r/gayincest_stories

The drive up to the cottage had been quiet. Mark kept his eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console. Eighteen-year-old Tyler sat in the passenger seat, hoodie half-zipped, long legs stretched out, staring at the trees flashing past.
Mark’s wife had left three days ago for a two-week work trip. Sex between them had been nonexistent for almost a year—dead bedroom, excuses, separate sides of the bed. He hadn’t realized how tightly wound he’d gotten until the silence of the car started pressing on him.
Tyler broke it first.
“You okay, Dad?”
Mark glanced over. The kid—no, the young man—looked like him, same dark hair, same sharp jaw, but softer around the mouth. At eighteen he still had that lean, unfinished look, but there was nothing unfinished about the way his thighs filled out his jeans.
“Yeah. Just tired.”
Tyler hummed and went back to looking out the window. His hand drifted down, absently adjusting himself. Mark caught the movement and forced his eyes forward again.
They reached the cottage just after noon. The place sat on a quiet lake, pine trees thick around it, no neighbors close enough to matter. The oldest son, Jake, was driving up tomorrow. Tonight it was just the two of them.
Mark carried the cooler in while Tyler brought the bags. The air inside smelled like wood and old sunscreen. Tyler dropped his duffel by the couch and stretched, arms over his head, hoodie riding up to show a strip of flat stomach and the dark trail of hair disappearing into his waistband.
Mark’s mouth went dry.
“I’m gonna shower,” Tyler said. “Road sweat’s gross.”
“Go ahead.”
The bathroom door clicked shut. The water started. Mark stood in the kitchen longer than he needed to, staring at nothing, then forced himself to unpack the food.
Twenty minutes later Tyler came out in nothing but a pair of low-slung basketball shorts, hair damp, skin still pink from the heat. He walked past Mark to the fridge, grabbed a water, and drank half of it in one go. A drop ran down his throat and over his collarbone.
Mark looked away.
Tyler noticed.
He set the bottle down and leaned against the counter, facing his father fully. The shorts hung low enough that the V of his hips was clear. No underwear line.
“You’ve been looking at me like that all day,” Tyler said quietly.
Mark’s pulse kicked hard. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Tyler stepped closer. Close enough that Mark could smell the soap on him. “Yeah you do. Mom’s gone. Jake’s not here till tomorrow. It’s just us.”
Mark’s voice came out rough. “You’re my son.”
“I’m eighteen. And I’ve jerked off thinking about this more times than I can count.” Tyler’s hand settled on Mark’s chest, over his shirt. “You never touch her anymore. I hear the silence in that house. You think I don’t notice?”
Mark’s control frayed. He grabbed Tyler’s wrist—not to push him away, but to hold him there. “This is fucked up.”
“Then stop me.”
Tyler leaned in and kissed him.
It was clumsy at first, all heat and no finesse, but Mark’s body answered before his brain could shut it down. He kissed back hard, one hand sliding into Tyler’s damp hair, the other gripping his waist. Tyler made a low sound and pressed closer, cock already half-hard against Mark’s thigh through the thin shorts.
They stumbled toward the couch. Mark sat heavily and pulled Tyler into his lap, facing him. The shorts did nothing to hide how hard Tyler was now. Mark shoved the fabric down just far enough to free him. Thick, flushed, already leaking.
Tyler gasped when Mark’s hand wrapped around him. “Fuck—Dad—”
Mark stroked him slow, thumb spreading the wetness over the head. Tyler rocked into the grip, forehead dropping to Mark’s shoulder. His hands worked at Mark’s belt, yanking it open, shoving jeans and underwear down just enough.
When Tyler’s fist closed around his father’s cock, Mark groaned. It had been so long. Too long. The feel of that young, eager hand was almost enough to finish him.
Tyler spit into his palm and started stroking them together, both cocks trapped in his fist. Mark thrust up into it, one hand still on Tyler’s ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh.
“Want you inside me,” Tyler whispered against his ear. “I’ve been prepping for weeks. Thinking about this.”
Mark’s head spun. “Tyler—”
“Please.”
They moved to the bedroom. Tyler kicked the shorts off completely and climbed onto the bed on all fours, looking back over his shoulder. Mark stood frozen for a second, staring at the smooth curve of his back, the way his hole looked soft and ready.
He found lube in the nightstand—old habits from when the marriage still worked. He slicked his fingers and pressed one inside. Tyler pushed back onto it immediately, greedy.
“More.”
Two fingers. Three. Tyler was open and trembling by the time Mark lined up.
The first push was slow. Tight heat swallowed him inch by inch. Tyler’s breath punched out of him in short, sharp sounds. Mark bottomed out and held still, forehead pressed between Tyler’s shoulder blades, fighting the urge to just slam home.
“Move,” Tyler begged. “Please, just—fuck me.”
Mark did.
He started with deep, measured thrusts, then lost the rhythm when Tyler started pushing back to meet him. The sound of skin on skin filled the room. Mark reached under and stroked Tyler’s cock in time with his hips. Tyler came first, clenching hard around him, spilling over Mark’s fist and the sheets.
The squeeze dragged Mark over the edge. He buried himself deep and came with a broken groan, pulsing inside his son.
They stayed like that for a long moment, breathing hard. Mark eventually pulled out carefully. Cum leaked down Tyler’s thigh. He looked wrecked and satisfied and younger than he had any right to look while taking a cock that well.
Tyler rolled onto his back, still catching his breath. “Jake’s not here till tomorrow.”
Mark stared down at him—flushed, messy, completely fucked open—and felt the last of his resistance dissolve.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “We’ve got time.”
Tyler smiled, slow and dirty, and reached for him again

My brother is in town visiting. At first he was staying with me and my boyfriend but eventually went to stay with my mom. I had been waiting for a moment when my brother and I would get a little while together alone. Today after work I drove to my mom’s house to visit and hang. When my mom went to bed, my brother and I stayed up just chit chatting. I was getting hard just thinking about pounding his hole after so many years. Finally I offered to go on a drive and smoke a j together. I drove to a dead end and parked and lit the j. After a couple passes, I took off my shirt and pants. The air in my car has been out for a while now so it was getting hot even at 8 pm. He asked “what are you doing?” “Im getting hot. I need to cool off.” But I was still chubbed up thinking about his ass and cock. He wouldn’t stop staring at my cock. So I made my cock bounce in my underwear that’s when he looked at me and grabbed my cock. “I might stink down there. I haven’t showered since this morning and I’ve been sweating all day” he didn’t seem to care. He pulled my cock out and immediately began licking my nuts and shaft. He growled or groaned or somewhere in between. He was sucking on my dick for a little before I told him to get naked. He jumped in my back seat and stripped. I jumped back there also taking my underwear off the rest of the way. I dove into his nuts and licked all the way up his 9 in uncut cock and started sucking him. I could feel his heart beat in my throat. I put a finger to his ass and discovered he was pre-lubed. “Who were you expecting?” “I was hoping this was gonna happen” I pushed my head to his ass and slowly pushed in his hole. He moaned as I slid in. He was so warm and tight. Just like I remember. It was getting really hot in my car. The sweat was pouring down my body and off my face onto my brothers chest. The sweat in between my thighs and his ass was making the best sticky sounds. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. “I’m going to cum” “cum inside me. Breed me.” That’s when I busted. I had a good 7-8 big shots and still was leaking and pulsing for a min. He was jerking his big cock clearly needing to cum. I don’t know what came over but I licked his cock down his nuts then to his hole. I could taste the mix of lube and my cum. Tasted mostly like my cum. My jumped and I began eating my brothers ass with my cum leaking out of him. My brother must’ve love it because his hole was opening up for my tongue, releasing more of my own load into my mouth. He tensed up and said I’m cumming. I jumped from his ass to his cock and throated him as he came down my throat. After the last pulse from the 8 shots I was able to count, I pulled off and started to wipe my face and clean my hands by licking them. We just smiled and knew that as always this stays between us. Well and now Reddit lol.

Part one: https://www.reddit.com/r/gayincest_stories/s/kfNGK1c0DY
Part two: https://www.reddit.com/r/gayincest_stories/s/dslY0AblCe This all started back in June. There is still a lot more to tell but it takes me a while to write these up.

My entire day at work I was busy daydreaming about training my son. There are so many things I want to do to him, but I know that I need to build up to it. The way he unapologetically stared at my cock this morning let me know who I truly is. He’s my boy, I love him, but he is also going to be my faggot.

I was so pent up that I cleared my lunch and closed the blinds in my office so I could stroke my dick. But I couldn’t let myself cum, I needed to save it for Kev. When I met with on of my engineers in the afternoon, he commented that I should have the building look at my vents because there was a musky smell in my office. I was almost tempted to let him know that he was smelling my junk. 

I had an obvious bulge in my pants most of the day, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way our height difference made it so that when we hugged his face was in between my hairy pecs and my cock was pressed up against his stomach. That tight little hairless body that makes me wonder whether his hole is completely smooth or if he’s got a a little strip of hair surrounding it. How his velvety little throat felt spasming on my cock while I held him down gagging. And he still had three inches he couldn’t reach yet. 

I wish I had my son under my desk. 

Driving home from work I was feral. I couldn’t help but pull my dick out. One of the few times you feel grateful you splurged for tinted windows. Thinking of my son getting ready and fantasizing himself about what I’m going to do to him.  He wasn’t working his summer job today so he’s probably been jerking that little dick of his all day thinking about it. 

He probably grabbed some of my workout clothes out of the hamper to sniff. I noticed that my sweaty underwear would go missing years ago, but never called him out for it because I know how horny that time is for a boy.

—

When I walked in from the garage, I kicked off my shoes but didn’t take off my shirt like I usually do.   I walked up the stairs to my bedroom. The door was already open. Standing in the doorway I could see Kevin laying on his stomach on the bed, arching his back so that his little ass perked up, his hair still wet from the shower with his face pressed into a pillow. I know what he wants, and god I want to give it to him but he’s going to have to work up to that.

“Undress me, son” he turned his head toward me looking a little disappointed I didn’t just pounce on him. “Yes, dad”. As he got off the bed I noticed he shaved his bush and the only hair he had left was on his head. He came over to me in the doorway and started reaching for my belt buckle. “Take off my shirt first” his hands lingered at my belt buckle for a second before he reached up almost above his head to undo the top button of my shirt.

He worked his way down the buttons exposing more and more of my hairy torso before walking behind me and pulling the blue dress shirt off of me. Kev came back around front and looked up at me while he reached toward my belt buckle. I gave him a nod of approval and he undid the buckle and pulled the belt out through the loops of my slacks, setting it on the dresser. He slowly unbuttoned and unzipped my pants revealing a bit of my now rock hard cock bulging through my tighty whities. He pulled them down to my ankles and I kicked them off to the side.

My giant bulge was completely exposed in my underwear. I had been leaking precum all day, so there was a big wet spot that made the tip of my cock almost completely visible through the white fabric. Kevin immediately started caressing it through my underwear, but I raised my right foot for him to take off my sock and he obediently got down on his knees and pulled it off. After he took off the other one he stood up and started to pull down my underwear. When he got them down off of my meat, it weightily sprung back up, splattering a bit of accumulated precum onto his chest.

Before he could do anything else I walked over to the bed and laid down on my back. I motioned for him to come over. He straddled my hips so that my cock was resting on his lower back and started grinding into me, rubbing my big cock against his ass and his little guy against my furry abs. He was leaking himself.

“Turn around”. He spun himself around so that pale little cheeks were on my chest. I could see the precum my dick left on his lower back. When he started stroking my meat I let out a low grunt. I used my hands to spread his cheeks even though there isn’t much to spread. Nestled in that tight ass of his is a little eraser-pink hole, puckered up so tight I could not help but imagine how it gripped. It looks a lot like his mother’s. Not a hair in sight.

When I ran my thumb over it to feel its softness, he let out a little moan and it winked at me. I grabbed him his hips and pulled his ass onto my face.

He giggled a little bit, so I joked “I haven’t even started yet”. Still giggling a little bit he said “Your beard tickles”. I chuckled a bit myself before I ran my tongue around the edge of his hole, savoring his taste. When I started to open up his pretty pink hole with my thick tongue he gasped. He must be one of the tightest holes I’ve ever had. He was still stroking my meat. I pulled my beard out of his ass to say “Suck on it, son”. 

“I can’t reach”. I propped up my ass on a couple pillows to help with that, all while he was laying on top of me, his smooth body rubbing against mine. When I pulled his ass back onto my face he started exploring my foreskin with his tongue (the same way he woke me up yesterday). 

While I was opening up my boy’s tight little hole, he started working his mouth down further on my cock. He got to that same spot around 5 inches down and I can hear and feel him gagging on it, but he is a persistent fucker.

He pulls back a bit but keeps working the top of my dick before trying again and gagging at that spot, his gagging throat milking my cock head. 

After a few times, as he is gagging on it, I feel his little dick pulsing against my chest and his cum squirt onto my hairy abs. I’m a little impressed with myself, he came just from sucking my cock. “That’s my boy”.

He came up for air uttering “Fuck, dad…”. As he’s about to get back at it I give him a hard smack on the ass, earning a yelp out of him. “We are going to try a different angle, Kev”.

I pulled him off of me and put him in the bed next to me and stood up on the side. He knelt on the edge of the bed awaiting instruction. Rather than explaining to him, I grabbed him by his shoulders and put him on his back with his head hanging off the side of the bed. 

I pressed my dick down on his neck, with my balls against his chin. Appreciating that my dick The will make it all the way to between his clavicles and imagining his throat stretching to take me. “This usually works better”. 

I step back a bit and squat down so that my cock is at this mouth level, and support myself with my hands on his shoulders. “Open up boy”. Obedient as ever he opens his mouth. I slowly thrust forward to feeling the warmth of his mouth around my tip. I get about five inches in right before that spot where he gags and let him suckle on it for a bit and get used to the position. 

“Get ready, son, I’m going to go deeper” I slowly lean in, feeling his lips moving further and further  toward the base of my dick. I quickly hear and feel him gagging on it. But this time, I push forward. His tight throat spasming on my dick, trying to push me out, as more and more of meat enters him.

Looking down I see his throat bulging to accommodate me. As more and more of my cock that enters his throat I can’t help but moan with how well it is milking my dick. 

Finally I feel his lips on the base of my cock. My big hairy balls resting against his eyes. I can feel him struggling, I feel his spit running down his face and onto my balls, but I hold there enjoying his warm tight throat wrapped around me with my hands still on his shoulders. “You’re doing great kid”.

I stay there for about 15 more seconds, savoring my son struggling on my dick. When I pull out, Kevin is gasping and sputtering. Even though he just came, I can see his little pecker standing up rock hard. 

“Looks like you enjoyed that” I said, swatting his dick before it springs back to its upright position. His face is covered in that thick deep throat spit as he regains his breath. “Now I know you can take it!”

I squat back down to get my dick at mouth level. I hear “Dad… please…” between breaths before filling his mouth. Now that I’ve warmed him up, I make him take it to the hilt again. But this time, I don’t hold it there. I pull out about half way before thrusting it back in balls deep. 

Again. Again. With each thrust I see his throat bulge, hear my balls slap against his face, and feel him getting closer and closer to earning my load. I always love fucking a throat but something about using my own son’s face like a pussy is the hottest thing I’ve ever done.

Feeling his throat grip my meat over and over and over. More and more spit dribbling out covering his face and my balls.

