Best Friends Son (3)

Best Friend’s Son (III) Burt’s Son – Part Three

I stayed away as long as I could, running errands – four hours at least . I decided to fuck the Hy-Vee and headed to the fancy part of town. Butcher I knew. Hungry fucking pig. Loved good meat. If you get my meaning.

“Drew,” he nodded, eyes twinkling.

“I’m here for the meat, Rush,” I said.

“So am I.”

“Two rib-eyes. Best cut you got.”

“Hot date?” he said.

“Kinda,” I nodded, suddenly uncomfortable.

He stopped. “What does that mean?”

“Dude it’s … “ then I looked at him. “It’s important.”

“How important?” he prodded, but it was the prod of a friend. A man with whom you shared intimacy. There was a bond. There always is with the good ones. The good men that you connect with.

“It’s the most important dinner of my life,” I said, not even considering how melodramatic that sounded.

“Well … hell,” he mused, scratching his bearded face. “Never thought I’d see the day.” He turned, heading into his cold storage. When he returned he was carrying the most beautiful set of ribs I’d ever seen, slung over his shoulders.

He cut two – then two more.

“The first two are on me. You gotta pay for the second two. Save ‘em for your engagement.”

I blushed, standing there, trying to stay in the moment – trying not to be stupid.

He wrapped the steaks with care, I paid, and then he came out from behind the counter, grabbing my hand, pulling me into his thick, squat frame.

“I hope it goes well, Drew,” he said, in a whisper that only we could hear. I held him – hadn’t been this close to available man-flesh all summer. I needed his strength and he sensed it, tightening his hold on me. Finally I pushed away. I was flushed. “Thanks.”

He just smiled this big smile of high wattage and said, “Man it looks good on you.”

“What?” I said, confused.

“Love.”

Then he turned: “Next customer.”

By the time I got to the car, which I could barely find, I’d developed an acute case of low-grade blue-balls, the likes of which I’d never experienced before. It was like my crotch had suffered this terrible earthquake and now, periodically, and unpredictably, my balls would rumble with an after-shock; in some cases causing minor discomfort, in others, more extreme shudders of agony.

As for Rush the Butcher’s comment, I chose to believe it existed in another space-time continuum, one where I had absolutely no feelings of predatory lust for my best friend’s son. Or love. Or both.

Like I said, I was fucked.

I finally got back late afternoon. The k** was nowhere to be found and I was suddenly concerned, but then I opened the basement door and heard the huffing of what sounded like a wildebeest. I walked down to the basement, slowly. The k** was shirtless, headphones on, doing flies on the bench. He was covered in sweat. His shorts dripped – the floor was soaked. But, to his credit, he’d kept the gym neat and clean – other than the funk, which, between you and me, I was just fine to inhale.

“k**,” I barked, and he jumped about a foot in the air.

“Shit, Drew,” he said, dropping the weights. “Scared the fuck outta me.” He pulled the earbuds out. He was breathing hard. His body was impossibly pumped, precisely the last thing I needed to see. I held on to the railing, bracing myself for a huge aftershock – you know, the kind that does more damage than the original quake.

“You been working out – since I left?”

He nodded, still huffing, looking at me look at him. He caught it, I think: maybe it was his state – on high alert, body pushed to maximum. But I swear to God he caught the rush of him that washed through me the minute I laid eyes on his pumped frame. He saw me clenching, bracing for the testicular shudder that was rumbling in the distance, gathering power.

“What time is it?” he asked, stretching now, finding awareness of his attractiveness, exploiting it.

“Nearly five.”

“Damn,” he said, shaking his head. “Lost track of time – you were right. I needed this.”

“Should be careful – don’t hurt yourself.”

“Be okay, Unc. Just finishing up.” He turned, bending over to grab the weights.

“What’d’you call me, k**?”

“Huh? Oh – Unc. Uncle. That’s what me and dad call you sometimes. Uncle. Don’t know why I never called you that to your face.”

I just nodded.

“I’m gonna unload the car, then lay down for an hour or so. I’ll be down later to start dinner.”

“Sure thing,” he said, “You need help? Sir?”

“No, I got it – you bought. That means I unload. Rule of the house.”

By now he had turned. He was smiling, beginning his curls, biceps bulging. I was looking – couldn’t not look. Figured I had to front it – so I did.

“Lookin’ good, k**,” I said, giving him the eye. “Looking real good,” I said, deep-voiced, heading up the stair.

It was smooth. Real smooth – just the perfect ambiguous but not so ambiguous tone. And then the aftershock hit, and I buckled near the top stair, tripping and then catching myself. He saw me falter, jumped to the bottom of the stair.

“You okay, Unc?” he asked, actually concerned.

“Just a cramp, k**,” I said, legs shaking. I could feel his eyes on me. I stood, in serious pain, and headed up to my room. I downed three Tylenol, threw myself on the bed, and willed myself to be still – be quiet – seek serenity. My balls throbbed but I breathed through their agitation. Then, surprisingly I slept, though fitfully. I woke with a start about an hour later. The house was quiet. Then I heard him rambling around the kitchen.

The blue-balls had retreated. Instinctively I knew I had to keep moving. So, that’s what I did. I showered – spent about thirty seconds worrying about an outfit, then realized I had to wear just what I would have worn on a summer night in August. The Tee fit perfectly – you could see the hair matted underneath – I hadn’t worked out as long as the k** had, but I was still looking tight. Feeling fucking good. The ratty board shorts were my favorites – low slung, so the crotch-hair was visible, and thread-bare. And I free-balled. I would normally – therefore I would tonight.

When I hit the kitchen he was standing there, smiling. There was only minor chaos, but on the counter was a well chopped salad.

“I made a salad,” he said, but he said it like he was God and had just created the universe. “And a dressing,” he showed me, in a Ball Jar that he found in the pantry. “I found a recipe on line.”

He was a ten-year-old, holding his first caught fish.

He was sixteen, and had just bagged the last out, winning the game.

He was standing in my kitchen, muscles thick, face open, smile wide, beaming. It was overwhelming the joy he was projecting – but I also sensed its fragility. He was trying – he was tired of failing. He was scared shitless, too.

“Come here, k**,” I said, hugging him. “Nice work.” He gasped, grabbing me with one arm, trying to figure out how to express himself. I patted him on the back, rubbed his head, and then pushed past him, and … began the show.

I showed him how to season the steaks.

How to fire the grill.

How to work the coals.

How to bank them – when they were ready, then all the other dinner prep – getting the table ready.

“Once they’re on – you gotta be ready to go, k**. Nothing kills a barbecue like a cold piece of meat.”

He stayed close. Not so close as to be obvious – but not a normal distance, either. It was comfortable, though. We were easy – like we had been when he was in his p*****ns, camping with his dad. Before he’d gotten his balls and had gotten all fucked up.

I threw the steaks on the grill and we were off.

“First thing you gotta do is be patient. Don’t fuck with ‘em. I’m getting a coke – you want a beer, k**?”

“No – I’ll have a – no. I’m fine.”

“Hair of the dog, son. Sometimes it helps.”

“Naw. I don’t want to – you know. Get drunk. Not tonight.”

I looked at him.

“Plus – you ain’t drinking. So – I don’t want to be either.”

“Son – you don’t have to hold back, just because of me.”

“Don’t I?” he asked, honestly, looking straight at me, learning how to communicate, gaining confidence in our interaction.

“Sprite?”

“Yeah. Coke gets me wound up.”

“We can’t have that now, can we,” I said, touching him. It was a father’s touch. It was more.

I walked into the kitchen in a daze, forgetting why I was there. Then remembering the soda cans – coming back out on the porch with this sense of peace that I’d never experienced. I’d never had a guy just not drink with me – except his dad, of course, in the early days, but once I got it under control, it was under control.

But tonight – up on my bed – before I slept – for the first time in months I thought about calling my sponsor. I was nearly hyperventilating, thinking of the beer in the frig – but I fought it back. Like I’d trained myself to do. And when I woke up – no such urges. Still, I was on dangerous emotional ground and so my alert about alcohol had to be high. And here he was not pulling out a bottle. Not sucking on it. Not tempting me.

Here he was – being a good man at the right time.

And a good k**, too – sweet. Kind.

“Thanks, k**,” I said, needing to acknowledge him – needing to learn my own means of communication with this new young man.

“For what?”

“For not drinking. I been feeling a little … unsteady – so not having beer in my sights kind of helps. I appreciate you thinking about me.”

He blushed.

“It’s hard to imagine you unsteady, Uncle Drew,” he said, looking at his feet.

“We all have our weaknesses, son.”

“You don’t seem to have any,” he said, kind of whispering.

“Oh I do,” I said, looking at him. “I do.”

I popped the can and pumped it down, needing the small rush of sugar and caffeine to clear my head. “So – it’s been about four – five minutes. Now we check.”

They were perfect.

I flipped them. Taught him now to criss-cross. Really basic shit, but he was a blank slate – eager to soak up anything from me – his guard was down.

“How do you know when they’re done.”

“It’s a mystery,” I smiled, but then explained. The science. The art. The touch-test.

Then they were ready. We let ‘em rest, covering them with foil. “Ya gotta do this, k** – let ‘em sit. You’ll never know the difference until you just start eating them straight from the grill, but don’t. They keep cooking when you rest ‘em. The juices get all … well, fuck, I don’t know what the fuck happens. Just let the steaks rest. They’re better when you do.”

We finished the table, served the sides, then dove in.

k** didn’t say much during dinner, what with him feeding his muscles and all. Can’t even remember what he wore. Didn’t matter. All I know is he smelled fresh – clean – and looked fantastic all shaved up with an actual face that you could actually see – and read. The balls started rumbling again.

“So good,” he said, chomping on the steak. He was slathering his potato with butter. Those days were gone for me. He saw it, took a big cut and plopped it on mine. “Come on, Unc – live a little.”

“Trying to keep the weight off,” I said, smiling.

“Fuck the weight. Thick is good am-I-right?” he said, showing his swole. I spit out my potato.

“I mean – fuck – you already don’ drink – may as well have some butter.”

I couldn’t stop laughing.

Night fell. I turned off the lights and a candle I had lit bathed us. He got all glittery. It was another wrong choice. Fuck.

“This is nice,” he says, catching the vibe that maybe this was a bit more than just two dudes eating, and I smile at him, nodding.

“You ain’t saying much tonight,” he says, looking at me, throwing me “The Puppy” which the fucker seemed to have picked up pretty quickly.

“Not much to say. Sometimes silence is the best way to communicate.”

He thought about that a bit, chewing. Then he smiled at me, this big lux smile – the k** had smiles he’d hidden all summer. With the beard gone they all came out – each one killer in its own way, especially to a lonely old fuck like me that had suddenly lost his life-line and was freeeeefalling.

“Never thought of that. You make me think, Unc. More than anyone I ever met.” He gave me another smile. I was getting crushed.

Dinner was done. Like I’d said earlier, I had to keep moving. All I wanted to do was hold him, curl up on the couch – in other days I would have pulled a smoke. The urge to drink came back and the ice got thinner. He cleared the table.

“You cooked – so I clean. New rule of the house,” he said, imitating my voice perfectly. I choked on my Coke. I rose, laughing. “k** – you made the salad. I’ll help.”

“How’dya like the dressing.”

Again that sound – half challenge, half expectation. I paused. But then he lightened up. “It was a little sour to me,” he said, honestly. Suddenly I had a lifeline – at least for this part of the conversation. “I like it with a kick,” I said, evading, but also being honest. “Next time – it tastes like that – just add a little honey. We got some.”

“See,” he stops, plates in his hand. “Like – how do you know that, Unc? Like – that’s right – fuck it didn’t taste right to me, either, and I followed the recipe – but you know –“

“Practice, k** – like all things in life – practice. Not all recipes taste good to you – no matter how much you follow ‘em. Some bitter old bitch working in New York City probably came up with that recipe – maybe she ain’t been fucked for a decade and so her only entertainment is vinegar. Whatever – just learn to trust your tongue. Honey counters vinegar. They go perfect together. It’s just something you learn – like right now. You won’t forget. Next time you make a dressing, you’ll have that up your sleeve. Experience.”

It was like I was fucking Moses and had just delivered the tablets.

He was about to say something and then he just shook his head, said, “Thanks,” and got to work.

I couldn’t be in close proximity. Too dangerous. In the light his perfectly muscled perfectly thick body was a perfect fucking magnet. I’d never felt this way before – so completely wound up, focused, needful. He was prey and partner, man and family – brother’s son and young gay man, needing direction, tenderness, brute force and manhood.

I retreated. It was all I could do – otherwise I would have grabbed him, held him, pushed into him, and taken control of a journey only he could navigate.

“Gonna go flip on the tube, see what’s on.”

He nodded, deep in his own thoughts. I caught the tremble – the changed breathing. I let him be. Knew I needed to. Like I had all night I followed my instincts. In the den I sprawled on the couch, owning my space but not walling it off. I surfed. Can’t remember a thing I looked at. Not at all. The urge to drink came back with a vengeance, and then he was there, with a coke. A fresh one.

“Here – for you.” The gift was simple. Stoic. Like he knew.

“Thanks.” My mouth was dry.

“Whaddya wanna watch,” I said, throwing him a lifeline – but he didn’t take it.

