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Back in the nineteen sixties, when I was a kid, all the PC (politically correct) crap that infests the world today simply didn’t exist. In those days, if a kid was stupid, as many of us were, people simply accepted it. One didn’t need a troop of psychoanalysts to come up with an array of psychobabble to state the obvious. In those days it was also perfectly normal to get a clip on the ear without the entire welfare system ‘shitting’ down parents' throats.

I was fortunate to have grown up in a small mining town. It certainly was not a beautiful place, but for us kids, it was a splendid locale to live in. We all had bicycles and spent our afternoons, here, there, and everywhere. There was a river that was located close to the town, and many a happy afternoon was spent cavorting in the river. Other than that, we played; ‘cowboys and crooks,’ ‘cops and robbers,’ ‘secret agents and spies,’ and a host of other games.

When I think about the insular youth of today, fixated and isolated with a computer devise in their paws, I am really pleased I was born in a different era.

In any case, let me get off my soapbox and get on with my story.

I spent the first twelve years of my life in this town and only moved away when my parents relocated to a large city. My best friend during all these years was a boy named Deon Fuller. Deon had a younger brother named Darius, and his dad and mom, Jonathan and Sadie, were the nicest people. I always referred to them as Mr. and Mrs. Fuller. They were a lot younger than my folks and were in their early thirties. My dad and mom always felt like two really old people to me. My dad was forty when I was born, and my mom, thirty-eight.

Mr. Fuller had a penchant for model airplanes and woodwork, which were the passions in his life. Most of the furniture in their home had been made by him.

I would often be invited along on Sunday mornings when he went to the small airfield to fly his planes. I recall vividly, how he built an early twentieth-century biplane that took him several months to complete. It was a huge plane that he had painted red and yellow. On the day of its test flight, it took off very elegantly, before something went terribly wrong. We all watched in horror as the plane unceremoniously plummeted to the ground. Poor Mr. Fuller looked devastated as he retrieved the remnants of his hard labours.

When we moved away from this mining town I lost complete contact with my childhood best friend.

After finishing high school, and believe it or not, college, I moved to a large city and commenced my working life. My first apartment was rather ordinary but I loved, at last, having my freedom.

En route to home every afternoon, I passed by a really lovely park, and would often sit there imbibing the splendour of the flora.

On one such occasion, a very familiar looking guy approached my direction and sat on a bench across from me. The man was obviously homeless and looked somewhat dishevelled. As I stared at him I could swear that he was an older version of Mr. Fuller. Naturally, I laughed it off initially, reflecting upon the fact that I was imagining things. The longer I observed him, however, the more I began to believe it was him.

A while later as I was about to leave for my home, I couldn’t restrain myself any longer and impulsively approached him.

“Hi, are you Mr. Fuller?” I asked.

He observed me with a look of suspicion before uncomfortably asking, “Yeah, why do you ask?”

“It’s me... Albie… Albie Toms, your son’s best friend from primary school,” I blurted.

“Albie?” he exclaimed, before he buried his head in his hands and began crying.

I stood there like a fool looking at him in bewilderment. I wasn’t sure what to do next. Overcome by his grief, I sat beside him and placed my hand on his shoulder. I remained silent, caught up in the drama of the moment.

After a minute or so, Mr. Fuller raised his head before observing me with bloodshot eyes. With tears still flowing, he shook his before he started babbling.

“They are dead… they’re all dead,” he stammered.

Once more I decided to remain silent and allow him to compose himself. Once he had used his sleeves to wipe the tears away, he faced me and related a story that made my blood run cold.

Three years before, once both boys had graduated from high school and were working with him in the mine, his wife and the two boys went shopping one Saturday morning. Upon their return, an out of control truck careened into them and they were all killed instantly.

Thereafter, Mr. Fuller’s life spiralled out of control. He began drinking excessively and although his boss tried to cover for him initially, after a year he was sent packing. Because the house they lived in belonged to the mine, it was, therefore, taken from him. For the following year and a half family members helped out, but ultimately their patience also ran out. Effectively, over the previous six months, he had been homeless and living the life of a hobo.

I was stunned that this wonderful human being that I remembered from childhood, had been reduced to this dishevelled man I saw before me. I had always loved visiting their home and had always been envious of Deon, whose dad was the epitome of the father I would love to have had. In comparison, my father was a real fuddy-duddy.

