The next morning everything was normal. My wife made coffee, and we sat
around the table with the whole family. There was no rush; it was Saturday.
We talked about what everyone had been up to during the week: hobbies,
school, and life in general. My daughter had started playing tennis as a
hobby and asked me to watch her practice sometime. It sounded fun and
exciting. She was quite tall for her age, with long legs and arms; good
body for a tennis player.
My son got a B+ in algebra, which was just fine for him; I was pathetically
miserable in math in school. My wife said she hurt her back at work
yesterday after lifting a patient.
She had asked for some light work for a moment, but it was in vain. She
thought her supervisor could have been more qualified and nicer.
The coffee tasted good and the sandwiches were tasty, but everything
around me felt secondary; my thoughts were elsewhere. I wondered what kind
of moral backbone I
would lack if I did something irreversible with a boy the same age as my
own. I watched Jack laugh at something his sister said, I had two beautiful
children and it was clear. It seemed impossible to me that a man of my age
would put his dick in the mouth of my son, the very mouth with which he was
chewing on a sandwich. Or lie naked on top of such a young lad, pressing
his hips against him, cumming into his ass.
For some reason, my moral alarm clock remained silent; I guess it was a
different thing to think of something sexual about someone stranger than my
kid. I tried to put the
thought out of my mind and go back to chatting with my family. After
breakfast, I grabbed my phone and went to the bathroom. I texted the boy
and asked if he was still
interested in meeting me, and got a response almost immediately.
Not only was the answer positive, but he asked when and where. He said that
since it was a weekend, he could easily move around. Is it really possible
that I could have sex with such a young man? Ideas started moving in my
brain, and I began to sketch out some viable possibilities.
>> Want to meet somewhere outside? In a park? Bar maybe? - I didn't have
to wait long for an answer.
There's no way we can go to my house. My wife and children are here.
> But I'm sure we'll come up with something if the situation calls for
it.
I thought about booking a hotel room. We agreed to meet at Maple Park
at four in the afternoon. The boy said there was a gardener's shed behind
the playground, a small shack with a bench next to it. The park wasn't too
familiar to me, but I didn't mention it; I said I'd definitely find it.
We ended up chatting. I looked again at the picture the boy had sent. A
nice young dick wanting the attention of a grown man. Incredibly arousing
thought, I wanted to jerk off, but I restrained my lust.
I went to a large market with my wife. It was the kind of hypermarket
where you could find everything you needed in your life. My wife wanted to
look at the clothes (surprise?), but I wasn't interested at all (surprise
again?). So I went to the sports department for a while, even though I
didn't think I'd find anything there.
I cooked lunch with my wife; garlic potatoes and pork chops. My wife
made the potatoes and I cooked the chops. At the same time, my daughter was
in her own room, and I could hear a sound that could be considered music,
an effective beat to which someone was shouting some vague shit in a
defiant voice. Music used to have a melody; now it was just mindless speech
with poorly functioning lyrics.
Jack wanted to cut the vegetables for the salad. He chopped tomatoes
next to me. My thoughts began to turn to the upcoming meeting. I wondered
what it would be like to fuck a boy the age of my son, and I got an
erection. Again, I wanted to relieve the pressure by jerking off. But I
wanted to save all that energy for a meeting in the afternoon.
At two o'clock we sat down again with the whole family. My daughter had
earbuds in her ears and I asked her to take them out. She reluctantly did
so; fortunately, I didn't have to get angry with her this time. Forks and
knives squeaking on plates. I wondered how I could leave the house at four
o'clock without raising questions until my wife broke the
silence.
"What would you think if I went to Cindy's for the evening?" My wife
asked. "We'd have a little wine and talk. We haven't seen each other in a
while and it would be really nice. "
"Hmmm. That would be nice, no doubt. Of course, it's okay with me. When
were you planning to leave? " I asked.
"As soon as we eat? If you are kind enough to offer me a ride, will I
take a taxi or Uber home?"
I couldn't believe my ears. I wouldn't need any excuses to leave the
house, but I wouldn't have time to take my wife to his friend's house an
be back at four o'clock. Women tend
to get ready slowly; it's more challenging than men who just put on a
jacket and say goodbye.
I had to contact the mystery boy and reschedule the meeting. So I ate
quickly and locked myself in the bathroom again to text. We agreed to meet
half an hour later. My wife was just as painfully slow to get ready as I
had feared. She stayed in the shower for at least 20 minutes. It had to be
made clear to her what kind of pants she would wear or if she would wear a
skirt. Of course, her hair had to be dried and her face lightly made up.
You don't want to look bad in the eyes of your friends, especially when you
haven't seen them for a long time.
Fortunately, the red wine in the cupboard was of good enough quality
that there was no need to think about which one to take, which would have
taken at least an hour. I looked
at my phone and thought I might miss the park at half past four. Finally,
my wife was ready to leave. It was already four o'clock. It would take
about 20 minutes to get to her friend's house and the same to get back
home. There was no way I could get to the park at the appointed time,
so I had to postpone the meeting again for another half hour.
Fortunately, this was not a problem for the boy. I told my kids I
was
going to leave the car home and have a few beers at a local bar so
I wouldn't be home right away. It was a good
excuse: going to a bar can sometimes take longer than planned.
I took my wife to her friend and came home. I parked my car in its spot
and walked to the park. I looked at the time on my phone. I had fifteen
minutes before the meeting. However, I decided to be there on time and went
straight to the park. I walked past the playground. There were about half a
dozen screaming and laughing toddlers and a couple of girls, maybe 8-9
years old. Mothers were watching their children and gossiping.
They looked at me closely as I walked by. I felt guilty; the women were
vigilant that no pedophile would come to watch, or worse, do something
terrible. The shed was just behind the playground, and the bench was on
the other side of the shed, so the line of sight to the children playing was
cut off.
The sun was shining and the day was warm. The bench was fortunately shaded
by a large birch tree. I looked at my phone. There were no new messages from
the boy. It was
almost the appointed time. I looked around, trying to pick him out of the
crowd, but I couldn't.
Ahead of me, a few teen girls had come from the playground to do
calisthenics on the grass. Once again I felt something I hadn't noticed
before. The girls wore tight shorts
and tight shirts. Their hips were narrow and their butts were small and
tight. They were hot, damn sexy girls. But I didn’t care of them.
Then I heard a rustling from behind the shed, from the bush, and I
thought it was the mysterious guy I had come to meet. The lad had taken a
shortcut. I didn't turn to look; I just heard the footsteps in the sand.
He came out from behind the bench and then I was shocked.
SHOCK! I was distraught, wondering how I had gotten into such a
situation. The guy coming through the fence was Jack. My own son! We
looked at each other for a moment in silence.
"He-hey, Jack. You're here." I said, stammering.
"Hi, Dad. Yeah, yeah. Umm.. That's right, yeah." Jack looked confused
and was as surprised as I was.
"Why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be at the bar?" He asked.
"Y-yes, yes. And I'm going there. Yes, I was just going there. I thought
of stopping for a moment to sit down because it is pleasantly shady here.
Where are you going?"
"Somewhere. I don't know. I'm just walking."
Jack said a little more confused. The situation was getting dangerous.
I had to make sure that the mystery boy didn't come as long as Jack was
present. I had a cell phone in
my hand, so I quickly texted the boy:
>> Don't come yet. There is a bit of a situation here. My son showed up.
You will probably see us when you come. Come a short time after he leaves.
I pressed the send button and the message was left. At the same time,
Jack's phone beeped. Jack picked up his phone and read the message he got.
Then he looked at me with his
mouth open and his eyes wide. I understood the situation just as my son
did. He sat down next to me.
"Dad." He sighed in a low voice full of wonder.
"Jack," I replied. "Big Boy?" We were silent for a long time. We sat
side by side, staring at our shoes. Then Jack asked:
"What happens next, Dad?"
"Good Lord! I have no idea. This is really embarrassing, isn't it? I
didn't know you were… you... or I mean..."
"Neither did I, Dad. Why did this happen? Are you... ?"
"Gay? No… I don’t know. I've never done this before, but
you were smart and willing and you turned me on. Don't be embarrassed; I
don't blame you for anything; we're both equally guilty here. Aren’t we?"
"I guess so." My son sighed. We sat again for a long time without
saying a word.
"Would you have been...? I mean... like you wrote... ready for
older...?" I asked.
"I probably would. I don't know. Maybe. And you?"
"I guess I was, too; I guess I can't deny it. It all feels completely
crazy now."
"If I was the person you were waiting for, what do you think would have
happened with him and you?" Jack asked.
"I don't know. If the situation had been natural and not weird like
this, I probably would have wanted just what I wrote about." I replied.
"Me too." Jack leaned forward and spun his right running shoe in the
sand, drawing the eight on it over and over again. I looked at him and
noticed that when the worst fear had
passed, he looked disappointed and depressed. I put my hand on his back and
stroked it to comfort him.
He was wearing a purple t-shirt and baggy Nike sweatpants and the hem of
the shirt was on top of them, and when he bent over, it came up so high that
his lower back was bare.
I looked at him and wondered what I was missing when the situation got like
this.
First I patted his shoulder. Then I stroked his back. It felt oppressive
to be in such a situation. I meant, to comfort my kid because he didn't get
what he wanted, even though I was ashamed. But I moved my hand down. I felt
an irresistible urge to touch his skin. I pressed my hand against his bare
lower back and made a slow rotating motion on it.
His skin felt soft and I could feel the joints in his spine against my
fingers. I encouraged myself and lifted my hand higher up under his shirt.
The hem of the shirt was against my elbow and I squeezed his shoulder. He
leaned against me. I moved my hand lower. Now that he was leaning against
me, I reached out to touch more of his body. I moved my hand
first to his side and from there slowly to his stomach.
I stroked his warm and soft belly and moved higher. I squeezed his chest.
I looked around, but no one was paying
attention to us; I kissed his short hair. I was knew Jack had wished his
father had taken more interest in him. Now I tried to show him that I really
was.
Jack lowered his hand to my thigh and then moved it a little higher. My
cock was rock hard against my pant leg when he touched it through the cloth.
He squeezed it.
"Are you thinking the same thing I am?" I asked.
"Yes, Dad. Or I hope so."
"I was wondering, is your sister home?"
"She went to town with her friends."
"Mom isn't there either. Wanna go home?"
"Yes."
TO BE CONTINUED
Read
10638 times |
Rated
83.9 % |
(
56 votes)
Please rate this text: