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father and son”I ran into Guy Leeson at the petrol station the other day, Jake.””Did you, now?” he said with a suggestive smirk. He grabbed the remotecontrol and turned the volume down on the football match we were watchingon TV. My son didn’t usually turn the TV down when I had something to say:if given the choice, he would probably turn it up.”So were the two of you okay around each other?” he asked. “After… youknow… what happened?””We managed not to start groping each other in front of the confectionarystands, if that’s what you mean.”He smiled. “I actually meant if it was uncomfortable for you both… youknow, kind of awkward?””Not at all,” I replied, glancing over at the TV. It was times like theseyou miss the best goals. Seeing very little happening on the pitch, Iturned back to him and explained, “We’re both grown men. I guess we’veboth come to terms with it by now.”Jake kept smiling but raised his eyebrows in a look that made him lookrather older than his eighteen years. A look that said he felt, from myrecent behaviour, that I was still quite a long way from coming to termswith it.He looked back over at the screen himself and then asked, “Did he sayanything about what you’d done to him?””You mean, did he announce to the shop that I’d licked his bum?” I laughed.”No, Jake, he didn’t. He managed to restrain himself.”Jake chuckled and took a swig from his coke.”And anyway,” I went on. “You say it like it was a one-way thing. As amatter of fact, he was a very willing accomplice.Very… er… enthusiastic, actually.”Jake nodded and smirked. “I’m sure he was. I mean, it’s not every daythat someone offers to put their mouth on your pooper.”I took a drink from my own glass of wine. It was a Muscadet: a good dealsharper than I usually like.Then I said, “It wasn’t something that I offered to do. It just happened,believe it or not.”Jake looked sceptical. In his shoes, I had to admit that I too would findit very difficult to believe.”Anyway,” I went on. “He suggested we go and see another match together.The four of us. Sometime in the New Year.””Sounds cool,” he nodded.Then, after a few seconds had ticked by to give him time to digest theidea, he asked, “So… I’m guessing I’ll be sharing with Simon again?”I smiled. “That’d suit you, wouldn’t it?”He chuckled. “Yeah, of course. As long as it’d suit you guys…?”I chuckled back. “I’d prefer it that way. Obviously. But if you’d ratherbunk up with me and leave Simon with his dad, that’d be okay too.”Jake shrugged. “It’d more fun for me to share with Simon like last time.And, well… let’s face it… it’d be more fun for you pair too. So Iguess it makes sense.”I smiled across at him. “More fun for different reasons, of course.”Jake grinned at me. “Ooh I dunno, dad. Simon’s got a really nicebum… really tasty!”I threw him a look of disapproval. “Don’t say that.”He chuckled. “Come on, dad. I’m only messing. There’s no way I couldever do that. Not to Simon or anyone else.””That’s not the issue,” I said. “I don’t mind how you want to expressyourself. I just don’t like you making jokes about something that Ienjoy… making it sound cheap and crude.”He nodded, still smiling. “Okay. Point taken.”He reached for the remote control and pointed it at the TV. But then, withhis thumb poised over the volume button, he asked, “Do you think, when westay over somewhere, you guys will… well…?”I just stared at him, curious to hear what he was thinking of.”I mean if you both get drunk enough,” he went on. “Will youactually… you know… do the deed?””Do the deed?”He giggled. “You know what I mean! Don’t make me say it!”I smiled. “Do what deed, Jake? I don’t know what you mean!””Come on, dad!” he laughed. “You must have thought about it. You know,whether you’ll… well…”I threw him a look of innocent puzzlement. “Play cards together? WatchTV?”He chuckled. “You know exactly what I mean! And you must have thoughtabout whether you would. And, you know, which way round you’d want to doit…”I held my smile but he could see from my hardness of my eyes that I wasn’tgoing to rise to this line of questioning.He shrugged and said, “Maybe we should watch the rest of the match?””Good idea, Jake.”Throwing me a half-apologetic smirk, he turned up volume on the TV and wefound that we had, indeed, missed a very good goal.