There and then, I decided that there was no way I could simply leave him destitute and ignore his plight.

“Come with me,” I said. “You’re coming home with me,” I decisively asserted.

“What?” he asked dumbfounded.

“Come with me,” Mr. Fuller,” I informed him.

“You don’t need my shit,” he answered, before adding, “And please, call me Jonathan.”

“Jonathan, I am not leaving you here, simple as that. Now come with me,” I repeated once more.

With a look of total confusion, he arose and began to follow me. As we walked toward my apartment, I thought about the foyer of my building.

‘Dear God,’ I deliberated, ‘Please don’t let anybody be in the foyer when we arrive.’

Thankfully nobody was, and even more fortunately, no one saw us prior to entering my apartment.

Once inside, I showed Jonathan through to the bathroom and told him to undress. He was in sore need of a shower. As I looked at him naked, he was definitely scrawnier than I remembered, hardly surprising given his recent past.

Nevertheless, he was a really hot looking man. From the brief glimpse I had of his uncut cock, Jonathan had nothing to be shy about. I also gave him my dressing gown to wear once he was done.

“Have a good shower and take your time. I will put your clothing in the washer and get our supper on the go,” I informed him.

When he rejoined me in the kitchen I looked at his hair that needed a serious clipping. Because our dinner would take another twenty minutes or so, I suggested giving him a haircut.

I have to say, that I did a rather good job. Added to that, I also gave the scraggy fuzz on his face a clean shave. The transformation was remarkable and afterward, Jonathan looked remarkably like I had remembered him.

After returning to the shower for a quick rinse, we were soon enjoying the labours of my unremarkable culinary skills.

“I am not a drinker,” I informed him as we ate, “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any booze.”

“Just as well,” he replied with a rueful smile. During dinner, I told him that he was welcome to stay with me for as long as he liked.

I mentioned that I was employed in the furniture business, at a company that made bespoke pieces for our clients. At this comment, his face lit up.

“I have always had a passion for wood,” he informed me, which I recalled from my past.

“Once you’ve settled in and are feeling better, I will have a word with my boss about possibly employing you,” I informed him, before continuing, “Jonathan, I want you to chill and be comfortable in my apartment. Simply relax for the next while until you’ve got your strength back,” I concluded.

“Why are you doing this for me?” he asked bewildered.

“I am doing this for Deon,” I replied. ‘Deon and I were really great friends and I loved visiting your family as a kid. You guys were always so kind to me.”

I then went on to regale him with stories about my airfield visits with them, before reminding him about how disappointed we were when his yellow and red plane crashed.

“It was a Sopwith Camel biplane,” he informed me with a sad smile.

Then, after a reflective moment or two, Jonathan once more placed his head in his hands and began sobbing.

“Jesus, Mr… Jonathan, I am really sorry,” I blurted out.

He just shook his head in acknowledgment.

After supper, we washed the dishes, and by that time his clothing was in the tumble dryer.

“I want you to sleep in my bed tonight and I will use the sofa,” I then announced.

"No fuckin’ way,” he answered.

“Oh, yes, I insist,” I replied.

The following morning when I awoke, he was up and making breakfast for us. I recalled from my youth how Deon had always bragged about what a great chef his dad was, and that Jonathan did most of the cooking in their home.

When I left for work I placed some money on the counter for him, explaining that he could buy whatever he needed from the supermarket around the corner. In all honesty, I was rather wary as I made my way to work that day. I had not seen Jonathan in over a decade, and given his circumstances in recent times, it troubled me that he would make off with the money and possibly rip me off to pay for booze. Somehow, however, I did not believe he would do so.

When I returned home that evening, all my fears were allayed when I saw a slip for the groceries he had purchased and the change lying next to it. I was relieved that my conviction in him had been correct. Needless to say, we had a wonderful supper that night.

Two nights later, I felt that I needed to be upfront with him. I confessed that I was gay and that I would be bringing guys home from time to time. Altruistic as my intentions had been thus far; I just felt that I needed to set the record ‘straight’ with him.

Jonathan didn’t seem too perplexed, but instantly reminded me that he was straight. I did my best to assure him that his heterosexuality was not a problem for me, and that I didn’t have any ‘ulterior’ motives.

Over the next several days his health improved remarkably. In fact, he put on so much weight that my clothes, which he had been wearing, simply didn’t fit him any longer. Although we were of similar height, Jonathan had a stockier build than me. I bought him two trousers and fours shirts, as well as underpants and socks. Most of all, I was delighted to see him in the new trainers I purchased for him. The ones he had been wearing were totally disgusting.

Every night we would have the same argument about sleeping arrangements, but I insisted that he use my bed until he had fully recovered.

Two weeks later, I had a meeting with my boss about Jonathan. He listened intently but I could see apprehension on his face. Reluctantly, he agreed to meet with Jonathan as I requested.

When my boss, Gary, met Jonathan, Gary agreed to give him a chance. Fortunately, we were rather short-staffed at the time. Gary, however, was not subtle in any way or form and gave Jonathan the full; ‘if you fuck-up once, you are out of here,’ speech.

I really hoped that this would go well for Jonathan, and had butterflies in my stomach the entire day as he got to work. It took great restraint from me, not to pop into the workshop and check out how he was doing during the day. I knew that he already had enough pressure on him, without an anxious onlooker looking over his shoulder.

At the day’s end, my boss gave me a simple wink of approval as we were leaving. That simple gesture was worth its weight in gold. I had never wished more for anything in my life, and I really hoped that Jonathan was going to pull this off.

A week later, my faith in him kept flourishing. By now my boss was really impressed with Jonathan, and the man I remembered from childhood was clearly making a remarkable recovery. It was as if the years were melting away and the Jonathan I had so admired in my youth had become the rising phoenix.

When we received our salary at the end of the month, Jonathan received his pay in cash. He had as yet not registered for a tax number, which was thankfully sorted out a week later, and was, therefore, paid as a casual labourer which would be remunerated.

When we stopped for groceries en route home, Jonathan insisted on paying. He even bought a bottle of sparkling grape juice so that we could celebrate.

As we ate dinner, he informed me that the time had come for him to sleep on the sofa.

“The sofa is just too small for you,” I informed him. “I really don’t mind sleeping on the sofa, in fact, I’m actually enjoying it.”

The minor inconvenience of doing so really didn’t worry me at all. Even though my social and sex life had ground to a halt, the joy of having Jonathan around completely negated that.

With a serious look on his face, he then asked, “Which side of the bed do you sleep on?”

After a brief reflection, I answered, “The left,” somewhat bewildered by the question.

“Great, I sleep on the right, so that settles it. The bed is really big enough for both of us,” he smilingly informed me. I was totally flabbergasted but in response to the bewildered look on my face, he resumed, “I promise, you’ll be safe.”

After we both laughed, Jonathan observed me with mock solemnity, before concluding, “That’s my final offer.”

I simply nodded. The thought of sharing a bed with him thrilled me beyond belief, even though I knew that it was simply a sleeping proposal and that with him being straight, this could end up being a very frustrating arrangement for me.

We both wore boxer shorts when we got into bed, and shortly, facing away from one another we were both asleep.

During the early hours of the following morning when I briefly awoke, I could feel one of his feet touching my foot. The thrill of excitement that I got from that was breath-taking.

The following night in bed, after a brief chat with both of us on our backs I eventually turned to face away from. Jonathan did not move initially, but when he did and faced toward me, I felt his hand on my shoulder above the duvet cover. I had to concentrate with all my might not to start hyperventilating. After three light taps on my shoulder, however, he turned away before we fell asleep.

Upon getting into bed the next evening, the same procedure was followed. This time, however, his hand was under the duvet cover. I again had to concentrate to stop myself from shaking.

After stroking my upper arm for a few moments, he said, “The last person I had sex with was my late wife.” I did not respond.

A minute later, with his hand still on my shoulder, he continued, “I have never had a sexual experience with another man.” When I once more said nothing, he resumed, “But then again, I suppose I’m much too old for you.”

With my mind in total turmoil, I turned onto my back. As I did so I instantly felt his hard cock against my leg.

“You’re not too old,” I blurted, “But do you fully understand what you are suggesting?”