I made this throat. This is my boy. I feel a big load coming. I take a few more deep, grunting strokes before I hilt him again and hold him there. My crotch pushing his head into the side of the mattress as my balls twitch and I shoot my seed straight down my son’s throat for the second time. Even after I feel my last rope shoot into him, I hold him there for a second, making sure he doesn’t miss a drop. “You’re full of my cum again, son.”

When I pull out, he’s gasping and catching his breath again. His face red and even messier than before. I wipe some of the spit off my dick using either side of his face.

“I’m going to hit the gym” I tell him, looking down at the mess I made and admiring my work. As I’m walking to the bathroom to clean up, he rolls over and manages to catch his breath enough to say “Thank you dad”.

The first time my cousin Chris and I did anything sexual was in 2023. I was 22 and he had just turned 18 a few weeks earlier.
I had gone to stay at his place for a few days’ vacation and we were both sleeping in his room, in separate beds.
During the first night I woke up to unusual noises and, after listening for a bit, I realized he was jerking off.
Chris is a gorgeous athletic guy, lightly muscular, with a very noticeable bulge especially when he is in his underwear. Being sexually attracted to him, I got hard and after a few moments I started jerking off under the covers too, without really trying not to get caught. A couple of minutes passed and he asked if I was awake. I said yes and Chris asked if I wanted to watch porn with him. Of course I accepted and he invited me onto his bed. I got up wearing only my underwear and a solid hard-on; meanwhile he pulled the covers off, revealing his beautiful body completely naked. He knew I was gay, so I took that move as a clear sign he wanted to do something dirty with me. I locked the bedroom door, took off my underwear and lay down next to my gorgeous naked cousin. He had a really impressive cock, around 20 cm and nice and thick.
Once we got comfortable he put on a gay porn video, asking if that was the kind of thing I liked. I said yes and we both started stroking again.
Chris was focused on the video while I was staring at his beautiful body and cock. At one point he asked if I’d ever had experiences with “straight” guys and, lying, I said no. I asked if he’d ever had any experiences with another guy and Chris said no, but that he’d wanted to try. So I immediately grabbed his cock and started stroking it.
Chris put the phone down, put his hands behind his head and just enjoyed the handjob. After a few seconds I asked if I could suck it too. He said yes. So I got between his legs and took his whole thick cock down my throat in one go. I started sucking my cousin’s cock nice and slow, but he immediately put his hands on the back of my head and started fucking my throat.
We kept going for about fifteen minutes until he completely came in my throat. I swallowed every drop, of course, then climbed on top of him and we started making out hard, grinding our cocks together. Chris broke the kiss and asked if he could try sucking me now to return the favor.
So I sat on the edge of the bed, made him kneel on the floor and he started the blowjob. At first it wasn’t the best, but after a little while he found a rhythm and I was really enjoying a solid sucking. After about ten minutes I was about to cum, so I stood up. Chris kept sucking and a few seconds later I pulled my cock out of his mouth and covered his face in cum.
After we cleaned up a bit we stayed naked in his bed for a good while, making out and grinding, then we got ourselves together and I went to sleep.
The next morning it was like nothing had happened, but that evening we went out in his car and, on top of handjobs and blowjobs, he fucked me in the ass.

Night Ride

The haunted house spit us out into the parking lot at 11:40. Fake blood on Locke’s forearm. A plastic chain still hanging off my wrist from the last scare actor. The fair lights were dying one section at a time. Cotton candy machines off. The zipper ride still spinning empty for nobody.
Locke walked like he owned the gravel. 2Pac hoodie jacket unzipped over a bare chest, Adidas shorts, Yeezy sneakers. Faded cut sharp. Beard lined up. Dark eyes already on the highway in his head. Twenty-nine and moving like the night was a quarter-mile.

The fair had been his idea. He saw the billboard on the way back from the body shop and said we were going, no discussion. I paid for nothing. He bought the beers, the tickets, the cotton candy, the fried stuff that sat in my stomach the whole walk through the barns. Every time a scare actor jumped out he didn’t flinch. He laughed. He put a hand on the back of my neck and steered me through the dark like I was still twelve and this was a corn maze.

His boys had texted the group chat the whole night. Photos of some girl at a bar. A clip of a dunk from earlier. Locke answered one-handed while we stood in line for the zipper, thumb moving, grin sharp.

“They asking where I’m at,” he said. “I told ‘em I’m with my little brother. They know what that means. Hands off.”

He liked saying it. Liked the way it made me look at the ground. The mascot thing wasn’t a joke to him. It was a rule. I was the gay kid he could show and protect and never have to explain. Glass. Until the car. Until the highway.

On the zipper he sat across from me, hoodie open, tattoos jumping every time the cage flipped. He whooped at the top. I watched the way his shorts rode up his thighs and hated myself for it in a circle of cheap lights.
When we got off he threw an arm around my shoulders and left it there all the way to the parking lot. Heavy. Warm. The 2Pac hoodie smelled like the blunt and the metal of the ride.

“Get in, Payne.”

I got in. Twenty-two. Gay. His little brother. The mascot he showed his boys at the park on Sundays.

This my baby brother. Don’t even look at him wrong.

He walked on the outside of the sidewalk. He paid for the beers at the fair without asking. He treated me like glass until he didn’t.
The black matte Defender woke up like an animal. Lifted. Tinted. Exhaust that made the next row of cars look at us. Inside it smelled like the blunt he’d smoked behind the funnel-cake stand, sweat from walking the fair in August heat, and the oil he never quite washed off his hands from the shop. He dropped his phone in the cup holder, queued an old Migos album, and turned it up until the doors shook.

We sat in the lot for a minute while he rolled another one. Not talking. Just the tick of the engine and some trap song. He lit it, cracked the window, and pulled out toward the interstate like the road had said his name.
For the first ten minutes he drove normal. Which for Locke still meant eighty in a sixty-five. One wrist on the wheel. The other on the shifter. Hoodie open. Tattoos moving when he changed lanes.

“You see that girl in the coffin room?” he said. “The one with the fishnets. I would’ve hit that in the parking lot if you weren’t standing there looking like somebody’s little brother.”

“I am somebody’s little brother.”

“That’s what I said.” He grinned without looking at me. “You have fun or you spend the whole time watching me?”

I spent the whole time watching him. I didn’t say that.

“It was fun.” I was more blasé, he’s the excited one.

“You good?” he asked.

“I’m good.”

“You look like you seen a ghost. It was fake blood, Payne. Relax.”

It wasn’t the blood.

“You been quiet all night.”

“I’m quiet.”

“Nah. Different quiet.” Dense smoke crawled across the cab. “You thinking about some dude? Don’t lie. I can tell when you got that look.”

“I’m not thinking about some dude.”

“Aight.” He didn’t believe me. He looked straight while driving fast. Hands gripping the beast that’s his car.

I watched his hands. I always watched his hands. Veiny and strong. They can punch a guy out.

He passed me the blunt. I took a small hit and coughed. He laughed and took it back.

“Biggest fantasy I got,” he said, casual, like he was talking about a new exhaust, “some girl sucking me off while I’m doing ninety on the interstate. Head down. I don’t even gotta look. Just drive. Fast and Furious shit but with a real mouth on it.”

He glanced over. Dark eyes. A little red from the weed.

“What’s yours, little bro? Don’t say some gay shit like getting married.”

I should’ve lied. The beers from the fair were still warm in my chest. The blunt made my mouth honest.

“Sucking you. And your basketball crew.”

Locke barked a laugh so hard the Defender drifted.

“Yo. You wild. You playin’.”

I wasn’t. My hand was already on his thigh. Adidas shorts. Warm skin, strong legs, my brother didn’t skip legs day. Muscle jumping under my palm. I slid higher, slow, giving him time to knock it off.

“Payne.” His voice dropped. Not loud. Worse. “Don’t touch my dick. You’re my brother.”

I didn’t take the hand away. I massaged the inside of his thigh, thumb tracing the hem of the shorts. The car smelled louder now that I was leaning in. Skunk. Sweat. Him. My brother Locke.
He lasted maybe thirty seconds.

“Aight. Touch it. See if it even gets hard. This is stupid.”

I palmed him through the shorts. He was already filling. Heavy. The shape of it curved down against his left thigh, thick enough my hand didn’t cover it. When I squeezed, he hissed and the truck kissed the rumble strip before he yanked it back.

“Fuck.”

It got hard fast. A downward curve made a fat, ugly outline in the black fabric. Head already shoving at the hem. Locke stared at the road. Jaw tight. The faded line of his cut sharp in the dash light.

“You gonna suck it while I drive or you just gonna hold it like a bitch?”

“I’ll suck it.”

He nodded once. Like we were calling a play.

“I got you. I got your back. Anything happens, I handle it. You just do what you said. You hear me?”

“I hear you.”

My heart was in my mouth. From the opportunity to suck my big bro. From the speed waiting in his foot. From the way his whole face changed when he talked about going fast.

He hit the hazards and yanked the Defender onto the shoulder so hard the gravel sprayed the undercarriage. The music died mid-bar. For a second the only sound was the tick of the engine and the cars ripping past us at eighty.
Locke sat there with both hands on the wheel. Jaw locked. Staring at the dark like it had called him a name.

“This is fucked,” he said.

Not to me. To the windshield.

“This is actually fucked. You’re my little brother. I raised you when Dad was working doubles. I walked you into school. And you got your hand on my dick on the interstate like that’s normal.”

He laughed once. Ugly. No humor in it.

“I should put you out on this shoulder and make you walk home. That’s what I should do.”

He didn’t move.
The 2Pac hoodie jacket was still on. Unzipped. His chest going up and down too fast for a man who wasn’t scared of anything. I could see the line of him in the shorts, hard, shameless, curved down against his thigh. He looked at it like it had betrayed him.

“You did this,” he said. Quiet. Mean. “You put your hand there. You said that shit about me and my boys. You sat in my truck all night looking at me like that and now I’m hard on the side of a highway thinking about my brother’s mouth. You understand how twisted that is?”

“I know.”

“Don’t I know me.” His hand left the wheel and pointed at my face without touching it. “You don’t get to be calm about this. I’m the one who has to look at Mom tomorrow. I’m the one who has to ball with my boys knowing I let you—”

He stopped. Dragged a hand down his mouth. Looked at the bulge again like he hated it.
Then he ripped the hoodie off and threw it in the back.
Bare chest. Ink. Sweat from the fair still on him. He looked bigger in the dark. Pissed. Hard. The two things fighting in the same body.

“I almost said no,” he said, staring at me. “I almost drove off and left this whole conversation in the lot. You know why I didn’t?”

I shook my head.

“Because I’m still hard. That’s why. Because you touched it and it got worse instead of going away. Because the second you said you’d suck it my foot got heavier. That’s the part that’s making me angry. Not you. Me. For not shutting this down when I had the chance.”

He shoved the shorts and the boxers down enough in one angry motion, like if he did it slow he might stop. His cock sprang out, long, thick, veined, curving down toward the seat like it had its own gravity. The head was half-covered until he was all the way hard. It looked mean. It looked built to sit in a mouth at this angle without anyone having to crane their neck.
He clipped the seatbelt back on. Left the shorts around his thighs.

“Hands on my chest if you want. Don’t block the wheel. Don’t hit the shifter. You ready or not?”

I put both hands on his pecs. Warm. Solid. Heart hammering under the tattoos.

“Can I go?”

Not sweet. Checking.

“Go.”

He turned the Migos album back up until my teeth buzzed and pulled into the lane like the highway had been holding a spot for him.
I unclipped and dropped my head into his lap.
The first taste was sweat and skin and the weed on his fingers when he pushed me down. I took the head and the curve did exactly what I thought it would — fed itself down my throat with almost no fight. I didn’t have to work the angle. He was built for this. For a mouth in a moving truck. I swallowed around him and Locke made a sound I had never heard in twenty-two years of being his brother.

“Fuck yeah. That’s it. Take that shit.”

He dumped a gear and the Defender surged. My stomach dropped. The force shoved my face into him, nose in his crotch, cock buried. I gagged and stayed. He grabbed my hair and held me there while he passed a car like it was parked.

“You feel that? That’s a hundred. You still sucking? Don’t you tap out on me now, Payne. You wanted this.”

I wanted it. The speed made everything bigger. The bass. His breathing. The wet noise in my throat. Cold AC on the back of my neck. His thighs locked under my hands. I came up for air and he shoved me back down, using my mouth the way he’d described some girl doing it. No looking. Just driving. Just taking.

“That’s a real one. That’s a G move. White boy in a black truck with his little brother’s throat on his dick at midnight. You hear this? This the shit. I ain’t slowing down. Don’t you slow down neither.”

On the highway with the volume at twenty he wasn’t the guy who walked on the outside of the sidewalk. He was the one his boys called when a ride and a problem needed handling. Champion. Mean. Laughing at the speedometer. A true G in his own head and, for the next eight miles, in mine too.

I made it sloppy on purpose. Spit ran down his balls onto the shorts. Every pass leaned the truck and pushed him deeper. I choked. He laughed, short and crazy, and flexed his hand in my hair.

“Look at you. Baby brother out here chewing dick like you been waiting your whole life. You have. Don’t lie. I seen how you look at me when I come in from ball. Shirt off. Sweating. I seen it. I just try my best to ignore it, forget it.”

He wasn’t wrong.
Headlights filled the back window. Locke checked the mirror, didn’t flinch, dropped a gear, and left them for dead. The surge drove me down again. Eyes watering. Him getting wetter, saltier, on my tongue. Weed in my nose. His chest pumping under my left hand.

“I’ma use your throat like a toy. That’s what you asked for. That’s what you get. Friends too, you said. You remember that? My boys. You still saying that with my dick in your mouth?”

I couldn’t talk. I tapped his thigh once. Yes.

“Nasty fag. That’s nasty. I love that shit. Keep sucking. We got empty road. Don’t waste it.”

He fucked my face on the dashed lines. Short punches in the left lane. Longer strokes when it opened up. I drooled on him. Jaw burning. I kept going. The curve made it filthy. Every time I came up, the head dragged my tongue and slapped back in.

A semi blew past the other way and the whole truck shook. Locke whooped like he’d scored and shoved me down to the root.

“You better not throw up in my truck. I just detailed this bitch.”

I didn’t. I swallowed around him and he groaned from the chest.
Empty highway. Late. Just us and the matte black eating miles. His voice went hoarse.

“I’m close. You swallow. All of it. I ain’t pulling over so you can spit on the shoulder like a bitch. You eat it like a good faggot. You hear me?”

“Walk it talk it” playing loud. He held my head down. Engine screaming. Flying. I couldn’t breathe and I didn’t want to. His hips lifted against the belt and he came with his head tipped back, yelling into the Migos like the song was about him.

“Fuck yeah — fuck yeah — take it —”

Hot. Thick. A lot. Pulsing straight down my throat while the truck stayed in a straight line at a speed that would’ve buried anybody else in a ditch. I swallowed until he was twitching and swearing and his hand in my hair went from mean to something almost proud.

He let me up.
I stayed down one more second, breathing against his thigh, the taste of him all the way back. His chest was heaving. Sweat at the edge of the fade. Wrecked. Proud.
He didn’t talk until the next exit. Then he tucked himself into the shorts with one hand, kept the other on the wheel, and turned the music down two clicks. Only two.

“Sit up. Belt on. I don’t want a ticket.”