“Nuthing – I mean – whatever.” He was sitting, purposefully, arms crossed. At war with himself. I realized again that he wanted me to make the move. Or, fuck, I don’t know: maybe he was testing me. Whatever – I wasn’t gonna do it. I surfed. We laughed a bit at some fucked up show. I kept surfing. He breathed deep. I looked at him. Poor k**. He was stuck – frozen. Maybe trying to get up his courage. He shifted. Probably I wasn’t the only one in the house with a case of aching balls. And speaking of those, they’d come back, with a vengeance. A little bit of rest and a lot of food had given them more time to consider their displeasure with my lack of action. They voted unanimously.

No matter what – I’d be beating off tonight – maybe twice. Fuckers needed relief. I needed relief.

I didn’t know what time it was but time shifted, as it does. My balls thrumming, my focus s**ttered, the k** stuck there, quivering like a new strung piano chord, I had to take action.

Beside …. I wanted a fucking beer. So fucking bad.

“Heading to bed, son,” I said, trying to communicate need without being needy. But I also needed to communicate that I needed to be out of there – away from him. If we weren’t mating, I needed to be away. I thought of the old bulls in the herd – the ones that had fought for supremacy – the stallions that would just jump on it and take it, because it was theirs. How far we’d come, I pondered, seeing him in the light of the television, frozen in time, scared and confused.

The place we’d gotten to – the one that took away the power of the bull – seemed distinctly wrong right about now. Downright fucked up. But then I realized that’s what separated them from us. Why we were the motherfuckers that ate them for dinner, and they only had one top to a herd of fucking bottoms.

No way to live, I snorted, surprising myself with the sound, which he caught. It resonated with him – the older bull snorting – but retreating now, not pouncing.

It was up to him.

It was up to him.

“Good night, k**. Nice night. Thanks for that. Tired now though – “

“Night Unc,” he whispered. It was almost a cry.

“It’s been a long day, son. An emotional one. You can do worse on a day like this then to go to bed – get some sleep.”

He nodded – unconvinced. Perhaps he realized in that moment that he did not, in fact, have as much to learn from me as he thought he did.

Whatever – I split, the beer calling to me when I passed through the kitchen. I bounded up the stairs, found myself sitting on the bed, shaking. In a bad way. I picked up the phone, flicked it on – there were three messages from Burt and so many texts I couldn’t count. I dialed the number – not Burt’s, my sponsor’s.

“Hey k**,” came the voice. He picked up on the first ring. “Been awhile. You alright?”

“Probably not.”

“Talk.”

“There’s beer – downstairs. In the fridge. Talking to me.”

“How the fuck did you get beer in your house, k**?”

“Long story – I mean – I guess it’s been a while since we talked.”

“It has. Tell me.”

“Got this k** living with me – Burt’s son. I told you about him.”

“Yeah – I remember. Your bro’s k**.“

“Him. Yeah. k**’s a fuck up. Burt kicked him out. I took him in as a favor. Been here all summer. I been fine. He’s had beer on and off – hasn’t been a problem.”

“Until now.”

“Yeah –“

“That beer ain’t gonna help ya, Drew,” he said, quietly.

“I know,” I said, trying to breathe, but letting out my emotion. I needed him to hear it. He did.

“What’s going on – why now?”

“It’s the k**. Wanna fuck him. Can’t – so the beer – you know.”

“Wait – he legal?”

“Yeah.”

“How legal.”

“Just this side of twenty.”

“Emotionally.”

“Probably about twelve – but he been growing up fast these last few days – last week. Shit coming to a head.”

“Dangerous ground, Son,” he said.

“I know, Dad.” He wasn’t – my dad, I mean. But that’s what I called him – what he was to me, sometimes, when shit got real.

“You know what you’re doing?”

“Not a fucking clue.”

“Well – at least you’re being honest with yourself. I’ll come over.”

“No – don’t. I got this.”

“You sure – don’t sound like it.”

“I told myself – I wouldn’t do anything unless he asked for it. And – he ain’t asking. Poor little fucker is frozen. Ain’t that little though – big k**. Muscled. Fuck – he’s so … fuck.”

There was a pause.

“I never heard you like this.”

“Never been like this.”

“So –“

“So – he ain’t making the move. So the beer is. The beer knows I’ll take her. Fuck with her. Do her right.”

“That beer’s a bitch. Don’t listen to her.”

“Why I called you.”

“I’ll come over – be there in twenty – fifteen if the cops don’t catch me speeding.”

“No – just needed to hear your voice. Gonna beat off – twice. Then sleep. I need to sleep. Been through the ringer. k** got me wound up.”

And then –

And then ….

Then, there he was. I hadn’t heard him come up – hadn’t heard him in his room – hadn’t heard him come to my door. Hadn’t seen him standing there. Naked again. Hard. Nearly hyperventilating.

“k**,” I said, standing up.

He saw me – on the phone.

“Fuck,” he said. “Didn’t mean to – that my dad?”

He looked like he was gonna flee.

“No – k** – no. Not your dad. It’s my sponsor – I’ll call ya back,” I said, into the phone.

“You okay – “

“Fine. Fine. I’ll call – but I’m fine.” I hung up, facing the boy – the man-boy. The boy-man. Him. Standing there.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered –

“No, son. Don’t be. Talk to me. I mean –“

“Who’s a – what’s a sponsor?”

“It’s … AA. The guy you call when you’re feeling … weak.”

“I can’t imagine you weak.”

“You don’t know me inside.”

“I want to,” is all he said.

I turned off the phone – tossed it on a chair.

I crossed my arms, trying to be strong. He was so vulnerable. I cursed myself for missing the opportunity. Being on the phone.

“What’s up, son?” I tried humor. “Other than – you know,” nodding at his cock.

He blushed, covering himself. Then revealing himself again, not knowing where to put his hands, then reversing course, then putting his hands on his head. Me being on the phone hadn’t been in his plan. I’d interrupted his intention.

“I -,” he said, but there were sobs on the edge of his field of play. He was fighting them – fighting his conditioning – just one huge fight I saw in him, like this massive bloody battleground in the pitch of war, and here I’d been, whining about my blue balls and a single bottle of beer.

“Talk to me, son,” I said, quietly, trying to project paternalism.

“I – Drew – “

I waited.

“Uncle –

“Ryan –

“Sir … I want you, Daddy.“

“I’m not you’re daddy, k**.”

“I want you to be,” he hiccupped.

“What else do you want, Ryan?”

He finally found a place for his hands: on his hips. He finally found a place for his eyes: looking into my own.

He finally found himself.

“I want you to make me a man,” he said to me.

And that – as they say – was that.

It was the perfect set of words for the perfect moment. I shuddered feeling them hit me, grow in me, become me. In some porn version of this story that had been looping in my head all day – all night – he’d begged me to fuck him – to do him – to let him worship my cock. He’d said or done something lewd. And I’d responded, of course –

But here – now – he asked for the ultimate gift: the thing that I could give that he needed most. And it crushed me. Steamrolled me. Consumed me. It was done. The beer no longer held sway – or his dad – or my friendship with his dad – it was just us, here, in my domain. I pulled off my shirt, my chest heaving. I kicked off the boots, which I wore, unlaced. I pulled open the shorts, letting them drop. It sprung free, big, alive, swaying in the light.

“Target acquired,” my cock said, as it honed in on the young man, pulling up, then curving like it did, standing proud. My b**st.

He gasped. Like literally – a gasp. Almost comically loud. My cock pulsed. Drool gurgled out.

“Close the door, son.”

He did.

“Come here.”

He approached, shaking. His own cock quivering. He was drawn to me – drawn to it.

“Sure about this, son?” I said, my eyes trying to communicate both my profound care and my desirous hunger.

His head nodded. But it was tentative. He was scared.

“It’s okay. Touch it. You can touch it.”

He reached out – grabbing it – his body quaking, probably a direct result of the aftershocks that were emanating from my balls. They were tight. Full. It was breeding time, but there was more – so much more. This was paternal. This was everything.

“Oh – man – “ he said, barely audible. Not even a whisper – like the words couldn’t make it out of his throat.

I touched him – touched his arm – worked up to his shoulder. The electricity was … well, electric. I was more alive than I ever recalled.

I wanted to stop everything – savor each moment – but the only way forward was forward. So, I grabbed his neck, letting him feel my strength for him. He misread my signal and his knees collapsed – lowering his thick body in order to confront my manhood.

“No –“ I said, directly. “No k** – that’s not now it goes – not here – not with me.” I reached down and got under his arms, pulling him up and into me – our cocks grazed, our muscles touched – he looked frightened. He was scared that he had done something wrong.

“Ryan,” I said, looking into him as deep as I could. “You’re not going down there, son, not without a kiss first. This isn’t happening without my lips on yours - us holding each other. This isn’t sex for me, son. Not just. This is … us. You get to my cock through my eyes and my lips. And through here.”

I took his hand and put it on my chest.

The words surprised even me. But it was all instinct now – like it had been all day. And this was no longer just about him. It was about me and my needs. What I wanted from him. What I wanted from us.

There were tears coming down his freshly shaved cheeks. He was nodding – saying yes – understanding. A low murmur escaped his lips.

“Never kissed a guy,” he said, sorry it seemed, that his innocence and inexperience would be a disappointment – not understanding it was the opposite. It was an intoxicant.

I kept looking at his eyes. His hands touched me – feeling me, reaching around behind me. His crotched moved elegantly into my own. He invited me to hold his bulk, and I did, waiting for him to make the move again. My cock was on high alert. The entire control room was screaming, “SECURE THE TARGET!” But I held back, waiting for his kiss, which came with such gentleness. His lips met mine. The first touch was liminal. The first sound was a****l – juvenile, too. His mouth opened, inviting me, and then I felt his tongue, hot, wet, sweet. Arms pulling me in, body shaking –

“Daddy,” he murmured. “Kiss me.”

And I did. I pushed past his lips, mashing my rough face against his smooth opening, diving into him, holding him, showing him how men love – no longer hiding my need. We collapsed into each other grinding, groaning, exploring our muscle – our privacy. I could have held him like that forever – kissed him ‘til I died. He crawled up on me, wrapping his massive legs around me, resting on my unyielding penis, trying to pull his entire bulk into my body, nearly crushing me with his strength – except he wasn’t the only one trying to consume. I wanted him inside me, too – wanted him to become my symbiont – inhabit my depths – connect in the most pure and complete way. We were nearly wrestling each other, desperately searching for ways to violate the laws of nature – trying to make two bodies become one. And then he came – of course he did – a sobbing cry of ecstasy and disappointment, shooting teen cream in a torrent of youth and testosterone.

And yeah – the k** was a shooter. And epic fucking shooter.

And this was my little secret – the one kink that drove me wild – guys that could spray and spray when you were deep inside of them. Being the guy that caused that fountain of life and love always blew my head right off. As I drove in and they sprayed their boys out, I took the credit – I was the God that had pulled the trigger, and that moment always drove me over the edge, particularly if the spew was epic. Electrifying.

But not this time – I wasn’t inside him this time. And I immediately sensed his passionate panic, and countered it with my absolute obsession with cum. I ground into him, humping up his trench, countering his strength with my own –

“Fuck yeah, son,” I growled, chin soaked with his third ejaculate of vital juice. It painted my chest, matting me to him. It flew out the side, landing on the bed. It painted his cheek as I held his head, devouring his mouth, tongue lapping at his seed where I could find it, growling and moaning – showing him that I loved his cum – needed it – desired it.

Fucking lived for it.

“Show me what you got, k**,” I demanded, turning, throwing him on the bed, landing on top of him, my hands grabbing his wrists, push-upping over him so I could witness his release in all of its glory and it was fucking glorious. He kept pumping. The k** was a firehose. It was nothing I’d ever seen before – nothing I’d ever witnessed. (And I’d been with some freaky-assed hose-spraying mother-fuckers.) It painted his chest, his face again – then flew out, hitting the head-board, drooling down the proud lion that I had carved there. In my imagination that lion licked the sperm, roared approval, sought more.

But then I heard his cries. They became urgent – scared –

“No.”

“Nononononononononoooooo,” he moaned, still twitching, still shaking, balls pumping, legs flailing. I brought myself back to him – made him, not his juice, the center of my universe, falling on him, holding him.

“Son – “ I said, heaving into his neck and ear. “What’s wrong, k**. Baby – boy – babyboy,” I said, holding him, wrapping my bigger legs around his, letting him hunch into me, shooting the last drops of his epic load on my cock and balls.

He was sobbing now, incoherent.

“No –“ he cried, clutching me. “It’s coming – I don’t want it to come,” he said, holding me like no one has ever held me.

“Ryan,” I said to him, loudly. “What’s coming?”

“It – “ he cried. “It.”

“Shhhh – k**, I got you. I’m here. Daddy’s here for you, son. I got you.”

The “Daddy” word seemed to have an impact, but only a slight one. Now he cowered, trying to shrink under my body, disappear into the bed.

“Keep it away – I don’t want to stop – please –“

“Ryan,” I barked, pulling back, grabbing his face. “Talk to me son. Tell me what ‘it’ is.”

“That it’s wrong. That we’re wrong. That God won’t love me. That it will be over and I’ll hate this. Hate me. Hate you. Hate us.”

