— Originally published in Torso magazine - August, 1996 —

— His Three "Sons" —

I met the Colonel in the park. Of course, I didn't know his rank when I first saw him, but I knew by the way he walked and carried himself that he was military. You can always tell when a man has spent years in the service, and you can tell an officer from an NCO, from the look of authority and bearing he has about him.

It was a Sunday afternoon in mid-December and the light snow that had fallen the night before kept the usual joggers indoors, so I had the park to myself. I try to get in an hour of running at least twice a week to augment the swimming and workout schedule I started when I was in college. I had on sweats with a hooded jacket and had done four laps of the park.

I had seen him a couple of times before, but there had always been other runners or people in the park. That Sunday, it was just the two of us. He had on a cashmere topcoat, a scarf around his neck and leather gloves. A dark, brown fedora covered his head, but I could see a mostly dark buzz-cut beneath the wide brim of his hat.

When I got to within four feet of him, I stopped, came to attention and gave him a snappy salute and said, "Good afternoon, Sir."

The habits of a lifetime are hard to break, and without even thinking, he stopped and raised his arm to return my salute. When his gloved hand touched the brim of his hat, a grin lifted the corners of his mouth and he said, "Damn! Am I that obvious, you smart-ass, young punk?"

"No disrespect intended, Sir," I said.

"You remind me of my two sons, but maybe five or six years older. They're wise-ass punks just like you, and they both salute me every time I tell them to do something. I'm William Bradford, Colonel, U.S. Army, Retired."

"Carl Franklin, Sir."

He walked over to a park bench and brushed off the snow. "Well, Carl Franklin, I'm going to sit and smoke a cigar and watch you run. When you're done, if you didn't have anything else to do, you're invited to lunch. There's a pot of chicken soup simmering on the stove, and a big bowl is just what you need to warm your wise ass up. How many more laps are you going to run?"

I thanked him and said I had two more laps to go and then headed off around the oval path that encircled the park, jogging a little faster, anxious to finish. While I ran, my mind was double-timing. The Colonel was a hot, mature guy. I guessed him to be about fifty, but his military bearing and his spit-shined appearance made him look ten years younger. He was at least six-foot-four, lean and angular. He had deep green eyes and his salt-and-pepper hair really turned me on. My dick started to bone up and tent the pouch of my jock.

I got back around to where he was sitting, puffing on a big cigar. My dick came to full attention in a salute of its own. I slowed down and decided to call it quits, but he shook his head and said I had another lap to go before I could stop. I followed his order, said, "Yes, Sir," and ran on. When I finished, I sat down on the bench beside him, breathing deeply, more from excitement than from the run. "Always finish whatever you start, Carl, even if it's just a run in the park. Now, let's get you home and get a bowl of my wife's soup in you."

That remark really threw me. I didn't know what to think. He read the expression on my face and said that his wife had died three years ago and that was why he had retired from the service. "It's just me at home now. But, I still like my walks in the park and I make her soup recipe when it snows, like she always did."

The Colonel lived a couple of streets from the park and as we walked along, he told me about himself. He was fifty-one and a graduate of West Point. After his wife died, he had gone through some bad times and decided to retire and write. His youngest son, Joe, was nineteen and had started college in September and was rooming with his older brother Mark, who was twenty. The Colonel said it was the first time in over twenty years that he had been alone. He was glad I'd accepted his invitation because he was downright lonesome for some company, especially some smart-ass punk company, to remind him of his boys.

He had a two-story, antebellum brick house furnished with period pieces and antiques, in one of the oldest sections of Richmond. There was a banked-down fire in his den and he poked and stirred it into flame and added more logs. The den was a man's room, the kind you would expect an Army Colonel to have. He said I could shower or just towel off. His oldest son was about my size, so I could borrow some of his things to wear while my sweats dried out.

I followed him upstairs and he laid out a T-shirt and a pair of gym shorts on his son's bed. I took off my sweats while he went to the bathroom to get me a towel. I was standing in my jock when he came back. "I smell pretty ripe. Maybe I should take a quick shower."

"No," he said. "You don't know how much I've missed the smell of a sweaty, young male body since my boys went back to school. You being here brings it all back, so let me enjoy it for a while." He touched my chest with the towel and started to dry me off. He rubbed my back and then squatted behind me, moving the towel between my ass cheeks and down over my thighs. He turned me around and when I faced him, he put the towel on the bed and ran his hands up my stomach. Sweat trickled down my abs in tiny rivulets soaking his fingers. My dick swelled up and jutted out the pouch of the jock, releasing waves of funky man-musk, trapped under the tight elastic.

