Date: Mon, 12 Aug 2013 14:13:01 -0700 (PDT)
From: BH
Subject: Dad and Me at the Lake House - 8

My dad had practically the same reaction I did. He heard the knock and
panicked. He looked me in the eyes, not knowing what to do. I shook my head
no, meaning don't answer it. But he had to. I knew we couldn't just ignore
it. But had Uncle Steve heard us? Did he hear the bang when Dad dropped to
his knees to suck me? Had he heard me moan? And if so, did he even know
what it was, or did he think one of us had hurt ourselves?

"Coming," Dad said, and I got under the covers while dad slipped his shorts
back on. Hoping to mask his erection, I guessed.

"Sorry," Uncle Steve called through the door, and then Dad opened it.

"You sure you don't want the big bed?" Steve asked him.

"We're good here. Why would we need the big bed?" Dad's voice sounded
weird. Shaky or something. I wanted to think it might have sounded like
he'd been sleeping, but I couldn't be sure.

I rolled over, hoping I didn't look as unsettled as I felt. But I wanted to
see Steve's face. He smiled at me, nestled there in the bottom bunk, and
then looked up at the top bunk, like something was wrong. I knew it was
still made. So it was obvious Dad hadn't been up there.

"You shouldn't have to share that little bunk," he said. "Seriously, take
the big bed. I can sleep in here."

"Steve," Dad said, "I'm telling you, we're fine." I assume Dad knew better
than to pretend he'd been sleeping in the top bunk all along, because he
made up some story about getting a work email on his phone and trying to
type a response with this thumbs. "Fucking work," Dad said.

"Okay, sorry," Steve apologized again. "It's just, that bunk bed presses
right up against the wall. I usually hear it when one of the kids climbs up
or down from there. It bangs the wall like a son of a bitch. When I didn't
hear the banging, I assumed neither of you wanted to sleep up there."

"No," Dad said, shaking his head. "I'll be good with the bunk, I've just
been distracted. Thanks for checking."

"Okay, good," Steve said. "I'm sorry, I've been laying there thinking you
two were trying to squeeze on that little single, afraid to complain, and I
just had to say something. I'll leave you alone now, I promise."

Dad gave Steve a chuckle, but it sounded fake. He couldn't hide his
annoyance. I bet Steve could hear it too. He was looking at Dad's naked
chest, then me. He blushed, like he knew he'd interrupted something. Or
maybe that was in my head. Maybe he was blushing because I'd caught him
looking at my dad like that, and he knew what all Dad had told me. Dad
closed the door as Steve said goodnight.

"I wish that door had a lock," I whispered to Dad once I'd heard Steve's
door close.

"Good thing he was considerate enough to knock," he said. "I don't think
he'll come back, though." Dad pulled his shorts down, but he wasn't hard
anymore. He did have a giant wet spot, though. I was dark, but I could see
it clearly. And seeing it turned me on again.

"What should we do?" I asked him, reaching for the bulge in his underwear,
looking up at him from the bottom bunk. "I'm so horny," I told him.

Dad knelt down quietly next to the bed. "Me too," he said. And then leaned
in like he was going to kiss me finally. But he stopped himself.

"Oh shit," he said, looking panicked again. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." He stood
up. "I'm an idiot. My phone's on the kitchen counter!"

"So?" I asked, not sure why he needed his phone. And then I figured it out.

"I told him I was emailing with it. If he knows it's out there, he knows I
was lying."

"Maybe he didn't see it," I said, but I was worried too. "Who cares what he
thinks? You were jerking off on the ground, for all he knows. Or we were
gossiping about his divorce. It could have been anything. Just come to
bed," I said. "Kiss me?"

"I can't," he said. "Not now. I'm sorry." And he climbed up the ladder to
the top bunk. Just as Steve had said, it banged against the wall with every
step up the ladder. I laughed quietly to myself. And then, from the other
side of the wall, Steve knocked in response. And then Dad laughed a little
too.

