closer-than-ever-4

Babes

Subject: Closer than Ever Chapter 4 Closer than Ever by RJ This story is about the love been a father and his son and contains sexual activity between the two of them. If such themes offend you, do not read. If you have any questions or comments about this piece, want to know about any of my other works, or just want to reach out, please don’t hesitate to email me. A list of my works, including links and descriptions, can be found here: https://bit.ly/2S5IYDI If you would like to be added to a mailing list to receive emails when my stories are updated, let me know which stories (if not all) you would like to receive emails for. Please also consider donating to Nifty if you fty/donate.html ~ Chapter 4 (Dad’s POV) ~ I could barely sleep last night. By the time Jo finally stopped crying and calmed down enough to fall asleep, I was wired. Exhausted, but wired. That stunned, “Holy fucking shit” feeling has worn off by now, but I’m still at a loss as to how to handle what happened. Do I ignore it? Pretend it never happened? It would save him the embarrassment, and me the… whatever I’m feeling. But I don’t know if I can just sweep this under the rug. I get a couple hours in but I end up waking up again. I just sigh and take myself out of bed around 7:30 in the morning, pulling on some pants and a long-sleeve shirt. Maybe subconsciously I thought covering up as much skin as possible would be a good idea. I glance at Jo sleeping soundly before I head straight for the coffee machine. Distractions. I need a distraction, I think. Maybe I’ll mindlessly watch some television while I drink my coffee. It’s not something I usually do, but why not start now? Maybe the news is on. I could get an idea of what the weather is like. Or traffic — not like I’m gonna be on the highway. Hopefully there’s at least a good horror story. But before the coffee is even done brewing, I hear the shuffling of feet coming from the hallway. I turn and am surprised to see Jonah standing there, rubbing his eyes slightly before he looks at me. When he notices me looking, he immediately averts his eyes. “Hey,” I say. “Hi,” he tries to say, but it doesn’t come out right. He coughs to clear his throat and then greets me again as he heads to the cabinet, rummaging around for cereal. I watch him as he goes through the motions of filling his bowl and adding milk. What’s he thinking about right now? Of course he’s thinking about what happened, but he’s probably still concerned as to what’s going on in my head. He always has been. I should say something. But suddenly I’m at a loss as what to talk about. I have to stare at the coffee machine and focus intently on brainstorming before a topic finally comes to mind: his nightmares. “I thought you said smoking helped,” I say. I hope that didn’t come off too harshly, but it’s possible, because he looks confused and wary as he takes a seat at the table. “Huh?” “The weed?” I ask, looking at him. “I thought you said it helps with your nightmares.” “Oh,” he says. “Yeah, it does.” “Do you remember last night, though?” I ask, and immediately regret it. Instantly his face is a shameful red. He stares at his bowl of cereal, pushing the grains around with his spoon. “I mean, before the…” I stop, shaking my head. God, I’m only making it worse. “When I brought you to bed?” He just shakes his head quickly. “You had a night terror. Or something like it. You were talking to me, at least. I thought you were awake.” “I don’t remember,” he says in a small voice, shoveling a little bit of cereal into his mouth. I sigh a bit. Nightmares, putting my dick in his mouth while I’m sleeping… What’s next? “Sorry,” he adds after a pause. “I forgot my stuff at home. The weed, I mean.” I nod a little. Maybe that explains why Lisa called me in a panic. “Right.” I bite my lip. My coffee is ready to go. All I gotta do is pour myself a cup. But that seems so difficult to do right now. Then, surprisingly, Jo speaks up. “Should we talk about what happened?” I figured he’d be too embarrassed to talk. And, to be honest, I’m not sure whether I’m happy or sad about it. But regardless, if there’s even a chance that he wants to talk, we should probably talk. I should at least try to get an understanding of where his head is at. “Do you wanna talk about what happened?” I ask, finally pouring myself a cup. “Not really, honestly,” he says, which actually makes me laugh ever so slightly. “Are you mad at me?” I look at him as I grab my cup of coffee. “Why do you always think I’m going to be mad at you?” I ask. I feel like that’s always his first fear. He just shrugs. “Do you want me to leave?” I sigh, coming over and sitting across from him at the table. “No, I don’t want you to leave,” I tell him. He’s pretty much abandoned his cereal as he sits cross-legged in his chair, holding his legs as he sneaks glances at me. “I just wanna know what’s going through your head.” “You’ll think I’m crazy,” he mumbles. “No I won’t,” I assure him. “Yes you will.” “Try me.” But he doesn’t offer up anything new. “You already think I’m crazy for watching you and Max.” “I don’t think you’re crazy, Jonah,” I say. Maybe I should start asking questions. Pick his brain. And there’s really only one good question to ask. “Are you gay?” He looks surprised by the question. “No,” he says simply. I challenge him a bit, leaning in and raising my eyebrow. “No?” “No,” he repeats, though I notice he doesn’t say it so firmly as the first time. “Well then what was that about last night?” I ask, and I realize I’m coming off just a tiny bit hostile. I think I’m getting frustrated. “Talk to me, bud,” I say in a softer voice. I wish he had his hand on the table so I could reach over and hold it or something. He looks up at me in silence for several moments before speaking again. “You were right about me being… curious and stuff.” Well… duh. My dick was in your fucking mouth, for Christ’s sake. But I don’t say that out loud. “But… I’m only… I’m only curious about…” I wait for as long as I can for him to finish his sentence. “…About?” He looks up at me and makes eye contact for only a second before shaking his head. “Never mind,” he says, giving up. “Jonah,” I groan. “Talk to me. Come on.” “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he says, rubbing his forehead and getting irritated. “Well, now we have to talk about it,” I say. It’s not often I have to “put my foot down”, per se, because Jo’s always been a reasonable kid with excellent behavior. But this is a special case. “So talk.” He huffs a bit, rolling his eyes. “What do you want me to say?” “I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe just admit the truth and we can move on.” “Admit the truth?” he says, staring at me. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “That you’re gay. Or–” “I’m not gay, Dad! Drop it!” The fact that he’s so insistent on not wanting to be called gay is almost insulting to me. That’s how my brain takes it: as an attack. “Why is that such a bad thing?” When he sees that I’m hurt and a little angered by his comments, he softens, but only slightly. This is still an argument, and it’s getting even more heated. “That’s not what I meant.” “Then what DID you mean? What the hell is going on with you, Jo?” “I don’t know, Dad!” he says, raising his voice. “I don’t know what to tell you!” I cross my arms. “So you have no explanation, is what you’re saying.” “Sorry to disappoint you.” “Dissa–” I sigh heavily, taking a moment to pause and calm myself. “Why do you feel like you can’t tell me what it is?” “Why does it matter?” “I just thought we told each other everything that’s–” “If I told you everything that went through my head, you’d think I’m a fucking psycho,” he says defensively. I squeeze my temple with my thumb and forefinger, sighing heavily. “Just help me understand, Jo.” “Can’t we just drop it?” “Considering you were caught sucking me off in my sleep, no, we can’t just drop it.” “I’m done,” he says. His face is so red it’s like he’s boiling. He just picks up his (full) bowl of cereal and starts carrying it towards the sink. I sigh, sinking into my seat and watching him a bit. “I know you’re embarrassed–” “Stop pretending like you know what I’m feeling,” he says, rounding on me. “Jo…” “You don’t know shit about what I’m feeling, Dad.” “Then fucking tell me!” I say, sitting up straight and flaring up again. “Just tell me what is going on, what you’re thinking. I mean, honestly, Jo, when the hell have I ever not been here for–” He cuts me off by slamming his bowl into the sink with a groan of frustration before blurting out “I want you!” “I– What?” There’s absolute silence between us as we stare at each other and digest what Jonah just admitted. Is that what he said? That he wants me? I don’t know what to say. How to respond. What to feel. My son wants me. And, based on the context, there’s really only one way he could mean. “I want you, okay?” he says. Then he wipes a tear off of his cheek. “Is that what you wanted to hear?” I’m confused. But at the same time, it makes total sense. I don’t know what to do. “Is that true?” I ask. He just sniffles and looks away. “I’m sorry,” he says in a small voice, breaking my concentration. I can see the embarrassment and anxiety all in his body language. He looks like a little kid accidentally let me in on a secret he swore not to spill. I want to tell him that it’s okay. That he doesn’t have to be sorry or feel ashamed or anything. But I’m stunned. I have no words of comfort for him. And after a minute of awkward tension, he makes a move. “Sorry,” he says again, rushing out of the kitchen and into the living room. I hear him get on the couch, the blankets rustling as he climbs under them. Very faintly, I swear I hear him crying. I need to be alone. I need to think. Or at least try and think. Jesus Christ, Jo. I stand up, running my fingers through my hair. Maybe a hot shower will help clear my head? And it’s noisy, and it’ll give us both some space. Even though I really should be consoling my son when he’s in such a vulnerable state, I need a moment to really take everything into consideration. I head into the bathroom and shut the door, undress, turn the hot water to the highest setting, and step inside. I groan slightly. It’s always hottest in the morning, but it’s that burning, itchy feeling I’ve grown to like. I rest a hand against the wall and hang my head under the shower head while I think about what Jo said. He wants me. He admitted it. I guess that explains him watching me and Max. Blowing me in my sleep. Saying he’s only “curious” about something (or someone) in particular. It’s me. Jesus Christ. I still can’t believe it. How long has this attraction existed for? Rather, how long has he acted on it? What else has he been doing to me in my sleep? Or is this the first time? I run my fingers through my hair and tilt my head up to let the water splash on my face. This is crazy. Insane. And yet… Shit. I’m getting hard. I nudge my cock with my fingers and, sure enough, I feel it stiffening. The hell? Why am I getting turned on right now? It’s the feeling. Max may not look it, but he’s a bit of a freak. And even though he’s never woken me up with a blowjob before, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he did. Which is why, when I woke up in such a daze, all I did was smile at the feeling of those soft lips around my cock. But it wasn’t Max. It was Jonah. It was my fucking son. Of course I panicked. And it was the right thing to do anyway. Call it off. But… what if I had let it continue? I shake my head to try and clear my mind of that nagging thought, but it persists. I can’t get that image of Jo going down on me out of my head. And if I close my eyes, I can imagine it all: Jo fishing my probably soft cock out of my boxers, teasing and petting