Date: Sat, 13 Apr 2024 17:25:57 -0700
From: Boy Mercury X <boymercuryx@gmail.com>
Subject: Hurly-Burly

WARNING: This story includes elements that may be disturbing for some
readers, including consensual sexual relations between men who are closely
related. It is intended for adults only.

This story is fiction, and is in no way an endorsement of such
relationships. This author adamantly rejects any justifications for such
relationships or activities in real life.

This remastered story replaces the version published in 2017.

Copyright, Boy Mercury X, 2024.

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give generously at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

You can find me on Twitter @TheMercuryJones, or email me at
boymercuryx@gmail.com. I'd love to hear from you.



1.

My sister's wedding week was, as my mother described it, another
Hurly-Burly. That was her name for all of my dad's family gatherings. The
Hurlys liked chaotic Irish American get-togethers that my mother said were
too big, went on too long and involved too much drinking.

We gathered at my grandparents' suburban home for a which had ample guest
rooms, a vast back yard and garden, and even an inground swimming pool with
its own little pool house for guests. That's where my dad and his sisters
grew up, and where they still convened, adding to the clan their own
spouses, children and other strays. Even divorced exes like my mom often
came too, because that's just how it was with the Hurlys. Everyone was
expected, and divorce was just an inconvenience best left unmentioned and
ignored, like my Gram Hurly's taste for wine.

In Hurly fashion, everyone was expected to stay for several days over a
long weekend, and even though it was just a family wedding, there were so
many Hurlys and hangers on that even the Hurly estate was maxed out. Some
of the adults expected the rooms that had been theirs when they were kids,
but Gram prioritized matching her guests and their needs with available
rooms. She sorted out married couples as the first priority for bigger
beds, little kids getting air mattresses, and was overall vexed by the
single people who needed a whole bed to themselves when she had too few to
go around.

"Oh I have it," said Gram Hurly, looking over her notepad with
satisfaction. "Everyone has a bed, and it's all good. Dan and Trevor,
you're going to have to sleep together in the pool house."

"The pool house?" asked Dad, on hearing his name. "What about my old room?"

"Well we have to put Joe and Peggy there because it's on the ground level
and Joe's got a leg brace from his accident," Gram explained.

"And the pool house only has one bed," I said, suddenly feeling very
awkward about the prospect of sleeping with my dad.

"Well you are just going to have to rough it," said Gram. She poured a
glass of chardonnay to signal that her work was done. "Every room is
taken. All the marrieds are paired up, so I'm pairing off you single boys
together. I tried every which way and this is the only way. The pool house
is perfectly good. Trevor, your father used to have sleepovers there when
he was young, so it'll be just like old times."

"Except I'm forty-five," sighed Dad.

But Gram was done, and the plan was the plan.


2.

As usual the big Hurly meal included fifteen simultaneous conversations and
overlapping roars of laughter. Afterwards Grandpa wanted to show off his
new hobby: slideshows of family photos he made on his Mac, broadcast on the
flatscreen TV in the family room. In his day, he explained, you'd have to
pay someone to make a slideshow but now anyone could do it.

His first creation was his and Grandma's cross-country trip to the tune of
*Roam* by the B-52s. This was followed by a slideshow of my sister, the
first grandchild and the bride to be growing up, to *Brown Eyed Girl* by
Van Morrison. Then came a slideshow of the first generation of kids -- my
dad and his sisters -- as rowdy children and teens, to *Our House* by
Madness.

I knew every song by name and artist because Dad was a huge 80's and 90's
music guy. I grew up listening to everything from The English Beat to
Talking Heads to Elvis Costello. It didn't help my social cred to be
totally out of tune with my peers, but it was better than singing purple
dinosaurs.

Like everyone else I was only half paying attention to the show, but one
photo caught my eye and I blurted out, "Who's that?"

The photo was of two young guys, maybe 20 or so years old. One was a good
looking redhead, the other a super hot guy with long hair and a biker
mustache that ran down to his strong jaw. He wore a sleeveless black
t-shirt that showed off his shoulders and biceps, and tight black jeans
that covered an impressive bulge. He looked like a stud.

