Spill The Milk-Part 3

Spill the Milk

Mitch and I hardly spoke that week. After work, he spent his evenings in the driveway, working on Seth’s truck. I spent some time doing the yardwork that I had neglected over the weekend. We fended for ourselves for dinner. We spoke less in that entire week than we normally did in a single day throughout our entire friendship.

I didn’t get to see Seth at all. We did talk on the phone every night. Which, I discovered, was easier than talking to him in person. If I couldn’t see him, I didn’t get distracted by his beauty. I could think and speak more clearly when I wasn’t dazed by the need to be touching and tasting him all the time. We avoided the topic of sex. We hadn’t on Monday night because I wasn’t smart enough to realize how hard it was going to make not seeing him, literally and figuratively. Even so, by the time Friday rolled around, I was a walking erection.


This story is a work of fiction. All characters are older than 18. They have fun having gay sex. If gay sex is not allowed in your country, you should consider moving to another one. The characters are not having safe sex, please use condoms while exploring your sexuality.

As always, I look forward to your comments and suggestions. Thank you for choosing to read my story and I hope you enjoy! You may contact me at gaynerdy2014@gmail.com , also if you have your own story. Please send to this email gaynerdy2014@gmail.com , or click SUBMIT YOUR OWN STORIES! at the top right corner of HOME SCREEN. Also, If you include your name. I will give credit as due, otherwise, it will read as – Read By: Bobby Newberry. THANK YOU for helping to build Gay and Nerdy Archives Library of Erotic Stories and more. Note: We do not own these stories, only share. If you believe this story should not be here. Email gaynerdy2014@gmail.com and explain. If so, we will fix this mistake.

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So we talked about other things. I learned a great deal about working in a restaurant. Seth worked the lunch shift Monday through Friday and the dinner shift on Saturdays. All total, working six days a week, he still didn’t work a forty-hour week. He had no benefits and was paid about two dollars an hour. Two dollars! Then, on top of that, he had to claim a tip income of ten percent of his sales, even if he didn’t make that. After taxes, his paychecks were zero. The only money that he brought home was his tips. I had never worked in food service, since my first job was in construction, and I didn’t know any of that. He was living on the kindness of strangers, and I happened to know that the people in our town were not all that kind. It made me think back to try to remember if I had ever walked out of a restaurant without tipping. I couldn’t remember ever doing it, but I knew, damn good and well, that my father did it all the time.

**

After work on Friday, I went home, showered, and dressed nicely. I was taking Seth out on our first official date. He was waiting for me outside when I pulled up at his apartment. We’d already discussed the fact that I had no desire to know the specifics of his past sex life, and that included any confrontation with his ex-boyfriend. I didn’t mind generalities. I wanted to know the things in his past that made him the amazing person that he was. I just had this newly discovered jealous streak and didn’t want to completely expose how much of an asshole I could be this early in our relationship. The fact that he lived with a man that he’d had sex with was enough to set me on edge.

He climbed into my truck and set a backpack on the floorboard between his feet. “Hi.” He smiled.

His sexy smile had my cock filling out what little room there was in my pants. “Hi.”

He glanced up from fastening his seatbelt at the tone of my voice and grinned slyly at the obvious lust on my face. “Hmm.”

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He leaned toward me, and I met him halfway. It was our first kiss in five days, and it melted my brain. He had to be the one to break away because I had neither the strength nor the desire to stop kissing him, tasting him. When he did, I found myself desperately clutching at him and trying to pull his body into mine, regardless of the fact that we were both tied to our individual seats.

“Hmm,” he said again. “Were you planning on taking me to dinner or to bed?”

“Yes,” I replied, my voice still husky and scratchy.

He smirked at me. “Maybe we should eat first,” he suggested. “You seem to be back in that place where you’re not going to let me out of the bed for a very long time.”

“Maybe never again,” I agreed.

He chuckled and reminded me, “I do have to be at work tomorrow afternoon.”

I groaned in frustration then sighed. “Okay. What are you in the mood for?”

His eyes opened wide in shock. “You mean that you don’t have this all planned out?”

I laughed. “I do, actually. I have several plans. So you tell me what you’re in the mood to eat, and I’ll take it from there.”

“Tacos,” he replied with a smirk.

“Seriously?” I gaped. “Of all the fancy restaurants in the area, you’re opting for Mexican?”

He nodded. “Even worse, I’m craving Taco Bell. I’ve been dying for Taco Bell all week, but I didn’t have my truck, and Corey is boycotting Taco Bell because they only serve Pepsi products.”

“Our very first date, my first real date ever, and you want me to take you to Taco Bell,” I laughed.

“Yeah. Do you mind?”

“No.” I shook my head and started the truck. “I don’t mind at all.”

So I took him to Taco Bell for our first date. We ate inside because I have more class than to take my date through a drive-thru, even though I could see the potential benefits to being alone with him in the truck. We had a good time. The place was full of teenagers, being a Friday evening. It was obvious that we were a couple, and I was a little nervous about the reactions that we would get. But, when I’d catch him staring at me with that look of adoration that he’d sometimes get, I kept forgetting to give a shit what other people thought. There were a couple of sidelong glances in our direction, but Seth was so personable and friendly that people just couldn’t help but like him. The teens in the restaurant got a little rowdy, and we got a little rowdy with them. It was all in fun, and there was a lot of laughter. Nobody made a mess, and there was no hostility. The manager didn’t even bother to give us any warnings, but then, he was a teenager too.

When we got back in the truck with our to-go cups of Pepsi, Seth asked, “Where to now?”

I shook my head and grinned. “It’s a surprise. You’ll just have to see when we get there.”

He smiled at me and relaxed in his seat. “Okay.”

We drove for an hour, holding hands the entire time. We talked, much like we had on the phone. If I was concentrating on the road in front of me, I found it easier to control my desire to pounce on the man beside me. Although, that became infinitely more difficult when I inadvertently grazed my finger over the palm of his hand, and his entire body shuddered. It was good to know that it had that effect on him even if we weren’t in bed, but I avoided doing it again. The chance of me accidentally killing us was too high for me to seduce him in a moving vehicle.

When our destination became visible from approximately a quarter of a mile away, Seth turned to me, laughing. “You’re fucking kidding me!”

I chuckled. “Would you rather not?”

“Oh no,” he replied shaking his head. “I’m going to LOVE this!”

I parked the truck in the grassy area turned parking lot, and he grabbed my head and kissed me quickly and fiercely. “You are the sweetest man I have ever met!”

I brushed my fingertips over his cheekbone. “It’s just a carnival, baby. I haven’t begun to be sweet to you.”

“No, it’s not, Adam,” he insisted. “It’s OUR carnival.” He laced his fingers through mine and brought both our hands to his mouth, kissing my fingertips. “Come on. Let’s go have some fun.”

He let go of my hand long enough for us both to get out of the truck, and then he grabbed ahold of it again as soon as he was within reach. I, truthfully, hadn’t known that it was the same traveling carnival that he’d worked at. I had just been searching for any carnival within the general area when I’d found mention of it. If I had thought about it, it would have made sense. Those carnivals made a circuit, and it was about the same time of year that we had first met. So, if I had thought about it, it would have made sense that his carnival would have been somewhere close. I just hadn’t.

**

Seth had a great time. He took me around and introduced me to everyone that he knew that still worked there. Those people all wanted Seth to meet people who had started since he’d left. After the place had closed, we’d stayed and sat around drinking beer, reminiscing, and catching up. No one cared that we were gay. If you looked at some of them, you’d automatically think, ‘red-neck’ and ‘hillbilly’. Based on appearances alone, these were the kinds of people that you would assume would be bigots and racists. They weren’t. They were friendly, kind, and generous. I can’t speak for what carnies in other troupes are like, but this one, Seth’s carnival, contained some of the most open-minded and accepting people I had ever met in my life. I was glad that they had found him and taken care of him when he needed help.

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It was creeping up on three in the morning when we finally left. Seth looked exhausted, but he was practically glowing with happiness. Home was over an hour away, so I opted to find a close motel instead. It wasn’t the Ritz, but it had a bed, and that’s what we needed. Suddenly, we again found ourselves in the situation of wanting to make love but having no supplies.

“Oh God,” he groaned when I told him that I didn’t have anything with us. “I want you inside me.”

“I want that too, baby,” I breathed against his sternum. “But we can’t. I don’t want to hurt you.”

We had made it onto the bed but were both still fully dressed. I was slowly unbuttoning his shirt as I placed kisses on all the tantalizing skin I’d exposed.

“But I’ve been practicing.” He whimpered when I found a particularly sensitive spot.

It took a second for what he’d said to soak through my lust-fogged brain. I raised my head from his mostly naked torso. “What?”

“I’ve been… You said… I wanted…” he stuttered, looking thoroughly embarrassed.

I unbuttoned the last button on his shirt and slid back up his body. He had my complete attention now, and I wanted to hear him say it. I braced myself on my elbows on either side of his chest so that we were practically nose to nose. “You’ve been doing what?”

“Practicing,” he whispered.

“Practicing what, baby?” I prodded.

His face bloomed scarlet, and he started chewing on his bottom lip.

I kissed him to make him stop. “Practicing what, baby?” I repeated.

He huffed a breath across my face. He was really embarrassed, and I wondered if he understood how much the thought of what I was sure he’d meant was turning me on.

“Taking it,” he finally admitted.

“Anally?” I asked.

He squinted at me. “Yes.”

“Alone?”

The squint became an outright glare. “Yes.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything, baby,” I explained. “I’m just building an image in my head.”

He squinted again.

“With what?” I asked.

“My fingers.”

My eyes closed of their own volition as a deep moan rumbled up from my chest. When I managed to force my eyes open again, he was smirking wryly. He finally understood what this was doing to me. “You’ve been stretching yourself for me?”

“Yes,” he replied. Then softly added, “And a little for me too.”

I had to concentrate on breathing for a second before I asked any more questions. “So you’re not just opening yourself? You’ve been finger fucking yourself? To completion? Do you come with your fingers buried deep inside you, baby?”

I don’t know if it was the rough, breathy sound of my voice, the expression on my face, or the fact that he could probably feel my cock throbbing through the layers of his clothing and mine, but I watched as his pupils dilated, blanketing the sea of blue with black, his breath came out in short pants, and his jaw tightened. “Yes,” he hissed.

“Will you…” I swallowed hard and reminded myself to breathe. “Show me?”

He hesitated as his eyes searched my face. Finding whatever he needed there, he whispered, “Yes.”

After jumping off the bed as if I was spring loaded, I bolted into the bathroom and grabbed both little bottles of lotion and conditioner, not knowing which he’d prefer. I left the shampoo, deducing that anything that lathered would not be good for this. I couldn’t have been turned away from him for five seconds, but when I’d turned back, he’d managed to get his footwear off and was working on his pants.

I paused for a second and watched him strip. I needed to get a grip or I was going to come in my pants like a school boy. And speaking of pants… I walked, as slowly as I could manage, back to the bed and set the little bottles down on the nightstand. Then, just as slowly, I took off my own clothes. When I’d finished, Seth was lying back on the bed, fully naked. I crawled onto the bed and sat back on my feet between his legs.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” I breathed and ran my hand up his bare leg. “What do you need from me?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Just stay right like that.”

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He gathered up the pillows and piled them behind himself, raising his upper body to the extent that the cheap, motel pillows would allow. He bent both knees and laid his right one on the bed but kept his left upright. With his right hand, he cupped and rubbed his balls while gnawing on his bottom lip. I glanced over at the bedside table, and his gaze followed mine. He snatched one of the bottles without bothering to pay attention to what was in it. He kept it in his hand while he continued to fondle his sac and mangle his lip.

“Don’t be nervous, baby,” I crooned. “You are the sexiest man I have ever seen in my life. You have no idea how fucking hot this is for me.”

He released his lip and grinned at me.

“Don’t be surprised if I can’t keep my hands to myself,” I warned him.

“I want you to keep your hands to yourself. On yourself. I want you to stroke yourself for me.”

“Oh fuck,” I groaned. “If I touch my cock right now, I’m going to come all over you.”

His breath hitched, and his dick twitched. I watched as a drop of pre-cum oozed out of his slit and dripped onto his belly. He scooped it up with two fingers and, reaching down, rubbed it around his hole. My eyes rolled back in my head. I had serious doubts that I was going to be able to prevent myself from coming, untouched.

He opened the bottle and coated two fingers of his right hand with whatever it was. Then he poured some into his palm and screwed the cap back on the bottle, dropping it on the bed beside him. He rolled his hips up, cupped his balls, pulling them up and out of the way, and slipped his right hand under them, rubbing the cream around his tight hole. Watching my reaction, he continued to rub small circles around his entrance with two fingers. I couldn’t see it from the angle I was at, but from the way he was holding his hand, with his ring finger and pinky curled in, and his index and middle fingers extended, the cream he’d poured into his palm had to be running down his fingers. It was pretty ingenious, and I wondered why I had never thought of it.

Then I stopped being able to think about anything as I watched both fingers slowly disappear inside his body. A loud moan ripped out of his throat, and his hips thrust up to meet his own fingers. I glanced up at his face to see his eyes closed. Then I looked back down to see his fingers slowly pull out and push back in as he began fucking himself. He pressed his fingers in deep, and his whole body convulsed as he found his prostate.

“Adam,” he moaned.

I tore my eyes from his ass to look into his face.

“Touch me, Adam,” he begged.

I didn’t know where to touch him, so I ran my hand up the inside of his thigh.

“Fuck, yes.” He moaned and bucked up against his hand again. This time, he let go of his balls and grabbed his leaking prick. He was no longer sliding his fingers in and out, but I could see the tendons on the back of his hand tightening and relaxing to the flexing of his fingers inside him. He started jacking himself in time to the jumping of those tendons. His breath started coming in short bursts as his chest heaved and his face was contorted in pleasure. It was the most erotic thing I had ever witnessed. “Fuck. Come with me, Adam,” he panted.

I didn’t have much choice. I was teetering on the edge without having ever touched myself. I wrapped my fingers around my shaft and matched his rhythm. My cock was slick with the copious amount of my natural lubricant, and my hand glided easily up and down its length. I started to crest just as he cried out my name and erupted in his own hand. I watched the arc as it shot across his sweat dampened skin and streaked his chest with white. I roared as fire burned through me and hash marks of my own seed mingled with his across his body.

**

I woke to the sound of incoming text messages and realized that I had neglected to let Mitch know I wasn’t coming home. I untangled myself from the knot of body parts that Seth and I formed together and slid off the bed to find my phone.

‘Is everything ok?’

‘Adam?’

‘I’m starting to freak out a little here.’

Well, shit. I took the phone into the bathroom and called him.

“Adam?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry. We were at the carnival really late and just got a room. I should have let you know.”

“It’s fine.” The hostility in his voice gave the lie to his statement. “I’m not your keeper. I just thought you were planning to come home, so I got a little worried when you didn’t show.”

“I’m sorry. Really. It was a dickhead move. I should have texted you.”

“It’s fine. I’m just glad that you’re okay.”

“Check out time is eleven, so we’ll be there about noon.”

“You know the girls are coming today, right?”

“I remember.” Now I was the one lying. I had totally forgotten.

“Okay. Well, see you then.”

I really felt like shit. Being with Seth didn’t mean that I should neglect everyone else in my life. I’d had a life before he had become part of it, and I was totally abandoning it. I needed to figure out how to balance the two and quit being such a dick. Since I was awake, and in the bathroom, I decided to use the facilities.

When I got out of the shower, Seth was still sleeping. I hated to wake him, but it was getting close to ten-thirty. If he wanted a shower, he was going to have to get up. I dropped my towel and crawled naked across the bed, which was probably an error in judgement, being short on time. But, fuck. He was so beautiful. He’d rolled onto his stomach after I’d left the bed, and his back was fully exposed. I couldn’t keep my lips off him. I started kissing the back of his neck and made my way down his spine. His gentle moaning encouraged me to continue. I nudged the covers down, past his gorgeous ass. He really did have the most magnificent ass that I had ever seen. His cheeks were high and tight. The round, firm swell of his globes fit perfectly in my hands. I couldn’t resist. Truthfully, I didn’t put much effort into resisting. I wanted to taste him.

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The instant that my mouth moved below his waist, he began to squirm, raising his hips off the mattress and wiggling his ass just enough to be enticing but not enough to interfere with my progress. I wasn’t sure how awake he was, but he was definitely getting there. I needed him to be alert for what I was about to do. No matter how much I knew he loved being eaten, I wasn’t about to take advantage of him while he was incapable of making the choice. I was aware that there were people who enjoyed being woken up that way. Hell, I had many fantasies of it myself. He could be perfectly fine with it, but unless I knew with one hundred percent certainty that he wanted it, I was absolutely not going to molest him in his sleep. I just felt like there was something inherently wrong with that.

“Seth,” I murmured against the small of his back. “Baby, wake up.”

“Oh God, Adam,” he groaned. “Don’t stop now. You’re killing me.”

My lips turned up in a smile against his skin. I pressed a kiss into the small of his back before resuming my downward progression.

I spent some time lavishing attention on his buttocks before reaching my goal. Separating his cheeks with my hands, I blew gently across his hole. He whimpered and arched up, needy and impatient. I’d tortured him long enough. I drew the flat of my tongue directly across his pucker, and he gasped and moaned loudly.

“Fuck, yes,” he hissed.

As I licked and laved his tightly furled entrance, he reached under himself and encircled his rod. My fingers and tongue massaged and caressed his tiny hole until he dilated for me. Once I was able to get inside his velvet channel, I ate his ass with abandon, stroking the wrinkled skin and plunging my rolled tongue as deep as it would go, as his glutes tensed and flexed around my face while he fucked his fist.

“Oh fuck! Fuck me, Adam! I need you inside me!”

I paused for a second but then continued my assault on his ass with my tongue. I couldn’t do as he’d asked. I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t risk him by taking him without a condom, and he was too tight and too inexperienced for me to penetrate him without lube. Conditioner would only help so much. It wasn’t good enough. I’d hurt him, and that was something I wasn’t willing to do, no matter how much he thought he wanted it.

He kept begging for my cock until his body started to vibrate. He thrashed and cried out my name as he unloaded onto the sheet below him. Watching him come like that had me teetering on the edge. I reared up on my knees and grabbed my aching prick. I didn’t last ten strokes before my muscles seized up and power surged through me in pulses as I shot my seed all over his perfect butt.

He arched up, raising his upper body, and looked over his shoulder at me. “Did you just come all over my ass?”

“Yeah, I did,” I chuckled breathily.

He snickered. “You’re a freak.”

“You loved it.”

“Yeah, I did.” He laughed and wiggled his cum stained butt at me. He was making it very difficult to stay good.

I crawled up the bed and flopped down beside him, pulling him down on top of me. “Good morning, beautiful,” I greeted him with a kiss.

“Amazing morning,” he agreed. “Pretty spectacular night too.”

“But now we need to get out of bed,” I told him. “Check out is in about fifteen minutes. If you want a shower, I suggest that you hop to it.”

“I guess I’d better then,” he grinned. “Otherwise, I’ll be wearing your cum all day.”

“Hmm,” I moaned. “I like that idea.”

He laughed. “You really are a freak.”

I sighed. “Yeah. But I hope you mean that in a good way.”

He gave me one of his disarming smiles. “The best way,” he said before he captured my lips in a brief but searing kiss. Then he climbed off me, and I took a moment to indulge in watching his ass wiggle all the way to the bathroom.

Once he disappeared behind the door, I got out of bed, washed my face and hands, and slipped into my clothes. “I’m going to go check out and see if there’s any coffee to be had,” I called through the closed door. “You’ll have to let me back in. I won’t have the key anymore. Okay?”

“Okay,” came the muffled reply. “I won’t be long.”