===If Jake had called my bluff and had said that he would indeed prefer toshare a room with me, I’d have gone along with it and booked the two of usinto a twin room. I wouldn’t have wanted him to think I was desperate tohook up with Guy (although I was almost skittishly excited about theprospect) and I’d have hoped that, once we checked into the hotel, Guymight have been more persuasive about his preferred sleeping arrangementsthan I was prepared to be.Jake and I had shared a room together countless times; not only when we’dgone off at weekends to watch various sports fixtures, but also on the rareoccasions when we’d managed to escape somewhere sunny together to take aholiday.My main problem with sharing with Jake – just as it is with anyone Ishare a room with – is trying to conceal the incessant demands which myerrant biology places upon me. These range from the tricky issue of how toconceal the obscenely obvious tenting of my pyjama bottoms most mornings,to the far more embarrassing problem of my almost unremitting need forregular sexual release.When Jake had been young, I’d managed to kill both birds with one stone bywaking early when he was still sleeping and then quietly attending to myarousal in my bed alongside his. I spent many a first light in this mostinelegant of states: trying to silently manipulate myself under the canopyof my duvet, grasping my balls to stop them slapping against my thighs andpeering over at my son to make sure he was still sleeping. By the timehe’d awoken, I’d usually managed to flush the evidence of my misconductdown the toilet and the front of my pyjamas were presentable save, perhaps,for the odd dribble of stray stickiness around the fly.But as Jake had grown older, he’d become less of a sound sleeper. Onemorning, as my bed gently shook and I discharged squirt after squirt of myseed into a waiting tissue, I’d realised that he was awake and staring atme. Even as my erection was still disgorging itself beneath my bedding,Jake had asked sleepily what I was doing.”Just scratching,” I’d gasped, staring wide-eyed at him as my hand pumpedup and down my manhood, coaxing the last few gobs of semen from its gapingslit. “Nearly got it… yeah… that’s it…”He’d stared at me more quizzically as I’d lain there panting, my bed nowsteady and my balls mercifully emptied.”What’s that smell?” he’d asked.”What smell?” I’d quickly replied, recovering my breath.”I dunno,” he’d muttered. “A weird smell. Not very nice. I’ve neversmelt it before.”It’s the smell of the stuff that produced you, I’d thought as I’d slylydabbed at a stray dribble oozing from my softening cock.”It’s just a smell men sometimes produce, Jake,” I’d offered, tentatively.”Oh right,” he’d said. “Was that what the scratching was about?”I’d considered my answer and then settled kaçak iddaa for a cop out. “Kind of.”At some point I’d tell him what he needed to know, but not just yet. Fornow, I would just have to make do with conducting my morning ablutionsbehind the closed door of the bathroom.However, even concealing my erection from my son in the confines of ashared room could sometimes prove problematic. If he was awake when Iarose and staggered towards the bathroom, he’d roar with laughter at thefront of my pyjamas, sticking outwards so comically from the prominence ofmy over-generous hard-on.The first time this happened, I’d tried to be mature about it and hadwalked over to Jake’s bed to show him, behind the material of my pyjamas ofcourse, that erections are a normal part of bei
ng a man. I’d explainedthat when men sleep their penises often become aroused and this made themgrow hard and stand upwards. Jake hadn’t really listened to me but insteadhad stared intently at the curious third leg his father had developed,marvelling at how flagrantly the thin cotton of my pyjama bottoms was beingheld upwards by a part of the body which must have always seemed soinconsequential on himself.He asked me to turn to the side, which I did, and I smiled at him staringat the size of the tent I was making, entranced by how far outwards themysterious organ I was concealing was making my stripy pyjama trousersprotrude. I’d felt acutely embarrassed to be parading for my son howwell-endowed my morning hard-on is, but I thought it best that he couldappreciate that this was a natural state for a man to be in and for him tosee, on his dad, one of the surprises that his own male body would one daypresent.”Whoa!” he’d gasped, stifling his laughter. “That is, like, mega!” AndI’d been pleased that he was far more relaxed about sexual matters than Ihad been at his age.As I was telling him that he too would start to develop erections in time,and that his would probably grow to be just as large as mine, he’dsurprised me by reaching forwards and grabbing at my organ through mypyjamas. He pulled it downwards and let it spring back up, calling out”Ba-doing!” and giggling wildly at how funny it looked. He did it again –more roughly and yanking it further down – before I could pull back, andthen had collapsed on his bed, overcome with hilarity.Stunned, I put my hands over the front of my pyjamas and waited for him toregain his composure. I didn’t