His hands traveled down my thighs and he leaned forward and put his face against my hip, where the hair was sticking out the side of the pouch. His tongue snaked out and he licked the damp, sweaty hair. He reached behind me and grabbed my round, hard moons, pulled me hard against his face and slid his tongue under my jock. My cock throbbed and started to leak as he licked up and down my swollen shaft. He worked his nose into my pubes and inhaled the funky smell of my uncut cock.

He caught the leathery skin of my ball-sack with his teeth and tugged until one nut popped out of my jock, and then he closed his lips around the puffy, oval ball and sucked it into his hot mouth, bathing it with warm spit. He moved his face over my crotch, sucking on the dripping pouch of my jock. His nose nuzzled between my thighs and then up under my balls, covering his face with sweat, and then he licked up my belly, tonguing the hard, ripped plates of my abs.

He stood up and sucked mouthfuls of salty sweat off my chest as he chewed my tits, and bit down on my nipples so hard I let out a moan. He raised my arms and buried his face in my pits and lapped the sweaty dampness out of the tuft of matted, black hair. I ran my hands through the bristle of his crew cut and pulled his face down to mine. His green eyes shot sparks of fire as I covered his mouth and slid my tongue between his lips. I tasted his cigar and the sweat from my crotch and pit hair and the ripe, gamey flavors of my own funky dick. His face was covered with my smells and it turned me on so hard, my dick quivered and pumped beads of lube up my piss-tube. It leaked through the elastic of my jock and dribbled down the front of the pouch into the hand he had cupped over my hard box.

I tugged his shirt out of his pants and pulled it over his head, then I undid his belt and let his pants fall around his feet. He had on white boxer skivvies — military issue. The fly gaped open and his crotch was covered by the same salt-and-pepper hair that grew on his head and chest. I knelt down and helped him out of his pants and shoes. I pulled the fly of his boxers apart and kissed the hair sprouting around the base of his cock. The hard cylinder of his shaft bumped my chin as I licked and sucked on his cock hair. I reached down and put my hand on the inside of his thigh and felt his stiff rod trapped against his leg. I moved my hand down his shorts and closed my fist around the fat, meaty head hanging out of the leg band.

He was uncut and I slid my thumb into his foreskin and worked it around in the sticky lube under his overhang. The helmet head of his dick swelled even bigger, stretching the tight hood. I kissed the hard outline of his dick, working my way down nine rigid inches of meat, until my lips touched the wet, cheesy foreskin bunched up around my thumb.

I eased my tongue under the hot, loose sleeve and lapped on the twin lobes of his cockhead as I slid the ball of my thumb over the flaring, spoon-shaped top of his knob. Then I pulled my thumb out and slid my tongue around in circles over the head, licking his distended cock-lips and sucking out the bubbles of ball-juice that oozed up his piss-tube.

He was saddle-bagged in his shorts with his huge dick hanging down one leg and his fat, puffy ball-sack hanging down the other. I went back and forth between his thighs, sucking on his dick-stem and then sucking on the firm mound of his scrotes trapped in the white material until his shorts were dripping wet with my spit.

I reached up and caught the waistband of his shorts and pulled them down. His hard cock bounced up and jutted out from his hairy belly and painted my lips with warm, sweet lube. I opened my mouth and sucked until I had his hard fat dick buried down my throat to the thick base. His legs trembled as my hungry mouth moved up and down his shaft. He closed his hard, lean thighs around my face and then he started to buck his hips, fucking my mouth with long, deep strokes. I chewed and bit on the root of his dick as he pumped it deeper, and then, his hips pulled back, sliding the tree-thick pole between my lips, and I lapped and nipped at his fat, swollen knob.

He popped his cock out of my mouth, grabbed me under the armpits and pulled me to my feet. He walked me backward to the bed, flipped the spread and covers back and then eased me down on the sheets and climbed up on the bed between my legs. He put both hands on my jock and coated his fingers with the strings of clear lube leaking through the pouch. "I haven't changed the sheets on this bed since Mark went back to school. I come up here sometimes and lie down on his bed and smell the odors he and Joe and I left on the sheets the last couple of nights we slept in here."

I looked at him and grinned, realizing what he was telling me.

