In his Daddy's Shadow - 1. Chapter 1

The name on my birth certificate reads Claude Raymond Barnett. I absolutely hate the name Claude. How could my parents have cursed me like that? As soon as I’m legal, I’m changing it to Charles or Carl or Casey. Then I won’t have to alter my initials. It doesn’t matter what name I use, as long as it isn’t Claude.

I shouldn’t be so uptight about it. Nobody, outside of my home, calls me Claude anyway. It all depends on how you look at things to figure out if I’m lucky or unlucky about that. You see, my father is a famous movie star. He’s an action hero. In every movie he portrays a different person, but the plot never varies. He’s an ordinary guy, minding his own business, when he inadvertently gets caught up in espionage, a murder, or some other kind of mayhem. Of course, he constantly must evade the menacing antagonist. He keeps the audience on the edge of their seats, and he scares them half to death, in the process. He always manages to solve the crime before the police do. No matter how many fights and cliffhangers he survives, in the final scene he always looks absolutely handsome, and he gets the girl as well.

Dad’s face is recognizable all over the world, and therein lies my problem. I live in his shadow. The only name I am ever called by anyone is, Gary Barnett’s boy. In case you’re wondering, Gary Barnett is my dad’s real name. I wish I was Gary Jr.

Every so often, someone refers to me as, “Marianna’s boy.” My mother is one of the world’s leading fashion models. Her beautiful face is very well known also. I am not referred to as Marianna’s boy as often as Gary Barnett’s boy, but it happens occasionally. Little known fact. My mother was born Marian Cohen.

Dad’s shadow hangs over me like a cloudy, stormy sky. As a result, I sometimes think that I don’t really exist on this planet. Nobody seems to know my real name anyway, so I abide having it for now, but I still intend to change it someday.

When both your parents are rich and famous, you need to be protected. I have my own private body guard. How neat is that? Vincent is a great guy. I really like him. His wife is dead, and he has a son who was born on the same day as I was. His name is James. I wanted to cry when I heard how lucky James was that his parents didn’t give him a nerdy name like mine. I didn’t meet James until I was a junior in high school. It was just a little bit past my (our) seventeenth birthday. I attended a posh private prep school, and frankly I didn’t care to be friendly with anyone else who attended that school. They were all a bunch of snobs.

It happened at spring break. My dad had to go to Vancouver to shoot some action scenes, and my mom had to go to Montreal to model in a fashion show. If Vincent was to protect me twenty-four-seven, then James would be alone. Vincent was shaking in his boots when he got up the courage to ask my dad if James could stay with us during the break.

He had no reason to fear asking my dad. Vincent couldn’t know, of course, but both my parents came from very humble roots. Neither of them was uppity at all. In fact, my dad was delighted. He even told Vincent that it bothered him that I had so few friends, and he hoped that we two boys would hit it off, and be good company for each other, especially since he and my mom would be away at the same time.

Early, on the first morning of spring break, Vincent and James arrived. My folks were both being driven to the airport by a limo service, which was already waiting for them. Mom gave Vincent some last-minute instructions, and off my folks went. I took one look at James, and my soul soared into the stratosphere. God, he was so handsome. Not only did he resemble his father, he was also fully matured.

I have been told that I’m very handsome. I resemble my father also, and he’s drop dead gorgeous. But looking at James, I felt like a gargoyle. I guess it’s time to reveal why James bowled me over. I’m gay. I’ve known that to be a fact for a couple of years now, even though I’m still a virgin. My sexual fantasies all concern men and boys. The fantasized boys are usually about my age.

I’m just at the beginning of my seventeenth year, but I’m fully matured, like James. I’m six feet two inches tall, the same height as my dad. My hair is almost as blond as it was as a child. It has hardly darkened. I’ve seen my dad naked, and I know he isn’t cut, but I am. He and I are both about four inches flaccid. I’ve never seen my dad hard, but I’m a grower, and I reach seven and a half inches. I’ve measured myself when I jerk off and I am fully aroused. I wonder if it will grow larger when I have real sex.

As soon as I was too old for a crib, my parents furnished my extra-large bedroom with two standard sized beds. They figured that it would be convenient for sleepovers with friends. Much to their disappointment, I never asked a friend to sleep over, and nobody asked me. James would be the first boy my age to sleep in my house.

The plan was for James and his father to occupy one of the guest rooms. There was only one queen-sized bed in that room, so I was emboldened to say, “There are two beds in my bedroom, James. Why don’t you bunk in with me? The guest room and my room both have private bathrooms, so everyone will be more comfortable.”

James was quick to take me up on my offer, and he seemed to be as delighted as I was. He smiled at me, and he became even more beautiful. I dared hope. You know what I dared hope? I prayed something would happen between us. I am a dreamer, and a hopeless romantic.

