Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Babes

Subject: Common Law – Ch. 3 Common Law by RJ This piece of fiction is about a teenager who finds himself co-parenting his son with his father. If you are offended by themes of incest and adult/youth, do not read. If you have any questions or comments about this piece, want to know about any of my other works, or just want to reach out, please don’t hesitate to email me. A list of my works, including links and descriptions, can be found here: https://bit.ly/2S5IYDI. If you would like to be added to a mailing list for this story (or all stories) and receive emails about any updates, let me know. Please also consider donating to Nifty if you fty/donate.html ~ Chapter 3 ~ It’s been a week since Dad and I watched his favorite porno together. Ever since, I’ve wanted to mention to him that I’m down for round two, but I don’t know how to bring that up without sounding weird, or desperate, or even flirtatious — the latter being a particular risk now that I’ve come out to him. I can’t say whether or not he’d shut me down. Even after that night, our relationship remained unaffected. No weirdness, no awkwardness. I’m thankful for that, truly, but it’s hard to *really* appreciate that fact while pining for my father more so than usual. I’m letting myself ogle him more openly, now, appreciate his form, his movements, his masculinity. But he’s sure as hell distracting. Even working out with him has shown me how easily sidetracked I can get. It doesn’t help that he only works out in his sneakers and gym shorts. Nothing else. No shirt, and no underwear, and in the right lighting, I can clearly see his cock through that fine mesh — or, when I’m holding his feet down while he does crunches, I’ll often get a glimpse of something up the leg of his shorts. Right now, the fabric has slid back far enough on his thick thigh for me to see the head of his cock, completely out and about, completely tempting me. Now it’s a matter of me battling with my head, forcing the thoughts of Dad stroking his thick, fatherly cock beside me from my consciousness lest blood flows where I don’t want it to. Thankfully he hits fifty crunches quickly, and we switch spots. I lie on my back, adjusting my crotch before getting into position. I’m definitely sporting a semi, and I swear I see Dad grin a bit before he puts his hands on my feet to hold them down. My turn. “Nervous about today?” he asks me. “Not really,” I tell him. “Nothing’s really happening.” For the past week, ever since Dad mentioned school (yet again), I’ve been thinking about it a little more seriously. I even reached out to a buddy of mine who goes to Gateway for cheap and asked him what he thinks of the school, of the programs, of commuter life. He works in the admissions department as a student worker, so he practically knows all the ins and outs of the college. He’s a great guy, and he offered to give me an “unofficial tour” so that I can avoid the nonsense of a real orientation and go at my own pace. Plus, since it’s a Friday, it won’t be terribly busy. “It’s a good school,” Dad says. “I know,” I say, smiling briefly before focusing on my crunches. I know Dad’s put a lot of research into it so that he can properly convince me to get back into academia. “I just have to see for myself.” “Know what you wanna study yet?” “N-no,” I grunt, getting tired from both talking and working out simultaneously. I hope he’s keeping track, because I’ve already lost count of my reps. “Just gonna do all the gen eds first, fuck around a bit.” “Language,” he warns. I flop onto my back for a moment to catch my breath, annoyed. “Seriously? I’m nineteen, Dad. Swearing’s not a big deal.” “It is to me,” he says. “*You* swear,” I point out, “and I never call you out on it.” “Maybe you should,” he says with a small smile. Then he puts his knees on my shoes, sliding his calloused hands up the sides of my legs before coming to a halt on my kneecaps. He gives them each a pat with his palm before resting them there. “Now, c’mon. You got thirty-two more.” I groan a bit, but begrudgingly continue — mostly because I like feeling his hands on my skin. I focus on the crunches, using a particular swirl of damp hair below his pecs as a focal point. Dad counts the rest of my crunches off, and when I finally hit fifty, I rest on my back, catching my breath. Damn, I’m feeling it today. My abs are sore as hell. But he slaps my leg in an “I’m proud of you” sort of way before standing up and helping me to my feet. We do a few more workouts (like squats, chin-ups, and burpees) before calling it quits. After we finish, both of us a bit sweaty and desperate for water, we head upstairs from the basement into the living room. Before either of us get to the kitchen, though, we see Mason smiling at us from the living room couch, dressed in a t-shirt and undies and watching his Saturday morning cartoons. Guess he got himself situated this morning. “Hi!” he says cheerfully. I smile. “‘Morning, baby.” I head over to the back of the couch, leaning over it to stroke his hair. He giggles, enjoying the touch. “You sleep okay?” He nods before puckering his lips. I laugh a little before bending to his whim, leaning over to peck him on the mouth. “Are you done with your essercise?” he asks, still fumbling with the “x” sound. “Yep. All done. You hungry?” “Yeah!” he says, looking at me upside down with those bright eyes of his. “Can I have Cap’n Crunchy, please?” “Coming right up,” I say, kissing the top of his head. I turn to Dad. “Water?” He just nods before I turn into the kitchen to first gulp down a glass of water and then fix a bowl of cereal for Mason. As I’m pouring the Cap’n Crunch into the bowl, I can hear Mason begging Dad to watch cartoons with him. “I gotta shower, kiddo,” Dad says. “Nooo,” Mason whines. “Watch with me!” I just chuckle to myself. I know damn well that once I get out there, Mason will be sitting in his Papa’s lap with a satisfied grin on his lips, and Dad will be looking passive, maybe a bit reluctant. And sure enough, once I grab Mason’s cereal and a glass of water for Dad, that’s exactly what I see. I hand them each their things, and both of them thank me. “Don’t spill any,” I warn Mason, who’s notorious for being a messy eater. He just dives right into his cereal, his eyes flickering back and forth between the bowl and the TV. I sit on the adjacent loveseat and relax, half-watching Scooby Doo. I’m mostly thinking about my makeshift orientation today, though. Admittedly, I *am* a little nervous — nervous that I’ll hate the school, that the inspiration to pursue higher education won’t spark, that I’ll disappoint my father when I return home feeling miserable and defeated and unmotivated. Taking