The fear was real – there was panic in his eyes. I didn’t lose my hard, but I did shift gears, pouring into him, being there for the boy that was so frightened – so fearful of his nature.

“Oh baby – what’d the do to you? Fucking what did they do.”

Then I kissed him. Touched his face. Cooed on him.

“Just hold me, Ryan. I got you – nothing’s coming for you but me, son. Only me. Only me from here on out. Nothing’s coming through that door – nothing’s coming through me. Nothing, k**. Not a goddamn thing.”

And the more I spoke the more he calmed – and then the crazy went out of his eyes. And then he was touching me, feeling me with his hands, determining my reality – making sure of my protection. Then he held me – tight. Then he held me tighter. Then he tried to crush the life out of me with his honed bulk, making me fight back against his strength, show him my ability to survive any onslaught.

“Oh,” he said, almost believing, but still shaking – the fear held fast; it had a long dark purchase with him. It wasn’t going to give ground easily. And then I ground into him, shifting position, pushing my cock through his legs and up through his trench.

“Grab me,” I said, and he knew I meant his legs. He did.

“Don’t let go, son. Hold on. I’m here.”

He shook still, but it was a different shaking – a shaking free – an expulsion of long held beliefs. He shook harder, gripping me harder with his legs, and then he ground into me, his hardness sluicing through the sticky wetness that secured our oneness.

“Oh,” he said, feeling himself – surprising himself.

“I’m still hard,” he whispered, as if it was a secret. A naughty one.

“I know,” I said, nuzzling him.

“That never happens. After I cum.”

I gripped him, reaching under his ass, grinding him into my frame, helping us both to feel his continued vitality – the confirmation of his true self.

“Never,” he said, hope escaping from his lips. “Hardly ever.”

I just held him. Couldn’t think of a thing to say.

Then –

“No one, son. No one’s coming for you. I’m here. Just you and me. Just us.”

“Oh,” he said, melting, a sob of great and profound relief escaping his lips, which immediately started searching for my own, but along the way, exploring. “Oh –“ he gasped again, believing that the evil would not approach – that the shame would not over-take – that I could, in fact, protect him from his guilt. He grabbed my head, urgently, pushing his lips into mine. “Daddy – oh fuck, daddy,” he growled, hunching and kissing, pushing his tongue into my mouth, catching up for lost time, believing in himself and his needs and his desires.

“Oh God, Daddy – Oh God I love you,” he said, and that hit me like a truck, but it didn’t stop me – didn’t hurt me – didn’t frighten me. Here, in this room, alone with him – the boy I had helped raise as if he were my own, well, all I could do is accept his love, drink it, take it in.

“Baby boy,” I moaned. “I love you, too.” And we kissed, more and more and more, bodies entwined, passion refueled.

At which point – working together – him seeking the ultimate coupling, and me letting my boys in mission control acquire the target, the head of my too large cock caught in his too small hole and stayed there – not entering, but not retreating.

His eyes opened, looking at me. I looked back, not blinking.

Fear rose again, but a different kind of fear. Still, his legs opened wider, inviting me in.

Then I showed him my need – pushing forward just slightly, eyes glazing, mouth opened –

“Son,” was all I said. “Please.”

And then he kissed me, gently, nodding, caressing. His own nut out of the way, but still charged, he turned his attention to me, touching my face, showing me a part of him that I’d never seen – the boy who loved deeply – too hard – with too much passion.

“Please daddy,” he whispered.

“Are you scared?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Good – you should be.”

“Why?”

“it will hurt, baby,” I said, telling him the truth.

“I know.”

“But it will change your life.”

“I hope so.”

I was barely hanging on. This wasn’t how I imagined it – imagined the moment. I stalled for time, trying to get my bearings – trying to prevent a **** of my best friend’s son.

“I need you to be sure, Ryan,” I said, quietly, my chest rumbling but my body frozen.

“I can’t be,” he whimpered. It wasn’t what I expected to hear. It was better, because it was his truth.

“Then I need you to ask for it, son. I need you to ask –“ he cut me off.

“I already did ask, daddy. I asked you to make me a man.”

I groaned, pushing forward, meeting resistance. He reached up, pulling me down into him – now he was the one giving assurances – helping me overcome hurdles of doubt. “All my life,” he whispered, hot breathe in my ear, lips touching my lobe, “I’ve dreamed of this. For as long as I can remember, Mr. James, for as long as I’ve tried to deny it, this is what’s been inside of me – you … being inside of me.” He held me there, breathing calmly now, kissing on me with a maturity that was uncommon, given his inexperience. “For as long as I can remember, no matter how hard I fought it, Drew,” he said, calling me by my name, trying to equalize us in the moment so I could be sure that he was talking man-to-man, not submissive to dominant – son to dad – ‘nephew’ to ‘uncle’. “It’s been you.”

The k** had a unique ability to say just the right thing at just the right time. In an instant my life with him flashed through my skull – the early picnics, when they were still together. Wrestling in the grass. At a couple of his baseball games, and after, him leaning into me, me with my arm around his shoulders. Even during the divorce, when we would sit together in the back, him periodically grabbing my hand and me holding it, then putting it aside, anxious that some fucker from the church would see – would use my presence and proximity as a wedge to drive him from his father. And later, during his darkness – the way he avoided contact – avoided touch – aggressively shook my hand and let go too early, making a show of his male distance.

I pulled back, looking at him. I saw him with new eyes. The side-table light was still on. We had been doing this in full view – not in darkness – and like the rest of the evening my instincts on this had been correct. I could see his face. It was open. I could see his desire. I could see his fear. It was pure, but controlled.

And I could now see his profound attraction. It was more than that, though, and I knew it. He loved me. Had always done so. First in a familial way. Then the love turned to lust – twisted by desire. Then, somehow, in these last few months, and in the last week with Arnie, it had coalesced into a youthful but powerful whole. He was mine, if I would have him, love him back with the same force that he loved me. And what I had been controlled by all day – what Rush the Butcher had seen as clear as a distress flare on a dark night - was the force of my own love for him, sensing his and feeding off it. I had thought it was paternalism – just an older guy trying to look out for a young, questioning k**. And it was that. Of course it was. But it was more than that, and it aroused me, enflamed me. This was what had been missing all of my life – the one piece of the puzzle that I could never find. I’d assumed it had been lost in war. You can lose a lot in war. Burt and I knew that – were thankful that we were nearly whole. Me with my addiction. Him with his anger and his violent streak. But we stepped through the landmines and came out the other side. Damaged but mostly intact.

Mostly.

But, with each fuck, with each connection, I never found that one piece.

Sure – I cared for each partner – loved them in that moment – nurtured our intimacy into special friendships, unless they were one-night stands. And there were a lot of those. But never – not once – had I felt the spark of fire, the connection, the soul-touching moment that you read about, dream about, especially in the dark of night, alone, grabbing onto your cock with one hand and a pillow with another, wishing it were a man – a boy – a daddy – anyone you could connect with and be next to every night for the rest of your life.

Like I said: I figured that I wasn’t able. Had lost the ability – or never had it in the first place. That maybe my own father had beaten it out of me during one of his drunken rages, rages that drove me to enlist on my eighteenth birthday and find my own way to manhood. Or, that it had been killed off during one of those hellish nights outside of Kandahar.

But here it was. The k** had found it. Had seen it all along, possibly.

The dizzying, overwhelming images of my life – of my father, my war and my best friend’s son – had the benefit of calming my pounding lust. Even my boys down below stood down, awaiting new orders from there general.

I pushed back and caressed his thighs. He’d graduated again to a new level. When there was a pause or a change in me, it was no longer followed by a questioning look from him. He just waited, watching. Ready to follow.

I knelt back, looking at him with new eyes. My cock retreated from full on fuck-pole to a father’s hard-on, proudly displayed to his son. The k**s eyes watched it, attracted and afraid. His own rod remained rigid. His skin was smeared with his own cum and our shared sweat. He gleamed, covered with our fluids.

“Turn over, son,” I said quietly, and he did, grabbing one last look at me and my full manhood, taking it in, copying it for the record. He gathered a pillow to his chest, instinctively, clutching it, putting his face on the bed right under the carved cum-stained lion.

“Show me yourself, Ryan,” I whispered, reaching for the bedside drawer, pulling out the towels and lube.

He did. He knew what I wanted – knew what he’d been pushing so hard to achieve in his workouts. His back flared with rippling heft. His arms bulged as he grabbed another pillow, dragging it under him, using it as an object to display his thick arms. Then the ass came up while I leveraged it with another pillow, giving him a pedestal to display his glory.

And it was magnificent, his ass: every-fucking-thing-I-ever-fucking-wanted-in-a-hot-stud’s-butt. I shook with hunger looking at it. He heard and moved with perfect maleness. Not slutty. Not over-done, just a big equally hungry boy knowing that his daddy loved what he was seeing.

“Damn,” I said, hoarsely, running my hands over his back, feeling his arms and their steel heft. Then touching his ass, like it was the fucking holy grail.

“Ahhhh,” he whispered, feeling me feel him. A man’s touch transforming him – helping to ease his fear.

“Son,” I growled, speechless, beginning to lube my cock, running my other hand down his trench.

“Ohh,” he moaned into the bed. “Mr. James.”

“Baby boy,” I whispered, and it didn’t seem wrong, despite his hugeness. I was twice his age and had him in height, easy. I was leaner – never had been one to pack on true thickness like his dad, but I was muscled up – liked being muscled up. It helped being one of the biggest guys on site. Ya never knew when you needed to throw your weight around – and I wasn’t afraid to do that. Hadn’t been since I left home.

Then I poured the lube on his pucker, which seemed impossibly small. He shook now, mouth open, gaping, his one eye looking back at me, then away, not knowing whether to witness or wait.

“Cherry,” I said, surprising myself. But it was a reminder to proceed with care. He sobbed, nodding, beginning to twitch his ass while I probed him with first one, then two fingers. Impossibly tight. I couldn’t fathom how this was gonna happen, but of course, I could.

“Last chance, son,” I said, going deep with two fingers, pouring on more lube. “Once I’m in I’m not stopping until I’m done. You do that to me, k** – make me that way. Turn me on so much. Can barely see ya, k**, I want this so bad. Babyboy.” It was a litany, spoken to help him understand his profound attractiveness.

“Ohhhhhhh,” he moaned, hearing my words, feeling them inside. “Mmmmmmm,” he said, wordless, responding to my penetrating touch, begging me to begin. “Please,” he said, finally, finding a single word that indicated his pure consent.

I pulled my fingers out, toweling them. Then pushed my cock against his hole, the light helping me to see the perfect angle and position.

“It’s best to take a deep breath, Ryan. It will help.”

He did as instructed, huffing out, and sucking back in.

“That’s it. Another. Do that a few times, to get control of yourself, okay baby?”

“Yessir,” he mumbled, head in a pillow now, but following direction. It helped him calm himself. He did it again and I felt his muscles tighten in preparation. When he did that, I entered him, just the head, knowing the shock of my width would convulse him, which it did. But … he held steady.

“Do another,” I said sternly, and as I did I realized that unlike some gay k**s, he’d maybe never had much more than a finger up in here. His religious conditioning had probably turned the ache in his boy-hole into some kind of Satanic affliction that he had resisted … until now.

I’m not sure how I knew how to fuck him, but I did. I knew precisely what he needed, how I needed to deliver it, and the crucial moment that would determine our destiny. I was focused now – utterly. I had somehow regained full control of myself, knowing what I had to deliver and knowing that if I did, I would have a night I would never forget – the best ass I’d ever had in my life.

Knowing that …

His ass would be wholly mine – solely mine: the first to enter it, the first to break it in, the first to breed it, the first to make it what it was meant to be. All that and a night that would change the k** forever. Pressure? Fuck yeah, but I thrived on it. My cock throbbed. Only on the battlefield had I ever felt more alive but this was different – this was creation, not destruction. This was … everything.

This was the meaning of life motherfuckers.

“One more, son,” I counseled, clearly. “Make it a deep one.”

He sucked in air, holding it, sweat beading on his back and face. And when it was completed, I pushed, downward, directly into his center, using the years of ass that had been fucked on this bed to guide me perfectly into his being.

I didn’t ram him. I just fucked slowly into him, not hesitating once, not inching along for an hour, pansying into his ass with questions and consultations. I pushed, hard, relentless, deep, at the perfect pace, fast enough for him not to reject, but slow enough for him to feel each inch – each half-inch – each eighth.

One hand held his waist, the other pushed into his upper back, gaining perfect leverage for the cherry-picking. At the end, I found it, pushed up against it, and with the last underside inches of my perfectly curved dad-cock, I pushed through it, deep-ing him, owning him.

Making him a man.

With that harsh plucking – and it was harsh – the last thrust always is given the force you need to get the under-inches past his lips and the head beyond the cherry - with that last thrust his body went on high alert. He flinched, hard, and in that moment I watched every single one of his muscles – every single one – tighten, clench, lock. What it did to my cock was indescribable. I believe his actual physical body was trying to cut it off, to kill the invader at the root. But of course that was impossible – all it did was assure me that this was the ass I’d been waiting for all of my life and before I lost it completely, all I needed to do was help the k** through this moment of sheer terror and utter panic.

To his credit, he was fighting it himself. Once the clench occurred he didn’t flee, didn’t scream, didn’t shout – he didn’t strike out, move away, fight me.