it until it wakes escort kocaeli up, going in for a lick but hesitating, maybe realizing he likes the taste before going in for more and wrapping his lips snug around it, getting lost in the feel of me in his mouth as spit slides down my hard shaft– “Thinkin’ about me?” I swear I have a fucking heart attack. I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared and caught off-guard in my life. I gasp, moving my hand away from my dick. Only now do I realize that I’ve been jerking myself off, and my face feels even warmer than just from the heat of the shower. But it’s not Jo that’s peering into the shower with a grin on his face. Surprisingly, it’s Max. “Max! Jesus Christ, I thought you were…” I rub my face, trying to focus. “What are you doing here?” “I thought I’d surprise you with breakfast,” he says, leaning forward a bit. He keeps his head away from the spray, but I take that as a signal for a kiss, so I meet him halfway and give him a little peck. “Sorry if I scared you,” he adds with a chuckle, looking me up and down. I keep my arm at my crotch to push my dick away. But why am I hiding my hard-on from my boyfriend? “No, it’s okay,” I say, still waiting for my heart to relax. “I was just… lost for a moment.” “I’ll say,” he says with a grin. “Want help?” “I… No. I should get out.” Max just shrugs. “Okay, babe. I’m gonna grab some of that coffee.” He leans in for another kiss before stepping out of the bathroom and leaving me alone. I exhale heavily, looking up at the ceiling for a few moments before I shut off the water. I pull myself out and start to dry off with a nearby towel. As I do, I catch my reflection in the mirror. It’s foggy, but I get a visual of most of my body. And my first thought is: is this what Jo wants? I drop the towel and check myself out from different angles. I’m a man. Not a boy, like kids his age. I have the height, the musculature, and the facial and body hair of a full-grown man. Wouldn’t he want someone… I don’t know, his own age? I pry myself away from my reflection and hang up the towel before getting dressed again and then making my way back out into the kitchen. Seems Max brought a few breakfast sandwiches for us. Jo is rummaging through one of the bags, pulling out a bagel and hash browns while Max sips his coffee. Max smiles when he sees me come in. “Hey, mister.” I smile. “Hey,” I say, kissing him when he comes up to me. Normally I don’t pay any mind to what Jo thinks about us kissing in front of him. When we first started dating, he said it didn’t bother him anyway. But I can see him watching us from behind Max’s shoulder, and I can tell that now, he looks uncomfortable. His eyes flicker to mine for just a second before he grabs his food and heads into the living room. “Thanks for bringing sandwiches, babe,” I say, rubbing Max’s arm. “Of course,” he says, stepping a little closer to me. He tries to lean in for another kiss, but I stop him. “Look, Max,” I say, my hand on his chest. “I appreciate the surprise, but this isn’t a good time.” He raises his eyebrows. “Is everything okay?” “Yeah, just… Some things to, uh… work out,” I say vaguely. I scratch the back of my head. Now I probably look suspicious. But Max doesn’t seem too bothered by it. “It’s okay. I should’ve called first.” “I’m sorry,” I say, giving him a sincerely apologetic look. “It’s fine, Mark, really,” he says with a reassuring smile. He kisses me quickly before downing the last bit of his coffee. “Call me later?” “Of course,” I say, smiling as he grabs his own sandwich. I walk him out, kissing him goodbye at the doorway before locking up. I sigh. I wonder what Max would have thought if I had told him what happened. It’s probably best to keep this a secret. “You didn’t have to kick him out.” I turn at the sound of Jo’s voice. He’s watching me from the living room couch, chewing slowly. “Well, I promised that it’d just be us, didn’t I?” One corner of his mouth lifts up ever so slightly before he looks down. “Yeah.” I play with my fingers a bit as I lean against the door. “Do you still want to go to the Strawberry Festival?” He bites his lip and thinks about it before nodding. “If you want to.” “Can’t break tradition now,” I say. He nods a little, smiling to himself before speaking again. “Can we stop by the house on the way? I wanna get my… stuff,” he says vaguely. “If I’m sleeping over again.” He must mean his weed. If it helps him sleep, then we might as well get it while we’re in the area. Plus, no nightmares means no sleeping with me. I just nod. “Sure.” We eat our breakfast separately, and I let him shower before we head out of town to the Strawberry Festival (which is poorly-named considering it has nothing to do with strawberries). This has always been a tradition for me and my son. We go every year — often without Lisa because she’s not one for “going out”. The festival is nothing that special, really. We probably go simply out of routine, or for a bit of nostalgia. But it’s fun. It’s a large exhibition of local shops, featuring art, trinkets, face painting (which he always tries to make me do), music, food, the works. We always have a good time, but things between us right now are awkward, to say the least. We don’t talk that much on the way to the festival, and when we do arrive and start wandering around, we avoid touching each other too much. I guess I never really realized how affectionate we usually are until I noticed how often we both (actively) refrain from making physical contact. But I’m patient. And over the course of the day, we slowly rebuild. A small touch of the arm. A playful nudge. A hand on a shoulder. Eventually we graduate to a side hug when a local merchant makes us laugh. He leans into me and I put my arm around him automatically. It’s not even something we think about. It’s a short hug, but it’s progress, right? Then, when we get near the face painter, he grabs my hand. I feel this