a gap year probably *was* a mistake, considering how much the thought of going back to school irks me. I just want to be home, where my boy is. I want to take care of him. I want to watch him grow. I look over at the couch where my son and my dad are seated, and I smile. Both of them seem to be watching the TV intently, Mason chewing loudly on his cereal and Dad sipping eagerly on his water. Mason’s sitting squarely in Dad’s lap, and I notice my father’s hand resting on Mason’s bare thigh, his fingers absentmindedly rubbing the smooth skin there. It warms my heart seeing them together — my two favorite people in the world. My boy, and my man. Once the first episode of Scooby Doo is over and Mason’s finished with his cereal, Dad pats his grandson’s thighs and says “Alright. I gotta go get cleaned up now.” “Nooo,” Mason whines again, leaning back against his Papa. He shifts around in his lap a bit, trying to be as attached as possible. “Don’t leave.” I laugh a bit. “C’mere, Mace,” I say, patting my lap. In an attempt to relieve Dad from his cuddling duties, I offer up myself. “You can sit with me.” Mason looks at me and smiles before quickly hopping off Dad’s lap and running into mine. I laugh a bit when he takes my arms and wraps them around him. “Happy?” “Mhm,” Mason says with a few nods, leaning against my chest. I look over at Dad, and I can’t help but notice that when he stands up, he adjusts his crotch a little. In fact, his shorts are tenting a bit. Mason distracts me momentarily, though, asking another question: “Can you scratch my back?” “Huh? Oh. Sure,” I say, sliding my hand up my boy’s shirt and lightly scratching his backside. Dad used to do this for me all the time (mostly when we’d be doing not much else besides watching TV together), and now Mason loves it just as much as I did. It’s a soothing sensation, and I’m more than happy to help my son relax. “I’m gonna go rinse off before I head out,” Dad says. “Okay,” I say, my eyes flickering up towards his face. “Just be back at a reasonable time.” I made plans to meet up with Tommy at three. Dad’s going out on a ride with his buddies, and I made him promise he’d be home early enough for me to leave Mason with him. “I will,” he says, waving me off and turning around, heading right to the stairs. Even as he walks up, I notice him paw at his crotch and pull his dick to the side. I bite my lip, feeling my own crotch tingle. What’s that about? Dad gets home at around two. Mason’s helping me fold some laundry (since he didn’t want to wait alone downstairs) just as Dad shows up in our bedroom doorway. “Knock knock,” he says, and I turn and smile. He’s looking particularly handsome today. There’s just something so classically sexy about his outfit choices: a tight, well-worn t-shirt tucked in to snug jeans. It accentuates all the right muscles, all the right places. That’s Dad’s normal attire — or, if he’s going out, he’ll throw on his old leather jacket. “Hey! How was the ride?” “Good,” he says, leaning against the doorway. “Perfect weather for it.” The weather is pretty phenomenal today: mid-70s, breezy, and sunny without the light being overbearing. “No injuries I hope.” He smiles. “All safe.” “Good.” Ever since Jack injured himself, there have been two other minor injuries amongst the group — all because of reckless driving. I don’t know if it’s *them* that’s doing the reckless driving, but, along with the fact that I always get nervous whenever Dad says he’s going on a ride, the sharp increase in incidents gives me plenty cause to worry. Frankly, I don’t really trust any of them to keep themselves safe. “Anyway, um, I think I’m gonna stay the night at Tommy’s,” I say. “Yeah?” “Is that okay?” I ask. “We might have some buds over, and I haven’t seen any of them in a while, and I thought–” “Yeah, of course,” Dad interrupts. “It’s been forever since you’ve had a night to yourself. Go have fun.” I smile gently. I like the way he’s letting me have a night out, because he’s right: it’s been a damn long while since I’ve just gone out for the night to hang out with some friends without thinking about the kid I have waiting for me at home. And it’s sweet of Dad to notice. “Just make sure Mason bathes. He didn’t yesterday.” “I wanna shower!” Mason calls out. I close my eyes before turning to Mason. He’s been begging to try the shower for the first time for the last few days. He somehow got it in his head that he’s a big boy now and can handle it. “I don’t have time tonight, baby,” I tell him gently. “But you promised!” he says with a pout. I sigh through my nose. Did he already forget that I’m sleeping over my friend’s place? Sometimes it’s hard to remember that simple things like this slip kids’ minds, but it’s still a bit annoying. Plus, I know I didn’t promise anything — but saying that won’t make him feel any better. “What if you did it with Papa Joel instead?” Then I turn to Dad. “You mind?” He shakes his head. “That’s fine.” Mason seems satisfied by that, and he doesn’t push it further — but that also could be because of Dad’s next words: “I brought home donuts, by the way.” Mason gasps, eyes wide. “Donuts?!” He bounds off the bed, abandoning me, his panda, and his pile of unfolded clothes to reach the doorway. I laugh slightly, watching him push past his Papa Joel and run down the stairs. “Come get some when you’re done,” Dad says to me with a little smile. “Will do.” It takes me another ten minutes or so to fold the rest of the laundry because of all the unpaired socks I have to sort through. Once finished, I leave out a few spare clothes on the bed to take for later. But I don’t bother packing just yet. I have donuts to eat. I head downstairs with a smile on my face, my sweet tooth singing. My dad and my son are both in the living room, Dad lounging on the couch and Mason kneeling in front of the coffee table, taking single bites out of each of the remaining donuts. “Can’t you just pick one?” Dad asks him with an amused expression. “I gotta try ’em all!” Mason says plainly before deciding he likes the strawberry frosted one with sprinkles on top. He hums, taking the donut with two hands and eating slowly. “How many have you had?” I ask, stepping into the living room. Mason turns to me and smiles. “One.” “Two,” Dad corrects him. I roll my eyes, pointing to my father. “Well *you’re* the one who’s gonna be dealing with his sugar rush.” “He’ll be fine,” he says, waving me off. “Three donuts won’t kill him.” “Uh huh,” I say with a grin, leaning over Mason and grabbing a şişli travesti butternut donut for myself. “Hey,” Dad says, and when I turn towards him, he pats the spot next to him. “C’mere. Wanna talk to you.” I arch my eyebrow but sit next to him, automatically leaning into his body