Date: Thu, 12 Nov 2020 06:14:43 +0000 (UTC)
From: Milford Slabaugh <tommyhawk1@aol.com>
Subject: Home Rivalry

			       HOME RIVALRY
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
			WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM

          Waiting for the game, Ronald Linderman stood at the cabinet and
took down, looked at the photo of his newborn son with a fond, loving
smile.  Both man and infant in the picture, taken fourteen years ago, wore
the same red-and-black football shirt, the mark of the Rockets, the team
he'd been supporting since his teenaged years watching television with his
father.  And now his son, Toby, would follow in his footsteps with this,
the game of the year, the Rockets against the blue-and-black uniformed
Waves.  His son had been spending the last two weeks with his maternal
grandparents, and the old man was a staunch supporter of the Waves, they'd
had plenty of good-natured animosity at their meetings over such.  His
wife's father was a hell of a good man, if only he'd drop his support for
the Waves, they could be good friends instead of amicable nemeses, but it
was all right, he could develop the close bond with his son he'd had with
his own father, God, Toby had never known his paternal grandfather, but it
was all right...as long as he remembered, it would be enough.
          "Dad!" came the call from outside.
          "In here, Son." Ron put the photo back on the shelf, and turned
to regard the beautiful young man-child which was his fourteen-year-old
son.
          Toby walked in the door with a proud, even arrogant smile.  Both
had the same dark brown hair, the same medium brown eyes, there was in his
son the face he'd worn in his own youth, but Ron's heart was wrenched by
the sight of what Toby wore.
          The football shirt.  Done in the undeniable, unmistakable colors
of black and sea-blue stripes.  Broader than Ron's stripes of his own
red-and-black-striped shirt, the shirt was one of his Waves.
          Ron swallowed hard and his son's smile grew.  "Like my new
shirt?" he asked.
          "You're wearing...that?" he choked, as he couldn't say even in
the indefinite pronoun the name of his team's traditional rivals.  "You're
wearing it today?" he got out then.
          "Have to wear it today." Toby answered smugly.  "Want to be
wearing it when the Waves stomp the Rockets at the match today."
          Ron realized what had happened.  "Your grandfather's been working
on you." he surmised, with sudden anger.  This was too much for any
friendly rivalry, this was rank subordination of the loyalty of his own
son!
          "We talked football a lot." Toby admitted.  "We compared the
teams and their styles and I chose."
          "You chose the Waves."
          "They're the better team." Toby insisted.  "And with Cerveza on
right guard, they're going to trash the Rockets."
          "Thompson will stop him."
          "Thompson doesn't have the moves." protested Toby and they were
off in a spirited and endless argument.  He'd had these with his
father-in-law on numerous occasions, and now he could face what could well
be the rest of his life having them with his own son.

          Damn that old fart to hell!
          They were alone for the weekend, his wife had gone to visit
friends like she did every year of the big match; she detested football
that much.  Well, he did get rather vocal and raucous, he and his friends.
And left a hell of a big mess for her to clean up.  This year, it was to be
only him and his son, a chance to form the bonds that would....  Damn that
old fart to hell!  He was going to tie into the fat old bastard the next
time he saw him....

          Toby brought out drinks, beers for him and soft drinks for
himself.  At least his a-hole grandfather had started him drinking alcohol
while he'd had him!  "Couldn't find the chips." he said.

          Ron reached for the bag he'd secreted behind the couch and pulled
it out, it held both two sizeable bowls and four bags of chips (potato,
corn, cheese-flavored and salt-and-vinegar) and three cans of dip
(sour-cream and onion, salsa, and jalapeno-laced bean dip).  "We're
covered.  You traitor to the Rockets."
          "Convert to the Waves." Toby corrected.  "The Rockets are
okay..."
          "Just okay?" Ron was outraged.

          "...but the Waves are better all around." Toby finished with
satisfaction.  And a grin on his face that begged you to slap it.

          "We'll see about that." Ron stated.  "Get settled and we'll just
see which team is better!"
          "You're on, old man." Toby answered.