He froze.

I saw the battle: his nascent desires, pushing back against fight-or-flight-youth at the peak of physical perfection. It was a David and Goliath battle. The ethereal force of his darkest, most erotic dreams, up against every sinew of flesh which he’d trained to the highest possible strength. The k** had no fat on him. None at all. He was all muscle, all tendon, all machine and I witnessed, as he gripped my cock like a fucking vise, that muscle being engaged, opposed by only the force of his need and a distant faith that this brutal pain could transform into life-changing pleasure.

I’d never seen anything like it. My cock pulsed in him, owning him, refusing to be denied – he had to understand what it meant for me to fuck him – to inhabit him deeply. It grew – thickening. I was close, but still in control. Still he fought, frozen. His face was turning red. He hadn’t breathed and the deep air supply he’d filled himself with was running low. Tears had formed. His teeth were clenched. There was a moment – as he clenched even harder – where I feared he was lost, that the scream would come, that the beg to be unviolated would echo against the walls and his journey would end.

And so I reached up, caressing him, apologizing for the pain I had caused with the simplicity of a gesture that harkened back to his youth, gently tussling his short hair, offering a single counter-point to the aggression with which I had speared him.

“You can do this, son,” was all I said. “I know you can.”

At which point his dark dreams surged and his desire crescendo-ed. His took one last full-body clench, fighting against the pain and throwing his weight with the force of his passion. It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced in a man. He became rock hard: Michelangelo-Marble. The tightness painfully gripped my cock with a force I had never, in all my years of fucking, ever experienced. Ever.

And then … he won. He surrendered. His body shuddered, then gave, one muscle unlocking, then another, then a cascade of decompression. It felt like – looked like – a huge piece of metal that had reached its melting point and then diffused, losing its structure, disappearing before your eyes, even while transforming into something new.

“Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwgawddaadddddddy,” he groaned, giving in: to me, to my cock, to our desire. “Awwwwwwwwwwwwwfuuuuuuuck,” he rumbled, relaxing, retreating.

Realizing.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhgodyessss,” he said, splaying out his legs and arms, opening himself to me. “Oh jesuschrist,” he exalted, as I pulled out using the same speed as my impalement, and pushed back in, relentlessly, beginning my work. “Oh … jesuschristourlordandsavior,” I honest-to-God believe I heard him whisper in some kind of silent prayerful opposition to the bullshit he’d been fed by his desire-hating mother. Or perhaps a prayer of absolution for denying his nature – the gift His Son had given to him that he had rejected all of his young life. “Oh Jesus … “ he moaned, shuddering.

And then, to his other Father – the Priest of this Communion: “Oh, Daddy,” he groaned, nodding, becoming.

I didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Could only be. Only fuck. Only have. Only take. Only do what I had wanted to do all summer – even though I hadn’t known it. I grabbed him with my big hands, controlling him, achieving a perfect rhythm as his searing hot tightness gripped me, giving me pleasure.

I leaned into him, coming closer, and he pushed back into me, becoming a man.

“This can’t be wrong,” he said, to himself, to me, to the universe.

“It isn’t, son,” I said, in his ear now, wrapping my arms around and underneath him. Holding him close, beginning to ride, the way I do, but this time with so much more intention and need.

He allowed my strength to own him and dominate him – allowed my larger size to daddy him, protect him. He pushed up as I began to thrust seriously, his eyes becoming delirious.

“Oh gawd,” he felt me hardening – enlarging. “It’s coming isn’t it.”

“Yes baby,” was all I said, driving now, breathing hard. “It’s coming.”

“Daddy,” he groaned, writhing, opening, urging me to seed him.

I was his first. Would always be his first. No other man’s seed would ever travel this path without traces of my DNA marking the way. No other man’s sperm would spunk into the k** without seeing the flags my boys were about to plant, deep in his guts - mini markers of me.

It was a freight-train of an orgasm. For the first time all night I pushed aside his needs and rode him for my own, letting him feel who I was in my moments of greatest passion and desire. My angry, aggravated balls – denied a summer of fuck – pumped out more cum than I can ever remember shooting, flooding his guts, drowning his depths. I grunted like a bull, sweat and spit spraying his cheek and head and neck, breeding him, trying to make an unnatural miracle spawn in his guts.

I kept pounding, wet now, my balls slapping against his, my cock sluicing in its juices, opening a tunnel that would never be closed to me again. It was cherry – it would last as long as I made it last – and I made it last for longer than I thought possible. I lost him in those moments, hearing only, on the periphery, a nearly religious babble of profanity and desire and determination. He was humping back on me, understanding the depths of pleasure that could be delivered by his newly discovered sex organ.

In the end – and the end did come, no matter how hard we fought it – I was on top of him, drenched in sweat. We were breathing as one. My cock, softer now, still pumped sperm into him and his ass, loaded, using my DNA to recover from my violation, was learning to massage it. He was understanding its capabilities. We lay there like that for what seemed like hours. But, it wasn’t – who knows how long it was? Time was secondary. The present was all that mattered.

I found myself kissing him. Nuzzling him. I came back to myself, became a lover again, whispered to him.

“Best ass I ever had, son. Best fuck I ever had.”

And it was true. Absolutely true.

“Daddy,” he only replied, comfortable now in who he was, content. The rage was gone. It had been doused by the firehose of cum that I’d sprayed into his volcanic center. There was only his honest self now – no twisted construct imposed by others too fearful to face their desires.

People tend not to change that quickly. We all know that. But the did – he did. The fight against his nature was over. He was …. this. Lying underneath me his contentment was distinct. It flooded the room. He came home.

To himself.

To my bed.

To me.

I suddenly couldn’t imagine him anywhere but here, under me, beside me.

And so … well, fuck … I cried.

It started small. I fought it. He turned back, looking at me. But like I wrote before, when he looked at me now, he no longer challenged – only tried to see. He wasn’t questioning either. Only learning.

Looking at him I couldn’t hold it back. It came in waves, my cock flopping out of his hole, my body shuddering in emotion. His strength returned. He pushed me back, but not away – he was turning now, facing me, under me. He was looking at me, touching me, learning me. I buried my face into his thick neck, felt his huge arms wrap around me, felt one leg grip my ass while the other entwined my thigh.

“Oh, daddy,” he said, learning my loneliness. Witnessing the end of my search.

I heaved into him, letting him see what I thought was my weakness, but realized was only my true self. Just as he had showed me the man he was meant to be, now I could show him the man I was. I never wanted him to leave. Was fearful that he would. I understood the nature of youth – its restless need to explore and discover. But he gripped me harder, stronger than I was, whispering to me. “Oh daddy. Oh dad.” And then he caressed me with searching hands that had somehow become experienced in just a few hours of love-making. He let me get it out.

And when that was done, he just said into my ear. “I love you, Mr. James. Always have. Always will.”

I nodded trying to believe it, wanting to.

Why the fuck was I so fucking wounded?

And he sensed my tentativeness. Acknowledged it without fear.

“You’ll see,” was all he said. “You’ll see.”

I may have slept – I’m not sure. I don’t think so. I do know I relished the strength with which he held me. Having shown myself more nakedly than with any other man, I felt uncertain where to go next and his strength allowed me to halt – for the first time in hours. He touched me. He explored me. He loved me. And I learned his valleys and his crevices, the shape of his contours.

His smell.

His taste.

He was fresh and salty. There was a bitterness to his youth that cut into my taste-buds. I’d been feasting on men my age or older: aged beef which, of course, is fine in its own way. But this fresh meat had vitality.

Eventually I lifted my head and he reached across the bed, fishing into my fuck drawer, grabbing a newly washed cum-rag. The towel covered his big-paw and he wiped my face with it, erasing the evidence of my sadness (happiness? relief?), tossing it aside. Then he moved my sweaty hair out of my eyes, smiling mischievously. The smiles were killing me – each one, new. Like he’d been hiding a warehouse of joy out back behind the rage-lot, and was now forklifting inventory from its depths.

He stuck his head up and kissed me.

“So handsome,” he said.

I was speechless. I didn’t know what to say.

Then I did.

“Thanks, k**. And by the way, the answer is ‘yes’.”

His eyes arched, trying to figure out the question.

“Last night, Ryan. You asked me a question. The answer is ‘yes’.”

“I don’t remember –“ he said, trying to figure out if this was a game or something more serious.

“You asked: ‘Do you really think I’m handsome, Drew?’” My cock had thickened. It sluiced slowly between his wet glutes, surging. “The answer, Ryan, is ‘Yes’. You are a very handsome young man.”

He blushed, but the blush turned into a glow. It was white hot, the beams coming off of him – from his eyes, too.

“When you smile, son, I can’t stop looking at you, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

“Then I guess I better keep smiling,” he said, killing me again with another variation – this one knowingly sexual. He was figuring out the buttons he could push, one button at a time.

“We’re not done, are we?” he asked, gathering himself – I wasn’t sure for what.

“What do you think?” I said, pushing my fleshy fuck-stick under his balls again, feeling his own vitality throb between us.

“Good,” he said, then grabbed my rib-cage, scissored my legs, and flipped my older bigger ass right over, landing me on his back, with him seated on my groin.

With any other man I would have fought back and exerted my dominance. But fuck, I loved being ********** by him. The k** was strong – had trained hard. He had more skills than he let on: was quick and agile. Most guys I bedded didn’t have that kind of brute strength. It was fucking thrilling to be engaged with such mass and force.

His smile turned to desire as his eyes raked my chest. He let out a low groan. With two hands he sexed himself, rubbing the sweat and frothy remnants of his earlier seed into his cock and muscled frame, then moved his hands over my chest, squeezing my pecs. His hips started a slow grind – barely perceptible. His rigid prick stood straight up, his balls tight to his taint, full again.

“Damn,” he said, feasting on me with his eyes while his hands explored. I realized in the moment that of course he’d never had this close a look – this amount of time. He wasn’t practiced in the fine art of scoping out manflesh and, anyway, he’d been in a constant state of denial. Those days were gone and he could stare, unabashedly, at the object of his affection. I re-hardened completely under his gaze, my boys catching the ‘alert’ signal, and snapping to attention. They’d never been more poised – more perfectly synched. The target – once acquired – would be assaulted again and again.

His nostrils were flared. His tongue darted out, hungrily. I saw drool on his lips. He needn’t have asked for permission, but I gave it, freely.

“Go ahead, k**,” I said, looking right into his eyes, shoving my hands behind my head, flexing my own damn self.

The noise that he uttered – I’ll never forget it. It was a****l. Cat-like. Maybe it came from the carved lion, or was prompted by his pride from some far off savannah where the feeding had begun. The boy bent down, flicking his tongue on the tip of my tit. He shook. He did it again. He shuddered, making more sounds that I’d never heard before – sounds that I could get used to hearing in my master bedroom.

Then he latched on, biting just hard enough, suckling like a new-birthed piglet, anxious, greedy. I growled, pushing my cock up, letting him feel my response and desire.

“That’s it, baby,” I growled, putting one hand on his head. “Take care of daddy.”

And he did – sucking and licking and lapping at my furry chest. His exploration was detailed and complete, all the while picking up urgency with his hips, learning new moves that would turn him into a world-class bottom – as if he hadn’t already skyrocketed up the ranks with just one fuck. I lead him, here and there, but didn’t push him into the depths of my funk – preferring to watch him hunt for the scent, like a truffle-pig on the first day of the hunt.

I knew he would get there – and he did – roaming up to my clavicle, then sucking on my neck. From there he went under my ear, where I responded insistently, cock seeking solace, body goose-fleshed. But then – I think – he caught his first whiff of true man-funk. He stopped, purring, then sniffing some more. His tongue followed a trail down my shoulder, nipping along the way, then his face massaged my muscle there as his full body responded to the pheromone-ladened musk that had developed over the course of this erotically inclined weekend.

“Awwwhhhhhhgoddamnnnnn,” he growled, fully on the scent now, like a hound-dog. His nose dipped under my raised arms and he sniffed, delicately. His body shook, hard. I thought he might come again – instead he breathed deep, letting out a guttural sound like a death rattle – though there was more life in it than any sound I’d ever heard.

I’ll give the k** credit (I suppose). He didn’t pig out immediately. Instead he rose, grinding his wet trench on my cock, forcing out some of my least-fortunate boys, the ones still trapped in my thick tube. They gurgled, spewing onto his cleft, massaging my cock with my own seed. (To this day I don’t know if this move was intentional – I do know, however, it was one of the most erotic displays of butt-lust I’ve ever experienced. It was like he knew there was more cum in me, and needed to push it out, to make way for my next load. It was like he knew he needed more lube and went straight to the source. “Fuck the lube-bottle,” I imagined him thinking. “Daddy’s probably got more cum in his cock.” k** was right, too.)

His eyes were glazed and glassy, nearly rolling back into his head. He was dizzy. I’m sure I was out of focus – maybe he saw two or three of me – he seemed unable to find see even though I was right underneath him.

“That smell,” he whispered, hungrily. “I remember that smell,” he moaned, revealing a deep secret, long kept on lock-down. “I remember that smell, daddy,” he said, in a squeaking, youthful, inappropriate voice, transporting me to a time when he was so young: we were driving home – in his father’s truck. We’d played all day – fishing, then picnic, then skinny dipping. Me and his old man had played touch football while he watched, then joined in, wrestling and whooping. I was drunk but it was ‘under control’ in those days.

