Those hands! Oh, God, Bobby's hands! My eyes opened just enough to see his handsome face. He was looking at me now, and smiling an angel's smile.

"You like this, Daddy?" he asked. I wasn't sure I had heard him right, but I nodded my head.

"Is it okay if I do it, Daddy?"

Although I seemed so far away, I heard myself whisper, "Okay, son...everything okay."

The face above me leaned down and gave me a sweet and tender kiss. My lips parted. His tongue darted like a little bird between my teeth. At the same time, I felt those magic fingers caressing my cock. The feeling! Oh, God! How good! I tried to lift my arm to pull him closer, but I could scarcely lift it off the table. His fingers became more insistent. My dick stood hard and trembled at his touch. The thumb of his other hand still pressed in that single spot on my neck. For only an instant he took it away, and lifted my hand to cup his balls in my palm. He had somehow wriggled out of his shorts. His privates were very silky and his dick completely soft.

I must have cried out because he lifted his lips away and pressed my neck again. "We have to be quiet, Daddy," he said. No one can ever know."

For an eternity of ecstasy, Bobbie caressed my cock, looking down fondly into my eyes, which spoke volumes in silent return for in those moments I loved him as much as if he had indeed been my own son. I felt the climax approaching, and Bobby's hand moved more quickly. He shifted his leaning position to a point where his head was above my loins.

I sensed the orgasm rising from my balls. My toes curled. My knees spread apart. My pelvis thrust forward with a heave, ready for the blast. The cum shot upward in a giant fount that struck Bobby hard under his upraised chin.

"Oh, Daddy!" he moaned hoarsely, and at that moment I felt a wetness pouring in a warm stream from his soft peter. He was peeing in my hand, his body arched so that the piss flooded over my belly and mixed with my spreading cum.

In the back of my mind I remembered a story told me by a San Francisco call boy about an old man who visited the city once a year and hired four hustlers to pee on him in golden showers in his bath tub at the St. Francis Hotel. I could not understand what pleasure the old man had taken in something so perverse, yet in those final moments with Kauai Bobby, I finally understood.

THE END