          "Old man?" Ron replied.  "You little punk, I whipped your ass
twice a day while you were growing up and I can still do it."
          "You and what army?" Toby shot back.  "If you mean the Rockets,
I'll beat you all without asking Cervesa to come help me!"
          "Wait for the game." Ron stated, for the show was coming on and a
good football supporter didn't miss a word of the action!
          There was the usual announcements and speculation about the teams
and Ron booed every aspersion cast on the Rockets and cheered every flaw of
the Waves.  Toby was there, performing counterpoint on every sound, so that
every comment was greeted by both applause and a razz from the father and
son watching.

          The game began.  Football in a game in which movements are wide
and sometimes hard to watch, and scores come seldom.  Ron was active like
he'd never been before, trying to match the unfettered energy of his son
rooting for the enemy.  He couldn't let the Rockets be castigated in his
own home without matching that with double the sound of support and energy.

          The Waves scored the first goal.  Toby got to his feet and jumped
up and down in joy.  "Go, Waves, go, Waves, go, Waves!" he chanted.

          Ron matched his chant...almost.  "Sink, Waves, sink, Waves, sink,
Waves!" he chanted in time with his son.

          "We got the first goal, we got the first goal!" Toby jumped onto
the couch behind his father and bent over his sitting father, sticking his
face in his dad's as he crowed his team's prowess, shouting in his face.

          "All right, all right, everyone's got a lucky shot in them!" he
said, disgruntled as all hell.  "The question is, can they hold up under
the Rocket's offense?"
          "Sure they can!  You'll see!"
          "Now sit your ass down, they're kicking off again." Ron stated.

          Toby's ass hit the couch beside his father with a plunk.  He
could have put his arm around those small shoulders, but that
blue-and-black uniform shirt was anathema to him.  He settled for letting
their upper arms brush each other...some, as they lifted drinks and chips
to their mouths.

          The action on the field heated up.  Both man and son's frenzies
grew as the game went on, and then...the Rockets scored the next goal.

          "Ha, ha, ha!" Ron called out, not laughter but three separate
sounds of mocking at his son's dismayed groans.  "Score's tied!  In your
face, in your face!"
          He wasn't sure what made him do it but he rose and turned on the
couch so that one knee rested on the cushion and his other foot on the
floor and he grabbed his son's head and he thrust his groin at his boy's
beautiful small face.  "In your face, in your face!" he said as he made six
thrusts, one with each word!"  He let go and his son sat as he was,
stupified as his father continued to bump his manhood against his nose,
only the cloth of Ron's briefs and pants separating the two pieces of flesh
from each other!
          "Ewww, Dad, gross!" Toby announced.

          "It's what you get for supporting a bunch of LOOOOOOO-SERRRRRRS!"
Ron declared, putting an "L" on his forehead with his thumb and forefinger,
then bobbing it back and forth toward his son's eyes.

          "Lucky shot!" Toby stated.  "Like you said before, Dad,
everyone's got one in them."
          "Just one of many." Ron declared firmly.  "You'll see, the Waves
are going down, down, down!"  He returned his crotch to bumping his son's
forehead for Toby was looking downwards now.

          "Okay, okay, get back to watching the game.  It's not over yet!"
          Ron sat down but he'd started something then.  When the Waves
recaptured the ball and sent it way down the field toward their own goal in
one magnificently coordinated set of kicks even Ron had to admire
(grudgingly), Toby acted like they'd already scored and he crowed in
victory.  "Go, Waves, go, Waves!"  And the boy had the infernal gall to do
what his father had done, he got up on one knee on the couch and thrust his
young crotch at his father's face.  "Go, Waves, go, Waves, go, Waves!"
With the last of those three, he actually caught his father's head and
shoved Ron's face up against it.

          Inside the soft shorts his son was wearing, Ron felt the young,
firm organ of his son's penis, it landed right on his mouth and his son
held his face to his crotch and ground against him.  Ron's tongue came out
and pressed it against the soft cloth.

          "Yeah, Waves, go, Waves." Toby ground out and he released Ron's
head and sat back down, now several inches separating their bodies.
"That's what it felt like, Dad!"
          "You got what a traitorous Waver gets." Ron declared, but his
heart was fluttering and his breath labored.  Like he'd been the one
shouting hard as he could.  "You think that was bad, wait'll the Rockets
score again."
          "If they ever score again." Toby retorted and they resumed their
avid absorption of the game's events.