There actually was coffee in the lobby, which surprised me. It was also very good coffee, which delighted me. When I got back to the room with two cups, and cream and sugar for him, Seth was already dressed; my only disappointment of the morning.

This time, I paid close attention to how he prepared his coffee so I would be able to make it properly next time. Two creams, four sugars; he obviously did not really like coffee.

“Wow. This is good coffee!” he exclaimed after taking his first sip of the candied concoction.

I smiled to myself, wondering how he could tell the difference.

During the hour long trip back to my house, I encouraged him to tell me about his time with the carnival. He told me stories about some of the people I’d met the night before and more people that were no longer with the troupe. He kept the tales of sexual exploits to a minimum, for which, I was grateful. That was something else that I needed to get a handle on; the spikes of jealousy. I’d imagine that it would be pretty normal to get jealous, especially since this was my first relationship. But I didn’t like the way it made me feel. I had no valid reason to get jealous over his past. He’d given me absolutely no reason to believe that he wasn’t as committed to me as I was to him.

Seth knew it was something I was struggling with. One, because I’d told him, and two, because I white-knuckled the wheel when he mentioned a brief affair with one of the men I’d met the night before. Seth got quiet while I had fantasies of turning around and punching that guy in the face for touching Seth. I breathed through my totally unreasonable desire while Seth watched me battle with my inner demons.

“You have nothing to fear,” he said quietly once I’d released my death grip on the steering wheel.

“It’s not fear,” I argued.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s…” I hesitated, not sure that I really had an answer. “I guess it is fear. Fear that I’m not good enough for you. Fear that you care more for someone else. Fear that I’m going to lose you to him. Most of all, I think it’s a deep-rooted fear that someone else could make you happier.”

He reached over and held out his hand for me to take. “I promise you, Adam. No one has ever made me happier than you have managed to do in the small amount of time that we’ve spent together.” He squeezed my hand and added, “Or hornier.”

I glanced over at him with a smirk.

**

When we arrived at the house, Mitch was in the driveway with his head under the hood of Seth’s truck. “You’re right on time.” He pulled a shop rag out of his back pocket, wiped his hands on it, and then tossed Seth the keys to his truck. “Start ‘er up.”

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Seth looked at the keys in his hand, confused for a split second. Then he smiled widely and scrambled over to his truck to comply. The truck roared to life when he turned the key, and then it settled into a loud but steady purr.

“Oh my God!” I heard Seth exclaim over the rumble of the truck’s engine. He climbed out of the cab just as Mitch was slamming the hood closed. Seth threw himself at Mitch, nearly bowling him over in the yard. “THANKYOU-THANKYOU-THANKYOU!!”

Mitch seemed a little flustered by Seth’s exuberant display of appreciation but grinned and then chuckled. Mitch and I just watched Seth bounce around for a couple of minutes before he got back in the cab of the truck to gun the engine a few times.

“By my math, I’d say that’s five months of rent,” Mitch said to me.

“Oh sure,” I agreed. “We can apply that to your rent. Right after we take my fees off the top for emotional distress and pain and suffering from you smashing my face in last week.”

“Holy fuck,” he cursed under his breath. “If you start charging me for all the bruises I’ve inflicted on you in the past, I’m never going to break even.”

I smirked at him. “That’s what you get for being such a prick our whole lives.”

“Oh please,” he retorted. “You act like you didn’t get your fair share of damage in.”

I looked at him while he crossed his arms and arched his eyebrow, silently daring me to disagree. “You’re right,” I said instead. “You’re definitely the bigger pussy.”

He huffed and laughed, but I was saved from a scathing reply by Jamie pulling up with the kids.

“Uncle Adam!” the girls screeched in unison as they clambered out of the car and ran over to me. They both tackled me and gave me bear hugs while Jamie got out of the car more sedately.

“What?” Mitch barked playfully. “What about Daddy hugs? Don’t I get any love?”

“No, Daddy,” Hannah replied, eyeing Mitch up and down with obvious distain. “You’re all yucky.”

“What!?” Mitch roared and began stalking his girls across the yard. “Come here, you ungrateful hooligans.” Mitch caught them and then snuggled and kissed them both amid screaming and laughter from the girls.

I walked over to Jamie and helped her get the girl’s overnight bags out of the car. Seth shut down his truck and walked down the driveway toward us.

“Jamie, Seth. Seth, Jamie.”

They shook hands, and Jamie said, “Nice to meet you. You look familiar. Have we met before?”

Seth grinned and nodded. “I work at Hannigan’s. You were at my table last Friday.”

Jamie smiled. “That’s right! I remember. Is that how you guys met?”

“No,” I replied. “We’ve known each other for three years.”

Jamie looked confused. I didn’t blame her. I would have been too. “It’s a long story, James. I’ll tell you about it sometime when there aren’t little ears around.”

She squinted at me. “You know I hate that nickname.”

I chuckled. “That’s why I use it.”

“Geeze. You’re more annoying than my baby brother.”

“Then I’ve accomplished my goals in life.” I smirked at her, and she rolled her eyes.

“Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Seth. I don’t envy you the job you’ve taken on in putting up with this one. Especially not with his partner in crime hanging around all the time.”

Seth slipped his arm around the back of my waist, grinning. “Oh, they’re not as much trouble as you’d think. I think they must be settling down in their old age.”

Jamie smirked. “Or they’re just on their best behavior for the moment.”

“Maybe.” Seth snickered.

“Well, I’m going to go. I have a date for some alone time with my fiancé.” She turned toward the impromptu wrestling match taking place in my front yard. “Girls! I’m going. I love you. Be good for your daddy.”

“Mom!” they shouted, peeled themselves out of the tangle of limbs and grass, and loped over to give Jamie hugs and kisses.

Mitch sat in the grass and watched the display with a mixture of pain and sorrow etched on his face. An expression that washed away the instant the girls turned back toward him. I wondered if I was the only one who caught the look until I glanced at Jamie and knew that she’d seen it too.

She got in her car and left without ever saying a word to him.

**

Seth, the girls, and I were making lunch while Mitch showered and changed.

“I can’t wait for the wedding!” Crista exclaimed and executed a fumbling but adorable pirouette. “My dress is so beautiful! I’m so excited!”

“Shh!” Hannah admonished her. “Don’t talk about the wedding. Daddy might hear you.”

“Why can’t I talk about the wedding?” Crista asked her sister. “Is it a secret?”

“No, honey,” I interjected. “You can talk about the wedding. Is that where you were this morning? Trying on dresses?”

“Yes!” Crista replied, excitedly. “It was so much fun!”

Hannah appeared very distressed. The entire situation was forcing her to take on anxiety that she shouldn’t have had to feel at the age of ten. I put down the sandwich that I was assembling and hugged her. “It’s fine, baby. Really. It’s okay to be excited and happy about the wedding.”

“But Daddy-”

“Your Daddy is a grown-up,” I replied. “You let him worry about his stuff. You just be happy for your mom and Craig. Tell us about your dress.”

Her mouth set in a determined line. “Are you Uncle Adam’s boyfriend?” she asked Seth instead.

Seth set down the knife and turned to face us. I could tell that he had no idea how to answer, so I rescued him.

“Yes. Seth is my boyfriend.”

“Are you going to get married too?” Crista asked.

I smirked at Seth and answered Crista. “Not today, sweetheart. I think one wedding at a time is plenty around here.”

“Is Gloria gone for good?” Hannah asked.

“Yes.”

“Good,” she replied. “She was nasty.”

“Hannah,” I chastised her. “That’s not nice.”

“It’s true!” she insisted. “All she ever did was sit around and drink beer and smoke cigarettes and watch TV.”

“And sleep!” Crista added. “She yelled at us for making noise! We didn’t even make any noise!”

“She was mean to us. She wouldn’t let us do anything,” Hannah added.

“And she was ugly!” Crista exclaimed. “Not like you, Seth. You’re pretty.”

“Boys aren’t pretty,” Hannah corrected her sister. “They’re handsome.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I replied with an impish grin. “I think Seth’s pretty, too.”

Hannah giggled. “You’re so weird, Uncle Adam.”

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“What did I miss?” Mitch announced to the room in general as he strolled into the kitchen. I briefly wondered how much of the recent conversation he’d just heard. The look of guilt he flashed me told me that he’d probably heard it all. At the very least, he’d heard the part about Gloria.

After lunch, Mitch took the girls out for some Daddy and daughters time, leaving Seth and me alone for the last hour before he had to go to work.

“Will you come back when you get off?” I asked him while we were snuggling, fully clothed, in my bed.

“How about I get off when I come back?” he teased.

“Can you be quiet?” I taunted him. “You can’t be all loud with the girls here.”

“Me?” he exclaimed. “Do you have any idea how loud you get?”

“I’m only loud when you’re shoving that amazing cock deep inside me,” I reminded him. “And you loved it.”

“Yeah, I did,” he chuckled.

“You’d love to be pounding away inside me right now,” I added.

He shook his head, biting his bottom lip. “I really want you inside me, Adam.”

I grinned. “Are we going to argue about who gets to bottom?”

“We can take turns,” he suggested. “Tonight it’s my turn. I didn’t get it last night.”

I laughed and sighed dramatically. Dropping my voice into a seductive timbre, I guided his hand down to the bulge in the front of my jeans, used his palm to rub my erection through the denim, and crooned, “Is this what you want, baby? Do you want my body on top of yours? Do you want to feel my heat, my weight, my steel hard rod buried in your incredible ass, with your needy little fuckhole coaxing and milking every drop of cum from my balls while I slide my cock deep inside your tight heat over and over again?”

“Gah!” he exclaimed, yanking his hand away from my aching dick. “You’re torturing me! Not fair! Now I have to go to work with blue balls!”

I laughed at his pouty face and kissed him. “You’d better go. You’re going to be late. I’m going to miss you.”

“Fine,” he sighed, climbed out of my arms, and off the bed. “But you’re not allowed to jack off while I’m gone.”

I groaned and flopped down on the bed. It was going to be a long night.

**

‘Are you awake?’ the text said.

I smiled and replied, ‘Yes.’

‘I’m on my way.’

smile You’ll have to be quiet coming through the living room. The girls are camping out in there.’

‘Ok. Be there soon.’

‘Are you texting while driving? The only acceptable answer is no. Anything else will get you punished.’

There was a long delay before, ‘No.’

I chuckled and replied, ‘You’d better not be.’

‘Then quit texting me! I’ll never get there! Freak! kiss

I heard his truck as soon as he turned onto the street. But then, I was listening for it. I cautiously stepped over the children and bedding piled up on the floor of the living room. There was an extra bedroom. They didn’t have to sleep in there. The house was a three bedroom/two bath, and there was a perfectly good, full-sized bed in the empty room. They just thought it was more fun to camp out in front of the TV.

I opened the door before he’d made it up to the porch. I laid my finger over my lips in the universal sign for quiet, and he nodded. We silently weaved our way back through the danger zone, and I closed the bedroom door behind us. He was on me, kissing me senseless, as soon as I turned around.

“Fuck,” he whispered breathily. “I missed you.”

“Now who’s the anxious one?” I chuckled while helping him peel off his clothing.

He froze, half in and half out of his shirt, with a nervous look on his face. “Am I being pushy?”

I smiled at him. “Only in the best way, baby,” I assured him. I was thrilled to know that he desired me as much as I did him. “How was your day?” I asked, pushing the shirt the rest of the way off his body.

“It’s about to get better,” he purred, rubbing his body against mine. “Need you so much.” He grabbed the back hem of my t-shirt and yanked it over my head. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I’ve been walking around half hard all night.”

I chuckled and raised my arms to facilitate the removal of my shirt. “Bet that improved your tips.”

He stopped with his fingertips buried in my chest hair and looked up into my eyes. “You think so?”

I laughed. “I know you’d get a big tip from me if you showed up at my table with your dick hard.”

“I’m hoping to get more than just the tip.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me.

“I think we can manage that.” I got down on my knees and slid his jeans and underwear down his thighs. I wasted no time in taking his cock in my mouth.

“Fuck,” he groaned, threading his fingers into my hair.

I glanced up to meet his eyes and popped off his dick. “Shhh,” I reminded him. “The kids don’t need to hear this.”

“Then you might need to put something in my mouth,” he suggested with a naughty grin.

“Good idea.”

We finished stripping and moved onto the bed in a classic sixty-nine position with Seth on top. As soon as he’d straddled my face, I sucked his balls into my mouth. He moaned loudly. I thrust my hips, encouraging him to muffle his noises with my cock. He took the hint. The spike of pleasure nearly had me coming the second his plump lips engulfed my cockhead, but he wanted me inside him, so I held off. I gripped his hips and urged him to tilt them down for me. I wanted his ass. He shifted a little to give me the access that I wanted so badly. I felt the vibration of his moan throughout my entire body when my tongue finally found its goal.

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I didn’t eat his ass long, even though I could have done that all night. I loved making him come like that. But he wanted my cock, and I had been thinking of nothing else all day. I used my mouth and fingers to loosen him up for me and then tapped him on the thigh to signal a position change.

He climbed off me with alacrity but stayed on his knees. I really wanted him face up, but I remembered how much it hurt him the last time. I didn’t want to hurt him, and I hoped that we’d have many opportunities for different positions in the future, once his body became accustomed to receiving.

“Do you want to be on your side, baby?” I asked. “It will be easier for you.”

He shook his head. “I can’t participate that way. I want to back onto you.”

“Okay.” I sheathed my cock and lubed us both copiously. I was more nervous than he seemed to be. “Take it slow and easy,” I advised when I pressed at his entrance. “We’re not in a hurry. We have all night.”

He nodded and pressed back. I held my cock still with one hand and rubbed small circles on his back with the other. He’d said that he’d been stretching himself, but in all honesty, he was just as tight as he’d always been. He was more confident, but his body was glistening with beads of sweat before he’d gotten half of my length inside him. I watched my rod slowly disappear into his depths as he inched back onto me. When his perfect ass finally rested against my groin, he let out a long, low groan into the pillow he’d buried his face in.

“Fuck,” he muffled into the pillow before he pushed his upper body up on his hands and rocked gently forward and back.

“Give it a second. Let yourself adjust.”

He shook his head. “Fuck me, Adam. I need you to move.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Seth.”

He pushed himself upright and wrapped his arms around the back of my neck. “I want it to feel like it did before. Make me feel like that again.”

I had a momentary flash of memory of my palm covering his mouth and my hand stroking him orgasm while I pounded him on the creek bed. We were in the same position now, and I knew what he was asking for. I reached around him and grabbed his prick. He’d gone soft during the penetration, but my hand was still covered in lube. I used it to stroke him back to rigidity. I didn’t move my hips until he was hard again. It allowed me to give him the time he needed for his channel to accept my invasion.

I slipped my other hand over his mouth when his soft moans grew in volume. Then I shifted my stance for balance and began to thrust into him. His body started to tremor on the first plunge. Jesus Christ. Nothing had ever felt as good as his snug passage fluttering and twitching around my length. I’d forgotten. I had completely forgotten how phenomenal it felt to take him like that. Even with half my brain worried about what the other people in my house were possibly hearing, it was still the best sex of my life. I couldn’t count the number of guys I had fucked, but no one and nothing had ever been as good as this. He was made for me. I wanted the feeling to last forever, but it couldn’t. Seth’s muffled cry, and his ejaculate coating my hand, hurled me over the precipice that I had been struggling to stay balanced on. The skin at the junction of his shoulder and neck was the only thing that muted the hoarse cry that ripped from my throat as the force of my orgasm slammed through me, altering my world eternally.

After I’d cleaned us both up a little, I snuggled into bed with my very drowsy boyfriend and got to do what I would never have had the guts to do three years before. I kissed him goodnight and held him as we both drifted off to sleep.

**

“UNCLE ADAM! UNCLE ADAM!”

I sat bolt upright to the yelling of my name just in time to see my bedroom door fly open. I yanked the covers up to make sure that all the important parts of me and Seth were covered just as two young girls came dashing into my bedroom.

“I didn’t mean right this second!” Mitch scolded them, following shortly behind. He ushered them back out of the bedroom and mouthed, “Sorry,” over his shoulder at me as he pulled the door closed.

I flopped back down on the bed, attempting to will my heart to stop trying to pound its way out of my chest.

“What was that?” Seth grumbled.

“Children,” I groaned.

He yawned and rolled to face me. “Not as much fun as yesterday’s wake up call.”

I chuckled, turned on my side to face him, and kissed him on the nose. “I’d second that vote. Go back to sleep. I’m going to get up and find out what the excitement was all about.”

“I can think of some excitement to be found right here,” he replied suggestively.

“That sounds like far more fun. But there’s no lock on that door, and Mitch would kill us both if the girls got an impromptu crash course in man-on-man sex.”

Seth arched an eyebrow at me. “But man-on-woman sex is fine?”

I grinned and shook my head. “No. I don’t think it would go over any better if you were a girl. Although, in that case, he’d only kill me. Violence against women is strictly a no-no. He’s never even spanked his girls.”

He squinted at me. “By ‘girls’ do you mean daughters or girlfriends?”

I laughed. “Either/or, most likely.”

“Hmm.” He rolled over onto his belly and snuggled down into the bedding, displaying his gorgeous butt. “That’s too bad for them. An occasional smack on the ass can be fun.”

I moaned softly and skipped my fingers down his spine to cup his rounded butt cheek. “I’ll remember that you said that,” I murmured, giving his globe a light squeeze.

He writhed and arched his back provocatively. “I hope so.”

I grazed my thumb down the split of his ass while I lightly massaged his cheek as he pressed back into my hand. I was seriously debating whether it would be worth dying over to take advantage of the sexy offer that Seth was presenting. The merits of living to fuck another day won out by a narrow margin. I sighed deeply and smacked his all too tempting rear end lightly before I rolled out of bed.

**

Mitch and the girls were playing some sort of card game at the kitchen table when I came in.

“Uncle Adam!” they shouted simultaneously, followed by begging to be allowed to do something that they didn’t quite clarify.

“Hush,” Mitch insisted. “Let the man have a cup of coffee before you terrorize him.”

The girls, sufficiently chastised, sat at the table quietly and continued their game while I poured a cup of coffee for myself. I watched the girls fidget uncontrollably while I drank half of my cup of coffee. Once I figured they had been tormented enough, I pulled out the other chair and sat at the table.

“What’s going on?”

The girls jumped at the opening and started talking a mile a minute. Both of them. At the same time. What I managed to decipher from the cacophony was that Mitch had promised them that they could redecorate the third bedroom however they liked, as long as it was okay by me. They wanted bunk beds, a TV, and a game console. And pink. They wanted to paint the room pink.

I arched my eyebrow at Mitch, and he shrugged. He had the good sense to look a little guilty, at least. I sighed at the hopeful expressions on their beautiful faces. “Okay. I don’t see why not.”

Truthfully, I could see a lot of reasons why not. But they knew, as well as Mitch did, that I’d never say no to them. I was Uncle Adam. I got to spoil them rotten, and I never had to discipline them. And I knew that Mitch needed this. He desperately needed some way to compete with the thrill of the wedding. He didn’t make the kind of money that Craig did, and he couldn’t offer them the opportunity to wear beautiful gowns and attend a formal gathering. In all actuality, he wouldn’t even be allowed to be there to see it.

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I’m not saying that Mitch didn’t deserve what he got. He did. He’d dishonored his marriage vows hundreds of times. He’d taken the vows in the first place with full knowledge that he would break them. He had been cheating on her for months by the time they had married. He’d never had any intention of being faithful. He’d spent his entire marriage drinking, partying, and cheating. He’d taken his family for granted until the rug had been pulled out from under him. Now that he was an outsider, now that he’d lost it all, he finally realized how important it was. I couldn’t help but feel sympathy for him. If having a frilly pink bedroom in my house was the price that I had to pay for my best friend to feel a little closer to the family that he so desperately wanted to be a part of, well, there was no way that I’d say no.

