yard and he's hosting a celebration for us this weekend. Dante's aunt and uncle are not invited.

Adam snaps me out of my reverie. "Jake, it's amazing what you're doing for that kid." He pays our lunch bill and we head out for a walk on a beautiful May afternoon.

"He's brought just as much to my life."

"I know. But it's a step you don't have to take. You just want to."

"It does make certain things easier," I say. "Like adding him to my health insurance, getting him a dental plan, making him my heir if anything were to happen to me, it simplifies tax complications."

Adam bumps his shoulder into mine as we walk down the street, "Those are all good reasons for what you're doing, but none of them are the real reason. You two love each other. And that's why you're amazing."

~~

That Friday night, the night before the party, I have a date. My date is with my lover and my lover insists that tonight is all about me. I got to pick the restaurant and our late night fun is all about me too. A fulfillment of my fantasies. Who am I to protest?

I am led to my lovers' bedroom where I am instructed to lie down on my back. I do so. I am told to grasp at the bedposts, so I comply. A blindfold is tied around my eyes and I can see nothing. I hear two metallic snaps and my left wrist is handcuffed to a bedpost. Two more clicks and now so is my right. The blindfold makes me feel vulnerable and a little afraid. I trust my lover, but still. This experience is pushing the limits of thrilling.

I can't see a thing, but I feel my lover's eyes on me. Examining me. Scrutinizing. One finger traces my jawline and even that feels electric. There is another brief pause before I feel a weight at the foot of the bed. Hands begin to work the lace of my left shoe.

"Be nice," I demand.

"You are in no position to level demands," is the reply I get.

My shoe slips off. I don't understand how, but the blindfold makes my foot more sensitive. My feet and legs are not cuffed or tied or chained, but I keep still. My lover rewards my compliance by not tickling me. Two hands grip, grab, squeeze and massage my left foot. Even still, I gasp and twitch until I get used to the aggressive touch. Soon it will be something other than a foot that gets this rough treatment. I'm looking forward to it. I'm already hardening in my jeans. Suddenly my sock is stripped off, but still, no tickling. I get caressed, stroked and massaged. Then a tongue glides up my arch and I gasp for air. Each toe gets sucked and I'm in blissful delirium. The whole routine is repeated with my right foot and I am almost fully erect by the time the program concludes.

The weight of the body shifts northward and straddles me just below the waist. I am still splayed with my arms secured above my head. I have never felt so vulnerable in my whole life. I can tell that my shirt has ridden up exposing a strip of skin. A finger swipes across that strip and I flinch and laugh.

My lover apologizes, explaining that the temptation was too great. Meanwhile, my nipples are rock hard and my arms and stomach are covered in goosebumps. I feel hands go to work at my shirt buttons, one at a time, slowly and methodically. When the last button is undone, my shirt gets spread wide open exposing my naked torso. I again feel eyes dancing all over me. My goosebumps do not dissipate. I am overcome in a wave of self-consciousness.

I tell my lover, "I really should do more crunches."

"Don't you dare!" I'm ordered. "If you mess with perfection you will be punished."

Why do I feel like I would enjoy my punishment? My lover is too kind. I am not perfect. The hairs around my nipples have not been waxed recently. The treasure trail from my navel leading to points southward has not been groomed in far too long. And my 30" waist should be a 28" waist. But my captor doesn't seem to mind my imperfections. And then hands are on me. Stroking, rubbing and dancing. The hands grapple at my button fly and within eight seconds, my jeans are around my knees. My underwear is still on, but my tentpole is testing its strength.

Fingertips lightly dance their way up my inner thighs into the legs of my boxer briefs. I stifle a squeal and bite my lower lip. Fingernails stroke my scrotum from both sides and my body convulses from the shocking sensation. That blindfold is amazing. If I wasn't quite at full mast before, I certainly am now. My underwear joins my jeans around my knees.

For a full minute, nothing happens. This is a torturous minute. I again feel those eyes on me. What is the plan? What's coming next? Blindfolded as I am, all I can do is guess. Eventually, the hands grip my manhood and instinctually, my arms fight helplessly to free themselves. Why am I fighting? It feels amazing. It's an involuntary response, triggered mostly by the blindfold. After a few minutes of being grabbed, squeezed and tugged like modeling clay, the hands release me. I am left for a moment to catch my breath.

I get kissed on the neck and sprout more goosebumps on my arms. I get kissed on the mouth and desperately want to wrap my arms around my lover and entangle fingers in hair, but my cuffed wrists prevent me. Our tongues get acquainted and have their own mini wrestling match. Precum leaks out of my raging hardon as my tongue gets dominated.

My left nipple gets a kiss and I moan. My right nipple gets a suck and a swirl and I groan. I get kissed to the left and then to the right of my navel and I giggle. I can't wait to turn the tables on my lover with the blindfold. It keeps me guessing at what's coming next and I almost always guess wrong. And the surprise makes each contact so intense. I'm buzzing with sensitivity.

Fingertips are back to stroking and scratching my scrotum. My ball sack immediately tightens and shrivels in response and my body jolts from the surprise. That tongue finds my navel and plunges into my shallow innie hole. Then it follows the trail down toward my treasure. This time I know what's coming, but it doesn't matter. When the warm, wet mouth slides over and down my length, My whole body racks in excruciating delight. Lips seal around my base and suction surrounds my steel rod. The tongue does an expert dance just below the glans and a weaker man would be shooting his load by now. Not me. I can take it. And I love every second of it. It's fifteen sensational minutes before my lover gives up in defeat and pulls off of me. I glisten from saliva as my ramrod shaft points skyward, bobbing with the beat of my heart.

My lover says, "I should work at your hardware store. I too know the right tool for the job."

Uh-oh. Victory was sweet while it lasted, but I am about to be defeated. I know what's coming next. "Not the 'instrument'!" I plead.

My lover says nothing. All is quiet for a moment and then I feel the drizzle of lubrication. Oh no. Maybe I should have allowed the talented mouth to win. I may have won that battle, but I am about to lose this war. In spectacular fashion. After a too-long anticipatory wait, the tool is put to use. It is a snug, tight fit as it closes all around me. It's not just any fleshlight, it is designed with evil bumps and ridges that compare to nothing in nature. As it makes the seven inch journey down the length of my ramrod shaft, my eyes roll back into my head. Too much pressure. Too many grooves. Too many bumps. My hands grip the bedposts and I plead for mercy.

That was a mistake. My lover giggles. The torturous device glides up and down me ten times and I'm seeing stars. Then the motion changes. Twisting is incorporated into the up and down glides and the bumps inside are attacking my vulnerable organ in an unfair, unbearable manner. I can't help it...I scream. My toes curl, my body sweats, my balls tighten and I pump load after load of my seed into that evil device. The twisting is relentless and it continues until I almost pass out. Until I'm drained and have nothing left to give. Until I'm left gasping for air.

The most intense orgasm of my life winds down and I can breathe again. My toes slowly uncurl. I hear a click and my right arm falls free from its shackle. Another click and my left arm is free too. There is not an ounce of energy left in my body and my jelly arms are not even capable of removing the blindfold. All I can do is wait for my lover to do it for me.

Before doing so, I get kissed again. Gently. Tenderly. Lovingly enough that first I feel a tingle in my chest followed by the slightest twitch of life in my spent cock. Finally, the blindfold comes off. It's almost full dark in the room, but my eyes still take a minute to adjust.

My lover's grinning face materialized one inch in front of mine, "That was the most fun I've had in months!"

I grin back, "Tomorrow, it's your turn!"

The handcuffs and blindfold are new additions to our...routine. I was the guinea pig. As fun as tonight was, I am very much looking forward to turning the tables.

My lover kisses me again, "Just remember, I took it easy on you."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes! You were completely at my mercy. I didn't even tickle you! I could have. I wanted to. You were all helpless and cute."

"I'm 34. I stopped being cute a decade ago."

"Sorry, but you totally haven't."

"You might not have tickled me, but you used the evil instrument. I was doing so well. I was resisting your attacks. I was winning the battle. I could have held out for hours."

I get another kiss, "You wouldn't want it any other way. You call that thing 'evil', but you love it and you know it. It gets you every time."

"It's not the 'thing'... It's you. You know how and when to... You're like a maestro. You played me perfectly."

Adam smiles and spoons up behind me, cradling me safe and warm into the curves of his body. He says, "You know I'm thrilled for you and Dante."

"I know."

He sighs, "The kid just needs to get out more. Our nighttime fun has been way too infrequent since you took him in six months ago."

"Dante is out for pizza and a movie with a friend as we speak."

"Hopefully he makes a habit of it."

I lean into Adam. My best friend of ten years. My lover of five years. We're not officially 'out'. We live in a small town and we have no idea how others would react. Would my store get looted? Boycotted? How would people feel? Fortunately, the whole town knows Adam and I are best friends so we can hang out together anytime. Restaurants, movies, whatever. It's like dating without contact. No hand holding or kissing or any kind of PDA.