Date: Mon, 8 Feb 2016 06:09:54 +0000
From: Bruce Demosthenes <sourceskid@hotmail.com>
Subject: Dominated by the door next door 33

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I had showered, chosen my clothes mid-afternoon and was dressed when the
doorbell went.

It was only 4:30pm.  So it couldn't be Peter's dad, could it?  We had said
7pm.

Maybe he had a question or there was a change in plans (did he have to
cancel or might be suggesting we have dinner before the game)?  Did he
learn something about me because his son let something slip?  I wasn't
scared, as I had until Sunday before David would sent the video, but I was
confused.

When I opened the door I found 13 year old Ian standing there grinning ear
to ear.

I quickly pulled him inside and closed the door.

"What are you doing here," I asked sternly.

"I haven't been able to get away before now," said Ian, still grinning in
spite of my less than welcoming demeanour.

"Why didn't you call," I asked, a little panicked now that someone, like
Peter's parents (or even just Peter) had seem him come by my house.  How
would I explain a 13 year old kid dropping by?

"I didn't know your phone number," he said, which was true.  Back when I
actually wanted to see him again I had realized we had no way to get in
touch.

"I will give you my number," I said, the panic rising.  "But you have to
leave."

"Why, is Peter coming over," he asked.  "He could join us" he added with an
even wider grin.

No Peter wasn't coming over.  His father would be at some point.  And Peter
wouldn't join us ever again, as he had already made it clear to Ian.  That
time had been a one-time thing.

"You have to go," I said, sounding very panicked, as I wrote my cel number
on a piece of paper.

"If I go now can we get together tomorrow," Ian asked.

"Sure," I said trying to be non-committal.  "Text me."

"Not so fast," Ian said, resisting me physically trying to push him towards
the door.

This was a little kid.  I could pick him up and throw him out.  Of course
if he chose to behave like a 13 year old and make a scene on my doorstep as
I physically expelled him from my home I was screwed.

"What," I asked exasperatedly.

"Promise me we will get together tomorrow and promise me we will do what we
talked about last time I was here," he said.

For the life of me I couldn't recall what we had talked about doing.  I
just wanted to get him out of my house and as far away from here as
possible.

"What was that," I asked quickly, not in the mood for a long drawn out
conversation with this young boy.

"You agreed to fuck me properly," he said, a hurt look on his face at my
not remembering.

I had no desire to fuck this 13 year old.  Sure I had been a little turned
on by doing something that was forbidden when he proposed it, on
reflection, especially when it had involved getting back at Peter by doing
something behind his back.  But now I had no desire to actually fuck a kid
this young (I had no desire to fuck anyone anymore especially an ass that
was barely out of puberty).

I guess Ian could tell I had no desire to follow through because he dug in
his heals and said "you promised.  I won't leave unless you promise for
real that we will do it tomorrow."

Tomorrow?  Tomorrow David would send a video of me sucking his younger
brother's cock from his uncle's computer to his dad.  While they thought
they would fool their dad that the video was of me and their uncle I knew
that wasn't possible no matter how much they had edited it or doctored it.
What was more likely was that their father would realize he had a video of
me sucking his youngest son's cock and would turn it over to the police.

Tomorrow my life could well be over.  What was one more crime?

"OK, sure, I promise," I said, just wanting him out of my house.  When he
didn't look convinced I added more seriously "I will take your virginity
for real tomorrow.  I promise.  But you have to leave now and you can't be
seen leaving."

Ian seemed to accept this commitment but said "my bike is in your
driveway."

Of course this 13 year old would have biked over from his house.

"Just go quick," was all I could suggest.  I knew he might be seen and then
everything would get more complicated.  But I had no choice, this 13 year
old's bike was in my driveway.

How could I explain a kid's bike in my driveway?  How could I explain him
being in my house if someone saw him leaving?

As Ian left and I closed the door I decided that if he was seen and if I
was questioned by Peter's dad I could say he was my newspaper delivery boy
(did they get the same newspaper I did because if they did he would know
this wasn't the delivery boy).  As for Peter, I would just have to take his
wrath at having more contact with Ian and for putting things at risk.