“Okay, kiddos. You heard the man. Go get ready. We’re going shopping,” Mitch told the girls. They jumped up, kissed me on the cheeks, and ran out of the room. Mitch slowly gathered the cards left scattered across the table. “Thank you.”

I nodded around my sip of coffee.

“I’ll take care of it all,” Mitch offered. “You won’t have to do any of the work.”

“It’s not a competition,” I said softly.

He glanced up at me. “You don’t understand.”

“I do,” I assured him. “But they’re going to love you anyway. They know who their Daddy is.”

“I just don’t want them to forget.” He scowled. “He gets them every day. I get them four days a month.”

I frowned. “I know.”

“Speaking of,” Mitch added, his eyes lighting up. “Jamie is letting me have them for a week. Not this week, but next. Is that okay with you?”

“How are you going to do that?” I asked. “What about work?”

“I already talked to David. He’s letting me take vacation on short notice. It’s not like he could say no. I’ve been there for ten years, and I’ve never taken vacation before.” He hesitated. “If it’s not okay with you for them to be here all week, I’ll take them somewhere. I can’t really afford to do that, but I’ll figure it out. She’s never let me have them this long before. I don’t think she would have let me now except that she needs the break to deal with the wedding plans.”

I smirked at him. “It might have something to do with the fact that I’m a better mother than Gloria.”

He looked shocked for a second then grinned. “Or Seth is anyway.”

“Maybe someday we’ll put that theory to the test.”

Mitch laughed. “You gonna knock him up?”

I chuckled. “I can try real hard.”

“Try what?” Seth asked as he wandered into the kitchen.

“I thought you were sleeping, baby.”

He nodded and started making himself a cup of coffee. “I was. It’s hard to sleep through all that racket.”

“Are they making a lot of noise?” Mitch asked.

“It’s fine,” Seth assured him and joined us at the table. “Happy children should be noisy. It’s part of the charm.”

“Do you want kids, Seth?” Mitch asked.

Seth’s eyes opened wide, he shot me a glance then ducked his head, finding his coffee mug inexplicably fascinating. “Maybe,” he mumbled.

Mitch smirked at me, and I grinned and reached out to caress Seth’s cheek. He looked up at my face and smiled back at me. I allowed myself the briefest moment to fantasize about spending my life and raising children with this man. It was a good fantasy.

“Well, good,” Mitch teased. “Because Adam just told me that he plans on trying to get you pregnant.”

“Asshole,” I hissed and reached over to smack Mitch upside his head.

Mitch drew back his arm to return the favor but froze at Seth’s glare.

“No hitting my boyfriend,” Seth reminded him.

Mitch dropped his arm and eyes to the table. “He started it,” he grumbled.

I laughed, Seth smirked, and Mitch shot us both a wry grin.

 

Written By: Trahi

Picture: Google+

More to come! Let me know what you think and don’t hesitate to comment me ideas of what you’d like to read next. Thanks for reading, I hoped you enjoyed it.

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Sunshine

sunshine“I fell in love.

I fell in love when I was eight years old and you were eight-and-three-quarters.

You sauntered into Miss Jean’s classroom with the sort of confidence I’ve only ever seen on the faces of Navy SEALs or astronauts. You walked straight towards me and stuck out your hand, an oddly proper move for someone who wouldn’t learn to tie his own shoes for another three weeks. I was tongue-tied and gave your hand a limp shake while you announced, loud and clear, ‘I’m James. I like your pants.’

They were blue corduroys my mom had bought me the day before. I didn’t have the presence of mind, then, to compliment your peacoat jacket, or your eyes that matched the sea during twilight, or your hair that looked like sunshine and was already a mess despite your mother having fussed over it all morning.


This story is a work of fiction. All characters are older than 18. They have fun having gay sex. If gay sex is not allowed in your country, you should consider moving to another one. The characters are not having safe sex, please use condoms while exploring your sexuality.

As always, I look forward to your comments and suggestions. Thank you for choosing to read my story and I hope you enjoy! You may contact me at gaynerdy2014@gmail.com , also if you have your own story. Please send to this email gaynerdy2014@gmail.com , or click SUBMIT YOUR OWN STORIES! at the top right corner of HOME SCREEN. Also, If you include your name. I will give credit as due, otherwise, it will read as – Read By: Bobby Newberry. THANK YOU for helping to build Gay and Nerdy Archives Library of Erotic Stories and more. Note: We do not own these stories, only share. If you believe this story should not be here. Email gaynerdy2014@gmail.com and explain. If so, we will fix this mistake.

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‘That’s Theo,’ someone else told you while I tried to remember how to breathe.

‘Theo..,’ you mused, as if tasting the word. Then you smiled and told me, ‘I like it.’

And that was that.

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I fell in love all those summers by the river, where we crouched on the big rocks and learned to skip stones, always trying but never succeeding in getting them to the other side. And the time you told me you saw a turtle but pushed me in when I got close to the water. And when I pulled you in along with me, turning your laugh into a roar – the one thing you loved more than getting someone good was when they got you back even better.

I fell in love during our winter breaks, sledding in the backyard before running inside where you mom would warm us up with hot chocolate. Snow still sparkled on your hair, making you look like a Christmas tree ornament yourself.

I fell in love when you excitedly showed me your first chest hair at twelve-and-a-half (I, still only eleven-and-three-quarters, which you would never let me forget). You were well on your way to manhood when mine first few sprouts appeared, but you still managed to show genuine excitement and told me of the joys of puberty to come.

I fell in love when all our friends at school were panting over girls and Playboy magazines, but you just shrugged your shoulders and told them you didn’t need a girl when you had a best friend like me. I blushed and looked away, because I was just beginning to learn that I wasn’t as interested in those same magazines as I was in you when we went to the community center pool.

I fell in love on our first day of high school when Julia Reynolds asked you out on a date because she’d had a crush on you since seventh grade. I was sitting beside you in the cafeteria while our entire grade watched you reject the pretty redhead, who ran crying to the bathroom with a pack of her girlfriends giving you dirty looks.

I fell in love the night of our senior prom, where we watched movies in my parent’s basement and sat too close to each other on the tattered old couch. I found myself watching you more than the actors on the screen, and in fact hadn’t noticed the credits rolling until you turned toward me to make a comment only to find me staring at you with an intensity I’d tried to suppress for so many years.

I fell in love when you kissed me. So quick and fast I barely registered it, I just stared at you with eyes the size of dinner plates; you bit your lip, looking nervous for the first and only time I can remember. A moment stretched into hours while the second that transpired a minute before etched itself into our history. And then, slowly and tentatively in contrast to your rapid advance, I moved towards you with a cautious deliberation that would remove all excuse for error and further cement our fate.

I fell in love when I felt your soft lips press against mine for the first time. Deep and steady, we moved together in much the same way as lava that would forever change its’ landscape. I’ll never forget the way you pulled me in close, one hand on my neck the other holding my hand, and how I felt your sweet hot breath wash over me for what would be one of a thousand times to come.

I fell in love a week later when we knew we had to tell our parents about the new development in our friendship turned relationship. You held my hand again as we faced first your parents then mine, and partook in the most terrifying sequence of conversations either of us had yet to bear. And when they all took it better than we could have possibly expected, you told me you loved me then kissed me – and ran home before I could tell you that I did too.

I fell in love those first few weeks at school where we were the biggest rumour come true and the newfound target of the bigots and idiots who threw slurs at us while we held hands as walked down the hallway. And the day we graduated, you kissed me in front of our entire class and their families, laughing at their shocked faces at out public display.

I fell in love the first awkward night we slept together the weekend our parents went to a wedding the next state over. We feigned busy schedules that would excuse us from the affair, a lie that they surely saw through but pretended to believe. We all but fell over ourselves to my newly vacated house, and with somewhat more apprehension, climbed up the stairs to my bedroom.

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I fell in love watching you bite your lip as you unbuttoned my shirt for me. Your fingers shook and it felt like ages later when the fabric finally fell to the floor. You gave a little gasp as you gazed at me chest – though you’d seen it before from all those locker room changes at the gym, you never let your eyes linger for more than a half-moment at a time. We clumsily continued undressing each other, cheeks pink from equal parts lust and embarrassment at our oh-so-inexperienced selves.

I fell in love when, at long last, we were naked before each other. I had never seen a more erotic, beautiful sight; in point of fact, I still haven’t. First our eyes met, then our lips, and finally our bodies. We spent the entirety of that weekend learning every detail of each others’ bodies – I, for one, discovered that you were ticklish when I licked beneath your ribs, and that you shivered when I nipped at the back of your neck, and that your skin flushed bright red anytime I neared the singular apex between your thighs.

I fell in love that first weekend where we found heaven on each others’ lips and immortality in each others’ gasps. For all we cared, the world could have fallen to shambles outside my bedroom door – as long as we could study the curves and fissures of each others’ bodies, the fire in the room could very well match the fire of the apocalypse.

I fell in love all throughout our college years, where you could have had your choice of any attractive young man that threw himself at you but you stuck faithfully by my side. You whispered in my ears sweet nothings, making up reasons why they weren’t even half as handsome as I was (you said) and how they could never love you and much as I did (I said). While all our friends were going through new relationships like new pairs of underwear, we were a fixture amongst their rotating selection of love interests.

I fell in love on moving day. Not that of dorm rooms or parents’ houses, but into the falling-apart, matchbox-sized, walls-thin-as-paper apartment that we called our first home in the middle of New York City. We were free, truly free, for the first time. Ready to take on the world, with each a squeeze of the other’s hand we leaped headfirst into the world of adulthood. Though we stumbled several times we never fell, and found our strength at our home, on our sofa, in our bed.

I fell in love at the top of a mountain on a quiet spring morning where it was only you and I, forget the world. I turned to spread a blanket beneath an apple tree that was just beginning to blossom, and by the time I turned back you were on one knee with a little velvet box propped open in the palm of your hand. I couldn’t help my laugh, one that crumpled your hopeful expression like a piece of scrap paper, before realizing you’d so obviously taken it as a comment on your gesture. I scrambled to the cooler we’d brought along to carry our lunch, and out of a small pocket took out another tiny box, this one of wood, that held the same contents as yours of velvet. Understanding then my amusement, we proposed to each other and made love in the grass (luckily, startling only the birds).

I fell in love through the series of jobs and apartments, that might break weaker couples apart but only served to strengthen us. As the years went by, I could slowly identify the smallest of creases in the corners of your eyes that made you only more distinguished to me. I still loved to run my hands through your hair that still looked like sunshine, if a bit thinner than it had been years before. We ended every night with kisses full of passion, wandering hands that left red trails in their wake, and explosions of ecstasy that never failed to leave us lightheaded.

I fell in love the day we became ‘Daddy’ and ‘Papa’. Though not of our own flesh and blood, we couldn’t have treasured them more even if they had been. Stressed and confused, we muddled through parenthood once- twice- thrice – until we were bursting at the seams in our house that miraculously grew bigger with each crying, screaming, gurgling new addition. My heart grew every time I saw you kissing a bandaged knee, or baking a cake covered in sprinkles. And when we fell in exhaustion onto our bed every night, you held me close end ran your hand along my cheek with sparkling eyes despite the long day preceding and even longer days to come.

I fell in love while you convinced me and reasoned with me to allow our eldest to go on their first date. And soon the second had their turn, then the third, and our apartment was quickly a madhouse of teen hormones and a sudden spike in our laundry pile and water bill. You were the one to laugh and roll your eyes at all the craziness, even when we were demoted to ‘Dad’ and ‘Father’. It didn’t matter; we had our little ducks safely in our nest, and as long as they were okay, so were we.

I fell in love when our damned eldest broke our heart and moved away for college. We cried into each other, trying to hide our despair when we knew it was all for the best. But we couldn’t fool the kids, and the younger two promised they’d never leave us – that is, until two years later when the middle one did, and as it goes, so did the baby of the trio. We held each others’ hands then as ever, for it was the only way we could get through it all. And then our tiny little apartment that had grown eighteen years thrice over felt like a mansion with only us two to fill it.

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I fell in love as we dressed up in our best suits and matching red-wine ties to attend wedding after wedding of our ducklings turned swans. All to kind, smart, and charming women, we could hardly contain our pride at our beautiful boys suddenly turned husbands. It wasn’t surprising over the next few years where we became ‘Grampy’ and ‘Poppy’, but it filled us with more joy than even we could have anticipated. W showered those little bundles of joy with affection, and spoiled them at every chance. We fed them too much candy and pastries, gleeful in the knowledge that we could hand them back to their parents when they became too much.

I fell in love year after year with you. A lifetime of love, of nights that could have shaken the very Earth, of sweet memories that dance through my mind every time I close my eyes. Your hands always in mine, your lips ever pressed against me, of your encouraging words that never failed to lift me out of my bad spirits. Through decades of this crazy world changing all around us, I loved your constant state at my side in every sense. I always will.”

“You’ve always been the romantic out of the two of us,” I hear an old man’s voice say out of your mouth. I brush a lock of hair out of your face that our grandchildren tell me has turned silver.

“You still look like sunshine to me,” I whisper.

You offer me a half-smile. “And I still like your pants, Theodore.”

“James…,” I sigh, my voice cracking.

“Theo, it’s okay. Remember,” your say with a glint in your eyes, “I’m three-quarters of a year older than you are.”

I take hold of your hands and hold them to my lips.

“James, James, James,” I pray into your wrists. I kiss them, but the tubes mar the sensation. “I never thought you would be the first.”

You bring our entwined hands onto your chest, but these past few months have ruined even that. For, rather than the feeling of skin-on-skin we’ve treasured for a lifetime, there is an unwelcome layer of blue polyester standard for hospital patient robes.

“I had to be the first, Sweetheart,” you breathe into our clasp with a kiss on our thumbs.

“No, Jamie. I always told you that you weren’t allowed to die. We were supposed to live forever and teach these kids how love is done.”

“I think we’ve taught them all we can, Theo.”

I come in closer to you for another kiss of your lips; we know we have a limited number of them left. A tear rolls down my cheeks, and down yours, too. We don’t bother to wipe them away.

“James, you mean more to me than anything, anyone. You’re the love of my life. Thank you for making me the happiest man on Earth each and every day. I don’t know how I’m going to go on without you,” I sob softly.

Your breathing is labored, and you’re crying too. You’re scared, but not for yourself – for me. Of course, always for me. But I’m scared for me too, because I already know you’ll end up amongst saints, gods, and idols. I climb onto the hard, small bed beside you and we both ignore the tubes. We kiss and cry, holding each other close before the inevitable end that was coming sooner than later.

“I love you, Theo,” you gasp into my lips.

It’s the last thing you say to me.

I sob into your neck, your hands in mine as if it were any other day, kissing your unmoving lips that would never miss the chance to kiss me back had they been able.

“James, I love you more,” I repeat over and over, wishing you could come back at me with ‘I love you most’. But you can’t, and never will, but I know you always will. And so will I.

You will always be my sunshine, James.

Written By: Food Of Love

Picture: Google+

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Like Father Like Son

Like Father Like Son

The first time I felt like I might be developing feelings for another man was the night when we’d gone out for a meal, and Marcus – my son’s friend from university – made a joke that it was like I was Guy’s boyfriend.

We’d all laughed at the absurdity of the suggestion – after all, Guy and I are both divorced men, both outwardly straight for all intents and purposes – but I felt the twinge of a new and unfamiliar emotion – an odd combination of pride and excitement, perhaps – which made me wonder if, maybe, I would like there to be some truth in the observation.

Marcus had no doubt made the comment because of the way Guy and I were teasing each other over dinner. I’d thought we were simply expressing the sort of typical, blokeish banter that men often indulge in to the amusement of others. But perhaps there was more to it than that: perhaps we had an over-familiarity with one another that betrayed a more meaningful connection between us; perhaps, right there in front of my son and his friend, we were making it obvious that there was a much deeper intimacy between us beneath the playful sparring we were enjoying together.

Or more likely it was just because Guy, much to my embarrassment, would occasionally call me “Big Boy” and throw a salacious glance at my crotch beneath the table.


This story is a work of fiction. All characters are older than 18. They have fun having gay sex. If gay sex is not allowed in your country, you should consider moving to another one. The characters are not having safe sex, please use condoms while exploring your sexuality.

As always, I look forward to your comments and suggestions. Thank you for choosing to read my story and I hope you enjoy! You may contact me at gaynerdy2014@gmail.com , also if you have your own story. Please send to this email gaynerdy2014@gmail.com , or click SUBMIT YOUR OWN STORIES! at the top right corner of HOME SCREEN. Also, If you include your name. I will give credit as due, otherwise, it will read as – Read By: Bobby Newberry. THANK YOU for helping to build Gay and Nerdy Archives Library of Erotic Stories and more. Note: We do not own these stories, only share. If you believe this story should not be here. Email gaynerdy2014@gmail.com and explain. If so, we will fix this mistake.

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Marcus had, thankfully, been oblivious to the reaction his playful “boyfriend” comment had elicited in me. We’d continued chatting and joking together over the meal but I’d been careful to keep whatever embryonic affections I might be feeling for Guy more discreetly to myself.

In other respects, Marcus had turned out to be a delightfully charming young man: a humorous but at times thoughtful friend for my son and a welcome guest to have in my home. He was both confident and well-spoken, and exuded an easy-going manner that made him almost impossible not to like. Apart from anything else, he was very pleasant to look at, being tall – similar in height to my son, Jake, as it happened – and athletic, with lovely mop of curly blond hair and a handsome smile that might melt even my ex-wife’s frigid heart.

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He’d arrived the day earlier after a dreadful train journey which had involved delays and cancellations at almost every stop. He’d disappeared off to bed just after ten, leaving Jake and me to chat together for an hour so downstairs.

“He seems like a nice lad,” I’d said to Jake, although I’d hardly had chance to talk to Marcus as he’d been so tired by the time he pitched up.

“He is a nice lad,” Jake had agreed, sprawled across the armchair opposite, sipping from a can of beer rather than the coke he’d been more accustomed to before he’d left for university.

“How does your… er… girlfriend, Ellie, feel about Marcus coming to stay?” I’d asked, deliberately emphasising the word ‘girlfriend’ but maintaining an expression which was as innocent as I could muster.

Jake had chuckled and thrown me a knowing grin, understanding full well the concealed meaning behind my question.

“She’s fine with it,” he’d said. “Why wouldn’t she be?”

I’d shrugged, but we both knew what the score was. The two lads, after all, were sharing Jake’s cramped, single bed; the two of them were, by my son’s own admission, “slightly more than just good mates”.

Nothing much else had happened that first night: Jake had gone up to bed and presumably snuggled up alongside his friend, but Marcus had no doubt been too tired for anything further to have developed between them.

If things had gone on after lights-out in Jake’s room, I would undoubtedly have been aware of it, as both our bedroom doors had been left slightly ajar. My son had suggested some time ago that we should both leave our bedrooms open at night, on the excuse that he’d been awoken by our cat scratching at one or other of our doors. He had really made the suggestion, I’m sure, because he wanted to get a better look at what I got up to with Guy, Bradley or any of my other male friends when I had them to stay over. But now that the shoe was on the other foot, and it was he who had a male companion joining him in his bed, I’d been pleased to notice after brushing my teeth that he was following the same rule that he himself had requested and had left his own bedroom door ajar.

We’d all got up early the following morning to drive over to Buxton to visit a Neolithic stone circle which Marcus had wanted to see while he was in our area. He was studying archaeology at the university and had spent a considerable time taking measurements of the way the stones were positioned. Jake and I, meanwhile, sat and drank endless cups of tea in the nearby cafe, having grown bored of trying to think up things to say about the large, grey boulders after about three minutes.

Then, after spending the afternoon shopping in Sheffield, we’d picked up Guy from his house and had driven out to the Harvester in Braunstone where I’d had the foresight to book a table for the four of us.

And that’s where the joke had been made that had prompted such an unexpected reaction in me.

I knew Marcus didn’t have even the slightest inkling that there was more to my friendship with Guy than one might expect from a couple of ostensibly straight mates in their early forties. After all, if he had, he was far too polite to have made such an obviously controversial remark.

In any case, Jake had told me while we’d been alone in the cafe at the stone circle that he hadn’t told Marcus about the sexual versatility I’d been embracing for the past year or so.

“Why would I have even mentioned it?” he’d said when I’d asked him about it point-blank.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I just thought with you guys being… you know… rather versatile yourselves.”

“He just knows you’ve got a… er… girlfriend,” Jake grinned, placing his own sarcastic emphasis on the same word that I had the previous evening.

“Okay… but what if I invite a bloke to stay over with me while he’s visiting?” I’d asked. “And what if… you know… things happen between the two of us after lights-out?”

“Then, I guess, he’ll realise quite quickly that I’m not the only one in the family who’s heteroflexible.”

I’d chuckled at that: was that what the two of them were calling it?

Now, after we’d got home from the restaurant and I was lying alone in bed, I pondered again on Marcus’ joke, not so much interested in what prompted it but rather my curious emotional reaction towards it.

It was one thing to play the field with other men from time to time, but did I really want to think of myself as being another bloke’s ‘boyfriend’?

Just the thought of the question made shivers course down my spine, startling me and making me wonder again whether my attachment to Guy – a purely physical and sexual arrangement, or so I had previously thought – was in reality nurturing something more significant.

Was it possible that somewhere, deep my subconscious, I might actually want to be Guy’s boyfriend?

Again, that strange ripple of nervous excitement at the mere posing of the question.

I remembered how funny Jake had found Marcus’ comment – Guy had too, of course – and how he and his friend had laughed too loudly and for too long at the suggestion that I might be in a loving and committed relationship with another man.

Which was ironic, really, given that it was the two of them right now who were in the throes of passion in the room next door to mine.

I could hear quite distinctly sounds of sex from Jake’s bedroom: now that Marcus had recovered from his train journey, the two of them seemed to be making up for lost time with gusto. Both of our bedroom doors were open, as per Jake’s suggestion (although ‘insistence’ might be a more a more apt description), allowing the rhythmic noises from my son and his athletic friend to permeate through to me with surprising clarity.

And these weren’t the sounds of two lads having a quiet wank together before turning over to sleep back-to-back. The two of them were quite clearly enjoying something altogether more involved: I could hear panting and grunting; the sounds of flesh against flesh.

Not that I wanted to listen in on what the two of them were getting up to, of course. But the open door policy made any attempt for me to try and ignore their private sounds of male intimacy near impossible.

I was fairly sure, from the slapping noises I could hear them making against each other and the beating of the headboard on the wall which separated our rooms, that the two of them were indulging in a fairly heavy-duty bout of anal sex. I was surprised that they had wasted no time in getting down to the nitty-gritty together: there was to be no tender foreplay or the appreciation of a nice, cosy snuggle from Jake – he’d gone in straight for the grand slam, irrespective of his old dad having to listen to him in the room next door.

Once I’d realised the extent of the sex I was listening to, it felt odd to hear my son – my little Jakey who I’d brought up single-handedly from being a kid – so brazenly enjoying homosexual intercourse with a friend as I lay in my bed in the room next door. I was listening to him engaging in buggery: an act which I had by now enjoyed countless times myself but which seemed a little precocious for my teenage son.

I wasn’t in any way disgusted by what he was doing – after all, I was an ardent fan of the pleasures to be had from such intimate male company myself. It just felt strange to hear my son – a boy who had once seemed so innocent and had been wary of anything which might be perceived as ‘gay’ – enjoying what sounded like quite a heated and passionate sexual encounter with a member of his own gender.

Perhaps I would have felt similarly disquieted if I’d heard him enjoying the company of his girlfriend Ellie so noisily in the room next to mine: I don’t know.

I took a couple of sniffs of the air as their rhythm grew steadily faster and their noises more intense. Yes, they were definitely enjoying a butt-fuck together – even though faint, I could easily recognise the distinctly anal whiff of a cock drilling in and out of another male’s backside. I was more than familiar with that unique scent and its murky origins, having paused to appreciate it on many, many occasions during my own similarly odorous encounters.

I felt my own manhood stirring among the folds of my pyjamas, perhaps keen to experience for itself the activity its owner could smell. I gently kneaded it through the fabric: there was nothing similar on offer for it tonight, unfortunately.

I took another sniff, this time more deeply and allowed myself to savour the pungent, musky whiff that was wafting into my room from along the corridor. I had to smile to myself: it was as clear as day! My son might as well have announced to me at bedtime that he and his friend were going to end their evening with an impassioned bout of boy-on-boy buggery for all the subtlety he was employing.

I wondered if other dads whose sons had brought their university friends home for the holidays would recognise from that smell what the two young men were up to together; or whether, like me, one had to be a fellow enthusiast to appreciate why such a distinctive bouquet would accompany late-night rhythms from the shared bedroom.

I lay back, listening as the sounds the two of them were making together became steadily faster, squeezing my hardening organ as it responded to the proximity of the activity it had enjoyed so many times itself.

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I was wishing, now, that I’d invited Guy back from the restaurant with us to stay over with me. At least then I would have been able to join in with the fun my son was clearly having and to have contributed my own panting and gasping sounds to those that he was making. We could have competed with one another, as father and son, as to whose exertions could produce the most vigorous tempo, and tried to outdo each other with the intensity of the crude, anal odour that was wafting from our rooms.

However, this being only the second night of Marcus staying with us, I’d taken, perhaps, an overly cautious approach and hadn’t wanted to make him feel uncomfortable by brandishing my sexual dexterity too flagrantly. Working against the demands of my sex drive, therefore, I’d suggested to Guy that we part company after our meal instead of him coming back to my place as was more usual when we’d spent an evening together.

So now I was lying here, bored and alone, while my son was making no bones about the fact that he did not share my sense of polite restraint. It seemed that the friend he had brought to stay with him was being treated almost like a trophy: their sexual energetics being broadcast to the whole quiet house; a way, perhaps, for Jake, to let me know – as if such a message were needed – that he, like me, could very physically enjoy the company of some of the other males in his acquaintance.

As it was becoming obvious that sleep was going to be impossible while the two of them were so boisterously enjoying the end of their evening, I got out of bed and padded quietly over to my open bedroom door to crane an ear around it and better listen to the noises of their clearly purposeful coupling.

My cock was half-erect and making my pyjama leg rise upwards from my thigh. Was I really enjoying the sounds of my son revelling so unashamedly in his moment of homosexual passion with his friend? Was I really growing aroused by the intensifying odour being produced by the illicit union between cock and arse?

I’d never deliberately listened in on the sounds of Jake masturbating from along the hallway, a gentle percussion which had followed bedtime – as one might expect with a teenaged son – on many, many occasions. I would never have pried on him when he was enjoying such private ministrations in his room and had always tried to ignore the tell-tale complaints from his long-suffering mattress. But now, as I suspected I was the intended recipient of Jake’s overt display of virility, it didn’t seem so wrong for me to purposefully eavesdrop on his sexual escapades.

I decided, after standing at my bedroom door for a minute or so and trying to interpret the rhythmic, pounding sounds from my son’s room, that Marcus was probably the one who was in the receiving position. For one thing, Jake’s breathing sounded more laboured and he was more vocal in his appreciation of what his friend was allowing him to do, but I also felt that Marcus’ contributions had a muffled quality about them, as if his face was directed downwards into a pillow.

I was listening to my nineteen-year-old son ending his evening by butt-fucking another young lad! While that knowledge still made me feel a little peculiar, it didn’t affect me as much as I thought it would.

Then I heard Jake whisper, distinctly, through the rhythm of all the other sounds that were spilling from the room, “God! Your arse is so fucking tight, mate!”

Yes, my son was buggering his university friend. Of that I was quite sure.

For some reason I now felt more surprise at the thought of gently-refined Marcus – the sort of wholesome boy-next-door type you’d love your daughter to bring home – bending over to have another lad fuck him up the bum. It was this charismatic and rather dapper young man that I could smell, betraying to the whole upper floor of the house, it seemed, that it was being eagerly penetrated by my son.

Marcus would be horrified, I was sure, if he knew that such a frank and unambiguous anal fug was betraying his sexual indiscretions so explicitly. He was such a courteous young man, and yet here he was filling half the house he was a guest in with the crude evidence that his backside was being remorselessly stoked by his friend’s large erection.

Unlike Jake, who was clearly out to engage my attention and would regard whatever smells they were producing as an additional means in achieving that, Marcus would probably be unaware of how pervasive such indelicate odours can be. The poor lad would no doubt blush a deep crimson if he realised that the particular variant of sex he thought he was so discreetly enjoying was being so unequivocally publicised to all in the vicinity by its cloyingly pungent trademark.

And, yet, here I was standing in my bedroom door sniffing eagerly at it with my prick at half-mast while I craned my neck to hear more clearly what they were doing.

For shame, Mr Furlong, for shame!

I reminded myself that Jake had been in my position countless times over the past year or so: listening to my sexual exploits while in the adjoining room and probably having a few appreciative sniffs of his own once the open door policy had been introduced.

Just last week, after he’d returned home from university, I’d had my friend Bradley over for an evening of football and pizza and Jake had had to listen to us ending the night in similar high spirits to those he was expressing right now with Marcus.

On that occasion, while my cock was driving in and out of Bradley’s enticingly hairy arse as he bent on my bed on all fours to receive me, I had become aware of a figure moving around in the darkened doorway of my bedroom.

“I know you’re there, Jake,” I’d called out, maintaining my pounding rhythm on my young friend’s rump regardless of my son’s sneaky voyeurism.

At first he’d tried to shrink back into the shadows, as if he hadn’t just been watching his father anally pleasuring another man, but I’d called out again, “Come on, there’s no use pretending, Jake.”

Then he’d appeared in the door of my bedroom, grinning at us and appearing cheerfully unconcerned that the loose grey shorts he was wearing for bed were being prominently lifted upwards by the thickened rod of his flagrant hard-on.

“I was just… er… heading downstairs for a drink,” he lied, as I noticed a wet patch on the material of his shorts up near the pocket; a large dark circle at the tip of his hugely excited organ. It was obvious that he’d been rubbing himself as he’d watched us having sex: his precum must have been seeping from his erection as he’d massaged the swollen shaft of it through his shorts.

I was damned if I was going to let my son’s unwelcome appearance spoil the enjoyment I was having with Bradley. Still holding onto his hips and without missing a beat as my crotch slapped back and forth against his arse, I said, “Of course you were, Jake,” who grinned back at us broadly.

I kept up my exertions, wondering what my son would do next, and he just kept smirking at the two of us, the patch of wetness on his shorts growing steadily larger. He seemed especially interested in seeing Bradley as he bent forwards to be fucked, and my friend chuckled back at him with obvious amusement at having an unexpected audience. Jake even peered forwards so he could better see the size of Bradley’s erection bobbing stiffly beneath his stomach as I maintained my constant rhythm in and out of his butt-cheeks.

“So, Jake, if there’s nothing else,” I said, feeling a touch self-conscious to have my son standing in front of me, gawping over as I buggered this younger man’s arse. “I’d appreciate a bit of privacy, please.”

He laughed to himself and licked his lips slowly: he was making it quite evident that he liked the look of Bradley’s large cock.

I wanted to get up and see him out of the room but I was determined that he wasn’t going to put me off: why should I stop what I was doing just because my son wanted to ogle us?

Eventually – after Jake and Bradley had grinned at each other a good deal more; Jake leering pointedly over at Bradley’s bobbing hard-on and Bradley making it abundantly clear that he liked the look of Jake’s inside his shorts – Jake said, “Can I offer either of you anything?”

“Offer us anything?” I asked with a pointed scowl.

“Yeah, to drink, I mean,” Jake clarified, grinning again at Bradley while he rubbed up and down the thickened shaft which was lifting the front of his shorts. The gesture was flamboyantly masturbatory and Bradley chuckled at its unmistakeable intent.

“I mean, I don’t want to interrupt you guys,” Jake went on with continued amusement, “but it seems, dad, while you’re doing what you’re doing, Bradley here might be getting a bit thirsty.”

Bradley laughed more loudly and thrust him bum more forcefully against the hammering of my cock, as if in excitement at what he was being offered.

Jake grabbed the front of his shorts and directed his cock forwards and outwards inside the material, making it abundantly clear – as if clarification was necessary – that he was rampantly excited and hoping to join in with us. The large helmet-shaped head of my son’s erection was thrust upwards against the grey material, looking surprisingly similar in size and shape to that of my own.

“I wouldn’t say no to having a slurp on something,” Bradley confessed, before adding, “that is, if your dad’s okay with it.”

Jake was already yanking his cock out through his fly before I cut in, curtly, “Your dad’s definitely not okay with it, Jake! Put it away!”

“Aw, come on dad!” Jake called out petulantly, holding the about half of what looked like a very large and impressive erection through the button fly of his shorts. His tone reminded me of when he was a little kid and was refused chocolate bars at the supermarket checkout. “He’s only going to have a suck, and it’s not like I’m disturbing what you’re doing!”

He directed the large, wet head of his cock towards Bradley’s face who licked his lips hungrily before turning to peer up at me over his shoulder. “What’s the harm?” he asked.

I finally stopped my rhythm in and out of his cheeks: Jake had won – he had managed to interrupt my enjoyment.

“It’ll just be a quick blowjob,” Bradley persisted, as Jake yanked another few inches of his erection out through his fly. It looked enormous – far bigger than I might have expected – though I knew from experience that Bradley would have little difficulty in taking it into his mouth.

“Not necessarily quick,” Jake cut in with a grin. “And not necessarily just a blowjob,” he added mischievously, turning slightly and yanking his shorts down at the back enough to let Bradley know that the hairy crack of his arse was also available for his tongue to work on.

That only served to make Bradley even more insistent.

“Oh, come on, Rob!” he said, apparently unfazed by the fact we were having this discussion with my cock lodged halfway up his bum. “What harm can there be in me having a quick lick of… er… one or two things? It’s not like you and him are going to do anything with each other!”

“That’s not the point,” I argued, feeling annoyed that Jake had put me in this position. “I don’t want to be having sex while watching you orally pleasure my son, thank you very much!”

“I’m in the room, guys,” Jake reminded us but I was in no mood for his frivolity.

“Put your dick away, Jake, and leave us to it!” I snapped, my voice making it clear this was not up for debate. “I’m not messing about – we don’t want drinks and we don’t want your cheap innuendos. Just go back to bed, please.”

Jake stuffed his erection back into his shorts, muttering to himself like we were back at the supermarket till.

“You always do this,” he complained, and stomped out of the room with an irritated snort. Having never been in the situation of being interrupted by him while I was in the middle of shafting another man’s butt, I wasn’t sure quite what he meant.

He clattered along the hallway and stormed back into his room. I expected his bedroom door to slam shut just like it had so many times in the past, but when it didn’t I realised he was hoping his fun wasn’t quite over yet.

“I’m sorry, mate,” I said to Bradley a few minutes later, as we lay back against the headboard of the bed with our cocks looking as floppy as if we’d climaxed. “I know you were up for it, but I just couldn’t – he’s my son!”

“I know that, Rob, but you’re always saying you’d like a threesome with me and my brother. Having Jake come in with us would be no different from that.”

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He was right on one point – I did often suggest that we got together for a session with his brother Garth. The guy supposedly had a cock that was long and flexible enough to work it into his own asshole. I was even more fascinated to see how the two brothers would express their affection towards one another and was hoping something could be arranged for the three of us relatively soon.

“With Jake it would seem different,” I said, struggling to think of why that was so. “I’ve brought him up from being a baby. When you two guys were joking around about you rimming him, you’ve got to remember that I used to wipe that bum when Jake was in nappies. It’d feel totally wrong for me to have him join in with our sex.”

Bradley nodded. “Okay, I guess I never really thought of that way. So I accept that a threesome is out of the question. But let’s say Jake and I were to get it together on our own. Would you object to that?”

“I don’t know,” I said, thinking the idea through. “I suppose not. As long as you were… you know… careful with him. He’s only nineteen.”

“He’s a big boy, mate,” Bradley laughed, “I think he can look after himself.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” I hit back. “He’s just a kid, really.”

It had taken us quite a while to get back into each other and resume our sex – ironically, given the supposed cause of the interruption, we’d needed a refill on our drinks to get things back on track – but once we were back into the rhythm, a secondary thumping sound from the open door along the hallway let us both know that our exertions were being enjoyed elsewhere.

Now that I was standing behind my bedroom door listening to other people’s noises of sex, largely in the position Jake had found himself in a week earlier, I found myself tempted, just as he had been, to take a walk along the corridor to observe first-hand the activity which was keeping me awake.

I eased myself out through the door, taking care not to allow the hinges to creak even though I was aware that Jake was probably expecting me to follow in his footsteps and appear in the shadows of his bedroom door.

What would I say if I was seen by the two of them? I couldn’t claim, as Jake had, to be en route to getting a drink from the kitchen – his bedroom was at the back of the house and in the opposite direction from the stairs. I couldn’t even say I’d been popping to the toilet as that was closer to my room than it was to Jake’s. I’d just have to use the trusted excuse of hearing noises and being worried that we had intruders at the rear. In some respects that was true.

I crept out into the hallway, the sounds that Jake and Marcus were making becoming clearer and louder. Jake’s bedside lamp was on and a wedge of its light spilled out onto the carpet in front of his room. This was going to be more interesting than I’d hoped: I’d assumed they would be having sex in darkness and that I would see only the indistinct outlines of their bodies writhing and contorting on the bed in the faint glow from Jake’s computer monitor. It seemed, though, I was in for a more explicit performance, as Jake’s bed was directly opposite the door of his room and I would be able to see what they were doing in near full illumination.

I edged cautiously along the corridor between our rooms, the rhythmic sounds from Jake’s bedroom becoming more distinct. The bed was creaking tortuously and the two of them were panting and gasping together.

I smiled at the sound of them. Many other men would have been mortified to have heard their son enjoying a moment of passion with one of his male friends, but I was by now feeling mostly flattered that Jake was – quite deliberately, I was sure – allowing me to witness such an intimate act. And the parts of me that weren’t feeling flattered were, I have to admit, becoming increasingly turned-on. My pyjama bottoms were by now tenting upwards quite obscenely with my gathering excitement.

As I slowly inched my way down the hallway, the smell of their sex grew progressively stronger. It was a wonderfully rich aroma – laced with sweat and testosterone, but buzzing with much heavier essences straight from the hole that was being so noisily plundered. It was even more intoxicating than the scent I enjoyed when I was with a man myself: the youthful vigour of these two fit lads was enriching the far stronger smell of their sex with its own acrid kick.

It reminded me of the times I’d sniffed the back of a man’s underpants after he had worn them for a whole day: earthy and pungent; bitter and effluvious. I assumed the back of Marcus’ underwear packed the same acerbic punch when he pulled them off each evening: how interesting it would be to borrow a couple of discarded pairs from his rucksack and find out what secrets such a well-mannered young man was concealing in the back of his trousers.

As I paused to appreciate the gathering anal musk in the air, Jake seemed to crank up the action of his hips against his friend’s buttocks and the noise from his room grew a good few decibels louder. He was desperate to be heard, of that I was sure, and he was making it as irrefutably clear as he could that the back bedroom of the house was playing host to some serious male-to-male bonding.

The smell from their activities grew, in turn, significantly stronger: whatever Jake was doing to his friend was releasing an especially piquant redolence for their solitary audience to enjoy. Perhaps his cock had started drilling even more deeply up into Marcus’ bowels; or perhaps the two of them were now dripping with sweat, adding a fresh dose of male pheromones to the already potent mix that was assailing my nostrils.

I inhaled deeply, savouring the deliciously carnal bite of the air in the hallway. Surely by now, even the naive dad I had imagined while I’d been lying in my bed would be able to identify the source of the odour that was wafting from his son’s room. I chuckled at the thought: what a surprise that might be for him!

I pressed on along the corridor, lowering each foot down onto the carpet as silently as I could, musing on how lucky Jake was to have found a like-minded friend as energetic as Marcus. He had a freshness about him, or so I’d thought while I’d watched him smiling politely at Guy’s bawdy humour during our meal earlier that evening, which had made me suspect he’d be as horny as a buck rabbit once you got him in the mood. And it seemed that my son was more than capable of doing just that.

I had to admit, though, that even though he was my son and I was all too aware of his many shortcomings, Jake was very attractive young lad too. He had an especially masculine face – quite angular and already with a tendency to show stubble if he didn’t shave daily – and his mother’s dark brown eyes which expressed very vividly the emotions he would otherwise prefer to conceal. His body was more lithe than his friend’s but I’d noticed on many occasions that he had a nice, firm backside which was pleasantly rounded and not entirely dissimilar from my own.

The two of them would make a stunning male couple, I speculated, as I edged along the corridor. Seeing them in flagrante was going to present a most enjoyable sight, and I homed in on the open doorway while adjusting the front of my pyjama bottoms to accommodate what must be the least wholesome aspect of my fatherly interest in my son.

Their noises continued, seeming to growing even faster and more forceful, as my toes first breached the shaft of light shining out of Jake’s bedroom. Was their homosexual coupling getting still livelier, or was I just hearing their activities more clearly as I neared the doorway?

I had a sudden misgiving about proceeding further and found myself hesitating at the threshold of the illuminated doorway. My son was right there in front of me, enjoying what should be a private sexual moment with his friend, and here I was about to spy on him doing it. Was this acceptable behaviour for a middle-aged father?

Before I had time to address my unease, the sounds from Jake’s room abruptly stopped. Fearing they’d heard me, I froze still outside of the doorway, hardly daring to breathe in case I revealed what I had been about to do. I wasn’t too bothered about Jake knowing I was there – he, after all, had done exactly the same thing to me on many, many occasions before I’d caught him last week – but I didn’t want Marcus, who was a guest in my house after all, getting the impression that I habitually sneaked around perving on what my son was getting up to in the middle of the night.

As I stood statue still in the corridor, the arch of my foot starting to cramp up from the tensed position I was holding myself in, I heard noises of the two of them repositioning themselves on the bed, mattress springs creaking as knees were pressed down into them, and then my son asked his friend in a low voice if he was okay.

“Yeah, you were just hurting a bit,” Marcus replied and I heard a rasping farting noise which I realised was coming from a tube of something wet being squirted.

As whatever it was – lube, I assume – was applied to various patches of male anatomy, I heard Marcus whisper, “Are you sure this is okay, Jake? My dad would have a fit if we did this at my place.”

“Don’t worry,” my son chuckled, “my dad is definitely no angel!”

I couldn’t help but smile to myself. He was right there.

“Has he heard you having sex before?” Marcus asked quietly.

“Not like this,” Jake admitted. “He saw me having a wank when we were sharing a room a few years ago, but he hasn’t heard me doing stuff with someone else.”

“Won’t he be freaked out?” Marcus persisted. In spite of the joke Marcus had made about me acting like Guy’s boyfriend, Jake hadn’t been lying when he’d told me that his friend didn’t know about the new-found diversity of my sexual interests.

I heard Jake laugh to himself. “Believe me, mate, he doesn’t blush very easily these days.”

I smiled again. Like father like son, I thought.

“But won’t he think you’re gay? My dad would keel over if he knew I was doing this.”

“My old man knows the score, mate,” Jake snorted impatiently. “Now come on, shove your arse back towards me and open your legs wider. I’m getting blue balls back here!”

“Oh, Jake, what a sensual lover you make,” I thought to myself. “You’re a modern-day Casanova.”

There was a wet slurp as my son reoccupied the hole he’d vacated, and then the creaking of the bed started up again and the headboard resumed its beating against the wall.

Feeling relieved that I was free to move again, the sounds of my progress being masked by the rhythmic cacophony that was ensuing from my son’s mattress and the two bodies on it, I allowed myself to relax and stretched my tensed-up foot against carpet beneath me. The joints inside it clicked and sounded unfeasibly loud.

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I returned to the question that had occurred to me before their brief interruption: was it wrong of me to be observing my son and his young friend while they were enjoying what should be a private act together? Did the fact this was a homosexual rather than heterosexual coupling make it more or less wrong that I might be about to spy on them? On the one hand, I might take the view that what they were doing was the sexual equivalent of a pair of lads messing around together and therefore perfectly reasonable for me to glance in on with an almost amused detachment. On the other, it could be argued that the fact they were both young men made it even more inappropriate for me to watch them experiencing pleasure together: such a profound moment of intimacy was supposed to be conducted in secret and I had no place to be peering in on them like some old, salivating anorak-wearer.

Perhaps, I mused, if I were to see what they were actually doing, I would in a better position to formulate an option.

Yes, that was a very sensible approach to take.

I crept forwards along the last foot or so of the corridor until I was level with Jake’s door and, staying back in the shadows of the hallway as much as I could, peered around the open doorway, squinting to allow my eyes to become accustomed to the relative brightness of the bedside lamp.

As soon as I saw them, it felt indecently wrong for me to be spying on them. They were both naked – that might sound obvious, but for some reason I’d expected their sex to be so casual that they’d be doing it in their t-shirts with their underwear hitched down – and, in spite of the open door and my suspicion that Jake was deliberately putting on a show, it suddenly seemed like I really was not intended to be looking at this. Here was my son, upright on his knees, making love to another boy who was on all fours in front of him: how utterly contemptible must I be for peeping on the two of them like some squalid pervert?

I almost pulled away in disgust at myself, but there was something about Jake – something about his face – that made me hesitate. I stared at him for several seconds, wondering what was keeping me from shuffling back to bed, when I realised what it was that was out of place.

As he stared ahead of Marcus’ bent body, as he looked forwards at the posters of indie bands above the headboard of his bed, his expression didn’t fit with what he was doing. He wasn’t gasping in pleasure or grunting with enjoyment: he was broadly smirking and his eyes were full of mischief.

He knew his dad was watching him and he was delighting in the fact.

I had come to his doorway and taken up the position he had always intended for me.

He didn’t turn to face me, nor give any discernible sign of acknowledgement. But he knew full well I was there and was in no need of confirmation.

“Ah, this feels so good, mate,” my son called out as his friend grunted his agreement. He continued thrusting his hips back and forth as the long, thick shaft of his cock drove in and out of Marcus’ outstretched buttocks, all the time staring ahead of himself with that deliberate smirk on his devious face.

He wanted me to see him enjoying a late night butt-fuck with his mate from university: that much was abundantly clear.

And, for all I was feeling suckered into doing what had been expected of me, I had to admit they looked spectacular together: Marcus bending forward with his fair, curly hair flopping onto the pillow, giving himself so spiritedly to my son who was kneeling upright behind him.

My son’s friend looked magnificent naked: his body was beautifully sculpted and swathed with taut, naturally well-built muscles which bulged as he tensed and flexed against Jake’s relentless thrusts. This was a handsome, strapping lad bent over on all fours on Jake’s bed and, while my son was undeniably something of a looker himself, he should count himself very fortunate to have such an attractive friend who seemed so grateful to receive his attentions.

Such musings were interrupted by the realisation Jake wasn’t wearing a condom: he and his friend obviously trusted each other completely, the way Guy and I now did and the way I was trying to persuade Bradley we should.

“How’s my big cock feel screwing your arse, mate?” Jake asked, his voice slightly louder than it needed to be, suggesting the question had been posed primarily for my benefit.

Was this why he had wanted me to see him like this? To prove to me that he was a big boy now and more than capable of using adult language?

“Amazing,” Marcus gasped in a more muted whisper.

My son’s manhood did indeed look very large, hammering in and out from between his friend’s round bum-cheeks. It had all the girth of my own and, from what I could see each time he pulled back to withdraw it, matched very closely my length. Seeing it from the side, however, made it obvious that Jake’s cock had a much more conspicuous upward curve to it than mine did, a fact he exploited with the technique he was employing. His arching, sweeping motion used the full curvature of his shaft to repeatedly skewer the orifice in front of him, giving his plump cock-head a smooth, circular trajectory with every powerful thrust.

“Shoot your load up inside me, Jake,” Marcus called out, breathlessly. “Go for it, mate!”

Jake looked like he was about to comply with his friend’s request, and I must say I would have been very pleased to have seen him depositing his semen in a series of grunting spasms deep up inside the rump he was being so enthusiastically offered, but it seemed he had rather different ideas.

After a few further – and to my eyes, overly brash – lunges, he pulled out of Marcus and paused for a moment with his cock arching upwards at the threshold of what it had just so brusquely enjoyed.

He sniffed the air and took a moment to savour the sordid bouquet of the hole he had just plundered, before declaring: “Your butt smells so hot, dude!”

Again I wondered if this was an attempt by Jake to prove to me that the son I’d brought up had become a man. After all, this was very much the sort of thing I would enjoy doing in his position and he may well have picked up the habit from watching me over countless nights.

“It doesn’t smell as hot as it did in that tent, mate,” Marcus reminded him and the two of them giggled. This must be a reference to when they had camped out a couple of nights at a music festival in October.

Oh, to have had a sniff of that hot fug after the two of them had been at it! The front of my pyjama bottoms took a sudden lurch upwards at the mere idea of them stinking out Jake’s two-man tent with their lewd exertions. I seemed to remember Jake had taken his girlfriend and mate of hers along on that trip, complete with their own, more extravagant sleeping arrangements. I wondered what dear, sweet Ellie had made of the indecorous smell in the boys’ cramped tent first thing in the morning; that unique combination of bum and cum.

Jake shuffled down the bed, away from Marcus’ bent body, and announced that he had something else in mind which his friend, he was sure, would greatly enjoy.

Putting his hands back on his friend’s hips and making just the slightest and almost imperceptible glance in my direction, he pressed his face towards the splayed buttocks in front of him, reaching forwards to rim the splayed and gaping arsehole his cock had just vacated.

A post-fuck rim: “You lucky sod, Jake”, I thought again. It had taken me ages to discover that the most rewarding rim-jobs were the ones administered to a freshly-ploughed hole, but it seemed Jake had made such a fortuitous discovery relatively soon after taking up the same hobby.

Again, I strongly suspected what he was doing was on account of the audience he knew he had. He was well aware that I regard rimming as being the most rewarding and sophisticated of the activities I indulge in with my own gender, and he was trying to prove to me that he was himself a connoisseur of such an elegant art-form.

Perhaps he was right, I mused: perhaps my little boy really was ‘all growed up’.

He pressed his face to Marcus’ rump and extended his tongue forwards to where he must be able to see the other boy’s swollen hole was dilated outwards. For a second time, he couldn’t help but smirk: he was aware I was standing watching him, no doubt suspecting – quite rightly – that I had a growing hard-on, and he was revelling in the performance he was giving me.

But then, when he actually pushed forwards and went in for the bullseye, I found myself feeling shocked and appalled to see what Jake was doing.

It wasn’t the sight of my son with his mouth on another lad’s bum that was so offending me: it was the fact he was administering the most inept rim-job I’d ever seen in the flesh. He was flicking his tongue back and forth against Marcus’ hole like they do for dramatic effect in porn films; dabbing at it with the tip like he was afraid to actually taste what was being presented to him; wiggling his tongue up and down as if intentionally making a silly face.

“You’re doing it all wrong, son,” I was almost compelled to call out. I wanted to march in and take over from him, to show him how such a delicate act should really be performed by one man on another. But obviously I didn’t interrupt their moment together and risk upsetting Marcus who seemed oblivious to my presence, and held back in the doorway, exasperated by the mess Jake was making of what should have been an intensely erotic and sensual moment of intimacy.

I remembered he’d walked in on me rimming another man in our lounge quite a few months earlier. While at the time I’d been annoyed with him for quite deliberately interrupting us, now I was more annoyed that he hadn’t learned anything from what he’d seen me doing.

“You don’t lap at it like a fucking saucer of milk,” I was thinking, with growing frustration. “You should be caressing his entrance with your tongue, not teasing it like that; you should be massaging his passage and making him gasp with excitement, not just fannying around like it’s a lollipop.”

Marcus, however, seemed to be enjoying what my son was doing to his bum. He raised himself upwards and prized his buttocks apart with both hands to give his friend better access, smiling over his shoulder at Jake as his cock poked upwards in its unabated arousal.

It seemed that my son’s lover was easy to please.

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I noticed, then, that Marcus’ erection had its own captivating beauty, arching so gracefully upwards from between his rounded, muscular thighs. The head of it was a handsome shiny purple – almost metallic in its lustre – and the size of its shaft was slightly larger than average, making it very pleasingly proportioned with respect to the rest of his athletic, toned body.

Jake emerged from between his buttocks and grinned back upwards at him.

“You like having a Furlong tongue lapping at your arse?” he asked before spitting out a stray anal hair that must have been tickling his tongue.

“You know I do,” Marcus chuckled, apparently excited to have another boy licking his backside, regardless of the inelegance of the technique which had been employed.

Jake looked up at his friend and grinned naughtily. “And I bet you’d like a Furlong mouth sucking your cock at the same time my tongue was rimming your arse!”

(“Call that rimming?” I couldn’t help but think. “You really have no idea, Jake.”)

Marcus chuckled hesitantly, confused about the point Jake was trying to make. “If only that were possible,” he suggested with his voice betraying his obvious uncertainty.

Jake leaned in to take another few clumsy licks of Marcus’ delicious-looking bum and then grinned up at him again. “You’d love it though, wouldn’t you? Having a Furlong mouth slobbering away on your horny cock and another rimming your cute arse! You’d love that!”

Marcus smiled at Jake but, just like me, didn’t see where this was headed. “I guess I would,” he offered with an uneasy shrug.

“You’d be well up for it wouldn’t you?” Jake asked salaciously.

“You know I would,” Marcus chuckled with obvious puzzlement before Jake turned towards the doorway and called out:

“You might as well come in, dad! I know you’re out there!”

I hesitated for a moment, caught off-guard by Jake’s abrupt invitation. In spite of what he’d said about the two Furlong tongues, I really had not expected him to ask me to join in the pair of them in the middle of what they were doing.

I held back for a moment, my mind reeling about what I should do, before Jake called out again, “Come on, dad! I can see the stripes on your pyjamas!”

There was no point pretending I wasn’t here: as I’d surmised all along, he had fully expected me to do what he himself had obviously done so many times before and position myself voyeuristically outside his bedroom door.

“Okay,” I said, pushing my way into my son’s bedroom. “You win. Now what were you saying about there being two Furlong mouths?”

Written By: Robert Furlong

Picture: Google+

More to come! Let me know what you think and don’t hesitate to comment me ideas of what you’d like to read next. Thanks for reading, I hoped you enjoyed it.

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A Friday Afternoon Massage

a-friday-afternoon-massage-safeI had been looking forward to Friday all week long, and it was finally here. Yes, it was partly the anticipation of the weekend, but it was mostly because I had scheduled my monthly massage session with Kelly on Friday afternoon.

Kelly had been my massage therapist for over a year now, and she was fantastic. She was beautiful and fun, and she gave a very thorough and erotic massage. Before you jump to conclusions, I should point out that she doesn’t do a sexual massage. There is no happy ending. But she did have a sexy way with her massages that were arousing without being sexual. And I always left feeling refreshed and relaxed.

Kelly’s had a small, one person studio, so it was a bit of a surprise when a guy answered the door. Surprise led to disappointment when he broke the bad news.

“Dave, I’ve got some bad news, Kelly had an emergency, she had to leave early,” he said. “She’s really sorry but it was unavoidable.”


This story is a work of fiction. All characters are older than 18. They have fun having gay sex. If gay sex is not allowed in your country, you should consider moving to another one. The characters are not having safe sex, please use condoms while exploring your sexuality.

As always, I look forward to your comments and suggestions. Thank you for choosing to read my story and I hope you enjoy! You may contact me at gaynerdy2014@gmail.com , also if you have your own story. Please send to this email gaynerdy2014@gmail.com , or click SUBMIT YOUR OWN STORIES! at the top right corner of HOME SCREEN. Also, If you include your name. I will give credit as due, otherwise, it will read as – Read By: Bobby Newberry. THANK YOU for helping to build Gay and Nerdy Archives Library of Erotic Stories and more. Note: We do not own these stories, only share. If you believe this story should not be here. Email gaynerdy2014@gmail.com and explain. If so, we will fix this mistake.

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“Dang, well, these things can’t be helped,” I said.

“I do have an option, if you’re interested,” he said. “I have just recently completed training and Kelly and I are going to be sharing this studio, and if you’d like I can do the massage, and we’ll even make it half price.”

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In a very short time, my mind traveled over the half price offer, the idea of a guy giving me a massage, the idea of whether or not I was being a homo or a homophobe and what this guy thought about all of it. It was a short travel, but it was long enough that it was getting awkward that I was waiting that long to answer, and in a panic, I answered.

“Ok, sounds good,” I said, playing it all down. After all, it was no big deal, it was just a massage. Guys gave guys massages all the time. This guy was built like a football player, he might be able to work out some kinks that a girl couldn’t.

“Great, my name’s Jim, I appreciate you giving me the chance,” he said. “You’re the last client of the day, so go on back and get ready while I lock up the front door.”

As I walked down the hall I started thinking about ways to get out of the massage. This wasn’t going to be nearly as good as Kelly. But when I got back to her room at the end of the hall, I started to ease into the idea. Kelly had a really cool massage room, it was small, warm and dimly lit, with faint mood music and the subtle smells of relaxing incense. There was no way that getting a massage here could be bad, even from a guy. I stripped down, climbed onto the table and draped the towel over my back.

Jim came quietly into the room a few minutes later and the massage got underway. At first touch I thought I had made a big mistake, I was immediately weirded out by a guy putting his hands on me, but it wasn’t long before I settled down and started to relax. I found myself just trying to imagine that it was Kelly’s hands.

Not that I minded being massaged by a guy, I just couldn’t quite change the gear. I have never been with a guy sexually, never been attracted that way, but I do find cocks fascinatingly attractive. Sometimes when I’m watching porn I could imagine the urge to play with a cock, maybe even orally.

Meanwhile, Jim was doing a pretty good job making me forget about Kelly. He had strong hands and was doing a good job working on my back and neck. Just as importantly, he had the right level of chit chat and quiet, and he was witty and insightful. Before long I began to fall into relaxation. Typically I would fall into such a deep state of relaxation that I would nearly doze off during massages.

Jim had worked his way down to my lower back and was digging his fingers in pretty hard and pressing my midsection into the table. I couldn’t help but let out a soft groan when he hit a nerve.

“Hey, let me know if I’m pushing too hard,” he said.

“No, keep going, I’m good,” I said. In all honesty I would’ve preferred he was pushing a little lighter, but I knew it was better for the muscle, plus I didn’t want to admit I couldn’t take it.

There is always a moment when you are getting a massage from someone for the first time and you wonder how they are going to do something. For example, I’ve had some people who wouldn’t touch my ass during a massage, others who would do it but only through the towel, and others who would pretty much give you a hands on naked ass rub down. Kelly would always fold the towel back to expose half my ass and do a rub down, and then do the same for the other side. It was always one of my favorite parts of the massage, having her hands on my ass, pushing me down into the table.

But now, as Jim worked his way down my lower back and the towel started getting pushed downward, I started to tense up visualizing his hands on my ass. It was an odd combination of thoughts running around in my head – somehow the idea of him having his hands on my ass had become taboo and naughty to the point that I was actually looking forward to it and dreading it at the same time.

So by the time he had folded back the towel over half my lower body, exposing half my ass to the open air, I had reached a level of nervous and excited anticipation. He didn’t disappoint, as he rubbed his oily hands from my back, over my ass cheek and down to my upper thigh. As his hands worked their magic, I couldn’t help myself from taking long, slow deep breaths. My stomach had suddenly become filled with butterflies. As he pressed his hands down into my ass I became acutely aware that I was becoming aroused. It was an odd arousal, a combination of being titillated by the touch and enthralled by the taboo of it all.

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Then he did something I had not ever experienced. He placed one hand on my ass cheek, and then ran the other one down my leg, pushing his fingers along the muscle line. When his hand reached my lower calf muscle, he would let his fingers drift lightly back up to my upper hamstring, then he would push his way back down. But all the while, his other hand was firmly on my ass, moving slightly but always remaining in solid contact. It felt amazing, both for the leg muscles and for the feeling of his hand on my ass.

By the time he had moved the process over to the other side, carefully shifting the towel over to expose my other ass cheek, my head was buzzing and my heart was fluttering. And every time he ran his hand down the back of my leg, my cock felt like it was getting a little harder.

After he finished the sequence on the other side, he moved the towel back over to cover just my lower half and he moved to the head of the bed. My hands were down by my sides, and he reached down and pulled them up so they were over my head, like I was signaling a touchdown but laying face down. Then he began to do a deep rub on my back, pushing down with both hands from my shoulders to my lower back. His strength was something I wasn’t used to, and it almost took my breath away as he pushed down.

Meanwhile, my hands were positioned on either side of his outer thighs, and as he pushed downward with all that pressure my hands were rubbing up against the outside of his upper thighs. I wasn’t trying to do it, it was just happening, and after it started happening it would’ve been really awkward for me to stop, so I just let it happen. It almost felt like my hands were pulling him towards me, pulling his crotch towards the top of my head. I wasn’t positive, but it felt like I could feel his midsection contacting the top of my head, just barely. In my drowsy, mid-massage head, I started to develop a fantasy. In the fantasy, my hands would come tight against his thighs, just below his ass, and I would pull his crotch towards me, and then I would lift my head, and I would see the outline of his cock straining through his pants. In the fantasy, my mouth was watering and I leaned forward, aching to kiss his cock through his pants…

“Ok, time to roll over,” came the voice.

It took me a few seconds to realize the fantasy wasn’t real, and my brain slowly returned to reality. As I began to turn over, I became aware that my cock had enjoyed the fantasy enough that I had become semi erect, and as I rolled over on my back I imagined that I was showing it through the towel, but Jim didn’t have any reaction. He covered my midsection with the towel and set into the front side massage, starting with my feet.

As he slowly worked his way up my legs, I could not stop myself from becoming more aroused. I kept telling myself that this was a guy touching me, and I’m not turned on by guys, but something about the sheer impropriety of it had me fighting a losing battle. By the time he got to rubbing on my thighs my body was tingling, my head was spinning and my cock had gotten quite hard. The rhythmic music and the incense was flooding my senses to the point of overload. As his hands moved up to my upper thighs, I couldn’t stop myself from sighing softly and moving my head from side to side. I didn’t want him to think I was getting turned on, but I absolutely couldn’t stop myself. The higher his hands rose on my thighs, the harder it was for me to control myself. His fingers were coming within inches of my cock, and close enough to my aching balls that I could feel the heat.

That was about when I started to sense a change in him. He seemed to get a bit nervous, and his hands were slightly trembling as he moved up higher on my thighs, coming just to the edge of the towel. He stopped for a moment to get the container of warm oil, and as he was lining it up to pour some on my thighs he fumbled the container and the warm oil dropped and spilled the entire contents onto the towel.

“Oh shit,” he said, in a panic. He reached for the towel to take it off, but then realized the implications of that, and backed off. “Let me, uh, I’ll go find another towel, he stammered.

He stumbled out of the dark room on his quest for another towel, leaving me dripping with an oil saturated towel. He came back a few minutes later, still a bit flustered.

“I couldn’t find another towel,” he said, a bit embarrassed. “This was all I could find.”

He was holding up a small towel, more of a wash cloth size than a towel.

I couldn’t help but grin. “Looks just big enough to do the job,” I said.

He laughed nervously. “I have to be honest, this is really the first time I’ve ever done a guy,” he said. “I mean, given a guy a massage.”

“Yeah, first for me too, but I’ll have to say, you’re doing a great job.”

“Right, except for spilling the oil all over you,” he answered. He stepped over and tried to gather up the towel without spilling any more of the oil, but it was a pretty big mess. He lifted it off carefully with both hands and moved it out of the way, leaving me fully exposed. I was still semi erect, and now coated with oil, and when he moved back over to the table with the wash cloth, he tried to act professional, but it seemed like he took his time draping the little wash cloth over my hardening cock. The wash cloth was literally just big enough to cover my cock and balls, it was like I was wearing a little pouch. I couldn’t be much closer to being naked on the table.

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He took a deep breath and set back to work on my oily thighs, but now it felt like he was massaging me in the nude. Making matters worse, or better I guess, was the fact that as he worked his fingers over my body it would cause the wash cloth to move, and he would have to stop to adjust the cloth to cover me, which was a lot like having someone rubbing a cloth across my cock. Naturally that caused me to become fully erect, which made the wash cloth even more precarious. It was a vicious cycle. Viciously erotic.

After what seemed like an hour of thigh massage that came extremely close, but never quite touched my now aching cock, he moved up to the head of the table and began working my shoulders and chest. My nipples weren’t usually sensitive, but they were today. Then he started doing this thing where he would start both hands on my shoulders and then move them down over my chest, and then onto my stomach, coming just short of the cloth and then moving them down the sides and then back up again. By the second time he did this I was about ready to beg him to move his hands on down further, to push the cloth aside and take my cock into his hands. I couldn’t get up the nerve to ask, but I did make it clear with sighs and moans that I was enjoying it immensely. When I leaned up just a bit and looked down at my torso, I could see that my erection was lifting the cloth off my body, and the tip of my cock was clearly visible. Jim tried to cover it on the fourth or fifth pass, but it didn’t stay covered for long.

Adding to my arousal was the fact that every time Jim’s hands moved down my body, his body moved over mine, and when his hands would get close to my groin his crotch was aligned with my face. Looking up at him, I noted he was wearing pajama type pants with a string tie, and it may have been my imagination, but I thought I noticed the outline of a semi erect cock pushing the fabric out. Once again, my head started going down a weird road, thinking about what it would be like if Jim were naked and his cock was dangling down in front of my face, brushing up against my lips…

Jim’s hands moved down my body one more time, they went so far down that it almost seemed like his fingers went under my cock, which was now so hard it was two or three inches clear of my stomach even with the cloth. The string tie dangled down and tickled my face and I closed my eyes and imagined it was his cock just grazing my face. Then I imagined that the next time the string came down to my face I would inadvertently catch the string in my mouth and pull the bow loose. I might have done it, but he had finished with the torso massage.

He moved down to my side and tried to adjust the cloth to cover me again, but I was so hard now that it wouldn’t cover me all the way. He tried to ignore it and went to work once again, this time rubbing my stomach with one hand and my thigh with the other.

I had been wondering if he was deliberately trying to arouse me, but now any doubt was gone. There was no way a guy could do this to another guy and not think it was arousing, especially seeing my obvious erection. Having his hands rubbing over my stomach and thigh at the same time was making me crazy, and it was all I could do to not squirm on the table.

My hands were down at my sides, and at some point I realized that as he leaned towards the table, his midsection was coming in light contact with my pinky finger. I don’t think he realized it, because my pinky finger was in line with the table. But as he moved just slightly back and forth, I could feel the outline of his cock with the outside of my pinky finger. It was through his pants, but I could tell from the heat and the hardness that he was aroused too. I felt the string tie drag over my hand as well, and once again I imagined just grabbing it and pulling the bow loose.

Now the eroticism was ramped up even further. I had a guy massaging my practically naked stomach and thighs while my finger was brushing up against his cock. I couldn’t help myself from letting out a long, slow sigh and rolling my head back and forth in ecstasy.

“You doing ok?” Jim asked.

“Incredible, please don’t stop,” I half gasped. I opened my eyes and looked up at him, and his eyes were looking down at my partially exposed cock. Looking, with admiration.

“You can take that off if you want to,” someone said, and then I realized it was me. I held my breath as I watched him thinking about that. After what seemed like an eternity, he reached one hand over and pulled the cloth away, leaving me fully naked on the table. My cock stood proudly erect, and despite the fact that it was a guy looking at me, I had never been more aroused.

“I’m not gay,” he said.

“Me neither,” I replied.

Then my hand inadvertently moved, and if he wasn’t aware of it before, he knew now that his cock was rubbing against the edge of my hand. He looked down briefly but didn’t change anything, if anything it felt like he was moving back and forth against my hand more than before. I took a chance and moved my hand further off the edge, so that now he was rubbing up against the backs of two fingers, and I felt his body react at the contact.

Meanwhile, he was continuing the massage, carefully working his oily hands all around my cock and balls, coming dangerously close but not quite coming in contact. I was taking deep breaths trying to calm down, but it wasn’t working. The music, the incense, the hands on my body and my hands on his body, and the utter taboo of it all, had put my body into overdrive. I couldn’t believe this was happening but I couldn’t stop either. I moved my hand further off the table so that the full back of my hand was now coming in contact with his now rock hard cock, and it was his turn to gasp a bit. He clearly didn’t mind the contact, so I began to slowly move my hand so that I was lightly stroking his cock with the back of my hand as he did his best to continue his teasing massage.

About that time, my fingers found the dangling string tie, and this time, instead of fantasizing about it, I gave in and gave it a long slow pull, and we both watched mesmerized as the bow came untied and his pants became quite loose. My heart nearly stopped as they slipped away and fell off, and there, just inches away from my hand, was the first cock I was ever going to touch besides mine. I had never been in an intimate setting with another hard cock, but I had seen plenty of pornos to compare it to. He had a nice cock, about the same size as mine with a nice shape and smooth skin, not very much hair. And he was hard as a rock, proudly pointing towards the ceiling.

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I looked up at him and caught his eye, and without speaking a word, we came to a gentleman’s agreement. I held up my hand, and he slowly poured oil into it. His hand slipped around my oily cock, and my hand slipped around his. Despite the fact that I had never been attracted to a man in any way, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. And having his hand finally wrapped around my cock was beyond epic.

Now that we didn’t have to pretend anymore, it suddenly became more wide open, with a lot more moaning and gasping and the occasional “oh yeah.” It seemed pretty easy to know what to do, I just stroked his cock the same way I liked to stroke mine, at times slipping my oily hand down to massage his balls. We fell into a rhythm that way, whenever I felt like I was about to come, I would release his cock and start massaging his balls, and he would do the same. I wasn’t sure about how he was feeling, but I really wanted it to last. Stroking a guys cock while he stroked mine was beyond the wildest fantasies that I had never even had.

He had moved as close to the table as he could, and I had moved over as close as I could to the edge, so our cocks had come very close together. Looking down I became mesmerized watching the two cocks, so close together, and almost in a trance I found myself turning just a bit towards Jim so that now our oily cocks came into contact. Both of our eyes were transfixed on the two cocks, and I rubbed the head of his cock all the way down my shaft from bottom to top and then rolled the oily heads of our cocks together. We both gasped at the same time, and I could feel that he was losing control. I began to stroke him faster, but I didn’t think it all through until I realized he was going to come, and I don’t think he did either. My head went on a quick spin trying to figure out which way to point the load that I knew was coming, and almost in a daze I pointed his jerking cock towards my own.

He moaned and exploded onto me, shooting jets of white cum all over my cock and balls, his hand, my stomach. The sudden warmth, utter decadence of the scene, and the feeling of his cum covered hand stroking my cum covered cock became way too much, and I practically levitated off the table as my cock exploded all over my torso. Halfway through it Jim decided to return my earlier favor and he pointed my cock towards his still hard member and coated himself with the latter half of my load.

I could not remember a time when I had come so hard. I was still on my back and Jim was somehow still standing, and my cock was still hard and jerking minutes after I had come. We continued to hold onto each other’s cocks, and my mind was ablaze with the completely unthinkable thing we had just done.

After what seemed like a half an hour, I felt Jim’s cock become a bit softer, and I felt my cock coming down as well. We released our grip on each other and he found the wash cloth and the oily towel and we cleaned ourselves up. I was still sure I wasn’t attracted to men, but I was still quite entranced watching Jim run the oily towel over his still semi erect cock.

He slipped his pants up and mumbled something about meeting me in the lobby and left me to get dressed. I was almost too weak to find my clothes and put them on straight, but somehow I pulled it off and met Jim out in the lobby. He looked as shook up as I felt.

“Hey, things kinda got out of control in there, eh?” he stammered.

“Yes I’ll say,” I answered. “Fantastic massage though.”

“Yeah, I have to say I enjoyed it too. Honestly, this is the first time I’ve ever even thought about getting naked like that with a guy, I can’t believe I did that. I hope you are cool with keeping this on the down low, I could lose my job here for this, plus I expect I would lose my girlfriend.”

“No worries, if my wife found out about this I suspect she’d freak too. I’ve never been with a guy like that either.”

He seemed to relax, realizing that this crazy secret was going to stay that way.

“I’m thinking that I probably need to avoid doing guy massages in the future,” he said.

“Yeah, I could see how that could be a problem,” I grinned.

We stood there quietly for a minute, lost in our recent memories.

“Though I’d have to say, maybe it would be ok to keep one male client…”

Written By: Sterling Day Dream

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6 Early Signs Your Liver Is Damaged

6-early-signs-your-liver-is-damagedWhen a liver is working well, it cleans the blood, helps digest food and fights infection. It is also a bit of a bodily superhero — much like Wolverine and Deadpool, it has the power to regenerate when it has been damaged, replacing old tissue with new cells.

“Anything that keeps your liver from doing its job — or from growing back after injury — may put your life in danger,” the American Liver Foundation warns. That can be inflammation, scarring, cancer or even using too much Tylenol. Although the liver lies on the inside of the body, the body shows outward signs when something is wrong.

Turning yellow

Your skin and the whites of your eyes could turn yellow when the liver isn’t working properly, due to a buildup in the blood of a yellowish substance called bilirubin, according to the U.S. National Library of Medicine. The U.K.’s National Health Service adds that the yellowing symptom, called jaundice, can occur when the liver’s damage prevents it from processing that bilirubin. Common causes of that kind of liver damage are hepatitis, cancer, drinking too much alcohol, abusing ecstasy, exposure to toxic substances and various infections.

Your bodily waste

Jaundice also changes the color of urine and stool, making the urine dark and the stool pale, the National Health Service explains.

Itch

The Mayo Clinic lists liver disease as an underlying cause of itchy skin, as well as kidney failure, thyroid problems and cancer. “The itching usually affects the whole body. The skin may look otherwise normal except for the repeatedly scratched areas.”

Bruises

People with liver damage will bruise or bleed more easily because their liver has slowed or stopped production of proteins that are necessary for blood clotting, the National Institute of Diabetes and Digestive and Kidney Diseases says. The liver actually produces several clotting factors, all of which begin to disappear in people with damage to that organ.

Swelling

When the liver isn’t able to do its job, people may start to retain water in their abdomens and legs, causing swelling, according to the Mayo Clinic.

No signs

In some cases, there just isn’t any indication that something is going wrong. The University of Iowa Hospitals and Clinics warns that up to half of those with liver disease show no signs. And in the cases that mild symptoms present themselves, the most common ones “are very nonspecific and they include fatigue or excessive tiredness, lack of drive, occasionally itching.”

Once a person progresses beyond those early symptoms, the damage to the liver and the side effects become more serious. The American Liver Foundation explains people may have the blood vessels leading to their livers burst, toxins could build up in their brains and interfere with mental function, and they could experience nausea and diarrhea. “As liver failure progresses, the symptoms become more serious,” the foundation says. “The patient may become confused and disoriented, and extremely sleepy. There is a risk of coma and death.” At that point, a liver transplant may be the only option, so it’s important to try to identify the signs of liver damage early.

 

Ask: Dr. Nerdy!

 

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Therapies For People Who Cant Sleep

7-strange-therapies-for-people-who-cant-sleepAnyone who’s ever Googled “how to fall asleep” knows about the endless supply of sleep hygiene advice: tips, like “take a shower before bed” or “don’t eat after 6 p.m.”, that are meant to help clean up your bedtime routine and enhance sleep quality. Though some might be helpful, people who truly can’t fall asleep—like the 70 million Americans who have a sleep disorder—need more than small changes.

“Sleep hygiene is like being told to wash your hands: it can prevent an infection, but it can’t treat one,” says Michael Grandner, director of the sleep and health research program at the University of Arizona College of Medicine—Tucson. “If you cross the line to a sleep disorder, you need some help.”

Below are some of the strange-sounding, sleeping pill-free therapies a doctor may prescribe for people who can’t sleep.

Stimulus control: People tend to do stimulating things in bed that have nothing to do with sleep, like reading and watching TV. Try adopting a “bed = sleep” mantra. “When you’re in bed, you’re asleep,” says Grandner. “If you’re in bed and you’re not asleep, you get out of bed.”

The goal is to strengthen your body’s association with the bed as a place you only sleep. In some cases, people may feel a bit sleep deprived in the first few weeks of practicing stimulus control, since they may have to get out of bed a few times. But it’s a core part of cognitive behavioral therapy for insomnia (CBT-I), which targets a person’s thoughts and behaviors for better sleep, and Grandner says the therapy is simple and powerful.

Sleep restriction: Ironic, right? “This is the worst name for an insomnia treatment, but it’s shockingly effective,” says Grandner. In sleep restriction, another CBT-I practice, a person limits the amount of time they spend in bed not sleeping.

Imagine trying to sleep eight hours a night, but only succeeding for five of them, spending three hours lying in bed awake. Using this technique, a doctor may tell you to only spend five hours in bed and then get up. Reducing the amount of time spent in bed causes some sleep deprivation, which can help a person feel more tired the next night. As sleep improves, more time in bed is added. Don’t try it without a doctor’s oversight, Grandner warns, given the potential for side effects.

Paradoxical intention: It’s a fancy phrase for tricking yourself into trying to stay awake. “This is a technique used for people who are very worried about not sleeping,” says Grandner. “If you need to obsess about something, don’t obsess about trying to be asleep. Instead, obsess about trying to stay awake.” Getting rid of the frustration may help people relax and drift off.

Biofeedback: A sleep specialist hooks a person up to a device where they can watch their own biological signals, like heart rate, brain waves and breathing patterns. People can then train themselves to slow those measurements down and use those skills at bedtime.

Polyphasic sleep: The idea behind it is that humans don’t naturally sleep in one big chunk. “Traditionally, humans took naps, and even at night, sleep was often broken into 2-3 bigger chunks,” says Grandner.Some people may go to sleep early, wake up, do a task, then go back to bed—and Grandner says that’s totally normal and possibly beneficial.

Polyphasic sleep has caught on among those who think they can “hack” their sleep for more productivity by only taking short naps throughout the day. “This is not a good idea and likely dangerous,” says Grandner. “Fortunately, it’s really difficult to maintain and most people who try it can’t keep it up.”

Thought challenging: Some people lay awake and convince themselves that if they don’t fall asleep soon, something horrible—like a car crash or a layoff—will happen to them the next day. One way to challenge those thoughts is to ask people how many times that has actually happened, Grandner says. By making the case that those possibilities are very unlikely, people can let them go. “It arms you with some ammunition to combat irrational thoughts,” he says.

Meditation: Relaxing through imagery, meditation or breathing exercises can help the body ready itself for rest. Mindfulness mediation, which emphasizes focusing on breath and bringing your mind into the present., has been linked to a host of different health improvements, and sleep doctors think it can work for insomnia symptoms, too. “It’s all about creating some distance between you and feelings that can have a mind of their own,” says Grandner.

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Like Father Like Son

Like Father Like Son

The first time I felt like I might be developing feelings for another man was the night when we’d gone out for a meal, and Marcus – my son’s friend from university – made a joke that it was like I was Guy’s boyfriend.

We’d all laughed at the absurdity of the suggestion – after all, Guy and I are both divorced men, both outwardly straight for all intents and purposes – but I felt the twinge of a new and unfamiliar emotion – an odd combination of pride and excitement, perhaps – which made me wonder if, maybe, I would like there to be some truth in the observation.

Marcus had no doubt made the comment because of the way Guy and I were teasing each other over dinner. I’d thought we were simply expressing the sort of typical, blokeish banter that men often indulge in to the amusement of others. But perhaps there was more to it than that: perhaps we had an over-familiarity with one another that betrayed a more meaningful connection between us; perhaps, right there in front of my son and his friend, we were making it obvious that there was a much deeper intimacy between us beneath the playful sparring we were enjoying together.

Or more likely it was just because Guy, much to my embarrassment, would occasionally call me “Big Boy” and throw a salacious glance at my crotch beneath the table.


This story is a work of fiction. All characters are older than 18. They have fun having gay sex. If gay sex is not allowed in your country, you should consider moving to another one. The characters are not having safe sex, please use condoms while exploring your sexuality.

As always, I look forward to your comments and suggestions. Thank you for choosing to read my story and I hope you enjoy! You may contact me at gaynerdy2014@gmail.com , also if you have your own story. Please send to this email gaynerdy2014@gmail.com , or click SUBMIT YOUR OWN STORIES! at the top right corner of HOME SCREEN. Also, If you include your name. I will give credit as due, otherwise, it will read as – Read By: Bobby Newberry. THANK YOU for helping to build Gay and Nerdy Archives Library of Erotic Stories and more. Note: We do not own these stories, only share. If you believe this story should not be here. Email gaynerdy2014@gmail.com and explain. If so, we will fix this mistake.

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Marcus had, thankfully, been oblivious to the reaction his playful “boyfriend” comment had elicited in me. We’d continued chatting and joking together over the meal but I’d been careful to keep whatever embryonic affections I might be feeling for Guy more discreetly to myself.

In other respects, Marcus had turned out to be a delightfully charming young man: a humorous but at times thoughtful friend for my son and a welcome guest to have in my home. He was both confident and well-spoken, and exuded an easy-going manner that made him almost impossible not to like. Apart from anything else, he was very pleasant to look at, being tall – similar in height to my son, Jake, as it happened – and athletic, with lovely mop of curly blond hair and a handsome smile that might melt even my ex-wife’s frigid heart.

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He’d arrived the day earlier after a dreadful train journey which had involved delays and cancellations at almost every stop. He’d disappeared off to bed just after ten, leaving Jake and me to chat together for an hour so downstairs.

“He seems like a nice lad,” I’d said to Jake, although I’d hardly had chance to talk to Marcus as he’d been so tired by the time he pitched up.

“He is a nice lad,” Jake had agreed, sprawled across the armchair opposite, sipping from a can of beer rather than the coke he’d been more accustomed to before he’d left for university.

“How does your… er… girlfriend, Ellie, feel about Marcus coming to stay?” I’d asked, deliberately emphasising the word ‘girlfriend’ but maintaining an expression which was as innocent as I could muster.

Jake had chuckled and thrown me a knowing grin, understanding full well the concealed meaning behind my question.

“She’s fine with it,” he’d said. “Why wouldn’t she be?”

I’d shrugged, but we both knew what the score was. The two lads, after all, were sharing Jake’s cramped, single bed; the two of them were, by my son’s own admission, “slightly more than just good mates”.

Nothing much else had happened that first night: Jake had gone up to bed and presumably snuggled up alongside his friend, but Marcus had no doubt been too tired for anything further to have developed between them.

If things had gone on after lights-out in Jake’s room, I would undoubtedly have been aware of it, as both our bedroom doors had been left slightly ajar. My son had suggested some time ago that we should both leave our bedrooms open at night, on the excuse that he’d been awoken by our cat scratching at one or other of our doors. He had really made the suggestion, I’m sure, because he wanted to get a better look at what I got up to with Guy, Bradley or any of my other male friends when I had them to stay over. But now that the shoe was on the other foot, and it was he who had a male companion joining him in his bed, I’d been pleased to notice after brushing my teeth that he was following the same rule that he himself had requested and had left his own bedroom door ajar.

We’d all got up early the following morning to drive over to Buxton to visit a Neolithic stone circle which Marcus had wanted to see while he was in our area. He was studying archaeology at the university and had spent a considerable time taking measurements of the way the stones were positioned. Jake and I, meanwhile, sat and drank endless cups of tea in the nearby cafe, having grown bored of trying to think up things to say about the large, grey boulders after about three minutes.

Then, after spending the afternoon shopping in Sheffield, we’d picked up Guy from his house and had driven out to the Harvester in Braunstone where I’d had the foresight to book a table for the four of us.

And that’s where the joke had been made that had prompted such an unexpected reaction in me.

I knew Marcus didn’t have even the slightest inkling that there was more to my friendship with Guy than one might expect from a couple of ostensibly straight mates in their early forties. After all, if he had, he was far too polite to have made such an obviously controversial remark.

In any case, Jake had told me while we’d been alone in the cafe at the stone circle that he hadn’t told Marcus about the sexual versatility I’d been embracing for the past year or so.

“Why would I have even mentioned it?” he’d said when I’d asked him about it point-blank.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I just thought with you guys being… you know… rather versatile yourselves.”

“He just knows you’ve got a… er… girlfriend,” Jake grinned, placing his own sarcastic emphasis on the same word that I had the previous evening.

“Okay… but what if I invite a bloke to stay over with me while he’s visiting?” I’d asked. “And what if… you know… things happen between the two of us after lights-out?”

“Then, I guess, he’ll realise quite quickly that I’m not the only one in the family who’s heteroflexible.”

I’d chuckled at that: was that what the two of them were calling it?

Now, after we’d got home from the restaurant and I was lying alone in bed, I pondered again on Marcus’ joke, not so much interested in what prompted it but rather my curious emotional reaction towards it.

It was one thing to play the field with other men from time to time, but did I really want to think of myself as being another bloke’s ‘boyfriend’?

Just the thought of the question made shivers course down my spine, startling me and making me wonder again whether my attachment to Guy – a purely physical and sexual arrangement, or so I had previously thought – was in reality nurturing something more significant.

Was it possible that somewhere, deep my subconscious, I might actually want to be Guy’s boyfriend?

Again, that strange ripple of nervous excitement at the mere posing of the question.

I remembered how funny Jake had found Marcus’ comment – Guy had too, of course – and how he and his friend had laughed too loudly and for too long at the suggestion that I might be in a loving and committed relationship with another man.

Which was ironic, really, given that it was the two of them right now who were in the throes of passion in the room next door to mine.

I could hear quite distinctly sounds of sex from Jake’s bedroom: now that Marcus had recovered from his train journey, the two of them seemed to be making up for lost time with gusto. Both of our bedroom doors were open, as per Jake’s suggestion (although ‘insistence’ might be a more a more apt description), allowing the rhythmic noises from my son and his athletic friend to permeate through to me with surprising clarity.

And these weren’t the sounds of two lads having a quiet wank together before turning over to sleep back-to-back. The two of them were quite clearly enjoying something altogether more involved: I could hear panting and grunting; the sounds of flesh against flesh.

Not that I wanted to listen in on what the two of them were getting up to, of course. But the open door policy made any attempt for me to try and ignore their private sounds of male intimacy near impossible.

I was fairly sure, from the slapping noises I could hear them making against each other and the beating of the headboard on the wall which separated our rooms, that the two of them were indulging in a fairly heavy-duty bout of anal sex. I was surprised that they had wasted no time in getting down to the nitty-gritty together: there was to be no tender foreplay or the appreciation of a nice, cosy snuggle from Jake – he’d gone in straight for the grand slam, irrespective of his old dad having to listen to him in the room next door.

Once I’d realised the extent of the sex I was listening to, it felt odd to hear my son – my little Jakey who I’d brought up single-handedly from being a kid – so brazenly enjoying homosexual intercourse with a friend as I lay in my bed in the room next door. I was listening to him engaging in buggery: an act which I had by now enjoyed countless times myself but which seemed a little precocious for my teenage son.

I wasn’t in any way disgusted by what he was doing – after all, I was an ardent fan of the pleasures to be had from such intimate male company myself. It just felt strange to hear my son – a boy who had once seemed so innocent and had been wary of anything which might be perceived as ‘gay’ – enjoying what sounded like quite a heated and passionate sexual encounter with a member of his own gender.

Perhaps I would have felt similarly disquieted if I’d heard him enjoying the company of his girlfriend Ellie so noisily in the room next to mine: I don’t know.

I took a couple of sniffs of the air as their rhythm grew steadily faster and their noises more intense. Yes, they were definitely enjoying a butt-fuck together – even though faint, I could easily recognise the distinctly anal whiff of a cock drilling in and out of another male’s backside. I was more than familiar with that unique scent and its murky origins, having paused to appreciate it on many, many occasions during my own similarly odorous encounters.

I felt my own manhood stirring among the folds of my pyjamas, perhaps keen to experience for itself the activity its owner could smell. I gently kneaded it through the fabric: there was nothing similar on offer for it tonight, unfortunately.

I took another sniff, this time more deeply and allowed myself to savour the pungent, musky whiff that was wafting into my room from along the corridor. I had to smile to myself: it was as clear as day! My son might as well have announced to me at bedtime that he and his friend were going to end their evening with an impassioned bout of boy-on-boy buggery for all the subtlety he was employing.

I wondered if other dads whose sons had brought their university friends home for the holidays would recognise from that smell what the two young men were up to together; or whether, like me, one had to be a fellow enthusiast to appreciate why such a distinctive bouquet would accompany late-night rhythms from the shared bedroom.

I lay back, listening as the sounds the two of them were making together became steadily faster, squeezing my hardening organ as it responded to the proximity of the activity it had enjoyed so many times itself.

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I was wishing, now, that I’d invited Guy back from the restaurant with us to stay over with me. At least then I would have been able to join in with the fun my son was clearly having and to have contributed my own panting and gasping sounds to those that he was making. We could have competed with one another, as father and son, as to whose exertions could produce the most vigorous tempo, and tried to outdo each other with the intensity of the crude, anal odour that was wafting from our rooms.

However, this being only the second night of Marcus staying with us, I’d taken, perhaps, an overly cautious approach and hadn’t wanted to make him feel uncomfortable by brandishing my sexual dexterity too flagrantly. Working against the demands of my sex drive, therefore, I’d suggested to Guy that we part company after our meal instead of him coming back to my place as was more usual when we’d spent an evening together.

So now I was lying here, bored and alone, while my son was making no bones about the fact that he did not share my sense of polite restraint. It seemed that the friend he had brought to stay with him was being treated almost like a trophy: their sexual energetics being broadcast to the whole quiet house; a way, perhaps, for Jake, to let me know – as if such a message were needed – that he, like me, could very physically enjoy the company of some of the other males in his acquaintance.

As it was becoming obvious that sleep was going to be impossible while the two of them were so boisterously enjoying the end of their evening, I got out of bed and padded quietly over to my open bedroom door to crane an ear around it and better listen to the noises of their clearly purposeful coupling.

My cock was half-erect and making my pyjama leg rise upwards from my thigh. Was I really enjoying the sounds of my son revelling so unashamedly in his moment of homosexual passion with his friend? Was I really growing aroused by the intensifying odour being produced by the illicit union between cock and arse?

I’d never deliberately listened in on the sounds of Jake masturbating from along the hallway, a gentle percussion which had followed bedtime – as one might expect with a teenaged son – on many, many occasions. I would never have pried on him when he was enjoying such private ministrations in his room and had always tried to ignore the tell-tale complaints from his long-suffering mattress. But now, as I suspected I was the intended recipient of Jake’s overt display of virility, it didn’t seem so wrong for me to purposefully eavesdrop on his sexual escapades.

I decided, after standing at my bedroom door for a minute or so and trying to interpret the rhythmic, pounding sounds from my son’s room, that Marcus was probably the one who was in the receiving position. For one thing, Jake’s breathing sounded more laboured and he was more vocal in his appreciation of what his friend was allowing him to do, but I also felt that Marcus’ contributions had a muffled quality about them, as if his face was directed downwards into a pillow.

I was listening to my nineteen-year-old son ending his evening by butt-fucking another young lad! While that knowledge still made me feel a little peculiar, it didn’t affect me as much as I thought it would.

Then I heard Jake whisper, distinctly, through the rhythm of all the other sounds that were spilling from the room, “God! Your arse is so fucking tight, mate!”

Yes, my son was buggering his university friend. Of that I was quite sure.

For some reason I now felt more surprise at the thought of gently-refined Marcus – the sort of wholesome boy-next-door type you’d love your daughter to bring home – bending over to have another lad fuck him up the bum. It was this charismatic and rather dapper young man that I could smell, betraying to the whole upper floor of the house, it seemed, that it was being eagerly penetrated by my son.

Marcus would be horrified, I was sure, if he knew that such a frank and unambiguous anal fug was betraying his sexual indiscretions so explicitly. He was such a courteous young man, and yet here he was filling half the house he was a guest in with the crude evidence that his backside was being remorselessly stoked by his friend’s large erection.

Unlike Jake, who was clearly out to engage my attention and would regard whatever smells they were producing as an additional means in achieving that, Marcus would probably be unaware of how pervasive such indelicate odours can be. The poor lad would no doubt blush a deep crimson if he realised that the particular variant of sex he thought he was so discreetly enjoying was being so unequivocally publicised to all in the vicinity by its cloyingly pungent trademark.

And, yet, here I was standing in my bedroom door sniffing eagerly at it with my prick at half-mast while I craned my neck to hear more clearly what they were doing.

For shame, Mr Furlong, for shame!

I reminded myself that Jake had been in my position countless times over the past year or so: listening to my sexual exploits while in the adjoining room and probably having a few appreciative sniffs of his own once the open door policy had been introduced.

Just last week, after he’d returned home from university, I’d had my friend Bradley over for an evening of football and pizza and Jake had had to listen to us ending the night in similar high spirits to those he was expressing right now with Marcus.

On that occasion, while my cock was driving in and out of Bradley’s enticingly hairy arse as he bent on my bed on all fours to receive me, I had become aware of a figure moving around in the darkened doorway of my bedroom.

“I know you’re there, Jake,” I’d called out, maintaining my pounding rhythm on my young friend’s rump regardless of my son’s sneaky voyeurism.

At first he’d tried to shrink back into the shadows, as if he hadn’t just been watching his father anally pleasuring another man, but I’d called out again, “Come on, there’s no use pretending, Jake.”

Then he’d appeared in the door of my bedroom, grinning at us and appearing cheerfully unconcerned that the loose grey shorts he was wearing for bed were being prominently lifted upwards by the thickened rod of his flagrant hard-on.

“I was just… er… heading downstairs for a drink,” he lied, as I noticed a wet patch on the material of his shorts up near the pocket; a large dark circle at the tip of his hugely excited organ. It was obvious that he’d been rubbing himself as he’d watched us having sex: his precum must have been seeping from his erection as he’d massaged the swollen shaft of it through his shorts.

I was damned if I was going to let my son’s unwelcome appearance spoil the enjoyment I was having with Bradley. Still holding onto his hips and without missing a beat as my crotch slapped back and forth against his arse, I said, “Of course you were, Jake,” who grinned back at us broadly.

I kept up my exertions, wondering what my son would do next, and he just kept smirking at the two of us, the patch of wetness on his shorts growing steadily larger. He seemed especially interested in seeing Bradley as he bent forwards to be fucked, and my friend chuckled back at him with obvious amusement at having an unexpected audience. Jake even peered forwards so he could better see the size of Bradley’s erection bobbing stiffly beneath his stomach as I maintained my constant rhythm in and out of his butt-cheeks.

“So, Jake, if there’s nothing else,” I said, feeling a touch self-conscious to have my son standing in front of me, gawping over as I buggered this younger man’s arse. “I’d appreciate a bit of privacy, please.”

He laughed to himself and licked his lips slowly: he was making it quite evident that he liked the look of Bradley’s large cock.

I wanted to get up and see him out of the room but I was determined that he wasn’t going to put me off: why should I stop what I was doing just because my son wanted to ogle us?

Eventually – after Jake and Bradley had grinned at each other a good deal more; Jake leering pointedly over at Bradley’s bobbing hard-on and Bradley making it abundantly clear that he liked the look of Jake’s inside his shorts – Jake said, “Can I offer either of you anything?”

“Offer us anything?” I asked with a pointed scowl.

“Yeah, to drink, I mean,” Jake clarified, grinning again at Bradley while he rubbed up and down the thickened shaft which was lifting the front of his shorts. The gesture was flamboyantly masturbatory and Bradley chuckled at its unmistakeable intent.

“I mean, I don’t want to interrupt you guys,” Jake went on with continued amusement, “but it seems, dad, while you’re doing what you’re doing, Bradley here might be getting a bit thirsty.”

Bradley laughed more loudly and thrust him bum more forcefully against the hammering of my cock, as if in excitement at what he was being offered.

Jake grabbed the front of his shorts and directed his cock forwards and outwards inside the material, making it abundantly clear – as if clarification was necessary – that he was rampantly excited and hoping to join in with us. The large helmet-shaped head of my son’s erection was thrust upwards against the grey material, looking surprisingly similar in size and shape to that of my own.

“I wouldn’t say no to having a slurp on something,” Bradley confessed, before adding, “that is, if your dad’s okay with it.”

Jake was already yanking his cock out through his fly before I cut in, curtly, “Your dad’s definitely not okay with it, Jake! Put it away!”

“Aw, come on dad!” Jake called out petulantly, holding the about half of what looked like a very large and impressive erection through the button fly of his shorts. His tone reminded me of when he was a little kid and was refused chocolate bars at the supermarket checkout. “He’s only going to have a suck, and it’s not like I’m disturbing what you’re doing!”

He directed the large, wet head of his cock towards Bradley’s face who licked his lips hungrily before turning to peer up at me over his shoulder. “What’s the harm?” he asked.

I finally stopped my rhythm in and out of his cheeks: Jake had won – he had managed to interrupt my enjoyment.

“It’ll just be a quick blowjob,” Bradley persisted, as Jake yanked another few inches of his erection out through his fly. It looked enormous – far bigger than I might have expected – though I knew from experience that Bradley would have little difficulty in taking it into his mouth.

“Not necessarily quick,” Jake cut in with a grin. “And not necessarily just a blowjob,” he added mischievously, turning slightly and yanking his shorts down at the back enough to let Bradley know that the hairy crack of his arse was also available for his tongue to work on.

That only served to make Bradley even more insistent.

“Oh, come on, Rob!” he said, apparently unfazed by the fact we were having this discussion with my cock lodged halfway up his bum. “What harm can there be in me having a quick lick of… er… one or two things? It’s not like you and him are going to do anything with each other!”

“That’s not the point,” I argued, feeling annoyed that Jake had put me in this position. “I don’t want to be having sex while watching you orally pleasure my son, thank you very much!”

“I’m in the room, guys,” Jake reminded us but I was in no mood for his frivolity.

“Put your dick away, Jake, and leave us to it!” I snapped, my voice making it clear this was not up for debate. “I’m not messing about – we don’t want drinks and we don’t want your cheap innuendos. Just go back to bed, please.”

Jake stuffed his erection back into his shorts, muttering to himself like we were back at the supermarket till.

“You always do this,” he complained, and stomped out of the room with an irritated snort. Having never been in the situation of being interrupted by him while I was in the middle of shafting another man’s butt, I wasn’t sure quite what he meant.

He clattered along the hallway and stormed back into his room. I expected his bedroom door to slam shut just like it had so many times in the past, but when it didn’t I realised he was hoping his fun wasn’t quite over yet.

“I’m sorry, mate,” I said to Bradley a few minutes later, as we lay back against the headboard of the bed with our cocks looking as floppy as if we’d climaxed. “I know you were up for it, but I just couldn’t – he’s my son!”

“I know that, Rob, but you’re always saying you’d like a threesome with me and my brother. Having Jake come in with us would be no different from that.”

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He was right on one point – I did often suggest that we got together for a session with his brother Garth. The guy supposedly had a cock that was long and flexible enough to work it into his own asshole. I was even more fascinated to see how the two brothers would express their affection towards one another and was hoping something could be arranged for the three of us relatively soon.

“With Jake it would seem different,” I said, struggling to think of why that was so. “I’ve brought him up from being a baby. When you two guys were joking around about you rimming him, you’ve got to remember that I used to wipe that bum when Jake was in nappies. It’d feel totally wrong for me to have him join in with our sex.”

Bradley nodded. “Okay, I guess I never really thought of that way. So I accept that a threesome is out of the question. But let’s say Jake and I were to get it together on our own. Would you object to that?”

“I don’t know,” I said, thinking the idea through. “I suppose not. As long as you were… you know… careful with him. He’s only nineteen.”

“He’s a big boy, mate,” Bradley laughed, “I think he can look after himself.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” I hit back. “He’s just a kid, really.”

It had taken us quite a while to get back into each other and resume our sex – ironically, given the supposed cause of the interruption, we’d needed a refill on our drinks to get things back on track – but once we were back into the rhythm, a secondary thumping sound from the open door along the hallway let us both know that our exertions were being enjoyed elsewhere.

Now that I was standing behind my bedroom door listening to other people’s noises of sex, largely in the position Jake had found himself in a week earlier, I found myself tempted, just as he had been, to take a walk along the corridor to observe first-hand the activity which was keeping me awake.

I eased myself out through the door, taking care not to allow the hinges to creak even though I was aware that Jake was probably expecting me to follow in his footsteps and appear in the shadows of his bedroom door.

What would I say if I was seen by the two of them? I couldn’t claim, as Jake had, to be en route to getting a drink from the kitchen – his bedroom was at the back of the house and in the opposite direction from the stairs. I couldn’t even say I’d been popping to the toilet as that was closer to my room than it was to Jake’s. I’d just have to use the trusted excuse of hearing noises and being worried that we had intruders at the rear. In some respects that was true.

I crept out into the hallway, the sounds that Jake and Marcus were making becoming clearer and louder. Jake’s bedside lamp was on and a wedge of its light spilled out onto the carpet in front of his room. This was going to be more interesting than I’d hoped: I’d assumed they would be having sex in darkness and that I would see only the indistinct outlines of their bodies writhing and contorting on the bed in the faint glow from Jake’s computer monitor. It seemed, though, I was in for a more explicit performance, as Jake’s bed was directly opposite the door of his room and I would be able to see what they were doing in near full illumination.

I edged cautiously along the corridor between our rooms, the rhythmic sounds from Jake’s bedroom becoming more distinct. The bed was creaking tortuously and the two of them were panting and gasping together.

I smiled at the sound of them. Many other men would have been mortified to have heard their son enjoying a moment of passion with one of his male friends, but I was by now feeling mostly flattered that Jake was – quite deliberately, I was sure – allowing me to witness such an intimate act. And the parts of me that weren’t feeling flattered were, I have to admit, becoming increasingly turned-on. My pyjama bottoms were by now tenting upwards quite obscenely with my gathering excitement.

As I slowly inched my way down the hallway, the smell of their sex grew progressively stronger. It was a wonderfully rich aroma – laced with sweat and testosterone, but buzzing with much heavier essences straight from the hole that was being so noisily plundered. It was even more intoxicating than the scent I enjoyed when I was with a man myself: the youthful vigour of these two fit lads was enriching the far stronger smell of their sex with its own acrid kick.

It reminded me of the times I’d sniffed the back of a man’s underpants after he had worn them for a whole day: earthy and pungent; bitter and effluvious. I assumed the back of Marcus’ underwear packed the same acerbic punch when he pulled them off each evening: how interesting it would be to borrow a couple of discarded pairs from his rucksack and find out what secrets such a well-mannered young man was concealing in the back of his trousers.

As I paused to appreciate the gathering anal musk in the air, Jake seemed to crank up the action of his hips against his friend’s buttocks and the noise from his room grew a good few decibels louder. He was desperate to be heard, of that I was sure, and he was making it as irrefutably clear as he could that the back bedroom of the house was playing host to some serious male-to-male bonding.

The smell from their activities grew, in turn, significantly stronger: whatever Jake was doing to his friend was releasing an especially piquant redolence for their solitary audience to enjoy. Perhaps his cock had started drilling even more deeply up into Marcus’ bowels; or perhaps the two of them were now dripping with sweat, adding a fresh dose of male pheromones to the already potent mix that was assailing my nostrils.

I inhaled deeply, savouring the deliciously carnal bite of the air in the hallway. Surely by now, even the naive dad I had imagined while I’d been lying in my bed would be able to identify the source of the odour that was wafting from his son’s room. I chuckled at the thought: what a surprise that might be for him!

I pressed on along the corridor, lowering each foot down onto the carpet as silently as I could, musing on how lucky Jake was to have found a like-minded friend as energetic as Marcus. He had a freshness about him, or so I’d thought while I’d watched him smiling politely at Guy’s bawdy humour during our meal earlier that evening, which had made me suspect he’d be as horny as a buck rabbit once you got him in the mood. And it seemed that my son was more than capable of doing just that.

I had to admit, though, that even though he was my son and I was all too aware of his many shortcomings, Jake was very attractive young lad too. He had an especially masculine face – quite angular and already with a tendency to show stubble if he didn’t shave daily – and his mother’s dark brown eyes which expressed very vividly the emotions he would otherwise prefer to conceal. His body was more lithe than his friend’s but I’d noticed on many occasions that he had a nice, firm backside which was pleasantly rounded and not entirely dissimilar from my own.

The two of them would make a stunning male couple, I speculated, as I edged along the corridor. Seeing them in flagrante was going to present a most enjoyable sight, and I homed in on the open doorway while adjusting the front of my pyjama bottoms to accommodate what must be the least wholesome aspect of my fatherly interest in my son.

Their noises continued, seeming to growing even faster and more forceful, as my toes first breached the shaft of light shining out of Jake’s bedroom. Was their homosexual coupling getting still livelier, or was I just hearing their activities more clearly as I neared the doorway?

I had a sudden misgiving about proceeding further and found myself hesitating at the threshold of the illuminated doorway. My son was right there in front of me, enjoying what should be a private sexual moment with his friend, and here I was about to spy on him doing it. Was this acceptable behaviour for a middle-aged father?

Before I had time to address my unease, the sounds from Jake’s room abruptly stopped. Fearing they’d heard me, I froze still outside of the doorway, hardly daring to breathe in case I revealed what I had been about to do. I wasn’t too bothered about Jake knowing I was there – he, after all, had done exactly the same thing to me on many, many occasions before I’d caught him last week – but I didn’t want Marcus, who was a guest in my house after all, getting the impression that I habitually sneaked around perving on what my son was getting up to in the middle of the night.

As I stood statue still in the corridor, the arch of my foot starting to cramp up from the tensed position I was holding myself in, I heard noises of the two of them repositioning themselves on the bed, mattress springs creaking as knees were pressed down into them, and then my son asked his friend in a low voice if he was okay.

“Yeah, you were just hurting a bit,” Marcus replied and I heard a rasping farting noise which I realised was coming from a tube of something wet being squirted.

As whatever it was – lube, I assume – was applied to various patches of male anatomy, I heard Marcus whisper, “Are you sure this is okay, Jake? My dad would have a fit if we did this at my place.”

“Don’t worry,” my son chuckled, “my dad is definitely no angel!”

I couldn’t help but smile to myself. He was right there.

“Has he heard you having sex before?” Marcus asked quietly.

“Not like this,” Jake admitted. “He saw me having a wank when we were sharing a room a few years ago, but he hasn’t heard me doing stuff with someone else.”

“Won’t he be freaked out?” Marcus persisted. In spite of the joke Marcus had made about me acting like Guy’s boyfriend, Jake hadn’t been lying when he’d told me that his friend didn’t know about the new-found diversity of my sexual interests.

I heard Jake laugh to himself. “Believe me, mate, he doesn’t blush very easily these days.”

I smiled again. Like father like son, I thought.

“But won’t he think you’re gay? My dad would keel over if he knew I was doing this.”

“My old man knows the score, mate,” Jake snorted impatiently. “Now come on, shove your arse back towards me and open your legs wider. I’m getting blue balls back here!”

“Oh, Jake, what a sensual lover you make,” I thought to myself. “You’re a modern-day Casanova.”

There was a wet slurp as my son reoccupied the hole he’d vacated, and then the creaking of the bed started up again and the headboard resumed its beating against the wall.

Feeling relieved that I was free to move again, the sounds of my progress being masked by the rhythmic cacophony that was ensuing from my son’s mattress and the two bodies on it, I allowed myself to relax and stretched my tensed-up foot against carpet beneath me. The joints inside it clicked and sounded unfeasibly loud.

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I returned to the question that had occurred to me before their brief interruption: was it wrong of me to be observing my son and his young friend while they were enjoying what should be a private act together? Did the fact this was a homosexual rather than heterosexual coupling make it more or less wrong that I might be about to spy on them? On the one hand, I might take the view that what they were doing was the sexual equivalent of a pair of lads messing around together and therefore perfectly reasonable for me to glance in on with an almost amused detachment. On the other, it could be argued that the fact they were both young men made it even more inappropriate for me to watch them experiencing pleasure together: such a profound moment of intimacy was supposed to be conducted in secret and I had no place to be peering in on them like some old, salivating anorak-wearer.

Perhaps, I mused, if I were to see what they were actually doing, I would in a better position to formulate an option.

Yes, that was a very sensible approach to take.

I crept forwards along the last foot or so of the corridor until I was level with Jake’s door and, staying back in the shadows of the hallway as much as I could, peered around the open doorway, squinting to allow my eyes to become accustomed to the relative brightness of the bedside lamp.

As soon as I saw them, it felt indecently wrong for me to be spying on them. They were both naked – that might sound obvious, but for some reason I’d expected their sex to be so casual that they’d be doing it in their t-shirts with their underwear hitched down – and, in spite of the open door and my suspicion that Jake was deliberately putting on a show, it suddenly seemed like I really was not intended to be looking at this. Here was my son, upright on his knees, making love to another boy who was on all fours in front of him: how utterly contemptible must I be for peeping on the two of them like some squalid pervert?

I almost pulled away in disgust at myself, but there was something about Jake – something about his face – that made me hesitate. I stared at him for several seconds, wondering what was keeping me from shuffling back to bed, when I realised what it was that was out of place.

As he stared ahead of Marcus’ bent body, as he looked forwards at the posters of indie bands above the headboard of his bed, his expression didn’t fit with what he was doing. He wasn’t gasping in pleasure or grunting with enjoyment: he was broadly smirking and his eyes were full of mischief.

He knew his dad was watching him and he was delighting in the fact.

I had come to his doorway and taken up the position he had always intended for me.

He didn’t turn to face me, nor give any discernible sign of acknowledgement. But he knew full well I was there and was in no need of confirmation.

“Ah, this feels so good, mate,” my son called out as his friend grunted his agreement. He continued thrusting his hips back and forth as the long, thick shaft of his cock drove in and out of Marcus’ outstretched buttocks, all the time staring ahead of himself with that deliberate smirk on his devious face.

He wanted me to see him enjoying a late night butt-fuck with his mate from university: that much was abundantly clear.

And, for all I was feeling suckered into doing what had been expected of me, I had to admit they looked spectacular together: Marcus bending forward with his fair, curly hair flopping onto the pillow, giving himself so spiritedly to my son who was kneeling upright behind him.

My son’s friend looked magnificent naked: his body was beautifully sculpted and swathed with taut, naturally well-built muscles which bulged as he tensed and flexed against Jake’s relentless thrusts. This was a handsome, strapping lad bent over on all fours on Jake’s bed and, while my son was undeniably something of a looker himself, he should count himself very fortunate to have such an attractive friend who seemed so grateful to receive his attentions.

Such musings were interrupted by the realisation Jake wasn’t wearing a condom: he and his friend obviously trusted each other completely, the way Guy and I now did and the way I was trying to persuade Bradley we should.

“How’s my big cock feel screwing your arse, mate?” Jake asked, his voice slightly louder than it needed to be, suggesting the question had been posed primarily for my benefit.

Was this why he had wanted me to see him like this? To prove to me that he was a big boy now and more than capable of using adult language?

“Amazing,” Marcus gasped in a more muted whisper.

My son’s manhood did indeed look very large, hammering in and out from between his friend’s round bum-cheeks. It had all the girth of my own and, from what I could see each time he pulled back to withdraw it, matched very closely my length. Seeing it from the side, however, made it obvious that Jake’s cock had a much more conspicuous upward curve to it than mine did, a fact he exploited with the technique he was employing. His arching, sweeping motion used the full curvature of his shaft to repeatedly skewer the orifice in front of him, giving his plump cock-head a smooth, circular trajectory with every powerful thrust.

“Shoot your load up inside me, Jake,” Marcus called out, breathlessly. “Go for it, mate!”

Jake looked like he was about to comply with his friend’s request, and I must say I would have been very pleased to have seen him depositing his semen in a series of grunting spasms deep up inside the rump he was being so enthusiastically offered, but it seemed he had rather different ideas.

After a few further – and to my eyes, overly brash – lunges, he pulled out of Marcus and paused for a moment with his cock arching upwards at the threshold of what it had just so brusquely enjoyed.

He sniffed the air and took a moment to savour the sordid bouquet of the hole he had just plundered, before declaring: “Your butt smells so hot, dude!”

Again I wondered if this was an attempt by Jake to prove to me that the son I’d brought up had become a man. After all, this was very much the sort of thing I would enjoy doing in his position and he may well have picked up the habit from watching me over countless nights.

“It doesn’t smell as hot as it did in that tent, mate,” Marcus reminded him and the two of them giggled. This must be a reference to when they had camped out a couple of nights at a music festival in October.

Oh, to have had a sniff of that hot fug after the two of them had been at it! The front of my pyjama bottoms took a sudden lurch upwards at the mere idea of them stinking out Jake’s two-man tent with their lewd exertions. I seemed to remember Jake had taken his girlfriend and mate of hers along on that trip, complete with their own, more extravagant sleeping arrangements. I wondered what dear, sweet Ellie had made of the indecorous smell in the boys’ cramped tent first thing in the morning; that unique combination of bum and cum.

Jake shuffled down the bed, away from Marcus’ bent body, and announced that he had something else in mind which his friend, he was sure, would greatly enjoy.

Putting his hands back on his friend’s hips and making just the slightest and almost imperceptible glance in my direction, he pressed his face towards the splayed buttocks in front of him, reaching forwards to rim the splayed and gaping arsehole his cock had just vacated.

A post-fuck rim: “You lucky sod, Jake”, I thought again. It had taken me ages to discover that the most rewarding rim-jobs were the ones administered to a freshly-ploughed hole, but it seemed Jake had made such a fortuitous discovery relatively soon after taking up the same hobby.

Again, I strongly suspected what he was doing was on account of the audience he knew he had. He was well aware that I regard rimming as being the most rewarding and sophisticated of the activities I indulge in with my own gender, and he was trying to prove to me that he was himself a connoisseur of such an elegant art-form.

Perhaps he was right, I mused: perhaps my little boy really was ‘all growed up’.

He pressed his face to Marcus’ rump and extended his tongue forwards to where he must be able to see the other boy’s swollen hole was dilated outwards. For a second time, he couldn’t help but smirk: he was aware I was standing watching him, no doubt suspecting – quite rightly – that I had a growing hard-on, and he was revelling in the performance he was giving me.

But then, when he actually pushed forwards and went in for the bullseye, I found myself feeling shocked and appalled to see what Jake was doing.

It wasn’t the sight of my son with his mouth on another lad’s bum that was so offending me: it was the fact he was administering the most inept rim-job I’d ever seen in the flesh. He was flicking his tongue back and forth against Marcus’ hole like they do for dramatic effect in porn films; dabbing at it with the tip like he was afraid to actually taste what was being presented to him; wiggling his tongue up and down as if intentionally making a silly face.

“You’re doing it all wrong, son,” I was almost compelled to call out. I wanted to march in and take over from him, to show him how such a delicate act should really be performed by one man on another. But obviously I didn’t interrupt their moment together and risk upsetting Marcus who seemed oblivious to my presence, and held back in the doorway, exasperated by the mess Jake was making of what should have been an intensely erotic and sensual moment of intimacy.

I remembered he’d walked in on me rimming another man in our lounge quite a few months earlier. While at the time I’d been annoyed with him for quite deliberately interrupting us, now I was more annoyed that he hadn’t learned anything from what he’d seen me doing.

“You don’t lap at it like a fucking saucer of milk,” I was thinking, with growing frustration. “You should be caressing his entrance with your tongue, not teasing it like that; you should be massaging his passage and making him gasp with excitement, not just fannying around like it’s a lollipop.”

Marcus, however, seemed to be enjoying what my son was doing to his bum. He raised himself upwards and prized his buttocks apart with both hands to give his friend better access, smiling over his shoulder at Jake as his cock poked upwards in its unabated arousal.

It seemed that my son’s lover was easy to please.

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I noticed, then, that Marcus’ erection had its own captivating beauty, arching so gracefully upwards from between his rounded, muscular thighs. The head of it was a handsome shiny purple – almost metallic in its lustre – and the size of its shaft was slightly larger than average, making it very pleasingly proportioned with respect to the rest of his athletic, toned body.

Jake emerged from between his buttocks and grinned back upwards at him.

“You like having a Furlong tongue lapping at your arse?” he asked before spitting out a stray anal hair that must have been tickling his tongue.

“You know I do,” Marcus chuckled, apparently excited to have another boy licking his backside, regardless of the inelegance of the technique which had been employed.

Jake looked up at his friend and grinned naughtily. “And I bet you’d like a Furlong mouth sucking your cock at the same time my tongue was rimming your arse!”

(“Call that rimming?” I couldn’t help but think. “You really have no idea, Jake.”)

Marcus chuckled hesitantly, confused about the point Jake was trying to make. “If only that were possible,” he suggested with his voice betraying his obvious uncertainty.

Jake leaned in to take another few clumsy licks of Marcus’ delicious-looking bum and then grinned up at him again. “You’d love it though, wouldn’t you? Having a Furlong mouth slobbering away on your horny cock and another rimming your cute arse! You’d love that!”

Marcus smiled at Jake but, just like me, didn’t see where this was headed. “I guess I would,” he offered with an uneasy shrug.

“You’d be well up for it wouldn’t you?” Jake asked salaciously.

“You know I would,” Marcus chuckled with obvious puzzlement before Jake turned towards the doorway and called out:

“You might as well come in, dad! I know you’re out there!”

I hesitated for a moment, caught off-guard by Jake’s abrupt invitation. In spite of what he’d said about the two Furlong tongues, I really had not expected him to ask me to join in the pair of them in the middle of what they were doing.

I held back for a moment, my mind reeling about what I should do, before Jake called out again, “Come on, dad! I can see the stripes on your pyjamas!”

There was no point pretending I wasn’t here: as I’d surmised all along, he had fully expected me to do what he himself had obviously done so many times before and position myself voyeuristically outside his bedroom door.

“Okay,” I said, pushing my way into my son’s bedroom. “You win. Now what were you saying about there being two Furlong mouths?”

Written By: Robert Furlong

Picture: Google+

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