          The Rockets held off the Waves advance and in a stunning
turnabout, recaptured the ball and regained all their losses on the field
and were within easy distance of their own goal.  Ron was cheering like a
madman as Toby was cursing the team eloquently, a Rocket fieldman gave a
magnificent kick and the ball went flying...and in!  Goal!  Goal!
Gooooooooooooooal!"
          Ron was on his feet crowing, then he bounded at his seated son.
Both legs landed on his knees on his son's lap and he had his son's head in
both hands and he ground the young face into his crotch.  "Two to one, now,
two to one!" He cheered and his cock was rock-hard in his pants as he
pushed it against his son's face.  His thrusts up against his son's face
sent that hard prong up against Toby's nose and Ron growled in frustration.
"Feel that, boy!  Next goal the Rockets make, you're going to get it bare
against your Wave-loving face!"
          "In your dreams, old man!  Next score the Waves get, you'll get
mine!" threatened Toby.

          "You're on!" Ron turned it into a bet of sort. They bumped fists
to seal the deal.

          By common consent their support turned into a quieter, more
urgent thing.  They whispered words of encouragement and moaned softly
sounds of dismay as the game ebbed and flowed back and forth on the field.
They sat perched on the edge of their seats as the Waves came towards their
goal, as the ball was kicked...and blocked by the Rockets' defense.  Toby
moaned in despair as the Rockets sent the ball toward their own goal.

          Ron's cock throbbed as he rose in anticipation.  The Rockets were
weaving their way toward the goal, the Waves were disorganized and in no
position to block the kick that was coming and Ron didn't wait, he grabbed
his pants and undid them fast as he could, pulled out his pulsingly eager
rod and as the fieldman kicked the ball toward the Rockets' goal, he
growled and pulled his son's head over and down toward his tower of
throbbing tumescence.  The glans poked his son in the eye as he jabbed it
upwards at the sweet face and his son went "ouch!" and so did Ron, "Ooh!"
          The Rockets had missed the goal, but the ball had gone wide and
the Rockets recaptured it and were moving to fire gain, Ron held his son in
place and said, "Come on, come on, kick, kick, kick!" he moaned as his
organ jerked and slapped his son's face.

          The Rockets kicked and the ball went in.  "Goal!" Ron crowed.

          "Goal!" whispered Toby and his lips slid over his father's huge,
pulsating prong.

          "Goal, goal, gooooooooooal!" Ron sighed as Toby's lips plied up
and down his father's thick tube of manmeat, his team was now three to one
in the lead at the halftime (which had just sounded) and the view on the
screen went to the talking heads, but the only head Ron was interested in
was the head now bobbing on his dong!
          "Yeah, yeah, you Wave-loving traitor, suck my Rocket!" Ron
moaned.  "Suck your daddy's hot, loving Rocket and it'll explode in your
mouth with lots of fireworks!"
          "Mmmm, mmmm, mm-mmmhh!" Toby agreed.

          Ron's hands grasped his son's head and began to fuck frantically
up at his son.  "Suck it hard, Daddy's going to cream!"  He panted.
"AHH-AHHH-HHHAHHH, GAHH-HAHH-UHHHH!"
          Toby gasped in surprise, then began to gulp as his head was kept
captured and firmly implanted over his father's prong, the thick creamy
wads filling his soft young mouth, but he gulped valiantly and when his
father's moans faded to heavy panting, he was released, lifted up his head,
swallowed one final time and looked into his father's sex-exhausted face
and smiled.

          "That'll teach you to support the Waves." Ron gasped out.

          "Wait'll the Waves score again." Toby said.  "You'll get yours,
old man!"
          "Not so old after all." Ron boasted.  "I haven't creamed that
fast in years.  Or that hard, fuck, my balls feel so fucking empty!"
          "You came a lot, Dad." Toby said.

          "A rocket makes a big boom." Ron grinned.

          Toby grinned back.  "But a wave can wipe out an entire town when
it's big enough.  Halftime's almost done.  You ready to watch your team get
their butts whipped in the second half?"
          "At a score of three to one, they're going to have to work at
it." Ron stated.

          "Wait'll they score again." Toby threatened.  "You'll get yours,
then."
          "I'll believe it when I see it." Ron agreed.  The teams were
taking the field again.

