Date: Fri, 7 Oct 2016 21:46:07 +0000 (UTC)
From: a4f101@yahoo.com
Subject: Alumni Weekend

Here's a story taken from my Tumblr, at a4f101.tumblr.com/storytime. You
can find this one, and the pic that inspired it, here:
http://a4f101.tumblr.com/post/128350038649/

You can also find a whole lot more of my stories here on Nifty - look for
'a4f101' in the Prolific Authors listing.

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*****

The kid was a bit of a mess - but a hot mess, to be sure. He was having the
time of his life, and looked it. Like a lot of the brothers, he'd lost his
shirt awhile back, when the sun was still up. Then his turn to do a
kegstand came around again, and he shucked his cargo shorts with a wicked
grin and took it on, his body long and lean and defined, white briefs
barely clinging to the fine-honed muscles of his ass. Arms uplifted in
triumph, to the cheers of the small crowd gathered in the backyard of the
SigEp house, a bumping tune came on the speakers and he immediately hopped
up on the picnic table to start dancing, bringing the cheers and hoots up a
notch.

"Colby tells me he's the life of the party," Izzo said, as we stood back,
red Solo cups of beer in hand, and watched the ongoing debauchery as the
night got deeper.

"You don't know the half of it," I chuckled.

It was good to be back here. Sure, we were older now, but there was
something about being back at the old frat house, your buds around you,
bullshitting and telling dirty jokes into the small hours of the night,
letting the buzz and the vibe really seep into you. I couldn't always make
it for Alumni Weekend, but I always had a great time when I did. Even more
so now, especially with my best bud from back in the day by my side. We
were sinking beers like we weren't in our early 40s, like we didn't have
big-boy jobs and mortgages and wives and families. Like we were still 19,
and the warm, beer-soaked nights like these still stretched out ahead of us
for years to come.

This was starting to feel a little like one of those nights. Something in
the air. I'd felt this vibe before, on Alumni Weekends in years past, and
god knows, I'd gotten my cock sucked and fucked some damn fine, tight,
muscled fratboy tail at several of these events over the years, as if I'd
never graduated and moved on with my life. As if I hadn't been one of those
tight, muscled young fratboys myself, back in the day. Sometimes, it was
almost enough to make you wish you were still in the life, still young and
mostly carefree, all about the next beer, the next joint, the next party,
the next piece of ass. And then you woke up in some fucked-out 20-year-old
dude's musky bed, rubbing your head and wondering why it had ever seemed
like a good idea to do Jager bombs again after all these years, remembering
you had to call home and check in, had to find your car keys, had to
somehow make yourself look presentable for the daytime functions, had to
reconcile the fact that you'd dumped two loads up some hot young dude's ass
when you had a wife and kids and a semi-respectable life to go home to.

And then sometimes, the kid woke up with a cute, sleepy-eyed smile and
leaned down to suck your cock back to hardness, and you forgot all about
that shit and surfed the memory wave, back to those good ol' days.

"Reminds me of you a little, Bill," Izzo said with a knowing chuckle.

"Shut the fuck up, bud," I laughed. "I didn't table-dance all that
much. And half the time, you were up there with me."

These parties could get a little wild, it's true. And after enough shots,
enough beers, with the right tunes on the stereo, things could get a
little... frisky. There's something about that feeling, being young, built,
single and free, being desired. Feeling friendly hands giving you a playful
grope, getting you even more in the spirit of things. Dollar bills jokingly
tossed at your feet, or into the waistband of your shorts. A few bold hands
tucking those bills way deep down, and getting a good feel of your goods
into the bargain. Knowing one of your bros, and maybe more, would probably
get naked with you in your room upstairs.

One of the last great parties we threw before we graduated, me and Izzo got
convinced - and there wasn't much arm-twisting involved - to get up and
dance a little, and somehow that wound up as us down to our underwear,
bumping and grinding, before Izzo pulled my face in close to his, all
sweaty and grinning and hazy-eyed, and laid some serious tongue on
me. Hearing the cheers of our bros go up even louder just made us go with
it even more, and we wound up just short of fucking each other right there
on the table. It was a hell of a charge, and when he grabbed my hand and
yanked me upstairs to his room to take it further, like we'd been doing on
the semi-sly for two semesters by that point, somehow it turned into a
five- or six-brother thing. Quite a night. I still jacked off thinking
about it, and every so often, when me and Izzo would have one of our
Sunday-evening catch-up calls, one or the other of us would start to
mention it, and the call would end up with us jacking off and reliving it
blow-by-blow, hiding away from our families as we relived some of the best
times of our lives together.

Seems like some things never changed, because the current generation of
SigEps were just as crazy as us, just as randy, and even the presence of a
good dozen of us old alums hadn't made them any more circumspect. If
anything, tonight seemed a little wilder. Off in the darker corners of the
yard, some of the alums and the younger brothers were deep in
conversation. Hands casually groped asses, stroked pecs. Heads tilted in to
connect. Newly formed pairs wandered casually into the house and upstairs,
and I'd most definitely heard the grunting, growling sounds of male sex
coming from behind closed doors on my last trip inside to use the bathroom.

Me and Izzo leaned back and watched the kid dance, swiveling his trim hips
like a stripper, his skin glowing with sweat, starting to throw a solid rod
in those half-bagged shorts of his. One of his brothers, a big,
good-looking kid in his own right, stepped up beside him, handed him a
funnel and upended a tallboy into it. We both chuckled as the kid swallowed
it, Adam's apple working overtime, before he dropped the funnel, raised his
arms up in the air, and belched triumphantly. And then he grabbed hold of
the beer-pouring brother and laid a pretty serious kiss on the dude.

"Fuck," Izzo murmured, reaching down to grope the big bulge in his khaki
shorts. "Definitely reminds me of you."

"Well, maybe the apple doesn't fall so far from the tree after all," I
chuckled, as the kid released his brother from the kiss, grinning, and then
looked around in triumph. His eyes found mine, and he blushed briefly, then
grinned some more. The kiss had left him throwing a serious bone in his
beer-soaked briefs. I just nodded at him, lifted my Solo cup and gave him a
wink.

No question about it - Brady was my son, alright.

The big kid stepped down off the table, tenting his own shorts, and came
over our way, grinning but looking a little guilty.

"Colby, buddy, you act like you're the first Izzo to ever party," Izzo
said, slipping his arm around the big kid's neck. "Me and Bill here could
tell you a few stories..."

"You already have," Colby said with a joking eyeroll. "And I'm sure you're
gonna tell me even more..."

I watched Brady continue to dance on the table with something like paternal
pride, and then one of the alums passed me a joint and I took a hit. Fuck
yeah. I was definitely proud of my kid. Smart, funny, hell of a baseball
player, and he'd had no issues integrating into college life. His grades
were good, and he still knew how to party with the best of them. My fucking
kid, alright. And going on the attention he was getting, and loving
getting, he was just as popular with his brothers as I'd been back in the
day.

I wondered how many other chapters fostered such tight bonds between alums
and their sons. Maybe it was just us, maybe something in the water at this
old, storied house, running through the ancient pipes, flowing down our
throats, over our bodies as we bathed in it, drank it in, fucked in and
beneath it. Just like our sons did.

I was standing there, half-lost in my weed-clouded reverie, when I noticed
Brady being offered a shot from his admirers below. Another of the alums -
Spencer, maybe? He leaned in to take it, then leaned down further, that
tight, muscular young ass of his rising up out of his damp Boss briefs like
a sweat-shining sculpture, listening intently to what the guy was saying
into his ear. Then he grinned, slowly rose, looked directly at me and took
the shot, tossing the glass over his shoulder to cheers from the guys as he
resumed grinding his hips. Only now, it was like he was dancing for me, and
when he lifted his hands up towards me and started motioning me in, I got
that gut-tingle again.