when he starts to put his arm around me. I smile gently as we find ourselves settling into a comfortable position: him half-lying down on the couch with my head against his chest and his hand resting on my arm. “Am I in trouble?” I ask, taking a bite out of my donut. Of course, I start getting crumbs all over Dad’s shirt. “No,” Dad says. “I’m just curious.” “About?” “Your friends know?” “Know what?” “That you’re gay.” “Oh.” I swallow and clear my throat. Why do I feel red in the face? “Um. No. I haven’t told anyone — except you.” “Hm,” Dad says, seeming to ponder this for a moment. Then: “Can I ask why?” “Why… I’m gay?” “No, dumbass,” he teases, poking my side, and I laugh, squirming a bit. That’s the type of shit he’d pull when I was younger: tickles during cuddles. “Why haven’t you told anybody else?” “It’s not anyone else’s business.” For whatever reason, that makes Dad laugh. “You sound like me,” he mutters. I smile. It really does sound like him. Dad’s all about keeping things personal — which really means keeping things in the family, since he’s fairly open about his personal shit to me. “It’s true,” I say. “You’re right. It is true,” he says approvingly, stroking my arm lightly. “I guess I just wanna know if it’s… affecting you,” he says. “Negatively, that is.” He clears his throat. “I just wanna make sure you’re okay, is what I’m trying to say.” I smile. “I’m okay,” I tell him. I don’t think keeping it in has affected me negatively. I just haven’t felt the need to come out to my friends, because I haven’t been interested in guys my own age since I started really crushing on my father. “You taught me to not be ashamed of who I am, so…” I can feel Dad smiling without even having to look up at him. He gives me a little squeeze and says “That’s my boy.” Time flies by. The three of us end up sitting around for a while, Dad and I lightly cuddling the entire time, and before I know it, it hits 2:30. That’s when I realize I haven’t packed a single thing. If I was just going out, it’d be one thing, but I’m sleeping over. I need toiletries, a change of clothes, something to sleep in… It doesn’t help that, by the time I finally do get packed, I realize I keep forgetting small things, like my phone charger and my wallet. I end up getting stressed because I promised I’d be there by three. We have to hit a lot of offices *and* do a tour, and I’m pushing it as is. Eventually though, I finally have all my things stuffed haphazardly into my backpack — and Mason, ever the timely one, throws a small fit. He runs up to me, wraps his arms around my legs, and presses his face right into my groin, keeping me in place. “Don’t go, Daddy,” he says. I sigh, looking at my dad, who merely shrugs at me. “I’ll be back tomorrow, Mason.” Even though I understand why he’s getting upset, because this would be the first night I’ve spent away from Mason, I’m feeling frustrated. “I gotta go.” “Stay,” he says, looking up at me. He looks like he’s about to cry. I run my fingers through his hair. For a split second, I consider calling off the whole thing and simply thanking my friend for going out of his way to help me out. My son needs me. But this is part of parenting, isn’t it? Mason has to learn what it’s like to be without me for twelve-plus hours. “You’ll be fine. Papa’s gonna be with you all night.” As if taking his cue, Dad comes over and scoops his hand under Mason’s armpits, tugging him away from my legs. “C’mon, buddy,” he says, pulling Mason up to hold him. “Daddy’s got important things to do.” Mason sniffles a little as Dad supports him with one arm. My son looks at me with watery eyes, clearly trying not to cry. “You’ll come back tomorrow?” I smile. “Tomorrow.” “Promise?” “I promise.” I stroke his arm before I check the time. Shit. It’s 2:50. I’ll be, at the very least, five minutes late. “Gotta go. Bye guys,” I say, quickly hurrying towards the door. But of course, I barely take two steps before Mason reminds me that I forgot something integral: “Kiss!” he cries. I roll my eyes before hurrying back to Mason, just like Dad did when he was rushing on Tax Day. I lean over and give Mason a quick peck on the lips, and, with all my flustered feelings, without even thinking, I give Dad a kiss too — right on his lips. I don’t even notice I’m leaning in until I feel his moustache tickling my upper lip. When I pull away, there’s a moment where we just stare at each other in surprise. Did I really just do that? The kiss was a simple peck. Nothing serious. But still… What the fuck, Mitch? But Dad just smiles a little, a softness appearing on his face. “Bye, son.” I blush, pulling my lips inward before saying goodbye again, grabbing Dad’s keys off the hook, and then rushing out the door. Tommy is great. He takes me through each of the offices (Admissions, the Registrar, Cashier’s, Financial Aid), introduces me to some managers on the inside that he’s gotten to know, and gets me plenty of forms and applications even though everything’s online. Tommy’s extremely personable, so it’s easy to ask him dumb-sounding questions like “What the hell is a Registrar?” and “How do I sign up for classes in the first place?” By the time he finishes explaining credits and basic graduation requirements, I feel like I have a general understanding of how things work. Financial Aid seems like the most complicated part, but it’s one of the most necessary steps of the application process. I can’t keep relying on my dad. After hitting up the main offices, he takes me on a brief tour through campus, showing me a few academic buildings, the on-campus gym, and the caf�, telling me all about the school without that fake niceness orientation leaders usually have. Tommy, although he *is* a genuinely nice guy, can keep it real with me. He tells me what sucks about the school (namely scheduling conflicts, administrative drama, and a serious lack of athletics) without sugar coating it. At the same time, he assures me that coming to Gateway was the best decision he could have made for himself. It’s close to home, the teachers are perfectly adequate, classes are surprisingly diverse, and the price is unbeatable. He’s giving me excellent information, and I appreciate him, but I often find myself zoning out while he talks — and it has nothing to do with him. It has everything to do with that kiss. It’s still on my mind, even when we finish up with the tour and head over to his apartment. Tommy and I hang out alone for a while before our other three friends swing by a little after 10 P.M., fully equipped with weed and pizza. We do our usual rounds of hugs and greetings, all smiles at the fact that we have the gang together again for a carefree night of getting high and playing video games and shooting the shit. I’m excited to see them, and I’m perfectly engaged, but as soon as my mind strays, as soon as there’s a tiny lull in conversation, even for a second, I recall the way Dad’s lips felt on mine. It was so small and innocent, so innocuous, practically nothing, really. So why can’t I get it out of my head? Tommy takes a few minutes to pack his bowl with the weed Spencer brought, and once he starts passing it around, I start to think about it a little less, mostly because I can only focus on one thing at a time when I smoke. Now it’s just us guys, hanging out, diving into pizzas and sharing laughs and taking turns playing Super Smash Bros. as we all catch up. I’ve chatted with a few of these guys semi-regularly through texts and FaceTime, but being with your buddies in the flesh is something else. It’s a fucking treat. I know my friends (besides Tommy, really) are a bunch of goons, but it’s nice to feel a little normal for a change. Eventually, as Tommy’s packing the second bowl, Spencer brings up Mason. I think Kevin sparked his memory. Kevin was going on about his “trials and tribulations” with his girlfriend, and as soon as he said “Gotta be careful I don’t get her pregnant,” Spencer looked over at me. “Hey, wait! Mitch! You have a kid!” he exclaimed. I snort slightly when he points out the obvious — clearly the weed is kicking in. “Yup.” “How’s he doing?” “He’s good,” I say vaguely to the group. Tommy glances at me. “How old is he now, four?” “Five. Almost six.” “Damn,” he says, laughing. Kevin, who was previously lying down on the floor, with an unused controller resting on his stomach, sits up to stretch his arms. “No offense, dude, but I can’t believe you have a fucking five-year-old.” I can’t help but laugh. “Me either, bro.” “You still live with Joel, right?” Spencer asks me, taking his glasses off to wipe them. I chuckle a bit whenever my friends refer to my dad by his first name. He’s always been the “cool” dad that doesn’t try to be cool. “Yeah. Just us three.” “How’s that been?” “Fuckin’ great,” I say earnestly. “Helped me raise Mason this whole time. We’re like a power couple at this point,” I tease. Then Quinn, the highest of us all right now (since he’s a total lightweight) practically rolls off the couch and points at me. “So, when Mason turns seven, y’all can get married.” All of us turn to look at him, pausing. “Huh?” Tommy asks. Quinn just looks at us with heavy eyes, glancing at each of our faces individually. “You know… Common law?” I raise my eyebrows, an amused smile appearing on my face. “That’s not how it works, dude.” “Yeah it does,” he says in his know-it-all sort of tone, and he sits up on the couch to get our full attention. Clearly he thinks he’s about to lecture us on something, and a couple of us hold back a laugh. “You live with someone for seven years and then you create an automatic marriage.” “No you don’t, Quinn,” I interrupt, and both Kevin and Spencer let out little snorts, trying to keep their laughter at bay still. “Yes it is!” he insists, looking surprised by our amused faces, worried that his self-perceived intelligence is failing him. “Look it up!” “It’s a myth,” I tell him, trying to be kind about it. God, he must be really fucking high to think he’s making any sort of sense right now. “Plus,” Tommy interjects, “it’s his fucking dad, you cumrag.” That does us all in. We all burst out laughing — even Quinn. Clearly he misheard the name or something, or otherwise totally misinterpreted the situation, because he snorts and slaps his thigh in realizing how dumb he sounded. “Jesus Christ,” he says. “Never mind.” I grin, watching my friends poke fun at poor Quinn. Even though he still doesn’t seem to understand that that’s just a common misconception about common law, it’s still a nice fantasy. I take a moment to imagine Dad and I lawfully-wedded together. I guess technically we’ve put in five years already as co-parents. Two more years and he could make me his husband. The thought makes me grin — and frankly, it turns me on a bit too. I imagine all the corny romanticism of a wedding ceremony, a fiesta of a reception, the honeymoon… I bite my lip a bit as I pull out my phone, bring up the message thread between me and my father, and shoot him a playful text: “common law will come into effect soon” Just a minute later, he texts me back one piece of punctuation: “?” I chuckle to myself before sending a second text: “you’ll have to start calling me babe in two years. sorry, i don’t make the rules” I don’t have to wait long for his response: “You’re an idiot.” When I laugh out loud (a side-effect from the weed), Tommy glances over at me. “What’s so funny?” I just shake my head. “Nothin’,” I say, looking at my phone again when I feel it buzz. Dad sent me another message — this time, with a link attached. “Before I forget — I think you’ll like this one. When you’re bored.” It’s a link to a porn video. I can tell just from the hyperlink. I stare at my phone in surprise, in arousal. Now Dad’s sending me porn? Fuck. I look around the room, seeing that Tommy’s still carefully packing the next bowl while Kevin and Spencer continue to make fun of other stupid things Quinn has said over the years. What if I just…? I make sure my volume is muted before clicking on the link, and I tilt my phone so that only I can see the screen. The first thing I notice is that it’s the same two guys from the first video we watched together, only this time, they’ve upgraded from a threesome to a foursome. There’s one girl for each of them. I lick my lips at the sight of the video and feel my dick twitching in appreciation. Suddenly, I want to watch it right now, badly enough for it to be a need. “Yo, where’s your bathroom?” I ask Tommy, standing up. I need to hurry before I start tenting my shorts. “Right down that hall, on your left,” Tommy says, pointing the way. I nod and thank him before making my way to the bathroom, turning both the lights and the vent on and then locking the door behind me. Sweet privacy. It’s just better to do this now. Otherwise I’ll be thinking about it for the rest of the fucking night, totally distracted. I turn up the volume beylikdüzü travesti just a hair so that I can hear *some* of the action before pressing play and quickly fishing my cock out of my shorts as I lean against the counter. Fuck, I’m already hard — and not necessarily by the video. Although it looks promising, what’s really making my blood flow is the fact that Dad sent this to me. He thought of me. And now I’m thinking of him. I’m stroking my cock slowly as I skip ahead to a little more of the action: both guys sitting side by side, right up against each other, while they each get their dicks sucked. Man, how intimate would that be if that were me and Dad, grinning at each other while we got head together? The thought makes me spurt out a little precum, and I catch it on my finger and give myself a taste before working the rest around the head of my cock. I feel so fucking good. Maybe it’s the weed that’s getting me so in the zone. But then, I see a text from Dad pop up at the top of my screen: “By the way, where’s Pandy?” I groan a bit. Way to kill the mood, Dad. But I know if I don’t respond, Mason will be up his ass all night. I shoot him a quick reply: “should be in our bedroom” I try to get back into the video, but three minutes later, another text: “It’s not there.” I sigh, wondering where it could be. He had it when we were doing laundry earlier this afternoon. I ask Dad if he checked behind the bed, and he did. I suggest three other locations, all of which turn up empty, before I get frustrated and just call him. “Hello?” he asks when he answers me. “Are you *sure* it’s not in the bedroom somewhere?” I ask again. “We looked everywhere, Mitch,” he says. I can hear Mason throwing a slight tantrum in the background. “But I *saw* it,” I tell him. “He had it when we were folding laundry on the bed.” “You didn’t take it, did you?” Dad asks. “No, why would I–?” But then I stop and think. Did I? “Hold on,” I say, and I quickly zip myself up before exiting the bathroom and heading down the hall slightly to Tommy’s bedroom, where my bag is. Tucking my phone between my ear and my shoulder, I unzip my bag and rummage around, pulling out my spare clothes — and sure fucking enough, there’s Pandy at the bottom of my bag, stuffed between a few articles of clothing. “Goddamn it,” I mutter, sighing heavily. In my haste to pack a few spare clothes, I must have grabbed it by accident. “Mitch?” “I have it,” I mutter. “What?” “I have it,” I repeat a little louder. “It must have been under a shirt or something.” “Uh oh,” he says. I can almost picture him looking warily at Mason. I run my hand over my face and sigh. “Should I come back?” “No, no,” he says quickly. “No, I’ll figure something out.” “Just let him sleep with you,” I suggest. “You know he can’t sleep alone.” That’s what we get for having Mason sleep with me since he was an infant. “Alright,” Dad says. “But he’s gonna have to learn eventually.” “It’s not my fault we only have two bedrooms,” I point out. “Maybe you should move into my room, then,” he says, and I freeze. Is he serious? But before I can even follow-up on that, he keeps talking. “Anyway, sorry. I didn’t wanna bother you on your one night off, but Mason…” I laugh a little, still feeling flustered from his comment. “Yeah, I know. It’s okay. It’s my fault.” “You’re good,” Dad says, trying to relieve me of guilt, I suppose. There’s a pause between us before he speaks up again. “So did you see the link I sent you?” I gulp. Between the prospect of sharing a room with Dad and him mentioning porn, I’m heating up. “Yeah,” I say, my voice getting caught in my throat a bit. I cough to clear it out. “Were you watching it or something?” “No. I just thought of it a little bit ago. Didn’t want to forget to show you.” He really *did* think of me. “Same guys from the first video, right?” I can almost hear that tiny grin of his when he asks “So you watched it?” “A little bit of it,” I admit. He laughs. “Aren’t you with your friends?” “Yeah, but I needed a break.” “A break from friends you haven’t seen in months?” he questions. I know he probably thinks I’m being weird. “I mean, you sent me porn. What am I supposed to do, ignore it?” I smile slightly. I hear a tiny chuckle before he says “Fair.” “Besides, all we’re doing is lying around smoking.” “So you’re a stoner now?” Dad asks. I bite my lip. Probably shouldn’t have said that. “Um… No, not really,” I say — which is true. I only smoke when I’m with these guys, and that’s not often. Dad just has one bit of advice for me: “Just don’t get caught.” I laugh. “I won’t, I won’t.” “So where are you?” “In Tommy’s bedroom,” I say. “Interesting.” He says it in a strange tone that makes me laugh. “I’m not doing anything,” I say defensively. “I just came in here to check for Pandy.” “Right,” he says, though he sounds playfully skeptical. “Well, those guys are good together. I think you’ll like it. If you haven’t watched the whole thing already, that is.” “Shut up,” I mutter before smiling. “Well, uh… Thanks, Dad. I’ll let you know what I think of it if I get to it.” If I get to it? Of course I’m gonna get to it. “Sure,” he says simply. “Well, I’ll let you go. Have fun, be safe.” “I will. Love you.” “You too,” he says before hanging up. As soon as I open the front door, I expect Mason to gasp, jump off the couch, and run over to hug me. But there’s nothing. “Hello?” I call out into the living room and get no response. I furrow my eyebrows a bit before shutting the door behind me and replacing Dad’s keys on the hook, thinking they’re probably either upstairs or in the backyard. Turns out they’re upstairs. The closer I get to the top of the staircase, the clearer the sound of Mason’s little giggle becomes. Must be the bathroom because of the acoustics. I walk quietly towards that open door, and when I appear in the doorway, the first thing I see is Mason hopping off the lid of the toilet and running towards me so fast it’s almost a blur. “Daddy!” he yells excitedly, and I laugh, scooping him up after he hugs my legs for a few seconds. “Hey baby,” I say, kissing his cheek. “Miss me?” “No,” Mason teases, giggling as he puts his arms around my neck. “No?!” I pretend to look upset. “You’re gonna make me cry.” “Nooo, Daddy, I’m just kidding!” he says, worried that he actually hurt my feelings. He puts both hands on my cheeks, and I laugh, reassuring him that I knew he meant no harm. “I know, I know,” I say. “I missed you too. And you know who else missed you?” “Who?” he asks. I put him down and remove my backpack from my shoulder, glancing inside before I reach in and pull out his panda bear. Mason gasps “Pandy!” before quickly snatching the stuffed animal from me and hugging it tight. “You found him!” Dad chuckles a bit from the sink, naked, small scissors in hand. “Uh… Sure,” I say with a slight laugh before smiling at Dad. “Hey.” “Hey yourself.” It’s hard not to so openly watch my dad during one of his manscaping afternoons. He’s baring everything, body on display for both Mason and myself to ogle his musculature, his fur, that heavy appendage between his legs. He smiles at me before going back to his task, meticulously trimming down his bush. “Hot date tonight?” I tease. He laughs. “No. I’m just overdue.” “I’m sayin’,” I say with a grin, and he rolls his eyes fondly. I’m a little jealous that Mason, who’s just in his undies right now, got to spend all this time with my dad like this. He must have been holding conversation with his Papa Joel while Dad did his business. Clearly I should have come home earlier. I bite my lip as I eye him before I rest my hand on Mason’s head. “Hope you didn’t give Papa too much trouble,” I say to the boy. “He was fine sleeping with me,” Dad says. “Yeah?” Even Mason nods. “I like Papa’s bed,” he says, and I laugh. Dad does have a great bed. It’s one of those really nice Casper mattresses. The only reason he has it is because it was gifted to him by a client, a thank-you present for fixing not only her car but redoing her entire deck for a *very* reasonable price. It’s damn comfortable, and it’s huge. Even I feel like a little kid in it. “How was the orientation thing?” Dad asks, looking up from his pubes. “It was pretty good,” I tell him as Mason leans against me. “Make a decision about going?” “Yeah, I uh… I think I might as well, right?” If I’m going to school at all, might as well be there. Dad smiles happily, but Mason interrupts, clearly desperate to share his own news. “Papa and I showered yesterday!” I grin. “Oh yeah? You a big boy now?” He giggles. “The biggest!” “Oh boy,” I say with a laugh, picking him up again. “Don’t grow up on me, now.” I start swinging him around playfully, and he laughs, lifting his arms as he bends his back and enjoys the brief ride. Once I stop, I hold him up as I address Dad. “Think it’s a good idea to let him keep showering?” He shrugs. “Probably not,” he mutters, brushing his hand over his groin to sweep off any loose hairs before he stashes his scissors back in his kit. “He was a little too excited, and I don’t know if me being in there helped or not, but he kept slipping.” I sigh, looking at Mason. “You gotta relax, baby. Don’t want you getting hurt.” “Papa protected me,” he says. I smile slightly. “I’m sure he did,” I say, letting Mason nuzzle against me. “Maybe if we got one of those anti-slip mats?” I suggest to Dad. “Or just stick to baths.” He nods a little. “Might be a good idea. I’ll keep my eye out for a mat,” he says as he pulls his boxer briefs back on. “Oh! By the way…” Dad slips by me for a second, beckoning me to follow. I do so, carrying Mason as Dad leads us to his office and grabs a bulky camera off of his desk. “Jack swung by this morning. Turns out his nephew *did* have a bunch of cameras.” “No way!” I say, smiling at the sight of it. Now I can start capturing the memories I make with my family. All I need to do is get a nice photo book like the one Dad has. “Say cheese,” Dad says, flicking the camera on and holding it up to his face. Mason perks up immediately and smiles brightly at the camera, and just as I start laughing, the flash goes off. A second later, a small Polaroid slowly slides out from the bottom of the camera. Dad hands me the picture, and Mason and I watch as it develops right in front of us. “Whoa!” Mason says in awe, excited by how the image of me holding him lovingly comes into clarity. I beam at the picture. Fuck, we look good together. I didn’t even know I could look that happy. “We look pretty cute,” I say to Mason, and he giggles. “Don’t go crazy,” Dad says, “but we have way more than enough film. I put all the blanks in a box on my desk.” He points to a little cardboard box on the corner of his desk. “Sweet.” I set Mason down before handing him the picture. “Wanna go put this somewhere safe for me?” Excited about being given a task, he nods, taking the picture carefully and then running out of the office with Pandy swinging in his grip. I smile as I watch my son before Dad’s voice makes me turn my attention to him. “Have fun last night?” “Yeah,” I say. “It was nice to just kind of… do something normal.” I wince a bit. “Does that sound bad?” “No, I get it,” he says with a nod. “Raising a kid’s busy work.” “That’s for sure,” I say with a laugh, rubbing the back of my head. “Tell me I was an easy kid to raise.” Dad just grins a bit. “Like father, like son,” he says simply. I roll my eyes, smirking. “Whatever,” I say. But I know we’re both joking. All in all, Mason is an exceptionally easy kid to deal with. Sure, he throws the most irritating tantrums sometimes, and he can be the neediest little leech, but he’s not a bad kid by any means. He has a good heart, and a good spirit, and I’d tolerate any amount of bullshit for him. Then I look at Dad. If anything, he made me *want* to be an easy kid to raise. I wanted to be good to and for him, and I like to think that I’ve been pretty successful. But now I’m thinking about how I could be good to him in other ways… A true partner. We’re almost there already, aren’t we? I half-follow Dad back to the bathroom, where he’s presumably going to clean up his mess or maybe add a little oil to his pubes. “Hey, so…” I start saying, using the small silence to bring something up from last night, “I didn’t have time to watch that video last night.” He raises an eyebrow just a tick. “No?” I shake my head before chewing on my bottom lip slightly. After I got off the phone with him last night, I went back to hang out with my friends. Part of me wanted to bust out a quick nut in the bathroom to that video, but I had already been gone a while and didn’t want to seem suspicious. It all worked out nicely though. I got stoned out of my mind and then knocked the fuck out only an hour later. “Was thinking we could watch it tonight or something,” I suggest. I keep my voice level and casual, though inside, my blood is racing and my extremities want to twitch. “Oh,” he says, looking surprised for a moment. “Sorry. I actually have plans tonight.” “Oh, really?” I can’t even tell if I’m masking my disappointment well. “Yeah. Going out with the boys. Won’t be back ’til late.” Ugh. I love those istanbul travesti guys, but I’m pissed at them right now for cock-blocking me. “Okay. That’s cool,” I say, unsure what to say now. I already put the offer on the table. I don’t want to sound desperate by trying (desperately) to work around his schedule. But then he says something that totally lifts my spirits: “How ’bout tomorrow?” I can’t hold back a smile. “Sure,” I say, nodding. “Tomorrow.” It’s just me and my son for the night while Dad is out with his friends, and we keep things pretty low-key this evening. First, we focus on dinner and make a nice batch of his favorite dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets and a side of veggies and homemade fries. I almost let him peel the potatoes until I realize how excitable he gets, and I’m not particularly in the mood to have him injure himself. After we eat, we play a round of Doctor, where Mason surprisingly wants to be the patient for once. I diagnose him with an incurable case of tickles, and he screams with laughter as he tries to fend off my fingers. We switch roles after that, and as revenge, he says I have “worms” before playfully sticking a finger into my belly button, trying to tickle me. When he tires of playing Doctor, he suggests something else. “Let’s play Family!” he says, kneeling between my legs. I grin. “We *are* family.” “Well *yeah*,” he says, “but we gotta be husband and wife!” This must be a new game he picked up from one of his friends from school, because we’ve never played this before. But I’m on board. “Alright,” I say with a chuckle. “How does it work?” He shrugs. “We just do husband-wifey stuffs.” Sounds simple enough. “So are you the husband or the wife? Or,” I continue, figuring I might as well teach my boy a lesson about the varying branches of marriage, “should we both be husbands?” “You can do that?” Mason asks, wide-eyed. “Yup. We can do whatever we want.” I almost expect him to ask more questions, or for his mind to be blown, but he’s too young to understand the complexities of sexuality in society. All he knows is that he can play husband with his dad. “Okie!” he says brightly, pouncing on top of me with a giggle. Then, he grabs my cheeks and puts on a serious face. “I’m gonna marry you, Daddy.” I feel the warmest surge in my chest. God, this boy is just like me, isn’t he? How many times did I say that same thing to my own father when I was a kid? Ever since Mom left, ever since he took his wedding ring off his finger, any time I noticed him look strangely sad or lost, I told him *I’d* take her place — and that always cheered him up, without fail. Maybe hopeless familial love just runs in our blood. “You gotta call me Mitch now,” I remind him, “since we’re married.” “Mitch,” he chirps, and then he giggles, lowering his voice. “Sounds like a bad word.” I let out a hearty laugh, rubbing his back. “Yeah, it kinda does, huh? Well, plenty of other things you can call me. Honey, boo, babe, love–” “I like ‘babe’,” Mason says, grinning. “Baaabe. Gimme a kiss, babe,” he says, trying to lower his register. I snort but do my best to resist a laugh. “Here ya go, babe,” I say with a grin, leaning in and pecking him on the lips. “Thanks, babe,” Mason says, clearly struggling to talk in a lower octave. It’s so adorably funny that I can’t stop laughing. “What do you wanna do tonight, babe?” “Umm…” Mason takes a moment to think about it. “Let’s cuddle,” he says in his normal voice. I’m so amused by this kid. “We cuddle all the time, even not when we’re married.” “But I like cuddles,” he says, resting his weight on top of me and giving me that soft puppy-dog look that melts my heart every time. I roll my eyes fondly before chuckling. “Fine. C’mere, loverboy,” I say, wrapping my arms tightly around him, making him giggle and hold on. We get cozy on the couch, spooning and talking about space (one of Mason’s newest interests) before he randomly decides he wants to watch a movie. I don’t know why he suggests it, because he doesn’t last long. We laugh our way through thirty minutes of a Shrek movie before Mason reaches up and pokes my jaw to tell me that he’s sleepy. I smile. “Ready for bed?” He nods, holding his arms out — his silent way of saying “Carry me, Daddy.” I stand up and scoop him up in my arms with a grunt before shutting off the TV and then bringing him to the bathroom. Once we’ve both brushed our teeth, I carry him to bed, laying him down gently before stripping my shirt off and climbing in with just my underwear on. I sigh heavily, resting on my side next to Mason, smiling when I see him holding Pandy tight as he peers over at me. “G’night, cutie.” Mason giggles. “‘Night, Daddy,” he says with a tiny yawn. I lean in to give him a kiss before rolling onto my back with a sigh, closing my eyes. I try to sleep, but I can’t stop thinking about one thing, one thing that has been on my mind all night: tomorrow, Dad and myself, sitting at the living room computer, naked and stroking ourselves to a delicious foursome. The thought makes me lick my lips. I start reminiscing about last week, the first time we watched porn together. The excitement of the situation gets my heart racing, just like it did last Friday. It was hot, steamy, homoerotic porn, and I wonder if Dad even noticed that latter characteristic. Maybe he just doesn’t care about that sort of stuff. He likes what he likes. I reach down, right into my boxers, and grip my hardening cock. I let out a soft moan, stroking myself in my underwear slowly. I keep my eyes closed as my mind focuses on Dad. What if I had gotten to my knees that night, situated myself right between his thick thighs, and sucked him off to completion? What does his cum taste like? I’ve often wondered that. I love the taste of myself (my precum especially), and sometimes, when I’m licking it from my fingers, I’ll imagine I’m taste-testing my father. I tug my boxers down slightly, just so a few inches of my cock are sticking out. I give myself small strokes, waiting for a thick enough drop of precum to ooze out. And when it does, I lick my lips as I let it slide onto my index finger before I bring it to my mouth and suck it slowly with a hum. Delicious. “Ew!” I look over to see Mason watching me, giggling at the sight of me licking my precum off my fingers. I sigh, hiding my boner back in my underwear. “I thought you were sleeping.” He shakes his head a bit before he yawns. Then he shifts and cuddles right up to me, abandoning his stuffed toy for my body. “Mason–” “Cuddles,” he says simply, and I sigh, relenting and letting him rest his head against my chest and his leg on top of my thigh. I slide my arm out from beneath him so that I can put it around him. “Why did you lick your pee?” he asks after a moment. I laugh, rubbing his back. “It wasn’t my pee.” “But it came out of your thingy.” “I know. But I promise it wasn’t,” I assure him, finding this amusing. “What is it then?” he asks curiously. “Um…” How do I explain this to Mason? “It’s like… Daddy’s big boy juice,” I say, but I immediately make a face at myself. God, that sounds fucking stupid. Big boy juice? Really? “Juice?” Mason asks. “Kinda,” I say, trying to find the right words for it and completely failing. “It’s an adult thing,” I settle with. I hate saying anything similar to “You’ll find out when you’re older!”, but I don’t know how else to explain these concepts to Mason in a way that’s both appropriate and easy for him to understand. “Oh,” he says, and for a moment, I think he’s gone quiet. But then he speaks up again. “What’s it taste like?” “Um… Sweet, a little salty,” I say, licking my lips a bit. “Can I try some juice?” I blink a bit, glancing down at the top of Mason’s head. My cock is still hard, trapped in the waistband of my boxers. He wants to try it? I guess it wouldn’t hurt… “Sure,” I say, reaching down. “One sec.” I lift my boxers a hair just so I can slide my fingers around my cock and give it a firm squeeze. “You got a stiffy, Daddy,” he points out. I chuckle a little. That’s what Mason knows hard-ons as: stiffies. “I know, baby.” He doesn’t comment further, and I focus on milking out a nice drop of precum. I catch the drop with my index finger before tucking my cock away and bringing my finger to Mason’s lips. “Here ya go.” He wraps his little lips around my finger and sucks my essence clean off of it — the stuff that made him in the first place. That notion alone makes me feel a curious tingle in my cock, amplified by the wet warmth of his mouth around my digit. But I chuckle slightly when I hear him smack his lips. “Tastes weird,” he decides. “Yeah, I guess it’s a little weird,” I say with a smile. But I sure as hell like it. I hear Mason yawn against me again. “Are you sleepy?” I ask him, and he nods into my chest. I give him a little squeeze. “Get some rest, cuddle bug.” “Are you gonna play again?” “I don’t know,” I tell him, though I know I’ll need to finish what I started. I can’t ever fall asleep after getting myself horned up without cumming. “Maybe. Would it distract you?” He shrugs a little, picking at his shirt. “Can I watch?” I arch my eyebrow. I usually stop when Mason catches me. Sometimes I’ll keep myself horny by lightly touching myself, but I don’t go full-out — and I always make him turn away before I cum. I don’t really know why, either. I think it’s an embarrassment thing. Maybe I’m just afraid of showing him too much. After all, I’d never seen my dad jerk off up-close until we did it together. But I’m horny and feeling generous today, and I’ve been given the opportunity to satisfy my kid’s curiosities in a way I wish I had been shown. There’s no harm, right? “Sure,” I say finally. I reach down into my boxers and wrap my fingers around my hard-on again, still as stiff as it was before Mason caught me. I close my eyes for a moment, sighing softly as I work myself inside my underwear. Then, slowly, I pull myself out, revealing my fully-aroused, young-adult cock to my son. I’m sure he’s staring with intrigue, resting against my chest as he watches more “juice” drip down over the glans. Frankly, having him looking is… turning me on, in a weird way. I stroke myself slowly, breathing in and out at a steady pace, occasionally letting out a little groan. I guess this is a teaching opportunity. I get to show Mason first-hand the ways of self-pleasure — so I make sure to switch things up now and again. I do basic strokes, varied paces, loose and tight grips, teasing touches with my fingertips, ball-grabs… the works. I basically give the boy a good show, hoping that he employs some of these techniques on himself. As young as he is, he shouldn’t have to be a stranger to solo play. As I feel my orgasm building, I close my eyes and stroke myself steadily, my fist slick from all the precum oozing from the tip. I think about Dad. I wish he were here right now, watching me like Mason is, maybe from the chair in the corner of the room, sipping his beer and lightly toying with his succulent-looking cock. What if he were encouraging me? The more I start to imagine it, the more I feel like I can almost hear him saying “That’s it, son. That’s a good boy.” My toes curl and I grunt a bit, feeling my orgasm rapidly approaching. “Watch out, baby,” I tell Mason. I should realize that he doesn’t exactly know what I’m talking about, but it doesn’t matter: I’m right on the fucking edge and I’m not thinking clearly. I swear under my breath as my hips rise, my cock throbbing as the cum surges through my shaft before spurting out those first few ropes. “Whoa,” Mason says, watching intently, and as the rest of my load is spilling out onto my stomach, I realize I’m clutching onto him pretty tightly. I loosen my grip a bit, willing my body to relax as I expel a long, satisfied breath. I stroke myself slowly and lightly before letting go of my cock completely, letting it slap against my wet stomach. “It squirted!” Mason says, amazement in his voice. I laugh a little, still catching my breath. “Yeah,” I say, looking down at my stomach. Damn, what a thick load. “Can mine do that?” I look down and see that he’s got a stiffy of his own that he’s been lightly touching, his hand disappearing into his briefs. “Not yet, Mace,” I say, stroking his back. “Someday, though.” I wonder when. I hit puberty a little later than a few of my friends and wasn’t shooting loads until thirteen (just in time to get my girlfriend pregnant, I guess), so I wonder when Mason will be able to cum. I wonder if he can even orgasm yet. I know he knows it feels good to touch himself down there, especially when it’s hard, but does he know how to climax? Is that even possible at his age? “Can Papa’s do that?” he asks. I bite my lip, thinking about Dad and his virile cock shooting out thick loads right in front of me. “Yeah,” I say in a soft voice. “Cool!” I chuckle slightly before sighing. “Anyway… Bedtime.” I slide my underwear completely off, wipe my cum up, and toss the soiled boxers to the floor, deciding to just sleep naked. “C’mere, cutie,” I say, rolling onto my side. Mason giggles appreciatively and snuggles up against me, putting his face into my chest and sighing happily when I wrap both arms around him. He gets as close as possible — close enough for me to feel his little pecker poking into my stomach through his undies. I smile to myself, wondering if Mason and I will have a similar relationship to what I have with Dad. Someday, little buddy. Someday.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

 Bir cevap yazın

E-posta hesabınız yayımlanmayacak. Gerekli alanlar * ile işaretlenmişlerdir


aydınlı escort maltepe escort erotik film izle ensest hikayeler izmir escort izmir escort bayan izmir escort malatya escort kayseri escort eryaman escort pendik escort tuzla escort kartal escort kurtköy escort kızılay escort tuzla escort büyükçekmece escort kayseri escort gaziantep escort sincan escort kızılay escort rus escort keçiören escort konuşanlar izle mersin escort kızılay escort escort ankara hack forum eryaman escort escort demetevler escort ankara escort bayan şişli escort mersin escort ankara escort gaziantep escort ankara escort beylikdüzü escort esenyurt escort kocaeli escort kocaeli escort ankara escort almanbahis giriş almanbahis almanbahis yeni giriş almanbahis giriş almanbahis giriş isveçbahis giriş isveçbahis yeni giriş isveçbahis isveçbahis giriş isveçbahis yeni giriş bursa escort bursa escort bursa escort bursa escort canlı bahis illegal bahis illegal bahis kaçak bahis canlı bahis illegal bahis