Date: Tue, 26 Jul 2016 21:21:39 +0000 (UTC)
From: a4f101@yahoo.com
Subject: Patrimony

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/122526173449/

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

This story is purely a work of adult erotic fantasy, copyright me 2016. I
own it and all legal rights to it. If you're under the age of majority in
your jurisdiction, please come back when you're of legal age.

Nifty is an incredible free service that depends on your donations to
survive. It changed my life, and maybe it's changed yours too. Please help
them to keep providing this awesome resource for all of us:
http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

I love hearing from you guys. a4f101@yahoo.com. Enjoy.

*****

He hadn't always been with me... for a long time, I didn't even know he
existed... but once we found each other, right from the start, I was his,
and he was mine. The way it should be.

Nearly 15 years ago, his mother had e-mailed me. Tracked me down after a
dozen years, and blew my world open with the news. The girl I'd picked up
at an off-base bar down in Georgia and had a pretty strenuous weekend with,
back when I was a big 21-year-old grunt, before I finally gave up on the
pretense that I was straight - well, she'd picked up a little something
from me. Actually a pretty big something, it turned out - a big baby boy,
something she didn't discover until months later, long after I'd shipped
over to Germany and practically forgotten all about her. That discovery was
well before e-mail was a thing, and once I'd gotten well and truly sucked
into the Big Green Machine, signing my lonely single ass up for a series of
duty stations all over the world, I'd become basically impossible to get a
hold of.

Believe me, if I'd known, I would have stepped up, right from the
start. And hell, my life would have turned out totally different - maybe
better, maybe worse. But I'd enjoyed the life I'd led, all the adventure
and the exploration and the self-discovery, building up my naturally big
body, finding myself in the arms and lips and bodies and insides of my
fellow soldiers, back when you still had to sneak around with that
shit. But I didn't know, and so Adam grew up with his mother's last name,
grew up thick and big and strong-willed and more than a little wild, just
like me. Just like his Dad. And eventually, when the big, ornery young
football player was starting to hit puberty, towering over the pretty
little slip of a thing that had given birth and life to him, hostage to the
surging hormones and the confused thoughts and feelings inside of him, he
got to be too much for her. He needed a man in his life. Needed a
father. She'd just about given up on me, but she tried one more time, and
thanks to the internet, she found me.

The pictures of the kid made it plain - he was mine, alright. Looked almost
exactly like I did at his age, bigger than most of the other 12-year-olds,
a big boy destined for football and wrestling and the weight room, to keep
his rampaging hormones in check, to channel all that wild energy into
building himself up. I knew that story well - my folks had a real handful
in me, and when I decided to tell the world to fuck off and go join up at
17, they were almost happy to sign the papers and send me off on my
own. Yeah, I might look like a big, take-no-prisoners motherfucker - and I
am when I need to be - but I got a soft side too, a decent side, and hell,
I was starting to feel a void in my life when the news came. When Adam
came. Living on my own, fucking my way through a solid rotation of big,
eager studs on the DL like me... but nothing to come home to at night. A
lonely future stretching out ahead of me.

So I took him off her hands, and took him in, and slowly, we made it
work. The kid was a bit of a wild animal, sure, and we locked horns plenty,
but after the first year, he pretty much quit challenging my right to keep
him in line, quit questioning the fact that I was his father, and started
to let me help him grow. Physically, in the gyms on base, and emotionally,
now that he had a Dad in his life. His real Dad, someone to look up to, to
recognize himself in, to see his own future in, to some degree.

He kept hitting his growth spurts, building up in size and thickness and
power, and he was turning into a real fine-looking young bull of a stud
kid. Could outlift a lot of the other guys in the weight room, was
dominating the football field and the wrestling mats, developing a thickly
muscled, manly beefjock body on him. Since I'd had to cut way back on my
extracurriculars when he came along - and I didn't regret that one bit,
even if my big cock and asshole did; I'd had plenty of playtime, and it was
my time to step up and do something fucking meaningful, and raise him - I
was jacking off a lot, and I knew he was too. Base housing makes for close
quarters, and it's hard to be quiet when the walls are so thin, built down
to a government contract's price. I was taking care of myself a lot, now,
and trying not to think of him, and the ideas I'd had about my own Dad when
I was his age and hormonal as hell, and none of that was working. And then
one night, when he was 15, he came to me.

A big shadow in my doorway, clad only in boxer shorts. Nervous, which
wasn't like him. I wasn't asleep, and sat up in bed, and let him know
without words that he could come in and talk, if he wanted. My door was
always open to him. He slowly came in, stood by my bed, and even in the
dark of night, I could feel his eyes raking over my body, big and
bare-chested, thick with my own powerful muscles. Couldn't stop myself from
gazing at him, either, just enough moonlight through the window to pick out
the brawniness of his thighs, arms, shoulders, chest. The thick fuzz of
hair on his forearms and legs. A big kid, bigger than some college
freshmen, bigger than some of the soldiers I commanded. And he needed
something. Needed more. Needed me.

I guess my paternal instincts had kicked in, my fatherly intuition, so I
reached for his hand, and pulled gently. Pulled him closer to the bed, and
me, and though he hesitated at first, he came down to the mattress, into my
arms as I held him, feeling him quivering as he wrapped his big young arms
around me. Quivering, his breath hitching, the dampness of tears on my big
shoulder, and the prickle of tears in my own. I loved this kid so much. My
kid. My son. And so I pressed my lips to the side of his head, smelling his
scent, soothing us both, feeling his body shaking less and less, until his
head moved and we were looking at each other in the dark. When he leaned in
and brushed his lips to mine, I didn't stop him. I knew immediately how
alike we were, down to the basest, deepest level. And so I kissed him back,
and we let it flow, lips parting, breath heaving, until our tongues touched
and brought a hungry growl from him, and then he was on me, and with me,
wrapped around me as we pulled in tighter in my bed.

Adam was big, like me, all over, big and hard and full, and when I reached
for his boxer shorts, he just nodded, the ghost of a smile in the gloom of
the bedroom, and then he was naked and pressing back into my own naked
form, mouth to mouth, chest to chest, cock to cock, as we slipped deeper
into one another. The way his big, muscular young ass flexed and clenched
in my hands as he unloaded his first shots of cum up the valley of my pecs,
deep into the blond hair there, is still imprinted on my brain, along with
the vision of his curious face, leaning in to lick up the length of my Dad
cock for the first time, big hand wrapped round it as he lapped, licked and
sucked on the cock that created him.

That changed everything. That one night became 5,000 nights, together, as
Dad and Son, as men, as lovers and lately, partners. Adam got bigger and
stronger, became a man with me, beside me, and together we found something
bigger than ourselves - completion. Yeah - partners. That sounds, and
feels, right.

This morning, I could tell something was on his mind, even though he was
sprawled up against me, big and naked like me, looking even more like me
than ever. People see us out together, holding hands in spite of the world
and the haters - and that shit's gotten a lot easier these past few years,
the way things have changed, and I guess you got some idea of how big that
makes your heart feel, when you can be out in public with the one you love
and not feel so much like you gotta hide it. Well, when you're both well
over 200 pounds of steely beef, that tends to deflect a lot of the bullshit
anyway.

But people see us, and when we're at the bar, some of the dudes look at us,
the way we look a lot alike, though he's got more of his mother in his
face. Sometimes we'll bring a dude home, and play it up for him, let him
explore that fantasy so many guys secretly have, about being with a dad and
son together. We make like it's a role we're playing, but we know the
truth. But we got different last names, still, and maybe everybody assumes
we're just one of those couples that starts to look a lot alike over
time. Suits us fine. We know who we are. And what we've had has always been
the best thing ever, far as I'm concerned. Me and my boy, together
totally. Fuck yeah, it's hot as hell, we both love the kinky aspect of it -
but more than that, we can just be ourselves. Be together. Be the men we
are, and fuck the rest of the world.

Only... lately, he's been feeling different about it. About us. And hell, I
have too. Can't avoid it, what with all the marriage talk. When you've been
together as long as we have. When sometimes, you can bring each other off
like nothing ever has before, whispering "husband" across each other's lips
as you slide naked and sweaty together. Shit, I've toyed with the idea of
putting a ring on his finger, just for us, our own private thing. Because
the hell with what the law says - it's what we think, and feel.

But something held me back from that, I don't know what... or didn't know,
until today. Seeing him read the news on his phone as we lounged in our bed
in our underwear this morning, reading it over his shoulder, feeling him go
all still and quiet. Thinking deep. And finally looking at me, after a lot
of prompting and squeezing and nuzzling his big, beefy shoulder, trying to
get him to come back to me, my arms, our bond. Seeing his eyes a little red
and damp, knowing why the news is getting to him the way it is. And knowing
what I have to do. What I want to do.

So I pull my boy over to the big mirror at the foot of our bed. Yeah, we
look pretty good, even an old middle-aged fart like me, all big and muscled
and hairy-chested in our usual morning attire of underwear. Sometimes, we
just like to look at ourselves, together - not like a narcissism thing,
just acknowledging how alike we are, how tight we are, the man he'll
become, is becoming every day. Father and son. Lovers. Partners. And while
usually doing this leads to a lot of touching, a lot of kissing, big hands
grazing over the muscular, hairy terrain of our family bodies, teasing and
touching and tweaking and stroking, a lot of hard cocks and shorts sliding
off and coming together even closer, making slow, intimate dad-son love in
front of our big mirror... today is not that.

I take my boy's hand, and we look at each other. Two big men, almost 15
years together, and closer every day. Building each other up. Chasing an
impossible dream, and almost achieving it. And today, well... we can.

"You know you mean the world to me, don't you, Son," I say to him, our eyes
locked in the mirror. "Changed my world, and my life. Made me a better
man."

He blushes, looks away for a minute, his eyes big and moist when they meet
mine again. But he's smiling, too. Squeezing his thick fingers tighter in
mine.

"Think I been in love with you since the day you showed up at my door,
buddy," I continue. "In love with you as your Dad, and as your man. Means
the same thing to me, Son."

"Ah Dad," he says, blushing, but looking pleased too. I reach around and
run my hand over the thick muscles of his stomach, slow and soothing,
intimate, paternal. I'm thinking about his birth certificate. The names on
it. How mine isn't there. What that absence means for us. Especially now.

My hand slips off his solid stomach, reaching over to take his other hand,
turning him to face me. Eye to eye now, body to body. I swallow a little
lump in my throat, truly nervous for maybe the first time since I was 17
and getting stared down by my DI at boot camp. Squeeze his hands.

"Adam... Son... we come a long way, buddy. Still a whole lot left to
explore. Together... if you want to... if you'll... ah damn... will you
marry me, Son?"

My boy gets all wide-eyed, just stares at me, and of course, I'm starting
to worry he's gonna say no, that somehow I've misread a decade's worth of
signals and idle talk and dirty talk and everything between us. But he lets
out this little half-whimper and just slams his arms round me, grabbing
hold of me so tight, he's almost literally taking my breath away. Big young
muscles straining as he grunts and finally manages to lift my hefty ass off
the floor, if only a couple of inches and for a couple seconds. And then
his lips are on mine, hard and hungry and almost desperate with relief and
love and joy and everything I ever wanted, ever felt for him. Returned to
me in spades. My fucking boy. My son. My man. My husband.

"Yes, Dad," he says, repeating it over and over until we kiss again, this
time harder, deeper, wetter, the way we usually do, have since he was that
big scared teenager coming to my door 12 years ago. And now I'm guiding the
man who's going to be my husband, my own son, back to the big bed we share,
and our shorts are coming down and off almost without us noticing, as I
ease my big studly kid, my partner back onto the bed.

"Fuck me, Dad... husband," he says, and it's so different now from when
we've played at it all these years. So different, because it's real
now. It's gonna be who we are. The ultimate.

Our fingers interlace and squeeze, as our tongues dance, as my boy opens up
like he's done countless times before, opens up to let the length of the
man who made him, who'll marry him, slip up inside of him. It doesn't
matter that we still have the papers and the ceremony and the rings and all
that shit to take care of yet - to us, now, as I thrust up inside of him
and feel him wrap his thick arms and legs around my big solid body, it's
already real. We're already there. Father and Son. Lovers. Partners. And
now, husbands. For real. For life. The way it should be.