"It started about a year ago. I heard them in here horsing around one night, and I got up to tell them to pipe down and chase Joe back to his room. The door was ajar and I saw that they were both bare-assed. They'd been wrestling and were covered with sweat. Mark was sitting on Joe's chest, holding him down. Joe had a hard-on sticking up between his legs, pointing up Mark's back. By the sounds they were making and the way Mark was moving back and forth on Joe's chest, I knew what they were doing.

"A dozen things went through my mind. I was angry and hurt and full of self-doubt, wondering where I had gone wrong as a father. I wanted to storm in and stop them. But I stood there thinking that I couldn't force my rules or code of conduct on them. I had spent thirty years of my life in the Army, and they had just turned my world end over end. I had court-martialed guys in the service and given them dishonorable discharges for doing what I had caught my sons doing.

"But the main reason I didn't stop them was that I had the biggest boner I'd had in over a year. You might call me a hypocrite and I deserve it. I wish I could go back and undo all of the harm I did to those troops under my command, who had been sent back to civilian life in disgrace. I try to salve my conscience with the belief that it's better to realize your mistakes late in life, than never to realize them at all.

"I stood there watching as Mark reached back and wrapped his hand around Joe's eight-inch dick. Then, he turned around on top of Joe and went down on him while Joe continued to suck his dick. It was the first time I had ever seen either one of them up hard. Mark's dick is a carbon copy of mine; thick and fat and a full nine inches with a big, swinging nut-sack. Neither one of them is cut, because I wouldn't allow it. I knew how much I enjoyed my foreskin during sex, and I wanted them to have that same enjoyment," the Colonel said as he rubbed his hands over my jock, getting me hotter and wetter. His story about his sons had me right on the edge of unloading.

He pulled the waistband of my jock down and anchored it under my sex-swollen balls. My dick slapped back on my belly and he got his first look at my thick, uncut, ten-inch rod. He grinned and said, "Just like my two troops... uncut!" He wrapped his fist around my shaft and leaned over, taking the funky, sweaty, hooded head in his mouth. He slid my dick-skin back and let out a deep moan as the ripe knob popped onto his tongue. He lapped out my piss-hole and then sucked my meaty dick down his throat and clamped his teeth around the hairy base.

He slid his hands under me and grabbed the hard mounds of my butt, lifting my ass up and down to fuck his throat with my rigid bone. I was so close, I tried to pull him off my cock, but he wouldn't let go and kept pounding my sweaty crotch against his face. My dick throbbed and I started to blast off down his neck. He eased the shaft out of his throat and sucked on my gushing spout. He didn't swallow any of my load. Each time I shot a big creamy clot on his tongue, he opened his mouth and let it drip down my shaft, where it pooled up in the black pubes around the base of my meat.

He drained my nuts and then sat up. "Roll over and rub your belly on the bed. I'll be able to smell your load next time I get horny and come up here to sniff Mike's sheets. Suck my dick real slow and easy while I tell you how my horny sons put the make on their dad."

He laid down and spread his legs in front of my face. I thought he had shot his wad while he had been sucking on my dick, because his thighs were covered with long, silvery strings of lube. It dripped out of his foreskin and hung in the hair on his crotch like crystal threads. I docked my tongue under his hooded cowl and lapped out the sweet discharge that covered his hard, red knob.

"Yeah, eat on my dick. Rub your hands around on the sheets and see if you can find the dried cum tracks me and the boys left on them." I felt around and sure enough, I found hard, stiff circles where their puddles of starchy cum had dried. I eased off his dick and smelled their dried spooge, and then, I stuck out my tongue and licked the stiff spots, trying to get a taste of one of his sons' cum. I found a big stain, at least three inches in diameter, and sucked the sheet into my mouth. My spit got the spot wet and I could taste spunk on my tongue as the aroma and flavor of reactivated stud-cum filled my mouth.

I sucked everything I could out of the sheet and held the juices in my mouth and then I crawled up on his chest and put my mouth over his. His tongue slipped between my lips and I let him have a taste of the funky spit and jizz. "That smells and tastes like Joe's big, uncut beauty," he said. "Joe's the youngest, but he's the wild one. He's into grunge rock and he likes his sex a little grungy, too. He goes two or three days sometimes without washing out his dick-skin. Then he hauls that big, smelly fucker out and lets me and Mark go wild licking the hot, nasty funk out of his wicked foreskin."

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