I sat up. Wiped my mouth on my wrist. Clipped in.
We didn’t talk through town. Streetlights slid over the wrap. His profile looked carved. One wrist on the wheel. The 2Pac hoodie in a heap behind the seats. My mouth still full of him. My stomach still doing the highway.
The Defender rolled into the driveway. Engine died. House dark. Mom’s car parked. The garage light kicked on and made the ink on his chest look wet.
Locke sat there with both hands on the wheel, staring at the brick like it might say something back.

“That was the best ride of my life,” he said. Quiet. No performance. “You hear me? Best ride I ever had.”

I remembered a song from Tinashe that I loved “Ride of your life”. I gave him the ride of his life. That’s absolutely insane. I felt powerful.

He looked over. Dark eyes. Still a little crazy from the speed.

“You tell nobody. Not the boys. Not nobody. I got your back. You got mine. That’s the deal.”

“That’s the deal. But you should ask your crew…”

“Don’t be greedy, lil bro. Not sure yet if you can handle the big dogs. Let’s see, let’s see.”

He reached over and squeezed the back of my neck once, hard, the same way he did after a game when I’d done something right by accident. Then he got out shirtless with the hoodie in his fist and the shorts still sitting low.

I sat in the passenger seat until the bass stopped living in my ribs.
Then I followed him inside, the taste of my brother still in my throat, the interstate still in my stomach, already knowing the next time he said get in I was getting in — and that someday, soon I hope, he was going to remember what I said about his friends.

Chapter Two: After Midnight
Jeffrey stood outside John’s door for almost three full minutes.
The house was dead quiet. Their parents had gone to bed hours ago. The only light came from the thin strip under the door—warm, low, like John had left a lamp on and nothing else. Jeffrey’s hand hovered over the handle. His cock was already half-hard just from standing there, remembering the way John had adjusted himself in the kitchen, the thick outline shifting under those shorts, the calm, cocky way he’d said Tonight.
He almost turned around.
Then the door opened from the inside.
John was still shirtless, still in the same basketball shorts, but now they sat even lower. The waistband rode the sharp cut of his hips. The heavy shape of his cock had settled differently—thicker, longer, resting against one thigh like it had gotten heavier just from waiting. Blond hair a little messy. Blue eyes half-lidded, like he’d been lying there thinking about this exact moment.
“You took your time,” John said, voice quiet but not soft. He stepped back just enough to let Jeffrey in, then closed the door behind him with a soft click. The lock turned.
Jeffrey’s mouth was dry. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“But you are.” John walked past him and dropped onto the edge of the bed, legs spread, elbows on his knees. The shorts pulled tight across his crotch. The outline of the head was clear now—thick, blunt, cut. Twelve inches of it, even soft, looking like it could barely fit in one hand. “You came upstairs. You stood outside my door like a nervous virgin. And now you’re staring again.”
Jeffrey forced his eyes up. “I’m not—”
“You are.” John’s smirk was slower this time. He leaned back on his hands, the muscles in his stomach flexing. “Come here.”
Jeffrey didn’t move.
John tilted his head. “I said come here, Jeff. Closer.”
Something in the tone—quiet, certain, used to being obeyed—made Jeffrey’s feet move before his brain caught up. He stopped a few feet away. Close enough to see the faint trail of blond hair running down from John’s navel and disappearing under the waistband. Close enough to see the way the thick shaft shifted when John breathed.
John looked him over, slow. Eyes dropped to the front of Jeffrey’s sweats, where the hard-on was obvious now. “You’re leaking already and I haven’t even taken it out.” His voice stayed calm, almost conversational. “You’ve been thinking about it all night, haven’t you? How big it is. How it would feel in your hand. How it would look when it’s hard.”
Jeffrey’s throat worked. “We’re cousins.”
“Yeah.” John reached down and cupped himself through the shorts, giving the heavy length a slow, deliberate squeeze. The fabric stretched. The outline grew even clearer. “Doesn’t change the fact that you’re hard as fuck looking at my dick. Or that I like watching you try not to.”
He hooked his thumbs into the waistband but didn’t pull yet. Just held them there, waiting.
“You can look,” John said. “That’s why you’re here. But you’re gonna ask first.”
Jeffrey’s pulse was loud in his ears. Heat crawled up his neck. “John—”
“Ask.”
The silence stretched. Jeffrey could hear his own breathing. Could see the faint twitch under the fabric, like John’s cock already knew it was about to be stared at.
“…Can I see it?”
John’s smile was slow and satisfied. “Good boy.”
He pushed the shorts down in one smooth motion.
The cock that spilled out was exactly as thick and long as the outline had promised—maybe longer. Soft, it hung heavy between his thighs, easily twelve inches, the head smooth and cut, the shaft thick enough that Jeffrey’s fingers wouldn’t fully close around it. Veins traced along the underside. It rested against John’s thigh, warm and substantial, the weight of it obvious even without touching.
John watched Jeffrey’s face the whole time.
“There,” he said quietly. “That’s what you’ve been peeking at. That’s what you’ve been trying not to think about every time I walk around this house half-naked.” He wrapped one hand around the base and gave it a slow, lazy stroke, just enough to make it thicken. “You can look as long as you want. But if you want to touch it…”
He let the sentence hang.
Jeffrey’s hands stayed at his sides, clenched. His own cock was fully hard now, pressing uncomfortably against his sweats. He couldn’t stop staring—the size of it, the way it sat so heavy and real between John’s legs, the casual dominance in the way John just… offered it.
John’s voice dropped lower.
“You’re still pretending this is just curiosity. But we both know it’s not. Come closer, Jeff. Closer than that.”
Jeffrey took one step. Then another.
John’s cock twitched under his gaze, starting to fill, the length growing, the head darkening.
“Good,” John murmured. “Now ask for the next part.”
Jeffrey’s voice came out rough, almost broken.
“…Can I touch it?”
John’s eyes darkened with something hungry and satisfied.
“Yeah,” he said. “You can.”
He didn’t move. He just waited—legs still spread, cock thickening in the open air—watching his older cousin finally reach out.

part 1: https://www.reddit.com/r/gayincest_stories/s/M6sxAh8ayN

part 3: https://www.reddit.com/r/gayincest_stories/s/tTRDqzcUoh

After I was done using Kevin, I sent him to his room and sat back in my recliner satisfied. My now semi-hard dick still wet with his spit right where he left it. With my balls drained I felt good, but now I was seeing my son in a different light. I love him, I’m proud of him, I’ve known he was gay, but I didn’t know he would be such an eager cocksucker.

I see him in all of his wit, his personality, and everything I love about him, but I’m also now seeing him the way I see those new freshman who pop up on the grid eager for a daddy when I need to nut. Thinking about him laying in his bed with a belly full of the seed that made him and likely a bit of a sore throat. I didn’t even give him a taste I just shot down his throat. Thinking back on that made my dick twitch

I am not a kind sexual partner. The boys I use usually want to call me daddy but I’ll call them bitch or faggot. I don’t reciprocate. I like to have a get my dick wet and just use his own spit for lube. I take pride in sending a boy back to his room walking with a bit of limp from a rough pounding. I like conquering and now I’m thinking about my son. 

His tight little body. The physical differences between us: the fact the top of his head barely comes up to my chin, his smooth hairless body, and his dick less than half of mine. It all takes on new meaning when I think about conquering my son. 

Now I know how bad he wants me, but if he wants more - I have to make sure he is ready and knows what he is getting into. If he really wants to be my bitch, I will still love him and care for him, but I will make him my bitch. I got up, grabbed my clothes off the floor, and headed to bed.

—

I woke up at 6a.m. and made coffee and started making scrambled eggs for myself. Considering what happened last night I didn’t bother putting on my briefs like I usually did. When I finished his eggs, I put his eggs on the table and yelled up that breakfast was ready. After a moment I heard some stirring. He needs the protein.

I started enjoying my own coffee and eggs at the counter. Kev came down wearing just his pajama pants, looking a little groggy. “Good morning bud” I chimed turning toward him. When he saw that I wasn’t wearing anything he, he toon a look for a second but quickly averted his eyes and sat down to eat. “Morning dad” he said sounding chipper but I could tell he was avoiding eye contact.

Breaking the ice, I asked “How’s your throat feeling, Kev?” He stammered a bit but said “It was scratchy at first but it’s feeling better” looking a little flustered. “For a first timer you aren’t a bad cock sucker”. He smiled a little bit but hid his face in his hands. I want to have this conversation now.

I walked up and leaned my thighs against the table so that my meat rested on the table next to his plate. When he put his hands down he just stared at it, not looking away like he usually does. “How long have you wanted to suck your dad’s cock?”, lifting it up so that it slapped back onto the table. His face turned red in a way that made me start to chub up a bit.

“Ever since we’ve showered at the gym together” he let out, maintaining eye contact with my penis.  “Was it what you expected?”

“You are so much bigger up close.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

He reached out and a ran his hand over it before looking up at me. “I want to do it again, dad”. My dick twitched. 

“I love you, Kev. I want to make you happy, and I enjoyed your body, but you need to know what you are in for. I’m rough. If you want me be your daddy in that way, it won’t always be comfortable. If you are going to be my cocksucker, I’m going to use you like a cocksucker. I need you to know that I’ll love you and care for you either way.” 

He looked more confident than he had the rest of the morning “I want to be your cocksucker, dad”. I motioned for him to stand up for a hug. When I pulled him close my cock pressed against his belly and I kissed the top of his head.

I headed up stairs to get dressed for work. “When I get back, be showered and in my bedroom”

This happened a few hours ago. Still thinking about what to do next. We started messing around on and off. As hot as it was the taboo got to me often and I been on and off trying to end it for a year

He came over to help my folks with something but they weren’t home so I let him in till they arrived. At first i was gonna resist the temptation but when i rounded the corner to the couch he had his hand down his pants.

I couldn’t contain myself so i reached into this pants to grab his cock. Its about the same size as mine 7.5-8 inches but way more girth. At first we started just jacking off and hand jobs but then i went a head and started to suck him. Felt like old times. He swapped of me and started to jerk himself as he sucked me. After a few minutes I ran to the bathroom to clean out and add some lube cause I was gonna need it. When i got back I stood over this lap and sat down on his cock and it stung a bit but surprisingly it went in pretty well. Like my ass remembered his size. Once he was balls deep , we swapped to doggy with me bent over on the couch. Each thrust felt amazing thinking about this being or riskiest hookup. Anyone could if walked through the front door and see me bent over taking my cousins cock in my hole.

Unfortunately we had to stop afted 30 minutes but it was amazing. After i told him we can’t do this agin and he agrees but idk if I want to let it last a little longer.

Author’s note: All my characters are consenting adults (18+). All sexual acts depicted are consensual between the adult characters.

Chapter 1

It was the summer of 1984 and the whole house smelled like motor oil and the cheap incense Mom burned to cover it up. Scott worked the garage with Dad six days a week. Marco came over almost every afternoon after his shift at the warehouse. I stayed in my room with the radio low, Duran Duran, Madonna, Human League, dreaming about New York and the kind of stages where boys who looked like me could disappear into the lights.

I was eighteen. Blond. Soft in the face. No beard. Scott used to call me “ballerina boy” when he was feeling mean. Marco just laughed and ruffled my hair like I was still twelve. They were both twenty. Scott was the tall one — freckled, red hair cut short, the kind of athletic body that came from lifting engines and tires everyday. Marco was shorter, darker, thick through the chest and arms from stacking boxes all day. Italian blood, black hair, the beginnings of a mustache he kept trying to grow. Neither of them had real beards yet. They still looked like the boys who’d stolen beer from the fridge three summers ago, only now they were working men and the house felt smaller when they were both in it. They were loud and their energy was totally different from mine.

They never closed Scott’s door all the way.
I learned that in June.
I’d be walking past with a glass of water or a towel from the bathroom and the door would be cracked just enough. Playboy and Hustler magazines spread across the bed — Marco’s dad’s, the ones with the glossy centerfolds and the girls who looked like they belonged on album covers. Scott and Marco would be side by side, jeans open, fists moving in the same slow rhythm. Sometimes they talked. Low. Honest in the way only two straight boys get when they think no one is listening.

“I’d give anything for a real blowjob,” Marco said one afternoon. The fan was going. The air was thick. “Girls around here won’t do it. Or they do it like they’re scared of the thing.”

Scott laughed, that short rough sound he made when he agreed but didn’t want to say so.

“Same. Had two different ones last month. Both just licked the tip and acted like they’d done me a favor. I want someone who actually sucks it. Takes it. You know?”

I stood in the hallway with my heart in my throat and the glass sweating in my hand. I went back to my room and turned the Soft Cell “Tainted Love” I was super addicted up louder so I wouldn’t hear the wet sounds that came after.

That night I took a big carrot from the fridge.
I’d seen it done in a magazine once — some underground thing a kid at school passed around. Practice. I locked my door, put “Rio” on low, and learned how to open my throat. It hurt at first. My eyes watered. I gagged and had to stop. But I kept going. Night after night. Until I could take most of it without choking. Until the idea of doing it for real sat in my stomach like something warm and secret.

I waited three more days.
They were at it again on a Thursday. Door cracked. Playboy open to some blonde on a motorcycle.

“Her boobs are huge, I would love to rub my cock..” Said Marco.

“I bet she loves to suck cock, man.”

“Bet on it.”

Scott’s red hair was damp at the temples. Marco’s shirt was off, the little dark hair on his chest shiny under the desk lamp. Both of them hard, fists moving, the air in the room thick with the smell of skin and the cheap supermarket cologne Marco always wore.

I pushed the door open the rest of the way.
They both froze.
Scott’s green eyes went wide. Marco’s hand stopped mid-stroke. The carrot was in my right hand, still cool from the fridge. I held it up so they could see the size of it.

“I heard what you said,” I told them. My voice came out smaller than I wanted. “About nobody doing it right. I’ve been practicing with this big carrot.”

Scott sat up fast. “Gene. What the fuck? Get the fuck out. You should knock!”

“I can do it.” I stepped closer. The floorboards creaked. “I want to. Let me.”

Marco looked at Scott. Scott looked at the carrot. Then at my mouth. The heat in the room had nothing to do with July anymore.

“You’re serious,” Scott said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.”
Marco let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “Your little brother’s a queer, man.”

“Shut up,” Scott said, but he didn’t tell me to leave.

I dropped to my knees between the bed and the desk. The carpet was rough. I could smell them both — sweat, the leftover garage on Scott, the warehouse sweaty air on Marco. I set the carrot down and reached for Scott first because he was my brother and because

I’d been watching him longer.
He didn’t stop me.
I pulled his jeans lower. His cock was already thick, the head flushed dark, a bead of wet at the slit. Freckles across his hips. I wrapped my hand around the base and leaned in. The first taste was sweaty skin and salt. I took the head into my mouth and sucked the way I’d practiced, slow, letting my tongue work underneath. Scott’s hand landed on the back of my head like he didn’t trust himself not to push.

“Dear God…” he muttered.

Marco shifted closer on the bed, still stroking, watching with dark eyes. “He’s actually doing it.”

I took Scott deeper. The practice paid off. My throat opened and the thick length slid back until my nose pressed against the red hair at his base. I held it there, breathing through my nose, eyes watering, until Scott’s hips twitched. When I pulled off, a string of spit connected my lip to the head.

Marco didn’t wait for an invitation. He shoved his own jeans down and tapped the side of my face with his cock — shorter than Scott’s but thicker, darker, the head already wet, anxious for attention.

“My turn, blondie. Show me what the carrot taught you.”

I turned and took him in. The angle was different. The smell of him was stronger — pure heat and the faint trace of the warehouse. I went down until the thick head pushed into my throat and Marco let out a low, surprised sound that made my stomach flip. His hand fisted in my blond hair and held me there for a second longer than I expected.