"See, it's fine," I said, wanting Dad to calm down. I was hard again,
thinking of what we would be doing. "Let's wait until he falls asleep," I
said, starting to stroke myself under my pajamas. "Let's wait an hour, and
then...."

"And then what?" Dad asked, like it was pointless. "And then I'll climb
down and wake him up with the banging?"

"Or I could climb up, ever so gently." It sounded like a good plan to me. I
could easily stay hard as long as it took.

"I don't want to risk that, I'm sorry. We'll have other chances," he
said. I knew he was right, but I hated him for saying it. I wanted him to
want to be with me right then, no matter what--the way I wanted to be with
him. No matter how reckless. The fact that he could hold off even one night
made me feel like maybe he didn't want what I wanted. Maybe his desire
wasn't as earth shattering as I needed to believe.

I didn't say anything. I just sat there, sad and horny. Stroking my dick,
keeping it hard for no reason.

"I need to cum, Dad," I said after a few minutes, and it felt like an
understatement. I really needed to, like I needed it to live. I wasn't sure
what would happen if I didn't. And yet, after all of what happened that
day, I wasn't satisfied to jerk off alone. I could probably cum without
touching myself, if I thought about it. But to do it without Dad felt like
I was giving up on us.

"Let's cum, then, Son," he said. But how? What did he mean? And then I
heard him moan for me. Low and long, but quiet enough that Steve wouldn't
be able to hear it through the walls.

"I want to watch you cum," he said. "But the second best thing would be
hearing it." I could hear him stroking his dick. It was like when we were
on the phone, though he didn't know that. I could hear him lick his palm
and spread the spit on his dick. At least, that's what I pictured, hearing
the sounds.

"I want to eat your cum, Daddy," I said, stroking my dick faster. I could
hear him groan when I said it. It was doing the trick.

"I'll let you eat it," he said, stroking harder too. "I can cum in my hand
and feed it to you."

"Oh fuck yeah," I said, imagining it. Dad's hand coming down in the dark,
covered in his wet white spunk. I imagined eating it off his hand like an
animal, smelling it's musk. "Please do," I said, making sure knew I was
serious. I moaned, replaying the image over and over in my head. Dad's hand
coming down from the top bunk, a rope of cum hanging from it. Trying to get
it all in my mouth. Licking between his thick hairy fingers. "Fuck."

"Give me some spit," he said, and when I looked up, Dad's hand was dangling
down from the top bunk, just as I'd pictured. Only without the cum on it. I
knew what he wanted. I sat up in bed, got onto my knees and licked his
palm, slow and wet. I could taste his dick on it, and lapped at it again
until it was practically dripping. "Thanks," I heard my dad say, bringing
his hand back to his cock. I laid back down, savoring the flavor of Dad's
slimy hand.

I tried to match his pace, stroke for stroke, pinching my nipple with my
free hand.

"What are you thinking about?" Dad asked me, and I told him immediately,
not editing myself.

"I'm thinking of the picture," I said. "The picture in Uncle Steve's
room. Of you. The look in your eye."

"That's before I fucked him," he said, his voice serious. "I knew he wanted
it, but I wasn't sure if it would happen." Dad was breathing deep,
remembering it.

"I bet Steve jerks off to that picture, too," I said, and caught myself
imagining Uncle Steve behind the wall, jerking off with us without knowing
it.

"I know he does. He's told me," Dad said. "I'll have to get you a copy of
it."

I thought of Dad on the phone, when he didn't know it was me. I wondered if
it was a good time to confess, to tell him the truth about the personal ad.

"What are you thinking about now, Son?"

"Your armpits," I told him, though it's a lie. "I want your smell all over
me," I said to him, and it got me going, imagining my face in his musky
pit. His sweat and scent rubbed on my neck and body. I remembered the times
he'd come in from cutting the grass, his arms and neck red from work, and
his pits soaked. I always noticed, but didn't know how badly I wanted to
lick them until now. I let myself imagine it happening some day. Now that
there were no boundaries between us.

