Hit The Pause Button, part 2
by Greg Scott
All the usual stuff about you must be old enough in your jurisdiction, etc. In other words, if you are underage, don't read this unless you have a really cool teacher who assigned it. Otherwise, come back in a few years, when nobody will yell at you.
The next three hours were agonizing for me.
I heard Mark turn off the shower, walk back into his room, rustle around for maybe five minutes and then nothing since. I wondered what he was doing and, more importantly what was going through his mind.
I knew I had fucked up. In fact I had never behaved as irrationally as I had in the last twenty-four hours. I had seduced one of my son's friends, and I had allowed myself to actually be seduced by my own son. There's nothing more fucked up than that.
What had caused my son to change from seductive to jealous to angry? Was it because I had violated that greatest of all taboos, even though he was the one who wanted me to do it? Maybe that part was all an act to see just how far I was willing to go. Maybe he just wanted to prove to me or to himself how disgusting his own dad actually is.
Would he tell his mother, my trusting wife what we had done? No, Mark wouldn't go that far. He wouldn't want to face the embarrassment of his own part in the debacle, and he wouldn't want to hurt his mother or admit his part in bringing her the pain that the truth would surely bring.
But he might be willing to tell her about my seduction of his nineteen year old friend, Jordan. He would know that I wouldn't bring him into my own confession that would inevitably follow his disclosure of watching Jordan and me having sex on his bed.
After about an hour of those sorts of thoughts, of examining and considering all the bad things that could happen to me as a result of my careless actions, I suddenly realized how selfish my concerns were. Mark had to be experiencing some very confusing thoughts of his own. He didn't have my years of experience in dealing with complex issues.
I suspected that Mark was just in the early stages of recognizing his own sexual identity. Through most of high school he was almost always going with some girl. When was the last time that he had brought a girl to our house to share a meal or watch a movie on DVD? When was the last time that he had mentioned that he was going on a date? I couldn't remember. Certainly he had a girlfriend at some time during his senior year, didn't he? I wasn't sure. I know he didn't have one a couple months ago when he was making the rounds of the many graduation parties.
Here I was worrying about myself, but I had had more than twenty years of adjusting to my attraction to other males. I had years of practice compartmentalizing that part of myself while balancing that with the father and husband that I was. I had anticipated a potential personal emotional catastrophe and prepared myself for it, in a way. Mark probably hadn't thought through any of that.
I didn't need to think about how to protect myself from Mark. No, I needed to figure out a way to help him sort through his feelings and worries. First and foremost, he was my son, and I owed him that.
My problem was that I had no clear idea of what his feelings and worries actually were. When Mark was a little boy, he was very affectionate and completely open about anything that was on his mind. His emotional state was always easily read.
That changed as he started going into adolescence. He totally stopped kissing me or even extending his tender hugs. The change wasn't as pronounced with his mother, and I recalled a touch of jealousy that she still received the physical affection from our son that I had once enjoyed equally. Even then, I now realized, I was concerned about what was happening to me rather than what it was that he was experiencing.
I recognized that it wouldn't be an easy task, but I was determined to find out from Mark what he needed. Maybe I would be able to help him; maybe I had damaged our relationship to the point where I couldn't help. At least I could try, and maybe I could even refer him to something or even someone who could provide the sounding board that he needed.
But still I waited for him to appear, for him to release the pause that he had put on our lives.
At last I heard the familiar footsteps of the stair treads. I feared that he would come down and head straight for the exit. Instead, he found me in my study where I pretended to be working.
"Hey Dad, can we talk?"
I was immediately relieved. At least he referred to me as "Dad."
"Of course," I replied. "I hoped that we could. I think we need to do that."
"Dad, I'm really sorry," he said with downcast eyes.
"No, son. I should have stopped it before it got started. It's my fault."
"I mean I'm sorry for what I said not for what we did," Mark explained. "I don't know what got into me."
"Well, it was all very confusing," I tried to reassure him.
"I'm sorry for being so rough, too. I didn't plan for it to be that way," he said, now making eye contact as he apologized for the unapologetic pounding he had given my ass.
"We were both confused," I repeated, knowing that my words must be of little comfort to him.
"Why don't you tell me what you were feeling," I said, trying a different approach.
"Well, I was feeling really good, I never felt anything like that," Mark said, thinking he was answering my question.
"No, wait!" I interrupted. "Let's go back a little farther. What went through you mind when you saw Jordan and me?"
Mark silently sat in the chair, his face expressionless. I feared I had touched a nerve.
"Mark, never mind that. Let's just talk about whatever you want to talk about," I said. He had raised talking about things, I had no business trying to seize control of the conversation.
"No that's okay, Dad. I want to talk about that. I just don't know how to put it into words. Just give me a moment."
I waited trying to appear more patient than I really felt. At last he spoke.
"I don't know if this is going to come out how I mean it. I felt a bunch of things all at once. For one thing, I got really excited right way. I mean it was an instant hard-on! I had never seen Jordan naked outside of the shower room at school, and I hadn't seen you without any clothes on in years, probably since I was about twelve. You both looked very hot to me.
"And then," he continued after a slight pause, "I wanted to be the one kissing Jordan. I wondered why you were the lucky one instead of me. And I also wanted to be Jordan, with you kissing me that way.
"I thought of Mom and how you're married, and I was really confused. I was mad, too. Mad at you, mad at Jordan, mad at me for spying on you and for wanting you.
"But I didn't think all those things in order, first one then the next. I thought all of them all at once--all at the same time, as if my mind was a jumble of things that didn't make sense."
"Mark, I think you did a great job of putting that into words," I said, and I meant it too. I truly had an idea what he had felt on an emotional level. I thought it also gave me some insight into his actions in the bedroom that morning.
"What did you think when Greg told you that I had been watching Greg and you," I paused trying to think of what words to use. "Uh, having fun that day."
"No fair," Mark said. "Your turn to answer a question. What did you think when you caught us?"
I didn't have to wait too long to answer his reversal of my question. I had thought about it a lot.
"My first instinct was to turn around, sneak back down the stairs and get out of the house. I know I should have, but seeing your beautiful butt reflected in the mirror, I just sort of froze. Then my libido kicked in. It was like I was mesmerized. And I guess I started feeling the way you described. I wanted Greg, and I was shocked to realize that I also wanted you. The difference, I guess, is that I didn't feel mad."
"Do you really like my butt?" he asked, grinning.
"I refuse to answer," I smiled. I was glad that he took my statement as a compliment.
"That's a good enough answer for me," he smiled even more broadly.
"Are you and Greg, uh, do you guys do, uh, are you two in a special relationship?" I asked playing the bumbling father perfectly, although I wasn't "playing."
"Naw, we're just friends," he said.
"I'd say that's a little more than friends," I corrected him. "Maybe friends with benefits?"
"Maybe," he said. "But the benefits have only happened twice. You saw the second time."
"Anybody else," I asked.
"Not until this morning," he replied while still grinning, a detail I noted with relief.
"Can you tell me about the first time or would that be too weird talking to your old man about?" I asked.
"After this morning, I don't think there would be much of anything too weird to talk to you about."
"Yeah, I guess not," I agreed.
So he did tell me the story of his first experience with a guy, although it wasn't the first time that he had wanted to do something with another guy. Indeed, other males were apparently the focus of his masturbatory fantasies since he hit puberty. As he was telling his story, I realized why he had withdrawn from physical contact with me so suddenly.
Mark and Greg had both been on the high school wrestling team. They were friends but not all that close through high school. Maybe that was because they were a year apart. Greg had graduated the previous year.
Late in the spring, Greg had come home from college to be with his brother. It had something to do with Greg's brother being depressed after his girlfriend broke up with him.
Anyway, while he was hanging around, Greg decided that he wanted to see Mark. Greg later admitted that he had ulterior motives. Greg had come out during his senior year, and, as some gay guys can do, he spent a lot of his time during his last month of high school watching the eyes of his friends for a clue as to who else might share his sexual interests. He caught Mark allowing his gaze to linger too long on some of the guys, including some strangers that they would encounter. So, at least partly, Greg wanted to spend time with Mark to test his theory.
When college guys come home, they try very hard to act like adults while they're around their parents, but when they get together with their high school buddies they end up reliving high school. So it was that Mark and Greg found themselves wrestling in our front yard, one hot afternoon in late spring.
They went at each other pretty seriously, but wrestling involves a lot of physical contact of a wide variety of body parts. At one point, they had wrestled to a stalemate, with both of their arms wrapped around the other's mid-section. Their erections were evident. They chose that time to silently agree that this would be a good time to catch their breaths.
Mark, already aware of his competitor's sexual identity, made the first move. He moved his arm just slightly across Greg's hard cock. He felt the cock throb in response. Then Greg did the same to Mark, with the identical, expected response. They traded surreptitious rubbing a few more times, and then Greg pulled a reversal, indicating that the rest period was over.
They struggled feverishly for dominance. Gay men are no different from straight men when it comes to that sort of thing. Eventually, Greg's slight size advantage gave him the upper hand. He pinned Mark to the lawn, their faces inches apart.
Before the imaginary referee could count to the required three beats, Greg leaned down, pressing his lips against Mark's. Mark enthusiastically returned the kiss until he suddenly recalled that they were in the front yard. He threw Greg off of him, and stood upright.
Once inside our house, they resumed the kiss without any pretense of wrestling. Mark realized that he had just come out to one person! He felt a sense of great relief but even greater horniness.
Mixing their adult desires with their games of youth, they raced up the stairway to see who could get into the shower first. Mark won but only because he knew the route as Greg overshot the goal. It was only minutes that felt like seconds until they took turns soaping each other under the flow of hot water. They had managed to use most of the bar of soap by the time they were satisfied with their cleanliness, although I'm not sure that cleanliness really had anything to do with it. I suspect they had nearly exhausted the supply of hot water.
Managing to sustain their erections even in the cooling spray, they dried quickly and moved across the hall to Mark's bedroom. They playfully dove into the bed, where Mark's lust immediately to over.
For the first time in his life, Mark experienced the tactile sensations of a cock in his mouth. He said that he was struck by its firmness and softness, a contradiction in texture that took him by surprise. As he described this, I vividly rememebered my fascination by that same characteristic during my first oral experience more than twenty years before that of my son's.
After a few moments of Mark's experimentation with his friend's hard dick, Greg pulled him up toward his lips for a passionate kiss. My son's friend then dove down to give him the pleasure of his first full blow job. By Mark's description, Greg was apparently an expert in the art that only another man can truly master. In no time, my son pumped his copious load into the talented mouth of his fellow wrestler.
Greg came up finally for another kiss sharing a small glob of Mark's semen with my son. In his retelling of the story, Mark admitted to me that this was not the first time he had tasted his own cum, but it was the most erotic of all of his prior tastes.
Mark explained to me that he wasn't sure whether he would be able to return the favor so enthusiastically, now that the edge had been taken off his lust. On the one hand, he wanted to be fair and still had a desire, but he no longer felt the urgency that had been present when he had first swallowed Greg's weapon a few minutes earlier.
Of course, he didn't express his hesitation to Greg. However, Greg, perhaps because he was more experienced, simply led Marks fingertips to rub from his nipples to his scrotum while Greg stroked his own cock.
Mark raised his head to watch his friend's cock explode onto his chest. The sight seemed to reinvigorate my son, who managed to lock his lips firmly around the oozing cock head to receive the last few bursts of Greg's dick.
Mark described the taste to me in remarkable detail, speaking of the ways in which it was similar to his own (a slight bitterness) and different (just a hint of salt). He talked of the texture, indicating that Greg's was thicker, more viscous, while his own seemed to be a bit more plentiful.
Once he had finished his story, he laughed and glanced down at the tent in his pants.
"It looks like I enjoyed the memory," he said. Then, looking at me, he continued, "It looks like you liked hearing about it, too."
He stood, walked over to me, and grabbed my hard cock through my trousers. Instinctively, I reached forward and clutched his.
He leaned in to begin a kiss that I wanted very much.
"Mark, we can't do that any more," I whispered as I pulled my head back from his approaching lips.
"Yes, we can, Dad," he countered. "I want to do it right this time."
I shook my head, although it was not easy for me to do so. As I indicated my insistence, I wasn't sure at all about the strength of my will power, which had already proven its weakness once today.
"Can we do it just one more time? I'll never ask you again."
"No," I said while shaking my head again, but losing an argument with myself even as I did so.
"Please," he pleaded with tears beginning to well in his beautiful eyes.
During his eighteen years he had undergone many changes. His face had become longer, more rectangular, more mature, less cute and more handsome. His body had gone from fragile and adorable through gangly and clumsy until it reached it present state of nicely muscled, perfectly proportions and, in my mind at least, wildly attractive.
But in that period of almost two decades his eyes had not really changed. What I saw as I looked into them were the same eyes of the fourteen year old who wanted to go on a spring break trip with a group of older friends. I had said no at that time, because that is what a father needed to say.
Years before that his teary eyes had appealed to me when he was about to be given a tetanus booster after he had cut himself playing. I had to reinforce the bad news that time too; the shot was a necessary precaution, and I was his father.
I thought of all of the times that I had to be the enforcer of bad news, because that's what all dads have to do to protect their beloved children. Part of me had wanted to give in to his wishes each of those times, but I couldn't of course.
But this time was different, wasn't it? My pleading son was an adult, physically and legally. Might I, this one time in his life, give in to what he clearly wanted even more than he had wanted to avoid that injection and more urgently than he had wanted his adolescent escape to a beach somewhere with his friends?
I don't know how long I stood there with these thoughts battling in my mind. I do know that it was long enough and that my thoughts were deep enough that I fully lost my hard-on.
I also know that it was long enough for me to let my guard down enough for Mark to finally reach his target and kiss me with remarkable, and very adult, passion. I succumbed.
"One night. Just tonight. But we're going to make it special," I said, admitting defeat.
Mark smiled. He leaned back to continue the kiss, which I returned with a passion that I didn't even realize I still had within me.
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