“Fuck. He’s good. Scott, your little brother, he’s actually good.”

They started trading me after that.
Scott would pull me back by the hair and feed his cock into my mouth while Marco stroked himself and watched. Then Marco would take over, using both hands to keep my head still while he thrust up from the bed. The competition was quiet at first. Then it got verbal.

“He takes more of mine,” Scott said, voice rough. “Look at that, he prefers his big brother’s carrot.”

“Bullshit. Watch this.” Marco pushed deeper and held me down until I gagged around him. Spit ran down my chin and onto his balls. “That’s deeper.”

I let them use me. That was the whole point. I wanted to be the mouth they couldn’t get from the girls in town. I wanted the taste of both of them mixed on my tongue. The radio in my room was still playing faintly through the wall — some line from a Blondie song— and it felt like the whole summer had been building to this sticky, overheated Thursday afternoon with my brother’s cock in my throat and his best friend’s hand in my hair.

They got coordinated without talking about it.
Scott pulled me off Marco and onto himself, fucking my mouth in short, deep strokes. Marco knelt up on the bed so his cock was level with my face. Whenever Scott pulled back, Marco pushed in. They found a rhythm — one filling my throat while the other slapped against my cheek, wet and heavy.

Spit everywhere. The wet sounds filled the room. My jaw ached, these were real cocks, not lifeless carrots. My knees hurt. I was harder than I’d ever been in my life and neither of them touched me once. They were only into my mouth.

“Gonna come,” Scott warned, voice tight.

“Same,” Marco said. “Let’s cum at the same time, man. I wanna see it.”

They pulled out at almost the same time. Scott stroked fast, the head of his thick Italian cock dark and shiny. Marco did the same, shorter strokes, breathing hard through his mouth. I stayed on my knees, mouth open, tongue out, looking up at both of them the way I’d practiced in the mirror with the carrot.

Scott came first — thick ropes across my cheek and into my open mouth. Marco followed two seconds later, aiming for my tongue and my other cheek, the two loads mixing warm and bitter on my face. I kept my mouth open until they were both finished, then closed it and swallowed what had landed on my tongue. The rest ran down my chin in slow lines.

Nobody spoke for a long minute, like we were in total disbelief.
Scott was the one who finally moved. He reached over, grabbed a dirty t-shirt from the floor, and wiped my face with surprising care. His ears were red. Marco sat back on his heels, still breathing hard, looking at me like he was trying to decide what I was now.

“You tell anyone,” Scott said quietly, “and I’ll..”

“I’m not gonna tell.” I promised.

Marco laughed, short and disbelieving. “Your brother’s a cocksucker. An actual cocksucker.”

“Shut up, Marco. Fuck off.”

I stayed on my knees until they both tucked themselves away and the Playboy was closed. The carrot was still on the floor where I’d dropped it. Scott kicked it under the bed with one foot and didn’t look at me when he said,

“Go clean up, Gene. Mom’s gonna be home in an hour.”

I stood on shaky legs. My throat felt used. My lips were swollen. The taste of both of them was still thick on my tongue.
I walked back to my room and locked the door. The radio was playing “Save a Prayer.” I sat on the edge of the bed and touched my mouth with two fingers, feeling the ghost of them there.

I already knew I’d do it again. For all the boys I would meet in New York. The pleasure of sucking cock was almost the same pleasure I felt while dancing to my favorite songs.

The next time the door was cracked and the magazines were open, I wouldn’t need the carrot.
I’d just walk in and get on my knees.
And they would let me, I was easy.

For some background I’m 42, 6’4”, white, go to the gym but a bit of dad bod at 230lbs, very hairy. I feel for my only son, Kevin, had him with my wife who was 5’0” who was Asian (she passed away when he was 5). 

He’s taken a bit more from her and seems to have capped out at 5’7”, pretty scrawny but I was too at his age. He’s got some more feminine features but he’s a cute kid. I know he’s a little self conscious about being shorter and not growing a beard or chest hair like me. 

A few years ago, when he apparently had not learned about incognito mode I learned he was watching gay porn. Honestly I was happy for him. Being bi myself, I know guys with his build can do better in the gay scene than they do with women.  

He still hasn’t come out to me, but I know everybody comes to terms at their own pace. Also dads can tell, and as I’ll tell you later, there were some clear signs. I kept tabs on what he was watching for a while and things he was exploring, which mostly seemed to be size difference, bear on twink style stuff. Honestly not too different from my own taste. But at some point he either learned to hide his browser history or just started looking on his phone. 

Moving to the present. We’ve lived in a college town, where my son is going next fall. The university has a nice gym that is a solid price, so that’s where I lift. I drag him with me once a week to try to put some meat on those bones and just to bond with him. This is where I started to get some more interesting signs. I’m used to getting some looks in the locker room, I’m well built, and I hang 6” flacid (and I know you boys want to know, I’m 8.5” hard). The showers at the university gym are open and I noticed that my boy seems to always be staring at my junk, longer than the looks I usually get in the locker room.

Kevin is still skinny but he’s bulked up to 155, gotten a bit more defined, and you can really see his cum gutters now. The only body hair he has is his bush. I’m happy for him that he got some of my dick genes, he’s hanging a few inches. So even though he doesn’t have his dad’s dick, he doesn’t have one of those button dicks you see on a lot of Asian guys. I can tell he tries to make his staring discreet but it’s pretty obvious. It seems more than idle curiosity.

This brings me to what made me think I had to do something. He hasn’t left porn history on the desktop in years, he has his own laptop and phone so there’s really know need for him to jerk off on there unless he really wants a big screen. He’s recently been leaving his history up. And it’s all dad son stuff and white asian race play. It feels deliberate because he hasn’t done this in so long. And honestly I can’t say this isn’t my type of stuff anyway. There is a reason a married his mom who was Asian and 16” shorter than me. 

One of the great things about living in a town in a big state university is that every fall a new class of fresh asses looking for father figures move in. Since my wife passed away almost 15 years ago, I haven’t really wanted a relationship. I’m bi but it’s just so much easier to have casual sex with men. Im starting to think my son is going to be one of the new asses on the grid this year. 

As I said last time, I’ve known my boy Kevin is gay for a while, but he’s started to give me some hints he needs some deeper paternal guidance. 

We are pretty casual about nudity, we’ve showered together at the gym before. It’s just us boys so we usually just hang out in our underwear at home. But since he’s testing the waters I figured I would as well. 

When I got back from my workout Kevin was laying on the couch in his briefs. Instead of going to my office like I usually do, I just stripped down and sat back in my recliner. Spreading my legs so my big hairy balls and meat were on full display. After a brief moment of gawking he averted his eyes and protested “Dad!”. “Nothing you haven’t seen before, my balls need to breathe”. He groaned and grabbed a blanket to put over his legs. I did shower at the gym but I know the smell of my junk fills up a room pretty easy. I felt bad enjoying how much he kept adjusting, clearly affected by my display. He was watching some scifi bullshit and I was tired from my workout so I drifted off pretty quick.

I started to wake up and was still groggy but I felt something warm on my meat and when I pry my eyes open, I see that my boy with my about an inch of my cock in his mouth. He’s ditched the briefs, kneeling on the floor in front of my chair rubbing his dick (doesn’t look like he’s much of a grower because he still looks about four inches). I was a little in shock but managed to keep my cool. At first he didn’t notice that I’d opened my eyes, he just kept exploring my foreskin with his tongue. I quickly started to engorge to my full size at the site of my boy working the dick that made him.

After giving him a minute to try to work it at full size I chimed in “You are going to have to take more than the tip”. He flinched a bit at the realization I was awake as if sucking my dick wouldn’t wake me up. He seemed a little stunned and took my tip out of his mouth. And my dick sprung up to its resting upward angle. It was quite a site to see my boy, with his father’s green eyes, looking up at me timidly with by big cock resting against his face. 

“Have you ever sucked a dick before?” I asked. He shook his head but didn’t manage to get out a word. “Do you want to be a cocksucker?” This time he managed to get out a quiet “for you…”. “Well you are going to have to swallow more than just the tip if you want to be a good one”.

Despite his timidness, he eagerly pulled my cock back into his mouth and started to try to work his way down. “Less teeth” I burst out, and he seems to wrap his lips around his teeth. A natural. “That’s my boy”. When he gets around the first 5 inches in he gags and pulls back a bit. The feeling of my son’s throat struggling around my cock head made me feel so proud of him. He went back to work trying three or four times to get past that point and gagging before he pulls back a bit. I love the feeling of a boy, my boy, gagging on it and it was bringing me to the brink. I hadn’t cum today so I was ready to unload. This time when he got to that point where he was gagging on it, I held his head down. The feeling of him struggling on it made me unload that same nut that made him straight down his throat. “Fuck” I exclaimed. After keeping his head there for another while to make sure he took every spurt, I let him go. He pulled off my dick and took a minute to regain his breath. “Good boy” he looked up at me needing. “This is when you thank me”. “Thank you dad”

part two: https://www.reddit.com/r/gayincest_stories/s/riMet1Egbu

part three:

https://www.reddit.com/r/gayincest_stories/s/tTRDqzcUoh

My parents have been divorced for years and my dad lives in a small apartment in the city. When I stay with him I was always on the couch. He’s always been pretty liberal with his nudity around me as “it’s just us boys” so it didn’t matter and so I would be naked too whenever I was over. He has his cock pierced with a Prince Albert, a really heavy gauge too and it makes his cock seem really big.
I have keys to his place and I was coming over for a week for my birthday when I entered he didn’t hear me come in and was in his room rock hard jacking off. It was the first time I’d seen him masturbating and seeing the jewellery bounce around was hypnotic. I was locked in watching that I didn’t realise he’d seen me. He asked if I was enjoying the view and I snapped out of my hypnotism and went to run away. He told me it was ok and to come into the room and sit next to him which I did.
I asked how the jewellery felt while masturbating, he said it made it feel awesome. He said he didn’t realise getting my cock piercing would be something i was interested in. I said I’d always liked seeing his cock and seeing it hard made me like the idea even more.
Couple days later we’re out in the city for lunch for my birthday and my dad asked if I was ready for my present, I said sure. We walk around the corner and stop in front of a piercing shop. He said he made an appointment for me inside if I wanted it. I was so nervous but was also excited so said yes.
He comes in with me and sits in the room with me. He held my hand when the needle went in and told me it looked great when the jewellery was in.
Couple months later when the piercing had healed I was back over at his place and he asked how it was healing. I said it was mostly healed. He asked if I had masturbated yet. I had but only a few days after the piercing and it had stung too much that it put me off. He said a couple months was plenty of time and I should try again. He asked to see it again. I drop my pants for him and leans over to get a good look. While he was down there he said it was looking great. I started getting semi while he was looking and he laughed and said maybe I should try masturbating now.
I’d never masturbated in front of him before let alone gotten hard but I instantly took my shirt off, sat on the couch and started rubbing my cock. My dad took his pants off and sat next to me, his cock was already rock hard. Seeing his cock made me cum almost immediately. I came all over my chest and stomach and he was right, the jewellery made it feel so much better.
He rubbed one out pretty quick too. Now we spend most nights together jacking off on the couch whenever I visit.

I saw my dad being sucked at a porn theater — Chapter 2

Part 1

The week after, everything at home looked the same and nothing felt the same.

My father still kissed my mother on the mouth when he came in from the bank. Still asked if she’d eaten. Still loosened his tie at the table and talked about a loan that had gone through or a client who’d been difficult. On Thursday he brought her flowers the way he always did — white roses, the same grocery-store bouquet, and she laughed and said he was ridiculous and he smiled the private smile he only used on her. I sat across from them and watched his hands. The same hands that had gripped a stained theater seat while a stranger swallowed him. The same blue eyes that had stayed on the screen the whole time.

He didn’t know I’d been there… that his son watched the whole thing.
I made myself useful. I helped with the dishes. I answered when he asked about the music shop. I said the new shipment of strings had come in and a kid had tried to shoplift a cable and I’d caught him. Normal things. Son things. Inside, every time he reached for the salt or rubbed the back of his neck I saw the lean line of his body in those good work clothes, the careful way he’d opened his belt, the long cut cock under the light of the lesbian porn. I went to bed hard and furious with myself and still hard.

By Wednesday I was counting the hours to Friday.
I told myself I might not go. I told myself the first time had been enough — the shock, the proof, the knowledge. I didn’t believe it. Men like him went back. Routine was safer than novelty. Same night. Same hour. Same seat if he could get it. I knew because I was the same kind of animal now. The theater had stopped being a place I visited. It had become a place I needed.

Friday afternoon I left the shop early and drove to the mall on the other side of town. I bought a dark gray hoodie two sizes too big, a plain black baseball cap, and a pair of cheap sunglasses with black lenses. In the car I put them on and looked at myself in the rearview. The hoodie swallowed my shoulders. The cap sat low. The glasses hid my eyes and most of the shape of my face. I didn’t look like his son. I looked like another body in the dark.
I waited until the sun was low.
The lot was already half full when I parked. I parked in the most secluded place I found, not wanting the risky of my father recognizing my car. Same mix of sedans and work vans. I paid cash. The booth guy still didn’t look at faces. Inside, the bleach-and-cum smell hit me like a familiar hand.

The main room was loud — MILFs this time, older women with heavy tits and louder moaning, the kind of porn that made the married men sit up straighter. I moved through the dark the way I always did, but tonight every shape made my pulse jump. I was looking for one silhouette and dreading it at the same time.
I sucked three men before he showed.
The first was a construction guy, thick and already leaking, who held my head and came fast with a curse. I swallowed and barely tasted him. The second was a skinny guy in a windbreaker who kept whispering yeah, yeah like he was coaching himself. I let him finish and wiped my mouth on the sleeve of the new hoodie. The third was older, maybe 50, careful, the type who folded his jacket over the next seat before he opened his pants. He took longest. I gave him the work and thought about nothing except the door at the back of the theater and the sound it would make when it opened.

It opened at 6:40.
I knew the walk even in the dark. Measured. No rush. The posture that never really left him. He came down the far aisle and took a seat three rows from the back, left side, the same general area as last week. Light blue dress shirt, no jacket. Tie still on, loosened one notch. Brown chinos. He sat like he was in a meeting that required patience. For a minute he only watched the screen. Then his hands went to his belt. The same careful order. Buckle. Button. Zip. He lifted up just enough to push the chinos and the underwear down and his cock came out into the light from the MILFs — long, cut, already filling as he wrapped his hand around it and started the slow stroke I remembered.

My mouth went dry.
I stayed where I was for a full minute, knees on the sticky step, heart slamming so hard I was sure the men near me could hear it. A guy in a polo tried to step in front of me. I turned my shoulder and he moved on. I watched my father’s hand. The same rhythm. Patient. Like he had time. Like this was the one honest hour of his week.

I got up.
I kept my head down, cap low, glasses on. The hoodie was large enough that my shape didn’t give me away. I moved along the row behind him and then into the aisle beside his seat. No one stopped me. In a place like this a body on its knees was just traffic. I dropped down next to his thigh before I could talk myself out of it.
Up close he smelled like home and the car and the faint clean sweat of a man who had worked a full day. His cock was right there, inches from my face, the head already wet from his own hand. He didn’t look down. His eyes stayed on the screen. A MILF was getting fucked by a young guy over a kitchen counter and moaning like it was the end of the world. My father’s stroke didn’t change.

I leaned in and took him in my mouth.
He went still for half a second. Just the smallest hitch in his breathing. Then his hand left his cock and settled on the back of my head, heavy, certain, and he pushed me down.

Not gentle… like a man who knows what he wants and needs.
He set the depth he wanted and kept me there, the long cut cock filling my throat, the clean taste of him flooding my tongue. I almost choked on the shock of it. This was the cock that had made me. This was the man who texted to ask if I’d eaten. And he was forcing my head down in a porn theater while he watched older women with tits get used on a screen.

I sucked. I gave him everything I had because if I did it well enough he wouldn’t need to look. If I did it well enough he would stay inside the fantasy of a stranger’s mouth and never ask questions. I used my tongue under the head. I took him as deep as the angle allowed. Spit ran. My glasses fogged at the edges. The cap shifted; I kept my face angled away from any light that might show him the shape of my jaw or the line of my mouth.
His hand tightened in my head through the hoodie and the cap. He started moving my head himself — up, down, a steady hard rhythm that told me exactly how he liked it.

He still wasn’t looking. His eyes were on the MILFs. His other hand gripped the armrest the way it had last week. His thighs were tense under the brown chinos. When I hollowed my cheeks and took him deeper he exhaled through his nose, a controlled sound, and pushed me down until my nose pressed against the open fly of his pants and I couldn’t breathe.

He held me there.I counted in my head. Four. Five. Six. My eyes watered behind the sunglasses. When he let me up I dragged air in through my nose and went back down without being told. He made a low sound in his chest — not a word, just approval — and used both hands now to keep my head where he wanted it. The wet noise of it was loud under the movie. Anyone in the next three seats could hear a man getting his cock sucked properly. No one cared. That was the point of this place.

I was terrified he would glance down.
I was harder than I’d ever been in my life.
He fucked my throat in short, precise strokes, the way he did everything — no wasted motion. The long cock dragged over my tongue again and again. I tasted the clean skin and the salt of him and the fact that this was my father and he didn’t know it mas me, his own son serving him. My hands stayed on my own thighs. I didn’t touch him anywhere else. I was a mouth. An anonymous mouth in a hoodie and a cap. That was the only way this worked.

His breathing changed. The hand on my head grew heavier. His hips lifted a fraction off the seat, the first break in the perfect posture. On the screen a woman was coming loudly. My father was about to come quietly. I felt the swell, the warning pulse, and I stayed down because I needed it in my throat, not on my tongue, not wasted.

He grunted once — low, locked behind his teeth — and emptied into me.
Hot, his cock pulsing. Man milk. A lot of it. Pulse after pulse straight down my throat while his hand held me through it and his eyes never left the movie. I swallowed on instinct, again and again, until he was done and the grip in my hair loosened. He sat there for a second with his cock still in my mouth, softening, the last small twitches of it against my tongue. Then he pushed my head back, gentle now that he’d finished, and reached for the napkins he must have brought in his pocket like a man who planned ahead.

I turned while he was wiping himself.
I didn’t look at his face. I kept the cap low and the glasses on and crawled two rows back on shaking knees before I trusted my legs enough to stand. My throat burned. My mouth tasted only of him. I went toward the side aisle and the darker section near the front where the screen light didn’t reach as hard, and I dropped down in front of the first man who was already out — a thick muscular guy in a work shirt who put a hand on my head without asking. I took him because I needed something else in my mouth or I was going to make a sound that would give everything away.

Behind me I heard the soft clink of a belt buckle.
I didn’t turn.
I sucked the stranger and listened. Footsteps in the aisle. Measured. Unhurried. The walk of a bank manager who had finished what he came for and was going home to dinner. The door at the back opened and closed. The movie kept playing. The man in my mouth finished with a quiet curse and I swallowed him too, automatic, while my whole body shook with the knowledge of what I had just done.

Carter, my father was gone.
I stayed on my knees in the dark until the fear and the want stopped colliding hard enough to make me dizzy. Then I stood, adjusted the hoodie, fixed the cap, and walked out the way I had come in. The lot was cooler. His car wasn’t there. In my own car I sat with the engine off and the sunglasses still on even though it was night.

He hadn’t seen my face.
He hadn’t said my name.
He had only used a mouth in the dark and gone home the same man who brought my mom flowers on Thursdays.
I started the engine.
Next Friday I would be here again.
And the Friday after that.
Until the disguise wasn’t enough, or until it was, and either way I already knew I wasn’t going to stop.

There are some nights that stay with you because they change the way you see someone you thought you already knew. This was one of those nights.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been attracted to older men, particularly men with a bigger, rugged build. Uncle T happened to fit that description perfectly. He was older, broad-shouldered, and exceptionally hairy, the kind of presence that was difficult for me not to notice.

At the time, I was living alone in a comfortable two-bedroom apartment. One afternoon, my cousin texted to say that he and his dad, Uncle T, would be visiting town the following day and suggested that we meet for drinks. I agreed without hesitation.

We initially planned to have dinner and drinks at a trendy new bar that had recently opened near my apartment. When we arrived, though, it quickly became obvious that Uncle T wasn’t enjoying the atmosphere. My cousin, meanwhile, was having a great time.

Not wanting to spoil his evening, I suggested that Uncle T could come back to my place instead. We could have a few drinks, order some food, and relax. He immediately seemed interested, while my cousin decided to stay out. We agreed that Uncle T would come back with me and my cousin would return to his hotel later.

The difference in Uncle T was noticeable as soon as we stepped through my front door. He seemed more comfortable, almost relieved to be somewhere quieter. I opened a bottle of Scotch, and we settled into an easy conversation.

We talked about everything from work, family, politics, relationships, and life in general. As the evening progressed, the conversation became increasingly personal. He asked about my dating life, whether I was seeing anyone, and what sort of people I was interested in.

Although I was already out to my cousin, I wasn’t sure whether Uncle T knew I was gay. Eventually, after avoiding the subject several times, I decided there was little point in pretending.

“I’m gay,” I told him. “I date men.” He became quiet for a moment.
“I didn’t know,” he said.

There was no anger or judgment in his voice, just genuine surprise. He asked a few questions about my life and the kinds of men I dated. I explained that I’m drawn to older, larger, more rugged men. The conversation was awkward at first, but his curiosity seemed genuine.

As the Scotch disappeared from the bottle, I became more confident and less guarded. I admitted that I had always been drawn to men with his sort of build. He laughed and asked whether I was serious.
“Very,” I said.

For a moment, neither of us knew what to say.
The atmosphere had changed. It wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, but there was a new awareness between us. Awareness that hadn’t existed when the evening began. I realized that I’d said more than I’d intended, and he seemed equally unsure about how to respond.

Eventually, he excused himself to use the bathroom while I began clearing the glasses and plates from the table.
I tried to collect my thoughts. The evening had taken an unexpected turn, and I couldn’t decide whether I regretted being so open or was simply embarrassed by how honest I’d become.

A few minutes later, I heard the bathroom door open.
I continued facing the table, pretending to concentrate on cleaning. Then I heard his voice behind me.
“Hey.”
I turned around.

He stood there with his shirt partly unbuttoned, revealing the thick hair across his chest. He looked at me for a long moment before giving a faint, amused smile.
“You really weren’t joking, were you?”
I laughed nervously.
“No.”
He shook his head, still smiling.
“You’re something else.”

For a moment, we simply stood there, both aware that the conversation had crossed into territory neither of us had expected. But whatever tension existed, there was also a clear boundary neither of us intended to cross.

He buttoned his shirt again and returned to his seat.
We finished our drinks, talked until well into the night, and eventually the conversation became lighter again. Yet something had undeniably changed. I had seen a side of Uncle T I had never noticed before not necessarily because of anything that happened, but because, for the first time, we’d spoken openly and honestly about a part of myself I’d always kept hidden from him.

When I finally went to bed that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation.
It hadn’t gone the way I’d imagined.
In some ways, it had been much stranger.
And somehow, much more memorable.

But this isn’t the end of the night. It just started.

I’m just tossing and turning in my bed and keep replaying the night. Keep replaying that unbuttoned moment- what does it all mean. I wanted to confront Uncle T about that but I was so scared of how he’ll react.

Blame it all on the alcohol but I made my mind and started making my way to his room. All the lights were off and as soon as I knocked he said ‘It’s open’. I slowly walked in and he said ‘He was waiting for me.’

I was so confused but I was so horny and drunk that I blurted it out ‘Can I feel your chest and lay with you, Uncle T?’ To my surprise he shifted a bit in his bed and said ‘On one condition- call me daddy, son’.

It’s like I was in a real life porn. I lifted the sheets and I can see him almost naked just in his boxers and just slid in. My hands caressing his chest already and taking in that manly scent that I always wanted.

He slowly lifted his arms up so I can see his underarms and I put my face there - smelling him. Licking him. He moaned ‘You are such a slutty little boy, aren’t you’, ‘ If I knew you were such a fag I would have you before’.

I don’t know how much I could push this situation but I just wanted to be with him for as long as possible. He slowly lifted my legs and start fondling with my hardon while I was licking his nipples. I climbed on top of him - his hardon in between my ass while I see him watching me. I slowly go for a kiss and he didn’t rebuke my advance. He kissed me back like I haven’t kissed before. I moaned in his mouth and he was enjoying it so much. In his ear I softly said ‘Fuck me Daddy’. And he stared back at me and said ‘Are you sure you want me’.

I didn’t say just slowly went down and took his massive thick dick in my hands and started sucking on it. He was enjoying it so much, I can feel him throbbing while I have him in my mouth. He then took charge of me, pushed me down with my ass up and started eating me out. I can still feel his tongue darting in and out of me. Those sucking sounds and him fingering me. After a while of torturing me with his mouth he slowly and firmly pushed inside me. I can feel every inch of him parting me. It didn’t hurt like I imagined but I moaned. He stopped but I said go deep so he just went for it.

He at first was very careful with me, to not hurt me. But when I begged him like a good little slut he started fucking me like a man. Just pushing himself deep inside me. Every time he pushed deeper I moaned out his name and called out’Fuck me daddy Uncle T’. He seems to enjoy it.

He kept pounding me for good half an hour (seemed longer than that) he flipped me over so I can see his face. He’s in between my legs and put my legs over his shoulder and he pushed his dick inside. While he kissed me and started fucking me. He softly whispered in my ears ‘I always knew you were watching me’. It got me so hard. He continued ‘I can always see your eyes on my chest or my dick’. So is this all what you imagined.

I replied ‘More than that, Daddy’. And he was so happy to hear that he started to pound me faster. I can feel he wants to cum inside me. So I started matching his rhythm and started moaning ‘Breed me Daddy, Uncle T’, ‘I want you inside me’. And in next 10 mins I can see his breathing gets heavier by the minute. He mumbled ‘I’m close’. I stayed still and he shot good 5-7 thick ropes of cum inside me. And I enjoyed watching his body and face getting all stiff and then relax into me.

We stayed like that for next couple of minutes. After we all came down from that high, I started to leave his bed. But he stopped me and said ‘Don’t you want to fuck your Uncle T boy?’ And I was stunned. I never in million years could imagine him bottoming for me. I said ‘Are you sure?’ He just replied by going on all fours for me.

Wait for the next part for more.

Parts of this story are true. We used to play the game described. He did tell me where his condoms were. After his passing, I found his penis pump. Past that, it is all fiction. All characters and discussion are adults of legal age.

I had always assumed that at the age of 75, I would not be worried about sexual activity all that much. My father was 75 and we had a good relationship and could pretty much talk about anything. When we had "the talk," he told me where he kept his condoms in case I needed one. He always know what was going on in my head for some reason.

One day, I was going to a costume event with my wife and I needed a bow tie. I asked my dad if he had one. He said. " I think I have one on the top shelf of my closet. If you can find it, you can use it. So I wandered back to my parents bedroom and started rummaging through his closet. As I was looking on the shelf I found a box. It was rectangular and sort of looked like the box you would an electronic piece of equipment in. I looked at it for a bit and inside there was a clear tube, some plastic gadgets, and a squeeze ball, like you would see on a blood pressure cuff. I still hadn't caught on until I saw the instruction packet and there on the front, was a picture of a man's dick in the clear plastic tube. This was my father's penis pump! I sort of stared at it for a bit, looked at the picture of a man's dick in the tube and realized I was getting hard just standing there staring. As I came to my senses, I quickly put the instructions back in the box, set the box back on the shelf, and fortunately, found the bow tie close by.

I walked out of the bedroom in a daze, with a bowtie in my hand and thoughts of my dad's dick in a tube. "Did you find it?" my Dad asked. Yes I did a muttered, and sat down next to him on the couch. Still in my dazed state, I said "how's your sex life Dad?" Dad sort of stared and said, I think we need a drink for this discussion. He got up and started making our favorite drink, vodka with some kind of diet lemon lime soda.

In asking about his sex life, I realized the irony. My sex life with my wife was pretty much non-existent. No matter what I tried, it was never what I thought being married would bring. Sex was mundane, required me doing all the work, and I had basically just given up. We had no sex for about a year and a half. As it progressed, I began to question my sexuality and started looking at alternative porn like crossdressers, bisexuality, and even gay porn. In all of those situations it was nothing like what I had experienced. All of that porn was full of people, men, crossdressers, enjoying pleasing someone and being pleased. Straight porn seemed to be more like my life, a naked woman, looking bored, being pounded on by a man. Yes they made it look exciting, but the ne videos seemed like what I wanted, raw passion. I wanted that.

My Dad walks in with a couple of tall glasses and sets them down. Here son I made us a double. My Dad's doubles were about half vodka, another quarter ice and the last quarter soda. So we started drinking and started talking. He said, "when you get to be my age, the drive is still there but the equipment sometimes doesn't work. Your Mom is a trooper and wants to help, but sometimes it just doesn't work. I sort of stuttered and said "Dad, I found your pump looking for the bowtie, that is why I asked about your sex life. Does it work?" He said, "well it works. I can pump myself up and if I put a cock ring on, I can stay hard. I can still satisfy your Mom, but sometimes, it just seems like work." "I know how you feel," I replied. He said "do you have a pump" in a shocked questioning manner. "No Dad, I am just find in that respect, it is just that sex with Jan seems like too much work." "Do you ever think that there is something that will excite you more?"

At that question, I think I started down a path of no return. Today, I am happy I asked the question. Then, I had no idea where it would lead. My Dad stared straight ahead. He always wore, old man Bermuda shorts and a very light polyester short sleeve button down shorts. I also know he always wore boxers. He then looked at me and said, "Son, I am not sure how you will take this, but... I actually get excited thinking about other men." He shifted his position and I am not sure, but there may have been some movement in his Bermuda shorts. I just sat there, wondering what my response should be. I always wear polyester t-shirts, polyester light gym shorts and, of all things, Haynes String bikini underwear. As I was thinking of a response, i felt a bit of pressure in my red bikini underwear. I also started breathing a bit heavier. My biggest secret I have been carrying in my head was not that I was surfing porn frequently, but that, for a year I had only been surfing gay porn. It excited the heck out of me, and that is why sex with Jan seemed like work. "Hmmm," as I downed my last gulp of my drink, "I am pretty sure I know, what you mean. I need another drink." I got up, grabbed his glass and I probably made two even stronger drinks than my Dad made. I was also acting a bit wired as my red string bikini underwear was straining at the hardening of my man parts.

I came back in, set the drinks down and said, "so, have you been with a man?" "No, its just all in my head. A complete fantasy," my Dad replied as he took a big gulp of the drink I served him. "What do you mean when you said you know what I mean," he questioned. Another gulp of the drink for me, "I think I am in the same boat Dad, my go to online search when I am alone is naked old men." I actually said that to my Dad. What craziness is going on here tonight? My Dad always could think through a situation and come up with the calm solution, and he said "Ok, good to get that all out in front of us. We probably can have more good relationship conversations now." He then took another gulp of his drink, stared a bit and then said, "do you remember the raft in a storm game?" When I was younger my dad would play a game where he would be a raft and I would be on top of him, and he would go through the cycle of calm seas to stormy seas and back to calm again where he would throw me around during the stormy part. "Yeah that was fun," I said. Not knowing where this was going. By this time, the two strong drinks were getting to me and my string bikini underwear was about to give up. "When you came home that summer after college and laid by the pool in your speedo," my dad continued, "I wanted to play that game with you again." My Dad shifted as he was sitting, his Bermuda shorts rode up and I actually saw the head of his penis peeking out of the left leg of his shorts. I looked at it, I looked at him, he just stared back and I looked back down. "Hmm, yes that was my speedo period, I liked my body then," I was not sure what else to say, my mind was rolling in vodka, my string bikini underwear, and to say it bluntly, my Dad's cock!

"I am afraid I don't have that body anymore Dad," I said. "You are just fine son," he replied. "Do you want to be on the raft in a storm son," he asked. Well at this point, I was full of thoughts and had no direction of where to go with that. "That seems a little odd Dad, it would be strange. My weight is pushing over 230 now, can you handle that?" "Would it be strange son?" he replied. "I think it would be... interesting," and he just stared into space in front of him. At this point his dick was about an inch more beyond his shorts, I was has hard as a rock, so I said, "OK Dad lets do it, it will be an adventure."

At that point Dad got up and headed toward my bedroom. I followed and he unbuttoned his shirt, pulled down his shorts and laid on the bed in his boxers. He made sure to adjust his cock so it was laying on his belly and under his boxers. I started to climb on the bed and he said "no son, the way we used to." I stopped, pulled my shirt off, then my shorts and stood there in my string bikini underwear and climbed on top of him and straddled his waist. "This is really weird Dad," I said and as I settled in I felt his cock get hard underneath my waist. "Dad, you are hard," I said, "no pump." "This is what I needed son," he replied. And the he started the game. He started slowly rocking back and forth, whispering, "it is a calm night, relaxing on your raft." He started moving faster, "Oh there is a storm coming, the waves are getting bigger." He starts moving back and forth faster and faster and rolling me around as I straddle him. "Big waves son, Bi..." I suddenly feel warmth and liquid in my string bikini underwear and on my belly. My Dad just lays there, breathing heavy. We lay, warm cum between us. I am so hard I am about to explode. "Let the storm take you son," my Dad whispers in my ear. At that, I pull my dock out of my string bikini underwear, push my now rock hard cock into the fly of his boxers, and I feel my cock laying next to his dick soaked in his cum, and I release what may be the largest cum load I have ever produced.

We lay there. Time passes. We breathe together. I finally roll over. I have cum all over me, my Dad has cum all over him. And we lay in silence.

It seems like a long time passes. I feel wonderful. That wasn't like work with Jan, that was, wonderful! "Dad," I finally am able to find words. "We need a Father and Son night to get away from Mom and Jan now and then, you think?" "Yes son, yes we do," as my father leans over to lick the mixed cum off my belly.

Danny's mom and dad split when he was three. Too young to keep a face. His mother remarried when he was five, and the man who raised him was never called "step" in Danny's mouth — just Dad. The one who taught him to shave, who sat through every swim meet, who told him the truth about girls and then, without missing a beat, the truth about boys.

On Danny's eighteenth birthday, cake still on the table, he looked at both of them and said it.

"I'm gay."

His mother went quiet. His father — his stepfather, the only father he'd ever known — set down his fork.

"So?" He shrugged. "You want another slice?"

That was it. That was the whole thing. Danny laughed until he cried.

After that, they talked about everything. Openly. About sex, about jerking off, about the girls his stepdad had been with and the boys Danny wanted. A bro dad, the kind who'd hand his kid a condom and a fist bump instead of a lecture.

"I'm so fucking horny, Dad," Danny said one night, sprawled on the couch. "I want to try it. Actually try it."

His stepdad considered him a long moment. "Okay. We do it safe. App, not a bar. You show me every profile before you meet anyone."

They did it together — side by side on the couch, two phones, one rule. Danny swiped. His stepdad watched. And Danny finally found one.

A blank profile. No face. No name.

"Anon," Danny said, eyes bright. "That's what he wants. And he's older. That's what I want."

His stepdad frowned. "No face. No name. I don't like it."

"Dad. Please."

The word did it. The same word Danny had used at five, at ten, at fifteen, every time he wanted something he knew he shouldn't have.

"Fine. But here's the deal." His stepdad's voice went flat, the voice he used for real rules. "I drop you off. You text me the second you're inside. I stay close. You text me when you're done, and I pick you up. No exceptions."

"Deal."

---

The first time, his stepdad dropped him at a house at the edge of town, watched him walk up the path, waited until the door opened and Danny stepped through and the light went on in a window. Then the text came.

Safe. Inside. Love you.

His stepdad sat in the car, engine running, and told himself he'd drive around the block, stay close, keep an eye out. He didn't drive. He sat in the dark, hands on the wheel, and thought about what his son was doing in there. What was happening to him. What he was letting happen.

And he got hard.

He didn't understand it. He was straight. He'd always been straight. But the thought of Danny — his Danny, the kid he'd raised — bent over a stranger's bed, taking a stranger's cock, moaning — his own cock thickened against his jeans and he hated himself for it and he didn't stop.

Two hours. Danny called.

"Come get me."

His stepdad drove back with his hands shaking. Danny climbed in, glowing, wrecked, smelling like sex.

"So?" his stepdad asked, keeping his eyes on the road. "What happened?"

"I got fucked." Danny's voice was loose, dreamy. "And I loved it. And I fucked him too. That was good. But getting fucked — " He laughed, giddy. "Dad, nothing's ever felt like that."

His stepdad's throat went dry. "Good. I'm happy for you, kid."

They drove home. His mother wasn't there. At the door, his stepdad caught Danny's arm.

"Listen. This stays between us. Your mom finds out I'm driving you to get — " He couldn't finish the word. "She won't be happy with either of us. So it's our thing. Got it?"

"Got it, Dad."

It became their thing. Week after week. Drop-off, pickup, and the stories got filthier every time. Leaving a club to get fucked in an alley. A dildo and a cock at the same time. Going for hours, keeping his load in him, walking around with it. Once, riding home with the man's cum dried on his face, and his stepdad saw it and said nothing and drove home with a stone in his throat.

"I like him," Danny said one night, quiet, honest. "I think I might be falling for him."

His stepdad's heart did something strange. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. And I think he feels it too." Danny smiled, soft. "I want to meet him for real. But not yet. I want to take my time."

His stepdad nodded. "Then take your time, son."

---

Weeks later, groceries. The three of them — Danny, his mother, his stepdad — working the aisles of the big supermarket, Danny's mother peeling off for the bread section.

His stepdad rounded a corner and bumped straight into a man.

"Sorry," they both said at once.

And Danny's voice cut through. "Hey!"

The man turned. Danny lit up.

"This is him, Dad." Danny grabbed the man's arm, beaming. "This is the guy I've been seeing."

The man was handsome. Muscular, a little too big for his clothes, a bulge you could clock from across the parking lot. He shook Danny's stepfather's hand, small talk, pleasant, nothing more. Danny's mother returned from the bread section and froze.

Her eyes went wide.

"Mike?"

She crossed the aisle and hugged him. Danny and his stepfather stared.

"Mom?" Danny said. "You know him?"

"Know him?" She laughed, pulled back, gestured between them. 

"Danny, this is your father. Your biological father. Mike."

The air left the aisle.

Danny's face went white. Mike's went white. His stepfather went still as stone.

Silence. A long, terrible silence.

Then Mike looked at his watch. "I'm sorry, I have to — I'm in a rush." And he was gone, striding toward the doors, not looking back.

Danny's stepfather watched him go, then watched Danny. His son's face was a mask. But his hands were moving — phone up, thumbs flying, Grindr open.

"I'm gonna walk around," Danny said, voice flat. "I need a minute."

His mother nodded. His stepfather nodded. Danny walked.

Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. His stepfather's worry built until it overflowed.

"I'll go find him," he said.

His mother waved him off, still shopping.

He walked the whole store. Produce, dairy, frozen. No Danny. He checked the parking lot. Nothing. His bladder was full, so he ducked into the men's washroom, locked the door behind him, and stood at the sink, hands braced on the porcelain, trying to breathe.

The sounds came from the far stall.

Wet. Rhythmic. A muffled moan.

The stall door was open a crack. Whoever was in there hadn't heard him come in.

His stepfather moved without deciding. He walked to the stall, looked through the gap.

Danny was on his knees. And the man from the aisle — Mike — was 

leaning against the wall, head back, eyes closed, cock buried in Danny's mouth.

His son. His son's biological father. His son sucking his biological father's cock in a supermarket washroom.

His stepfather backed away, heart pounding, blood roaring. He should leave. He should walk out and pretend he'd seen nothing.

Then Mike's voice, low and rough:

"Do you like your real dad's dick?"

Danny pulled off, gasping, spit stringing from his lips. "Yes. Fuck, yes, Daddy."

"Say it. Say whose cock that is."

"Yours. My real dad's. My father's." Danny licked up the shaft, slow, eyes locked on Mike's. "I've been dreaming about this my whole life. I didn't even know it was you and I still wanted it. I wanted my father's cock in my mouth and I didn't even know it was yours."

Mike groaned, hand fisting in Danny's hair. "That's right. That's my boy. My blood. You were made for this, you know that? Made to take your father's cock."

"Yes, Daddy. Yes."

"Tell me how long you've wanted it."

"Since I knew what wanting was." Danny stroked him, slow, reverent. 

"I used to jerk off thinking about an older man. About a stranger. About my own blood. I didn't know it was you, but my body knew. My body's been waiting for your cock."

"Open your mouth."

Danny obeyed. Mike fed it to him, slow, inch by inch, until Danny's nose touched his belly and his throat gave way. Danny gagged, eyes watering, and Mike held him there.

"Take it. Take all of it, boy. That's your inheritance. That's what your father gives you."

His stepfather's hand found his own fly. He didn't decide to do it. His cock was already out, already hard, already aching, and his fist was moving before his brain caught up. He stood in the doorway of the washroom, half hidden, jerking off to the sound of his son and his son's father, and he told himself it was just the shock, just the heat of it, just curiosity.

It wasn't. He was hard as he'd ever been.

Inside the stall, Mike pulled out. Danny gasped, chest heaving, lips swollen and slick.

"Stand up," Mike said. "You want to ride your father's dick?"

"Yes. God, yes."

"Then get on."

Danny turned, braced his hands on the stall wall. Mike lined up. His cock was huge — nine inches, thick, dark — and Danny's stepfather watched it press against his son's hole, watched Danny arch into it, watched it sink in inch by inch.

Danny's head fell back. A long, shaking moan.

"Fuck," Danny breathed. "So big. So deep. You're inside me, Dad. My real dad's inside me."

"Ride it, boy. Show me what you're made of."

Danny started to move. Slow at first, then faster, bouncing, his ass slapping against Mike's thighs, his moans filling the tiled room. His stepfather stood in the doorway, frozen, cock in hand, watching his son take his father's cock.

Mike's eyes opened. Found his stepfather's across the room.

And held them.

Mike didn't say a word. He just smiled — slow, knowing — and kept fucking Danny, watching the man in the doorway watch them.

"Tell me about your stepfather," Mike said, thrusting deep.

Danny's rhythm stuttered. "What?"

"I finally saw his face." Mike drove in harder. "Tell me the shit you told me you wish you could do with him."

His stepfather's hand stopped mid-stroke. The words hit him like a wall.

Danny moaned, hips rolling. "Oh god. Dad — I mean — "

"Tell me, boy. Tell me everything you told me."

"I want him to fuck me." Danny's voice broke. "I've wanted it for years. I watch him get undressed. I watch him in the mornings. I want to suck his dick so bad. I want him to bend me over and fuck me like you're doing. I want both my dads."

Mike growled, slamming deep. "That's it. That's my boy. Wanting both your fathers."

"Yes, Daddy. Yes. I want him inside me. I want to taste him. I want to be filled up by him. I think about it every night. I jerk off thinking about his cock."

His stepfather's hand moved again. He couldn't stop it. He stood in the doorway, cock in fist, watching his son bounce on his father's cock while confessing every fantasy he'd ever had about him.

Mike's hips stuttered. "I'm gonna come. I'm gonna fill you up, boy. Take your father's load."

"Yes. Come inside me, Daddy. Breed me. Make me yours."

Mike came with a groan, buried deep, flooding Danny's hole. Danny cried out, clenching around him, riding it out.

Then Mike pulled out. Cum dripped from Danny's hole, ran down his thighs.

Danny started to step off. To turn.

His stepfather moved.

He crossed the room in three strides, grabbed Danny by the hips, and pushed him back down onto Mike's spent cock. Danny gasped — then moaned as his stepfather's mouth found his ass, tongue flat against his hole, licking up Mike's cum.

Danny twisted, looked back.

"Dad?"

His stepfather looked up, mouth slick. "Yeah, son. It's me."

Danny's eyes went wide. Then dark. Then hungry.

"Fuck," Danny breathed. "Fuck, yes. Both of you. I want both of you."

His stepfather stood, grabbed the back of Danny's neck, and pulled him into a kiss. Mike's cum was on his tongue, and he fed it to Danny, and Danny moaned and gave it back, and Mike leaned in and took it from Danny's mouth.

The cum passed between them. Father to son to father. A circuit.

"Snowball," Danny gasped, grinning, filthy. "Give it all to me. Both of you."

Mike pulled his stepfather into a kiss. Deep. Tongue. The two men — one who made him, one who raised him — kissing over their shared son, tasting each other's cum in each other's mouths.

Danny watched, hard, aching, more turned on than he'd ever been in his life.

Then his stepfather turned him around. Bent him over the sink. And pushed inside.

Danny cried out. "Oh god — Dad — you're inside me — "

"Shut up and take it," his stepfather growled. "You wanted this. You've been asking for it for years. Now you're going to get it."

"Yes, Dad. Yes. Fuck me. Fuck me like you made me."

His stepfather drove into him, hard and deep, and Danny's mouth found Mike's cock again, and Mike groaned as Danny sucked him, the three of them moving together, a machine of want.

"I'm gonna come," his stepfather grunted. "Where do you want it?"

"In my mouth, Dad. In my mouth. I want to taste you."

His stepfather pulled out, spun Danny around, and Danny dropped to his knees and took his stepfather's cock in his mouth just as it erupted. He swallowed, sucked it all down, then turned to Mike and fed him the cum.

Mike took it. Swallowed. Grinned.

"Good boy," Mike said. "Good fucking boy."

Danny stood, shaking, hard as iron, cum on his lips.

"I want to come on both of you," Danny said. "I want to cover my fathers."

The two men looked at each other. Then they moved together, cocks side by side, and Danny dropped to his knees between them and jerked himself, stroking fast, watching his father and his stepfather watch him.

"I'm gonna — " Danny gasped. "I'm gonna come — "

"Come on us, boy," Mike said. "Show us what you're made of."

"Cover us, son," his stepfather said. "Let us have it."