          The halftime proved to be the Rockets' undoing, they sent out
their second string to give their first string some additional time to rest
and the Waves practically rolled over them.  Five minutes into the next
half (by the scorekeepers' clock, it took more like ten minutes), the Waves
were in range, they kicked and...scored!
          "Hah, hah!" Toby crowed.  "Waves scored, goal, goal,
goooooooooooal!"
          He climbed toward his father on the couch with a slow
determination, his hands at his pants and he brought out his brand-new
prong.  Brand-new in that his father hadn't seen it in some years, and in
that time, it had trebled or more in size.  Smaller than his dad's nine
inches of male meat, it was already a good six and a half inches in size,
and he hadn't gotten his full growth yet, his voice still cracked on every
fifth or sixth sentence.

          "Open up, old man!" Toby said as he waggled the hardening
teenaged pud at his father.  "Score's two to three and there's forty more
minutes to play."
          "You'll never win."
          "Open up!"
          Ron's mouth opened and Toby fed him the young dong.  A blob of
precome dripped off the tip as it went in and landed on Ron's tongue and he
tasted the heady mixture of his son's new virility.

It was more than ambrosial, it was like a heady drug that immediately
flowed into his bloodstream and altered his reality, and he was suddenly a
compliant cocksucker that obediently closed his lips on the sweet teenaged
pud and he nursed as if the prong would flow with the Fountain of Youth if
he only worked it long enough.

          On the TV, the Waves were celebrating their goal, and the
referees were blowing the whistle, and the game was resuming, but these
two, despite their rivalry, ignored it, and Toby moaned as his young cock
was sucked avidly by his father.  Like his father, the game's competition
had his blood up and he found it translated into erotic glory the same as
his father had, and he moaned and grunted and thrust his hips as Ron
slurped, his tongue playing out to tickle the young balls and as he drove
the shaft in deep, his tongue snaked out to toy with the tender flesh
beyond the testicles and between them and the anus, and Toby moaned. "Oh,
God, Dad, I'm coming, I'm coming!  Here's come the tidal wave!"
          A tidal wave of teenaged spunk it was, it rushed out so fast and
hard that Ron was overcome by the heavy flood, he coughed, snorted, spooge
jetted out his nostrils and he was gagging as hot jizz filled him and he
ended his service of his son's prod with an inglorious state of watery
eyes, running nose (snot and sperm in equal measures, white and clear in
ribbons intertwined as the dripped out), and he coughed and gulped and
coughed some more.

          "Are you all right, Dad?" Toby's voice was now the son and not
the competitor.

          "Ah-huh-uh-huh-huh!" Ron coughed.

          "I didn't think you'd choke on it." Toby's tone was contrite.

          "No, Uh, ah-huh-huh-uh-uh!  No, Son, you did fine, I just didn't
think you'd come so hard.  You outdid your old man there, I think."
          "You creamed a lot, too."
          "I know, but yours, man, oh, man!" Ron laid back on the couch and
moaned.  "That was so fucking hot!
          "I know, watching you in your Rockets' red sucking my cock.  I
see why you came so fast."
          "Yeah, the uniforms did some of it." Ron agreed.  He looked at
the screen.  "I think we missed another goal."
          Blue-clad forms were rejoicing.

          "The score's tied, Dad." Toby chided him.  "I told you the Waves
would come back in the second half."
          "You said that." Ron admitted.  "But the game's still not over,
Son.  More than fifteen minutes still on the clock."
          "Enough time for the Waves to beat the Rockets." Toby agreed.

          "Or the Rockets to beat the Waves."
          "Want to bet on it."
          "Yes." Ron said in sudden enthusiasm as his cock surged hard in
his pants again.  "I bet the Rockets will beat the Waves.  If they do, I'm
going to pluck your sweet little ass cherry."
          "And if the Waves win, I get to pluck yours."
          Ron blinked.  "That's fair, I guess."
          "Then let's watch the game." Toby turned back, and as if their
two pairings hadn't happened, they resumed their vocal jousting as the game
went on.

          It was close and looked like the game was going into overtime
with a tied score, but at the last few seconds of the game, the Rockets
kicked along, desperate kick at the goal, and the Waves' goalie dived...and
missed, the ball hitting some invisible obstacle en route, it bounced up
over his head at the last and into the goal.  Game horn sounded, the match
was over, Rockets won over the Waves, 4-3.