"Go on, get your ass up there, Drake!" I heard somebody yell, to laughter
and applause. I just laughed, shook my head.

"C'mon, Dad!" Brady called, and I heard the cheers go up a notch. Eyes on
me now. Hands clapping my shoulders, my back, my ass. Pushing me
forward. So fuck it. I dumped the last of my beer down my throat - just in
time for some asshole to hand me another one - fixed my eyes on my boy's,
and made my way over.

"Fuck yeah, big guy," he grinned, grabbing my forearm and helping pull me
up with him. I could smell the beer on him, the weed smoke fogging the
yard, and beneath all that, his young sweat, cutting through everything
else as he locked his excited gaze and grin on me and started to dance.

Took me a minute to find my rhythm - I guess I'm turning into an old guy,
because I have no idea what the fuck it is these kids are listening to
nowadays - but eventually it found me, and me and my boy were dancing
together. The kid had moves - I guess I'd always had pretty good rhythm,
and he definitely got his from me and not his mother. The guys seemed to be
enjoying it, especially when Brady started dancing closer in on me. I could
see their grinning faces, their eager eyes, but mainly I was focused on my
son, on his scent and the sheen of sweat and beer glowing on his
tight-muscled young frame, the sway of his hips, the impressive half-bone
pushing across his trim hip.

And then some wiseass - probably Izzo, that asshole - put Prince's "Kiss"
on the speakers, Brady's eyes lit up, and I guess mine did too, because I'd
done more than a few turns on this table to that particular song. Brady was
doing a slow grind, and when he turned his shiny bare back around and
pushed that fine young ass of his back at me, half exposed to the warm
night air, I gave it a solid smack on instinct. The crowd cheered some
more, and then he pushed his rump further back, up against my crotch, and I
know he could feel the hardon steadily growing, pulsing there. Made it real
easy to slide my hands round his sides, over the slightly beer-swollen
expanse of his normally tight abdomen, and sink my fingers down through his
treasure trail, into the sweaty tangle of his half-exposed bush.

"Fuck yeah," he grunted, grinding his ass back into me harder, and I was
just about to lean in even closer to him, slide my thick fingers along that
hard tube of sophomore cock, when he turned suddenly, faced me, wrapped his
arms round my neck and ground even closer against me.

There was definitely something in his eyes, but I bet they were just
reflecting what was in mine, because it felt like the rest of the world
fell away. We were locked in on each other, and nothing else existed beyond
my kid's eyes, the scent of beer and sweat rolling off him, the feel of his
sweaty, smooth skin and the muscles beneath it moving beneath my hands. The
graze of his big young cock tenting his shorts, brushing against mine. The
feel of his muscular ass flexing as my hands slipped down over the top of
it and squeezed.

Fuck yeah. Me and my boy had a connection alright, but we'd never been this
connected this publicly. Alumni Weekend could have that effect on you,
especially this part of it, informally known as Parents Night. I broke the
gaze, eyes roving over the avid, grinning faces of my old brothers and the
fresh crop of younger men filling their shoes. They were enjoying the show,
no question. And then I found my old partner-in-crime, John Izzo, his
dark-haired forearm slung round his son Colby's neck, big hand lazily
teasing the kid's nip through his T-shirt. Colby had a faraway look in his
eyes that made him the spitting image of his father - I remember seeing
that same expression twenty-some years ago as Izzo sank his tight
soccer-jock ass down the length of my cock up in our shared attic room many
a time. Or when he returned the favor and sank his seven-inch cock up my
ass, usually not long after. I wondered if his boy and mine were carrying
on our traditions.

Izzo looked at me, that proud paternal smile of his matched with that
definite look in his eyes, the one he often shot me from across a room when
he wanted to go have some fun. A question and an invitation. One that even
now, in my 40s, married and a father of three, I couldn't resist. Only this
time, well... it was different. Bigger.

I nodded, and he smiled, nodded back, then curled his forearm round Colby's
neck and guided his boy inside. The kid was throwing a serious rod in his
cargo shorts, and he looked to be every inch his father's son. I turned
back to Brady, back into the horny tractor beam of his half-drunk, sexed-up
gaze, and gave those hard mounds of muscle that by now were almost totally
out of his shorts in back a good, deep squeeze. Felt him throb and grunt
against me. I wanted to lay some serious tongue on him, right there in
front of everybody, but I still had my wits about me. Everyone's got a
phone these days, and despite the strict no-pics rule once it got dark, you
never knew when some asshole might take the wrong kind of shot at the wrong
time. Besides, everybody knew where this was probably going. Most of them
had been there themselves, with their own boys, if they weren't already
going there in one of the bedrooms upstairs right now.

The song wrapped up, another round of cheers went up, and I pulled my kid
in for a proud hug, rubbing his ballcapped head in pride. Then I took his
hand and stepped down off the table, ignoring the calls for another dance,
and led him into the house.

Music and laughter and loud conversation pounded through the walls, from
the basement on up, but it got progressively quieter as we climbed the
stairs to the third floor and the two attic rooms. I knew exactly where the
Izzos would be, and hearing the grunts and slapping bodies coming through
the closed bedroom doors as we ascended, still holding my boy's hand, just
added to the mounting heat in me. We passed a couple of brothers, young and
old, and they nodded and grinned in passing. We all knew what was up
tonight. We were all down for it.

The door to me and Izzo's old room was half-open, the third floor almost
quiet in comparison to the floors below. Quiet enough to hear the smack of
lips, of men grunting, murmuring. I pushed the door open, feeling Brady's
squeeze almost nervously in mine, and grinned at the sight. Colby Izzo was
shirtless, the same thatch of dark hair on his big, defined chest I
remembered well from his father. John was running his long, skilled fingers
through it slowly as he murmured something inaudible to his boy, who looked
almost hypnotized as he undid the button's on John's polo shirt. They
looked deep in each other's eyes and leaned in to kiss, long and slow and
deep, flashes of pink tongue slipping into one another's mouths, and I felt
my cock go fully erect at the sight, even more so when Brady interlaced his
fingers in mine and squeezed.

"About fuckin' time, bro," Izzo said warmly when they separated, smiling at
me as he raised his arms for his son to strip his shirt off him.

Brady closed the door behind us and clicked the lock, and I stepped in
close to my old brother and laid a deep, wet, eager kiss on him as his son
bent down to latch his mouth onto his father's nipple. I felt Brady step up
close behind me and run his hands up my sides, tracing over the
still-strong muscles, making my skin prickle under my shirt. I caught
Colby's eye as I pulled off his Dad's lips, and the big kid grinned and
eased up to kiss me. He was just as good as his Dad was. I guess it wasn't
just good looks, tight muscles and pure horndog instincts that ran in their
family.

John was growling, mashing my head and his son's together, pushing us
deeper into our intense, wet kiss, when I felt Brady's arms squeeze me,
then his hands tugging at my shirt.

"Yo, back off, bro," he said to Colby, with a good-natured chuckle. "You
got your own Dad to play with. I got first dibs on mine."

I turned around, my eager boy slipping into my arms, and my hands sank deep
into his shorts in back, giving his muscular young ass a solid squeeze as
his mouth and tongue met mine in the deep, hungry, passionate dad-son kiss
we were so close to sharing on that table outside. But here, in private,
with my best bud and his boy, we could share all we liked. It's what I'd
been waiting for all weekend.

Our old attic room filled with the sounds of dudes kissing, lips smacking,
low, sexy grunts and whispers, murmurs, just like it had back in our
day. And now a second generation of Drake and Izzo fraternity men were
continuing that deep tradition, showing us how well they'd learned from us,
how eager they were to keep the secret ways alive.

I came up off Brady's mouth, leaning back to give him room to work my shirt
off me, catching John's eye.

"We gonna get naked with our boys, and show them how a SigEp man pleases
his buddy?" he asked, low and husky.

"Damn right we are, brother," I grunted.

"We gonna fuck our own boys, brother? Together? Just like we always said we
would?" he said, and his eyes were on fire, remembering all the heated,
taboo talk we'd grunted out with each other when we were their age, in this
very room, all those years ago. A pact between brothers. Finally about to
be realized.

"Fuckin' A, brother," I grinned, and we leaned in and met again in a
grunting man kiss, as Colby undid his father's shorts and dropped them to
the floor with an eager, husky moan, while my boy pushed my shirt off my
shoulders and set to work on my belt.

Soon John and I were proudly displaying our fatherly tents in our boxer
briefs to our worshipful boys. Colby had yanked off his sweaty T-shirt and
his shorts, and seeing him packed into trunks gave me a serious case of
deja vu. He looked just like his Dad did at that age, right down to the
fraternity tattoo on his tanned right shoulder, and watching him hungrily
lick and suckle on his father's bulge reminded me of more than a few Alumni
Weekend evenings, when we'd invited alums up here to our room for some
brotherly worship and bonding.

Brady looked less like me, but he was cute as hell as he smiled all eagerly
up at me, reaching into my boxer briefs for the cock I'd created him with,
looking boyishly cute like he had the first time he'd done this a few years
ago. Yeah, he'd been destined for this, in much the same way I'd eagerly
learned to swallow my own father's cock at the same age. The same way John
and his boy had been destined to connect. It's why me and Izzo had been
destined to be such good, tight buds, even after all these years.

John and I moved almost in sync as we steered our boys to the twin beds. I
don't know how Colby and Brady worked it out that they were sharing this
room, the way their own fathers had a generation ago, but I was glad they
did, because it made it feel even more like coming home when we laid their
now-naked young bodies down on the beds we ourselves used to sleep and play
on. Felt like we'd never left, as their eager, athletic bodies curled
around us and pulled us down into them, as our lips parted, tongues
tangled, as their strong thighs wrapped round us and drew us even closer to
the hot, tight, pulsing knots of muscle that led the way inside of them.

Me and Izzo entered our sons almost in unison, watching each other with
big, brotherly smiles as we slid into them. This fuck, this night, this
amazing thing we were doing was as much about us as it was about
them. After all, we both already had this bond with our boys. Doing it
together like this for the first time in person, side-by-side, made it more
intense, deeper, strengthened our bond to each other and to this house,
this brotherhood. It was like an offering to all the men who'd come before
us, and all those who would come after. Preferably with each other. And
hopefully with their own sons, like we were doing. The thought of John and
his son following this special tradition gave my cock an extra thrill, made
me drive my cock even deeper up into Brady's ever-tight, welcoming guts,
made him moan and sweat and clutch at the big muscles of my upper arms as I
bottomed out inside my eldest son.

Would I get to experience this with his younger brothers? Would Mikey and
Will Drake be SigEp men like their father and big brother? Time would
tell. I know John was wondering about Luke Izzo too, I could read it all
over his face as he stared at his eldest son, thrust deeper into him, that
still-spectacular ex-soccer-jock ass of his dimpling deep as he thrust. I
couldn't wait to get up inside that tail of his, and give him the same
pleasure too, while our boys coupled like we had 25 years ago. But that was
for later. We had the rest of the weekend stretching out ahead of us. For
now, tonight, this was about a deeper bond. A tradition. A promise we'd
made to each other as young men, as fraternity brothers, finally coming to
fruition.

"Ah fuck Dad," Brady moaned as I fucked up into him harder, faster,
deeper. From the corner of my eye, I could see John's fit body doing the
same, and I knew he was staring as deeply, intently into his son's eyes as
I was mine.

Colby's moans mixed with Brady's, building into a low, deep undercurrent
that merged with the noise of the party downstairs and outside, the faint
noises of other couplings going on below us, the sounds of our hips
slapping against the upturned asses of your sons, our own deep grunts and
moans and murmurs. It felt like a wall of sound building up, mixing with
the fog of sweat and musk between us, something huge and powerful that had
been building up all these years, between me and my brother Izzo, between
us and our eldest sons, between the men of our chapter and their fathers
and their sons, back and forth in time until it became something even
bigger, deeper, more powerful than we could comprehend.

John Izzo and I fucked our sons into the tradition, let it wash over us,
the brotherhood and the bond, between men, between fathers and sons. We
looked over at each other once more, and I could tell from the hard flex of
John's still-killer bod that he was right there on the verge.

"For the brotherhood, Bill," he grunted.

"For the brotherhood, John," I moaned back, and then we nodded at each
other, looked down into the handsome, sweating, ecstatic faces of our sons,
the next generation of SigEp brothers, and like some signal passed through
us all simultaneously, we let the bond of brotherhood and family wash over
us and surge down through our bodies, up along the throbbing lengths of our
cocks, and explode in hot, thick jets, inside and over and between us all,
one after the other, almost in unison.

The peak was intense, and somehow the afterglow, all curled up with our
sons in our old frat beds, was almost as deep and intense. Even though it
was already very deep and powerful, I felt even more bonded to my boy in
that moment, and from the low murmur of conversation and the sound of
kissing from the bed across the way, I could tell the Izzo men were riding
that same vibe.

"That was fuckin' awesome, Dad," Brady grinned. "I've been wanting to do
this ever since I pledged. Ever since you told me about you and Mr Izzo."

"Shit, buddy, me and your Dad have been wanting to do this since before you
guys were born," John chuckled, lazily stroking Colby's sweaty torso as his
boy nuzzled against his neck, playing with the fine strands of silver that
had come in through the dark hair on his chest.

"Maybe you and your sons will carry on the tradition too," I said to my
boy.

"Fuck yeah," Colby piped up, and then his and Brady's eyes met. When they
slowly peeled themselves off us and hopped up off the bed, meeting in the
space between in a tight hug that inevitably shifted into a friendly,
brotherly makeout, I felt my spent cock twinge again.

John just chuckled, hauled his ass out of his old bed and went to the
minifridge to retrieve a couple more beers. He made for one hell of a
sight, big spent dick swinging between his muscled thighs as he made his
way to me, and even though we were both bigger than we'd been back in the
day, we still found room to squeeze into the same bed like we used to. I
pulled him up against my bigger body as we took in the sight of our
handsome sons deepening their bond.

"What if they don't, you know... settle down like we did, Bill?" he
asked. I got what he was saying. I'd always made it clear to Brady that his
sexuality was his own. He didn't have to pursue marriage to a woman, a
family, all the things I had, if he didn't want to. I'd be as proud of him
no matter where he went in life. And as he could see - as he had
experienced - there was always this kind of fun to be had, no matter what.

"Hell, they'd make a fine couple, don't you think, brother?" I chuckled,
and the idea of that, of our boys partnering up, drawing our families
together, gave us both a dick-twitch.

"Besides, we've both got other sons," I said, running my free hand up the
firm muscles of my best bud's stomach. "There's always the chance they'll
follow in the tradition too. Never can tell."

"Damn right you can't," John grinned, turning his head up to kiss me slow
and deep. "But I hope we get to find out."

I drew my brother in tighter to me as we explored the kiss more deeply, as
our eldest sons took to the other bed together to build up to their own
second round. Two generations side by side, doing what brothers do best -
that's what Alumni Weekend is all about.

Hell yeah. I was already looking forward to next year.