want to tell him off for what he’d done –to make him think in any way that he’d touched a ‘bad place’ – but hehad to understand that it was not appropriate.When he’d calmed down, I said, “Jake, you mustn’t touch me down there.That’s a very private place.”Apart from anything else, with the excited state I was in, just a couplemore ‘ba-doings’ could very easily have caused something very embarrassingto happen. I didn’t want to have to explain to my son why the front of mypyjamas had suddenly started seeping with glutinous white liquid.Although he was still smirking, I could tell that my more serious tone hadsobered him up enough for my message to get through.”I was only joking… it was funny,” he protested.”I know. And I’m not having a go. You just shouldn’t touch it like youdid.””Why?”I didn’t want to resort to, ‘You’ll understand when you’re older,’ but atthe same time I didn’t want to get into some long discussion. I wasworried that I could end up burying the idea in his subconscious that itwas wrong to touch all guys’ penises – after all he might turn out gayand having that in his head would really mess things up for him. But Iwanted him to know that what he’d just done was not acceptable.At length, I settled for, “I’m your dad, Jake. You shouldn’t touch methere. In a few years’ time, when your pyjama bottoms start doing the samething, it’d be just as wrong for me to grab at your erection.”He shrugged. “I won’t mind… you can ‘ba-doing’ me if you want to!”I smiled, retreating to the bathroom. “Thanks for the offer, Jake. But Ithink it’ll best if we both keep our hands to ourselves.”From then on, I tried my hardest to sneak around unobserved when I awoke tofind myself aroused – which was most mornings – but occasionally agale of guffaws from Jake’s side of the room would let me know that I hadnot been successful.After Jake had reached an age where his own pyjama bottoms were starting totent outwards in the mornings – a state which became overtly conspicuouswith dramatic rapidity – he began finding my own indiscretions far lessamusing. I’d spent many years telling him not to be ashamed of his bodyand that puberty was something to be welcomed rather than condemned, and sohe wasn’t particularly embarrassed to get out of bed with his organ at fullmast.Nevertheless I felt perhaps Jake was reaching an age where he needed moreprivacy and so I suggested to him that we might in future stay in separaterooms when we went away together. Jake surprised me, however, by speakingout – quite strongly – against this as he enjoyed the fun of stayingover together and said it would be boring to stay in a room on his own. Idecided, then, that it would be a shame to spoil his weekends away for thesake of my own probably overly-prudent sensitivities.So we continued sharing rooms when we went away, the two of us clamberingout of bed each morning and smirking over at each other at the state sleephad put us both in, as the front of Jake’s pyjama bottoms became asstretched as mine were by the nightly punishments his newly awakenedanatomy was inflicting upon them.What happened next was, in retrospect, inevitable. So inevitable that Ishould really have foreseen its arrival and yet, basked in blissfuloblivion, I sailed right into it unawares.We’d had a talk at home some time back about what Jake could do to try andbecalm a spate of nocturnal accidents which had stretched to breaking pointmy ability to keep up with the laundering of his pyjama bottoms. I’doffered him some advice about what he could do in bed last thing at nightto help his nightwear last more than a single sleep, and almost immediatelyafterwards the issue had quickly dissipated.Jake presumably discovered, when his wet dreams had started, the paternalsource of the “smell men sometimes produce”, as I had referred to it thatearly morning. Once he had taken up the hobby I had suggested for him, hemust have also quickly realised what I had just done to myself in the hotelroom to elicit such a recognisable odour.Another boy might have been shocked to learn, after the event, that hisfather had masturbated in the bed next to him while he’d been sleeping andthat I’d just brought myself to climax at the moment he had awoken. Jake,though, with his typical matter-of-fact outlook on life, saw it simply asan opportunity to follow my lead.I first realised we had a problem when I was awoken early one morning in aPremier Inn near Villa Park by a gentle rhythmic thudding coming fromwithin the room. I’d blearily assumed the noise to be the sound of thepipework heating up and had groped at myself through my pyjama fly, findingmy organ throbbing with its usual early morning tipobet güvenilir mi demands and my balls heavyand expectant for release. I’d pulled my