Danny came with a cry, ropes of it arcing across both men — across Mike's chest, across his stepfather's stomach, across their faces. He kept stroking until he was empty, swaying, spent.

The two men pulled him up. Kissed him. Kissed each other.

Danny stood between them, cum cooling on his skin, his fathers' hands on him, the washroom door still locked, his mother still shopping in the next aisle over, none of them knowing.

His stepfather looked at the door. Then back at Danny. Then at Mike.

"Your mother's still out there," he said, voice rough.

Danny's smile was slow. Filthy. "Then we'd better be quick."

And his stepfather's cock was already hard again.

This is a true story of someone I considered an Uncle at a young age. He was my mother’s cousin. A little back story, when at the age 10 I would go over on weekends and stay to help with things around the house or go to local sport games as the city had a AHL hockey team. I considered him an uncle but he was like that big brother figure just with an age game of 16 years. A little about me, I am married to a women in a sexless marriage. I have played around with a few people since being with her.

Things happened between us in my past and it always felt good. We became closer and he taught me allot about life, sex, and everything someone needs to learn.

Fast forward to two months ago. I received a friend request from him on a social media site. We chatted and talked about family and all. A few days later I was a few miles away from where he was still living and I was on Grindr waiting to meet up with someone. Unfortunately they never showed and ghosted me. So I hopped onto sniffies to check out the area and came across a profile on the same street as my Uncle.

I then messaged him asking how things were and what he is up too. Told him I was in the area and if he like company. He was shocked because I live 90 minutes away. He invited me over. I grabbed a pizza and headed over.

After I arrived we made small talk. Asking how my wife is doing and how did we meet, etc…. I cut him off and asked him questions about his past because he grew up in an incest family. I wanted to know why me. I was just a 18 year old with no experience. As he told me why I began to get hard. Now when we played he always did everything. He enjoyed being dominant. In the back of my mind I. Always felt I needed to repay him. I then asked if he would like to fool around and he didn’t hesitate but I told him this time I’m in charge as ai need to make him enjoy everything he made me enjoy. I began laying in bed clothes on spooning. I then began to stroke him off and undressed him. For the rest of the visit I sucked him off and fucked him in the ass. After we both finished we collapsed and fell off to sleep.

I do plan on going back!!!

Author’s note: All my characters are consenting adults (18+). All sexual acts depicted are consensual between the adult characters.

Chapter 1 - The Storm

I knew he hated me before he said a word.
That was the thing about Aaron Summers. He didn’t need language. He had a face for it. The kind of face that looked at you like you’d already wasted his time by existing. Twenty-five. Tall. Gold chain. Dog tags that weren’t from any war, just from being the kind of guy who wore metal on a bare chest and expected the room to rearrange itself. Left arm inked from shoulder to wrist. Chest hair trimmed extremely close, not gone. Stubble like sandpaper. Sweating even in the air-conditioning.

He had been in another state trying to be somebody. College football. A career that was supposed to save him from becoming his father’s employee in a construction company. Then the knee went, or the shoulder, or whatever story he didn’t tell me, and he came home pissed off and sunburned from a life that hadn’t worked, and found out his dad had married my mom while he was gone.

Selma and Adam. A courthouse thing, nothing flashy. I was there. Aaron was not. His relationship with his dad was not the best. He showed up two weeks later with a duffel bag and a red hat and looked at me in the kitchen like I was a stain on a jersey.
We’d had maybe three conversations before the Caribbean.
All of them were ugly.

The resort was the kind of place that photographed well and ran out of rooms. Adam had booked two queens. The desk gave us a king and a smile and said the island was full through the weekend. Honeymoon season. No upgrades. No cots. My mother said it would be fine. Adam said Aaron was an adult. Aaron stood there with his bag on one shoulder and the red hat in his fist and laughed once, no humor in it.

“You’re joking.”

“It’s seven nights, not the end of the world.” Adam said, annoyed with his son.

“I’m twenty-five.”

“And he’s twenty-one. You’re not children. You’re supposed to be like brothers now.”

Aaron looked at me. Really looked. Up and down. Tall, he could see that. Skinny, he could see that too. No hair on my arms or face. Hazel eyes. The half-Latino baby face that made older guys hit on me and made jock guys like him decide what I was before I opened my mouth.

“This is bullshit,” he said.

Then he took the card key.
That was Aaron. Too old for a tantrum and too cocky to pretend he wasn’t having one.
The room was white and too small for him. One bed. A balcony that looked at palm trees and a slice of turquoise water. The air smelled like sunscreen and wet stone. He threw his bag on the side by the window, pulled his shirt off like the room belonged to him, and I got the whole thing at once. The chest. The ink. The chain. The way he was built for a sport he couldn’t play anymore. He was already sweating. He was always sweating. It sat on him like a second skin, shiny, clean, the smell of a guy who had been outside in heat and didn’t care if you noticed.

“You take the left,” he said. “You kick, I put you on the floor.”

“I’m not going to kick you.”

“You talk in your sleep, I put you on the floor too.”

He went into the bathroom and left the door open. Water. The slap of it. He came out in shorts and nothing else, dragging a towel over his hair, and the stubble on his jaw looked worse under the hotel light. Sandpaper. He caught me looking and his mouth went mean.

“What.”

“Nothing.”

“You always stare like that, or is this a special occasion.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Yeah, you were.” He scratched his stomach, slow, like he had all night. “I know what you are. I knew the second my father send me a picture of the wedding. You can do whatever you do in your own room at home. You don’t do it here. You don’t look at me like that. You don’t get weird. We sleep. We eat. We get through this circus and I go back to work at home. We clear?”

“We’re clear.”

“Say it like you mean it, Diego.”

He said my name like it was a joke he’d already told.

“We’re clear.”

He nodded once, like he’d won something small, and dropped onto his side of the bed. The mattress dipped. He was heavier than he looked. He took up more than half without trying. I lay on my edge and listened to the air conditioner and the ocean and the sound of him breathing like a man who had never been afraid of anything in his life.
I hated him.
That was the story I told myself. It was easier than the other one… that he was the hottest guy I’ve seen in person.

The first full day was a performance.
Adam and my mom did the couple thing. Beach. Drinks with fruit in them. Photographs. Aaron did the son thing for about twenty minutes and then peeled off to the gym and the pool and anywhere I wasn’t. I watched him from under an umbrella because there was nothing else I wanted to look at that wasn’t him. He swam like he’d been built for it. He came out of the water with his shorts stuck to his thighs and the chain flashing and that red hat back on his wet hair. A girl at the next cabana said something to him. He smiled at her the way he had never smiled at me. Then he looked over and found me watching and the smile died.
He walked up, dripping, and stood in my sun on purpose.

“You gonna sit there all day like somebody’s grandma?

“I’m listening to music and sunbathing.”

“Bullshit. You’re staring, and you’re tanned by nature.”

He leaned down. Close enough that I got the heat off him. Chlorine and skin and whatever cheap cologne he’d put on in the morning that the ocean had already ruined.

“You know what you look like,” he said, quiet, so our parents wouldn’t hear it from the water. “You look like you’re waiting for somebody to save your from your bored emo life. Don’t do that on my vacation.”

“It’s not your vacation.”

“It’s my dad’s money and my time. Same thing.” He straightened. Water ran down the groove in his stomach. “And put a shirt on if you’re gonna be that skinny in public. It’s embarrassing, I can see your bones. Get a burger.”

He said it the way Aaron’s kind of men said things. Not loud. Not for an audience. Just to put it in you and leave it there.
I put the shirt on, ashamed.
He laughed under his breath and walked away.

That night we did dinner as a family and Aaron barely spoke to me. He spoke to Adam about the company and his future role in the company, leading worker’s teams. He spoke to the waiter. He spoke to a blonde two tables over when he got up for the bathroom. In the room he took the shower first, long, and came out in a towel and sat on the edge of the bed scrolling his phone like I was furniture. I showered after him. The bathroom still smelled like him, his super strong manly body wash. When I came back he was already on his side, back to me, the sheet at his waist, the tattooed arm flung over the pillow.

“Don’t hog the sheets,” he said, without turning.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were thinking about it.”

I wasn’t thinking about the sheets.
I lay there in the dark and listened to him fall asleep in under two minutes, the way people that drink strong alcohol and had no guilt slept, and I hated him for that too.

The second day was hotter.
Tropical heat that didn’t move. Sticky. The kind that sat on your chest. Aaron spent the afternoon shirtless on the balcony with a beer, one ankle on the railing, scrolling, occasionally talking to Adam through the balcony about some account at the firm. I stayed inside because the balcony was his now, the way the window side of the bed was his, the way the bathroom counter was his the second he set his chain on it.

“You can come out,” he said, not looking at me. “I’m not gonna bite you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re hiding.”

“I’m sitting.”

He turned his head. The stubble caught the light. His eyes were paler than I expected up close. Not kind.

“You’re always sitting. That’s your whole personality. Sit. Read. Music. Instagram. Look at people. You ever do anything that requires a spine?”

“You don’t know me, at all.”

“I know enough to know that I don’t like you. You’re a liability to my dad’s money.” He took a pull of the beer. “I know you let my dad walk into your house and you said yes to all of it. I know you look at me like I kicked your dog. I know you’re the reason I have to sleep in a bed with a kid who still looks fifteen.”

“I’m twenty-one.”

“Then act like it. You can legally drink you know. You should drink tonight to loosen up.”

He went back to his phone. I stood there too long. He knew I was standing there. That was the point.

“Go to the pool, Diego. Go find somebody your speed. I’m not entertainment.”

I went to the pool and to the paradise beach.
I didn’t find anybody my speed. All the guys were with someone and I can’t find anyone hotter than Aaron. It’s hard to want cheap two dollars Christmas chocolate when you like Swiss chocolate. I sat in the water up to my neck and watched the sky start to bruise over the water, a green-purple that didn’t belong to a postcard, and I told myself the weather would pass.
It didn’t.

The storm hit after midnight.
I have been afraid of thunder since I was small. Not the cute kind of afraid. Not a jump and a laugh. The kind that gets into your chest and stays. A night when I was eight, a tree through a window, the sound of it, my mother screaming. I don’t tell that story. I don’t tell most stories. Aaron would have used it.

The first crack woke me like a hand on the back of my neck. When I hear thunders my minds makes me think the world will end.
The room was black except for the balcony doors, which went white for a second and then died. Rain hit the glass like someone throwing it. The air conditioner had lost the fight. The room was all heat and the smell of him — skin, sweat, some strong cologne, the industrial detergent on the sheets we were both in.

Aaron didn’t move.
The second crack was closer. The whole building seemed to flinch. I made a sound I didn’t mean to make. Small. Ugly. I turned my face into the pillow and that made it worse because the pillow smelled like his neck.

“The fuck,” Aaron muttered.

Another flash. The rain got louder. I was already shaking. I hate that about myself. I hate that my body does this without asking. I pulled my knees up and tried to be quiet and failed on the next one, a boom that sat on the roof, and something came out of me that was not words.
The mattress shifted.

“Diego.”

I didn’t answer.

“Are you— are you crying?”

He said it like it was the stupidest thing that had happened to him all year.

“I’m fine.” I lied.

“You’re not fine. You’re making noise.”

Lightning again. I flinched so hard my shoulder hit his arm. He was hotter than the room. Bare. The hair on his chest against my skin for half a second before I jerked back.

“Jeez.” he said.

He sat up. I could hear him doing it. The chain clicked. He dragged a hand over his face.

“It’s a tropical storm. It’s a tropical island. They have tropical storms. You’re twenty-one.”

“I know. Just let me be.”

“Then stop, I can’t sleep.”

“I can’t.”

It came out worse than I wanted. Raw. I pressed the heel of my hand to my eyes and hated him for being awake to see it.
Silence. Rain. Then he swore, low, the kind of swear you do when you’ve already lost the argument with yourself.

“Come here.”

“What.”

“I said come here, Diego. I’m not repeating myself. I have to work out at seven in the fucking morning and I am not lying here listening to you whimper until dawn. Come here.”

I didn’t move.
He reached across the bed and got a handful of my shirt and pulled. Not gentle. Not cruel, exactly. Just done. I ended up against him because there was nowhere else the king bed would let me go. His chest was a wall. Heat. The trimmed hair. The chain between us. He smelled like sleep and sweat and the Mexican he’d had at dinner.

“I’m not—”

“Shut up.”

His arm came around my back, heavy, reluctant, like he was holding a piece of furniture in place. His other hand stayed on his own stomach, as if he needed to keep that part of himself honest.

“You’re shaking.”

“I know, I hate thunders.”

“This is pathetic.”

“I know.”

Thunder again. I went rigid. His arm tightened, not because he cared about me, because he wanted it over. My face was in the hollow under his collarbone. I could hear his heart. It was slower than mine. Everything about him was different from me.

“Breathe,” he said. It sounded like an order from a locker room. “In. Out. You’re not dying. It’s weather, not a fucking earthquake.”

I breathed.
His skin was damp. The storm had made the room a sauna. Every time the sky went white I saw his jaw, the stubble, the tattoo on the arm that had me caged, and then it was dark again and there was only the heat of him.

“You do this at home?” he asked, after a minute.

“Sometimes.”

“Who holds you there. Your mom?”

“Nobody, I just put my music loud and hide my face with a pillow.”

He made a sound in his chest. Not nice. Not soft. Something that might have been disgust and might have been something else.

“Figures.”

Another boom. I grabbed him. I didn’t mean to. My hand found his side, the muscle there, the heat, and held on. He went still like I’d burned him.

“Watch it.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just don’t—” He stopped. His breath had changed. I felt it against my hair. “Don’t grab me like that.”

I loosened my fingers. I didn’t take the hand away. I couldn’t. The storm was sitting on the island and my body had decided he was the only solid thing in the room.
We stayed like that.
Time did something stupid. The rain kept coming. His arm stayed. He didn’t pet me. He didn’t say it was okay. He just existed, big and annoyed and warm, and my shaking started to lose. That was the dangerous part. Not the thunder. The minute my chest slowed down and I could feel the rest of him.

He was hard.

It took me a second to understand it because I didn’t want to understand it. The shorts he slept in didn’t hide anything. The length of it was against my hip, then higher when I breathed, a thick, obvious fact he could not talk his way out of. He didn’t move it away. He didn’t joke. For a man who had spent two days calling the shots, he went very quiet.
I was hard too.

That was worse. That was the thing I would have to live with in the morning. Fear and it, mixed, the same shake, the same heat. I was twenty-one and in a bed with my mother’s husband’s son and he thought I was weak and ridiculous and a weak gay boy, and he was holding me because he wanted to sleep, and his cock was doing what bodies do when another body is on them in the dark.

“Aaron.”

“Don’t.”

“I—”

“I said don’t.” His voice had gone rough. Not the bully voice. The other one. The one that sounded like he was angry at himself. “It’s nothing. It’s a reaction. You climb on somebody in the middle of the night, shit happens. Don’t make it a thing.”

“I’m not making it a thing.”

“You’re thinking it. I can hear you thinking it. Ignore it.”

Lightning. His face for a second. Eyes open. Looking at the ceiling, not at me. Jaw locked. The stubble. The chain. Then dark, and the pressure of him, unmistakable.

“I hate storms,” I said, because I had to say something that wasn’t the truth.

“Yeah. I got that already.”