“Let’s go have breakfast, guys,” I suggested. “Then I’ll take you to my bedroom, James, and you can settle in.” Even though Vincent had slept over in the guest room a few times before, I asked him, “You know where the guest room is, don’t you, Vincent?”

“Sure thing,” he answered. “I’ll be fine. Just take care of Jimmy for me.”

So, he called James, Jimmy. That sounded too childish for a hunk like James. I decided I would call him James. Suddenly, I bummed out. I’d have to admit to him that my name was Claude. I decided to ask him to call me Barnett. Hell, if he wanted to, he could call me, Barney. More hell, he could call me to sleep with him in his bed if he wanted to.

Finally, my social graces kicked into gear. I extended my hand to shake his. “Please,” I said. “Call me Barney. All my friends do,” I lied. “It’s a corruption of my surname.”

He shook my hand, and I felt his strength. “Please call me Jim,” he said.

I could live with Jim, but never Jimmy.

We all sat down at the dining room table, and the cook started to serve us breakfast. Let me tell you about our cook, Carolyn. She’s about twenty-six, and a truly beautiful woman. She moved to L.A. from a small town in Central Florida for the same reason thousands before her had moved to tinsel town. She wanted to get into the movies, and she set her goal on stardom. Most unemployed actors wait tables. God knows, there are enough restaurants in L.A. to keep all of them busy. Carolyn was smarter than that. She certainly wasn’t going to wait tables.

She had graduated from culinary school, but she had no desire to be a chef. She didn’t want to have to work nights, with little or no evenings off for socializing. She registered with an employment agency, and was willing to take any job as long as she didn’t have to wait tables. Fate was on her side. The agency sent her to be interviewed by the famous fashion model, Marianna. Carolyn knew that Marianna was married to an even more famous movie star. The celebrity couple were looking for a live-in cook.

The moment she was made aware of that, Carolyn revealed her background in culinary arts to the agency, and off she went to the interview. Both my dad and my mom interviewed her. My handsome, happily married father, was more than attracted to her, and she got the job.

After a few weeks, she cajoled him into helping her get an acting job. He put her in touch with his agent, who was able to get her a few walk-on parts as an extra. She had a line of dialogue in Dad’s latest movie. What she said roughly translated to, “They went that-away.” Apparently, she didn’t impress the powers that be, and the agent could do no more for her.

Carolyn was the only sleep-in servant we had. Our cleaning help were all day workers, and Vincent only slept over when both my parents were out of town. It was rare for them to be away at the same time, so Vincent’s sleepovers were very occasional.

I told you, my parents are not snobs, and Vincent often ate lunch and dinner with us. The day Carolyn started, and he met her, I could see his eyeballs pop. Even though he was fifteen years older than she, Vincent had the hots for our cook. He flirted with her openly, with his heart on his sleeve. Subtlety was not his strong point. She even consented to go out with him on a date a couple of times.

The morning my folks went away, and Vincent and James moved in with us temporarily, Vincent was even bolder than usual where Carolyn was concerned. He flirted with her shamelessly. Knowing that they would be living under the same roof for about two weeks, I decided to keep my eyes open for hanky-panky between them.

After breakfast, Vincent went to his room, and I took James, and his suitcase, to mine. It was time for me to begin my seduction.

*****

I made ample room for James’s stuff in my closet, dresser, and bathroom. When he was settled, I sat down on my bed, and he sat down on the bed I had assigned him.

“It’s early,” I said. “Any suggestions about what we can do today, Jim? Do you have anything in mind?”

It turned out that James was far bolder than I could ever be.

“Well,” he answered me, “I’m gay, Barney, and my gaydar is pinging away. If you’re gay also, we can make wonderful music together these next two weeks. If I’m wrong, you can relax, I won’t do anything inappropriate, and we’ll go anywhere you want to. If you prefer, we can go our separate ways during the day.”

“That won’t work. Your father is obligated to protect me. He won’t like leaving you on your own,” I said, trying to sound practical.

I expected to seduce James, but he did all the work for me, succinctly and without fear. I could only admire him. I jumped up and wrapped my arms around him.

“You’re not wrong, Jim,” I said, “I am gay. Why in the world do you want to have sex with me?”

“Good God, man, don’t you know how hot you are?”

“I’m out of your league when it comes to sex appeal. You’re the hot one.” I was shaking so much, I could only mumble.

James placed his lips on mine, and we had our first tentative kiss. It was a dry one.

“Jim,” I said in a whisper, “I’m a virgin. Have you had any experiences?”

“I’m as virgin as you are,” he said.

Somehow, I was relieved when he told me that. I hoped that he wasn’t lying. “We’ll have so much fun learning together tonight,” I said.

