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HC: LMS Ch. 01 free porn video
Thank you for choosing to read Last Men Standing (LMS), the third chronological story in The Holden Chronicles (HC). Last Men Standing is about a man’s understanding of a curse that has been recognized as a blessing in all the generations of the family. This story chronicles his experiences in trying to change his life ultimately. This is the first chapter which introduces the main character into the story. Warning: This story is meant for adults. If you are under the legal age of 18 or do not wish to read experimental sexual topics, leave this story, and leave this site. Enjoy!
Chapter One : Last Men Standing
Sometimes having too much intellect can mean you can be equally serious with minor and major problems. It can lead people to be so critical about their existence that they throw their cares out the window. I’m not one to judge people, but in my dad and grandfather’s line of the family, we became a sort between hippies, stoners, and surf-gurus. It got so bad that our blessings of having sons as our only offspring reversed on itself and literally killed off every single person in our line of the family. Sometimes it would get so bad that one couldn’t live past 30 years of age (because he starved himself to death thinking that ‘one doesn’t need food to live’) or some wouldn’t live as long just to see their grandkids.
Someone had to stop the curse from killing off my great-great-grandfather’s family line (he was one of the sons who settled in Hawaii and was the actual person who would look like Gandhi), and that was my dad. He had a good balance between work, family life, and his high intellect. He wasn’t overly intellectual about small problems, or even major problems for that matter. He was like the only person in my line of the family to keep his body healthy and save his intellect for the important things, like wooing my mom into marrying him or finding the most durable but most cheapest line of diapers for the baby (me).
He had been critical in the way his family line’s life pattern unfolded. He was the first person to see that either family members would stone (smoke weed or other narcotics) themselves to death or die before seeing their grandchildren, if they even had grandchildren. He had made a decision to leave Hawaii, put his drug-infested and overly-intellectual background and try his luck somewhere else. Events prior to his decision had motivated him to choose it. A month before his choosing, my grandfather died of lung cancer. Two weeks later, my mother dies from diabetes (it was diagnosed two years before, yet she had an extreme case of sweet-tooth). Just think how that jump-started my father’s decision.
Immediately, my dad and I (I’m an only child) packed our bags, wiped our grief-stricken foreheads, and left Hawaii with all the bad influences of having too much intellect behind and headed straight for the mainland, hoping that there was joy there.
We arrived in good old California. We were blessed to have one of my relatives allow us to stay, but for a price. The price of the rent wasn’t too bad and my dad was able to pay for everything, which would be a room for me and a room for himself (my relative was filthy rich by the way, having a six-bedroom house and four cars on his driveway). We wouldn’t stay for long, since living in a house ten times bigger than a island hut was a big step for my dad and he insisted in living in an apartment. He had this philosophy of getting rich and staying rich, and to not buy expensive things. He would always tell me if a rich man buys an expensive house, he isn’t rich anymore.
He would find a steady job that he had the pleasure in working and also find an two-bedroom apartment near a beach for us to live in. It seems like our story would like to add the phrase ‘happily ever after,’ yet it is only beginning.
Here I am telling you about the blessing (for me, a curse) of my vast family line and the decisions that my father made, but I’m not telling you mine. I guess I can begin my story here.
My name is Kalani Tanaka, since my father was Japanese but he married a beautiful Hawaiian woman who insisted in calling their child by a Hawaiian name. My parents and my immediate relatives would call me by my full first name. Relatives who were purebred Japanese called me by my last name with the typical suffix at the end, which I didn’t really understand at the time. My friends and classmates, as well as my cousins simply called me ‘Kal.’ Only one friend, who I will mention later on, called me ‘Mr. California.’ Talk about embarrassing.
I arrived in California with my dad at the age of 17. Two to four weeks after our arrival, my dad gets a steady job at a surf shop (after two months he would receive a manager’s position) and enough money to rent out a nice condo near a beach. I would finish the last days of grade school at the local high school there, and eventually make a load of friends. I graduated and received my high school diploma. In the summer after graduation, I would turn 18 and was honored by my dad, who was able to give me keys to a tricked-out truck of my own. I would do the things a natural teenager would do.
Summer had its pros and cons. Even though I burst out of high school with a Hiroshima bomb full of excitement, at the end of summer I was left with a firecracker. It seemed that the curse had crept up to me and was going to come up behind me and snap my neck. At 17, I was cool with my dad, spending every possible second with him, to hang out and learn from him. Now at the start of my adulthood, the distance between him and I seem to widen, giving the curse enough room to shatter me. I felt like dying at the time. I had used drugs, alcohol, and looked at pornography as a way to release my anxiety and add some pleasure to my depressed existence. Instead, they added on to the pile that was already there. I felt like a turd left on somebody’s porch and lit on fire with nothing to do about it. At the time, I thought that anytime I received anything like advice or just a greeting from my dad, the chances the curse had on me increased and my depression and headaches would be passed on to him.
I wouldn’t think that it would make it all go away. Actually, at the time, it gave me a moment where I would be critical about myself and come to a decision to change, like my grandfather and his grandfather before him. It’s really embarrassing to talk about this, since it is a common topic that father and son has to go through with, but I’m going to talk about it.
The time I was given the chance to be intellectual about something important would actually come in two years, around the end of summer, where seniors from the high school were getting ready to go to college. It was a large gap that I filled with nonsense and crap. In that gap, I wasn’t working, I didn’t go to school, and I avoided my dad the best I could, having a mindset that the curse was indeed real in my life and that it would spread like an infection. I wanted to be a teenager then, but my anxiety kept me in my room, resorting to small, useless things to get me away from my depressing feelings. If you could see me now, you would think I was a 28-year-old college dropout who only lived life on the money earned from selling weed or cocaine. No one would believe that myself looked like this at the age of 19.
Telling the story is difficult because the enjoyable things happen after the weird, the unusual, and the regrettable, yet short, introduction, but the story ends on a happy note. Beginning the story is hard because I have to list all the things I regretted doing, but it’s my story after all, and I am willing to speak it out.
So here goes. It was a foggy morning and the beach itself was too cold to do any summer activities. Obviously, surfing was out of the question, since the only ones brave enough to challenge the extreme tides were either professionals or veterans. I was in my room doing an embarrassing act (well, embarrassing if you were caught doing it. I was on
the floor of my room, on a blanket, since the carpet was rough to lay on. I had another blanket on top of me. Under the covers, I had only my boxers and a shirt on, the typical sleeping clothes.
With me on the floor, I had a stuffed-toy animal, which if stood up on its legs would be five feet tall. In actuality, I had it since I was 4, and it was gift from my mother and the only thing I can hold onto that was from her. If you seen if for the first time, it would just be a five-foot-tall rabbit. Its arms were long, but its legs were longer. It was furry and had a puffy ball-like tail. The only place where it didn’t have fur was it nose and mouth, and its eyes, which were the only places where it was hard. Again, if you seen it for the first time, it would just be a dirty stuffed toy, but to me it was my ‘bed buddy,’ or makeshift sex doll.
I had it with me on the floor. I would take a pillow or two and then place the bunny’s head on the pillow. I would then lay my stomach on the bunny’s chest, and then spread my blanket over me. That not all that I did on the floor. With me and the bunny, I had a laptop. On the laptop, I surfed the net and watched the dirty stuff. I would search nude babes and find the most kinkiest things that people crazy enough would do. If you took a look at my search history, you would find a multitude of gang bang, double penetration, and group sex antics. Actually, my actual interest would be a single Asian woman, having interracial, sexual relations and activities with multiple sex partners at once and I would imagine myself not as a dude, but the actual woman being penetrated by the men. I would probably say that I actually was gay during that summer.
This pretty much comes to the time I had to be critical about myself. It happened on that day. I was on the floor as usual. I had a shirt and boxers on. I put a vibrating plug (which I stole from a girl’s room at a party) into my anus. It looked like a bulgy hot dog connected to a remote, which had three settings: low, medium, and high. I set the setting to low, and never touched it after that. I had the bunny’s face on my chest and imagined the bunny as a guy shoving his face into my breasts. The bunny’s arms were under my shirt and planted under my armpits. Unusually, I put one of the bunny’s legs into the front of my boxers. I then turned on my laptop and went to a site where you could watch multiple black men, large and well-endowed, trifle and have sex with a single female, usually Caucasian. Lastly, I would masturbate to it and reach climax prematurely.
That morning was different than every other time I masturbated to a gang bang video. I never got caught, since either my dad was out or he was fast asleep. As I’ve told before that I tried to avoid my dad, afraid of his advice, it seems like my dad avoided me as well, possibly doubting that any advice would only end with the slamming of a door. To my surprise, this time I got caught. I wasn’t caught in the act, but by surprise. This is what I mean. That day I was especially into my ‘special’ or ‘happy’ time. Usually, after I ejaculate into my boxers I would pull my penis out and use a fan to dry off the sweat and precum. This time I didn’t. I used up all my energy trying to cum, and I end up falling asleep after reaching climax.
My dad tells me that he was indeed avoiding me, not knowing how a conversation may go when a two year gap took place before it. It was on this day that he mustered enough courage to face his son and deal with him any problems that may have risen. It seems that my dad was hiding some problems as well, but that will be told later on.
It seems during my sleep, my dad comes in and sees the remainder of the video playing on the laptop, and finds me asleep with one hand on the mouse and the other down in my pants. I thought I got away with it, but upon waking up, I sensed another presence in the room and I’m startled by my dad, who is sitting on the bed waiting for me, and I notice that he has caught me red-handed (actually red and white handed, since I got some of the white semen on my hand as well).
Gert
- 16.05.2022
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