By the time 7pm rolled around I had calmed myself down.

I hadn't been hungry due to the stress but I made a point of eating dinner
that was heavy in meat and fat.  That would impede the absorption of
alcohol.  I needed to be more sober than Peter's dad so I needed something
in my stomach.

When the doorbell went at 7pm I checked myself out in the mirror.  I had
tried to look attractive but straight.  I had on blue jeans, a polo shirt
and under my jeans I had on a pair of white briefs (if Peter's mother
bought the boys briefs then perhaps they were what their dad wore and maybe
for a reason, assuming we got that far, so they might be something he would
like).

Letting Peter's dad in he insisted I not call him Mr. Reilly.  I was to
call him Paul (figures he would have the same name as his eldest son - Paul
Jr. and Sr. - who wouldn't in the suburbs name their first born after
themselves).

Paul Sr. agreed we had time before the game to have a beer.  I handed him a
Blue Dry (the beer I kept in my fridge for his youngest son, which caused
me to blush as I handed it to him).  He insisted we only have one as he
hadn't eaten.

Paul Sr. told me he planned on having hotdogs and other hockey arena fare
as part of the fun of going to the game.  I was pleased to hear this, glad
I had eaten before and talked him into a second beer on an empty stomach
before we left.

As Blue Dry is 6.1% alcohol I hoped it had started him down the path to
becoming tipsy as we left my house.

When we got to the arena, parked and went inside, he said he had to "pee".

I said I did too and he didn't seem put off at my accompanying him to the
washroom.  That opened some possibilities that I stored in the back of my
head, though he made a point of taking a urinal far from the one he chose
(as is normal male bathroom etiquette, especially for straight guys).

On the way to find our seats I suggested we grab another beer.  When he
offered to pay, since they were my tickets, I lied and said again they had
been free.  I wanted to ply him with beer and if he was paying then he, for
all I knew, might suggest he had enough (when he was just tired of shelling
out cash).

Having convinced him to let me buy our first round we settled in to watch
the game.

The vendors were pretty good in these expensive seats at coming around
regularly.  As he would buy us hotdogs, pretzels, pogos and popcorn I would
keep us topped up with beer.

At each break he would say he had to "pee" which, given the amount of beer
I was getting us, was not surprising.  He was not put off at my going to
'pee' as well.

The fact that we went to pee together meant nothing.  Guys go and pee
together all the time.  When I was in university and went on some
engineering pub crawls they would actually shout 'group piss' and everyone
would pee together in an alley (I wondered if Paul Jr. did that at his
university as he was in engineering though Peter said he didn't drink).

At a hockey game there isn't a lot of time to go, as during the breaks
between periods everyone goes so I frequently had 'no choice' but to stand
at a urinal next to him as there were no other options.

As the evening went on I navigated myself closer to him at the urinals even
when the washroom wasn't crowded, so that eventually we were peeing side by
side every time we went.

I was curious as to what he was packing.  I had seen his sons, two of them
hard, and knew them to be huge.  I wasn't disappointed.  Paul Sr. was
endowed.  Clearly this was genetics.

Maybe he would believe his son's cock in the video was actually his
brother's, though I didn't want to chance it.  I was going to try to seduce
this man, weird though this was (especially thinking of it as I stood next
to him urinating glancing over at his big cock and comparing it to his two
sons).

As he got drunker I made a point of looking over when we were side-by-side
at the urinal and getting caught looking.  I figured if he didn't like it
he would chalk it up to curiosity or my being drunk.  If he did like it
then it would send a signal I was interested.  Still wouldn't mean he was
interested, as what guy with a cock that big didn't like to show off, but
there was no time to be subtle.  This had to happen tonight or tomorrow he
would get a video of me sucking his youngest son's cock.

When the game was over (and I had to admit we had a good time watching the
game and laughing and bonding, all normal acts if I wasn't having sex with
two of his sons and set on seducing him) I told him I would take him up to
the press box.

Thankfully my colleague had told security I would be coming (in exchange
for my bribing him with an expensive bottle of liquor) and we were able to
go up to the rafters where the corporate boxers and the press box were.
Paul Sr. was duly impressed with my connections.

