Chester Marshall whistled on his rounds as he drove his milk wagon through alleys of the suburb, viewing the green backyards of the planned community. All the houses were the same in front, from the building designs to the sidewalks and windows and small tree in front on one side, the flowers on the right, but here along the back alleys, the inhabitants of the community could and did display their individuality. From the jungle gyms to the swingsets to the dog houses to the vegetable gardens, each house was distinct as a fingerprint to him, for he was their milkman and had been for close on to twelve years now.
He was coming up on the Armstrongs' home, one of his oldest clients and he remembered that time in 1952, some ten years ago when he, at the tender age of twenty, had fallen prey to that ubiquitous temptation of his trade, the lonely housewife. Sheila had been in her kitchen outfitted with latest of modern appliances, all appointed in blue tones, the electric stove, the refrigerator without the large coil on top of it, the cabinets all in matching shades, their tops coated with Lucite in lieu of marble, as was the floor, everything shining with chrome accouterments, the large mixer, the blender, the toaster, kept sparkling clean with Pine-Sol and Comet and Sheila in the middle of it, wearing the proper housewife skirts and blouses, and feeling lost in the midst of the many mechanical devices that had stolen her primary reason for her housewifely existence.
The handsome, square-jawed young stud all decked out in pure white pants, shirt, tie and cap, the brim bearing the words "Wholesoms Milk," who had brought in her three-times-weekly order of two quarts of whole milk, a pint of cream and a stick of Wholesoms Pure Butter, had caught her eye, his blue eyes, easy smile, well-filled-out work uniform, shining and clean and pure and so, so desirable. With her husband having left for work a bare twenty minutes before like clockwork, she had ample time to make the adjustment from housewife to seductress, and the young Chester had knocked and entered to the words "Come on in" at the kitchen door, had walked into the kitchen, to stop and stare at the buxom blonde in the soft pink translucent nightgown and gossamer silk overcoat of a darker pink, draped so that her ample bosom had shown to its greatest appeal. He had looked at her and had succumbed.
Ten years ago, now it was 1962 and the milkman was a dying breed. This particular suburb, however, clung to its traditions, and the Wholesoms Milk brand continued to reign supreme, the milk so fresh that it had been mooing less than twenty-four hours before it went into your refrigerator. The families living in the suburb had become somewhat older, now in their 40s to 70s, but they remained his customers and his job had remained unchanged in all but minor details for all those years.
Sheila hadn't been the only such lonely housewife he had spent his masculine virility on, but she had been the only one who had dared to get pregnant with his child, and brazenly present the boy to the world as her husband's legitimate son, even though Barron had Chester's blue eyes and bright red hair and square jaw, a miniature version of himself, whereas Sheila's husband was a myopic, skinny-armed, potbellied man who had brown eyes and black hair (what little was left of it) who spent most of his time at home in front of the TV set (black and white in 1952, color in this year of 1963), happily unaware of anything going on around him in his own home. Sheila had turned to other lovers, younger ones, now that Chester was no longer the barely adult football player turned milkman he had been. Her husband had been that jealous at least, he had told her, obliquely but revealing his knowledge, that the affair had to stop.
But while he was no longer her lover, he remained her milkman. Sheila had taken to being out of the kitchen while he made his deliveries, and he had accepted that new relationship in the manner of a man who has a good job and isn't going to throw it away because his customer was no longer his paramour, he kept on taking the milk order which had increased to four quarts per delivery plus fairly regular notes in the empty bottles he collected to "make it six quarts next time."
What he had in return was Barron, the lovely vivacious young boy he had become. While she had been out of the kitchen, he had entered one day and found the table occupied by a three-year-old version of himself seated eating the contents of a bowl of cereal with a bottle of Wholesoms Milk mostly empty sitting before him. It had been the first of many such visits, and the longer he came (each Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday morning), they interacted in increasing amity and comradeship.
Then had come the day in summer when Barron was nine, he had come to the house and kitchen (still bearing the same appliances, worn but still serviceable), and found the boy and his mother in the kitchen, rather to his surprise. Sheila had not aged well, her breasts had lost their integrity and drooped on her chest, her face was now lined and her makeup heavy enough to reveal that she had other problems she covered in a futile effort to retain her earlier beauty through the application of cosmetics in plentitude.
"Good morning, Ma'am." he said to her, the days of first names and such had long passed.
"Good morning, Chester." she said, with the proper decorum of a person addressing a worker in her home.
"Hiya, buddy!" Chester said to Barron, now nine years old. "How's it hanging?"
"Finest kind!" Barron replied. "I told Mom about your fishing trip this weekend and asked if I could go with you." It was July 2nd, and the 4th of July was this Monday.
Chester had mentioned the trip and said he wished the boy could come with him but hadn't quite extended the offer of being his companion. "Okay." he said for lack of any other answer.
"I've given this consideration, as has his father, and I think it'll be all right." Sheila went on. "Given this situation, I think we can agree with it, as long as he is back with us by Monday evening. I think my husband and I should have some time together, it'll be good for us."
"Well...terrific!" Chester had to fake a bit of it, but his enthusiasm was real, it just needed time to grow. He was going to have some time to hang with his son, something he had long ago decided to leave buried, and wouldn't even have to reveal himself to Barron while he did it! The boy was still young, after all, and the appellation of "bastard" was a heavy cross to bear.
"I'm ready to go!" Barron surprised him anew. "Got my bags packed and everything!"
"Oh...okay." Chester said. "Long as you don't tell my boss about it." He wasn't supposed to have passengers, but violations of such were common enough, one driver, Pete, drove one elderly customer to the supermarket every Monday and would pick her up on his way home with her groceries. His wagon had room for the boy to sit on a crate, in the place where a passenger seat in front could go.
Barron had different ideas, and he begged for the chance to drive the milk wagon. This was also not a foreign idea to Chester, many dads would sit their boy children in their laps and let them work the steering wheel while they drove along slowly and driving slowly was a part of his job duties.
He had to push his seat back a little to make room, as the steering wheel column was a huge stick between his legs when driving, the wheel sitting horizontal atop it, but Barron was happily seated and he could still reach the gas and brakes to drive along the alleys. He took charge of the wheel at the streets until they were across or when they had to veer around to drive back the way they came along another alley on his rectangular shaped delivery zone. Other than that, the wagon veered slightly as they drove, Barron steering them left and right happily as they bumped over the alleys.
Barron had loads of fun at the stops, helping Chester load his carrier with each house's delivery and helping him put the bottles in the refrigerators. The women he met on the trip were all entranced with Barron, remarking, "What a beautiful boy!" and "You must be proud to have such a wonderfully charming son, Chester!" Chester corrected them for a while, then gave up and let them call him Barron's father. It felt good, and Barron beamed to be called Chester's son.
Alleys are always in some state of disrepair and the boy's buttocks rubbed back and forth as they bounced along; Chester suffered the ignoble effect of the friction at his crotch that every man suffers from when anything at all keeps that area of his body busy; he had sprung up a sizeable erection by the end of his route. The longer he rode, the harder he got until it was making a rather prominent tent in the front of his white pants.
Mrs. Palmer, his last stop, even noticed it. "Oh, Chester, your son is your little helper, isn't he?"
"Yes, he's a born milkman like his father." Chester replied, having his responses ready by this time. "He can spot the difference between whole milk and skim milk quicker than I can and is loading my baskets for me. He can reach into the lower shelves on the fridges easier, too." Most people liked to keep the milk in the back of their refrigerator, where the cold air from the freezer portion flowed down and kept it colder. "And he drinks plenty of milk everyday, too!"
"My mom pours it for me three times a day." Barron said proudly. "I love the taste of Wholesoms Milk, it's delicious!"
"Why, he's a little salesman for the company, isn't he?" Mrs. Palmer beamed, and that was when she noticed. "Uh, Chester, are you having a problem?"
"Problem?" Chester said. Barron was looking at Chester, so she pointed at Chester's groin.
Of course he looked down. "Oh. Yes, a little problem, I guess. It happens now and then, to every man."
"That it does."
"What does?" Barron asked.
"Never mind." Mrs. Palmer ignominiously fled the scene of the combat, leaving Chester alone.
"What's wrong with your wee-wee, Chester?" he asked for Chester's tool hadn't softened in all this.
"It's nothing you won't find out when you're older." Chester said, flushing. This was 1963, after all. You didn't discuss such things. "Come on, Barron, it's time for us to go back to the company and then we'll be off to the fishing grounds in my car."
