1.
I tell Boon it’s hard to explain my dad and our relationship.
“He’s just — he’s a narcissist, I guess. Everything has to be about him.”
“Like how?”
“Like when I got pissed at him and unfriended him on Facebook. You’d think I committed a capital crime. He went on about it for days, saying I was punishing him for a difference of political opinion. I explained it wasn’t about him. That I wanted a Facebook that was about friends and not about arguments, but he said he wasn’t buying it. So, I explained again and he said I needed to get over Facebook and stop talking about it. As if he wasn’t the one who started it and kept it up!”
Boon laughs. “Everyone has problems with their parents.”
“You’re minimizing this, Boon.”
I hope I’m using the right words to convey the situation. Boon’s English is impeccable, but every now and then I’m reminded that it’s not his first language. Like the way he says “younger” to describe an object rather than “newer”.
“And this one time he went to some dumb chain restaurant on Veterans Day and was shocked that there was nothing like a free meal or anything for him because he’s a veteran. It’s not the 1950s.”
“He was in the army?”
“He was a marine for like 5 minutes anyway. What did he expect? And then he told me about it a minimum of 20 times. Like it was a personal affront.
“And whenever I talk to him, he asks if I’m getting exercise, if I’m working out. No matter what I tell him I’m doing, he asks if I’m doing something more. If I tell him I’m at the gym 7 days a week, he’ll ask if I’m deadlifting. Nothing I do is enough for him.”
“Hey look, he’s okay with his only kid being gay. He WANTS a relationship with you. And he’s cool with you bringing your fiancé for a visit. Seems pretty okay to me.”
“He doesn’t want a relationship.”
“What does he want then?”
“A relationship implies some kind of authentic interest and engagement with each other. He wants to do what he wants to do, and for me to go along with it.”
Boon drives on.
“It’s just one night, Saturday and then we leave Sunday. We got this.”
Boon takes one hand off the steering wheel and holds up a fist for me to tap with my knuckles.
I roll my eyes. The fist bump is a thing of Boon’s. The rule is that when a fist bump is requested it must be met, whether mad or sad or distracted or anxious — or in my case at the moment, all of the above. I make a fist and tap my knuckles to his.
“Well?” he asks, “ready to go home?”
“Home is with you,” I say. “This is just where I grew up.”
2.
I don’t tell Boon everything. Some things are too messy to explain to someone as good as Boon.
My mom left us when I was a kid. I couldn’t bring myself to resent her for leaving, or for leaving me with him. She married too young, and Dad would have been a handful for anyone, much less an 18-year-old girl.
His idea of a wife was someone he married because she was so pretty, who would joyfully clean and cook and iron and tend to his peculiarities and would appreciate the privilege.
“He wants me to iron everything. Even his underwear. His UNDERWEAR. Who does that?” I remember her saying.
Once she was gone and the tasks fell to him, he became decidedly less picky. Our home was always technically clean. Dad was freaky about that, but life took on a stripped down quality. Our dining room became his home gym, with a weight bench and barbell racks and weights where other people had a dining table and chairs. Cooking became as basic as possible, with food served in the pots or pans it was cooked in, and usually eaten on paper plates, because who needed more than that to wash?
And one thing about him was that he was proud of how fit he was and saw no reason to hide his body. It wasn’t unusual for Dad to spend his home time in white briefs or even a jock, because it meant less laundry.
It wasn’t lost on me.
He had thick sandy blond hair and a manly jawline with five o’clock shadow on his tan skin like sandpaper. He was built like a bulldog, with a powerful chest and shoulders that tapered down to slight hips. Fine sandy blond hair cupped the swells of his pecs and abs, accentuating every contour. And it was worse when he worked out in what had been our living room, his muscles swelling like the bara men in the manga comics I was getting into.
You can judge me if you want to, but I was a horny isolated gay kid exposed daily to a good looking barely dressed jock. He used to say everyone has a talent, and his was turning steaks into muscle — it was one of the few things I’d agree with him on.
The fact that he was my dad was barely a consideration in my eyes, and it was the biggest secret of my life. Being gay was one thing, but being into my asshole dad? That was a bridge too far.
I sometimes enjoyed a fantasy that we were together, married. He was the center of gravity in our household anyway, and I liked the idea of someone who looked like him as a partner. It was ridiculous, both because of our relationship and my age, all other considerations aside. Still, I longed to sleep in his bed, our limbs intertwined, and to kiss him.
Dad had other ideas, namely in the form of whatever women he could fuck.
He went through the available women in our town, and a few nominally unavailable ones as well. He especially liked blondes, and liked them young, but those were not limiting factors.
He’d bring each new girl home and camp out in his bed, with just a cardboard wall between me and their rutting. I developed quite an ear for his pattern, and could identify the speed up, the hardest thrust, the Fuck, Fuck, FUCK!!! and then three to five shorter thrusts in the after quake of his climax.
Sometimes, when it was especially good for him, they’d emerge from his bedroom, which I imagined to be sauna hot, make some bacon and eggs and then go back for another fuck.
Listening to his conquests play out I’d hold out as long as I could on my own erection so that I could cum in sync with Dad. It was impossible to not imagine him fucking me, with his muscled body and that fucking grin.
When his girls were around, I was on my own, whether it was for a night, a weekend or a few weeks. I’d make my own meals, knowing he was distracted, and would read or draw my own comic books, filling notebooks with big chested superheroes.
He’d be on cloud nine for a while, and then there’d be a fight of some sort and she’d be gone. And when he and whatever-her-name-was were done he’d notice me again, usually stewing.
“What’s up with you, sourpuss?” he’d ask. “Who pissed in your cornflakes?”
You could say he was oblivious.
3.
Pulling up at the house I catch my first sight of Dad in years, out working on his car. He’d worn me down, finally, asking when I’d come home. I thought it was just a weekend, a debt I’d pay once and then be free.