Jonathan looked at me pensively before he spoke. “Albie, I am never going to marry again. There will only be one woman for me in my lifetime. When I lost her and my sons, I believed that I would never be able to develop strong feelings for anyone again.”

With his head now firmly propped up on his right arm, he persevered. “Please understand I grew up dirt poor. When my parents bought us kids a chocolate once in a blue moon, it was an event. As far as toys were concerned,” he then sniggered, before resuming, “Well, the only toys we ever got were from people better off than us. By the time these toys were given to us, they were so fucked-up that they were on their way to a rubbish dump.”

Next, Jonathan let out a meditative laugh before he kept on going. “That’s why I loved my wife so much. After we married she allowed me to experience the childhood I had missed. I am ashamed to admit that I often spent money on model aircraft when it could have been used more practically.”

With moist eyes, he resumed. “After the tragedy struck, my family took me in a year later. They didn’t give one fuck for me and as the money they were sucking out of me ran out, I was sent on my way in a heartbeat.”

“When I met you I was very sceptical,” he persisted, then after a pause, he added, “You didn’t need my crap in your life and yet you took it on. Naturally, I was taken aback when you told me you were gay… not because I’m homophobic or anti-gay, or anything like that, but simply because it was so far removed from my comprehension.”

With a thoughtful smile he then tentatively embarked on the final part of his story. “In the past while, you have reignited feelings in me that I never thought I would have again. I care for you very deeply and love being with you. Inexplicably, I have developed a desire for you... I’ve wanted to tell you… but was worried that I am simply too old for you. Albie… this is unchartered territory for me and you will have to guide me, that is if you’re interested.”

As he spoke a myriad of thoughts flooded my mind. I had never imagined this eventuality and as much as I was delighted, I was also worried that he may be remorseful once the deed had been done. Having progressed this far, however, there was no way I could back out him.

“Lie on your back, Jonathan, and just relax,” I suggested.

After he did so, I threw the duvet cover off the bed.

Next, after slipping his boxers down and removing them from his body, I told him to widen his legs. I was very pleased to see that his dick was still fully erect, and may I say, clearly demonstrated that he was definitely a ‘grower.’ It really was one of the most beautiful cocks I had ever seen.

As he lay back with his eyes closed, I took hold of the shaft of his knob a gently commenced manipulating his foreskin. This action instantly elicited groans of approval from him. I watched transfixed, as the pink head of his cock popped in and out of its sleeve. Unable to help myself, I excitedly sniffed the head of his dick like an affineur. It was heavenly!

I then slowly began to manipulate the overhang between my lips. When my tongue entered the hood, the groans that Jonathan had been making became punctuated by a vocal array of; ‘fuck’s,’ ‘Jesus’,’ and ‘oh, my god’s.’

After my lips started sliding down the shaft of his dick, his body movement joined in the melee of excitement. He was literally shaking when I took him all the way into my throat and my lips clamped around the base of his knob.

The second time his dick totally conquered my throat, his hands manically clutched onto the back of my head and his upward thumping hips went into overdrive. Having ignited an animalistic urge in him, I was afraid that I would be overcome by asphyxiation. To the roaring sounds of his excitement, I found myself in a battle royale. When I finally managed to lift my head, I was choking.

“Oh, Jesus, sorry… I’m sorry,” he said, “But I have never felt anything that good in my life!”

“That’s okay, Jonathan… but just remember I also have to breathe,” I exclaimed, in halting breaths.

Deciding on a different tactic, I held his dick in my hand and commenced licking his balls. Jonathan’s entire body now began to shudder. The volume of his pants, grunts, and expletives also began to escalate once more.

“Oh, fuckin’ Jesus Christ,” he bellowed, “Suck-my-fuckin’-knob.”

Jonathan so overexcited that I knew he would gush very shortly. As my mouth once more enclosed over his cock I began ‘praying’ for my life.

“I’m getting close… I’m getting very close,” he repeated as if issuing a warning. I supposed that he possibly believed, that actually swallowing cum was simply unthinkable.

I, nevertheless, was determined to savour his spunk and just kept on going.

“I’m going to shoot,” he blurted, delivering his final notice.

Frankly, I couldn’t wait and sucked his dick for all I was worth.

"Jesus... fuuuck,” he bellowed, as he unloaded with his body convulsing.

The reward was unbelievable because he not only had the sweetest cum I had ever tasted, but the volume of spunk was spectacular.

After I cleaned his genitals with him twitching during the process, I moved my body upward and lay next to him.

“That was un-fuckin’-believable,” he panted.

“For me too,” I informed him, before resuming, “You have the sweetest spunk I have ever tasted.”

“Really?” he asked, with a delighted look on his face.

“Sure… if they sold your jizz in bottles at the supermarket I would definitely buy it,” I replied, before we both guffawed.

After we stopped laughing he said, “You won’t believe it, but that’s the first blowjob I’ve ever had.”

I did not want to pry and merely remained silent, before he resumed, “My wife and I… well we were a very old-fashioned couple and we never did that sort of thing.”

Jonathan became silent after that and just stared up at the ceiling. After a short while he looked at me, and then said, “Thanks.”

I did not want to coerce him into any further activity and decided to allow him to determine the pace of possible future interactions. I was all in, but wary of what the possible fallout could be the following day. What had amazed me, however, was the boldness of his approach once we got going. I really hoped it would escalate in future.

After a simple, “Goodnight,” I turned my body to face away from him. I would’ve loved more, but decided to let things take their natural course.

The following day at breakfast, I was very relieved everything between us appeared to be normal,

That evening as I was chopping up ingredients for the salad, Jonathan moved up behind me. After he placed his hands on my hips I felt his hard dick being pushed up against my backside.

“Am I getting another lesson tonight?” he asked, as he lightly kissed my neck.

I was stunned by this show of affection, and decided to up the ante by being bolder than before.

“You can have as many lessons as you like,” I answered.

“You may live to regret those words,” he sniggered.

“Make me!” I cheekily answered.

Jonathan lightly bit my neck in reply.

“Ouch,” I exclaimed in mock protest, before asking, “So what lesson would you like to learn tonight?”

Jonathan did not answer. Instead, he commenced rubbing his cock solidly against my backside.

“I’ve also never done this before… will you let me in here tonight?” he whispered.

“You can enter there any time you like,” I shamelessly answered.

After a minute or so he let go of me. “I’d better stop and cool down,” he said, before resuming, “Or else we won’t get supper tonight.”

When supper was over we made our way to the lounge. As we sat watching television I got up before excusing myself. I left for the bathroom to prepare myself for action I knew lay ahead.

Upon my return, Jonathan had a horny look on his face. “I wouldn’t mind a refresher course from last night,” he said, as he pushed his shorts downward.

It was obvious that his first blowjob had left an indelible impression on his memory; because I had no sooner knelt before him before my head was being manipulated up and down his dick, and shortly my vocal cords were being comprehensively thumped. It was clear to me that his prior sexual life had been somewhat restrictive and that the escalation of intensity was exciting him enormously. I really didn’t mind and loved every second of it. After eventually getting to his feet, the throat battering that I then received was unbelievable.

Not long after he had cum I was being herded off to bed. There was a manic approached to his machinations as I got flung on the bed, on my stomach, prior to him pouncing on me.

‘Oh, fuck, yes’ I thought, ‘I have unleashed the tiger.’

What followed next was initially subdued. After placing his dick on my portal the pressure was very measured, and as the head of his cock popped into my backside the discomfort was minimal. As I was just beginning to relax, however, his hips went into overdrive. I was completely overjoyed by his ardency because I had always enjoyed the rougher approach to sex.

Grunting and pounding, Jonathan went totally ballistic. Playing my part to the fullest, I whimpered like a little girl. Just to make sure that he didn’t misread my ‘pleas,’ nevertheless, I quickly added a string of ‘fuck me daddy’s’ into the mix. This vocal concoction proved to be a winning formula.

“Take my cock, take my fuckin’ knob, yeah, fuck, fuck, fuck yeah,” he began intoning.

The physical and aural stimulation was so overwhelming to me, that my dick began spraying jizz all over the sheet. As I announced I was cumming this also triggered Jonathan, and shortly he growled his own excitement as he flooded my backside.

As we lay there gasping with him on top of me, he asked, “Are you okay?”

“You’re a real fuckin’ stud, Jonathan,” I answered, before adding, “That’s just how I like it.”

After a brief chuckle, he said, “I always had to cool things down with my wife. I was never given free reign and never realized how exciting being allowed to be a fucking animal could be.”

"You never have to hold back again,” I decisively informed him.

The sex that night seemed never-ending. It was like he was trying to make up for three years of abstinence.

Going forward, we never got into the extremely rough stuff, but a bit of auto-asphyxiation and spanking did enter our repertoire. Our sex life became glorious.

As we began to settle into our lives, I was afraid that due to his former hardships, Jonathan had become too insular. Although we were getting on famously, I wanted to draw him out of his isolation and expand his social interaction. With his birthday six weeks off, I devised what I believed would be a clever plan to do so.

Please remember, at this time mobile phones or the internet did not exist, which would later make our lives much easier. In the ‘old-fashioned’ way, nevertheless, I manage to fulfill my mission.

I first got hold of a guy named Arthur who owned an airfield with two large hangars, where the model aircraft junkies got together on Saturdays and Sundays. Arthur, in turn, put me in touch with Derek, a guy who built and restored model airplanes.

To cut a very long story short, once both these guys had heard the full story about Jonathan, they were very enthusiastic to assist me with my ploy. The most exciting aspect of all of this was that I was able to get my hands on a second-hand, Sopwith Camel biplane, thanks to Derek. The plane would have to be restored and repainted, but Derek assured me this would easily be done in the allotted time before Jonathan’s birthday.

Naturally, the fuselage was going to be pillar-box red, with bright yellow wings, just as I had remembered Jonathan’s aircraft from my childhood. Derek also promised to use a script we agreed upon, for the name that would appear at the front of the fuselage.

Ten days before Jonathan’s birthday I was summoned by Derek to see the finished product, and it looked spectacular! Jonathan’s birthday was on a Tuesday, but we agreed that the ‘presentation’ would take place on the preceding Sunday morning.

Although the airfield only opened at eight a.m., in cahoots with Arthur, we all agreed to meet earlier at seven a.m.

On Saturday, I informed Jonathan that I had arranged an outing for us the following morning, and that we would have to leave home at six a.m. Before he could ask, I mentioned that as it was a surprise, no other information would be forthcoming.

When we arrived at the airfield ten minutes early the following morning, Derek and Arthur were waiting for us. Both of them looked like excited schoolboys who were about to pull off a huge prank on somebody. When we got out of the vehicle I introduced Arthur and Derek, explaining that they had assisted me with the surprise.

A bewildered Jonathan was then instructed to stand before the hangar doors and close his eyes. After he acquiesced, Derek and Arthur pulled the doors open. They had displayed the airplane dramatically in the middle of the hangar floor.

“Okay, open your eyes,” I instructed Jonathan.

As he did so it was as if he entered a trans-like state.

When Jonathan slowly turned his head to face me, I said, “This is your birthday present, happy birthday Jonathan.”

He just stood there like a statue, ogling the beautiful object before him. “Aren’t you going to take a closer look?” I inquired.

Jonathan gingerly moved forward before walking around the plane.

Next, he knelt down beside the plane an extended his right hand. He then ran his index finger across the name, ‘Deon.’

Instantly, his head dropped and as we all watched, his shoulders began to shake as he started sobbing.

A second later, the three of us watching joined in and all commenced crying like babies.

Thankfully, a minute or so later Arthur restored order by suggesting, “Why don’t we take this mother-fucker out there and get the fuckin’ thing into the air?”

We all watched transfixed as the beautiful plane took to the air. Derek had brought along a second radio-controlled unit to back Jonathan up. The aerial display we observed was incredible and with Derek and Arthur in attendance, I watched with delight as the three guys bonded. I was absolutely sure that a new friendship was blossoming.

After twenty minutes the plane was refuelled and this time, Jonathan, with his newfound confidence, took complete control. By now, all the regular patrons had begun to arrive and Jonathan was in his element.

After a wonderful morning, Jonathan and I made our way home after his plane was securely ensconced in the hangar, wrapped in a cover that Derek had supplied.

As we made our way home, Jonathan placed his hand on my knee. As he looked at me he said, “I love you Albie. Thank you for restoring my life back to me and teaching me to become a human being once more.”