"We're not driving the milk truck there?" Barron queried.
"No, of course not." Chester had to grin at that. "I have my own car, I'll take the truck back to the company and park it there until I deliver again after the holiday." His company handled the holidays by changing the delivery days from Monday/Wednesday/Friday and Tuesday/Thursday/Saturday from one to the other after every holiday, which caused a number of complaints about non-delivery after every freaking holiday, despite every explanation of the method he could manage. There were notices given at each such, as well, which nobody ever bothered to read, it seemed.
"Awww." Barron was disappointed. "I wanted to drive the truck on the highway."
"It's not built for the highway." Chester laughed. "I have to drive the street now, so I'll need you sit on this crate over here (the missing passenger seat area) and hold still while I drive."
"All right." Barron was bummed by this, but complied. On the drive, he asked, "Chester?"
"Yes?"
"What happens to your wee-wee?"
"What happens?"
"What Mrs. Palmer pointed at. You were all swollen there. Doesn't it hurt?"
"No, it doesn't hurt, it's a normal thing for a grown-up, honest. You just usually don't have it happen in the middle of the day like that."
"So when does it happen?"
"Well..." How was he to answer this? He was in no position to teach the kid about the birds and bees, but hell, the boy had to learn some way or other and he knew Sheila and her husband well enough to know they wouldn't do it. "Mostly it happens when a man and woman are together. They kiss and they are close enough to touch each other and when a man is touching a woman that close with his wee-wee, it gets all stiff. It's the rubbing, you see."
"So why did your wee-wee get stiff?"
"You were sitting on my lap and bouncing around on it and that made it get stiff."
"Oh. So you don't need a woman to make it stiff."
"No. It gets stiff by rubbing with anyone you really like." Chester said.
"So, if someone you like rubs your wee-wee, it'll get all stiff." Barron replied.
"Exactly." Chester said with a sigh. He'd gotten his point across and not had to go all into the subject of sex. The problem was over, just in time to pull into the company parking lot.
Trouble was, it wasn't. Barron tagged along with Chester to the locker room where he kept his regular clothes, and stood watching him while he stripped off the crisp white uniform and put it in the bin to be washed for him. It would be washed during the day and dry and ready for him by the next morning.
As he got down to just his jockstrap, carrying the clothes in his arms to the bin, he felt Barron's eyes drilling into his crotch and damn it but the boner jumped back up. He dumped the clothes in the bin and turned around and Barron was staring at it.
"It's hard again." Barron pointed out.
"I know."
"But nobody is touching it."
"It also gets hard if someone is staring at it, sometimes." Chester said.
"Oh. Someone you like, you mean."
"Yeah."
"I like you, too."
Chester was back over to the boy and Barron reached out and his small hand cupped Chester's basket. Brushing the astonished/frozen man's balls, his hand slid up to feel out the long tool begging for release. "Gosh, yours is really swollen."
"It's not swollen." Chester gasped, breathless in his desire rushing through his body. "It's just wanting to play."
"I want to play, too." Barron said. "Can I play with it?"
Chester had no breath to speak at this request, he just nodded mutely. "Okay."
Barron smiled as he reached to grab the elastic waistband and tugged it down so that he could tuck it under Chester's balls and he regarded the thick organ happily. "Gosh, this is so big! A lot bigger than mine!"
"Yes, it, it gets bigger when it gets hard." Chester explained. "People have different sizes when it's hard."
"I bet yours is bigger than anyone else's in the whole world!" Barron stated, not in flattery but just stating his opinion.
"Mine's...a nice size." Chester agreed.
"How do I play with it?"
"There are lots of ways." Chester explained. "You want to grip it tightly."
"Like this." Barron squeezed his father's dong hard!
"Owww! Not that hard. Just a good grip on it."
Barron lessened his grip. "Like this?"
"Yeah. Now, move you hand back and forth while hanging onto it, the skin will slide about as you move your hand. Mmmmm, yeahhhhhhhh, like that. Mmmmmm, yeahhhhh, ohhhhhhh, yeahhhhhhhhhh!"
"This feels nice." Barron said as he jacked Chester's cock. "How else do I play with it?"
"Ohhhhh, ohhhhhh, uhhhhh, stop playing with it. Let me get dressed and we'll go to my car and I'll teach you some other ways to play, okay?"
"Sure!"
Chester had quite a bit of trouble stuffing his dong back into his trousers but he got them closed and zipped up after a while, by removing his jockstrap and stuffing the rock-hard shaft up against his body and fastening it in place with waistband. His dong that way damned near reached up to his navel, but his shirt camouflaged that. He walked to the car with some difficulty, Barron beside him hand-in-hand and skipping as they walked. Chester felt like everyone was staring at him, which they were, and staring right at the huge bulge in his pants, which they weren't. They were all looking with considerable mirth at their co-worker being saddled with a kid over the weekend, little realizing the fringe benefits that afforded.
In the car, he pulled out of the parking lot and drove a while, finding and driving down into a small country side-road, then from there to a cut path through the trees some lumber men had carved to take their trucks, the trucks had worn a path of two tire tracks with dead dirt between, and he drove down that until it curved and hid him from any possible view.
"Okay." he said as he turned off the car's motor. "Another way to play with my cock is to use your mouth on it."
"How do I do that?" Barron wondered.
"It's easy." Chester said, "First, let me put down my trousers for you." He unbuttoned the top button then unzipped and his freed pecker happily bounced out into clear view. Lifting his hips, Chester slid the pants down to his knees and pushed his car seat back far as it would go, then lounged back and said, "Okay, Barron, now what you do is put your mouth over the head and slide it down far as you can comfortably."
Barron did so and said, "Mf-mh?"
"Right. Now grip with your lips and move your head up and down like you were doing your hand."
Barron did this and after a bit of difficulty dealt with by added instructions ("work up your saliva and slick up my cock as much as you can" and "watch the teeth, you're scraping my peter, and that hurts!"), the boy did well. Chester moaned as the boy slurped on his pud, slipping up and down and driving him up the wall.
He felt his climax approaching and said huskily, "Now, Barron, I'm about to come. What that means is I'm going to shoot some warm white stuff out of my cock. Don't be shocked, just taste it and see if you like it, if you do, you can keep on sucking, if not, let go and it'll squirt out by itself."
"White? Like milk?" Barron lifted briefly from his sucking task to speak then dove back again.
Chester gave a wry chuckle, "Yeah, that's what it is, it's man milk, in a way. It's thicker than milk and salty but plenty of people like the taste of it. So keep sucking and I'll try to let you know when it is going to squirt out."
Up off his cock. "Like a geyser?" Back to slurping hard.
"Yeah," Chester said with feeling, "I'm going to shoot out hard several large globs and it'll shoot up into the air like a geyser if you don't catch it with your mouth."
"Okay." Barron kept sucking steadily then and Chester felt his climax rising in him.
"Okay," he panted huskily, "I'm about to, come now. Do you, want to, hold on?"
"Mm-hmm." Barron's face was a rictus of bliss, he loved the flavor and warmth of Chester's dong, combined with knowing he was making his good friend (father) happy, for Chester had been moaning harder and harder..
"Okay, okay, okay, here, I, come! AH-HAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Chester's cock exploded into Barron's hungry mouth and the boy, forewarned, sucked on it rapturously, his young throat bobbing up and down as he gulped down the hot, thick seed.
"Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!" Chester panted, his chest rising and falling as he heaved in air to fill his emptied lungs. "Oh, Barron, that was so fucking intense! Ohhhhhhh!"
"Mmmm, Chester, your milk is good! Did you like what I did?" Barron asked, craving more praise from his buddy (dad).
"Oh, yeah, you are a great cocksucker!"
"Cocksucker? Yeah, I'm a cocksucker!" Barron boasted. "The best cocksucker ever!"
"You sure are, but let's keep that between you and me, okay?" Chester recovered, tugged up his pants, scooted his seat back to position, and started the car, started the backing out to get out of the narrow truck path.
"Okay. I love drinking your milk, it's the best milk of all." Pause. "You forgot to zip up your pants." Barron pointed out.
"No, I didn't." Chester grinned at Barron who grinned back, scooted over to sit next to Chester and his hand found the flaccid dong and held it in his small hand. That was how he and Chester made the drive to his house.
Chester had already packed for the trip, so the process of loading the car was quick. They stopped for lunch at a joint on the edge of town and soon were on the road, heading for the mountain stream where Chester had his fishing cabin. While they made the trip, Barron sucked Chester's cock while he drove, and Chester had another climax, this one Barron released at the last second "so I can see the geyser." Chester spooged all over the steering wheel and himself, but the laughter of Barron was worth it.
The boy was tired and slept after supper, and Chester let him, the boy asleep in the single bed the cabin boasted, and thought, "This is my son and I love him. He will never know I'm his father, but I am and can be his friend and if he wants to, I can be his lover from now on."
His cock, having rested for a few hours, was raging to go for more, so he stripped off his clothes and crawled into bed. Barron was nude and Chester gently rolled the boy over onto his stomach and began to probe the boy's butt with his well-lubricated finger. Barron moaned, crooned in his sleep, but didn't seem to wake up, even when Chester put in his second finger, and later still, his third. Chester stopped then and went to sleep himself, his passion satiated (for a while) but the thoughts of the day to come.
He woke with Barron's lips on his cock and he pretended to stay asleep and enjoyed it but when he felt his cock was hard as steel, he "woke up" and rumpled Barron's hair. "Hey there, kid," he said, "you ready to learn another way to play? The one that's the best of all ways?"
"Sure." Barron was willing.
His little ass was already packed with the lubricant of the night before, and Chester applied some to his cock and probed it at the supine boy's soft, young ass. He watched the boy's face as he did so and Barron was smiling, gasped in pleased surprise as he touched the small anus with his glans. "You ready for it?" he asked.
Barron just nodded and Chester's dong slid in with ease, the boy moaning as his butt was impaled with Chester's long, impressive cock. He had nine inches and he kept pushing, with no feeling of tearing or resistance in the small bowels, and he stopped only when his pubic hairs were pressed against the small buttocks. "There!" he panted. "That's got all of it in you. How does it feel?"
"Feels good." Barron admitted. "Kind of weird but weird in a good way."
"Yeah. How about this?" Chester pulled his cock back about three inches and then shoved it back in to the hilt.
"Ohhhhh!" Barron gasped. "Good, feels good."
Chester repeated it again, faster.
"Ohhh, good, good!"
"Then you are going to really love this." Chester began to move in the boy without stopping, and the boy moaned and crooned and writhed as he was fucked by his father's warm, thick, lengthy dong, and Chester felt his own joy grow rapidly as he moved.
Barron was also rapidly reaching his own boyish climax, and he was obviously oblivious to the knowledge that his body could feel this way for he was thrashing and groaning that he felt amazing, he was astonished that his body could feel the rapture that was building up in him. "Oh, oh, oh!" he said. "I'm feeling weirder than ever now!"
"It's climax, it's what you feel when you come when you're my age!" Chester panted. "I'm going to come soon, too. Just let it happen, Barron, it's terrific!"
"Yes, it is! Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!" his young voice rose in passion. "Ohhhh!"
"Let it happen, it's time to come!" Chester coaxed him. "Oh, me, too. AHHH-AHHH-AHHHH!"
"OHHH-OHHH-OHHH!"
"GAH-HUNNNNNNNNHHHHH!" Chester again pumped hot jizz from his cock into his son's body.
"OHHH, OHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Barron reached the first climax of his young life and he squirmed about like a boy possessed as his ass was loaded full of hot man-goo!
Done, panting, Chester lay atop Barron, keeping the brunt of his weight on his elbows, and his son's arms around him. They kissed slowly, in the exhausted soft manner of two who have shared the ultimate in pleasure and bonded in a way that can never be broken.
"That was awesome." Barron sighed.
"Yes, it was." Chester agreed.
"Your milk is even better when you put it up there. Gee, Chester, I wish you were my real Daddy." Barron sighed.
"He can never know," Chester thought. "I wish I were, too," he said. "But Barron, I can promise you this. I'll always be around nearby. Whenever you want me, I'll be right here."
"Giving me more of your milk. That's the best thing of all." Barron replied after thinking about it.
They had another full day and bit of another alone. They could turn those stolen hours into a lifetime.
He dropped the boy off on Monday and Sheila stood beside him as Chester drove away.
"I'm going to miss him." Barron said.
"Don't worry, honey, he's the milkman. He'll come tomorrow as always."
"Yeah." Barron said. "The milkman's going to come a lot from now on."
And Sheila didn't understand the real reason her son was smiling so wide when he said that.
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