After a quick look around at some of the nice corporate boxes, I found my
colleague who (seemingly unprompted) said he had to get a couple quotes for
his story and would we like to go with him to the locker-room while he
interviewed the players.

Paul Sr. loved this idea, but again it meant nothing.  What straight sports
fan wouldn't want to be in the locker-room with NFL players after a game.
These were celebrities, even heroes.  In fact, reluctance to go would
probably indicate he was gay as I was actually embarrassed at the idea of
being in the locker-room with hockey players in various states of undress
(if I didn't have a life or death mission to seduce Paul Sr. I might have
back out).

In the locker-room we hung back as my colleague interviewed players.  I
couldn't be sure but I thought I saw Paul Sr. check out some players, who
were all shirtless, half in towels and one or two totally nude.

Again it didn't mean anything.  These were gorgeous specimens.  What man
wouldn't check out their physiques?  Besides, some of the stars were
famous.  Who didn't want to see celebrities nude?

We spent less time in the opposing team's locker-room and by the time we
got to their room they were mostly dressed.

It was clear Paul Sr. had a great time, though I still had no clue if he
might be interested in fooling around.

I suggested we pee one last time before we headed to the car.  As most of
the fans had left or were filtering out of the arena, this time it was only
the two of us in the washroom.  I still chose a urinal next to him even
though the place was empty.

Paul Sr. didn't seem to mind I was standing right next to him, and made no
attempt to hide his cock.  Though with a cock that big I would be proudly
showing it off; plus he was visibly drunk.

Before we could put our cocks away and do up our pants, I caught him
looking over at my cock.  It could have been just competitiveness.  I made
no attempt to hide it, even though I was self-conscious of my small cock
and I was standing next to a very well hung man.  He wasn't overt, yet he
looked for a little while (which could have meant genuine interest or an
alcohol impaired sense of time).

On the drive home I kept the conversation moving and light.  Though I
slipped in a couple references to the hockey players in the locker-room,
including what it must be like to have reporters (especially women
reporters) interview them while they were changing, referencing particular
players' builds and commenting about the couple we saw who didn't bother
wearing a towel on the way back from their shower.  He didn't react
negatively to these comments, though he also didn't run with them and talk
more about the men's bodies.

When we pulled into my driveway I suggested we have a nightcap.

After checking his watch he said "probably could do one" as his wife was
likely asleep.

I poured us two brandies, figuring we needed something stronger than beer,
though he was noticeably tipsy already.

He sat on the couch and I decided to chance it and sit next to him.  I
didn't have a lot of time.  This was either going to work tonight or
tomorrow David would be sharing the video of me with this man's son.

"I played hockey in college," I lied.  "But I never looked like those
guys."

"Yea," was all Paul Sr. said.

This was not going to be easy.

"I should probably start going to the gym again," I said.  I didn't know
where I was going with this.  I never went to the gym.  I also didn't have
any clue how to seduce a straight man.

"I used to go," said Paul Sr.

This was a start.  But it didn't give me much to work with.

"You don't look like you need to go," I said, figuring everyone likes a
compliment.  "Why did you stop?"

"Never had the time," he said.  Then, after taking a swig of brandy, he
added "and I didn't like changing in the locker-room."

I didn't know what that meant.  One of the reasons not to go is because one
is self-conscious about your body or the size of your cock, not problems
for Paul Sr.  Another reasons not to like being in a gym locker-room is
being cruised by gay guys, which if that was the case it would be
probablematic (I already knew he had a homophobic attitude).  Another
reason not to like it is because of the feelings it generated.

Homophobia was a real problem whether it was because he hated how he felt
or he really didn't like 'fags' but I didn't have time to be cautious.

"Don't see why," I said.  "Couldn't help but notice you have more than your
share down there when we were peeing tonight.  If had a cock that big I
would be showing off in the locker-room."

It was a risk.

It wasn't overt but it did mean I had checked him out.

He took another swig of brandy, finishing the glass.

When he didn't respond I offered "let me get you another."

"I really must be going," he said, but he didn't get up so I took the glace
and refilled it and returned to the couch to sit next to him.

After a moment of silence as he sipped on his refilled glass I decided to
press the point "if I was endowed like you I think I would be like those
hockey players tonight who came back from the showers without a towel."

"Yea well a big cock is not a blessing if you get a hard-on in the
locker-room," he said, taking another sip.

Had he just admitted he gets hard in men's locker-rooms?  Now was time to
get all in.

"That is why I always jacked off before I went to the gym," I said.  While
a lie it was a strategic one as it conveyed I too would get hard around men
changing.  Though it also outed me as gay.

"I tried that," he said.  "Only worked part of the time."

Paul Sr. was confessing to getting horny at the sight of men.  Now how did
I navigate this from just confession embarrassment into actual sex?

Before I could figure out what to say next Paul Sr. said, very drunkenly,
"I noticed your cock at the urinals too, you have a pretty nice one."

Damn.  He was coming onto me.

"Nothing compared to yours," I said.

Now we were openly discussing our junk.  This couldn't be normal for
straight guys.  He had to be open to us having sex.

"I am pretty average," I admitted.

"Yours is better for sucking," he said.  "I can't get the wife to suck me.
She says I am too big."

This could be just a statement of fact.  Guys complain to their friends
about what their wives and partners will or will not do in bed.

Glancing at the clock I decided to roll the dice.

"I bet I could suck it," I offered.

I was on dangerous ground here.  Maybe I could pretend I was taking it as a
dare.  But there was no denying I had just offered to suck this man's cock.

"I bet you can't," he said.

Was this just a drunken bet?  Did it matter?

If I got him to my room and tried to suck his cock and got it on film then
David wouldn't be sending the video to him tomorrow.

"Let's go upstairs and I will prove it," I said.

Paul Sr. staggered to his feet and together we went up the stairs to my
bedroom.

He fell on the bed on his back.

I was suddenly worried he would pass out, so I quickly got on the bed and
began to undo his pants before he could fall asleep or change his mind.

I needn't have worried.  As soon as my hand touched the front of his jeans
he began to harden and his brain began to fight through the alcohol.

I had to smile when I undid his pants and found a pair of white Fruit of
the Looms, the style that Paul Jr. wore (a pair of which Peter had stolen
for me and were in my nightstand right next to the bed we were on).

As I pushed his pants and his underwear down, Paul Sr. tried to grab at the
front of my jeans.

I kept pushing his hands away.  I didn't think Peter would want to see
their dad touching or sucking my cock.

Soon I had Paul Sr. hard cock in my mouth.  While I wasn't attracted to him
I did like his cock.  It was bigger than either of his sons.  It was shaped
like Peter's though thicker and longer.  No wonder his wife had a hard time
sucking it.

Eventually I got the entire thing in my mouth and down my throat, at which
point he gave up trying to undo my pants.  He resigned himself to a blowjob
and began moaning and running his fingers through my hair (much like Peter
had done two days earlier, like father like son).

I had thought it would take some time to suck him off, given how drunk he
was.  It didn't.  I soon had him panting and writhing and moaning.  As he
got close to cumming his hand went back to the front of my jeans as he
tried to feel my cock.  This man did like cock, there was no denying it.

As he shot his load into my mouth he was roughly squeezing my hard cock
through my pants.

When he finished cumming I lifted off his cock.

I don't know if he felt guilty or he was mindful of the time but he
immediately pulled up his pants and underwear, putting the python away.

Then, to my surprise, he said "next time you have to let me suck you,"
confirming this wasn't just a drunken blowjob he let himself get talked
into as a dare.  He liked cock.

I glanced over at the teddy bear.  There probably wouldn't be a next time
once Peter and David got their hands on the video.  They had what they
needed to blackmail me, probably their father and somehow (though I hadn't
figured out this part of their strategy) use it to get Paul Jr. to have sex
with me.

As I went with him and he staggered downstairs, I felt bad for this nice
man.

He had married and raised some great kids (ok maybe one sociopath and
narcissist).  He had innocently been seduced by me, preying on feelings he
undoubtedly struggled with for years.  Now his life was likely about to be
turned upside down by his ungrateful (though gorgeous) kids.

END OF CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE