Adam? Yes, Matty.

I noticed Matty walking a bit gingerly the next morning, and of course I launched immediately into Mother Hen mode and began clucking around him, out of Susan’s earshot of course. He put me off until we were in the car on the way to school.

“I’m better than all right, Adam,” he insisted. “I have just exactly the right amount of hurt, just enough to remind me of your big dick all the way up me. If I think about the feeling it’s real easy to go right back there in my head, like it’s still happening. I like it.”

“But you’d tell me if…”

“Yes, Adam!” he said, impatiently. “I feel just like I want to feel.”

“OK, then,” I said, then added with a small smile, “you know, it was the very best sex I’ve ever had in my whole life.”

Matty grinned proudly, like he’d just won the Blue Ribbon.

“I’m sorry you had to wash the sheets and pillow cases after all,” he said. “I guess we got a little wild and knocked the towels onto the floor.”

“But boy, was it worth it!” I said. We drove a few seconds smiling at each other.

“Hey, Adam?”

“Yes, Matty.”

“You see that parking lot up ahead, the one with no cars in it?”

“Yes,” I said. “The store isn’t open for the day yet.”

“Pull the car in there and stop for a minute, will you?” he asked, smiling impishly.

“Why, Matty? Is something wrong?”

“No,” he said. “Everything’s fine. Just stop and you’ll see.”

He had my interest. I pulled the car in and stopped.

“Put it in park,” he said, and I did. Then Matty unsnapped his seat belt and climbed over the center console right into my lap facing me, wrapping his arms around my neck and laying a deep, passionate kiss on me that was as hot as Kilauea during an eruption. If anyone was looking they were getting an eyeful, but neither of us cared.

The boy writhed on my lap and probed my mouth with his tongue, and when he reached down between us and found my throbbing bulge he broke the kiss to proudly proclaim, “There it is!”

“Matty!” I pretend-scolded. “Why did you go and give me a huge boner first thing in the morning? Now I’ll be thinking about nothing else but having sex with you all day!”

“Why should I be the only one?” he said, placing my hand between his legs where his small prod jutted rigidly. We laughed and kissed for several minutes, until I had to break it up or he’d be late for school.

After dropping him off I drove to the office ruminating on my own day-long boners in the fifth grade, unable to banish from my mind thoughts of Cousin Chris or any of the neighborhood boys I had introduced to the pleasures of the flesh. It had been so easy back then. It seemed like every boy wanted to do it, as long as nobody found out. Of course not every boy, but I’ll bet a solid forty percent. Put me in a room with ten boys Matty’s age and I’ll soon identify the four that want to do it.

I felt a little sorry for Matty that he didn’t have any interest in boys his own age. He was missing out on something I had always cherished as one of the happiest, most fun times of my life: tons of worry-free, blissful sex play. It had been the best, until now, that is.

I had been doing a lot of ruminating in the fourteen hours since my big epiphany, that my relationship with Matty was the primary one, not the one with Susan. There were a lot of ramifications to that. For example, if Matty was really my partner, my peer and equal in all things except experience, I would have to begin treating him as such. His rights were equal to my own, and what he wanted, in bed and out, was equally important. It was a bit tricky because, as a child, he both needed and wanted my adult guidance and limits on his behavior. It would do him no favor to indulge him endlessly. He needed to learn how to navigate the world, and Susan and I were the ones tasked with teaching him.

Fortunately for me Matty was a truly good kid and he loved me just as fervently as I loved him. I had zero doubt that he wanted me to be happy and would never press his many advantages, if he even realized he had them. I heard of a situation once in which a twelve-year-old boy blackmailed his adult lover, threatening to "tell" if the man didn't keep the boy awash in money, gifts and trips to the movies and such. They eventually had an argument, as lovers always do, and the boy went through with his threat. Last I heard the man was still in prison.

Matty always had the cops to hold over me if he so desired, and he also had his Mom. I wouldn't last an hour if he ever told Susan, and prison wouldn't be far behind that, either. Even if Matty never told anyone there were a million ways to screw up and get caught.

It was a tightrope, for sure.

Nevertheless I resolved to treat our relationship more like a real romance. I began taking Matty on more dates, with a kid-friendly spin of course. Where Susan might like dinner at Adolfo's and then the symphony, McDonald's and mini-golf was more Matty's speed. At least his dates were cheaper than Susan's.

Our sex life adapted to this new phase, too. Now that we were five months in and we both knew that we were in it for the long haul, there seemed to be less urgency. For one thing, we didn’t necessarily fuck every time, although Matty loved it more than ever now that he could take my cock comfortably. He said he wanted it to be special, something for special occasions and “extra-sexy” times. As for overall frequency, I reckoned that we were averaging about three times a week now, rather than every single night as we had started out. It was still hot as hell, but we knew there would always be tomorrow night if we came home from our date after Matty's bedtime, or if we were tired from the batting cages or the roller rink.

There were still horny periods when we couldn't keep our hands off of each other, but overall we cooled it a bit and settled into a happy domestic routine that lasted the rest of the school year.

When Matty’s eleventh birthday rolled around Susan and I planned a party for him and nine of his friends. I pushed to make it a pretty big deal, even though Susan had done a big deal for his tenth just last year taking five of his friends to an amusement park for the day. I wanted his first birthday with me in his life to be special, and Susan agreed.

It was early June, the first weekend after school let out for the summer, and the weather was beautiful and warm. We planned a barbecue in the back yard with all sorts of lawn games like bean bag and ladder toss and, after a bit of back-and-forth over whether a bouncy castle was too childish for eleven-year-olds, Matty broke the stalemate by suggesting that maybe we could get a real trampoline. I said I would see about renting one, but when I couldn’t find one for rent I decided just to buy one and make it his birthday present.

His actual birthday was the Thursday before, and with Susan safely at work we celebrated with another “Matty’s night,” where he got to direct everything from dinner to orgasm. Matty wanted to swim, so the festivities were held at my condo, which still sat empty and basically served as the world’s most expensive pool membership. I will say it sure came in handy for all-out sex sessions like this one, guaranteeing we wouldn’t be interrupted. We had a blast swimming, and this time he wasn’t so horny that we had to cut it short, and we played happily in the pool for more than two hours.

The sex was fantastic, though to be fair it always was. It was so good I didn’t know if it was a gift for him or for me. Matty had grown, of course, since I met him nearly a year earlier, but he was still my beautiful little boy, with the same pink-white skin, the same gorgeous face and utterly hairless body, the same high, clear voice, and not the tiniest sign of adolescence. He was just slightly bigger, that’s all. It looked like someone put him on the Xerox machine and set it for “Enlarge five percent.”

He wanted me to measure his erection, starting a tradition of annual birthday measurements until he topped out in his late teens. We did not, however, mark it on the door frame. He was so pleased that his dick had reached the four-inch mark I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was actually three-and-seven-eighths.

What the hell? Live it up for an eighth of an inch.

“Adam?” he asked as I put the measuring tape back into my bag.

“Yes, Matty.”

“What’s the smallest grownup dick you’ve ever had in your butt?”

“That’s a very odd question,” I said, “but I’d guess it was about five inches. Why do you ask?”

“Did it feel good?” he pressed. “Or was it too small?”

“It was fine, as I recall,” I said. “He was a good guy, a friend of mine in college, and the size didn’t matter much to me.”

“Yes, but did it feel good? Or did you only do it to make him happy?”

“It felt good,” I said. “We did it, like, ten times that semester before he met his boyfriend. He was a good, solid fuck.”

Matty looked relieved. “OK, then,” he said. “When my dick gets to be five inches I’m going to fuck you.”

“I keep telling you that we can try any time you want,” I said. “I’m sure we can find a position where you can get at least the tip inside.”

“No,” Matty insisted. “I want to be big enough to give you a real fuck, not a kiddie fuck.”

I burst out laughing. “Kiddie fuck!” I exclaimed. “Matty, you just coined the best phrase ever!”

Matty laughed with me, though I’m not sure he knew what it meant to coin a phrase.

Saturday came (but not as hard as we did Thursday evening) and our small backyard filled up with whooping eleven-year-old wild Indians. Susan passed me with a tray of Kool-Aid and whispered, “Here’s a headache waiting to happen,” but I adored the sound of happy kids letting go. There were a few parents, too, though most had dropped off their little noise machines and practically peeled out getting away. One boy’s father, an extremely accountant-looking guy, sidled over to me with a light beer in his hand.

“How did you find a trampoline to rent?” he asked, a little annoyance in his voice as he gestured toward the gleaming new tramp with a sign on the side saying Property of Mid-Town Rentals. “I looked all over town to rent one for Jeremy’s tenth and somebody said they couldn’t because of insurance regulations. And I never heard of Mid-Town Rentals.”

“It’s a fake sign,” I said. “I had one of the guys at work make it as a joke on Matty. He thinks it’s a rental and he can’t keep it, but underneath that sign is another one that says Property of Matty Watkins.”

The accountant made an annoyed face, for reasons I have yet to fathom. “Must be nice,” he said in a tone that suggested I was somehow unfairly privileged because I could afford a trampoline for my son. I was forming some sort of response that would probably begin, “Listen, Buster…” when he just turned and ambled away, which was probably for the best.

The party continued apace, with happy boys eating hamburgers and potato chips and birthday cake and ice cream and cookies and candy enough for each of them to vomit voluminously. Amazingly, no one did. The trampoline was the hit of the party, and when I did the big reveal that it was Matty’s very own and not a rental, my little lover launched himself into my arms and kissed me so deeply on the lips that I thought I would have more ‘splainin’ to do than Lucy Ricardo on her worst day.

(I Love Lucy, for the young people, used to be a show on this thing we old-timers had called "TV.")

I expected a really awkward moment but no one said a word. They just smiled and thought it was cute that I had fooled Matty so well and made him so happy.

After Matty opened his presents and the boys had some time to digest, the games resumed at a much lower key as parents began showing up to reclaim their children. Matty and two other boys had been monopolizing the trampoline and I had been watching them play, my old instincts kicking in over one kid in particular, a cute-but-not-beautiful boy named Jason, who seemed very attached to Matty and pretty much puppy-dogged around behind him the whole day.

Jason had not left the trampoline since Matty and Jeremy, the jerk-accountant’s son, had commandeered it an hour earlier. It was Jason who suggested they jump as a three-man unit for maximum altitude, first holding each other’s hands, then arms around shoulders, then in a tight hug which made them go off-kilter after a few bounces and come down together in a giggling heap of cute little extremities.

I cursed the distraction of having to play Host as Susan and I matched up boys with their parents, made sure they didn’t forget their party favors and whatever plates of leftovers they were taking, and made empty promises to the parents about how we must get together soon. I would have rather watched the boys on the trampoline.

Despite Jeremy’s genetic heritage of accountancy he was a cute boy, a little too tall and thin for my taste but with a handsome face, dancer’s legs and a wildly over-sized T-shirt that rode up frequently as he bounced to reveal a very slim but attractive belly. Not great, but well worth my attention.

And then there was Jason. His round face was very cute without reaching Matty’s level of beauty, but his smile was pure delight. He had a very average fifth-grader’s body – which I should clarify I found absolutely lovely – though unfortunately he had those tiny blond hairs on his arms and legs that some kids have, whereas I preferred Matty’s absolute, baby-smoothness. Jason’s medium-brown hair and brown eyes would always pale in comparison to light hair and eyes like Matty’s, but still I was drawn to Jason early on, my radar triggered by something in his demeanor.

The accountant appeared and called his disappointed son off of the tramp, time to go home. The man was perfectly gracious in our goodbyes, and I decided to write off his earlier dickishness as an anomaly. Jeremy was a nice, polite boy and thanked Susan and me for inviting him, giving Matty a heartfelt “Happy birthday!” as they left.

The party had really wound down by then, and eventually Jason was the only guest remaining. He and Matty had returned to the tramp, bouncing together in a tight hug and collapsing in a heap over and over again. I noticed that every time Matty broke away to jump on his own Jason would again suggest jumping together. I also noticed his slowness in disentangling from Matty after each collapse, and subtle touches on Matty’s bare arms and legs, and through the clothes on his chest and butt. These were classic “accidental” touches, such as I myself had employed with Matty before we first fooled around, and I knew they were anything but accidental.

It takes one to know one, as they say.

The boys finally tuckered themselves out, lying on their backs on the trampoline and looking up at the clouds. I distinctly saw Jason deliberately slide his bare leg over to touch Matty’s, and that was provocative enough, but when he slyly increased the contact all the way down to their calves I became convinced that Jason was hot for my Matty.

Mind you, we’re not talking jealously here. Quite the contrary, I thought Matty was missing out on the wonderful time he could be having with other boys, though of course he gets to want what he wants and my opinion is irrelevant. Still I always wished for him what I treasured from my own boyhood, not to mention the intense hard-on I got from imagining Matty and this little cutie Jason ripping off their clothes and getting down to monkey business.

Jason’s mother showed up to collect him and I saw real anguish on the boy’s face as he said goodbye to Matty. I realized then that it wasn’t mere lust on Jason’s part. He had a genuine crush on Matty, but then who wouldn’t?

The day after Matty’s party Susan went to a baby shower for one of her friends who was having her fourth child, for God’s sake. Someone should teach the woman the word “overpopulation.” Matty and I spent the afternoon together, but not in bed. It was a thoroughly enjoyable father-son type of day, with a little game of catch, tuna fish for lunch and a whole lot of bouncing on the trampoline. He insisted that I get up and embarrass myself, having not been on one of those contraptions since high school, but I guess I did all right. We bounced together to near exhaustion and ended up lying flat on our backs on the fabric, which reminded me of Jason.

“Matty? I said.

“Yes, Adam.”

“That Jason kid really seems to like you,” I said, trying to make it sound offhand.

“Yeah,” he said. “He’s nice.”

“He stuck close to you all day yesterday,” I said.

“He does that,” Matty said, still looking skyward. “Even at school. I think he likes me.”

I didn’t want to presume a meaning that he didn’t intend. “Sure he likes you,” I said. “He’s your friend.”

Matty turned his head and looked at me. “No, I mean he likes me. I think he wants to do it with me.”

“Oh, really?” I said, sounding casual but inwardly proud of my boy’s developing gaydar.

“He touches me a lot,” Matty said.

“How do you feel about that?” I asked.

“I don’t mind,” he said. “You know I like being touched, and he has super soft hands so it feels kind of good.”

I let a moment pass in silence, then asked, “Are you thinking about letting him touch you more? You know, in the nice places?”

Matty rolled onto his side facing me, and I rolled toward him.

“I thought about it,” he said, “but I don’t know. I mean, he’s just a little boy, not a man, but then I think maybe it would be nice.”

“Nice is nice,” I said. “Everything doesn’t always have to be intense. Sometimes nice is just fine.”

“Adam?” he said in unusual seriousness.

“Yes, Matty?”

“What does cheating mean?”

“You mean like between people in a relationship, right?” I said. “You know what cheating means in a game or on a test.”

“Yeah,” he said. “This girl Madison at school said her parents got divorced because her Dad was cheating on her Mom.”

“It’s a little complicated,” I said, “but just like in a game, cheating means not following the rules. Most married people have the rule that they will be faithful to their partner; that is, they’ll only love and have sex with that one person. If Madison’s Dad promised to only have sex with her Mom, and then he went out and had sex with someone else, that would be cheating.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought it meant,” Matty said. “So then, if I went and did sex with Jason I’d be cheating on you, and I don’t want to cheat on you.”

“Well,” I said, “it all depends on the rules that you set. Every couple gets to set their own rules, and for some it’s OK to have sex with other people as long as you don’t fall in love with them. There’s a thing called casual sex, and that means it’s just sex for fun and not with deep feelings for each other like you and I have.”

“Is that what our rule is?” he asked, “that it’s OK as long as it’s only casual sex?”

“Is that what you want the rule to be? You get to have a say in the rules, you know.”

Matty thought about it for a moment then pronounced, “I think our rule should be that it’s OK to do sex with somebody else as long as we both do it together.”

My eyebrows went skyward. Of course I knew about such arrangements. Half the gay couples I met when I was younger initially picked me up for a threesome, for exactly that reason. I’d seen couples break up anyway when one of them fell for the “casual” third person, but at least it was in front of their partner’s face and not behind their back. I thought frantically before answering. I knew I’d never throw Matty over for another guy, but what if he found somebody better than me? After all, I was the only lover he’d ever known. Maybe once he had a comparison he’d like someone else better.

“Wouldn’t it be fun?” Matty asked with excitement creeping into his voice. “We could invite Jason to go swimming at the condo, and then once we were upstairs you could have both of us!”

I stared at him. He must have been thinking about this for a while. He had a whole scenario figured out and everything. Then I thought of something.

“Wait a minute, Matty,” I said. “Do you really think it would be fun to have sex with Jason, or do you just want me to have him, like you’re giving him to me as a gift? Because he’s not a gift, you know, he’s a person.”

“No, I really think it would be fun,” he insisted. “I think it would be really hot to watch you doing stuff with another boy. You tell those stories about the things you did with Cousin Chris and those other kids and it always makes me get a boner. But I want to feel what it’s like with Jason, too. I think he really wants to do it with me, and I like him and I want to make him happy.”

“For what it’s worth,” I said, “I think you’re right. I was watching you guys yesterday and I think Jason is definitely hot for you. But if we’re wrong, and you try something with him and he freaks out and calls you queer and everything, then it will be bad for you at school. And worse yet, if I’m involved and it goes bad I could get in real trouble, like police trouble.”

Matty was resolute. “I know,” he said. “I already figured I’d have to be the one who gets him to do it, but I’m really sure he wants to, and all I really have to do is let him.”

“OK,” I said, “but we can’t just spring it on his mother. I got the impression she’s a bit over-protective of him.”

“What if I invite Jason over on Saturday for a play date?” Matty asked. “You and Mom will be here and you can have coffee with her or whatever you guys do to make friends. Then when she gets to know you I can ask about swimming.”

I regarded him admiringly. “That, my friend, sounds like a plan.”

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Next time:

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