strange electricity run through me as he tugs me towards her set-up, and I’m surprised to see that he doesn’t let go of my hand when we’re in front of her. “He’d like to get his face-painted,” Jo says to her with a smile, pointing at me. At the same time, the hand-holding changes; instead of just holding it, he shifts the angle so that he can lock our fingers together. Automatically, my hand accepts it. I raise my eyebrow. “I didn’t agree to this,” I say with a slight smirk. “Please?” he asks, facing me more now. “It’ll be fun.” I roll my eyes. “I don’t want anything big.” He sighs. “Fine. Something small, then.” “Super small,” I clarify, giving his hand a little squeeze. “One tiny thing.” “You’re so boring,” he says with a little smirk before looking at the catalogue of things the face-painter can do. We skip all the crazy ones, like full-face paintings that would make me look like an animal of my choice. When we get to the smaller things, he points to a heart and says “Aha! This one.” “Seriously?” I say, laughing slightly. “A heart?” “I just wanna see if you have a feminine side,” he teases. Three minutes later, I have a tiny red heart on the top of my cheekbone. It makes me feel a little silly, but it’s so small that it’s barely noticeable, and it makes Jo smile. Well worth having a couple drops of paint on my face. Things between us seem to return back to normal at a much faster pace after meeting the face-painter. He smiles more. Looks at me more. We’re more touchy with each other (still innocently so). Conversation flows much more easily. But as we check out all the different booths and tents, my mind keeps drifting to last night. And after a while, my thoughts branch out completely against my will. I start to wonder things I shouldn’t, like what it’d be like to kiss him. To touch his naked body. To make him cum. These thoughts invade my head for just fleeting moments, and I quickly try to shove them from my mind. No matter what, though, they always creep back in random intervals. He could just be talking about how silly one of those sketches looked, and with my eyes on his mouth, I imagine our lips together. I hate entertaining the idea of us doing anything, and I know I need to stop, but it’s like Jo infected me or something. One thing is sure, though: his actions changed how I see my son. Not only do I see him as a sexual being, but I’m starting to see him as sexual target as well. While we’re at the festival, I keep telling myself the same thing over and over: “He’s your son.” I have to constantly remind myself of that fact, which worries me. But I’m sure I’ll get over it. Once he’s home for the week, I’ll be able to settle down, work through my thoughts, and get over this strange phase we’re having. It’ll be fine. After the festival, we grab a quick bite for lunch and then swing by the house to grab his weed. I was hoping it’d be a simple in-and-out (honestly, I was hoping Lisa wouldn’t be home), but it’s as if she was waiting for us. As soon I pull into the driveway and send Jo inside to grab what he needs, Lisa comes storming out. She brushes by Jo but heads for me instead and I sigh, bracing myself as I roll the window down. “Did you talk to him?” she says. “Yes,” I say tiredly. “And?” “And, it’s not that–” “Why do you have a heart on your face?” she interrupts, looking confused. “Huh? Oh.” I reach up and try wiping it off. “Strawberry Festival.” “I forgot about that,” she says, seeming distracted. “Yeah, it was fun,” I say, eager to get this conversation over with. “Anyway, I talked to him, and I don’t think it’s that big of a deal.” She gawks at me. “That big of a–? Your son is doing drugs!” “We both did worse at his age–” I try to point out, but she’s not having it. “That’s not the point!” “It’s just weed, Lisa,” I say, trying not to sound condescending. She throws her hands up. “NOW, it’s just weed. What’s next?” “Please don’t start,” I say, closing my eyes and rubbing my brow. “That’s not how it works–” “HOW can you be so nonchalant about this?!” she demands. “It’s just fucking weed!” I say a little more aggressively than intended, but I’ve been on edge all day and this isn’t helping. “Who cares! And if he finally found something that helps him sleep, we should be supporting him.” She blinks in surprise, probably at my sudden outburst. “It helps him sleep?” she asks. “Yes,” I say softly. “Keeps the nightmares away.” Now that I’m saying it out loud, I’m wondering… Maybe I should try it for myself. It’d be better than drinking every night, I’m sure. Plus the drinking is probably nothing more than a placebo at this point. “I promise it’s not that bad.” She nods slightly just as Jo comes out the front door, looking nervously at his mom as he comes around to the passenger side. She sighs heavily. “Well… if you think it’s okay…” “I do,” I say, nodding. I trust Jo in this. He’s always been a responsible and careful kid. “And I’ll keep an eye on him,” I add to reassure her. Jo hops into the car and starts buckling his seatbelt. “Okay,” she says slightly, putting her hands on the car and leaning her head in. “Bye, Jo,” she says, trying to smile. Jo gives her a tentative smile, clearly still unsure as to how she’ll react. After all, I did tell him to expect wrath. “Bye, Mom.” “Be safe, okay?” she says before glancing at me. Then she turns and heads back into the house. I sigh as I pull out of the driveway. Unless they’re work-related, I hate debates and arguments, especially small ones. They exhaust me. “Does she hate me yet?” Jonah asks. I laugh slightly. “No. I think I calmed her down,” I tell him, veering onto the road and heading back towards my apartment. “But she has a point,” I add after a moment. “I don’t know where you get your stuff from, but I’d prefer it come from a trusted source.” He looks at me like I’m being silly. kocaeli anal yapan escort “Dad, Brett wouldn’t give me anything bad–” “Yeah, but does