I secretly wish he’d grown frailer or fatter, somehow elderly. Instead, he looks as fit as ever. He’s a weightlifter, and built like a pro wrestler. He wears a snug henley and jeans that ride low on his slim hips. He’s grown just a bit of a firm looking belly, which — on him — comes off as just more masculine.
The only sign of aging I can see from the car is his hair has thinned some at the crown, leaving a tuft of hair up front like a blond cock’s comb. He’s grown a bit of a handlebar mustache that blends into the scruff of his strong jawline.
My strongest impulse is to turn the car around and head straight back the other way.
“I’m out of shape,” I say softly into the air. “I need to work out.”
“You look fine,” Boon says, no doubt sensing my panic. “Remember, transitions are the hardest. It’ll get better.”
We pull up and step out, and Dad — I swear — waits till we’re close so he can turn up from under his car hood, to give us his most seductive smile, like a sexy tooth polish commercial actor.
“Hello boys,” he says, resting his weight on one leg.
“Hello Mr. Griffin,” Boon says, bravely launching forward, a hand naively extended for a manly handshake. “Boon-Nam Sangprathum. Please call me Boon.”
Dad is silent, leaving Boon standing there with his hand held out alone.
He sizes up the younger man with a discerning eye, and says, “So — Boon? — you’re the one fucking my boy.”
After five long beats, with Boon’s had still awkwardly suspended, he says “I’m just fucking with you.” He pulls Boon into a big bear hug, slapping him hard on the back and holding him firm. “Welcome to the family.”
“Jesus, Dad,” I mutter. “Don’t be such an asshole,”
He turns up to me, still wrapped around Boon. “It’s hard, son.” With eyes focused on mine, he casts Boon aside as if he were nothing and says, “Maybe if I wasn’t a pariah I’d be better socialized. But when even your own son unfriends you on Facebook, what can you expect?”
“Not fucking Facebook again.”
“Forget Facebook. Stop bringing it up.”
“Bringing it up? YOU just brought it up! You’re the one who — “
I can’t finish the sentence as Dad grips me a vice-like hug. It’s like being buried under a slab of warm rock.
“Shhhh,” he says. “Welcome home.”
4.
After an awkward dinner of Dad’s home cooked steak and greens, Boon and I settle into my
old room. It’s almost unchanged since I moved out, with the same bedspread. My old comic books are still there, my old drawings pinned up one one wall — the precursor to my own graphic novels, illustrated by me.
My old bed is a cozy fit, but the least uncomfortable thing about being there.
“He’s not that bad,” Boon whispers. “He just has that stupid hetero macho shit going on.”
“You don’t even know,” I whisper back.
“I can handle him,” Boon responds. “Did you see how I introduced myself and told him what to call me?”
The bedroom door suddenly swings open. Dad is standing there, shirtless with his blond chest hair cupping his big pecs, in just his red flannel pajamas low on his hips, the package filled out.
“Eyes up here,” Dad says, pointing at his face with two fingers. “You ladies need anything? Warm milk?”
“Please Dad,” I say, “learn to knock. Go to bed.”
“Afraid I’ll see something I haven’t seen before?” Dad asks. “Okay Duchess.”
“DAD. That’s homophobic.”
“Junior, I do not have a homophobic bone in my body. In fact, I have a theory about the evolutionary purpose of gay men. You see — “
“Dad, no. I can’t hear this now. I’ll be too irritated to sleep.”
“Okay then,” Dad shrugs, and when he does his pajama bottoms slide lower on his hips.
“Thanks Mr. Griffin,” says Boon. “Goodnight, sir.”
Dad shuts the door and the room goes silent.
“You have to admit,” Boon says in a hush, “it’s not every guy his age who would be that comfortable seeing his son and his son’s boyfriend in bed together. Try to find the good in this.”
“It wasn’t always that way,” I reply. Then I notice the sheets tenting up. “Boon, you’re hard as fuck!”
“So what?” he chuckles. “It’s hot to be with you in your childhood bed.”
“You sure that’s what’s doing it?”
“Come on, first time with a hot boyfriend in your childhood bed, your crazy dad a few feet away?”
“I hate to break it to you, but this isn’t the first time.”
“WHAT? Dish. Now. I need to know.”
So, I tell Boon about Jake.
5.
In my senior year of high school I started hanging out with Jake.
No one would have pegged us as friends. Not even me. I was a weirdo creative kid, he was rough and tumble from the wrong side of the tracks. He had a shitty home life with parents always screaming at each other, and an older brother who smacked him around. In retrospect his family made my dad look like father of the year.
I guess I thought I could rescue him, even though he probably needed CPS to intervene, not some lusty gay teenager. And I was most definitely lusty.
It seems silly now, but Jake was ridiculously hot to me then. He was good looking in a high school way. He was a bit of a jock and had a handsome face. He was so straight, and I was flattered that he’d hang out with the obviously gay kid, me.
We both liked comic books and sci fi movies and music and shit, and he’d come over more and more. Then he started sleeping, once and then again, and then a few nights a week every week. He just slept in my bed with me, which we thought nothing of.
Nothing sexual ever happened. But not for lack of wishing on my part. I’d pray he’d kiss me, or let me jerk him off, or blow him. I didn’t care if he reciprocated.
One day my dad tells me he doesn’t want Jake sleeping over anymore. I asked why and he gave some BS about his privacy. Like he ever gave a shit about my privacy, making the place into a whorehouse every chance he got. So, I pushed back and said if he could have people over why couldn’t I, and Jake was my best friend, and what did it hurt anyone anyway?
He said I was just a kid and not an adult, and then — this is the big thing — then he said if I was into girls he wouldn’t let me have a 16 year old girl in my bed either.
So yeah, the situational ethics thing is there. But the big thing is I never told him I was gay. He just said that. And that’s how I knew he knew.