“You don’t have to—”

“If I let go you’re going to start up again and I’ll be awake until four. This is logistics.” His hand, the one on my back, spread a little. Not a caress. A decision. He pulled me in tighter, my mouth against his chest, my knee trapped between his. “You stay on this side. You keep your hips where they are. You go to sleep. In the morning we don’t talk about this.”

“Okay.”

“I mean it, Diego. We don’t talk about it. You don’t look at me like I did you a favor. I didn’t. I wanted you to shut up.”

“Okay.”

His heart was faster now. I could feel it under my mouth. He smelled stronger this close. Sleep. Sweat. The hot scent of a guy who had been in the sun all day, running, working out. My lips were on his chest whether I wanted them there or not. I didn’t kiss him. I wasn’t that stupid. I just breathed him, and he let me, and the storm kept working the windows.
For a while neither of us spoke.

Then he said, very low, “You’re too skinny.”

“You mentioned.”

“It’s like holding a coat hanger.”

“You can let go.”

He didn’t let go.
His thumb moved once, at the edge of my shirt, a mistake he corrected immediately. I felt it anyway. A scrape of rough skin. The sandpaper of him. I went tight all over and he felt that too, because he swore under his breath and adjusted his hips back an inch, which did nothing except make me more aware of what he was trying not to press into me.

“This is why I didn’t want the king bed.” he said.

“Why?”

“Because of you.”

I didn’t ask what that meant. I could hear what he wanted it to mean. I could hear the other thing under it.
Thunder, farther now. My body still jumped. His arm still answered, automatic, pissed off, reliable. I closed my eyes. I was still afraid but calmer now. He was still hard. The rain was still coming down like it had a job. In the morning there would be breakfast with Adam and my mother and Aaron would put the red Mets hat on and look at me like I was a freak again. I knew that. I knew it the way I knew my own name.

I slept anyway.
I slept on his chest with his chain against my cheek and his breath in my hair and the proof of him against my hip, and the last thing I heard before it took me was Aaron Summers, who hated me, saying to the dark, so quiet I could have invented it:

“Don’t you dare tell anybody I did this. Don’t mention this tomorrow at breakfast, lunch or dinner.”

I wouldn’t.
I lay there and let the big guy hold me through the weather, and I hated him, and I wanted him, and those two things stopped being separate somewhere in the middle of that king bed, with the island shaking and his heart under my mouth, and nothing else happening.
Nothing else was allowed to happen. He was straight, arrogant, mean and the son of my mother’s new husband.

So we are summer before senior year in highschool, and me 18 yo dark hair and my cousin 18 ginger spend a summer at our grandparents. I knew I was into guys already but keeping it DL, and my cousin was straight so thought nothing of it. We worked outside, so we were often shirtless. One day (long story not worth the time) there was a giant mud slurry where we were working. So of course we jump in and start wrestling. We both were muscled teens, he was a ginger and his red happy trail always turned me on, and I loved how sweaty his pits got and tried not to stare. I was an inch or so taller than him, but he was a highschool wrestler so he always knew how to throw me around. Of course we were grabbing arms, thighs, necks, sliding our bodies against each other, I couldn’t tell if he was getting hard or not but I definitely was so I closed down and backed off.

A couple nights go by and we are watching movies in the basement, alone on the floor. He rolled over me to grab the remote, and I kinda teasd him by pushing my ass up. As a joke, we start rolling around and I can’t believe it’s happening. He’s definitely hard. He’s definitely grinding his dick into mine. We were too young to even know what frotting was, but suddenly we were both wet and went into other rooms to change and go to bed.

A couple weeks go by and we keep randomly Frotting at night before bed, but always with our clothes on. Until finally the last week. We had spent the day working shirtless and I kept roughhousing with him, letting him grip my ass, pushing his face into my sweaty pits. He did it back, grabbing my junk, holding me to his crotch in a head lock.

Finally that night our grandparents were out and we had the whole place to ourselves until the next day. Everything was normal, we went to the basement and started watching movies. As he climbed onto me again I pushed him off, put my hand to his mouth, and slide his underwear off. He kinda fought against me, but I grabbed his cock and looked him in the eye. He stopped fighting, and I kept eye contact as I sucked his cock, his red pubes smelled so good and I could see the fear in his eyes, he liked it. He reached over and grabbed my cock -!: I could help it I shoved his face down, my head in the back of his throat until he gagged. We 69ed, jerked off, and went back to frotting but this time naked. It was so hot, his abbs raked my cock, I could feel his tip leaking all over me. We wouldn’t kiss, kept our mouths closer and closer, until he licked my lips. Then I couldn’t hold back, I turned his waist around spread his cheeks, and slide my cock between his cheeks but not inside him. I was too scared to go further, but just the feeling of his hole trembling against my cock made me cum ropes across his back. I know we were already so wrong together, but I wiped up my cum, flipped him over and used my hand and mouth to drain him, licking the cum off the tip of his cock. We laid together for a while, got up to shower, went to bed in separate rooms…

We’ve not seen each other much since, he’s married with kids now. But back then we had fun.

Author’s note: All my characters are consenting adults (18+). All sexual acts depicted are consensual between the characters.

Chapter 1

The music shop closed at six on Fridays. I locked the cases, counted the till, and told myself I was going home.

I wasn’t.

I’d been telling myself that for a year. Every Friday had the same lie in it. I’d wash my hands in the back sink, check my phone like I had somewhere decent to be, and then I’d take the long way out of town. The theater sat past the last strip mall, behind a liquor store that sold more lotto than whiskey. No name on the marquee that meant anything. Just ADULT and a faded arrow.

By the time I parked, the sun was already dropping and the lot was half full. Sedans. A couple of work vans. One BMW with a child seat still in the back. Friday meant the married ones came in droves. Get it out before the weekend locked them to the house, the wife, the kids, the version of themselves they went back to.

I paid cash at the booth. The guy behind the glass didn’t look at my face. He never did, he doesn’t give a shit.
Inside, the air hit first. Bleach trying to win and losing. Cheap spray over sweat. Cum that had dried into the carpet so many times it had its own smell. Under that, piss, faint and sour, I bet some guys who like to piss on someone’s face visited sometimes. The hallway was dark on purpose. Someone had put a stick-on air freshener on the wall and it only made the bleach sharper. The main room opened like a mouth.

It was a big old theater. Maybe two hundred seats. Most of them stained. Armrests with a shine that wasn’t from cleaning. The screen was loud — two women, what straight guys called blond bimbos, going at each other with huge dildos, like they were being paid by the decibel, wet sounds pumped through speakers that had been dying for years. The picture was too bright for the room. It made everything else look worse. Dozens of men spread out in the dark. Some in the aisles. Some slouched low. A few standing against the back wall with their pants open, working themselves slow, eyes on the screen or on whoever was on their knees. You could hear the wet of it under the movie if you listened. You could hear a zipper. You could hear a man breathe like he was trying not to.
I knew the layout. I’d been coming here for a year. It was my secret addiction.

I wasn’t picky. Not if the guy looked decent and had something worth putting in my mouth. Suits on their lunch break. Suits after work, still wearing the day. College boys who thought this was a joke until it wasn’t. Latino guys from the warehouse down the road. Men in their fifties who sat in the same seats every week. I moved through the room the way some people moved through a grocery store. Looking. Choosing. Taking what was offered.

The college himbo was in the fifth row, aisle seat, like he’d been waiting for someone to notice him. Big shoulders. A baseball cap on backward. The kind of face that belonged on a team poster. His cock was already out, thick, a little clumsy in his hand. He looked at me when I sat on the step next to him. He didn’t say anything. He just took his hand away.
I got down.

He tasted like cheap body wash, his big balls slightly musky. I took him in and he made a sound he tried to swallow. One of his hands found the back of my head, not rough, just there. On the screen a girl was screaming with pleasure. Around us men were stroking. I worked him the way I always did — slow first, then deeper, until my throat had him and he stopped pretending this was casual. His hips kept wanting to lift off the seat. I let them.

“Fuck, dude you’re a pro. My girlfriend should learn some tricks with you.” he said, loud enough to be heard above the porn movie. “Don’t stop, dude.”

I didn’t. I used my hand on what I couldn’t fit and let him push. He was the kind of straight who only got this hard in the dark. His thighs were tense. When he came it was sudden, a lot of it, and I swallowed because that was the point of coming here. Be fed. He held my head through it, hips twitching, then let go like he’d remembered where he was.

“Thanks, dude. Gotta bounce.” he said, already tucking away.

I stayed on my knees long enough to wipe my mouth.
That was when I saw him.
A few rows ahead. A man sitting down like he had a reserved seat. Jacket still on. The careful way he opened his belt, like even this had a correct order. Then his cock, out in the light from the screen — long, cut, a good looking cock. He started stroking it with the same patience he used for everything. Not frantic. Measured.

I knew that profile before I knew the rest.
The short hair, barber-cut to hide the thinning at the temples and on top. The beard, trimmed close, more gray than it had been last Christmas. The thick brows. The way he sat, straight even here, like posture was a habit he couldn’t drop.

Carter. My father…

Forty-five. Almost six-one. Bank manager. The serious one. The charming one. The husband who still brought my mother flowers on Thursdays. The dad who texted to ask if I’d eaten. Blue eyes that could pin you to a chair across a dinner table. A lean runner’s body under those work clothes. Nothing gym-showy. Just dry and athletic and held together like his life. To stay healthy.

He was in a porn theater on a Friday, jerking off to a loud lesbian movie, and I was on my knees twenty feet behind him with another man’s cum still in my throat.

My heart went so hard I thought he’d hear it.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t. If I stood, the motion might catch his eye. If I left, I’d have to walk the aisle. A white-collar guy about forty had already stepped in from the side. Wedding ring. Nice watch. The same after-work faded cologne smell as half the guys in the room on Fridays. He didn’t ask. He just stood in front of me and took it out. He was already hard. Average and clean and impatient.

I opened my mouth because if I did anything but stay down, my father might turn around.
The guy pushed in. I took him. I kept my eyes over his hip, on the row ahead.
Carter’s, my respectable father hand moved in a slow, tight rhythm. He was watching the screen. He had no idea. The college kid was gone. The room kept making its wet noises. The man in my mouth put a hand on the seat back and started using me like he’d paid for the time. I let him. I was shaking and I was hard and I was terrified my dad would look back and see his son with a stranger’s cock in his mouth.

He didn’t look back.
The white-collar guy came with a quiet grunt, one hand fisted in my hair just long enough to finish. I swallowed that too. He muttered something that might have been thanks or whatever and walked off toward the exit like he had a train to catch.

I stayed down.
A man in his thirties with a pink fit t-shirt had stopped at my father’s row.
I saw it happen in pieces. The guy sat one seat over. Said something I couldn’t hear. Carter didn’t turn him away. For a second I thought he would. I thought the version of him that sat at our table would stand up and leave. He didn’t. The guy’s hand went to my father’s cock. Carter kept his eyes on the screen. His jaw changed. That was all. Then the guy was on his knees in the aisle, and my father’s cut cock disappeared into a stranger’s mouth.

I thought I was going to be sick. I thought I was going to come in my jeans. I thought both at once.
The guy knew what he was doing. He took my father’s deep. My father put a hand on the seat in front of him and didn’t make a sound I could hear over the movie. His other hand stayed on the armrest, knuckles white. He was still watching the women. Or pretending to. The guy on his knees worked him like this was a service, like Friday before dinner. I could see the wet flash of it when he pulled up. I could see my father’s thighs go tight under the good slacks. I could see the beard when his head tipped back half an inch, the only crack in him.

I had never seen him like that.
Not in a locker room. Not at the house. Not in any version of him that belonged to me.
A man I didn’t look at stood over me and I took him without thinking. I needed something in my mouth or I was going to make a noise. He was older, fifties, cologne and a gut he held in. I sucked him and watched my father get his cock sucked two rows down. The cocksucker’s head bobbed. Dad’s hips lifted once, small, like he couldn’t help it. Then he came. I knew because the guy on his knees stayed down and swallowed and my father’s hand finally left the seat back. His shoulders dropped. He sat there for a second with his cock still out, spent, looking at the screen like it could put him back together.

It was over in seconds after that.
Mr. Carter, the bank manager, tucked himself away. He fixed his belt. He stood, jacket still on, the same man who walked into the bank every morning, and he went up the aisle toward the exit without looking left or right.

He didn’t see me, thank God!
The door at the back opened and shut. The movie kept screaming. The fifty-year-old finished in my mouth and I barely noticed. I swallowed because it was easier than thinking.
I sat on the dirty step and tried to breathe.
My father had just come down a stranger’s throat in a dirty porn theater that smelled like bleach and old sperm. Then he’d gone home, or to the car, or to my mother. And I was still here.

I should have left.
I didn’t.
A guy in a gray suit stopped in front of me. Late thirties. The same haircut as my father, the same kind of face you trusted with money. He already had it out. Long enough. Cut. I took him because he looked like the man who had just walked out. The man who made me. I closed my eyes for the first few seconds and it was worse. I opened them and watched the screen over his stomach and thought about my father’s hand on that cock, the cut skin, the way he’d let someone else finish him. The gray suit put two fingers under my jaw to keep me in place, to keep my attention on serving him. He came fast. I swallowed. He left without saying anything.

Another one replaced him. Navy jacket, loosened tie, the end-of-week slack in his shoulders. He talked while I sucked him, low and dirty, about his wife, about how he needed this, about how she wouldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t answer. I used my mouth and thought about Mr. Carter’s blue eyes on the lesbians and the stranger’s mouth on him. This one held my head and pushed until I gagged and then he came across my tongue, thicker, and I took that too.

A Latino guy from the loading dock, thick, uncut, a little rough in my hair. He said así when he got close and filled my mouth and kept me there until he was done. He tasted like the day. He patted my cheek when he pulled out, almost friendly, and went back to a seat like he’d only stood up for a minute.

A kid who couldn’t have been much older than the college himbo, nervous, too polite, who kept saying sorry while I worked him. He apologized when he came and then laughed like he couldn’t believe he’d done it. His hands were shaking. Mine weren’t. Not anymore.

The fifth one looked so much like my father from the neck down that I almost said his name. Same lean runner’s body. Same type of belt. Same way of standing like he still had an office to go back to. I sucked him slower. I wanted it to last. I wanted to image with was my own father. He didn’t let it. He used my throat with urgency and finished with his teeth together and a hand on the back of my neck, and when he pulled out I stayed on my knees because standing up would have meant the night was over.

The room had thinned. The movie had changed. Still blonde women but this time being fucked by black guys. Still loud. The seats around me were worse in the leftover light. Dried spots. A smear on the armrest. Someone had left a tissue on the floor.
I sat back against a chair and took myself out.

I didn’t last. I didn’t try to. I thought about my father in that row. The long cut cock. The gay guy swallowing him. The aftershave in the aisle. The way he’d sat there afterward, putting himself away like a man closing a folder. I came on my own fist looking at the place where he’d been sitting, and it didn’t do anything except make the decision clearer.

I cleaned up. I walked out through the same dark hall. The lot was cooler. The BMW with the child seat was gone, probably was one of the suited guys I just served. The sky over the liquor store was that orange that happens after six.

In the car I sat with the engine off until my hands stopped shaking from the strong orgasm.

He didn’t know I’d been there.
He didn’t know I knew.
He was going to come back. Men like that came back, always. Even though they swear to themselves it’s the last time. Fridays. The hour before they went home. The same seat, if they could get it. Routine.

I started the car.
I wasn’t going to rest until it was my mouth on him.
Until it was me in that aisle, and my father looking at the screen, and nobody in that room knowing I was his son except me.