Brett grow it himself?” I ask, and when Jo says no, I nod, making my point. “You can’t really trust criminalized drugs, kid.” “But–” “Which is why,” I start to say, talking over him before he can interrupt, “I’m going to talk to some people.” I have plenty of connections at the hospital. I glance at him and smile. “Finish what you have. But just humor me and say you’ll smoke what I give you instead of buying your own.” He smiles slightly before nodding. “Yes sir.” “Checkmate,” I say, leaning back on the couch with a grin. His eyes scan the board rapidly. “I fucking hate playing this game with you,” he mumbles, and I laugh. “Why?” “I can beat literally anyone except you.” “You won that one time,” I say vaguely, mostly to tease him. “Yeah, because you pitied me. It doesn’t count.” He bites his lip, shifting up to sit on his knees and lean in close to the board as if that’ll help. He’s on the floor on the opposite side of the coffee table, and he rests his hands on the edge of the table, deep in concentration. “Give up, Jo, there’s no–” “Wait!” he says, smiling. “It’s not checkmate.” He moves his bishop all the way across the board to block my rook from getting his king. I’m surprised. I hadn’t even noticed. “I’m still in it, big guy.” “Yeah yeah, you won’t last long,” I say, stroking my chin while I try to figure out a way to trap him. He distracts me, though. “Hey,” he says, and I look over at him. “Thanks for today, Dad.” I smile. “You’re welcome.” “And I’m… sorry about everything,” he adds, looking down at his lap slightly. “You don’t have to apologize, Jo.” “Yeah, I do,” he says. He runs his fingers through his hair a bit. “I just want you to know that I’m like, working on it. My feelings and stuff.” I look at him curiously. I said the same thing when I was his age. “I just… I appreciate you so much, you have no idea.” His voice is wavering ever so slightly, which makes it seem like he’s about to cry. Which makes my eyes water a bit. “And I love you so much. And I love that I can come to you about anything, but this? I was just so scared that I’d… I just didn’t wanna lose you because of this,” he says, finally looking back up at me. “That’d kill me.” I look down after blinking the tears out of my eyes. “You’re not gonna lose me, kiddo. You’re gonna lose this game,” I tell him, and he laughs, “but you’re not gonna lose me.” He smiles slightly to himself before I continue speaking. “You know, I was devastatingly attracted to my soccer coach in high school.” He peeks up at me. “Yeah?” “Oh yeah,” I say, nodding as I simultaneously glance at the chess board. “Wanted him to fuck the lights clean out of me.” Jo laughs. “Jesus Christ, Dad.” “I’m just being honest,” I say with a slight grin. “Anyway, he was the first person that I was ever, you know, sexually attracted to. So that’s when I first started thinking I was… not completely straight. Maybe even not at all.” I move my knight closer to his king. “So instead of facing it, I buried it.” I notice Jo isn’t paying any attention to the chess board. His focus is completely on me, so I keep speaking. “Or at least, I tried to. Nothing ever sat right with me though, because I never came to terms with … anything. And now I’m old.” “You’re not that old, Dad,” he says. “Old enough to have lived decades not being true to myself,” I tell him. “I guess what I’m getting at is, I don’t want you to make the same mistake that I did. I don’t want you to miss out on any opportunity to experience true and honest joy. Nothing matters more to me than your happiness,” I say, and he blushes slightly. “Nothing. And I don’t want you to beat yourself up over your feelings, or try to bury them like I did. Acknowledge them, address them, and come to terms with them however you need to, as long as it’s in a healthy manner.” He smiles slightly, nodding. “I’ll try,” he says. “Promise?” I ask, holding out my fist. He laughs. “Promise,” he says before we go through our little fist handshake we’ve been doing since he was little. “Good. Now, hurry up and take your turn so I can kick your ass.” After another ten minutes or so, I corner him, and the finally game ends. He swears on his life that one day he’ll beat me in chess, but I just smile and shrug. After we clean up the board, Jo lets out a long yawn. “Tired?” I ask, and he just smiles sleepily, nodding a little. He’s already dressed for bed, donning his pajama pants and an old t-shirt. I’m eager to change out of my day clothes and into something cozy, but before I head off, I give Jo a hug. It’s a tight embrace, and we draw it out for a long while as Jo buries his face into my chest. This feels good. I’m glad we had a good day today, because now, even though everything with him is out in the open, everything feels as it should. I leave him to get the pull-out couch ready while I head to my bedroom. I just strip down to my boxers and put on a cozy long-sleeved shirt before heading to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash up. On my way back into the hallway, though, I pause and sniff the air. …Is he smoking? How does it smell that bad already? I head into the living room and see him smoking casually on the couch near the open window. He’s hugging his shins with his knees to his chest and his feet on the couch as he points the joint towards the outdoors. Guess he at least tried to air it out. “It reeks in here,” I say. Jo swears under his breath. “Really? I thought doing it near the window would help.” He grimaces slightly. “Sorry. I should have asked.” “We’re gonna have to get you a filter,” I say, stepping into the living room with a slight chuckle. I make sure the front door is locked before stopping by the couch, scratching my jaw a little. “Can I try?” Jo looks surprised and amused. “Seriously?” he asks. “I mean, I guess. But this isn’t for recreation,” he teases. “I have sleep problems too, you know,” I say, taking a seat on the couch