“Do we have to wait until tonight?” he asked.

“Yes, I don’t want your dad to walk in on us accidentally. Let’s wait until after lights out.”

*****

We asked Vincent to take us to see my dad’s latest movie that afternoon. It was rated triple X because Dad had a nude scene. It was from the rear, and only his bubbly backside was revealed. He didn’t want me to see the movie because he didn’t think it was seemly for his son to see him that way. Vincent took us to the movie without hesitation or reservation.

At the point where my dad’s ass was revealed for all the world to see, James whispered in my ear, “I’d love to rim that delectable bubble.” I didn’t comment. It was my father’s ass, after all.

After the movie, Vincent treated James and me to ice cream sodas, and the first afternoon came to an end. I was a little closer to losing my virginity.

Carolyn made us a wonderful dinner, and as she was cleaning up, James and I excused ourselves.

“We’re going to play some board games in my room,” I lied.

Vincent seemed content to let us go, and he stayed behind to help Carolyn. I had a suspicion that Vincent was going to get lucky tonight, and every night for the next two weeks. I wasn’t jealous. I was going to get lucky also.

James and I ran to my bedroom and closed the door. Unfortunately, there was no lock. We fell into each other’s arms and began to kiss. This time, the kisses were soulful and very wet.

“How do we start?” James asked.

I didn’t laugh at him. I was just as naïve as he was.

“I’ve read plenty of gay literature on the internet,” I said. “The guys always start by taking a shower together, and getting acquainted with their bodies. We’ll have to stick to blow jobs tonight. I don’t have any condoms.”

“We’re both virgins. I swear I’m telling you the truth. Why do we need condoms?” James asked.

“Just for sanitary reasons,” I answered. “Tomorrow I’ll search my dad’s dresser drawers. He must have some. If I don’t find any, I’ll just tell your dad that I need to get some stuff in the drug store, and ask him to drive us to one. I have my own car, but he’ll never let me go alone. Now enough talk. Let’s begin.”

Naturally, we checked each other out in the shower. James was about six feet even, so I towered slightly above him. He was not cut like I was, but we were about the same size, both flaccid and hard. Inwardly, I sighed with relief. Young boys are so size conscious.

I didn’t expect to do anything in the shower except to mutually bathe our bodies, but we ended up staying under the cascading water for about two hours. We kissed every part of our anatomies, until we were sure we hadn’t missed a spot. Then we fell to our knees, and we sucked each other alternately until each of us came twice. Neither of us expected cock to taste so good, and cum to taste even better. We knew instinctively that we would enjoy it more in bed, but we were so aroused, we couldn’t discipline ourselves to interrupt our sex play, get out of the shower, and go to bed.

Finally, we crawled into one bed together. We wrapped up tightly in each other’s arms, and I began to think that I might have fallen in love with James. I quickly put that thought out of my mind, because I remembered something I had read somewhere. A person always falls in love with whoever takes his virginity, but it ain’t necessarily love.

As we fell asleep, James murmured in my ear, “Thanks, Barney, this has been the greatest night of my life.”

“Me too, Jim,” I said.

*****

The following morning, we met Vincent in the dining room. We were all looking forward to one of Carolyn’ delicious breakfasts. When I got there, I realized that something was missing. I couldn’t smell any wonderful culinary aromas coming from the kitchen, and Carolyn was nowhere to be seen. Where was she?

“She must still be asleep,” I surmised. “Stay here, guys. I’ll go wake her up.”

“I’ll go,” Vincent said.

“No, it might not be wise for you two to be in her bedroom alone.” I said.

“Then let’s all go wake her up,” James suggested. “It’ll be fun. We’ll all yell, Good Morning America at the same time.”

The three of us crept stealthily to her room. Her door was ajar, and even though I knocked gently, it swung open. What we saw caused all three of us to scream. Carolyn was lying naked in a very bloody bed. She was on her back and fully exposed. A large knife protruded from her chest. She appeared to be quite dead. We owned a set of custom made steak knives, and I recognized the hilt of the knife immediately. It was engraved with a single word, Barnett. The knife was definitely one of ours.

Vincent began to whimper. “Some bodyguard I am. Gary will surely fire me.”

“No, he won’t,” I said, and I clutched Vincent’s hand.

“Carolyn and I had sex last night after you two went to your room,” Vincent said. “My DNA is all over the place. I swear, she was alive and well, when I returned to my room. What’ll I do?”

In answer to his own question, he whipped out his cell phone and dialed 911. James and I grabbed our hands and held on tightly. All I could think of was that this was like one of my dad’s movies, and if he were here, he’d already be on the case, tracking down the murderer.

James and I were still teenagers. It’s hardly likely that we could emulate the action hero in my dad’s films, but Vincent could, if he didn’t get arrested.