erection out through my pyjamafly and had started fondling it when, glancing over from habit to checkJake was still asleep before taking up my own rhythm, I’d suddenly realisedthat the beating noise which had awoken me wasn’t coming from the plumbing.It’s not every day one sees one’s teenaged son masturbating, and the imageof Jake lying in the bed next to me enrapt in his own self-gratification isnot one I like to dwell on. Nevertheless, I found myself enthralled towatch him pleasuring himself; my rapt curiosity at observing him in such astate tempered, but far from overcome, by my feelings of self-reproach.He’d kept his duvet over him and had bent his knees upwards to try andconceal what he was doing, but the nature of his activity was blatantlyobvious, especially to one as practised as I was to trying to hide theself-same recreation from others’ prying eyes.His bed was gently rocking back and forth and his elbow was making arhythmic thudding noise against his mattress, but Jake seemed blissfullyunaware that his solitary pleasures were being so conspicuously announced.He was totally absorbed by the sensations of his hand sweeping up and downhis penis; his eyes were tightly closed and his mouth slightly open, hislips forming a half-smile. His breathing was quickening and the rhythm ofhis wrist, as betrayed by the thumping of his elbow, was also growingsteadily faster. A film of sweat was breaking out on his brow and hismouth opened a little, exhaling, as his hand worked his organ, a quiet”Aah!”His free hand, I realised, was probably on his balls: he was likely
gropingthem, or at least holding them steady, just like I do when I masturbate. Iwondered what else he might like doing at such moments: would he sometimeshold off from climaxing, repeatedly bringing himself close and then easingoff; or would he push his face beneath his bedding to appreciate the strongsexual odour from his genitals? I enjoy doing both of those during momentsof self-stimulation and it fascinated me that my son might, through someintricate genetic connection, have exactly the same predilection.I was still achingly hard, my throbbing manhood poking through my pyjamafly, and I became aware that I was gently squeezing myself as I watched myson’s rhythm on his own equivalent gradually increase. I momentarilyconsidered joining him – the two of us masturbating together as if insome weird father-son ritual – but I quickly disregarded the notion onthe grounds it would throw up too many difficulties afterwards.He was, by now, gently panting; the beating of his elbow now acceleratingquickly as he pushed himself towards his climax. I could tell that hiserection would have swollen to its full aroused size and I found myselfwondering how thick and how long it would be. Would it be as large as minehad been at his age, or could some random combination of providential genesfrom his mother and me have made him even more well-endowed?He seemed very adept at what he was doing: perhaps all boys are oncethey’ve taken up the habit. How long had he been masturbating? How longhad it been since we’d had that talk? Months? Years?A distinct click-click-click sound started up and I realised it was comingfrom Jake’s foreskin being frantically jerked back and forth across hisdistended cock-head. Evidently, his erection remained on the dry sideduring sex, just like mine, and didn’t produce a copious ooze of lubricantas I knew some men did.Abruptly he straightened his legs in his bed and opened them wide, his feetsplayed apart at either side of the mattress. Now unsupported by hisknees, his duvet settled down onto his groin and his hand thudded loudlyagainst it, each beat of it hammering on its underside like a drum and thepace of it still increasing. I could see from his face – from the wayhe kept puckering his lips and licking them with his tongue – that hewas too far gone to care. Evidently he was on the home straight, obliviousthat he was bringing his dad along for the ride.If I’d been going to let him know I was awake, the time to have done so hadnow passed. I knew I was now committed to watching my son experience anorgasm in his bed just feet away from me; committed to seeing Jake – mylittle Jakey who I’d brought up almost single-handedly – masturbate hispenis to climax. And beneath my own duvet, for some reason, I was gentlysqueezing the shaft of my erection and circling its throbbing head with mythumb.Thumping loudly against his duvet, Jake’s rhythm was becoming impossiblyrapid: like a steam train’s engine hammering faster and faster as it spedinto open country. Did I really wank myself this quickly? On my son itsounded hyperactive, almost painful; his fist must be literally slamming upand down his shaft like an over-charged piston.His neck arched back against his pillow, his face thrown backwards towardsthe headboard with his eyes squinting tightly shut and his forehead wetwith sweat. His mouth gaped wide and his elbow was somehow able to speedup even faster as it pounded mechanically against the mattress.”Aah!” he gasped again, through rapid breaths. “Aah!”And then his head fell forwards, his chin brought down almost onto his neckby the power of his orgasm.His rhythm slowed, but didn’t stop: his hand continued to milk his shaftand prologue the thrill of his climax as long as he could to maximise hisrelease. Like me, perhaps like all men, he luxuriated in his self-inducedorgasm, coaxing every last twinge of pleasure from his squirting organ bymaintaining his rhythm for as long as he could sustain it.When he did, eventually, stop, and was lying there with the sweat runningin dribbles down his forehead, gradually recovering his breath, I was facedwith the dilemma of what to do. Should I pretend to have slept through myson’s masturbatory enjoyment, or should I come clean (as it were) and lethim know that I had witnessed it?As I lay wondering, the smell of his discharge hit me abruptly. Hisseminal odour was strong – probably even sharper than my own – andthickly laced with the acrid smack of his adolescent testosterone.I decided I’d better speak up. I didn’t want to have to endure repeatperformances every time we shared a room.”Couldn’t you have done that in the bathroom, Jake?” I’d asked, my voicesounding harsh in the post-orgasm silence of the room.His head swung round to face me, his eyes horrified. “I… er…””It’s okay… it’s just not really appropriate in a shared room.”For a few seconds he’d stared at me, aghast. When he’d recovered hisbearings he snapped, defensively, “You do it sometimes!””What?””Yeah. All that stuff about scratching yourself… and then the same smellafterwards. It’s just the same as me doing it.”I sat up and faced him, keeping my own erection out of sight beneath mycovers.”Fair enough – so I won’t do it either. I just did it when you were tooyoung to know about stuff like that and when I thought you were asleep.””Yeah, well I thought you were tipobet giriş still asleep,” he countered. His voice washoarse from his just waking up. “How was I supposed to know you wereperving on me?”I smiled. “I wasn’t. I just… well… you were making a bit of noise.It woke me up.””You should have said something. Made me stop.”I nodded. “Well, maybe I should have. But… you know…” (how could Iadmit that I’d found it deeply captivating to watch my own son masturbatingwithout confirming to him that I’d been ‘perving’ on him, as he’d put it?)”By the time I woke up, you seemed… kind of… into it. It would haveseemed inconsiderate to have interrupted.”He threw me a look. Part-quizzical, part-indignant.”You still should have let me know you were awake,” he insisted. “It’s notsomething I really wanted you to see.”I shrugged. “Fine. So do it in the bathroom in the future, and I willtoo. Okay?”He nodded and then threw me a small smile. Looking down beneath his sheetshe said, “D’you wanna pass me some tissue? Quite a lot, actually.”I smiled back and then got out of my bed on the far side so that my backwas turned towards him. I didn’t want to add to his discomfort by lettinghim see how tented the front of my pyjamas were. It might freak him out;make him think that watching him pleasuring himself had aroused me. I had,of course, awoken with an erection. The sight of Jake in the throes of hisown self-indulgence hadn’t contributed to it at all. Had it?Stumbling into the bathroom, I called out, “It’s good practice to have someat the ready. It’s a habit you get into.””You mean, I’m going to be doing this for years? Until I’m old? Like yourage, even?”I smiled, obscuring the front of my pyjamas with the bathroom door.Throwing him a thick wad of tissue I replied, “Even older than that Jake,in all probability.”I closed the door to give him the privacy to clean himself up and switchedon the shower to conceal the noise of what I was desperate to do to my ownstraining organ. Attending to myself over the toilet bowl, I feltcompelled to try and match Jake’s speed; jerking my shaft with the sameimpatient rhythm that he had employed on himself. Being unfamiliar withthe technique, my wrist made frantic clapping sounds against my thigh whichsounded loud and blatantly masturbatory even over the noise of the shower.I thought it likely that Jake would be able to hear his father behind thebathroom door following in his footsteps (or should that be handslaps) butI was too titillated by adopting the same masturbatory rhythm on my cock asJake had on his to be able to curb my enthusiasm. Nevertheless, after I’dfinished off and the copious outpouring of my seed was flushed away, thesoren
ess of my foreskin and the ache in my forearm dictated that I’dprobably leave such adolescent excesses to him in future.From then on, Jake and I kept our sexual habits largely private when we hadto share together, save for occasionally getting unintended eyefuls of eachother’s morning glories inside our pyjamas (or in Jake’s case hisunderwear, once he’d grown out of wearing pyjamas for bed) when we happenedto wake up together. Our masturbatory needs were consigned to thebathroom; while we never spoke again of what we both needed to do, we wereboth fully aware that we were doing it. In my case, such necessaryactivities were always disguised behind the sound of running water; mysense of modesty being significantly greater than my concern for theenvironment. Jake showed no such qualms and got on with what he needed todo without any concern that his father might overhear. The fact there wasonly a wooden door between the two of us to absorb the sounds of his earlymorning duties seemed largely immaterial to my son: he’d attend to hisministrations with the same abandon as he’d show when using the toilet, anda for a good few minutes I’d have to pretend I couldn’t hear the unseemlyand sometimes bewildering commotion of noises he would happily make inthere.===Just before bed, while I was brushing my teeth and Jake was taking a pee,he asked me when we would be going away to watch another match.”I don’t know,” I admitted, through a mouthful of foam. Then, afterspitting into the sink and rinsing my mouth, I added, “I don’t think Guyhad a specific match in mind. He just said sometime in the New Year.””You’ll want to go sooner rather than later though,” he suggested with agrin.”I don’t really mind when we go, Jake. Obviously you’re quite keen,though.”He shook himself and tucked himself away. “Only for your sake. It mighthelp you decide that maybe this isn’t for you after all.””What isn’t for me?” I asked in surprise, walking over to the towel rail todry my mouth.He reached for his toothbrush. “This whole ‘butt monkey’ thing. Doingstuff with other guys.”I smiled towards him through the mirror. He was putting toothpaste ontohis brush.”Do you think it’s a phase I’m going through?”He glanced over at me and smiled back. “Maybe.”He put the brush in his mouth and switched it on.”Jake, I’m not thirteen,” I said. “I think my days of going throughpubescent phases are long over.”He switched off his brush and spat a mouthful of foam into the sink. “Idon’t mean like that,” he said. “I just mean maybe it’s some kind of weirdobsession you’ve developed… after looking at all that stuff on theinternet. Maybe when you’re faced with the reality of… well… beingsexual with another guy… going the whole way with him… lettinghim… you know… well, maybe then you’ll realise that it isn’t for you.”His speech complete, he reinserted his brush and got on cleaning his teeth.I was taken aback that he would think like this. Admittedly, andthankfully, he didn’t know the vast majority of what I’d done with othermen during the past few months, but I was still surprised that he mightregard me as immature enough to need to ‘go the whole way’ with another guyto know whether interested in him sexually.I put the towel back on the rail.”Well, I guess I’ll soon find out,” I remarked. “It’s the office Christmasparty on Friday night.”He looked over at me and I saw his memory cogs turn a few times before hiseyes widened slightly when the penny eventually dropped. After spittinginto the sink again, he said, “I’d forgotten about that. I’m staying overat mum’s, aren’t I?””You are indeed.”He smiled at me and said, “Maybe that’ll be night that you figure outwhether all this is for you. Maybe that’ll be the night that thingswill… well…””Slot into place?”He guffawed. “Well if anything does, one way or the other, that’ll kind ofsettle it for you!”I chuckled back at him.Then I asked, more seriously, “Does all this bother you, Jake? That I’mgetting interested in other guys…”He rinsed his mouth and spat again. “No, not at all. As long as it’sright for you. That’s my only worry.”I patted him on the shoulder. “Well, don’t worry. You’ve enough to thinkabout with your exams approaching and university next year. All this stuffwith me… well… it’ll sort itself out one way or another.”He nodded and said, for some reason with a thick Yorkshire accent, “Aye,’appen.”I smiled at him again. He was being silly to mask his concern.”Goodnight, Jake.””‘Night, dad.”I left him to scrutinise his skin in the mirror and dab antiseptic lotiononto the spots he imagined he had, and crossed the landing to go to bed.===Next story: All Part of the Service===
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00353 515 73 20