At the end of the day we lay in the sun. He’d fallen asleep in my arms. It was the sleep of an exhausted, exercised boy. He wouldn’t move – couldn’t. So, his dad packed the gear while I lay with him. Then I’d loaded him into the truck on my lap, and he’d buried his face under my arm. He didn’t move the full hour drive back to the house. I remembered it vividly – remembered knowing that I was probably a little rank, it being the weekend and me being sweaty. But the k** had latched on, sticking his face in my pit, and slept there, breathing in my musk.

We shared recognition of the moment and of the memory. Then I reached up and took his head in my hand pulling him into my scent.

“Go on, son,” I said. “It’s alright. I want you to want it.”

He gurgled, beginning to lap tentatively, then more certainly. I believe that in his furtive imaginings of male couplings he’d never imagined this kind of intimacy. But the trigger pulled, he pushed his face into my pit, grumbling a hoarse groan of need, licking and snorting.

His hips began to gyrate. The k** had moved to the next level, lost in a sex-lust driven by testosterone and hunger. The position couldn’t get him what he wanted, so he pushed himself up off his daddy-pit-trough, reached back and grabbed my thick, wet cock. He looked feral now, mouth open, sweat running down his muscled chest. I just laid back and watched the show, let the k** get his greed on.

“Like this, daddy?” he asked, wantonly, fisting my cock, pushing his hole back on it.

“Yeah, son,” I whispered. “Just like that.”

He whimpered, rotating, but he’d clamped back shut. He was still just this shy of cherry and unknowing in the ways of impalement. I put my hand on his chest, calming his frustrated pre-frenzy, got him to quiet himself.

“Ya gotta want it, k**,” is all I said, quietly.

“I dooooo,” he growled, mouth open, eyes wide, tongue lolling.

“Then relax … and push out, baby,” I said … and he figured it out – became more connected to his anatomy and its possibilities – learning that how his ass had been used ‘til now (exit) could teach him how it could be used going forward (entry). I felt him bear down, then strain. The lips opened, then spat out a glob of seamen that lubed my inflamed head. In the same instant I jabbed in and he gasped. But, he was ready this time. So ready.

“Yesssssss,” he hunched, then growled, then lowered himself on it, using all of his muscle to take in my full length. “Fuckyesssssss,” he growled again, landing on it, prideful. Lewd.

“Yeah baby – just like that.”

He nodded, throwing himself into my other pit, snorting and lapping while riding my rigid dick, working it, bathing it with the sperm that was still desperately attempting to find an egg to impregnate. This lasted minutes – long, languorous raunchy minutes. Every sexual cylinder was firing for the young man and it was a pleasure to watch him learn sensual selfishness. He humped my cock, drove his own into my sweat-soaked hairy belly, felt up my muscles and licked and snuffed very part of me. Eventually his mouth landed on my own and I showed him how much I loved the taste of my own taste – the raunch of my own making. I licked his face, grabbing his ass and driving into him, then bit on his muscled tits, driving him to the next level of frenzied ecstasy. Then, I grabbed his neck and pulled him into mine.

“Now what you do, son,” I growled into his ear, as if I was letting him in on a secret, “is ride daddy’s cock. Make your daddy feel good with that hot ass.”

He took the command and went with it, pushing himself up straight, gripping my pecs. Then he bounced, moaning, making the bed rock and creak. His eyes flashed open, worry crossing his face, and I barked, “Built this bed with my own hands, k** – for big fuckers like you. Ride it – fucking ride it.”

Encouraged by his elder, he banged himself on my stone-hard cock, using his muscles to jack me off with his guts. The sounds became obscene – my prior load was splurting out. His hole had reopened and begun to make sounds, like man-cunt does when speared and spermed by man-cock. His eyes were wide – looking at me, listening to himself, utterly focused and physically engaged. I saw him at the gym, pushing the last squat-reps just for moments like this. The k** was an ox – an athlete – and was built to be fucked.

To take dick.

His eyes rolled back in his head and I felt his butt begin to clench.

“Yeah, k** – that’s next. Show daddy what you got.”

I grabbed his cock, which was soaked with pre, jerking his heft. At the same time I started to spear him with each downward thrust, seeking – then finding – his prostate. He threw his head back, grunting.

“Love this, son,” I growled, twisting his tit with my other hand, gripping his cock with my strong fists, frigging him, as he frigged me, as I fucked him. “Love boys who can shoot – let me see your spray, baby. Give daddy a show.”

He looked back down, barely coherent, but he got it – understood that the special talent he had (the one that he’d probably viewed as a burden, given the mess) was welcomed here. Not just welcomed, wanted – kinkily desired.

“Daddy,” he gasped, slamming himself down on my crotch, pushing out his chest, then cumming with a force I’d never experienced. He’d arched backward to put on the show I asked for – and it was spectacular. The first jet shot like a rocket, straight into the air. The second launched before the first landed – the two volleys pinwheeling past each other.

A third sprayed out and over me, painting the head board again just as the first rope splatted on my chest, covering one pec. The second hit my belly. More spew erupted from his cock. It was fucking astonishing the cum this k** produced – he’d fallen forward now, writhing and jerking, the spray painting his muscles, shining on his pecs. It was the next spasms that pulled my attention away from the show, because what his ass was doing to my cock was uncalled for. It nearly hurt, he was clamping so tightly, and now so rapidly, and with the rapid clamps came rapid spurts, shooting out, hitting my cheek – then spattering my mouth, which opened hungrily, lapping his vital seed.

“Fuck yeah, k**,” I yelled, encouraging him. “Fucking hell, boy. Shoot it k**. Shoot it for your daddy.”

When he heard that - saw me greedily eat his spew - he fired again and again, beginning to flag, but as he did I caught it with my hand, accumulating a billion or so sperm and pushing it into my mouth. As his cock kept drooling, periodically firing another unexpected volley, I pulled him into me, kissing him, driving my cock harder as he flailed, and we shared his seed with our hungry tongues. He was putty in my hands, licking and shivering and kissing and cumming, cock still pulsing between us, my own still thrusting, the acid burn of is fertility numbing our taste buds with its potency. I immediately thought of c***dren – wondering whether it was too late for me to welcome the fruit of his loins into our new family.

That startled me –

Earlier in the day I’d adopted a dog in my imagination. Now k**s were running around the back yard, grabbing at their young father’s thick thighs, crying for their older daddy’s burly lap.

“Oh – oh – oh – dadddddddy,” he groaned, bringing me out of my Hallmark Hall of Fame moment. I grabbed him, kissed him deeper, held him as his orgasm finally subsided, feeling it work its way through his entire body as the last surges of cum dribbled out between us.

It was incomprehensible the amount of sperm this k** produced. I could only believe it was the product of his upbringing. Maybe he’d refused himself pleasure so long that an entire puberty’s worth of production lay in wait, ready to be unleashed.

“Oh – oh – oh – daddy,” he groaned, writhing more gently now, seeking solace and comfort from my age and size, which I gave freely.

“Jesus, Ryan,” was all I could muster. “Jesus.”

We stayed like that, linked and cemented. We were sweat covered. My cock had not come – had not retreated. I felt his tentative grabs of it – pulsing slightly, while also trying to figure out how to accommodate its size post-orgasm. This wasn’t an easy thing for any man, and certainly couldn’t have been easy for a recent virgin. But he did it – seemed, in fact, to figure out how to relax around it. He shivered. I held. He rocked. I held. He twitched. I held. My kisses pecked his head and forehead. My arms gave him strength. My cock gave him meaning.

Minutes passed. His breathing modulated. I felt his eyes flutter, but he wouldn’t move. I knew he didn’t want to. He seemed poised. He seemed expectant. Then after more long minutes of my cooing, my loving, my holding, he breathed out, sighing.

There was emotion in his voice as he spoke –

“They’re gone.”

“What baby?”

“They’re gone.”

“What’s gone, son?”

“The voices. They’re gone. They used to come after …after I came. That’s why I tried not to cum. I hated the voices. But … they’re gone.”

“Babyboy,” I said, caressing them.

He pushed himself up, weakly, so we were eye-to-eye, his nose touching mine.

“You drove them away.”

Then he kissed me with such quiet passion that … well I’m unable to describe that kiss. So intimate. So thankful. So full of uncompromising love. It was the princess’s kiss, given to the hero, after the dragon was slain, but so much more intense than that. (And – you know – more male.)

He kissed me for what seemed like hours, tears dropping on my cheeks. Then, slowly, he pulled off of my body, breathing hard, overcome, it seemed, by emotion, then pulled off of my cock and dove into the pillows, burying his head, turning over on his side.

“Will you please hold me, daddy,” he squeaked, pushing into me. Of course I did: turning over, spooning him up, one arm underneath and one arm over, enveloping his big frame, breathing into his ear. Then I pushed my cock through his legs and he pouted, “No!”

Then, more quietly.

“No, please, daddy. Inside of me. Hold me while you’re inside of me, please,” he pleaded, still stifling youthful tears of relief.

Of course I did.

Of course I accommodated his request. Of course I pushed into his open wetness, drove deep, and covered his legs with one of my own. And then he sighed.

Safe, he relaxed into me. Expecting sleep to come, I snuggled, knowing I’d get mine later – or in the morning. But his breathing never changed. He was still – electric. He just wanted to be held. And so I held him for a time, letting him have what he needed. Giving it to him freely.

“I love you,” he said, bravely, speaking it away from me, but to me nonetheless

Then, sensing immediately that such words came with an expectation of reply, he killed that expectation, by asking: “What’s next?”

Then he giggled, encouraging me to push deeper, which, of course, I did.

“Hmmm,” I said, beginning to work his hole more directly. “Well – normally I’d be asleep right now, me being an old man.”

“You’re not old, dad. You’re the perfect age.”

“Ha – well … “

“There’s so much I don’t know about you, Mr. James. How can I find out?”

“Patience son,” I said, sternly. “But,” I said, working his hole, “You’re learning a lot in a short period of time.”

“Oh god yes,” he gasped when I thrust deep, hitting that place that I knew was mine only – would always be mine.

He grunted, learning to take me – learning to take dick. More importantly, learning to love it. We stayed like that for a while, but eventually my cock couldn’t take the teasing. So, I pulled out, pushed him on his back, and shoved his legs in the air. “Grab ‘em k**,” I said, and he did, eagerly, exposing his wet slot to me. I knew he thought I was gonna shove back in, but I didn’t. Needed to taste it – taste him. Taste me in him.

“This is next, k**,” I said. “Dad’s favorite dessert.” I dove into his trench, licking my tongue up the divide, getting a full swipe at his privateness. He flinched, surprised.

“Oh fuck,” he blurted.

But, if I were a Translation App, here’s what I would type on the screen: “Wait – guys lick other guy’s assholes? Fuck! NO! Oh … wait – that feels good.”

“Hold those legs up, k**. I got work to do.

And I did it, sucking it, opening it, eating my own froth out of his tightness. He had a hard time relaxing, so I slapped his ass, hard.

“Let me in,” I growled, and he yelped, scared that he was disappointing. Without encouragement he pulled a pillow from above his head and shoved it under his butt. I slapped the other cheek, liking the way it felt, liking the sound, liking what it signified.

“Daddy,” he groaned, spreading his cheeks, beginning to get a clue.

“Relax,” I barked, then covered his hole with my mouth, sucking out. He tried – I’ll give the k** credit – he tried to pucker out, but I knew that at this age and at this stage, there were certain newbie traits that would take time to break.

I’d get in there, for sure – maybe on a long winter’s night after a long slow fuck, I’d pull down the sling from the attic, strap up his legs, give him a bottle of poppers, get in Zen Space, and feast on his boy-hole, teaching him how to pussy it. Showing him that any daddy worth his salt is more than willing to suck hole, toss the salad, and drive a young colt crazy. I loved eating boy-pussy, and this one was gonna be the finest I’d every munched.

But, not tonight. It was all too new, I understood, again instinctively, and besides that, the k** had just cummed. He was hard again, but still slightly virginal and tentative. Once I was down there I also understood that he needed my body close to his, touching him, holding him, pressing my weight into him. This was, perhaps, too distant a connection … for now.

It was fine, though. I made him shiver – made him twitch – gave him something to think about hours and days from now, when the cock-lust rose again. “Damn,” he’d think to himself, feeling his hardened prick. “Dad ate my ass – so fucking nasty … but hot. Hot.”

He’d come back to my tongue. I was certain of it. So after another minute or so of deep-kissing his essence, I pulled up, sloughing my muscles under his thick legs, showing him my own glazed eyes.

My own need.

“You want to know what’s next?” I panted.

“Yessir,” he said, still trying to smile, but sensing that his imposed playfulness was over.

“Well k**, now that you’re a man – it’s time to fuck you like one.”

His eyes got big.

I planted a big sloppy wet kiss on his lips, shocking through his analingus-resistance.

Then I rose up on my knees, grabbing for the bottle of industrial-strength lube I kept around for the occasional fisting bottom.

“Hold those legs up, k**. That’s your job.”

He nodded, beginning to sweat. I smelled the fear on him. The voices may be gone, but his recovery mechanism still needed work. Didn’t care, though. He’d gotten his – twice now. Time for me to get mine. I’d been sweet and sexy and savvy all night. It was time to get a little fucking savage.

“You got your nut, son. Daddy needs to get his. That’s how this works, see. Fair’s fair.”

That seemed to touch a nerve. He got it – nodded, understanding. Without prompting.

“You’re gonna fuck me again,” he said. It was a whisper.

“Yeah k** – “

“Uhhhh –“

“Gonna fuck ya for a nice long time, too, now that my balls are drained a little. Got some things to learn ya about taking care of this cock of mine. Time for that is now.”

All along I’d been lathering my cock, pushing my fingers a bit roughly up his butt – fuck the love, I thought. That part was clear enough. Even a fucktard like me had finally picked up on it. The question was: Could he take care of my cock?

Take care of me.

The way I liked to get taken care of, once I got going.

I saw the hesitation - the fear in his eyes. If it were any other trick it would have pissed me off a bit – it would have turned a ‘you can stay the night’ into a ‘time for you go now, son – got work in the morning.’

But there was something so innocent about his concern that the little fucker nearly stopped me in my tracks. Here I was trying to push aside the love, and it pushed back. Harder.

I took a deep breathe, leaned back on my haunches, wiped the lube off my hands. Then grabbed his thighs, pulling him into me, bucking my cock up under his butt so he could feel its hardness, but not be threatened by its intention. Then I wrapped my arms around him.

“Hold me, son,” I said, and he did, gasping just a bit – emotional. “What’s wrong?”

“Scared,” he said, gulping a bit.

“Scared of what, baby,” I said, nuzzling him.

“Never done this before, dad,” he croaked, holding back his fear, but not successfully.

“I know, Ryan,” I whispered. “But I got your virginity – so you know you can do it, don’t you k**?”

“Yeah –“ he said, nodding his head, but then he reversed course, shaking his head, burying it into my shoulder.

“S’wrong k**?” I asked, worried now, but my cock a bit peeved, it being all rigid and ready to go now.

“Never done more than twice, Mr. James,” he said, letting me in on his dirty secret. “Usually only went once – sometimes when I was real horned, did it again. But by then, felt so bad about it – would just hate myself.”

He was gripping me now. Hard. Like he used to when he was three or four, except these arms were the arms of a man – muscular, almost crushing. (Almost.)

I just held him – trying to figure out the best thing to say. He wasn’t hard – wasn’t soft either – but I figured it was his fear that was getting in the way of his urgency. A k** like this, so full of testosterone should be ready to shoot three or four times a day. Wound up, all day. But the church had done a number on him. Fucked his head up.

It took pretty intense effort to pull him up from his prone position. It’s the kind of lift I should stop doing, says the doc. Could throw out my back. But I had him, and he wanted me to have him, so there he was, legs wrapped around my waist while he rested on my cock and I held him up.

“k**,” I said, pulling away from him, looking him in the eye. “This is the best part. Right here. When two people get together and they … they can’t stop. Don’t want to.”

I kissed him. Then his neck. Then looked into his eyes again.

“Do you want to stop, Ryan?”

“No,” he said, still scared.

“Do you trust me?”

He looked at me, then. Hard. Deep. More directly than he had all summer. All that crap and anger had gotten in the way, and now he was looking at me – the man that was me.

He nodded. It was tentative. But it was enough.

I reached down, pushing my fingers gently between my cock and his taint. I slowly touched his hole. It was a kind touch. There was gentleness now that had been missing before. He shuddered.

“I want to make you feel so good, Ry,” I said, kissing him back on the lips, gently.

“Oh,” he said, rising now, fear still present.

“But I want to make me feel good, too. You understand that right?”

He nodded. I dropped my fingers, wrapped them around my cock – pulled it’s length up into his wet taint.

“Do you want to feel good, baby?”

“Yeah,” he said, breathless now, eyes closing.

“Do you want to make me feel good?”

“Yes,” he said in a loud, hissing whisper. He kissed me then and his butt began to move, sliding up and down my length just a little. He still stayed away from the head: I let him find his own way, bore into my own patience, which had been running thin, but was now expanding as I accepted my role of teacher. I had to teach the k** how to be a lover.

I pushed my head up into his ear, breathing hot breath. He shook again, this time more dramatically.

“I know what I’m doing, son. I know how to make you feel good – know what makes me feel good. If you trust me, Ryan – if you relax, I can make you feel things that you’ll never forget. That will change your life.”

I had started to hunch into him, making sure my hair-covered stomach rubbed his leaking cock – that my own manhood plied at his youth.

“Do you want that?”

“Yes,” he said, nodding, biting my neck, letting himself go a little more. “It’s just scary to me, daddy – they said it was so bad…” he said, words trailing off, arms, clutching me.

I didn’t stop though – wouldn’t. I needed to fight through it. Push him through it.

“Does this feel wrong to you, son,” I said, kissing him on the lips now, diving into his mouth.

“Nnnnnnnnooo,” he groaned into my mouth, biting my tongue.

“Does this,” I growled, pulling my lips away from his, pushing the head of my cock against his hole while it trembled, tightened – pulsed.

“Oh gawd no –“

“Let me be your daddy, then, baby. Let me in. You’re safe with me.”

He groaned now, urgently fighting against his conditioning, allowing his passion to take over.

“Pleassssse,” he grunted, trying to give me access, which I took. Inexperienced, he slid too far, then clinched, crying out.

“Shhhhhh – I got you. I got you. Relax, baby boy. Daddy got you.”

“Ohhhhnooo,” he moaned, breathing in, then falling on my rod, collapsing onto me. I used the momentum to lay him back down on his back, pushing into him, rediscovering my boys that I’d left behind – pushing them aside – showing him his depths.

“There,” I said, with strength. “That’s where daddy belongs, baby. You know that. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yessss,” he cried, nodding, tears dripping out of his eyes, which watched me like a baby’s. He was imprinting – I could see him doing it. It was intense – his embrace of me. It was total. It was both ********** and very adult, his signal that he was mine now, to do with what I wanted.

And suddenly – beyond my own needs and my own need to breed – what I wanted to give him was the ride of his life. Suddenly, years of getting my own paled next to giving him everything he’d dreamed of but been told to despise.

I sank into him, never taking my eyes off him. I jerked it, impossibly trying to lift his body off the bed with my cock. I pushed deeper, probing, touching his inner-most self. He gasped and groaned at each parry. He was beautiful to watch, his body completely surrendered, responding to each touch. I pulled out and his eyes shot open, panicked, pleading with me soundlessly not to leave him empty. So I made my way back and his mouth opened, thanking me soundlessly for hearing his cry. He began to respond, counter each move. By topping him better than I’d ever topped anyone, I taught him how to bottom with abandon.

Soon our bodies, wet with a sweaty sheen, worked as one, two big muscled forms joined seamlessly, him opening to me and me deepening him. The tension exited his body. Then the apprehension. Then the fear.

Then he began to grunt, showing me the man that he was becoming, relishing the rut of us, the raw, sensual masculinity that dwelled in our coupling, filling the room. Our musky scent permeated the space. His hair was wet now – eyes fiery, blinking out the sting and encouraging my fuck.

“Daddy,” he grunted, looking at me, questioning –

“Hmmmm?” I said, continuing to fuck, smiling now, feeling him welcome me to the edge of his abandon.

“So good?”

It was a question – a startled one. He was asking … . could it really feel this good? Be this perfect? Overwhelm his senses so profoundly.

“Yeah, Ryan,” I nodded, sweat dripping into his face, mouth opened, beginning to go now.

“God – God” he panted, shuddering. He was vacant – but also completely present – he was having an out of body experience, while completely in his body, tuned to each flex of muscle, each twitch and turn – each prod of my cock.

“Just getting’ started, son,” I grunted, flexing my wet arms under his legs, pushing them up, beginning a hard and direct pound into his ass, one that he was ready for now. He cried out, scratching my back, feet pulling my ass into his body.

Out came his tongue which I drooled spit on, which added to his exceptionalism.

Our sounds filled the room. My balls, unleashed previously but pushed to maximum production, slapped against his open ass with an a****l obscenity. I could hear him hear us – hear the wetness of his expanding opening as I frothed my boys into a batter, preparing to unleash another spermicidal assault. He pushed back into me, increasing his exertions as I increased my own. He became as focused on me as I was focused on him and we mated deep into the darkest part of the night. We were alone in the forest in a clearing of our own making – the a****ls quieted by our passion.

We spoke words to each other that I can’t even remember – words of encouragement and lust. At one point I saw his eyes flash with concern as I increased my tempo, beginning to ride him like I’d ridden few other men – but all I did was smile back at him, revealing my lustful joy at the ride he was allowing me to take. At which point he threw back his head and cried, “Awwwwww-fuckmedaddy.” It was guttural. It was proud. It was demanding.

I scooped his legs for one last breeding hump, bringing my hands around, grabbing his thick muscled pecs. He flexed into me, proudly, eyes bulging, nostrils flaring. He began to beat his fists into my back, encouraging my v******e, joining it. My mouth was opened. Spit dripped from it as I panted on the final sprint. His breathing matched mine. Then I prodded upward, knowing the perfect angle and the perfect time to stab his prostrate with my spear. He grunted, expanding his muscles – eyes enlarging like prey – but willing prey glorifying its last moment of life.

“Fuck,” he cried, head throwing back. “Gonna cum.” It had caught him by surprise, but I knew I could jam it out of him. I was proud that I could – triumphant –

“With me, son,” I barked, jerking back, holding his legs, slamming into him. He snapped his head back up, chin on his chest, eyes lasered to mine.

“Daddy,” he groaned, mouth open, eyes squinted, body coiled.

“Now,” I cried, slamming one more mighty thrust upward, banging his hard youthful nut with the thick hammer-head of my cock, and pushing the button of his explosion. He yelled out, twitching and flexing, sweat flying, as his cock erupted, spraying seamen. His cry filled the room – shook the house – and his release triggered mine.

I joined his shout, gripping his flexing legs that twitched with each spasm, boring into him, trying to get all the way inside. I swear to God if I could have crawled up into him I would have – as it is my cock grew beyond recognition, pushing in and outward, violating some last piece of him that I had not yet touched, which only created a more passionate outcry that he allowed me to witness.

I humped and humped, grunting now, finally – finally – allowing myself to be myself. The captain – having secured his crew’s erotic departure, now rode the wave of his own pleasure, pumping the boy with a flood of herd-sperm.

His orgasm was epic – yet another display of spray but this one, given our shared experience, was one that I’ll never forget. The first blasts plastered his face and open mouth, but it was done with intention. He’d taking the cue about giving pleasure and he knew, instinctively, that seeing his seed cover his face would push every button I had. What didn’t land in his face landed in his mouth and he looked up at me, lips drooling with cum, eyes heavy with lust, face painted with sperm. It was pornographic. Lewd.

He lapped at his own cum, showing me that he found it delicious. Enervating.

What had previously been sinful and disgraceful was now fetishized. His eyes were gluttonous – greedy. He’d crossed over. Never again would orgasm be feared. Now it would be welcomed – his and my own – with savor and hunger. I nodded at him, welcoming him to the club, and he spurted again, this time a powerful shot that covered his eyes. He was blind now, and I bent down, feeding on his mess, sucking his face, licking. With each devouring I pushed another shot of my boys in his guts.

He was getting cum from both ends, reveling in it – feverish with desire. Our mouths twined as his orgasm continued to pump. Our faces were smeared with his seed. Then, as I saw the end of my explosion on the horizon, felt the last two epic grunts building in my balls, I yanked out, threw down his legs and crawled over him –

“Have some more, k**,” I growled, and he opened his mouth, tongue hanging out, trying to find my quivering, swaying cock with blind eyes – but he needn’t have looked. I had to shoot in his mouth – wanted my cum mixed with his – had to give him everything that I could in this final moment.

“Oh god-mmph,” he choked as I pushed my spraying head into his maw, grabbed his wet head and thrust into him.

“You can do this,” I growled, as I shoved my slimy cock down his throat – and he could – he did. Grasping my muscled ass he pulled me into his gullet, swallowing and wallowing in my last shots. His nose snorted – his mouth expanded – but the k** didn’t choke. He wanted me in his throat as much I wanted to be there, and I kneeled over him, cock pumping, him swallowing.

I knew that a k** like this – after a fuck like that – would need after-care, and I was poised to jump to it, as soon as the last vestiges of his second orgasm trembled through his big frame. But … I also knew cum-lust when I saw it, and my boy Ryan seemed to have an acute case of it.

It was the eyes – the eyes always tell you so much. I could see their disappointment that the spigot of my hose was about to turn off. I was torn – torn between wanting to care for him and wanting to help him uncover some of his deepest urges. Maybe, I theorized, in just the split second while my cock bulged out his cheeks, it wasn’t just the religious bullshit that had freaked him out so bad. Maybe it was also an overwhelming desire to do what he had just started to do. To drink cum. To lick hole. To bottom out. To be, for lack of a better word, a slut.

Maybe – I thought – I had a little spring piggie, and what I really needed to do was feed him well.

Going on instinct, seeing the glint in his eye as he savored the seed that had spilled inside and outside his lips, I reached down and slid my hand up his cum-soaked frame. Some of my own had shot there when I pulled out – it was a nice slug of sperm. Then I pulled my declining cock from his lips, lubing it up with the cum, while squeezing the last drops of spooge into his mouth. He flexed his arms, gripping my hips, eyes big as saucers as I slid back in, feeding him my sperm-soaked cock. The rumble from his depths confirmed my suspicions. He was a cum-hound. Probably a cock hound, too, from the way he attacked my stick with his mouth. While he did I lifted ropes of his cum off his face, savoring the taste as I licked it off my fingers – making sure he saw me love cum, too. His eyes were big – taking it all in.

Eventually, my cock clean and loose, I pulled out, yanked his big body up to my own, looking at him – checking in. Trying to see deep into his eyes. His mouth was open. His tongued flicked out – wanting to taste mine. I let him. He shivered.

“Did I do good,” he asked, tentatively.

“Fuck yeah, k**. Best fuck I had in years – maybe ever.”

“Really?”

“I don’t lie about shit like this, son. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that.”

“Me either,” he said, wrapping one arm around me. With the other, though, he grabbed onto my cock, feeling its fleshy, semi-hard state.

“Did I make this feel good,” he asked, giving it a squeeze, asking with a tone that was lustful. Almost seedy.

“Baby,” I growled, while he worked my cock, “This ass was made for that cock.” I was cupping his ass with my hands and while I did, I pushed fingers into his raw, wet depths. He moaned.

“But what about you, son,” I said, whispering into his ears, pressing our wet bodies together. “Did I make you feel good?” I asked, probing him.

“Oh, god, daddy,” he sighed – but there was heat, too, and lust. “So good, dad,” he whispered, licking my ear. “Never felt anything so good. Ever.”

“And how do you feel now, son,” I asked, voice deepening, showing him I was serious.

“Unnnhhh,” he said, tightening his grip of me with one hand and his hold on my cock with his other. “Empty,” he finally replied.

My cock jumped.

“Is that how it’s gonna be, daddy?” he whispered. “That … when you’re done … I’ll feel … ” his words trailed off. But we both caught his meaning.

“Maybe,” I said, probing his hole more intentionally. “Don’t be scared of it, Ryan. Some guys – well, yeah. Once that get some, all they want is more. But that could also be because you’ve never had it before, you know?”

“I think it’s both,” he said, barely audible.

I nodded – caressing him with one hand, but probing his emptiness with the other. I admit, the ‘empty’ comment spun me up. Nothing I like more than a young man with a bottomless butt. I’d hardened again, thinking of his open hole speaking its needs to him. To me.

“Daddy,” he groaned, putting the pieces together. “It got hard when I said that. When I said I felt empty, your cock got hard again. I felt it.” The stroking of my shaft was more urgent and intentional.

“Yeah,” I said. It was a grunt and an acknowledgement.

“Ooooohhh,” he said, looking down at it – drawn to it.

I pulled his face back up: “You listen to me, son,” I said, lust rising in me, but words clearly formed in my mind. “If you ever feel ‘empty’ again – ever – you just tell me. Don’t care where we are – even on the job site. There’s ways … “ I said, falling off, as his eyes got all big again. “Just – k** – listen. If you say that to me, this cock’ll get hard, and I’ll stuff you so full … you don’t need to feel empty with me around, boy. And you don’t have to hold back. Just tell me. I need to know if you need me to fuck you, Ryan – because I will. Any-fucking-time I will.”

He was nodding – aroused – empowered, understanding the depth of my drives and my desires. I was giving him permission to need. To want. To have urges, by showing him my own.

Telling him he was not alone in his lust.

“Like right now,” he said, pushing his ass back on my paw, positng it as a statement, not a question.

“Like right now, Ryan,” I replied, pulling my fingers out of his hole and gripping his hand around my full-hard cock.

“Bend over son.”

“Just like that, daddy?” It was posed as a question but there was also surprise. He had reached up, gripping my pec, pausing me. He seemed surprised that he could get my cock so easily – but also … amazed? I don’t know. We held there like that, him gripping my cock and pec, me ready to fuck again. I showed him my signals: the flared nostrils, the heavier breathing, the readied muscled. Then it was time to take charge.

“Yes, son. Just like that,” I said, pulling back, removing his hands from my body – pushing him away. “Now, turn around and bend over, like I told you to.” There was more than a little hint of dominance in that last bit, intentionally. He needed to know that this wasn’t a game to me. That if he asked for it and got me up, there was no backing down.

This was fucking. This was all I had after I gave up the booze and the dope and the smokes. I took it seriously. Loved taking it seriously. Needed him to know the rules on my field of play.

“Yes daddy,” he whispered, catching the vibe and pivoting perfectly, sighing down into position, pushing his ass up, giving me total access.

There was cum dripping out of his hole and running down his taint. I’d had my share, it’s true, but I needed more. Wanted more. So without pause or ceremony, other than the worshipful touch that his perfect-fucking-ass required, I pushed back into the dripping boy-cunt that I had created only hours ago. He groaned, loudly. It was a man-groan. A need groan.

“Fuck me, daddy,” he grunted, even louder. “Fuck me again. Please fuck me again.”

And so – I did – sinking my hardened dad-cock into his new boy-hole – plunging my sperm deeper – finding what remained of his cherry, and destroying the very last piece.

He was wet – full – young. He could take it – discovered his stamina, and began to growl constantly, learning what he’d been missing all his young life. My cock surged again, surprisingly quickly, and blew another nut, thick and deep. I kept it all inside of him where it belonged, and he moaned like a whore, learning what it felt like to be overflowing with breed-seed. And that didn’t stop us – there was no pause whatsoever after I creamed him again – just more fuck, which he demanded/I demanded: we needed.

We fucked all night.

There may have been moments of repose or even short sleeps, but whatever had intimidated and frightened the young man was now gone. I’m not sure if we killed it, confined it or just scared the living shit out of it, but years of repression exploded on my bed that night, and I feasted on it. It was not, however, one-sided. His innocence and open heart responded to my own impairment: the loneliness that had haunted me since the war. Whatever he took from me – and he took a lot – he gave back in ‘daddy’ honorifics, caring eyes and a heart that was, at times, overwhelming. He was like a rescued pup, adopted just hours before euthanizing. I had uncapped a deep well of love and gratitude and now was the beneficiary of a constant gusher of emotion.

I had not felt so whole in years.

I had not felt so passionately engaged … and just plain happy.

Among other things, the k** was a goof-ball and though I fucked him like a man, I engaged him like a boy. In the deepest part of the night we giggled like best buddies, tickling and wrestling … then entwining in deeply meaningful kisses.

And, suddenly, it was morning.

Well – not suddenly. It doesn’t happen that way. We all know that. But it seemed too. The dawn crept up during our last intense, driving love-making, a marathon of painful riding that had to have stretched him to the limits, and certainly pushed me to my own. I finally roared a final, searing orgasm into his guts, him biting me, crying in completion, urging me on, begging me to give him just one more cum – one more shot – one more explosion of my DNA.

Which I did.

I may have slept thereafter. I probably did. But it felt more like a long daze – a floating, semi-conscious sensation that eventually faded and then, there we were, in the light. His hair was wet but drying on the edges. He was lying on his side, eyes wide open, alert and awake. I was on my back, one arm under my head, the other covering my manhood – protecting it, I think, from the possibility of his additional desire.

“Morning,” he said, smiling. He was such a big dude – thick and muscled. But God he had the heart of a c***d, it seemed, and was willing to bare it. The combination was vexing and irresistible.

“Morning,” I said, the word catching in my throat. I was hoarse. It was from our deep expression of passions. It had been a vocal, noisy night.

He rose effortlessly, (delicately, given his size) and disappeared into the bathroom. He returned with a glass of water. He presented it to me, naked. He was beautiful in the morning light – body flecked with speckles of cum and salt and sweat.

I raised my eyebrows. I was not used to being taken care of.

“Drink it. Don’t be an asshole,” he said.

Lesser men would have had their asses spanked for that transgression – then fucked – then spanked again. But I was spent. The k** had taken everything I had. I sat up, took the glass and drank it.

He crawled back into bed, curling up beside me, head on my leg. He breathed deeply. I joined him. We stayed that way, being together. Learning what that was like.

We learned … it was nice.

“Would you like to move in?” I asked, surprising myself.

“I’ve been living here all summer,” he said, just this side of snarky. I looked down at him. He was looking up at me, eyes sparkling.

“Now who’s being an asshole?” I asked, smirking at his stupidly youthful joke. “I meant – this room. Would you like to move in to this room?”

“Yes, please,” he said, wrapping himself around my leg.

“I’ll have to shift some stuff around.”

“I don’t have much,” he said.

“That will change,” I said, beginning to make promises that I intended to keep.

“I’ll help. I’d like to – help.”

“I want you to help.”

There was a long pause. We were at that tipping point – the point where we could retreat under the covers and sleep to the afternoon – or go forth into the world, sleepless, drained, but emotionally high. We chose the latter.

“Eat soon,” he said, hopefully.

“Talk first,” I replied.

“About?”

“Your father.”

“I knew you were going to say that.”

“He’s freaked out – been avoiding him. Have to get in touch.”

“I know.”

“Have to tell him, too.”

“Now?” he said, tensing, gripping me even harder. I pushed him away, grabbed my phone, then slid next to him, pulling a sheet over us. We were face to face.

“No, Ryan. Not on the phone. The kind of things you have to say to your dad – that I have to say to my best friend – they should be said in person.”

“Do we have to?” he squeaked. It was a poor attempt – not even worthy of reply, and I showed that in my expression. “I’m sorry,” he said, immediately trying to turn away, which I prevented with a grip on his thick muscled arm.

I looked at him – harder this time. As an adult? Or … maybe, yeah, as a Dad.

“Son,” I said, changing my tone of voice. “You wanted me to make you a man. I did that. Now it’s time to start acting like one.”

He was on the cusp of reversion – regression to the easier, petulant self of the entire summer, and of at least the last handful of years. But then I saw him look down that path and reject it.

“I’ll need your help,” he said.

“You’ll have it.”

“What do … what do we tell . . ?“

“Everything.”

He winced at that – afraid, I think, it might threaten us.

“Don’t worry, Ryan. I’ll tell him about us. That’s gonna be the hard part – the part where he’s gonna be unpredictable. But, first you gotta tell him you’re gay, son. He has to hear that from you.”

“I know.”

I kissed him on the forehead. He snuggled into me.

“It’s weird,” he said, breathing into my chest, head under my chin. “I know he doesn’t care about gay guys – I mean, you’re his best friend. It’s just – scary, telling the truth.”

“Usually is.”

He looked at me. “Is it better? Once you do?”

“Always. Always is. Maybe not with your mom – to be brutally honest – but it’s better otherwise. Better for you most of all. The real reason you’re scared, son, is because you been lying to him for so long. That’s what’s hard to front. Being who you are is easy. Apologizing for the lies – and the shit the lies made you do – that ain’t.”

“Sometimes I think you’re the smartest man in the world.”

That made me laugh out loud.

He rolled over, pretending to be hurt.

“Ain’t that at all – just got experience,” I said, slapping his has nice and hard. It was a great ass to slap. I’d be doing that a lot. Hopefully for a very long time, if not the rest of my life.

I pushed out of bed, hiding my true worry: how Burt would take the fact that I’d ripped out his son’s cherry and now … well, now I was pretty much head over heals in love with him, too. There would be no avoiding it – he would smell it on the k** about twenty minutes after he came out of the closet. So I’d have to step up immediately after and tell my own truth. It would be a helluva one-two punch. And Burt was nothing if not explosive.

“Gonna call your dad,” I said, turning on the phone. “He’s been freak-“

He slid up beside me, grabbing the phone from my hand.

“I’ll do it.”

“Son,” I said, slightly annoyed at his impetuousness.

“My responsibility, dad,” he said, not backing down. “Like you said.”

The k** had his moments – kept having them. This was one of them. “Been my responsibility all summer and I blew it off. Time to change.”

He had dialed before I could argue – Burt picked up on the first ring.

“Where the fuck – what the fuck – been worried fucking sick – he alright? I’m about to get into the fucking truck, you asshole. Just finished packing.”

The k** held the phone so I could hear –

“Daddy –“ he interjected.

“Fucker don’t know how to text? Jesus – see, this is the problem, Drew – you ain’t never had k**s –“

“Daddy,” he said, more loudly.

“Didn’t fucking sleep hardly at all, you sunnova bitch –“

“DAD!” he shouted, smiling though. It never hurts a c***d’s sense of himself to hear the revved up worry of a parent.

“Wh – what? Wait – who is –“

“It’s me. I’m fine. I’m calling to tell you I’m fine. We’re fine.”

“Is Drew there?”

“Right here – but I wanted to call. Tell you I’m okay. I’m not lying. I am – Sir. I am. I’m … I’m doing good, Dad. Like – real good.”

“Um – oh – oh, okay – I was – I been worried.”

“It’s been hard,” he said, speaking quickly now. “The last week was hard, Dad. That’s why Drew – um, Mr. James - didn’t – he hasn’t – he’s had his hands full. With me.”

“Now, son,” Burt said, beginning to wind up. Ryan and I both heard it – I tried to intervene, but he took control.

