Date: Thu, 17 Mar 2022 15:00:59 -0700 From: Jay Spear Subject: Edge of Seventeen - Part 1 My stories are fiction and intended for readers 18 and up. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults. If you like this story, check out my Patreon! Lots more content there: patreon.com/jayspearstories The Nifty Archive has been a fantastic resource to all of us! Please consider supporting them with a donation: https://donate.nifty.org/. Edge of Seventeen - Part 1 By Jay Spear I had my first real kiss at 17. Of course I had kissed some people before then. I messed around with some girls, then some boys, and I even fooled around a bit with one who didn't identify as either. But my first *real* kiss, a passionate kiss--the first one I cared about--was right here by the pool at my best friend's house when I was 17. I know what you're thinking. "How sweet. He kisses and falls for his best friend." But this isn't that story. It wasn't Jason I fell for--it was his dad. Neither of us expected it to happen. It was one of those late summer evenings where it's still warm into the night and you want to stay out and take advantage of it. Soak it all in before the fall comes, when the days get shorter and everything cools down. I always tried to stretch those summer days and nights as much as I could. Jason didn't care. He was still down in the basement playing video games--he had been for hours. But I was restless and needed to get outside, to enjoy the weather. Jason barely grunted a goodbye when I went upstairs. He just kept his eyes on the screen. I liked staying over at Jason's house. He had the most chill parents of all us, so it was a great place to relax and test out some freedoms. The house was spacious and well equipped. And he had a great backyard with a killer pool. I opened the screen door and stepped out there now. The moon was full and bright and the air was thick with late summer humidity. I thought I'd stretch out on one of the lounge chairs by the pool, staring at the sky and letting my mind wander. But I discovered I wasn't alone. "Oh hey, Mr. P." "Hi, Corey." Mr. P.--Brad Peterson--was Jason's dad. He was a pretty cool guy. I'd grown up hanging out with him and Mrs. P. a little bit when I was over at Jason's. Mr. P. was an engaged and easygoing dad. He'd play frisbee with us or sometimes he and I would play chess together when I got bored of the video games Jason was obsessed with. Or we'd just talk. He was the only parent I knew who could hold his own in a conversation about current music and then pivot to talking with me about the literature I was reading for class. ("Goddamn," Jason would say, shaking his head. "We have to talk about that shit all day long at school. Crazy that you and my dad want to go another round on that here.") But now Mr. P was sitting by the pool, fiddling with the long stem of a wine glass. "Everything OK? You look a bit glum." He sighed. "I am, I guess, Corey. Tomorrow is the day we're signing the papers. Hard to think about a marriage ending like this." He took a long sip of his wine. I knew a little bit about it. Jason had told me his folks were talking about divorce. It surprised me, though, because they had always been affectionate with each other and never seemed to fight. Frankly, their marriage seemed much happier than my parents' marriage. "They opened things and it all blew up," Jason had explained to me. Open marriage. Can you imagine? Another reason why Mr. and Mrs. P were the cool parents in our group. I couldn't imagine any of our other parents agreeing to try something like that. Apparently it had gone really well at first. Both had discreet little flings on the side and the trust and excitement seemed to make their marriage hotter and tighter than it had ever been. But then Mrs. P got kind of attached to one of her flings and it deepened into something else. She said she wanted to be with that other guy. She wanted out. It surprised me. I didn't know the guy, but why would anybody walk out on Mr. P? He was handsome, fit, and funny--the kind of guy people crowd around at parties. And he was kind. Most of the dads in our group were gruff, or angry, or dismissive, but Mr. P really cared. He was patient, inquisitive, and he really listened. Maybe I could listen for him now. "I'm sorry, Mr. P. I'm sure this all sucks." "Thank you, Corey." He grabbed the wine bottle from the side table and refilled his glass. "And hey, no need to keep calling me Mr. P. You're not a little kid anymore. Just call me Brad." "OK, sure. Brad." I thought for a minute and then dared to ask him what I was curious about: "So what happened?" "I don't know," he sighed. "We got into this with clear rules--just fun with others, and no attachments--but she broke them." "I'm sorry." "I mean the sex was fun. Everybody loves variety. But we weren't supposed to introduce emotions into it. She let that happen." "Do you think open relationships don't work?" "I dunno, Corey. I think they can. Ours did for a while. I know other couples that have made it work." He downed another slug of wine. "Listen, Core. Whatever you do in life, just choose the right girl." "Yeah, makes sense. I will. Except...except...it probably won't be a girl." "Not into girls?" "I don't think so. I've fooled around with girls a little, and it...it just doesn't do it for me, you know?" "But guys?" "Oh yeah. I'm pretty sure I'm in into guys. I guess that makes me gay or something." "Maybe. Or maybe bi. You don't have to decide now. Just see how things work out over time." "You seem pretty casual about it." "Of course. It's no big deal." He took a sip of his wine. "I've had some experience there myself. So I get it." "You have?" I was amazed. When I first learned that Mr. and Mrs. P had opened up their relationship, it made me think about them as sexual beings for the first time. I imagined them fucking each other. Then I tried to picture them with other women, other men. But through all that I'd never pictured Brad's sexuality as anything other than straight. "Yeah. When we opened things up, some of my hook ups were with guys. It's kind of easier, you know? Lots of college guys in this town hitting the apps, looking for someone off-campus to play with. Someone they won't get stuck in class with next semester." He took another sip of wine. "So it was good for them and good for me! A little easier to find guys to fool around with no strings attached, if you know what I mean. I hadn't really done it since my own college days, but it all came rushing back." "Wow." I thought of Brad on the apps. What was his profile picture? Did he use that wholesome dad look to pull people in? What kind of private pics would he unlock? And these college boys that fooled around with him...what did they do, what were they like? "Sorry, " he said. "I probably shouldn't be telling you this." "No! It's fine. Really, I appreciate it. I struggle with this sometimes. With my feelings, the things I want to do. And it's great to have someone I know kind of normalize things for me, ya know?" Brad nodded. "I mean, I see stuff on the Internet, but it's not like you find role models in porn." Brad guffawed. "No, you most certainly do not," he agreed. "So is it OK if I learn from you?" "Aw thanks, kid," he said, throwing an arm around my shoulders. "I'm flattered. And sure. I'll try to be open about myself and my experiences if it's helpful to you. That's my first lesson right there. To be open. Too many people waste too much of their lives being repressed and denying parts of themselves. Gotta open yourself up." "Yeah. Makes sense." "I'm sure you'll find all the things you want. You're a good looking guy. Sweet face. Good personality. Sex, love...you have all of that ahead of you." "Thanks, Brad. For the reassurance. And for what it's worth, you're a pretty damn attractive guy too." "Not bad for an old man?" He grinned. "You're not old at all. And yes." "Well, old enough to be your father. I'm Jason's father. We probably shouldn't even be talking like this." "I'm glad we are." "Well, OK then. My dad was never open about sexuality or any of this stuff. I want to be different in my parenting. Open door." "It's not that way in my family." "That's probably true of a lot of families, I'd guess. Still a lot of repression, even in this day and age." "Yeah." "You work it out how you can. Fool around with your friends with school. Jack off a lot and discover what you like. And you'll be ready when the time comes." "I feel ready now." He laughed. "Every young man feels that. It will happen." "When you've hooked up--with guys, I mean--what's it like?" "Like anything else. Depends on the chemistry with the person, you know?" "I suppose. There's all these labels: top, bottom." "You should try it all and see what works for you." "What works for you?" I wanted to hear it and file it away. To imagine Brad with some college guy, sucking and maybe fucking him...getting fucked too, maybe? Something for the spank bank later. "I've done a lot. I like a lot." "With college guys? Younger guys?" "With guys my age too. But the college guys seem to like me. I guess daddies are a thing now." "I get it. An older, experienced guy can be really sexy." "Huh." "Like in Ancient Greece. Older mentors helping guys become men themselves." He gave me a long look, which I willed myself to return. I swallowed hard. "Where are you going with this, son?" Reflexively I stiffened at that word, "son." I paused while I searched for my next words. "I think about that sometimes. Fantasies, I guess. I like to beat off thinking about my swim coach." "Yeah? What's he like?" "Mid 40s. Handsome. Hairy chest. I work hard in practice. I don't know...I just want to please him somehow." "Sure. It's easy to have complicated feelings about those things." I nodded. "You're not the first guy to have the hots for a teacher or an authority figure. I used to crush out on my guidance counselor, Ms. Jensen. Beautiful. Always worse a low cut blouse that showed off her cleavage. I'd stare at those breasts in every session with her." He laughed. "I'm pretty sure she knew it, too." "Did you do anything about it?" "No, never had an opportunity. But Lord knows I wanted to. Horny high school years." I shifted in my seat. "I feel that all the time." I was tenting. He looked at my squirming. "You feeling it now?" "Yeah." He then back his head and chuckled. "Sex talk will do that to you." "And you?" "Yeah," he said, reaching down and giving his dick a squeeze. "Me too." I smiled. "Remembering Ms. Jensen..." he closed his eyes. "I think it's you." "What is?" I gulped. Could I brave? "I mean mine. It's because of you." He smiled. "Really?" "Yeah." "I'm flattered, buddy. That's sweet." He drank some more wine and turned his head to look at me full on. "You've grown up into a good kid. Thoughtful, kind. Baby face leaving you and turning into something more mature. Handsome. You're gonna make some guy really happy someday." "You too, Mr. P--Brad. I mean, not necessarily a guy. Probably a woman I guess. But you'll be with someone great again. You're a catch! Smart, hardworking, successful, a good dad, handsome, and sexy as fuck!" It all came tumbling out in an awkward rush. "Sexy as fuck! Wow, that's a compliment." "It's true." "Better than your coach?" He grinned. "Coach is like the guy you imagine fucking when have a quick toss and then forget about it. You're like the guy I'd daydream about in class. The kind that gives you a accidental wet spot just from imagining a kiss." "Just from a kiss?" he teased. "Well, I am a good kisser." He looked at me. I looked back. And just like that we were kissing. I don't know who leaned in--both of us, maybe. I'd like to think so. Regardless, we found ourselves forehead to forehead, nose touching nose, and his warm lips were pressed up against mine. He brought a hand to the back of my neck and pulled me closer. My lips parted and our mouths opened up. It was soft, tender, and unhurried. None of that sloppy, aggressive kissing that kids my age engage in. It was a real kiss, an adult kiss. Sensual. True. I melted into it, and for just a bit time stood still. Nothing but the feeling of his stubble against my smooth cheek. His lips open to mine. His tongue tasting me. His smell--sweat and something woodsy, like cedar or pine--filling my nostrils. It was beautiful, it was wonderful, and then suddenly it was broken off. "Sorry. We can't do this. I can't do this. You're my son's friend. And you're not 18 yet are you?" "I will be." "When?" "In eight months." He sighed. "Look. It felt great. We both know that. But this...shouldn't happen. We both know that too." "But you--" "A weak moment. I'm tipsy, reeling from divorce papers, and then there's this cute, sweet kid complimenting me. I gave in to that. Maybe anyone would. But I should stop us here." "And if I don't want you to?" "I believe that you don't want me to. Or at least you think you don't. And I'm flattered. But you will thank me for this. A year or two later when you look back, you'll recognize it as, I dunno, hero worship, or hormones, or curiosity, or whatever--and you'll be glad I stopped us from making a mistake." "It didn't feel like a mistake." "No," he said. "No, it didn't. And that's exactly why I've got to leave now. To say goodnight." He stood up and gave me a long look, trying to maintain a stern glare. But flashes of care, concern, and desire showed through the edges. "Good night then, Mr. P. I mean, Brad. Good night, Brad." "Good night, Corey," he said, giving my shoulder a squeeze. And then he left. I lay back on the lounge chair and stared at the moon. The space felt empty without him, and I could still smell his scent--deodorant, sweat, a whiff of smoke from the burgers he grilled earlier in the evening. I closed my eyes and soaked it all in. I was still hard. I hard been hard leading up to the kiss, and right through it, and my wood showed no signs of going down yet. I reached a hand down to my pants and squeezed. My cock throbbed back. I pushed my waistband down and it popped free. I stroked unhurriedly, replaying the kiss with Mr. P. With Brad. He had gone inside and I was out here alone and horny, so why the fuck not? I fisted my dick and fell back into the memory of us locking eyes, slowly moving in, and our lips touching. Kissing. That kiss had teased at all the things I wanted to do with him. Things that I was pretty sure we both wanted to do together. I had not come out to the pool expecting to connect in this way with Brad. But we *had* connected, and the jolt of energy that passed between us opened my eyes. This is what I had been longing for. It was the reason I had not really gone too far with any of the boys at school. I didn't want boys; I wanted a man. A man. A man. I wanted a man. A man like Brad. Like my friend's dad. A guy who could be sexy and loving and mature. Who confessed his emotions to me rather than laughing them off with a punch in the locker room. That was real. That way sexy. That was firing me up like no heartless porn clip had ever done before. I jacked harder. I imagined that kiss progressing. Deeper, wetter...the two of us connected at the mouth while our fingers fumbled with shirts and snaps, belts and buttons. And when we were naked, two hard cocks pointing right up to the moon, begging for the touch of the each other.... What would it be like to touch Mr. P--Brad? To stroke his shaft while I kissed his mouth? "Uh...uh...uhh..." I whimpered into the night as I stroked and imagined how the night might have gone. How I still wanted it to go. How it would have been if we hadn't held ourselves back. And just like that I was cumming. Moaning and cumming in the moonlight, shooting hot, ropy jets of cum up my chest and over my shoulder, some landing on the bushes next to me. Jesus. That was fast. Too fast, really, but I was all worked up. I tried to catch my breath and calm down. If I ever had the opportunity to touch Brad for real, I'd have to learn how to hold back. I'd want to make it last. Forever maybe. I looked up at the moon and sighed. It all seemed so far away. I got up out of the chair and pulled up my shorts, grabbed my crumpled up shirt off the ground. I turned to go back into the house. As I did I saw a black silhouette in the second story window. There was movement, the rustle of curtains, and then the lights went out. I waved goodnight at the dark window. I was pretty sure he could still see it.