Like Father Like Son
by Robert Furlong
The first time I felt like I might be developing feelings for another man was the night when we’d gone out for a meal, and Marcus – my son’s friend from university – made a joke that it was like I was Guy’s boyfriend.
We’d all laughed at the absurdity of the suggestion – after all, Guy and I are both divorced men, both outwardly straight for all intents and purposes – but I felt the twinge of a new and unfamiliar emotion – an odd combination of pride and excitement, perhaps – which made me wonder if, maybe, I would like there to be some truth in the observation.
Marcus had no doubt made the comment because of the way Guy and I were teasing each other over dinner. I’d thought we were simply expressing the sort of typical, blokeish banter that men often indulge in to the amusement of others. But perhaps there was more to it than that: perhaps we had an over-familiarity with one another that betrayed a more meaningful connection between us; perhaps, right there in front of my son and his friend, we were making it obvious that there was a much deeper intimacy between us beneath the playful sparring we were enjoying together.
Or more likely it was just because Guy, much to my embarrassment, would occasionally call me “Big Boy” and throw a salacious glance at my crotch beneath the table.
Marcus had, thankfully, been oblivious to the reaction his playful “boyfriend” comment had elicited in me. We’d continued chatting and joking together over the meal but I’d been careful to keep whatever embryonic affections I might be feeling for Guy more discreetly to myself.
In other respects, Marcus had turned out to be a delightfully charming young man: a humorous but at times thoughtful friend for my son and a welcome guest to have in my home. He was both confident and well-spoken, and exuded an easy-going manner that made him almost impossible not to like. Apart from anything else, he was very pleasant to look at, being tall – similar in height to my son, Jake, as it happened – and athletic, with lovely mop of curly blond hair and a handsome smile that might melt even my ex-wife’s frigid heart.
He’d arrived the day earlier after a dreadful train journey which had involved delays and cancellations at almost every stop. He’d disappeared off to bed just after ten, leaving Jake and me to chat together for an hour so downstairs.
“He seems like a nice lad,” I’d said to Jake, although I’d hardly had chance to talk to Marcus as he’d been so tired by the time he pitched up.
“He is a nice lad,” Jake had agreed, sprawled across the armchair opposite, sipping from a can of beer rather than the coke he’d been more accustomed to before he’d left for university.
“How does your… er… girlfriend, Ellie, feel about Marcus coming to stay?” I’d asked, deliberately emphasising the word ‘girlfriend’ but maintaining an expression which was as innocent as I could muster.
Jake had chuckled and thrown me a knowing grin, understanding full well the concealed meaning behind my question.
“She’s fine with it,” he’d said. “Why wouldn’t she be?”
I’d shrugged, but we both knew what the score was. The two lads, after all, were sharing Jake’s cramped, single bed; the two of them were, by my son’s own admission, “slightly more than just good mates”.
Nothing much else had happened that first night: Jake had gone up to bed and presumably snuggled up alongside his friend, but Marcus had no doubt been too tired for anything further to have developed between them.
If things had gone on after lights-out in Jake’s room, I would undoubtedly have been aware of it, as both our bedroom doors had been left slightly ajar. My son had suggested some time ago that we should both leave our bedrooms open at night, on the excuse that he’d been awoken by our cat scratching at one or other of our doors. He had really made the suggestion, I’m sure, because he wanted to get a better look at what I got up to with Guy, Bradley or any of my other male friends when I had them to stay over. But now that the shoe was on the other foot, and it was he who had a male companion joining him in his bed, I’d been pleased to notice after brushing my teeth that he was following the same rule that he himself had requested and had left his own bedroom door ajar.
We’d all got up early the following morning to drive over to Buxton to visit a Neolithic stone circle which Marcus had wanted to see while he was in our area. He was studying archaeology at the university and had spent a considerable time taking measurements of the way the stones were positioned. Jake and I, meanwhile, sat and drank endless cups of tea in the nearby cafe, having grown bored of trying to think up things to say about the large, grey boulders after about three minutes.
Then, after spending the afternoon shopping in Sheffield, we’d picked up Guy from his house and had driven out to the Harvester in Braunstone where I’d had the foresight to book a table for the four of us.
And that’s where the joke had been made that had prompted such an unexpected reaction in me.
I knew Marcus didn’t have even the slightest inkling that there was more to my friendship with Guy than one might expect from a couple of ostensibly straight mates in their early forties. After all, if he had, he was far too polite to have made such an obviously controversial remark.
In any case, Jake had told me while we’d been alone in the cafe at the stone circle that he hadn’t told Marcus about the sexual versatility I’d been embracing for the past year or so.
“Why would I have even mentioned it?” he’d said when I’d asked him about it point-blank.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I just thought with you guys being… you know… rather versatile yourselves.”
“He just knows you’ve got a… er… girlfriend,” Jake grinned, placing his own sarcastic emphasis on the same word that I had the previous evening.
“Okay… but what if I invite a bloke to stay over with me while he’s visiting?” I’d asked. “And what if… you know… things happen between the two of us after lights-out?”
“Then, I guess, he’ll realise quite quickly that I’m not the only one in the family who’s heteroflexible.”
I’d chuckled at that: was that what the two of them were calling it?
Now, after we’d got home from the restaurant and I was lying alone in bed, I pondered again on Marcus’ joke, not so much interested in what prompted it but rather my curious emotional reaction towards it.
It was one thing to play the field with other men from time to time, but did I really want to think of myself as being another bloke’s ‘boyfriend’?
Just the thought of the question made shivers course down my spine, startling me and making me wonder again whether my attachment to Guy – a purely physical and sexual arrangement, or so I had previously thought – was in reality nurturing something more significant.
Was it possible that somewhere, deep my subconscious, I might actually want to be Guy’s boyfriend?
Again, that strange ripple of nervous excitement at the mere posing of the question.
I remembered how funny Jake had found Marcus’ comment – Guy had too, of course – and how he and his friend had laughed too loudly and for too long at the suggestion that I might be in a loving and committed relationship with another man.
Which was ironic, really, given that it was the two of them right now who were in the throes of passion in the room next door to mine.
I could hear quite distinctly sounds of sex from Jake’s bedroom: now that Marcus had recovered from his train journey, the two of them seemed to be making up for lost time with gusto. Both of our bedroom doors were open, as per Jake’s suggestion (although ‘insistence’ might be a more a more apt description), allowing the rhythmic noises from my son and his athletic friend to permeate through to me with surprising clarity.
And these weren’t the sounds of two lads having a quiet wank together before turning over to sleep back-to-back. The two of them were quite clearly enjoying something altogether more involved: I could hear panting and grunting; the sounds of flesh against flesh.
Not that I wanted to listen in on what the two of them were getting up to, of course. But the open door policy made any attempt for me to try and ignore their private sounds of male intimacy near impossible.
I was fairly sure, from the slapping noises I could hear them making against each other and the beating of the headboard on the wall which separated our rooms, that the two of them were indulging in a fairly heavy-duty bout of anal sex. I was surprised that they had wasted no time in getting down to the nitty-gritty together: there was to be no tender foreplay or the appreciation of a nice, cosy snuggle from Jake – he’d gone in straight for the grand slam, irrespective of his old dad having to listen to him in the room next door.
Once I’d realised the extent of the sex I was listening to, it felt odd to hear my son – my little Jakey who I’d brought up single-handedly from being a kid – so brazenly enjoying homosexual intercourse with a friend as I lay in my bed in the room next door. I was listening to him engaging in buggery: an act which I had by now enjoyed countless times myself but which seemed a little precocious for my teenage son.
I wasn’t in any way disgusted by what he was doing – after all, I was an ardent fan of the pleasures to be had from such intimate male company myself. It just felt strange to hear my son – a boy who had once seemed so innocent and had been wary of anything which might be perceived as ‘gay’ – enjoying what sounded like quite a heated and passionate sexual encounter with a member of his own gender.
Perhaps I would have felt similarly disquieted if I’d heard him enjoying the company of his girlfriend Ellie so noisily in the room next to mine: I don’t know.
I took a couple of sniffs of the air as their rhythm grew steadily faster and their noises more intense. Yes, they were definitely enjoying a butt-fuck together – even though faint, I could easily recognise the distinctly anal whiff of a cock drilling in and out of another male’s backside. I was more than familiar with that unique scent and its murky origins, having paused to appreciate it on many, many occasions during my own similarly odorous encounters.
I felt my own manhood stirring among the folds of my pyjamas, perhaps keen to experience for itself the activity its owner could smell. I gently kneaded it through the fabric: there was nothing similar on offer for it tonight, unfortunately.
I took another sniff, this time more deeply and allowed myself to savour the pungent, musky whiff that was wafting into my room from along the corridor. I had to smile to myself: it was as clear as day! My son might as well have announced to me at bedtime that he and his friend were going to end their evening with an impassioned bout of boy-on-boy buggery for all the subtlety he was employing.