next to him. “I thought you said you don’t have nightmares anymore.” I decide to be honest. That’s what I want between us. Full honesty. “Well yeah, because I drink every night.” Now he looks shocked. “What?” “A drink or two before bed keeps the nightmares at bay for me,” I tell him. “That sounds–” “Like I’m an alcoholic, I know.” I hold my hands up and smile slightly. “Which is why this might be a marginally better idea,” I say, offering out my hand. He snorts a little. “Protect your liver, I guess.” He takes a quick hit of his joint before handing it to me. “Just kind of inhale like you’re–” But I hold my hand up, stopping him. “I know how to smoke weed, kid.” He laughs. “Sorry.” I just smile, bringing the joint to my lips. Since it’s been quite a while, I take a small hit. I only cough slightly into my fist before leaning back and taking a moment. I hand back the joint to Jo. “That shit is strong,” I say. Jo just chuckles, rejecting my offer to give it back, so I just hold onto it. “It really is. Which is fine. Means I need less,” he says. “How much do you actually need?” I ask curiously. “Kinda took a lot of trial and error,” he says, hugging his knees. “First time I did it, I got so high I thought I was dying.” I chuckle slightly to myself. “I really don’t need much to ward off the nightmares, though. I just need to get to that, like, ‘barely tipsy’ point when you drink.” “Oh, so now you’re drinking?” I say with a grin. He blushes slightly but laughs. “It was one time.” “Uh huh,” I say, taking one more decent hit before handing it back to Jo. He puts it out and then stuffs it back into a little compartment before draping his legs across my lap. I rest my hand on his shin as we sit and chat for a bit, and after a decent amount of time, I finally start to feel the slightest high. With it comes sleepiness, too, similar to that feeling a stiff drink gives me at the end of the day. Maybe this’ll work. But at the same time, even though we’re both clearly tired, neither of us seems to want to stop talking. We go from one topic to the next, sometimes with pauses in between that would be perfect opportunities to say “Alright. Off to bed.” Mostly it’s Jo who keeps re-striking up conversation, but I’m definitely not helping. To be fair, though, I’m never bored when I’m with Jo. I always enjoy hearing what he has to say. It’s a constant justification of how proud I am of him. At one point, he stops and stares at me for a while. When I smirk and ask him what’s up, he just shrugs and says “I wish I could grow facial hair like you.” I snort. “Seriously?” “Yeah.” He slides closer so that he can reach over and run his fingers over my scruff, scratching at it lightly. It feels soothing, in a way. “I can’t grow any to save my life.” So I reach out and do the same to him, running my knuckles across his jaw. “Damn, kid, you’re smooth,” I say with a laugh. “Told you,” he says with a smile, but I don’t stop touching him. Suddenly I’m fascinated by his skin. I cup his face slightly with my palm, nudging his cheek with my thumb. It’s flushed slightly, but otherwise, it’s perfect. Not a blemish in sight. He should thank his mother for his virtually flawless skin. And his lips? He got those from her too. I find myself drifting in thought a bit as my thumb creeps closer to his lips. Then he kisses it with a little peck. My face gets warm but both of us laugh softly as if sharing an intimate joke. But I don’t move my thumb away. In fact, I stroke his bottom lip slightly, captivated by the fullness of it. And then, as if he was expecting it, he parts his lips just as I slide my thumb forward. Once my thumb hits his tongue, it’s like I come to. I stop upon realizing what we’re doing and I clear my throat, focusing my eyes on something else. Like his dumb t-shirt. I can’t even tell what it says. “Sorry,” Jo asks. I glance up at his eyes before sighing. “It’s okay.” Maybe I’m higher than I thought? Or am I just using that as an excuse? “Sorry, too,” I end up saying. “Don’t apologize,” he says softly, clearly trying to read my expressions. I just rub my face with one hand. “This is too much,” I mutter, mostly to myself. I feel embarrassed. And guilty. All that talk about honesty and here I am, trying to deny that this attraction is mutual. I need to take my own damn advice: acknowledge it, and deal with it in a healthy way. And I can start by separating myself from this situation. “What’s too much?” Jo asks. “This,” I say, pointing back and forth between us. I just sigh. We both need space. Plain and simple. We both need to avoid temptation. It’s especially evident because only now am I realizing that my hand is stroking his leg a little too intimately, and his hand is resting on my bare thigh with his fingers resting just a hint inside the leg of my boxers. It’s dangerous if I don’t even know how we got to this point. “I’m gonna go to bed,” I say, lifting his legs off of me and then standing up before my dick gets hard enough for him to notice. “Okay,” he says in a small voice. “Um. Goodnight.” “Night,” I say, looking at him for a moment before heading to my room. My whole body is warm, and it’s definitely not because of the marijuana. It’s like he said: it’s just that ‘barely tipsy’ feeling. No, it’s the fact that I’m really acknowledging how my body responds to my son. Hell, I have a fucking raging hard-on right now, and as I climb into bed and rest, I wait for it to go down. But even after it does, I can’t sleep. I feel restless. Lustful. Fucked-up and curious. Needy, in a weird way. But mostly, I feel alone. Distanced. For maybe an hour, I just roll around in bed as if I’m trying to find a comfortable izmit yabancı escort position. But I’m not comfortable isolated in my own room. I get up before I can really change my mind and join my son on the pull-out bed. He turned off all the lights, so it’s dim as I make my way around the couch and lift the covers to slide in behind him. He must have been awake because he stirs rather quickly, turning his head to face me. He doesn’t say anything as I climb in and then sigh behind him, resting on my back. After nearly a minute of silence, he turns around and faces me. “Can’t sleep?” “No,” I say with a slight smile, turning my head towards him. “Me neither,” he says, laughing softly. “I think you brought the wrong strand,” I joke. “I think your apartment just has bad vibes,” he teases. I chuckle. “I sincerely apologize.” There’s a pause before Jo shifts closer to me. He moves his head onto my chest and I rest my hand on his back. “I wish I could just live with you,” he says after a while. I sigh through my nose. “I know, buddy.” “I miss you all the time.” I love this kid so much that I almost hate him. I move my hand to his shoulder and give him a little squeeze. “We still see each other a lot.” “I know,” he says, running his fingers across my chest, “but it’s not the same.” He sighs slightly. “I need my license.” “And a car,” I point out. “And ‘a job to pay for that car’,” he says, mocking his mother’s voice. It’s a little mean, but I laugh. “She’s right, though.” “I know, I know,” he says. “I’m hoping this summer.” Then he pulls back and looks up at me. “You should get me a job at the hospital.” I grin. “Doing what, exactly?” “I don’t know. Anything. I’ll literally do anything. Plus I could stay with you over the summer while I work. And–” But I stop him, laughing. He’s getting that excited look in his eye, and I know he’ll go on and on about all the potential plans. “One thing at a time,” I say, patting his cheek. “I’ll look into it.” “Really?” he says, smiling brightly even in this dim lighting. “Promise.” He seems satisfied, so he lies back down and rests against my chest again. I gently play with his hair and he hums a bit, tilting his face into my shirt more. “That feels good,” he says, slightly muffled. I chuckle. “I used to do this when you were little, you know,” I say, massaging his scalp slowly. “Used to help you fall asleep.” “Well it’s working,” Jo says, holding onto me more tightly. He presses his front against my side and rests comfortably on top of me, his breathing becoming regular. It’s kind of soothing for me too, rubbing his head like this. I close my eyes and do it metronomically, working my fingers in slow circles through his soft hair. And then, after a few minutes, I notice something. Jo’s hard. I can feel his boner poking against my thigh. My eyes open and I stare up at the ceiling. He shifts slightly, pushing his hips a little more into me, and I find my heart racing a bit. Not that it really matters… Except for the fact that now I’m getting hard. I can feel the blood pumping to my cock and lifting the fabric of my boxers under the blanket until it can’t get any higher. Now I’m aching. Fuck. I close my eyes, and tell myself over and over to relax. Get soft. Relax. Go to sleep. But my dick is practically pulsing. I have to reach down with my free hand and adjust myself. I thought he might have fallen asleep by now, but I feel him move his hand from my chest right to my stomach after I adjusted my cock. Then he starts moving his hand. Slowly, just how I’m massaging his head. And every time he strokes back down, he gets a little closer to my waist. I can tell, because my cock isn’t going down. It twitches as if expecting physical contact on each down-stroke. Maybe he’ll leave it alone. Maybe he didn’t really notice what I was doing. Oh, he noticed. I feel his fingers go lower slightly. Just a centimeter every couple seconds. I should stop him before it’s too late. Why am I not stopping him? Why am I letting his hand inch closer and closer to his goal? Then, he makes contact. From outside my boxers, he grips my hard cock. I inhale deeply, my eyes rolling back even though they’re closed. But I have to stop this. I reach down and grab his wrist. “Jo…” “You’re hard,” he says. Let’s not talk about that. “Please don’t,” I say softly. He lets go, and I remove my grip on his hand. A few moments later, he pulls away completely, turning over on his side and facing away from me. I don’t know what I want anymore. My heart is racing a bit. I can’t stop thinking about Jo, who’s right there next to me, perfectly willing. My beautiful, smart, sweet boy. My curious, horny, lustful boy. I wonder if he knows the torment he’s putting me through. How torn I am about this whole situation. He must know. He knows me better than anyone else does. I’m sure he could see it on my face all day. I wait several moments before sliding forward and spooning him, wrapping my arm around him. I don’t know what possessed me to move, but I did it. Here I am. And Jo responds just as I expect him to. He settles back into me eagerly, our bodies cozy together as I hold him. I wonder if he can feel my heart pounding. I wonder if he notices that I’m still hard. But he’s probably focused on my hand. I, very slowly, run my hand up and down his torso, moving it in gentle circles. As my hand gets lower, I sense his breathing heighten slightly. I get terribly close to his crotch. I even feel skin where his shirt has lifted up. I press my face into his hair and inhale softly. He smells so damn good. A lightly fruity scent from his shampoo, but it’s faint enough for me to just smell him. Whatever his scent is. After a minute, I slip my hand lower now, my own cock rock hard against his ass as my fingers start creeping over his groin. I hear Jo inhale sharply. “Dad–” he says softly. “Shhh,” I tell him, cupping his crotch with my palm and starting to grope him. Something switches when I touch him. It’s like now, I’ve officially crossed the line. There’s no going back. I’ve reciprocated. I bite my lip as I touch my boy, feel him, caress him. Oh he’s hard alright. He’s just as hard as I am. And he knows I’m hard because he presses back into me, making me grunt slightly. Then Jo tilts his head back, and our mouths, like magnets, gravitate towards each other until we connect. It’s better than I imagined. He’s softer than I thought he’d be. I kiss him deeply, running my hand back up his torso to the side of his head to keep him in place and guide him through a sensual kiss. I’m higher than I would have been had I taken ten more hits of that joint. This is totally different. This strangely feels… right. How could this feel so right? It seems Jo’s been waiting for the opportunity. I can sense his eagerness as he turns around and presses his front against mine, kissing me passionately. I find my hand snaking around him and gripping his lower back to pull him in closer, trying to keep up with his increased rate of kissing. Somehow he ends up on top of me, our crotches grinding slightly against each other’s as we kiss. I keep my hands on his hips as he grabs onto me. Jo breaks the kiss and pants slightly, seeming like he’s taking a moment to collect his thoughts. I just swallow thickly, resting my head back against the couch. The fuck are we doing? What did I get us into? And to think, helped initiate this. Jesus Christ. I should have ignored the sexual tension, or the overwhelming chemistry between us. I should have buried it and put a stop to his like a good father should. But I just watch as Jo slides down. He lifts my shirt up and kisses slowly down my body, nuzzling his face into wherever there’s hair. I stare up at the ceiling as I feel his lips get closer and closer to my groin. Then, he presses his face right into my crotch. I gasp slightly, licking my lips before looking down. He’s lost in his own little world, totally focused on breathing me in until he hooks his fingers into the waistband and starts tugging my boxers off. And I let him. I let him take them off and toss them to the floor. I let him wrap his fingers around my cock. I let him lean down and immediately and eagerly wrap his lips around my manhood. I let him because I want him to. And because it feels damn fucking good. I moan softly, closing my eyes as I just enjoy the sensations he’s giving me. I’m surprised. He’s not bad. He’s bobbing up and down with vigor, giving me nice, wet head. I hear those soft slurping noises when he gets closer to the tip before raising my eyebrows at feeling him try to take me into his throat. He grunts a bit before gagging and pulling off, taking a few moments to cough. But that doesn’t stop him, or embarrass him. He just goes right back at it. He’s eager to please. That much is obvious. My shirt is bundling up on my back, so I sit up and take my shirt off, tossing it to the ground as Jo bobs in my lap. I wrap my hand around his chin and pull him off, bringing him up to my lips to kiss him. We share a warm, lewd, tongue-filled kiss as his hand goes right to my cock. Damn, this kid won’t let go, it seems like. Even when I try removing his shirt, he’s reluctant on taking his hand away. He makes me strip him quickly so that he can resume touching me, going so far as to fondle my balls too — something that always makes my toes curl. I break the kiss and then start to lie down again while guiding him back to my cock. He gobbles me up enthusiastically. I watch for a while as he holds the base of my cock and works the rest with his mouth, his other hand disappearing between his legs. He looks so fucking sexy. Like he’s having the time of his life. Like he’s finally getting what he’s desired for so long. I love watching him pull off and slap himself with my cock, or run his puckered lips up and down the sides of my shaft. His lust for it is turning me on like crazy. I wonder how often he’s jerked off thinking about me. His own dad. His own fucking father. Fuck, this is insane. I close my eyes and rest my hand on the back of his head, letting him do what he wants at his own pace. It’s good enough for me, anyway. He matches his strokes with how he bobs up and down, engulfing my cock, and after a while, he starts focusing his tongue a little more, making my whole body tingle. Then I feel him pull off a bit. “Am I doing okay?” he asks. “Don’t speak,” I say immediately, not wanting to break my focus. I don’t want to think about anything but his mouth on my dick right now. A mountain’s-worth of regret and shame probably awaits me at the end of this, but I’ll tackle that when we get there. I feel my orgasm building after a while. I let out deeper moans more frequently, tightening my grip on Jo’s hair. “Fuck,” I whisper, raising my hips up into his mouth. It hits the back of his throat and he gags in surprise but keeps up his stride, even as I start pumping my hips a bit. “I– Shit–” I grunt as his tongue laps at the very tip of my cock with such precision that my cum surges through my cock almost immediately after. I groan out, holding him down on my cock as I fill his mouth with a thick, creamy load, every muscle in my body tensing. I shut my eyes so tightly that all I see are little white dots amidst the black. It’s the type of orgasm that makes you disappear for one beautiful moment. You are nothing but the sense of extreme pleasure. After that second of bliss, when I come back to reality, I feel him grasp onto the base of my cock tightly, and soon, I feel him cumming too, right on my leg as he handles a mouthful of his dad’s cum. I let go of his head and let my arm rest on the pull-out bed. I feel him slide off slowly until my spent cock slaps against my lower torso. I look down just as Jo takes a breath, as if having drunk a substantial amount of water. He pants slightly as he sits up, glancing down at the mess he made on my leg before his eyes meet mine. I can see all the things I’m feeling reflected in his eyes: excitement, guilt, satisfaction, embarrassment, fear. We did that. I can’t believe it, but we did that. But now what do we do?

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