"Finger your ass for me," Dad said, but it took me by surprise. Having been
picturing him red and sweaty, my mouth to his armpit. "You doing it?"

"I've never done that," I lied to him. I felt almost bad, but the fact
alone drove him wild, and so I was glad I did. He started beating off
faster. "I can try," I told him, and he moaned that I should.

I licked my middle finger, since it was the longest, covered the whole
thing with spit so that it was dripping.

"Speak up, Boy," Dad commanded.

"I'm touching my hole now, Dad," I told him. "I'm putting my spit on it for
you." I could hear him breathing deeper as I pushed the tip of my finger
inside my asshole. I gasped, louder than I intended to. And he gasped right
after me, as loud. It felt so good, I didn't want to move it. But then when
I wiggled it in deeper, it felt even better.

"Fuck me," I heard myself say, pushing my finger in as deep as I could
reach. Feeling my insides on my finger, and feeling my finger inside of
me. Suddenly, there were so many sensations, I was overwhelmed.

"Don't stop now," he said. "I'm close."

Oh fuck, I thought, knowing I was too. I pretended it was Dad's finger
inside of me. Or mine inside of him. I heard his moan and pictured his
face, his eyes closed with pleasure, his mouth gaping open. I wanted to
shoot my load onto his mouth, into it. I wanted it to be his dick in my ass
instead of my finger. I was delirious with pleasure, wanting to believe
everything I imagined was somehow true all at once. Both of us inside each
other, both about to cum.

"Finger that tight hole, Kyle. I'm going to cum," he said. I could tell by
his voice he was serious. Dad was about to blow. And I wanted to cum at the
same time.

I suddenly remembered this was my father I was about to cum with. I
realized that only twenty-four hours ago the thought of jerking off in the
same room was more than I could take. The entire day swept over me and I
pushed my finger in and out, telling my dad how badly I wanted it. I
thought of his name appearing on my caller ID when I called, and how it
made my dick twitch. I thought of what he said about me, thinking I was a
stranger, and of what he said about me to Uncle Steve. I thought about
Steve's dick in his mouth, and Dad's dick in mine. I couldn't help it, but
I imagined my own dick in Steve's mouth, and the thought brought me even
closer to cumming.

"I'm going to, too," I told Dad, and I knew it would happen at any
moment. Both of us.

"That's my boy," he said, overwhelmed by his own lust, practically
whimpering, but gruff. Like an animal.

I thought about Dad's mouth on my crotch, and of Steve blushing. I imagined
what his face would have been like if he had walked in, instead of
knocking. What his face would have been like if he walked in still and saw
Dad and me jerking off together, my finger in my ass or eating the cum off
of Dad's hand. I realized I wanted him to come in and see it.

"Oh fuck," Dad said, blowing what sounded like a massive load.

"I hope you're catching every drop for me," I said, just on the edge of
cumming myself.

My asshole clamped around my finger, and before I realized I was shooting
my load, I felt cum landing on my side and saw it landing on the bed next
to me. "Shit," I said, knowing I was making a mess. But I didn't really
care. I pushed my finger harder in my ass, still spraying. I moaned extra
load, pretending Steve could hear us. Imagining the smile on his face in
the morning if we came out of our room, both asking to wash our sheets.

And then, pulling my finger out, catching my breathe, I heard Dad telling
me how hot I am, that he can't wait to really fuck me.

"I guess you're not scared of Uncle Steve anymore," he said, and at first I
wasn't sure what to make of it.

"Why? Because he might have heard us?" I said, and Dad laughed. "What?
Seriously!" I was laughing too. "Was I that loud?"

"No," he said, like I wasn't getting the joke. "It wasn't how loud you
were. It's what you were fucking saying."

"What was I saying?" I ask him. I said a lot of things, especially right
before I came.

"You were moaning his name."