I wondered if other dads whose sons had brought their university friends home for the holidays would recognise from that smell what the two young men were up to together; or whether, like me, one had to be a fellow enthusiast to appreciate why such a distinctive bouquet would accompany late-night rhythms from the shared bedroom.
I lay back, listening as the sounds the two of them were making together became steadily faster, squeezing my hardening organ as it responded to the proximity of the activity it had enjoyed so many times itself.
I was wishing, now, that I’d invited Guy back from the restaurant with us to stay over with me. At least then I would have been able to join in with the fun my son was clearly having and to have contributed my own panting and gasping sounds to those that he was making. We could have competed with one another, as father and son, as to whose exertions could produce the most vigorous tempo, and tried to outdo each other with the intensity of the crude, anal odour that was wafting from our rooms.
However, this being only the second night of Marcus staying with us, I’d taken, perhaps, an overly cautious approach and hadn’t wanted to make him feel uncomfortable by brandishing my sexual dexterity too flagrantly. Working against the demands of my sex drive, therefore, I’d suggested to Guy that we part company after our meal instead of him coming back to my place as was more usual when we’d spent an evening together.
So now I was lying here, bored and alone, while my son was making no bones about the fact that he did not share my sense of polite restraint. It seemed that the friend he had brought to stay with him was being treated almost like a trophy: their sexual energetics being broadcast to the whole quiet house; a way, perhaps, for Jake, to let me know – as if such a message were needed – that he, like me, could very physically enjoy the company of some of the other males in his acquaintance.
As it was becoming obvious that sleep was going to be impossible while the two of them were so boisterously enjoying the end of their evening, I got out of bed and padded quietly over to my open bedroom door to crane an ear around it and better listen to the noises of their clearly purposeful coupling.
My cock was half-erect and making my pyjama leg rise upwards from my thigh. Was I really enjoying the sounds of my son revelling so unashamedly in his moment of homosexual passion with his friend? Was I really growing aroused by the intensifying odour being produced by the illicit union between cock and arse?
I’d never deliberately listened in on the sounds of Jake masturbating from along the hallway, a gentle percussion which had followed bedtime – as one might expect with a teenaged son – on many, many occasions. I would never have pried on him when he was enjoying such private ministrations in his room and had always tried to ignore the tell-tale complaints from his long-suffering mattress. But now, as I suspected I was the intended recipient of Jake’s overt display of virility, it didn’t seem so wrong for me to purposefully eavesdrop on his sexual escapades.
I decided, after standing at my bedroom door for a minute or so and trying to interpret the rhythmic, pounding sounds from my son’s room, that Marcus was probably the one who was in the receiving position. For one thing, Jake’s breathing sounded more laboured and he was more vocal in his appreciation of what his friend was allowing him to do, but I also felt that Marcus’ contributions had a muffled quality about them, as if his face was directed downwards into a pillow.
I was listening to my nineteen-year-old son ending his evening by butt-fucking another young lad! While that knowledge still made me feel a little peculiar, it didn’t affect me as much as I thought it would.
Then I heard Jake whisper, distinctly, through the rhythm of all the other sounds that were spilling from the room, “God! Your arse is so fucking tight, mate!”
Yes, my son was buggering his university friend. Of that I was quite sure.
For some reason I now felt more surprise at the thought of gently-refined Marcus – the sort of wholesome boy-next-door type you’d love your daughter to bring home – bending over to have another lad fuck him up the bum. It was this charismatic and rather dapper young man that I could smell, betraying to the whole upper floor of the house, it seemed, that it was being eagerly penetrated by my son.
Marcus would be horrified, I was sure, if he knew that such a frank and unambiguous anal fug was betraying his sexual indiscretions so explicitly. He was such a courteous young man, and yet here he was filling half the house he was a guest in with the crude evidence that his backside was being remorselessly stoked by his friend’s large erection.
Unlike Jake, who was clearly out to engage my attention and would regard whatever smells they were producing as an additional means in achieving that, Marcus would probably be unaware of how pervasive such indelicate odours can be. The poor lad would no doubt blush a deep crimson if he realised that the particular variant of sex he thought he was so discreetly enjoying was being so unequivocally publicised to all in the vicinity by its cloyingly pungent trademark.
And, yet, here I was standing in my bedroom door sniffing eagerly at it with my prick at half-mast while I craned my neck to hear more clearly what they were doing.
For shame, Mr Furlong, for shame!
I reminded myself that Jake had been in my position countless times over the past year or so: listening to my sexual exploits while in the adjoining room and probably having a few appreciative sniffs of his own once the open door policy had been introduced.
Just last week, after he’d returned home from university, I’d had my friend Bradley over for an evening of football and pizza and Jake had had to listen to us ending the night in similar high spirits to those he was expressing right now with Marcus.
On that occasion, while my cock was driving in and out of Bradley’s enticingly hairy arse as he bent on my bed on all fours to receive me, I had become aware of a figure moving around in the darkened doorway of my bedroom.
“I know you’re there, Jake,” I’d called out, maintaining my pounding rhythm on my young friend’s rump regardless of my son’s sneaky voyeurism.
At first he’d tried to shrink back into the shadows, as if he hadn’t just been watching his father anally pleasuring another man, but I’d called out again, “Come on, there’s no use pretending, Jake.”
Then he’d appeared in the door of my bedroom, grinning at us and appearing cheerfully unconcerned that the loose grey shorts he was wearing for bed were being prominently lifted upwards by the thickened rod of his flagrant hard-on.
“I was just… er… heading downstairs for a drink,” he lied, as I noticed a wet patch on the material of his shorts up near the pocket; a large dark circle at the tip of his hugely excited organ. It was obvious that he’d been rubbing himself as he’d watched us having sex: his precum must have been seeping from his erection as he’d massaged the swollen shaft of it through his shorts.
I was damned if I was going to let my son’s unwelcome appearance spoil the enjoyment I was having with Bradley. Still holding onto his hips and without missing a beat as my crotch slapped back and forth against his arse, I said, “Of course you were, Jake,” who grinned back at us broadly.
I kept up my exertions, wondering what my son would do next, and he just kept smirking at the two of us, the patch of wetness on his shorts growing steadily larger. He seemed especially interested in seeing Bradley as he bent forwards to be fucked, and my friend chuckled back at him with obvious amusement at having an unexpected audience. Jake even peered forwards so he could better see the size of Bradley’s erection bobbing stiffly beneath his stomach as I maintained my constant rhythm in and out of his butt-cheeks.
“So, Jake, if there’s nothing else,” I said, feeling a touch self-conscious to have my son standing in front of me, gawping over as I buggered this younger man’s arse. “I’d appreciate a bit of privacy, please.”
He laughed to himself and licked his lips slowly: he was making it quite evident that he liked the look of Bradley’s large cock.
I wanted to get up and see him out of the room but I was determined that he wasn’t going to put me off: why should I stop what I was doing just because my son wanted to ogle us?
Eventually – after Jake and Bradley had grinned at each other a good deal more; Jake leering pointedly over at Bradley’s bobbing hard-on and Bradley making it abundantly clear that he liked the look of Jake’s inside his shorts – Jake said, “Can I offer either of you anything?”
“Offer us anything?” I asked with a pointed scowl.
“Yeah, to drink, I mean,” Jake clarified, grinning again at Bradley while he rubbed up and down the thickened shaft which was lifting the front of his shorts. The gesture was flamboyantly masturbatory and Bradley chuckled at its unmistakeable intent.
“I mean, I don’t want to interrupt you guys,” Jake went on with continued amusement, “but it seems, dad, while you’re doing what you’re doing, Bradley here might be getting a bit thirsty.”
Bradley laughed more loudly and thrust him bum more forcefully against the hammering of my cock, as if in excitement at what he was being offered.
Jake grabbed the front of his shorts and directed his cock forwards and outwards inside the material, making it abundantly clear – as if clarification was necessary – that he was rampantly excited and hoping to join in with us. The large helmet-shaped head of my son’s erection was thrust upwards against the grey material, looking surprisingly similar in size and shape to that of my own.
“I wouldn’t say no to having a slurp on something,” Bradley confessed, before adding, “that is, if your dad’s okay with it.”
Jake was already yanking his cock out through his fly before I cut in, curtly, “Your dad’s definitely not okay with it, Jake! Put it away!”
“Aw, come on dad!” Jake called out petulantly, holding the about half of what looked like a very large and impressive erection through the button fly of his shorts. His tone reminded me of when he was a little kid and was refused chocolate bars at the supermarket checkout. “He’s only going to have a suck, and it’s not like I’m disturbing what you’re doing!”
He directed the large, wet head of his cock towards Bradley’s face who licked his lips hungrily before turning to peer up at me over his shoulder. “What’s the harm?” he asked.