But because I was so horny and Jake was straight, and nothing ever happened I was furious. I said `Well you don’t have anything to worry about because Jake only likes girls and not me’. I was probably looking daggers at him when I said it, because he kind of backed down.
I thought things could just keep going the way they were. But one night when Jake was over I woke up in the middle of the night, alone. I assumed he went to the bathroom, but then I could hear talking. I got up and found Jake and my dad sitting in the living room talking.
Dad told me to go back to bed, he and Jake were talking man to man. I said no way, but then even Jake gave me a look that said to scram.
I waited for Jake to come back to bed until I drifted off. In the morning, I asked Jake what that was about, and he just said Dad wanted to know about his home life, and said he could keep staying over, but no more than three nights a week.
That didn’t seem like such a bad deal. But things were never quite the same after that. Jake grew more distant, and our differences became more pronounced. By the time we graduated high school it was almost a relief to not have to try to maintain the friendship.
I moved away and we never talked again.
Last I heard he did a year at a community college and then moved to Alaska, the universal choice of people too fucked up to deal with being normal.
And that was the story of Jake, and how my dad messed up my one best friendship and my wished-for first boyfriend.
6.
On Saturday Dad takes us with him on his errands, because that’s his idea of a visit with him: He goes to Home Depot, we go to Home Depot.
Of course, Dad being himself, a trip to Home Depot is an exercise in asserting superiority. He wears his Carhartts, a worn John Deere cap and a ribbed white tank stretching to contain his chest, showing off his beefy biceps and shoulders.
Any poor employee who tries to offer him help gets a stony eyed assessment that not one of them passes. I swear he reaches the highest shelves himself just to expose his armpits, like he’s declaring his territory through his musky scent.
At the checkout he’s sweet as can be to the cashier. She’s just barely pretty, with poorly applied make-up and mousey hair pulled into a ponytail. But he treats her like Miss America, and as he takes his receipt from her hand says, “Thanks darling” and winked at her.
Then he slow walks out, with rebar and lumber over his shoulder so everyone can admire his form and strength.
Next, we go to Dad’s mechanic to pick up some repairs. Dad is outraged at the cost.
“It’s parts, Sam,” says the mechanic. “Just passing on my costs. Don’t make it personal.”
“Gee thanks,” Dad replies. “But do me a favor, I like a little reach around when I’m getting fucked, y’know?”
“Shut the fuck up Sam. See you for poker next week.”
I’m embarrassed for Boon to know I grew up like this.
Dad takes us to his favorite diner for lunch. Naturally he doesn’t ask if there’s anywhere I wanted to go, after being gone for so many years.
At the table Dad’s eyes fall to my forearms. My shirtsleeves are rolled up to the elbows, exposing the half sleeve tattoos on both arms.
“So you got flower tattoos?” he asks.
“Yup Dad, flowers,” I said, propping up both arms on the elbows to show off the dahlias inked on them.
“I don’t judge,” he says, “You got your body. I got mine.” He gracelessly scratches his side with his meaty hand.
“He was so tough getting inked,” Boon says. “You should have seen. He barely winced, and got each sleeve done in one sitting.”
“Ever see my appendectomy scar?” Dad asks, lifting his tank top on the side to show the horizontal scar on one side of his belly. “Now that was pain.”
“Dad, I was there when it happened.”
He continues, “What happened was this one day…”
“Dad, I was there. I know the story.”
Boon intervenes. “His comic book — Junior’s — his graphic novel, I should say, is doing really well. It’s selling a lot of copies.”
“Junior?” I ask. “Don’t YOU start calling me that now.”
“Samuel Ulysses Griffin Junior,” says Dad. “I gave you my name.”
I roll my eyes, thinking how dumb it is to give someone your name instead of giving them a name of their own. I go by Griffin. It’s what my friends call me, and the credit on my graphic novels. What more does he want?
“I have an idea for your comic books,” Dad says. “I’m at the hardware store, and there’s this poorly placed refrigerator. It tips, and I catch it, preventing it from crushing two pretty girls. Kind of retro, like those old Charles Atlas hero of the beach ads.”
“That’s not what my comics are like,” I replied.
He sighs. “Well, they could be.”
Our lunch arrives and Dad eats his sandwich. I have no appetite for the purported Greek Salad I ordered. When Dad is done with his lunch he wipes his mouth on his forearm, as if there are no napkins.
I look at Boon and try to plead with my eyes: I want to be back in a place where people don’t talk like this. I want to watch Drag Race. I want to eat rice noodles. I want to go to bookstores and see my graphic novel on the shelf. I want to sleep in our bed. I want to go home.
Boon blinks back at me with his thick dark lashes, and I feared some part of my message was lost in translation.
7.
“What kind of name is Boon anyway?” Dad asks over dinner at home.
“It’s Thai,” I say quickly.
“I know that,” Dad replies, cocking an eyebrow, holding his burger still midair for dramatic effect. “What’s it mean?”
“It’s short for Boon-Nam,” Boon answers. “It means good fortune.”
“So let me ask you something Boon-Nam,” Dad continues, knitting his eyebrows in mock thoughtfulness.
“Please, call me Boon.”
“No, I don’t think I will. I like Boon-Nam. It’s… lyrical,” he said, wiping the burger grease from his mouth on his forearm.
“Mr. Griffin, I insist…”
Dad drops a fist like a hammer on the dinner table, jolting Boon nearly out of his chair. “Son, do not try to dom me in my own house. Now, Boon-Nam, are you friends with your parents on Facebook?”
“Jesus Christ!” I fume.
“Well Mr. Griffin,” Boon answers, calmly, “I am, but my parents and I have a bit of a different relationship than you and your son.”
“Now what the fuck is THAT supposed to mean?’
“Dad,” I say, exasperated, “I don’t want to argue with you about — “
“Oh spare me,” he interjects. “What are you punishing me for?”
Boon clears his throat and begins, “I think if you could just…”
“SHUT UP BOON!” Dad and I bark simultaneously.
I turned back on my father. “Dad this IS it! You just — everything is about you.”
“What pussy shit is this? I didn’t raise you like this.”
“You think this is about how YOU did something, You didn’t raise me ANY way. I raised myself. You don’t even know who I am!”
“Oh man, what a shitty dad I am!” Dad wails sarcastically, “Boon, you’re so lucky to have my prince of a son, never does anything wrong!”
“Leave him out of it,” I hiss. “You already —”
The room is still and silent.
“Already what? What did I do that was so bad?”
“I DON’T EVEN KNOW!” I shout. “But whatever you did with Jake.”
“Jake who?”
“JAKE! Jake, my best friend when I was 18.”
Dad chuckles and seemed to draw all the air in the room to himself.
“Oh Jake. Jake, Jake, sweet as cake. That one.”
“Yes Dad, that one. The one friend I had, that you couldn’t stand because it wasn’t about you.”
“You got it wrong,” Dad says. “If I’m so bad, why was he coming around here after high school. You weren’t even here anymore?”
Boon watches in silence.
“It’s not like you think,” Dad continues. “Not by a long shot.”
I see a chance to at last know.
“Dad, tell me what happened.”
8.
“You had this kid staying over all the time,” Dad begins. “Jake. Whatever. Kid has a few strikes against him. Tough enough, but his dad and brother rough him up now and then. Could be better, could be worse.
“So the kid is making eyes at me all the time when he’s over. Comes out of the shower and walks around with a towel cinched low on his waist, looking like peaches and cream, makes sure he’s in my sight. ‘Good morning, Mr. Griffin.’ Or in the kitchen he squeezes past me
just so, getting his ass against my johnson. Asks me to show him how to dead lift, Opens the door to the bathroom when I’m taking a leak and says he didn’t know I was in there. He knew. He knew.
“Where the fuck you were during this I don’t know. Most oblivious kid on Earth. You’ve got your head in the clouds and don’t see a thing while your best friend is making the moves on me every day he’s here. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, so I try to do the decent thing and tell you to make him scarce. You get pissed because, I don’t know, you’re a horndog who wants the kid yourself.
“So, one night you’re sleeping, and Jakey comes out to get some water or whatever made up shit excuse he has. Truth is he heard me in the kitchen, comes out in his drawers and a t-shirt to flirt. `What are you doing Mr. Griffin? Can I help?’ And I say, Jake, let’s talk.
“He’s been coming around a lot, I say, and it’s a little awkward. I like my privacy. I like to walk around in my skivvies at home, maybe less. ‘I don’t mind that at all, Mr. Griffin,’ he says.
“I been around enough to see what’s going on here, so start shooting straight with me, I say. He tells me he doesn’t know, maybe he’s bisexual, but he wants to be with me, asks if he can suck me off.”
“And you couldn’t say no?” I ask. “He forced you, all 5’8” of him and all 225 pounds of you?”
“Junior, no one has to force anyone to take a free blow job. And I’ll admit, I had a dry spell. Single dad of a weirdo teenager isn’t a prize, and I’d burned a few bridges on my own too. And the kid has that sandy blond hair and creamy skin. Fit, like he’s firm but not hard. Bee stung lips. Just my type, other than he’s a boy.
“He drops on his knees and gets on my pecker, and if I close my eyes it could be Marilyn Monroe for all it matters. I don’t know where he learned it or maybe he was a natural. Maybe he did want me as bad as he said. But that kid sucked cock like nobody’s business. You don’t know how hard it was to be quiet to not wake you up. Sucked a huge load out of me right here in the kitchen. Over the lips, past the gums, look out stomach here I cum.
“I knew right off that wasn’t the end. He was hungry for more, and if I told him not to come back I’d have to deal with you being pissed. And me — well, it was the best option going. So we sat down to have a talk about terms. My boner was still settling down in my jeans and his lips were puffy, and he was digesting my load in his gullet.
“I told him he could stay over three nights a week, if he wanted, and if you wanted. He could blow me if he wanted too, but it had to be so you wouldn’t know. Shit, anyone could see you were in love with the kid, and he had it bad for me. No way that was gonna end with anything but you pissed at me for something I didn’t even do if you found out.
“You walked in on that conversation. Maybe you don’t remember. Told you to go back to bed while we finished talking. But I was looking out for you, you ungrateful shit.
“So, from there we kept doing it, when you were unawares. God, what a sweet mouth. That kid knew what he wanted and how to take it, and just got better. Not like a slut, but like it was a sport. He could swallow a load like nobody’s business, and then go watch some science fiction shit with you none the wiser, with a belly full of cum.
“It was a good deal for everyone. He got what he wanted, I got off regular, and you got your boyfriend around to moon over. Until it didn’t anymore.”
“What happened then?” Boon asks, coolly. I’m grateful for his dispassionate interest. I’m too caught up in my feelings to know what to ask.
“He was coming around more and more, getting sloppy. I can’t tell you how many times you almost caught us. I kept telling him to keep it cool, because I don’t want him to break your fucking heart. But he’s too far gone, too undisciplined. I figure he’s an inch from ruining it all, so I tell him I’m done.
“When I cut off access to my dick, he stopped coming around so much. When he did he’d tell me about some other asshole he sucked off, to get me jealous. But I don’t have a jealous bone in my body, and eventually he figures out this shit’s not working. So he stops coming around all together.
“I don’t mind telling you, I missed those lips. A hand’s a poor second for a hungry mouth. But easy come easy go, right? And all without you noticing a thing, so you can keep your dreamy vision of your boyfriend.”
9.
“You said he came around again after graduation,” Boon says, picking up for me in the way he does.
“You don’t miss much, do you?” Dad asks, with a smirk. “But yeah.”
“Junior went to college and I finally had some peace and quiet here. But there ain’t no college in the cards for Jakey boy, just bagging at the grocery. I’d see him there now and then. Still the best looking lips in town, still fit. You could see the muscles working in his forearms bagging shit. Hard not to think of all the cum he swallowed and how good it felt to shoot in his throat.
“One day he comes around. Figures you’re gone, so who knows? We pick up again, and now we don’t have to hide from you. He’d get on his knees any time it struck him, or blow me watching TV or what the fuck ever. His mouth was on my cock on the regular, making me into a fucking cum machine.”
He pauses, looking wistful. “And then what?” I ask, as my heart, dick and brain wrestle over whether they want this, and what they’ll do with it.
“I guess it was a matter of time before we fucked,” he answers. “Boys aren’t my thing, but this one had a body on him. Short but a jock. Nothing femmy about how he looks or acts. But still, he’s… plush. Creamy skin, firm tits with pink nipples, blond pubes, tight little waist. Easy, like vanilla ice cream. Like he was made to be eaten up.
“So, one day I broke in his ass. Don’t get on me, he was asking for it. Not just the way he acted. With words. ‘Fuck me Sam.’
“What the hell. I’m no saint.
“He takes a dump and gets all cleaned out back there and starts by blowing me in bed. I’d grabbed at his bubble ass before, but this time I finger his hole too, and fuck if it doesn’t make him blow me harder. Jesus, if I didn’t have a different plan I would have shot from just that.
“I slick up my fingers and start pushing into his hole, to break him in. And then he says again, ‘Fuck me Sam.”
“I get him on his back and since it’s the first time I try to take it slow on his cherry ass. Kid’s tough, but he’s what, five foot seven, and he’s gonna feel this.” He gestures to his crotch, tented up with an erection.
“We try easing it in, and I don’t mind telling you it took some fucking restraint, holding every inch or so, letting him get used to it. Before long I can give him some thrusts, not all the way in, but getting there. He whimpers a little but wants more.
“Finally, we’re almost there, and have him in a position where it feels real good for him, on his belly, one leg up. I pull back and he begs to put it back in.
“’Hold it right there,’ I say to him, now that I have him in just the right spot. ‘Don’t move.’
“And I slide back in, nice and steady. ‘That’s it,’ I say, “you got this.’ He’s squirming and still begging for more and I give it to him. When I’m all the way in he’s gasping and turns to me. ‘I’m in there,’ I tell him, and he turns to look at me. His mouth is open and his blonde eyebrows up in the center, like he just found his purpose in life.”
“And…?” Boon asks.
“And then I let him have it. Fucked his brains out, with him on his belly. I didn’t last too long, but when I was about to cum, I wrapped a hand around him to get hold of one of those sweet tits and shot in his guts. First boy I ever fucked, and I came hard, and fucked a load out of him too.
“What a slice. Like cake.
“So that was our thing. Fucked him every which way. And the thing is, I never asked for it. Not once, even when my balls ached. I wasn’t a slave to any pussy and sure wasn’t going to be to a piece of ass.
“But the truth is he was getting me trained up. I didn’t close my eyes any more when he sucked me off, didn’t think of girls. I got to like the sight of him. Got off sucking on the pink nipples on his pecs and slapping that firm creamy ass. Kid loves to get fucked, and never gets knocked up, no matter how many times you bust in him.
“Got to the point where I’d hear him take a shit and I’d get boned up, thinking maybe he was getting ready for a fucking. Like Pavlov’s dick.”
“What happened?” asks Boon.
“He falls for me, talks about moving in. I get it, he’s got a shit home life, thinks this is a way out. Just like Junior’s mom, and we know how that ended. Fuck I don’t want to be tied down, especially with some boy. He’s supposed to be some fun on the side, but he’s just as crazy as any girl.
“Kid’s not dumb. He’s got it bad for me, but stupid he’s not. So, when he sees I’m not budging, he puts two and two together he goes, I don’t know — to Alaska? Far as I know he’s sucked off every lumberjack from here to the North Pole.
“And that’s the story, Junior. You got what you wanted?”
10.
I struggle to process what he told me.
“You want me to believe Jake was in love with you the whole time he was my friend?” I ask.
“Love lust, what the fuck ever,” he says.
“God, you’re such a narcissist,” I mutter.
Dad reaches over to the countertop to pick up a pair of red apples. He tosses one to me, hard, and I catch it by instinct. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Not everything’s about you, Junior.”
“Dad, the idea that you kept it from me to protect my feelings is just — implausible. You never did a fucking thing for anyone but yourself. The restraint of the character in your story — I don’t buy it for a minute.”
“Don’t believe me,” he says with a shrug of his meaty shoulder. He takes a bite of his apple and chews. He wipes the juice from his lips with the back of his meaty forearm, and with a mouthful of mulched apple says, “Ask Boon-Nam here. I haven’t made a move on him.”
“Me?” yelps Boon. “I wasn’t here for any of this.”
“Nope,” Dad continues, smearing his mouth with his thick forearm. “But you’ve been here making fuck eyes at me since you pulled up in my driveway. Isn’t that right, boy?”
Boon gapes speechless.
“Boon?” I ask, “what is he talking about?”
“I didn’t do anything,” Boon says, holding up his hands. “But… if I’m to be honest, there is an attraction.”
“Well that’s great,” I say. “That’s just fucking great. That’s just what I needed, Boon. This has been a fucking ice cream sundae of a trip, and that is the cherry on top.”
“See?” asks Dad. “You’re oblivious as fuck.”
Boon breaks the silence. “Hold on.”
I don’t know who’s more caught off guard by Boon’s interruption, my dad or me. He’s been used to having the floor for my whole life.
Surprised, Dad spreads his arms to show off his muscles, and says, “You saying you don’t want some of this?”
“Yeah,” Boon answers. “Yeah, I do. But so what?”
It’s not that I’ve never confronted Dad, but Boon has this different way of doing it. He’s not heated the way I get, and this is suddenly about the most interesting conversation I’d ever seen in this house.
“Of course I’m attracted to you,” says Boon. “You look just like the man I love. He’s darker, but you’ve got the same face. You’re just him plus 25 years and 50 pounds of muscle.”
“Hey!” Dad and I say, simultaneously offended.
“It’s true!” Boon continues. “I’m into you because I’m into your son. I hope he still looks like you when he’s your age. I’ll have the hottest husband in town.”
“Glad you see it that way,” says Dad, “because I —”
Boon holds up a hand, silencing Dad. Fuck, I’ve never seen that before in my life.
“Sam, your son isn’t a boy, he’s a man. The smartest, funniest, most decent man I know, even though I haven’t seen a lot of any of that since we got here. How he turned out that way growing up with you is a mystery. But unless you want me to walk him out of this house right this minute and drive away forever, you are going to stop treating us like this. Now.”
I stopped breathing in anticipation of Dad’s psycho reaction. Instead he looks down, then slowly up again and says, “Let’s try again.”
I step closer to Dad till our faces are so close we’re drawing nearly the same breath.
“All I wanted was to be with you,” I say. “Did you know that too? Or were you oblivious?”
“That’s what you’re pissed about?” he laughs. “Not that I was fucking your 18 year old buddy?”
“I’m a 30-year-old gay man. You think I haven’t seen a lot of age disparities? You think I haven’t been in a few myself? Yeah, that’s what I’m mad about.”
“Well, you never said anything.”
“What was I going to say? ‘Hey Dad, want to get naked with me?’”
Dad scoffs. “You think there aren’t dads and sons having three ways with girls in small towns like this?”
He throws the core across the kitchen, landing it in the kitchen sink.
“I didn’t want a threeway with a girl,” I snap. How many times did I have to say I wanted him?
“Well, there’s no girls here now, are there?” he asks, looking back and forth between me and Boon.
The three of us sit in silence, but for the sound of Dad’s ticking kitchen clock.
“Fuck, I don’t know,” says Dad. “I just do my shit. You saying you’re not into it? There isn’t a limp dick in this room or a pair of underwear that’s not precummed up.”
It was true. Whatever feelings I had about his story about Jake, it has me horny as hell, and judging by their crotches, Dad and Boon too.
“You know what? I’m going to my room,” I say, and exit, like a dumb teenager.
11.
“Hey. HEY,” Boon says, following me into my room, shutting the door behind him.
I strip out of my clothes and crawl into my childhood bed. The same one I once shared with Jake, for much of my senior year.
Boon climbs on top of me, curled up under the threadbare bedspread until I turn to face him. “I am talking to you.”
“What?”
“You were hot as fuck back there. I was so proud of you for telling him where to get off.”
“Yeah?” I’m a little surprised.
“Yeah.”
I can’t even face him. “My feelings are so knotted up. My anger and… jealousy. And I don’t want you to hate me.”
Boon has such a calm voice. “Oh buddy. I don’t hate you. Look, whatever is between you two is a little weird. But it’s not so unusual. It’s a whole smut story genre. For a lot of gay guys the first exposure they have to men and their bodies is their dad. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Slim as he is, I can feel his weight, grounding me. “And you have to admit, if your dad looks like… well like your dad, you’re going to notice. Hell, I would.”
I turn onto my back, to face him. He’s so handsome, with his black hair and clever eyes, and the sharp angle of his jaw.
“Just… do I really look like him?” I ask, as Boon pulls the sheets back.
“Younger. Darker. Thinner.” Boon pauses. “Hotter.”
I don’t believe the last bit, but I love him for saying it.
I find myself not caring what my asshole father says or thinks. I have this man — this amazing, handsome, fierce man — who loves me and wants me. And we’re both horny as hell from Dad’s story
“There’s lube,” Boon says, nodding to his overnight bag. “Poppers too.”
He thinks of everything.
I turn onto my back and we kiss, Boon grinding his pelvis against mine, feeling our erections rub against each other, both slicked up with precum. He pins my hands back against the mattress and our shared breath is hot between us.
“You think it would be fun to get fucked in your childhood bed? With your dad on the other side of the wall?”
Turnabout seems like fair play.
“That was some story though,” he continues. “Did your dad always talk so dirty?”
“Worse!” I answer, louder than intended and we laugh out loud, writhing against each other.
There’s a load pounding against the wall from Dad’s bedroom. “I CAN HEAR YOU IN THERE!”
“GOOD!” Boon and I both answer, and laugh again.
He kisses me with his luscious mouth and asks, “Should we stop torturing him?”
“If you’re okay with it,” I answer.
“SAM!” Boon yells out, “YOU CAN COME IN.”
Barely thirty seconds later my bedroom door swings open, and there’s Dad. He’s naked, his raging erection in one fist, dripping a stream of precum to the floor. “Can I watch at least?”
12.
Dad is stroking himself, watching as Boon and I strip and Boon drops onto me again, pushing my arms back as he licks my nipples and makes his way down to my dick. He’s a great cock sucker. He can take it all down his throat, and then swallows again and again, gunk gunk gunk, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his throat hugs the head of your dick in the tightest, warmest vice you’ll ever know.
“Jesus Fuck,” Dad mutters, watching.
Must look better than what an 18-year-old jock gave him, I think. “I get this all the time,” I gasp.
Boon might have put a little extra juice on the effort, for Dad’s benefit, but it was true. I got this all the time, and did my best to give back.
When Boon pulls off of my erection it’s covered in saliva, slick as fuck and glistening.
I get up on my knees to kiss Boon some more and then to work on his dick, turning my head just so, to get as much of his length as I can. He thrusts into me and I take it, breathing hard through my nose as his hand runs over my back, toward my ass. And then the fingers reach further back and I feel them tracing over my hole, teasing it. I swallow hard on him, and he groans out loud, his free hand on the back of my head.
I pull off and a string of saliva hangs between my lip and Boon’s dick, and I wipe it off with the back of my forearm. I realize in the moment it’s a move I’ve seen my dad do, wiping his mouth on his arm. Apple, tree.
“You guys gonna leave me high and dry here?” Dad asks. He’s grinning, his most charming side showing.
Boon and I turn to each other. We’re monogamous, but a threesome isn’t absolutely out of the question if a special opportunity presents itself. And it’s hard to imagine an opportunity more special than this.
After a little eye contact negotiation, we turn to Dad and wave him toward us with our hands.
“Don’t mind if I do,” he says, cracking his neck and strutting to the bedside.
His cock is thick and veiny and hard as a teenager’s, and I take it in my hand, as his precum surges over my thumb.
“That’s the dick that made you,” Boon seems to say with his eyes.
He twirls his tongue over the head, and I let my hand fall back, replacing it with my mouth. Fuck, it needs two mouths it’s so big and needing attention. We work like a team, one on either side of Dad’s log of a cock, our tongues and lips meeting at the head.
“Oh, yeah,” Dad groans, his mitts on the backs of our heads, slow pumping between our lips. “Oh fucking yeah. I thought you ladies were never gonna invite me in.”
Boon suddenly stops, and in suit I pull my head back.
Dad asks, “What?”
“Hold up,” Boon says, his eyebrows stern. “None of that ladies shit, if you want to be with us.”
“Aw for fuck’s sake, don’t be so sensitive,” Dad replies, stroking his hard on. “What did I tell you about trying to dom me in my own house?”
But Boon can see how bad Dad wants it. Even I can. And he knows leverage.
He sits back on his haunches to face Dad. “Unless I misread the situation,” he says, “you haven’t been with anyone in a long time. Small town, you probably finished the low hanging fruit a while ago. Now you’re in your late 50s — “
“Early 50s,” Dad corrects him.
“Fine, mid-50s,” continues Boon. “Maybe you’re not what you used to be, maybe you have a reputation. Either way, the pool has dried up. You’re flirting with women you wouldn’t have looked at twice once upon a time.”
“Everyone hits a dry spell,” Dad says, shrugging. He still has a chest and shoulders like a pro wrestler.
“So, you’re horny as fuck,” Boon says, glancing at Dad’s heavy cock and balls, streaming precum. “And you had Jake, so you know how it is to be with a guy who loves cock. And we’re two gay men. We know what we’re doing, and we do it well, as you saw. If you want to be with us, you’re going to respect us.”
Dad scowls for half a minute, but his smile shifts to a grin. “Okay okay. But you gotta do that thing.” He holds a finger up to his Adam’s apple and flicks it up and down.
I shrug to Boon. Not the most evolved response. But you have to have realistic expectations.
Boon leans down to go down on Dad’s cock. I can hear the sound of him swallowing, doing the thing, gunk gunk gunk, and I look up to see Dad gasp, “Fuuuuck.”
13.
We shift in the already too small bed to make room for Dad, made more comical by his pro wrestler build. Jesus, where does he get off looking so hot at his — at any — age?
On his knees between me and Boon we come face to face.
“This was all I wanted,” I say.
“You’re a good-looking kid,” he replies, the tips of our noses grazing each other.
“Well, you’re a narcissist. I look like you.”
For the first time our lips meet and his tongue slides into my mouth as Boon wraps his hands around his furry chest, cupping his big pecs. It’s a deep wet kiss, one we’ve waited for a long fucking time, and I realize I like my Dad a lot better when he can’t speak. As our tongues wrestle, Boon jerks him off from behind and he takes my head in his hands.
I don’t know what I’m doing, where things will stop. But I’ve wanted this for my whole life, and I take the chance to trace my tongue down his chest and belly, following the downy curls of hair to his bush and that fucking tree trunk of a cock of his.
I twirl the head my tongue around the head, cutting the stream of precum from the spigot of his piss slit. Boon’s already lubed it with his spit, so it’s in my mouth and nudging my throat as easily as it can, given the size. I’m not Boon but I’m a pretty determined cocksucker when I want to be — and this time it’s my life goal.
I don’t know what Dad and Boon are doing up above me, but I can hear groans and wet smacks, and I know we’re all good. And as I work Dad’s cock with my mouth, up and down, pushing into my throat a little more every time I come back down, I hear “Jeeesus fuck!” and hands too big to be Boon’s cradle the back of my neck.
When I come back up for a good breath my eyes are watery and my lips are slick with spit.
I look to Dad to see how he’s doing. He’s breathing hard, his big pecs rising and falling with each breath. “Junior,” he says, “I think you’ve been practicing.”
The three of us chuckle in unison.
“That was the intro,” I say.
I dig into our toiletry bag, or the dopp bag as Boon calls it, shifting through toothpaste and fiber pills and lube, and pull out the glass bottle I’m wanting.
“What’s that?” Dad asks as I twist open the top.
Instead of answering with words, I inhale some in one nostril and some in the other. I close the bottle and give Dad a last look before going down on him again, as Boon grabs his chest.
When the poppers hit, my face feels hot and my throat eases to accept Dad’s cock into it.
“Ohmyfuckinggod,” I hear distantly, as I choke him down to the base, my bottom lip against his balls. I pull back to do it again, giving myself a hard throat fucking on my Dad’s king sized cock, eliciting groans and curses I’ve never even heard from him before in my whole life.
I know this asshole better than anyone, but there’s this one side of him I’ve never seen up close before. I’d once so wanted to be married to him, to know this one last intimacy. Jake had, and those countless girls and women had, and even my mom had. That last thought is a little much, even for me, so I push it out of my head — or I let him ram it out of my head with his thrusting cock, his hands wrapped around my ears.
After my body shudders from repeated gagging, I pull off of his cock, gasping for breath. I can see this animal look on Dad’s face, as Boon gropes at him and grinds against his back. He’s so close to the edge now, basking in our attention and all the feelings we’re giving him.
I want to do so much more, but I can see he’s not going to last. I give a discreet nod to Boon, who sits back and grabs at Dad’s meaty ass, running a hand down between the firm cheeks, probing for his pucker.
“You can try, but I’m tight as a drum back there,” Dad says, confidently.
I hold the poppers up, closing one of his nostrils and setting the bottle under the other. “Inhale.”
He does, and then takes the bottle from me, repeating the process on the other side.
I watch as his pupils dilate and his lips part, and Boon slides his lubed fingers up into my father, who groans, “Oh fuuuuck.”
I lean back to stroke my own erection as Boon masterfully finger fucks Dad, stretching him open. Dad takes another hit of poppers and arches his back to take more, lost in his own pleasure.
I come closer to kiss his open, receptive mouth. “Almost there,” I say, holding up the bottle for him one more time.
“Fuck,” he gasps, feeling the probing at his ass, and then Boon’s cock slides up into him in one thrust, slow but steady until it hits home. “Oh fuuuuck.”
I kiss Dad and play with his tits as Boon fucks him, starting slow but building steam, It doesn’t take long before Dad is riding back against him, meeting each thrust of Boon’s erection up into his guts.
When I give him another hit of poppers he jerks himself furiously and mutters a three word refrain imprinted on my brain from his many sexual conquests in the bedroom next to mine — only this time it‘s his own ass being beat — Fuck Fuck FUCK!!!
His cock swells stiff and shoots a load of cum up onto me, and then another arcs up, smacking and streaming onto his belly. With his free hand he pulls my head closer, our mouths open to each other’s tongues. Looking down and seeing his cock, and his load on me, I gasp and it takes only a stroke for my erection to erupt, shooting my own load onto him in surges so strong it almost hurts.
Boon pulls out of Dad’s rear and pushes him down on the bed. He jerks his dick with singular focus, grunting and shooting his load, streaking Dad’s hard ass and the fine blond hairs on it.
He collapses onto Dad’s back, and I fold myself over him. It’s the longest and best quiet the three of us had been together since arriving.
I have a pang of regret, for all the things I wanted to do to him, to do with him, for him to do to me and to Boon too. A lifetime of desires can’t be lived out in one threeway. It just happened so quickly.
It’s Dad who breaks the silence. “Either of you… gentlemen know how to cook?”
I gird myself for whatever awful thing he’s about to say. “Yeah, why?”
“I like some bacon and eggs before round two.”
As it happens, Boon is an amazing cook.
14.
On Sunday we pack up and got ready for the long drive back to the city.
Dad walks us out in his red flannel pajamas, shirtless of course. Boon loads the car as we say our goodbyes.
“So, this beef between us is over?” Dad asks.
“Are you kidding?” I answer. “You wanted to fuck my fiancé right under my nose.”
“Well, we know how that turned out,” Dad says, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder to his backside.
“Yeah Dad. We gotta go.”
“What about Facebook?”
“What about it?”
“You going to accept my friend request again?”
“I’m pretty much off Facebook altogether,” I tell him, looking off in the distance. “It’s an old people thing now.”
He shakes his head. “You treat all your relationships this way, son?”
“Relationships? Dad, are you kidding? Are you really going to lecture me on relationships, of all things?”
“Get it out boy. Say what you need to say.”
“Look, you were married for like five minutes in your twenties, and then Mom left you. You never had a significant relationship again, except maybe with Jake, and when that got too close you ended it. You have no real friends. We don’t even talk most of the time. I have a guy who loves me. I have friends who really care about me. Between us, I AM NOT THE ONE who has a problem with relationships.”
“Tell you what sport,” Dad says, standing back, “You take a punch.” He gestures to his face. “I won’t even defend myself. You give it to me, get this shit out of your system.”
“I’m not going to punch you, Dad. It’s not going to solve anything.”
“Lotta guys would take this chance,” he says, shrugging with his arms spread wide.
“I’m not most guys,” I reply, turning to face the car.
“Well, you got that right,” he mutters behind me.
I pause for two beats and feel my hand curl into a fist.
I spin around fast and my fist cracks across his cheekbone, making him stumble back and trip, landing on the lawn on his ass.
“You are such an asshole,” I say, standing over him, holding my hand. “Why are you such an asshole all the time?’
“I yam what I yam,” he answers, running his hand over the cheekbone I hit.
“Jesus, that hurts,” I say, shaking my hand, the knuckles already throbbing. “What the fuck?”
“Time to go,” Boon blithely announces, coming out of the house with our bags. He doesn’t even ask why Dad is on the ground, or why I’m holding my hand and wincing.
“That’s some tiger you got there, Boon,” Dad says, propping himself up on one arm.
“I know,” Boon answers, breezily, throwing his bag into the trunk and getting into the driver’s seat.
As Boon turns the car around, Dad gets up on his feet, and waves at me to roll down the window.
“See you at Thanksgiving,” he says, leaning down.
“Dad, no. We’re not coming here. We have our own Thanksgiving.”
The skin over his cheekbone is going lilac colored.
“Who said anything about coming here?” he asks. “Maybe it’s time for me to come meet these friends of yours.”
Oh no. A whole new nightmare scenario.
“Dad. No. You will not.”
He shakes his head and chuckles. “Yes I will, Junior! You’re not done with me!”
Boon takes the car up the driveway and before we turn onto the main road stops, his foot still on the brake. “Ready?”
“You saved me back there,” I say to him.
“I guess we just have to keep saving each other,” Boon replies.
I hold up my aching knuckles for Boon to tap back with his. As always, he does.
I sit back in my seat, looking forward. “Let’s go home.”
END