“Dad. I’m serious. I’m fine. I … I don’t think I’ve ever been better. Mr. James thinks so, too. He’s gonna tell ya, too. So please – please – don’t worry. Please don’t. Please – trust me. I know that’s hard, given what an asshole I been, but please, daddy – please try to trust me now.”

There was a long pause. I could hear the tension and the heavy breathing – but it abated.

“Okay – Okay then,” he said, backing down. “I mean – that’s good. It’s good, k** – that you’re … better. That’s great.”

“Drew – sorry, Mr. James – he wanted to know if you’re still coming down next weekend. For Labor Day.” The k** was smiling. He had me – he’d taken it for action.

I had mentioned a possible visit, in passing, about a month ago, but that was while the k** had his head shoved straight up his ass, so there hadn’t been any discussion after that. We hadn’t talked about it at all, except just now: our brief pillow-chat that Burt deserved the truth, and that truth should be delivered face to face. And minutes later, the k** … well, fuck, he made it happend.

“I mean – yeah. Yeah!” Burt said. I could hear his excitement through the phone. “That’s why I been texting – I mean – don’t want to intrude or anything but I miss you, son – I mean – I know shit has been rough but –“

“Daddy?” Ryan said, cutting off his father.

“Uh – what?”

“We got a lot to talk about. I want to do it face to face. You know – man to … man. So – can we save it for next week? Friday?”

There was a pause. I could imagine the colors in Burt’s face – he didn’t like push-back much, but there was nothing he could do about this. The k** had him.

“Sure, k**,” he said. “Sure. Makes sense.”

“Can’t wait to see you, Dad,” he said, almost convincing me – then he handed the phone to me, looking right at me, standing tall and proud – youthful and expectant. Again the puppy – but a man-pup now, looking for his Alpha’s approval. I took the phone and pulled him into me.

“Burt –“

“What the fuck is going on, bro?”

“Long story – been a long week. Big progress though.”

“I been texting – calling –“

“And I been an asshole. But I also had my hands full, bro. Seriously have.”

“He okay? Really?”

“He is. Really.”

“You want me down there? He says you do.”

“I do. We do. We can’t wait to see you.”

“Alright then.”

“We’re off the job-site around 1:00 on Friday. Maybe 2:00. Probably count on 2:00. So if you can get here around 3:00 or after, that would be good.”

“Kind of what I was thinking.”

“It will be good to see you.”

“You, too. I mean – I appreciate you – what you been doing. For me. For him.”

“Well … it’s done a world of good for me, too,” I said, pushing into my new lover, holding him while I tried to keep my breathing under control.

“Huh – “ he said, full of questions.

“Lots to talk about, Bro. But I want you to know something right now: it’s all good. All good.”

“Okay then – all good. Can’t – you know – ask for much more than that.”

“Busy day today, bro – gotta get food in for ya – get the house together. It’s a fucking shit-pit – you know – just two guys hanging out. Fucking mess.”

“Have the k** help ya – put his ass to work.”

“Oh – I will,” I said, cupping his butt. The k** was stifling a giggle now. I had to get off the phone.

“Friday, then,” he said.

“Friday. It’s all good, Burt. Not lying. It’s all good.”

“Good to hear, Drew. It’s good to hear that.”

We hung up.

“I’m kind of scared,” he said, holding me completely now.

“Me, too.”

“I never thought you could be scared – ever.”

“Well son – “ I said, holding him back. “Ya learn something new every day.”

On cue – together – our stomachs emitted the most outrageously loud growls I’d ever heard. Mated, it seemed, they joined hands in hungry solidarity, and rejected our stasis.

We laughed. I slapped his butt, again. Naked we headed downstairs, listing every food item we would consume together in the next hour of gorging: bacon, eggs, sausage, waffles, toast, butter – and more.

Epilogue … ish

It was a full day – exhausting. We stayed close. Even shopping for next weekend’s groceries, we stayed tight, almost inappropriate, given our Southern Locale but honestly, it must have looked like a father and his son, just loving each other.

We stuck to the Hy-Vee though. I wasn’t ready to introduce him to my community. That would come, in time.

He surprised me that evening, insisting on an early dinner, because of the “Company meeting in the morning.”

“What company meeting?”

“Thought you knew about it. It’s your company.” He was smirking.

“Fuck if I called a company meeting. Don’t have time for that shit. Behind schedule already.”

“That’s why we’re starting at 6:30. Arnie called it.”

I was pissed. “What the fuck?”

“Arnie did – everyone gonna be there. Some announcements and shit.”

I called Arnie. No answer. I texted him. No answer.

k** just shrugged. Something was up – he knew it. If I weren’t so head-over-heals in love with him, I would have been able to hold on to my anger, but I couldn’t. I just went with the flow. He and Arnie had something up their sleeves. I’d find out in the morning.

So, we went to bed. I’d been thinking we’d go another round, but once we folded into each other, we just held tight. Sleep was close, even though we were hard. It had been a long day – what with the shopping, then moving him into the room. I pulled out most of my uniforms and Army crap. He gave a long low whistle when he saw the fatigues – another when he saw the dress uniform. “Fuck, dad,” he grunted. “Would love to see you in those.”

“That could be arranged,” I said – and in my imagination, I considered a long weekend of uniform play. There was still so much we could explore – so much I could teach him. He saw my cock rise – I saw his do the same.

That day would come.

“Tired, daddy,” he said, touching my hardness, respecting it.

“Me too, k**,” I replied, cupping his ass.

“This is so nice,” he sighed. I nodded. We fell asleep, together. Instantly.

At the company meeting Arnie made some kind of bullshit announcement, thanking everyone for taking the additional time (which, to be clear, I would pay for) and then the k** stepped up and out, moving into the middle of the circle of men. He seemed both powerful and diminished: intimidated and solid.

He cleared his throat, looking at the ground.

“So – um – I told Arnie I wanted to say some stuff.” There was a shuffle. A lot of the guys had written the k** off. Suddenly the dynamic was tight. I got my back up. Needed to be there for him but he looked at me, defiant. It was his first sign of it – defiance, I mean – appropriate defiance - and it was impressive. He had a way with his muscles. He used them now, puffing up a bit, mostly to show me he was fine – could handle it.

“The thing is, I been a total dick here. Most of the summer. I mean – not all of it, but – “

“Most of it,” said Angelo, eyes, staring daggers.

“Yeah – most of it,” the k** nodded. “I been really bad to my dad’s best friend here, too. Mr. James. The boss. I treated him like shit. So what I’m saying now is that I’m sorry. And that I was wrong. I know that don’t mean shit – that I got to prove myself. So I’m gonna try. And I appreciate how much you all have put up with my fucked up … ness. You know – me. But I had to say I’m sorry. Because I am.”

Reginald was smiling. He was all for redemption, him being a church-goer and shit. Most of the other guys were pretty cold. Arnie just nodded at the k**.

“The other thing I got to say is this: the reason I been such an asshole – you know – such a … bitch –“

“Fucking bitch,” Angelo spit out.

“Yeah – that – is cuz I’m gay, see. And I really was fucked up about it. I – um hated that about myself. And that’s why I called so many people ‘******’ and stuff – ‘cuz I was one of ‘em and trying not to be. But that – that doesn’t work. So I know – Mr. James – I know I offended you most of all, given what I called you so many times, and I’m sorry about that. So much. And I know I offended you guys, too – because everyone here likes Mr. James, him being such a good boss –“

“He alright,” Angelo said, smiling now, looking at the k** – then me – then back at the k**. Then I saw his nose twitching. He was smelling for the sex – and he caught it, the fucker. Caught the scent. His eyes lit up and he looked at me again, and I looked back at him, and he just smiled the biggest fucking smile I ever seen on him.

“Anyway, the reason I been so fucked up is because of that and now that I can admit it – you know – that I’m gay – I think I can be better. So – I’m sorry. And I wanted to say that. And things are gonna change – I mean that. It’s a promise I made to Arnie – and I’m making it to you and Mr. James, too.”

Then he walks up and sticks out his hand, like I’m not his lover, but his boss and I take it, and he says: “I’m sorry I called you a ******, Boss. I did it because I wanted to be just like you, but I couldn’t admit that to myself. So, I’m sorry. I truly am. It’ll never happen again.”

Then he let go, because he was about to get all teary, and the guys kind of mumbled, except Angelo, who whistled and they all looked at Arnie, who nodded his head, so everyone started to turn, but it was my fucking company, so I needed to control this shit, not him – starting now.

“Two things, assholes,” I said, growling a bit, making them turn back to the circle. “First, we all know about fighting on site. It ain’t allowed. Fucking ever. And we all know what happens when that rule gets broken. So - since I started a fight on Friday, my pay is getting docked. Big time. That money’s going straight into The Bar Fund. And, since I’m the boss and since I fucked up, it’s gonna be a big hit. I’ll be paying the tab for the next two months. Pizza, too, on Fridays. All you can eat.”

There was a bit of a hoot. Not much – guys being guys – but I could tell that some of them had already been thinking of the fight on Friday, and wondering whether the rules applied to the boss. They did. So I took care of that shit.

“Second thing – just a bit of a clarification that I think is important, given what went down on Friday. So, here’s what I have to say about that.” I looked right at the k**, grinning, then right at Angelo. “I seen the k**’s dick. And he got a nice one. Ain’t as big as mine, of course, but it’s a dick to be proud of. Angie was wrong, but that’s probably because he got size issues.”

The guys were mostly speechless, but more than a few laughed.

“So – anyway – just wanted to set the record straight on that front. Since Angie here was misinformed.”

A few figured it out. The rest would, in time. Not many secrets among the crew.

“Now – get to work, fuckers. If you want time off on Friday, we got to kick ass these next few days.

The guys s**ttered.

Reginald came right up to Ryan and gave him a massive hug. Then I heard him talking seriously – he was apologizing. I knew he was. His wife probably got the whole story and sent him here this morning with a demand for absolution. He and Ryan had an animated talk, which was something, given Reggie’s general silence. Then Angelo stepped in, pulling the k** aside. Ryan blushed, then got antsy, but Angie tossed his arm around the boy, looking back at me with a broad wink, and they talked for a few more minutes. Later – at lunch, the k** sat next to me, apart from the crew. The guys tried not to look – but they couldn’t help themselves.

“Lot’s to tell you, Dad,” He said, wolfing down his sandwich.

“Now probably not a good time, k**,” I said, trying to maintain some kind of propriety.

“Everyone knows – Angie told ‘em.”

“Fucker.”

“They’re happy. For you. Everyone knows you been lonely, dad. Everyone does.”

That hit me.

“Anyway – Reggie’s wife has invited us over to Sunday Barbecue. Can we go? Please? He got four daughters and two dogs – he says his wife wants to meet me –“

“k** –“

“Also, Angie and his husband want us to come over. That’d be fun, don’t you think? I told him my dad was coming this weekend so he said in a couple of weeks would be fine – I think that would be fun –“

“k**,” I said, looking at him as he chewed a mouthful of food. “You know why he invited you over, right?”

“To be nice?”

I nearly spit out my chips.

“Son – he wants to fuck you – they want to have a four-way. You don’t get invited to Angel’s and Roman’s place unless they want to fuck around with you.”

“Oh – “ he said, gulping, surprised. Then his eyes got big. “Wow.”

“Yeah – wow.”

“I mean – four guys? That’s like – a lot.”

“I know.”

He considered for a long while.

“But can we, though?” he asked, thoughtfully. “It sounds like fun.”

“We’ll talk about it.”

“Don’t worry, Dad. I’m never leaving you. Ever.”

“Son – “ I said, exasperated now, but also uncommonly happy. “Let’s just get through next weekend, okay? If we do that, we can talk about group sex, alright?”

He nodded, considering my wisdom.

“That seems smart, daddy,” he said, rising and heading over to sit between Reggie and Angelo. His smile bathed us all in light – unequaled even by the summer sun.

Now……

I know you fuckers want to know all about his dad – and what happened once we clued in Burt about our … relationship. And I know some of you freaks think something might have happened between the three of us. And …

Maybe it did.

Or …

Maybe it didn’t.

But tell ya what – me and the k** got a life to live. Reggie’s wife made a fast friend with Ryan, him being without a loving mother and all – and had him up to church two weeks later. Little fucker had me dragging behind him two weeks after that, me not wanting to be alone on Sunday mornings, and him wanting to introduce me to the new friends he’d met. The congregation was mixed and joyous …and welcoming. I do all my meetings there now.

Then there’s the dog we’re adopting. (And a second.)

The house we’re building, out on the land we bought, that the k** found on his own.

And college – which is mostly big arguments between the two of us, but nothing serious. It turns out we like to argue a little, because we get to fuck hard afterwards.

And k**s. Ryan wants to have k**s. Of course he does.

I wonder if I’m too old but … we’re taking it one step at a time.

One day at a time.

You know how that goes.

For now – all you need to know is we found each other. We’re happy. We’re still fucking like men do – and getting freaky – like freaks do.

And, yeah, we headed on over to Angelo’s and Roman’s, but not before they came to our place and we had a proper gay dinner with a proper gay discussion about safety and limits. And there was no sex that night – none at all. I’m still the k**’s dad – one of them, anyway – and we weren’t launching into a four-way without laying the ground rules and teaching the k** how to negotiate a scene.

So, anyway … go beat your cocks thinking about our possibilities. We’re gonna just live our lives and get on with it.

Thanks for reading.