I finally stopped my rhythm in and out of his cheeks: Jake had won – he had managed to interrupt my enjoyment.
“It’ll just be a quick blowjob,” Bradley persisted, as Jake yanked another few inches of his erection out through his fly. It looked enormous – far bigger than I might have expected – though I knew from experience that Bradley would have little difficulty in taking it into his mouth.
“Not necessarily quick,” Jake cut in with a grin. “And not necessarily just a blowjob,” he added mischievously, turning slightly and yanking his shorts down at the back enough to let Bradley know that the hairy crack of his arse was also available for his tongue to work on.
That only served to make Bradley even more insistent.
“Oh, come on, Rob!” he said, apparently unfazed by the fact we were having this discussion with my cock lodged halfway up his bum. “What harm can there be in me having a quick lick of… er… one or two things? It’s not like you and him are going to do anything with each other!”
“That’s not the point,” I argued, feeling annoyed that Jake had put me in this position. “I don’t want to be having sex while watching you orally pleasure my son, thank you very much!”
“I’m in the room, guys,” Jake reminded us but I was in no mood for his frivolity.
“Put your dick away, Jake, and leave us to it!” I snapped, my voice making it clear this was not up for debate. “I’m not messing about – we don’t want drinks and we don’t want your cheap innuendos. Just go back to bed, please.”
Jake stuffed his erection back into his shorts, muttering to himself like we were back at the supermarket till.
“You always do this,” he complained, and stomped out of the room with an irritated snort. Having never been in the situation of being interrupted by him while I was in the middle of shafting another man’s butt, I wasn’t sure quite what he meant.
He clattered along the hallway and stormed back into his room. I expected his bedroom door to slam shut just like it had so many times in the past, but when it didn’t I realised he was hoping his fun wasn’t quite over yet.
“I’m sorry, mate,” I said to Bradley a few minutes later, as we lay back against the headboard of the bed with our cocks looking as floppy as if we’d climaxed. “I know you were up for it, but I just couldn’t – he’s my son!”
“I know that, Rob, but you’re always saying you’d like a threesome with me and my brother. Having Jake come in with us would be no different from that.”
He was right on one point – I did often suggest that we got together for a session with his brother Garth. The guy supposedly had a cock that was long and flexible enough to work it into his own arsehole. I was even more fascinated to see how the two brothers would express their affection towards one another and was hoping something could be arranged for the three of us relatively soon.
“With Jake it would seem different,” I said, struggling to think of why that was so. “I’ve brought him up from being a baby. When you two guys were joking around about you rimming him, you’ve got to remember that I used to wipe that bum when Jake was in nappies. It’d feel totally wrong for me to have him join in with our sex.”
Bradley nodded. “Okay, I guess I never really thought of that way. So I accept that a threesome is out of the question. But let’s say Jake and I were to get it together on our own. Would you object to that?”
“I don’t know,” I said, thinking the idea through. “I suppose not. As long as you were… you know… careful with him. He’s only nineteen.”
“He’s a big boy, mate,” Bradley laughed, “I think he can look after himself.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” I hit back. “He’s just a kid, really.”
It had taken us quite a while to get back into each other and resume our sex – ironically, given the supposed cause of the interruption, we’d needed a refill on our drinks to get things back on track – but once we were back into the rhythm, a secondary thumping sound from the open door along the hallway let us both know that our exertions were being enjoyed elsewhere.
Now that I was standing behind my bedroom door listening to other people’s noises of sex, largely in the position Jake had found himself in a week earlier, I found myself tempted, just as he had been, to take a walk along the corridor to observe first-hand the activity which was keeping me awake.
I eased myself out through the door, taking care not to allow the hinges to creak even though I was aware that Jake was probably expecting me to follow in his footsteps and appear in the shadows of his bedroom door.
What would I say if I was seen by the two of them? I couldn’t claim, as Jake had, to be en route to getting a drink from the kitchen – his bedroom was at the back of the house and in the opposite direction from the stairs. I couldn’t even say I’d been popping to the toilet as that was closer to my room than it was to Jake’s. I’d just have to use the trusted excuse of hearing noises and being worried that we had intruders at the rear. In some respects that was true.
I crept out into the hallway, the sounds that Jake and Marcus were making becoming clearer and louder. Jake’s bedside lamp was on and a wedge of its light spilled out onto the carpet in front of his room. This was going to be more interesting than I’d hoped: I’d assumed they would be having sex in darkness and that I would see only the indistinct outlines of their bodies writhing and contorting on the bed in the faint glow from Jake’s computer monitor. It seemed, though, I was in for a more explicit performance, as Jake’s bed was directly opposite the door of his room and I would be able to see what they were doing in near full illumination.
I edged cautiously along the corridor between our rooms, the rhythmic sounds from Jake’s bedroom becoming more distinct. The bed was creaking tortuously and the two of them were panting and gasping together.
I smiled at the sound of them. Many other men would have been mortified to have heard their son enjoying a moment of passion with one of his male friends, but I was by now feeling mostly flattered that Jake was – quite deliberately, I was sure – allowing me to witness such an intimate act. And the parts of me that weren’t feeling flattered were, I have to admit, becoming increasingly turned-on. My pyjama bottoms were by now tenting upwards quite obscenely with my gathering excitement.
As I slowly inched my way down the hallway, the smell of their sex grew progressively stronger. It was a wonderfully rich aroma – laced with sweat and testosterone, but buzzing with much heavier essences straight from the hole that was being so noisily plundered. It was even more intoxicating than the scent I enjoyed when I was with a man myself: the youthful vigour of these two fit lads was enriching the far stronger smell of their sex with its own acrid kick.
It reminded me of the times I’d sniffed the back of a man’s underpants after he had worn them for a whole day: earthy and pungent; bitter and effluvious. I assumed the back of Marcus’ underwear packed the same acerbic punch when he pulled them off each evening: how interesting it would be to borrow a couple of discarded pairs from his rucksack and find out what secrets such a well-mannered young man was concealing in the back of his trousers.
As I paused to appreciate the gathering anal musk in the air, Jake seemed to crank up the action of his hips against his friend’s buttocks and the noise from his room grew a good few decibels louder. He was desperate to be heard, of that I was sure, and he was making it as irrefutably clear as he could that the back bedroom of the house was playing host to some serious male-to-male bonding.
The smell from their activities grew, in turn, significantly stronger: whatever Jake was doing to his friend was releasing an especially piquant redolence for their solitary audience to enjoy. Perhaps his cock had started drilling even more deeply up into Marcus’ bowels; or perhaps the two of them were now dripping with sweat, adding a fresh dose of male pheromones to the already potent mix that was assailing my nostrils.
I inhaled deeply, savouring the deliciously carnal bite of the air in the hallway. Surely by now, even the naive dad I had imagined while I’d been lying in my bed would be able to identify the source of the odour that was wafting from his son’s room. I chuckled at the thought: what a surprise that might be for him!
I pressed on along the corridor, lowering each foot down onto the carpet as silently as I could, musing on how lucky Jake was to have found a like-minded friend as energetic as Marcus. He had a freshness about him, or so I’d thought while I’d watched him smiling politely at Guy’s bawdy humour during our meal earlier that evening, which had made me suspect he’d be as horny as a buck rabbit once you got him in the mood. And it seemed that my son was more than capable of doing just that.
I had to admit, though, that even though he was my son and I was all too aware of his many shortcomings, Jake was very attractive young lad too. He had an especially masculine face – quite angular and already with a tendency to show stubble if he didn’t shave daily – and his mother’s dark brown eyes which expressed very vividly the emotions he would otherwise prefer to conceal. His body was more lithe than his friend’s but I’d noticed on many occasions that he had a nice, firm backside which was pleasantly rounded and not entirely dissimilar from my own.
The two of them would make a stunning male couple, I speculated, as I edged along the corridor. Seeing them in flagrante was going to present a most enjoyable sight, and I homed in on the open doorway while adjusting the front of my pyjama bottoms to accommodate what must be the least wholesome aspect of my fatherly interest in my son.
Their noises continued, seeming to growing even faster and more forceful, as my toes first breached the shaft of light shining out of Jake’s bedroom. Was their homosexual coupling getting still livelier, or was I just hearing their activities more clearly as I neared the doorway?
I had a sudden misgiving about proceeding further and found myself hesitating at the threshold of the illuminated doorway. My son was right there in front of me, enjoying what should be a private sexual moment with his friend, and here I was about to spy on him doing it. Was this acceptable behaviour for a middle-aged father?
Before I had time to address my unease, the sounds from Jake’s room abruptly stopped. Fearing they’d heard me, I froze still outside of the doorway, hardly daring to breathe in case I revealed what I had been about to do. I wasn’t too bothered about Jake knowing I was there – he, after all, had done exactly the same thing to me on many, many occasions before I’d caught him last week – but I didn’t want Marcus, who was a guest in my house after all, getting the impression that I habitually sneaked around perving on what my son was getting up to in the middle of the night.
As I stood statue still in the corridor, the arch of my foot starting to cramp up from the tensed position I was holding myself in, I heard noises of the two of them repositioning themselves on the bed, mattress springs creaking as knees were pressed down into them, and then my son asked his friend in a low voice if he was okay.
“Yeah, you were just hurting a bit,” Marcus replied and I heard a rasping farting noise which I realised was coming from a tube of something wet being squirted.
As whatever it was – lube, I assume – was applied to various patches of male anatomy, I heard Marcus whisper, “Are you sure this is okay, Jake? My dad would have a fit if we did this at my place.”
“Don’t worry,” my son chuckled, “my dad is definitely no angel!”
I couldn’t help but smile to myself. He was right there.
“Has he heard you having sex before?” Marcus asked quietly.
“Not like this,” Jake admitted. “He saw me having a wank when we were sharing a room a few years ago, but he hasn’t heard me doing stuff with someone else.”
“Won’t he be freaked out?” Marcus persisted. In spite of the joke Marcus had made about me acting like Guy’s boyfriend, Jake hadn’t been lying when he’d told me that his friend didn’t know about the new-found diversity of my sexual interests.
I heard Jake laugh to himself. “Believe me, mate, he doesn’t blush very easily these days.”
I smiled again. Like father like son, I thought.
“But won’t he think you’re gay? My dad would keel over if he knew I was doing this.”
“My old man knows the score, mate,” Jake snorted impatiently. “Now come on, shove your arse back towards me and open your legs wider. I’m getting blue balls back here!”
“Oh, Jake, what a sensual lover you make,” I thought to myself. “You’re a modern-day Casanova.”
There was a wet slurp as my son reoccupied the hole he’d vacated, and then the creaking of the bed started up again and the headboard resumed its beating against the wall.
Feeling relieved that I was free to move again, the sounds of my progress being masked by the rhythmic cacophony that was ensuing from my son’s mattress and the two bodies on it, I allowed myself to relax and stretched my tensed-up foot against carpet beneath me. The joints inside it clicked and sounded unfeasibly loud.
I returned to the question that had occurred to me before their brief interruption: was it wrong of me to be observing my son and his young friend while they were enjoying what should be a private act together? Did the fact this was a homosexual rather than heterosexual coupling make it more or less wrong that I might be about to spy on them? On the one hand, I might take the view that what they were doing was the sexual equivalent of a pair of lads messing around together and therefore perfectly reasonable for me to glance in on with an almost amused detachment. On the other, it could be argued that the fact they were both young men made it even more inappropriate for me to watch them experiencing pleasure together: such a profound moment of intimacy was supposed to be conducted in secret and I had no place to be peering in on them like some old, salivating anorak-wearer.
Perhaps, I mused, if I were to see what they were actually doing, I would in a better position to formulate an option.
Yes, that was a very sensible approach to take.
I crept forwards along the last foot or so of the corridor until I was level with Jake’s door and, staying back in the shadows of the hallway as much as I could, peered around the open doorway, squinting to allow my eyes to become accustomed to the relative brightness of the bedside lamp.
As soon as I saw them, it felt indecently wrong for me to be spying on them. They were both naked – that might sound obvious, but for some reason I’d expected their sex to be so casual that they’d be doing it in their t-shirts with their underwear hitched down – and, in spite of the open door and my suspicion that Jake was deliberately putting on a show, it suddenly seemed like I really was not intended to be looking at this. Here was my son, upright on his knees, making love to another boy who was on all fours in front of him: how utterly contemptible must I be for peeping on the two of them like some squalid pervert?
I almost pulled away in disgust at myself, but there was something about Jake – something about his face – that made me hesitate. I stared at him for several seconds, wondering what was keeping me from shuffling back to bed, when I realised what it was that was out of place.
As he stared ahead of Marcus’ bent body, as he looked forwards at the posters of indie bands above the headboard of his bed, his expression didn’t fit with what he was doing. He wasn’t gasping in pleasure or grunting with enjoyment: he was broadly smirking and his eyes were full of mischief.
He knew his dad was watching him and he was delighting in the fact.
I had come to his doorway and taken up the position he had always intended for me.
He didn’t turn to face me, nor give any discernible sign of acknowledgement. But he knew full well I was there and was in no need of confirmation.
“Ah, this feels so good, mate,” my son called out as his friend grunted his agreement. He continued thrusting his hips back and forth as the long, thick shaft of his cock drove in and out of Marcus’ outstretched buttocks, all the time staring ahead of himself with that deliberate smirk on his devious face.
He wanted me to see him enjoying a late night butt-fuck with his mate from university: that much was abundantly clear.
And, for all I was feeling suckered into doing what had been expected of me, I had to admit they looked spectacular together: Marcus bending forward with his fair, curly hair flopping onto the pillow, giving himself so spiritedly to my son who was kneeling upright behind him.
My son’s friend looked magnificent naked: his body was beautifully sculpted and swathed with taut, naturally well-built muscles which bulged as he tensed and flexed against Jake’s relentless thrusts. This was a handsome, strapping lad bent over on all fours on Jake’s bed and, while my son was undeniably something of a looker himself, he should count himself very fortunate to have such an attractive friend who seemed so grateful to receive his attentions.
Such musings were interrupted by the realisation Jake wasn’t wearing a condom: he and his friend obviously trusted each other completely, the way Guy and I now did and the way I was trying to persuade Bradley we should.
“How’s my big cock feel screwing your arse, mate?” Jake asked, his voice slightly louder than it needed to be, suggesting the question had been posed primarily for my benefit.
Was this why he had wanted me to see him like this? To prove to me that he was a big boy now and more than capable of using adult language?
“Amazing,” Marcus gasped in a more muted whisper.
My son’s manhood did indeed look very large, hammering in and out from between his friend’s round bum-cheeks. It had all the girth of my own and, from what I could see each time he pulled back to withdraw it, matched very closely my length. Seeing it from the side, however, made it obvious that Jake’s cock had a much more conspicuous upward curve to it than mine did, a fact he exploited with the technique he was employing. His arching, sweeping motion used the full curvature of his shaft to repeatedly skewer the orifice in front of him, giving his plump cock-head a smooth, circular trajectory with every powerful thrust.
“Shoot your load up inside me, Jake,” Marcus called out, breathlessly. “Go for it, mate!”
Jake looked like he was about to comply with his friend’s request, and I must say I would have been very pleased to have seen him depositing his semen in a series of grunting spasms deep up inside the rump he was being so enthusiastically offered, but it seemed he had rather different ideas.
After a few further – and to my eyes, overly brash – lunges, he pulled out of Marcus and paused for a moment with his cock arching upwards at the threshold of what it had just so brusquely enjoyed.
He sniffed the air and took a moment to savour the sordid bouquet of the hole he had just plundered, before declaring: “Your butt smells so hot, dude!”
Again I wondered if this was an attempt by Jake to prove to me that the son I’d brought up had become a man. After all, this was very much the sort of thing I would enjoy doing in his position and he may well have picked up the habit from watching me over countless nights.
“It doesn’t smell as hot as it did in that tent, mate,” Marcus reminded him and the two of them giggled. This must be a reference to when they had camped out a couple of nights at a music festival in October.
Oh, to have had a sniff of that hot fug after the two of them had been at it! The front of my pyjama bottoms took a sudden lurch upwards at the mere idea of them stinking out Jake’s two-man tent with their lewd exertions. I seemed to remember Jake had taken his girlfriend and mate of hers along on that trip, complete with their own, more extravagant sleeping arrangements. I wondered what dear, sweet Ellie had made of the indecorous smell in the boys’ cramped tent first thing in the morning; that unique combination of bum and cum.
Jake shuffled down the bed, away from Marcus’ bent body, and announced that he had something else in mind which his friend, he was sure, would greatly enjoy.
Putting his hands back on his friend’s hips and making just the slightest and almost imperceptible glance in my direction, he pressed his face towards the splayed buttocks in front of him, reaching forwards to rim the splayed and gaping arsehole his cock had just vacated.
A post-fuck rim: “You lucky sod, Jake”, I thought again. It had taken me ages to discover that the most rewarding rim-jobs were the ones administered to a freshly-ploughed hole, but it seemed Jake had made such a fortuitous discovery relatively soon after taking up the same hobby.
Again, I strongly suspected what he was doing was on account of the audience he knew he had. He was well aware that I regard rimming as being the most rewarding and sophisticated of the activities I indulge in with my own gender, and he was trying to prove to me that he was himself a connoisseur of such an elegant art-form.
Perhaps he was right, I mused: perhaps my little boy really was ‘all growed up’.
He pressed his face to Marcus’ rump and extended his tongue forwards to where he must be able to see the other boy’s swollen hole was dilated outwards. For a second time, he couldn’t help but smirk: he was aware I was standing watching him, no doubt suspecting – quite rightly – that I had a growing hard-on, and he was revelling in the performance he was giving me.
But then, when he actually pushed forwards and went in for the bullseye, I found myself feeling shocked and appalled to see what Jake was doing.
It wasn’t the sight of my son with his mouth on another lad’s bum that was so offending me: it was the fact he was administering the most inept rim-job I’d ever seen in the flesh. He was flicking his tongue back and forth against Marcus’ hole like they do for dramatic effect in porn films; dabbing at it with the tip like he was afraid to actually taste what was being presented to him; wiggling his tongue up and down as if intentionally making a silly face.
“You’re doing it all wrong, son,” I was almost compelled to call out. I wanted to march in and take over from him, to show him how such a delicate act should really be performed by one man on another. But obviously I didn’t interrupt their moment together and risk upsetting Marcus who seemed oblivious to my presence, and held back in the doorway, exasperated by the mess Jake was making of what should have been an intensely erotic and sensual moment of intimacy.
I remembered he’d walked in on me rimming another man in our lounge quite a few months earlier. While at the time I’d been annoyed with him for quite deliberately interrupting us, now I was more annoyed that he hadn’t learned anything from what he’d seen me doing.
“You don’t lap at it like a fucking saucer of milk,” I was thinking, with growing frustration. “You should be caressing his entrance with your tongue, not teasing it like that; you should be massaging his passage and making him gasp with excitement, not just fannying around like it’s a lollipop.”
Marcus, however, seemed to be enjoying what my son was doing to his bum. He raised himself upwards and prized his buttocks apart with both hands to give his friend better access, smiling over his shoulder at Jake as his cock poked upwards in its unabated arousal.
It seemed that my son’s lover was easy to please.
I noticed, then, that Marcus’ erection had its own captivating beauty, arching so gracefully upwards from between his rounded, muscular thighs. The head of it was a handsome shiny purple – almost metallic in its lustre – and the size of its shaft was slightly larger than average, making it very pleasingly proportioned with respect to the rest of his athletic, toned body.
Jake emerged from between his buttocks and grinned back upwards at him.
“You like having a Furlong tongue lapping at your arse?” he asked before spitting out a stray anal hair that must have been tickling his tongue.
“You know I do,” Marcus chuckled, apparently excited to have another boy licking his backside, regardless of the inelegance of the technique which had been employed.
Jake looked up at his friend and grinned naughtily. “And I bet you’d like a Furlong mouth sucking your cock at the same time my tongue was rimming your arse!”
(“Call that rimming?” I couldn’t help but think. “You really have no idea, Jake.”)
Marcus chuckled hesitantly, confused about the point Jake was trying to make. “If only that were possible,” he suggested with his voice betraying his obvious uncertainty.
Jake leaned in to take another few clumsy licks of Marcus’ delicious-looking bum and then grinned up at him again. “You’d love it though, wouldn’t you? Having a Furlong mouth slobbering away on your horny cock and another rimming your cute arse! You’d love that!”
Marcus smiled at Jake but, just like me, didn’t see where this was headed. “I guess I would,” he offered with an uneasy shrug.
“You’d be well up for it wouldn’t you?” Jake asked salaciously.
“You know I would,” Marcus chuckled with obvious puzzlement before Jake turned towards the doorway and called out:
“You might as well come in, dad! I know you’re out there!”
I hesitated for a moment, caught off-guard by Jake’s abrupt invitation. In spite of what he’d said about the two Furlong tongues, I really had not expected him to ask me to join in the pair of them in the middle of what they were doing.
I held back for a moment, my mind reeling about what I should do, before Jake called out again, “Come on, dad! I can see the stripes on your pyjamas!”
There was no point pretending I wasn’t here: as I’d surmised all along, he had fully expected me to do what he himself had obviously done so many times before and position myself voyeuristically outside his bedroom door.
“Okay,” I said, pushing my way into my son’s bedroom. “You win. Now what were you saying about there being two Furlong mouths?”
I stood in front of them, my son grinning broadly at me while Marcus, still kneeling forwards with his hands prizing his arse-cheeks apart, peered over in wide-eyed horror.
“I just happened to see your light on and wondered what was keeping you two guys up,” I said by way of flimsy explanation.
“Of course you did,” Jake chuckled, and I was unable to stop myself from smiling back at my son in spite of his state of nudity. I made an effort to keep my eyes from making contact with his erection which he was brandishing flagrantly as if showing it off in some sort of macho display.
Marcus, meanwhile, struggled upright and away from him, and ended up crouching almost foetally against the headboard of the bed, trying to cover his genitals with both hands.
“I… er… I’m so sorry, Mr Furlong,” he stammered, his face blushing a deep purple colour which nicely co-ordinated with that of the swollen head of his penis. “We were just messing around… and I… er… slipped… and Jake’s tongue must have accidentally-”
He stopped when he saw that I was amused rather than angry and I did my best to reassure him, “It’s okay, Marcus – really. I think the point my son was trying to make was that there are two Furlong mouths in the household.”
Marcus stared at me, wide-eyed and with face flushing so dark it looked like he had been slapped on both cheeks, seemingly still unable to understand the idea which Jake had been mooting.
“I hope you appreciate, dad,” Jake cut in before Marcus could formulate a reply, “how good it is of me not to hold grudges. I could so easily have ticked you off for spying on us and then sent you away, just like you did when you were in my shoes.”
“It is indeed very noble of you, Jake,” I smiled. “I’m proud of you.”
I realised that the front of my pyjama bottoms were still being pushed outwards by the semi-hard-on I’d developed before I’d entered the room but I made no attempt to hide my excitement. Marcus peered at my unconcealed bulge with continued bafflement at first, before it finally began to click with him what was going on. At that point his gaze shifted from my crotch upwards to my face and he stared at my expression as if trying to figure out what exactly my motives were.
Jake got up off the bed and walked over to the chair in front of his desk and sprawled himself out naked on it, adopting an especially indecorous posture given his lack of attire. He seemed totally unbothered by the fact he had a very large hard-on, the shaft of which still bore some of the remnants of where it had so recently been, nor that his large pair of bollocks hung down gracelessly between his wide open legs.
He was far more keen to underline his self-righteous sense of magnanimity. “I mean, when I was a kid, you always told me how important it was to share. And some of us are very willing to share, even though you were so blatantly uncaring and unsharing last week!”
“I get the point, Jake,” I retorted. “It just felt wrong last week… what you were suggesting with Bradley. Now – I dunno – it feels somewhat different.”
I smiled at Marcus, hoping my expression didn’t look too lustful or predatory, but he continued to look wary and kept his genitals well-protected by cupping them in both hands.
“Yeah, I wonder what could have caused your sudden change of heart,” Jake chuckled as he scratched his large, hairy scrotum, and glanced towards at his extremely attractive young friend.
“Would you be happy for me to take up Jake’s offer, Marcus?” I asked, hoping to ease his discomfort with a more direct approach. “And offer you a second mouth for your… er… continued pleasures?”
“My dad is, like, the best rimmer ever,” Jake bragged, apparently oblivious to his friend’s feelings of awkwardness. “He can probably get his tongue all the way up to your liver!”
Marcus looked over at me with even more embarrassment. How did a person respond to such an accolade about your friend’s father when he was standing half-aroused in front of you?
“You’ve really got to get rimmed by him, mate,” Jake went on. “He’s so much better at it than I am!”
Well, he was right on that point.
“How do you know that, Jake?” Marcus asked with the same obvious unease.
“I saw him rimming a bloke downstairs on the couch one night. His tongue was so far in there, you wouldn’t believe it! It was like –”
“Alright, Jake! I think he gets it!”
“You actually rimmed another man in front of your son?” Marcus asked incredulously.
Jesus Christ, he was going to be calling Social Services next.
“Jake has a tendency to interrupt my… er… soirees,” I explained. “It wasn’t like it was a performance I’d arranged especially for him to see.”
I threw a pointed glance at Jake to let him know I was aware that his game tonight had been precisely that.
“But you have sex with other guys?” Marcus attempted to clarify, distractedly taking his hands away from his crotch. His cock had completely withered from its earlier glory and was looking disappointingly shrunken as it flopped against the fair, downy fluff on his balls. It was still rather lovely, though.
“Would it be a problem if I did?” I asked.
“Of course not,” Marcus said, with a half-hearted smile. I sat myself down on the bed next to him in the spot Jake had vacated. There was a wet patch on the duvet from where my son’s stiffie must have been dribbling as he’d made a pigs-ear of rimming his friend.
“It’s just that it came as a bit of a shock when you walked in,” he went on. “I knew you were divorced but I didn’t realise you were… how would you call it… bisexual?”