          Toby groaned in his anguish at the loss and Ron was jubilant, he
moved with speed and overbore his son, pushing him down onto the couch and
they kissed each other, hard, no father-son kiss, this was one of two males
who were horny and ready and each knew their roles in the sex to be played
ahead, Ron taking dominance in his kiss as Toby meekly accepted his
submissive role and let his father take his body as he wanted.

          Toby's shorts were sacrified first, Ron stripped them away and
left his son bare from waist to ankles, where his socks and sneakers
remained.  The blue-and-black-striped Waves supporter shirt lay meekly on
his son's chest and he reached for the soft, warm lips and he kissed them,
they tasted slightly of his own spooge when he'd fed his seed to his son.

          His tongue slid into the moist interior and found its companion
and the two intertwined, tasting each other, sliding over each other,
tickling and teasing and taunting each other, then Toby's mouth closed on
Ron's tongue and the lad sucked all the moisture out of the wet, probing
organ and when he was done, he released it and Ron had to pull it back up
and re-moisten his tongue.  As he did, he found his own mouth invaded and
plundered by his son's tongue and he let the boy explore as he would, then
caught and sucked it dry in his own turn.

          As Toby pulled his dry tongue back into his own mouth Ron rose up
and smiled down at his son, stuck his own tongue out and this time a thick
glob of his saliva spun out and into a large globe that reached down and
stretched itself out on a thin string of spit to reach down like a fat
spider into Toby's open mouth which closed on it as the string broke to let
it fall.

          Ron's hand lifted up the soft, thin white leg of his son's body
and lifted it up, exposing thus one fine round buttock and his hand reached
under and a thick finger found and probed the soft boy anus.  Toby gasped
as the round digit tinkered with his sphincter but he didn't resist and as
the finger pushed, it found the way unhindered by the boy's conscious
movements.  Ron wriggled the finger until it pushed in to the first joint,
then the second, then the last and the hand itself barred further
insertion.  There he could just brush the young prostate and he flicked the
twin orbs and Toby gasped again, this time in surprise and pleasure at
discovering this second source of intense male pleasure in sexual play.
When Ron pulled out and stretched the sphincter with his second finger
added, Toby's anus sucked the digits back into himself in urgent need to
get the pleasure renewed, which Ron granted him with a will.

          Toby's own hands weren't idle, Ron had never fastened his own
pants after being sucked by his son before, and the young hands were
pushing his trousers down so that he could palp the hairy buttocks of his
father now resting on his body.  As the pants moved down, their organs
finally met and kissed each other with salty-tangy precome kisses.  His
balls, lush with pubic fur, stroked over the fuzz-coated testicles of his
son's, and the shafts rubbed each other's cockskins to wring joy from their
association, and Ron's precome was eagerly gushing out to lubricate both
shafts liberally with the musky aroma of potent male man.

          Ron's fingers were both toying with Toby's prostate and the boy's
anus was pulsing as if it could milk human spunk out of the fingers.  He
judged it was time.

          He lifted his hips and moved the dangling but hard shaft down and
his own face and his son's looked down to gauge the docking sequence.
Ron's cock kissed one buttock and before he could react, Toby's own hand
came down and captured the errant dong and guided it to his nether
entrance.

          As Ron's prod pushed into the relaxed anal sphincter, Toby gave
an odd gurgling sound, not in distress, but as if this were the culmination
of his entire lifetime, that he had been born and raised and nurtured for
this moment and none other, when his father would, as the victory for a
game bet, took his anal cherry and in doing so, bonded them together
forever.  "GUHH-UH-UH-UH-UH-UH!"
          "Mmmmmmh!" Ron sighed in his turn, for the pleasure of this
small, tight anal passage was intensely delightful, and he felt the pair of
prostate nodes resting atop his shaft.  His son would relish what he did
now, whatever else happened.  "Such a nice, tight ass you have, Son."
          "All yours, Dad!" Toby sighed.  "First and only."
          "I can feel it." Ron moaned.  "So sweet and snuggling against my
prod.  I want to just keep it inside you all night and all day, only moving
to fuck you over and over, just that, forever and ever."
          "I wish you could, too, Dad." Toby sighed.  "But for now, could
you just fuck me."
          "Like this, Wave-lover?"  Ron pushed his prong in deeper, then
pulled it back out.  "And this?" he did it again, a bit faster.

          "Mmmm, I can feel that fat Rocket moving in me." Toby moaned.
"Feels good in my Wave-loving ass!"
          "Yeah, fuck all Wave-lovers." Ron murmured, not in enmity.  "Fuck
them all nice and hard!"
          "Yeah, fuck me hard, Dad." Toby agreed.

          "Yeah, fuck the Wave." Ron began to move his hips back and forth
and as he did, Toby ignited in a lithe writhing motion of fluid ecstasy,
and the sight of the blue-and-black clad form delighting in his love-muscle
as it slid in and out of the compliant enemy body.  He was the epitome of
the Rocket victory in this moment, and his son was the living form of the
vanquished Waves, and his fucking his son was just and right and he
deserved this ecstasy now coursing through his body as he began to move
even faster, pulling up the young body so that the boy now rested on his
shoulders and he hammer-fucked the tight buttocks as the boy yelled out
words of joy and need.

          "Oh, yeah, harder, Dad, harder!"
          "Harder, yeah, fucking my boy's ass, harder, harder!" grunted
Ron.  "Going to load your ass with hot Rocket spunk and you'll learn to
love the Rockets!"
          "Never, I'm loyal to the Waves." Toby protested.  "Loyal til the
day I die."
          "Your grandfather." Ron groaned.  "I'm going to kill that old
bastard.  He did this!"
          "Yeah, he did this." Toby agreed.  "All the way."
          "Damn him!  Damn him to hell!  I'll kill the fucker!" Ron rammed
his son hard and his orgasm burst into his senses.  "Coming, Son, coming
now, AH-HUH-HUH-UHHHHHH, GAH-HAHH-UHH-HHHHHHH!"  He came deep into the
soft, warm bowels, and the fluid filled the sweet intestines to the
bursting point.  As his cock expended itself, it softened and shrank and
the jizz flowed out over the shaft and onto his hairy balls from the boy's
sweet, well-fucked ass.

          As the man's jism burst into his son's ass, Toby screwed up his
face and groaned himself, and hot splats of spooge spattered his hairy
stomach.  Again, there was so much of it, that it fell like fat goblins
onto Toby's own stomach and both were well-covered by the time the boy quit
squirting.

          "He told me how much fun you two had fighting over games on the
television." Toby told him.  "Said the two of you were closer than he was
to his own wife these days."
          "He said that?" Ron looked at his son in disbelief.  "Is that why
he keeps always picking the other teams on me?"
          "Most fun he's had in a long time, he said." Toby confirmed.  "He
spends his spare time thinking up ways to tease you when your team starts
losing.  He taught me a lot of them, but warned me to go easy on them at
first so I didn't use any of them."
          "Mmmph!" Ron was rearranging his life's opinions and fighting
mixed emotions all at once.  His father-in-law thought they were the best
of friends!  As a result, the father-in-law had coached his son to fight
him on football team loyalties.  And as a result of that, he'd lost the
sweet amiability of a shared father-son loyalty here.

          "Dad?"
          "Yes, Son?"
          "Tomorrow the Sockets play the Tornadoes.  Which one do you
like?"
          "Hmmm?  Oh, uh, I guess I'll back the Tornadoes." Ron said.

          "The Sockets are going to beat them." Toby said.

          "No way!"  Ron sparked up with that.  "With that lousy defensive
line of theirs, they...  Oh."
          "Yeah.  Go, Sockets, go."  Toby grinned.  "Want to make a bet on
them?  Same deal as today?"
          "You're on." Ron agreed and held his son close.

          Could he put the boy to rights, get him to back the Rockets from
now on?  Or was a constant state of home rivalry over competing teams a
good substitute?  Toby evidently thought so, and if he hadn't, they
wouldn't have ended up like this, now, would they? Ron's thought processes
decided.

          Maybe they could agree on a few teams and fight about others and
have the best of both worlds.  After all, a little home rivalry made for
some very interesting games!.


[This story is a sample from my book "Climbing In Bed with Daddy" available
for sale only at my website, the URL is below.  The stories in my book
contain illustrations as well.]


				  THE END
		   Comments, complaints or suggestions?
		  E-mail the Author at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
			WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM