The Way It Used To Be - Blake & Ben (Part 11) - Sex Stories

The Way It Used To Be - Blake & Ben (Part 11)

... "Ben, what's wrong? Is it something I did? If it is, I'm so sorry. Please don't go. I'm sorry if I've been a pissy bitch. I just..." He cuts me off by putting his right index finger over my lips. I almost melt instantly. Any kind of physical touch, especially something intimate like this, from Ben sends shivers up my spine. "You haven't done anything," Ben says. "Just the thought of your father pisses me off. Plus, after decking him in the face not once but twice, I'm sure he doesn't want to see me anymore than I want to see him." I smile at him. I can't help it. He's my protector, alright. With a sarcastic bow and a British accent, Ben says, "Young Blake, it's been an honor serving as your butler. But, I must be off." I laugh under my breath and pull him towards me for a kiss before he can walk through the threshold. He returns the kiss and playfully slaps my ass. I can't help it, I thrust my groin at him as little Blake begins to pop up to say hello. Ben backs away from the kiss, grabs my crotch and winks at me before saying, "Stay golden, Pony Boy." My favorite line from the movie, "The Outsiders." With that he backs out the door. Suddenly, the door opens, quickly. He pokes his head back in. "Oh, yeah... I love you," he says. "Love you, too, Ben," I say in return. He smiles and closes the door again. I turn back around and can't help but notice I'm sporting a nice "tent" in my red Adidas basketball shorts. "Damn it, Ben," I say under my breath. I take a detour through the ...

... hallway, and make my way up the stairs to my bedroom, slowly. I'm not about to walk back into the living room to greet my mother with a hard on. I am a gentleman after all. I can't help myself, I bust up laughing at that little comment I just made in my head. Blake Abel Foster - Two Days Later I'm sitting on the couch texting Ben and watching an episode of Red Band Society off the DVR in the living room when the front door opens. In walks my father with a suitcase and a duffle bag draped over his shoulder. I look up as he eyes me and solemnly says, "Hey, bud." I'm a little taken back at the comment. Hey, bud? Sure is different from the hateful gay slander he had spewed at me the last time we spoke - before the wreck. "H-hey, dad," I stutter. He drops his duffle bag and suitcase and places them on the floor next to the door. He places his hands in his pocket and walks over, rather shyly, towards me. He reaches the couch and just stands there, hands in his pockets, shoulders raised a little bit like a shy child. I'm confused as hell. What is with him? I've never seen him like this before. He removes his hands from his pockets and motions for me to stand up. Shit... what is he doing? I oblige and stand up. Upon closer inspection of his face, I realize it is tear streaked and his eyes are moist. He grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me into his embrace. He begins sobbing. I can only tell he's sobbing because his whole upper body is shaking the way people do when they are crying ...