Date: Thu, 22 Dec 2022 21:22:04 +0100 (CET)
From: oddnova@tutanota.com
Subject: Birds of a Feather

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either
are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.

::

Devon lay on his back on the living room couch, watching the soft glow of
reflected headlights play across the ceiling. It was late but just how late
was hard to judge from the traffic of the Chicago street just outside the
apartment. The room was still and dark, but the sounds that used to be
familiar to him: the distant yap of a dog, the slow drip of the faucet from
the adjoining kitchen, the occasional pop and crack of the floors
contracting from the Midwest winter chill, all seemed obtrusive now. Though
he had only relocated to Dallas six months ago, his routine from his old
life was already a distant memory.

"I could have gotten a hotel," he thought as he heard someone stomping off
snow from their boots from the street level. Instead, he had elected to
stay at his ex-wife's apartment so he could spend more time with his twin
children.

At 32, he had a decent job and good relationship with his ex-wife and kids,
but he had needed a change. When a chance to take a lead meteorologist
position in Texas had come his way, he knew it was an opportunity he could
not let pass.

His only hesitation had been his kids, Booker and Nia.

At first both of his kids video chatted with him every night. After a
month, the calls got shorter and shorter. It was rare now for him to get
any kind of status report. His ex-wife had mentioned only casually one day
that his youngest, Booker, had gotten detention for a week for selling
energy drinks to his fellow sixth graders. Apparently the school's purge of
empty calories had provided a lucrative venture for the 11-year-old that
was too tempting to resist.

He had not been upset at the boy. Booker had been getting into hijinks from
the moment he was old enough to crawl. What troubled him the most was the
feeling that he was becoming just another stereotypical black absentee
father.

So here he was, sleeping on his ex-wife's living room sofa, hoping to
regain some of the relationship to his kids that he once had before more
time could slip away.

A stirring from the hallway caught his attention. The shuffling sound of
someone across the wooden floor made him instantly think it was one of his
kids. They always moved like picking up their feet took a tremendous amount
of strength and resolve.

"It could be Levi," he supposed, referring to the nine-year-old son of his
ex-wife's best friend who also stayed at the apartment. But Levi was a
scrawny kid and probably could have walked down the hall without making a
sound.

Booker or Nia, then. Probably up for a drink of water or a trip to the
bathroom.

He remained still and listened for more clues. It wasn't long before he
heard the bathroom door open and close and the unmistakable sound of the
toilet lid being raised.

Booker. Kudos to the boy for sparing his mom a wet toilet seat, he chuckled
to himself.

Devon slipped out from under his blanket and quietly made his way to the
bathroom. He could use the opportunity to empty his own bladder, after
all. He paused a moment until he heard the sound of a piss stream, then
quickly turned the door knob and pushed his way in. He had no doubt his son
would be too lazy to actually lock the door.

Booker was in his plaid pajama bottoms and a plain white t-shirt that he
probably refused to let his mom wash. His hair was full and needed
brushing. Devon had tried to persuade him to go with him to get matching
high fades but Booker had only patted his tight curls and imitated his best
ladies-man swagger. Devon had no doubts the kid was popular with girls. He
was outgoing and goofy, with a round friendly face and warm puppy dog brown
eyes.

Booker was pissing with eyes half shut that fluttered open at the sound of
intrusion. Devon hurried over to the toilet, freed his dick, and started
adding his own piss to the bowl.

"Dad!" the eleven-year-old groaned in frustration.

"Sorry, Book," he sighed. "I couldn't hold it any longer."

Booker was seemingly too dumbfounded to stop or cover, and Devon took the
moment to check on his son's development. The boy's nub barely extended out
the fly of his pajama bottoms but was sporting a hefty stream of piss.

Devon felt a sense of shock as his own dick harden while he watched his son
urinate. He had been teased growing up over the shortness of his penis and
wondered if his son would follow in his footsteps. His cock was fully
extended now to about six inches and seeing it next to his son's baby stub
filled him with a strange sensation. He had never felt attraction to
another man nor really ever been curious about same sex experiences but the
sight of how massive his average-sized dick looked compared to his son's
gave him an exhilaration he hadn't previously experienced. Perhaps it was
the wrongness of it all or the new sense of superiority he felt.

Was this the rush that his peers had felt when they had teased him about
his size?

He loved his kids more than life itself but at this moment he was flooded
with the terrifying feeling of wanting to dominate his youngest.

Booker's piss ended in a dribble but his lowered gazed darted furtively at
his father's stiffened dick. Devon wondered if the boy had ever seen an
adult cock before. He had assumed that kids today experienced more porn in
their youth than his generation had in a lifetime thanks to internet, but
perhaps his boy was truly more innocent than he imagined.

"Daaadd, how about a little privacy," the boy huffed.

Devon tapped the last drop of piss out, amused at how his son was both
trying to avert his eyes and still peek.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Book.  When you become a man this won't be so weird to
you. I guess I just forgot you're still a kid."

The tactic worked and Booker turned to face his dad, puffing out his
chest. "I'm uh-uh a man."

"It's okay, Booker," he said as he stashed his dick back into his pants and
rested his hand on his son's shoulder. "I guess I just thought of you as
the man of the house now. How good you've been at taking care of Nia and
your mom." He paused, sighed, and gave the boy's shoulder a gentle
squeeze. "Maybe when you're older we can talk about man stuff together."

Booker's eyes got glassy. "I'm sorry, dad." A heavy sigh and all the
tension in his body seemed to slide off. "I want to be a man."

"Hmmm," he stroked his chin in thought like a cartoon villain. "You can't
be a man if you haven't started puberty yet, so we've got to give you a
check. Okay?"

"Check?"

Devon gave a single nod and lowered himself to a knee. He slipped his
fingers under the waistband of Booker's pajama bottoms and tugged them down
in three gentle jerks. The boy stiffened from embarrassment but remained
immobile as his genitalia was fully exposed.

"So when you start puberty," he started clinically, "you'll start having
changes down here."

He reached out and his hands engulfed Booker's little hairless balls. Devon
marveled how soft they felt against his skin.

"Oh I think I feel some stubble coming in," he lied. "You really are
becoming a man. Soon you'll have hair sprouting all down here like me."

He lowered his own pants again to expose himself to his son.

Booker's face glowed from the lie and he looked to his dad's crotch as if
to see what he could expect.

"Go ahead and touch it. You'll have pubes like this before long."

Booker tentatively extended his hand, hesitating just as his fingers were
about the touch his father's tightly curled pubic hair. With a last
resolve, he allowed his fingertips to sink into the dark tangle. The look
of anxiety on his face melted into curiosity and his fingers explored
deeper and more thoroughly through the new sensations. His small hands
twisted his fathers pubes around his finger and delighted in how the twists
retained their shape even after he had moved on.

He circled the adult testicles, amazed at how dissimilar to his own they
were. Uneven and almost prickly they felt alien, but the touch sparked new
feelings in his stomach.

As he explored, he was pulled away by his dick being flicked. His father
took delight in pushing the preteen's rigid nub down until it recoiled back
like a springboard.

"See if you can get mine as stiff as yours," Devon said, giving his cock a
shake.

"How do I do that?" The boy's face beamed at him so eager and innocent.

"Here," he said, guiding Booker's hand onto his chubbed dick and moving it
slowly up and down the shaft. "That's it, Book. Keep doing it like that."

The boy starting stroking on his own now with a slow, deliberate speed of
someone unfamiliar to masturbation. Devon was mildly surprised the boy
hadn't started touching himself. He remembered quite clearly of doing it
all the time when he was the boy's age.

Hardly any time had past before Devon was fully erect from the gentle
handjob. His son's soft fingers gripped his shaft lightly which teased
him. He rocked his hips in sync to the strokes, occasionally groaning
quietly or whispering a word of encouragement as he closed his eyes and
enjoyed the experience.

"It's so much bigger," Booker said meekly without breaking his stride.

To a kid he realized it must indeed seem large and he swelled further with
the feeling of dominance.

"Wait, wait," he muttered in a hushed tone, opening his eyes and pulling
Booker's hand off of his cock. "Your hands are too rough. It's hurting." He
lied.

Booker drove his hands under his armpits as though trying to sheath a
weapon. "I'm sorry. What should I do?"

Devon had to work hard not to smile or risk breaking the ruse. "I don't
know. Try your mouth. It may be softer."

The look on Booker's face was priceless.

"My.... MOUTH?" he almost spat and almost loudly enough for Devon to fear
waking the rest of the family.

"You're right, Book. Never mind. You're just not ready yet."

"Wait, wait!" He lunged closer to his dad, then seemed to take a half step
back in hesitation. He rocked like that two more times as he struggled to
face his aversion. "Okay, here goes."

Quick like trying to rip off a bandaid, he dropped down onto his knees, his
preadolescent boner now returned to just a bump, and stuck his face onto
the tip of his dad's dick. The boy was holding his breath, Devon mused to
himself. He had seen his kids react with less revulsion when they were made
to eat their vegetables.

The sensation was like heaven. His diminutive size felt massive in the
tight, warm mouth. Even the occasional scrape of the boy's teeth did not
diminish the bliss that the blowjob gave him.

Devon tilted his head back and let out a whispered "Fuck", dragging the
word out in an extended hiss as the lips glided over his erection.

He felt consumed by the experience and took the boy's head in his hands and
squeezed, savoring the feel of Booker's tight curls as he guided the boy a
little bit further down his shaft. His son coughed as his lips went past
the head and struggled to pull back, but Devon held tight until the boy's
panic had lessened.

As he opened his eyes and looked down at his son, saw his son looking so
stuffed with his dick and so terrified of drowning in his mouthful, his
lust reached new levels. The corners of Booker's eyes were moist from the
oral ordeal but he endured, his nostrils flaring to grasp air.

He looked so tender and so desperate to please that Devon felt his
excitement begin to peak.

"Here it comes, Book," he whispered, knowing the boy had no idea what he
was talking about or what to expect.

The tingle in his balls was electric and swelled up through his groin. He
felt his toes curl, felt his fingers dig deeper into his son's hair. His
legs tensed and his body trembled as the exhilaration rushed up, bursting
out of him in a powerful stream.

He forced himself not to close his eyes as his climax hit hard and the
first spurt made Booker attempt to recoil. He held tight to his son as the
next and more substantive stream of cum spit into the boy's mouth.

This time he let the boy rear back and breathe and gag. Booker heaved,
globs of frothy saliva and semen mixing together on the bathroom floor. He
wretched several times, spitting less and less cum out each time until he
was only making spitting sounds.

Devon tucked his dick into his pajamas and knelt down next to his son. He
patted his back lightly and gave it a reassuring swirl of his palm. "You
did great, Book. I'm really proud of you."

"Oh gross," Booker continued to spit, wiping his drenched face with his
sleeve and smacking his lips to rid himself of the foul taste. "That was
disgusting!"

Devon chuckled. "Being the man of the house isn't easy."

Booker shook his head in the negative. "No way I'm doing that again. I'd
rather eat Aunt Chels' cooking than whatever that was."

Devon gave him a good-natured smack on his back. "Well, Book, you wanted to
be a man and this is what comes with the territory."

Booker sat back on his feet, his shoulder sinking in defeat. "Dad, I just
can't. I'll do anything but I can't do that again."

"Well, someone's got to do it, Book, and you and Levi are the only two guys
here."

The prompt made Booker's face light up from the idea. "You mean Levi could
do it but I'd still get to be the man of the house, right?"

A squeeze of his shoulder. "Yeah, Book. You can delegate it to Levi, but
you've got to make sure it stays just between us guys. Guy code, right?"

Booker smiled, relieved. "Right. Guy code. Don't worry, Dad. I'm sure Levi
will do it for me."

Devon rubbed his knuckles on the boy's head lovingly. "Ok, Book. Now hurry
up and get to bed before your mom or Aunt Chels catches you up."

Booker nodded, scrambled up, then paused looking sheepishly at the mess on
the floor. "What about--"

"Don't worry about it," he interrupted. "I've got it covered."

Booker grinned wide, gripped his dad in a rushed hug, and hurried out of
the bathroom.

Devon sighed, feeling content and excited, and set about cleaning the
floor.