I smiled and nodded. “It’s a little hobby I discovered about a year ago and which, it seems, Jake has picked up from me.”
“So that bloke we were with tonight at the restaurant,” Marcus persisted. “The big fella, Guy… you and he are… well…?”
“Like you and Jake,” I said with a nod.
Marcus nodded back and spent a moment to think the admission through. His penis, I noticed, was starting to betray its own particular interest in the image that was no doubt flashing through its owner’s brain. Without Marcus seeming to be aware of it, it slowly lengthened an inch so alongside his thigh and thickened to regain some of its earlier stature.
“You did make a joke that it was like I was his boyfriend,” I reminded him. Once again, I felt the strange tingle at the suggestion that I might be romantically involved with Guy.
“Yeah, it seemed as if you were more than just friends,” he observed. “A bit like… well…”
“You and Jake,” I smiled, hiding whatever it was I was feeling about Guy.
Marcus smiled back at me and I saw his cock continuing to stiffen and starting its gradual rise upwards from where it had been flopping against his balls. Whatever thoughts he was having about Guy and me, however the two of us men were coupling up together in his clearly vivid imagination, the steady hardening of his organ suggested that he liked the idea.
“Do you actually, like, ‘do it’ together?” he asked, inattentive to the effect that simply asking the question was having on the size of his manhood.
“And some!” Jake laughed from where he was lounging in his chair. His own organ was still prominently aroused, undeterred by the earlier awkwardness after I’d entered the room, as it no doubt awaited further stimulation in whatever form that might take. “They’re at it like a couple of stags all night, mate! When Guy’s over, I might as well forget about sleep!”
“Is that right?” Marcus asked me, his face full of surprise.
“Not quite,” I chuckled. “I think Jake’s exaggerating somewhat.”
“But you two guys are having sex together?” Marcus persisted.
“There’s a woman called Debbie who I’m dating,” I explained, “but I’ve found that I also enjoy being physical with other men. So, yes, Guy and I have a sexual component to our friendship.”
I was fascinated to watch this young man’s beautiful penis steadily rising upwards from the thoughts its owner was having about Guy and me. Was he imagining the two of us older men having anal intercourse – Guy on top, or me on top – or was he thinking of us working our cocks together, sucking each other off and shooting our semen all over each other’s chests?
“That’s amazing,” he muttered. “It’s great you’re so open-minded.”
“If you’d like me to show you some of the things I enjoy,” I went on, “with Jake here, of course, I’d be more than happy to.”
Marcus beamed at me and for the first time glanced down at the swelling of his cock, now well on the way to achieving its earlier grandeur.
“I suppose my dick’s kind of answering that for me, Mr Furlong.”
“Well you can drop the ‘Mr Furlong’ for a start,” I quipped. “If we’re going to be getting… er… more friendly, Marcus, I’d prefer it if it was just plain ‘Rob’.”
He chuckled and agreed to drop the formalities.
I stood up and started unbuttoning my pyjama top. I hoped my body would be appealing to him: in spite of me being a little chubby around the middle and bit hairy between my pecs and on my legs, the squash I played kept my physique reasonably attractive. Since he obviously liked what Jake’s body had to offer, he might also enjoy the more mature and cuddlier, filled-out version.
“This is going to be so cool,” Jake extolled, clearly relieved that I’d managed to surmount his friend’s initial misgivings. He stood up and his erection rose upwards from between his legs as if hoping to get another turn on the tight, blond bum it had earlier enjoyed.
The front of my pyjama bottoms had also recovered their earlier promise and was being pushed upwards and outwards more than ever by what seemed like a third leg inside them. Marcus grinned over at me, apparently pleased that the elder of the Furlong males was apparently just as well-equipped as the younger.
“Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?” I checked before I exposed myself to him. I had a sudden vision of this being some sort of elaborate misunderstanding and having his infuriated father phone me up threatening to call the police.
“God, yeah!” Marcus laughed. “I can’t believe you guys are both up for this together. This is, like, totally out of the ballpark!”
I unbuttoned the waistband of my pyjama bottoms and let them fall to the floor to expose my semi-aroused erection looming upright above my huge, pendulous balls. If I’d known I was going to be presented with such an opportunity this evening, I’d have trimmed my pubic bush: apart from that, though, I was very proud of the large set of genitals I was able to present to the astonished gaze of my son’s friend.
“You might want to stand over here, Marcus,” I suggested, gesturing to the one patch of uncluttered floor in my son’s untidy room. “That way the two of us can… well… attend to both sides of you at the same time.”
Marcus almost yelped with delight at the prospect of having the two of us, father and son, pleasuring him simultaneously.
He leapt off the bed, calling out, “Wow! You guys just get stuck in… whichever way you like!” Then he stood upright on the spot I’d recommended, as Jake moved forwards to take him up on his invitation, giving his own large erection a few preparatory tugs as if coaxing it back to its full, impressive size.
I kicked my pyjama bottoms to one side and stood before the two of them as naked as they were. Jake grinned over at me – in all the years we’d lived together, this was the first time we had both been completely undressed and aroused in each other’s company. I smiled back and, just as he had, gave my cock a few masturbatory jerks to help myself grow fully hard. He laughed at that – he liked to see me do it – and put his hand back on his own to do the same.
Now it was my turn to laugh and I wanked myself a little more for him, yanking my foreskin back and forth just as he was doing. Why did it feel so good to be masturbating with Jake? This was my son standing in front of me and yet – while I wasn’t in any way attracted to him – it felt so exciting to be facing each other while we rubbed at our erections. Whatever was arousing me, Jake clearly felt it too because he kept leering at me as the gentle tugging which had so amused us at the beginning was cranked up rapidly by us both into a full-on wrist-pounding wank right there in front of each other.
Marcus laughed over at us, amazed by the sight we were making. Our legs were apart and our hips thrust forwards like a couple of cowboys, pointing our erections at each other as we beat them off as fast and as hard as we could.
“Wow!” he chortled. “Look at you guys go!”
Our foreskins were sliding frantically back and forth across our near-identical cock heads, and our scrotums were bobbing around between our legs with our similarly plump bollocks jiggling up and down inside them.
Jake laughed again as we grinned at each other, our hands trying to outdo each other as they pumped up and down our long, thick shafts as if this was a game. “I’ll race you, dad!” he called out to me and I was hugely tempted to agree; the two of wanking ourselves off in some childish competition until we climaxed one after the other, right there in front of his friend.
However, I forced myself to stop and say, “Some other time, maybe, Jake,” and then took my hand away from my now spectacularly aroused organ. Jake did the same and his stood upright in front of him, almost identical in appearance: it was like looking in the mirror we were so well-matched.
He looked at me, still grinning, and I could tell he was hoping that we would play around again like this sometime soon: not touching each other or getting weird at all; just masturbating together as it was, perhaps, natural for a father and son to occasionally do.
“You guys are funny together,” Marcus chuckled. I didn’t ask him which meaning of ‘funny’ he meant.
Jake glanced over at him, standing waiting for our attentions with his cock arching upwards and his arse-crack still wet from the tonguing it had received.
“You’ve got a very large penis, Mr Furlong,” Marcus said brightly. And then corrected himself: “I mean… er… Rob!”
I beamed at him with pride. I always enjoyed it when other men complimented my organ: Debbie seemed to find my over-sized erection at best cumbersome and at worst repellent.
“Do you like it?” I asked, putting my hands on my hips and giving him a little wiggle of it from side to side.
“Very much so,” Marcus grinned with a sly flick of his eyebrows. “I like it a lot.”
His look told me that he wanted to have more to do with what was between my legs than we’d probably be able to with Jake in the room. He wanted to suck my organ and perhaps even have me fuck him with it, but with the action between us being overseen by his more regular fuck-buddy, for now, at least, he’d likely have to content himself with just looking at it.
For my part, as much as I would have liked nothing better than to have ushered this attractive young man over to the bed and to have penetrated him far more sensually and passionately than my son seemed capable of, I knew that I was very much the invited guest in Jake’s bedroom and that I shouldn’t to overstep the boundaries which my son imposed on me.
“You do his bum then,” Jake ordered me with typical workmanlike brusqueness, “and I’ll suck his knob.”
I couldn’t help but grin at what he’d said. What father hasn’t dreamt of hearing is son utter those very words?
I moved around to get behind Marcus and, perhaps seeing my erection looming up on his friend’s rounded buttocks, Jake felt it necessary to clarify: “Just… er… rimming, mind, dad. Nothing more.”
I was only being allowed a few licks of the candy. Anything more worthwhile was clearly seen as being strictly my son’s prerogative.
“I’ll give you a few tips on how to rim a guy properly, Jake,” I offered. I thought it was quite a nice gesture, offering to share my not inconsiderable skills with my nearest and dearest.
Jake, however, threw me an indifferent shrug, nonchalantly content that his own technique would suffice well enough, and then knelt down in front of Marcus, licking his lips at the erect organ that was almost crying out for a mouth to pleasure it.
After he’d slowly and sumptuously applied his mouth to the first few inches of his friend’s organ, I had to admit that my son was indeed a very proficient cock-sucker. Whoever he’d learned the tricks of the trade from, it certainly hadn’t been me: I had never come anywhere close to matching his oral artistry and most men I try to pleasure with my mouth soon get frustrated and end up just thrusting in and out, trying to make the best of it they can.
Jake confidently pumped the cock with his lips and tongue, developing a slow, steady rhythm up and down the shaft and focusing on the most sensitive parts of the head. When he saw that I was watching him, his mouth broke into a smile, and I could see he was enjoying showing off to me, working his friend’s organ as deftly as he could and using the whole of his mouth to stimulate it fully.
“Oh, yeah,” Marcus called out, “that’s really nice, mate!”
Jake started using his head more roughly on his friend, taking longer, faster sweeps along the length of his organ and sucking it more forcefully with the back of his throat. He didn’t seem tempted, as I would have been if I were in his place, to use his hands to help him service the excited organ more fully: he used all the muscles of his mouth and cheeks to pleasure the whole length of the cock, squeezing it with his lips while he teased the precum from its slit with the tip of his tongue.
Marcus’ manhood responded by swelling appreciatively to its full stiffened girth. An entanglement of veins rose up along its impressively hardened shaft and the head of it, only occasionally visible when Jake pulled back from an especially thorough suck, pulsated with a deep purple opulence, the skin of it taut and shiny; slick and streaked with froth from my son’s spit.
It suddenly dawned on me why Jake was able to perform such an accomplished blow-job: I had often suspected, from the length of his erection and the flexibility of his back, that my son might be able to reach his own cock with his mouth. Now, from his polished and confident technique, I could see that was very likely to be true: he’d probably been sucking himself off under his duvet for a good many years, honing his skills since his early teens and perfecting his oral mastery of the aroused male member.
Our eyes made contact again and he threw me a cheeky grin with the pounding shaft of his friend’s fully charged hard-on between his lips. I smiled back at him, keen to show my admiration of his abilities, as he swept his mouth back and forth, gliding up and down the spit-soaked shaft with his cheeks straining inwards from the pressure he was exerting.
“You little bugger!” I thought. “All those mornings you spent lounging around in bed, telling me you were tired and needed extra sleep – this was what was going on in your bedroom!”
If only we’d had the open door policy back then.
With an especially elaborate flourish of his tongue and lips, Jake withdrew his mouth from Marcus’ cock out and we couldn’t help but chuckle at each other. His eyes were full of naughtiness but there was also a flicker of pride thrown in: he’d just demonstrated to his father how to give a guy an exceedingly expert blow-job.
“Come on, then, dad,” he said. “Show me what you’ve got!”
“Watch and learn, Jake. Watch and learn!”
He craned his head to observe me as I homed in on his friend’s cute bubble butt.
I pressed my mouth against the crack of his backside – low down where I guessed his hole would be lurking among the wispy hair between his cheeks – and gently extended my tongue between his two firm, muscular buttocks. As soon as I eased it into him, I could taste quite strongly the gustatory version of the smell I had enjoyed out in the corridor: his butt-crack was rich with the same seasoned, pungent flavour that the pounding of my son’s cock had managed to disperse into such an alluring vapour.
I pulled back and said to Jake with a smile: “This is an especially nice bum for rimming. It needs to be savoured with the whole of your tongue, not just flicked at with its tip.”
He smiled and nodded. “Come on, then. Show me how it’s done.”
I moved back in for a deeper taste and reapplied my mouth to Marcus’ magnificent cheeks. This time, he bent forwards slightly to give me better access, no doubt delighting in the playful competition Jake and I were enjoying and eager to see which of us, out of the father and his son, could pleasure him more effectively.
I pushed my tongue more fully into him, impressed by how stretched and splayed his hole was from accommodating my son’s erection, and feeling him shudder slightly at how sensitive his inflamed anus was from the rough and ready fucking he’d received. I worked my tongue around his ring, gently soothing it with its caresses and my warm saliva, and Marcus gasped with excitement at how tender and sensual it felt.
“Oh, that’s really nice, Mr Furlong,” he called down to me before correcting himself, again, to plain Rob.
I eased my tongue more fully into his arsehole, relishing the stronger tastes inside it which were a magnitude more powerful than those around his anus. This was rimming at its most delectable: almost electrifying in the intensity of its tastes and deeply satisfying in the effects my tongue was having on its squirming recipient.
I licked deeply into this young man’s bowels, feeling my cock straining painfully at the sheer force of the arousal I was experiencing, with the downy hairs of his arse-crack tickling my nose and chin as my face pressed so firm against the splayed valley between his buttocks.
“I can see what you mean about your dad’s tongue reaching up to my liver,” Marcus laughed down to my son.
“Yeah, he’s like the rim king,” Jake laughed back. “He’s even better than Nathan.”
I kept working my tongue back and forth out of Marcus’ arse, wondering who this Nathan guy was. It might be nice for Jake to invite him to stay over some time so we could exchange tips and ideas about our shared hobby. If he was anything like as easy on the eye as Marcus, he would prove a very welcome guest in the house.
As my mouth continued to pleasure Marcus in ways that my son had achieved on the organ around the front, his body suddenly started shuddering slightly and I realised that Jake had resumed giving his friend a blow-job.
The two of us worked together for a few minutes – Jake out front and me taking up the rear – as Marcus thrust his hips back and forth, eager to work with the two mouths that were so intimately attending to him. I rolled my tongue into a tube and gently fucked him with it as he bucked his backside against my mouth, aware that this might be the only chance I would get to work myself in and out of his arse; at least while Jake was in the room.
“Oh, God, this is so nice, you guys!” he called down to us.
I hoped Jake was feeling as thrilled as I was to be servicing this charming young man; the two of us working together as father and son to pleasure his cock and his rear at the same time.
I pulled off him and called up to him, “Are you getting near, Marcus?”
As if it was part of a universal language among post-pubescent males, I knew he would interpret my question as referring to the immanence of his climax. No matter where men come from or what age they happen to be, they always recognise a question about how close they are to releasing their semen.
“Not too far off, Mr Furlong.”
I felt irritated by his reluctance to drop the formal use of my name, but instead of correcting him, I started wanking my own painful erection as I crouched behind him. With my mouth clamped to such a delightful behind, I knew my release would quickly follow.
Before returning to rim him again, I glanced around his right hip at Jake. His blow-job had become far more assertive in its style: his mouth was being thrust up and down his friend’s organ quite roughly with his expression almost hostile and verging on a snarl.
I wondered if this was how liked to use his mouth on himself when he knew his climax was nearing: forceful and insistent; stubbornly masturbatory.
Imagine him giving such an uncompromising blow-job to me!
Oh God, what was I thinking?! This was my son!
Then, to my surprise, Jake pulled away from sucking Marcus’ highly appreciative erection and hurried over to grab the tube of lube which was on his bedside table. He squirted a gob of it onto his middle finger and applied it perfunctorily to his backside, and then, throwing us both a small smirk, turned around with his back to us and bent forwards to splay open his hairy arse crack. His large, puckered anus was clearly visible, extruding from the dark forest between his cheeks, looking as used and swollen as mine often does after an especially heavy session with other men. His large, hairy knackers hung down between his legs, pulling his scrotum downwards with their full, heavy load.
He turned to grin at me, clenching his well-worn ring a couple of times to show me his dexterity, and said, “Nice, huh?”
“Very nice,” I agreed, surprised by how stretched and dilated his entrance was.
I assumed Marcus must have enjoyed his own turn on Jake before I’d started watching the favour being returned. Otherwise, perhaps in the restaurant, when they’d both headed off to use the bathroom grinning and giggling, they’d had a quick moment of togetherness in the quiet of the cubicle.
As I was about to make a quip about this making an ideal angle for a selfie, Jake surprised me by reversing his backside onto Marcus’ erection with a couple of backward strides. The cock glided home, as it had presumably done many times in the past, and the two of them shuddered in involuntary gratification as their bodies became joined once again.
And then, in an action I’d never seen performed before, Jake started thrusting his hips rapidly backwards and forwards, wanking his friend’s shaft with the tightened ring of his arsehole. He turned to me with a triumphant leer and, seeing my surprise at witnessing such a novel variant of anal penetration, cackled and called out, “Watch and learn, dad! Watch and learn!”
He put his hands on his knees and jerked his bum back and forth to rapidly masturbate the foreskin of Marcus’ cock.
“Jesus Christ!” I was thinking. Where the hell had he learned such an innovative technique?
Marcus called out in pleasure and, grabbing Jake by the waist, worked his crotch rapidly against him, matching my son’s frantic rhythm.
Although he was a guy who obviously enjoyed being fucked, he was perfectly happy to adopt the corresponding role.
I liked the fact that such a polite and articulate youth – the very ideal of a good and proper young husband – had such well-concealed depths to what one might imagine to be a rather boring sexuality. I sat back as I watched him, marvelling at the sight of his smooth, muscular body and his mop of fair hair, grabbing my son’s hips as he so enthusiastically fucked him up the arse.
He turned and looked down at me, and flashed me that lovely, sweet smile of his.
Then he asked, with a delightful courtesy that I wished would rub off onto my son, “Would you mind putting your tongue up my bum again, Mr Furlong?”
I laughed and agreed whole-heartedly that I would like nothing more.
I plunged my face back in between his round, flexing buttocks, aware that if he wasn’t able to call me Rob after making such a request, it was likely that he never would. I took up my own pounding rhythm on my desperate cock, wanking myself between Marcus’ shins as I inhaled the delicious scent he’d no doubt left on the back of many a pair of discarded underpants.
As soon as my tongue lapped into his most sensitive spot, his sphincter started clamping tightly shut around it and I knew his balls were discharging their collected loads into my son.
His backside started munching at my tongue like we were enjoying a most intimate kiss together as its owner gasped and panted and shot squirt after squirt of his hot, white semen into the bowels of his friend.
Whether it was fucking Jake that had brought him to his orgasm, or the sensation of having my tongue inside his bum again, I don’t know: I’d like to think, though, that I played some significant part in it.
When his climax had subsided, I pulled away from him, masturbating myself as I still squatted behind him.
Jake pulled away from him too, his arse releasing one of its less rambunctious farts as he did so, and he breathlessly announced, “Right, now let’s have my turn, mate.”
He moved around to where I was crouching, his cock twitching upwards as it demanded release, and curtly told me, “Get out of the way, dad.”
In his impatience I was nudged backwards, and I fell back against his bedroom wall, still mechanically wanking my shaft up and down as I watched my son claim his final prize.
He pushed himself into Marcus’ slick entrance with a single impetuous thrust, muttering that he wouldn’t take long as Marcus bent over to receive him. It seemed this was an established arrangement between the two of them: whoever climaxed first would allow his rear to be used to bring his companion to an equivalent state.
“You got it nice and wet dad,” Jake told me, as he stood upright, roughly buggering his friend in front of me for the second time this evening.
“I’m so pleased,” I managed to say, as I sat right behind him watching him indulge himself, his thrusting bum just inches from my bemused face.
His rhythm quickly increased to a frantic hammering action, his balls whacking against his friend’s thighs and his hips making loud slapping sounds against his buttocks.
He kept turning to look back at me, wanking myself off so quickly as I sat where I’d fallen behind him, smiling down at me as he butt-fucked Marcus’ bent-over body.
He kept pulling Marcus back with him and even muttered, at one point, “Move back a bit, mate!” all the time moving in towards to where I was as if intentionally trying to push his pummelling backside closer my face.
It was nice bum, I had to admit, and I liked the way the hair of his crack was splayed outwards and sticking to his buttocks from the lube he’d applied to himself. I reminded myself, though, that was my son’s arse in front of me and, however attractive it looked, the words I’d said to Bradley came back to me: I’d had to wipe this bum when Jake had been a baby.
Jake, however, didn’t seem to share my misgivings.
He kept working his body backwards towards me, fucking his friend faster and faster, until his heaving backside was right in front of my face. I could smell the odour from it as it flexed and thrust, driving his hips back and forth against Marcus’ muscular cheeks, and I have to admit the smell was very intriguing: undeniably attractive in spite of who was producing it.
Jake turned to me again and, seeing his flexing backside so close to my face, called out, “Go on, dad – do it!”
I stared at him and he grinned at me, egging me on to do the unthinkable: “Have a lick of my arse! Right in my crack!”
I looked back at his bum, his buttocks a rhythm of muscular movement, finding myself inexplicably tempted by what I knew was lurking between them.
The smell was quite fascinating: much harsher and more pungent than what Marcus had to offer and strangely reminiscent of my own anal whiff when I pull off an especially well-worn pair of underpants. I sniffed at it with mounting interest: at once appalled by the knowledge of whom this brash, musky smell belonged to but at the same time indisputably aroused by the sheer, unparalleled naughtiness of having such an out-of-bounds hole so close to my face.
This was my son’s bare arse and he was asking me to lick it!
I looked back up at him, my hand now a blur up and down my cock, and he grinned at me more broadly.
“Go on, dad – shove your face in! Rim my nice, juicy arsehole!”
I think Marcus might have said something to stop us – something to remind Jake that this was his dad he was talking to – but I was too overcome with excitement to take it in.
Perhaps mercifully, Jake and I started climaxing together – him with his cock spurting deeply up into his friend’s innards and me spraying my load all over the back of his legs as he loomed over me with his odorous, hairy crack right there in front of me.
I couldn’t believe I was having an orgasm – and an extremely copious one at that – with my son’s relentlessly heaving buttocks brushing against my face. My nose was poised on the brink of his freshly-fucked arse crack: another step backwards and my mouth would have been pressing between his thrusting cheeks.
I pulled away from him as my cock was still squirting, trying to catch what I could of my profuse outpouring with my other hand. Not that it really mattered, the mess Jake’s bedroom floor was in.
I stood up, watching my son doubled up over Marcus’ bent back, still driving the remnants of his seed upwards into his friend’s body. Jake held onto him tightly as the spasms of his orgasm subsided, the two of them staring vacantly forwards as they had no doubt many times in the past.
After he’d finished, they stood up and disentangled themselves, Jake pulling his softening organ out of Marcus’ bum with a quiet, sloppy fart.
Marcus felt it necessary to immediately apologise: “I’m sorry about that, Mr Furlong.”
“For farting?” I laughed. “All things considered, that was very restrained.”
He smiled and, as tissues were being passed around, Jake joined in with the apologies.
“I’m really sorry, dad,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that stuff. I don’t know where it came from.”
I smiled to hide the discomfort I was feeling as I wiped the goo from my chest and pubic bush. Jesus, I really should have trimmed myself down there.
“Forget it, Jake,” I said, like all this was perfectly normal. “We all say stuff like that when we’re getting carried away. It doesn’t mean either of us would have acted on it. Not in a million years.”
Was that really true? I, for one, had been tantalisingly close to reaching forwards and licking my son’s bum; Jake, in all probability, had been similarly close to making that extra step backwards and pushing his hairy arse-crack onto my nose and mouth.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said, smiling at me in spite the fact we were both naked and his cock was still angled half-upwards, looking as large as ever in spite of its softening state. “I suppose you might say it was just the spunk talking!”
“Of course it was,” I laughed, but I knew it wasn’t true. The spunk could say what it liked: I knew for a fact that, given just an extra couple of seconds, my son and I would now be having a far more embarrassing conversation.
We cleaned ourselves up – for Jake and Marcus that proved to be a rather more involved affair – and agreed that, from first thing the next day, we wouldn’t discuss what we’d done any further. That’s not to say we were denying that there might be a repeat – we were just keen that whatever sex we enjoyed wouldn’t impinge on the more ‘conventional’ activities we did at other times.
Before I went back to bed and while Marcus was carrying out his ablutions in the bathroom, Jake caught me outside my bedroom door and apologised again.
“There’s really no need, Jake,” I assured him. “We just got carried away. No harm was done.”
“You won’t, like, dwell on it and build it up into more than it was?” he asked.
“Of course not,” I laughed. “I’ve said a few inappropriate things in the heat of the moment. Such things are best forgotten.”
“Okay,” he smiled. “Thanks.”
As I turned to go to bed he had one last thing to say.
“In future, though, when you’ve got mates over to stay with you and I’m left in my room feeling like a spare prick…”
I smiled and nodded. “Of course you can come in.”
“Really?” he grinned. Clearly he’d expected more resistance from me. “That’s brilliant!”
“Just… er… be more careful what you say when you’re getting a bit hot and bothered…”
He laughed. “‘Course I will!”
“And, one more thing,” I added. “Not when I’m with Guy.”
I could tell from his disappointed expression that Guy’s evenings at our house were probably near the top of his list of couplings he’d like to join in with.
“Guy’s… er… special,” was all I could manage by way of explanation.
“Okay,” Jake said with a disappointed shrug. “Not when you’re with Guy.”
And with that I went to bed, wondering why it was so important for me to keep Guy to myself while, after what had just happened with Marcus, all of the rest of my occasional visitors would be fair game for Jake to join in with.
What was it about Guy that made him “special”, I wondered.
What was it that kept making me feel so weird when I thought about the two of us?
Without being able to adequately formulate an answer to the question, I went back to bed; leaving my door slightly ajar, just like Jake’s.
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