"Who's who?" asked Gram.

"The guy," I said. "In black. Who is that?"

Gram squealed, and jiggled so much in her laughter she had to put her glass
down. "Trevor honey, that's your father!"

Everyone laughed, except for me and Dad.

I thought he might be a cousin because he looked like a Hurly, with his
blunt nose and thick hair. But looking again I could see he really was
Dad. Looking back and forth between the photo and his present day self I
could see the same features, just softened up. He even still had a
mustache, but not the sexy biker kind, just a regular middle-aged dad
mustache now.

"I gained some weight," he said, looking a little embarrassed.

"You dad was wild then," said Gram, refilling her glass. "That summer he
and his best friend Rudy went motorcycling in Mexico, and some days I
didn't know if I'd ever see them again."

"And he was in that God awful band," said Grandpa.

"Is that a joint?" blurted my sister. "Dad, were you a POTHEAD?"

"I may have enjoyed a substance or two," answered Dad, laughing.

"Or five!" added his sister, my Aunt Peggy.

"What happened?" my sister asked, oblivious to the insinuation of her
question that he was so different now.

"You happened," said my mom, wryly. She reached out and patted my sister's
head. "Your arrival was not exactly a plan."

"Your dad came back when he got the word you were coming," said Grandpa,
affirming the honor of his only son. "He did the right thing. Got a job and
settled down."

Dad looked at my sister and nodded.

This was all a revelation to me. And I wanted to see more of the young
stud-Dad, so I said "Great slideshows, Grandpa. Show us some more."

My sister and cousins glared at me.


3.

I always thought of my dad as just a dad.

I don't know if he would have finished college or been a stoner or
something else if my mother hadn't gotten pregnant with my sister. But by
the time I was born he was a married father working at a car dealership,
the biggest personality killer possible in my opinion. It's all fake smiles
and small talk with customers, and obsessing over sales quotas in
private. I couldn't think of any real hobbies he had. And I thought about
the years of boredom spent in his nondescript apartment on custody
weekends.

But that photo of Dad looking like a young stud made me see him with new
eyes. I'd never paid attention before, but I could see for the first time
that he was actually pretty good looking. I could see his fluffy Irish
brown and gold hair, his charming smile and manly jawline. He had filled
out a lot and had a big belly now, but he was proportionate, I guess, with
a big chest and shoulders that made it all work pretty well. My own dad was
a handsome man, and somehow I'd never noticed till now.

Going through Grandpa's photos, I could see Dad's life play out. Even after
my sister was born, he was a hot guy. In fact being a young dad bro might
have made him a little hotter. With every year he got a little thicker, and
a little more conventional. His haircuts became more conservative, his
mustache trimmed to look more like a suburban father than a biker. Photos
of him with my sister, and later me, at the beach showed him with a manly
body with golden brown hair that covered actual pecs and ran down a belly
that grew over the years but used to be flat as a board.

It was as if I'd been blind my whole life.

Hungry for more, I asked my grandmother if she still had my dad's high
school yearbooks, and sure enough she did. They were still on a bookshelf
in his old bedroom on the ground floor, probably untouched in decades. I
poured through them, thinking how crazy it was to see him at my very
age. He was so much more boyish then, but still seemed so much more of a
man than I did at almost the same age. But he had a little bit of a wild
glint in his eyes, and I could see how he might go on some crazy motorcycle
trip to Mexico.

"Tracy," I said to my sister, "is Dad, like, fat? I can't tell."

"I don't know," she replied. "He's, like, built-fat. Who cares?"

"But look at how cute he was in high school," I said, holding up the
yearbook for her.

"Cute?" she asked, rolling her eyes. "You're so weird."

And she was right. She just didn't know how weird I really was.


4.

In the pool house, later that night, Dad and I tried to settle in. It was
really just a bedroom with a bathroom and shower, for overnight guests when
the house was full, that doubled as a changing room for pool use.

"Gram says you had a lot of sleepovers here," I offered.

He told me Grandpa converted the pool house from a shack to an extra guest
room when he was about twelve, Dad and his friends made use of it to get
some boy space away from his army of sisters.

"I didn't bring pajamas," he said to me. "I didn't plan on sharing a bed."

"I don't care," I replied, stripping down to my boxers. "I didn't either."

He pulled his polo shirt off, and dropped his cargo shorts, hanging them on
hooks. I studied the broad expanse of his back, the white briefs pulled
tight over his ass, his thick hairy legs, and thought about what my sister
said: built-fat.

Sliding into bed I felt more boyish than usual compared to Dad's
proportions. I could feel his heat at my side, like he was a sun and I was
just a planet.

"Look how my feet only come down just past your knees," I said, pushing my
toes up to indicate how short I was beside him.

"You take after your mom that way," he said. "You always did."

"Do you remember when I tried to play football?" I asked, prompting us both
to laugh.

"You were so little," he answered, lying back to look up to the skylight
over the bed. "You were the littlest kid in your class."

"And there were all those big Samoan kids on the other team. They were like
twice my size."


"Oh they weren't that big," he said.


"Dad. They had mustaches. I thought I was going to die, for real."

This prompted big belly laughs from both of us.

"We couldn't make you keep doing it," he said. "We let you try wrestling
because we thought you'd be in your own weight class, but you quit that
too."

"Too many wrestler boners," I said, laughing anew.

Dad kissed me on top of the head and said goodnight, and things went still
everywhere but inside my head.

5.

After Gram kissed us goodbye, I climbed on the back of Dad's motorcycle and
wrapped my arms around him. I was glad he found his old sleeveless T-shirt,
from his first trip to Mexico. I was surprised by how muscular his arms
were.


He drove fast, which I guess was good because Mexico was very far away and
I didn't know exactly how we were going to get there, but he knew the way,
so it was good.


Mostly I was just so happy to be on an adventure together, just the two of
us, and I loved how my hands could fit through his sleeveless T to feel his
furry belly and chest. He must have liked it too, because he turned and
gave me a wink, looking so handsome with his biker mustache and long hair.


By then I had a real boner, and I was really into feeling under his shirt,
feeling how firm he was, and even holding his pecs in my hands. I couldn't
help but grind up against his butt. At first I thought I could do it so he
wouldn't notice, but it was like an itch I couldn't stop scratching. And
the more I did it the more it itched, and I felt like I needed to pee. I
thought I could just hold it all the way to Mexico, but then it got really
bad, while I was rubbing my dick up and down against the crack of his ass,
and then I started to pee even though I was trying to hold it, and...

I woke up suddenly with my hips grinding against Dad, a wet dream load
oozing out of me, soaking through my boxers and into the white cotton
briefs pulled tight on my dad's ass.

"Ohmygod! Ohmygod!" I gasped in a panic.

"Trev, what is it?" Dad asked, lurching to wakefulness. Panicked, I tried
to pat down the bed sheets on the wet spot under him. I considered saying
nothing, hoping he wouldn't notice, but he was already reaching his hand
under his butt.

"Did you pee the bed?" he asked, then lifted his hand to his face to
smell. "What the fuck? Trev, did you CUM on me?"

"IT WAS A DREAM!" I yelped, begging in my head for it to all go away, "Dad
I don't ever even do that! Not in my sleep!"

He absorbed everything I said, trying to make sense of it in his sleepy
head.

Then he started to laugh. A little. Then a lot.

"Jesus," he said. "Did you have a wet dream?"

I nodded yes, burying my face in my hands.

"Oh, to be a teenager again," he said, laughing so much that it drew me
like gravity to join in.

He pulled his underwear off to dab at any damp spots on the bed. I followed
suit, pulling off my boxers, but I was focused on the sight of Dad's
exposed dick, nestled in his dark brown bush. He tossed his briefs in a
corner of the room, and I tossed my boxers on top of his.

"Don't worry," he said, lying back in the polluted bed and pulling the
sheets up over the treasure trove of dick and balls and pubes. "I'll wash
the sheets tomorrow."

"Are we going to sleep naked?" I asked, absolutely unsure of family
protocol for the unprecedented event of cumming on my dad.

"I'm not wasting another pair of underwear just to sleep in," he said. "I
only brought enough for the week."

"Dad, I'm so embarrassed," I whispered.

"Well pal, I hate to break it to you," he said, "but you're not the first
teenage boy to have a wet dream at a sleepover in the pool house. Just go
to sleep."

I was on my back, next to him, both of us naked as could be, longing to
wrap myself around him so I could rest my head on his furry chest and doze
off to the beat of his luscious heart.


6.

The next day I continued my inquiry into Dad's youth. Having so many Hurlys
around made it easy to ask a question here, a question there, assembling
the puzzle pieces to join together in my head.

He was good enough to be a football star in high school, but not good
enough to go pro, bad boy enough to party with the druggie kids but not bad
enough to get in real trouble himself, rocker enough to play with his buds
but not enough to be in a real band, handsome enough to have his choice of
girls, but not player enough to have more than a just a few.

The one missing piece was the mysterious summer after sophomore year of
college. That was the famous motorcycle trip in Mexico with his best friend
Rudy, famously interrupted by the news that Mom was pregnant with my
sister. All I knew was that call marked the end of stud-Dad, and the start
of dad-Dad.

I wondered where all that hotness and lusty appetite goes when your life
changes like that? It didn't seem like it could just die. Maybe it was more
like it shrank. Or maybe it was just asleep, and could be awakened with
some attention.

That night in the pool house, after yet another massive meal and too much
to drink, Dad stripped down and got into bed. This time he didn't even wear
underwear, which I guess made sense since we'd done well enough without.

"No wet dreams on me tonight, Trev," he said, pulling the sheets up.

"Quit it Dad," I said. "I'm embarrassed enough already."

"I'm sorry," he laughed softly. "I was your age once, I get it."  "I almost
never do that anyway," I said. "Wet dreams I mean. The other kind I do all
the time."

"Well just take care of yourself in the bathroom if you need to," he told
me, making a jerking off motion with his hand.

I declined and said good night.

But of course my dick was hard, and I wasn't ready to sleep. As I tossed
and turned I thought about the glimpses of Dad I'd gotten, and how his nice
belly and furry butt were right there next to me. I should have gone to the
bathroom to jerk off, but instead I worked up as much spit as I could in my
hand and reached down to my dick right there in bed, with Dad sleeping a
foot or so away.

You never know how loud it is to jerk off until you need to do it
silently. The smacking of my dick in my hand seemed ridiculously loud. And
it went on a little longer than I expected because I always use lotion, and
spit just wasn't cutting it. But I couldn't stop then.

I was shocked when Dad suddenly swung an arm and a leg to wrap around me. I
froze, thinking I'd been caught in the act. But it seemed like he was still
out, so I let myself rest, my back against his furry chest and belly, his
fat erection tucked under my ass. Then he snuggled up tight, sliding one
arm between me and the mattress, the other under my exposed arm, and
wrapped them tight around my chest.


I very slowly started jerking my dick again so as to not wake him, wishing
desperately I had some lotion. But the way his face nuzzled up against my
shoulder, scratchy from his mustache and whiskers, was such a turn on. Then
I felt his erection slide into the spot between my butt and thighs. It felt
so big and stiff, I gasped.


I kept working my dick, faster and more urgently, and then I felt his rough
fingertips brush my nipples as he held me, and I thought he kissed my
shoulder. Even with just spit for lube I shot my load, hard splattering the
bed sheets. Dad pulled me against him tight, steadying my quaking body, and
I knew he was awake, or awake enough..

"I'm sorry," I whispered. I reached back around to try to get ahold of his
erection, but he caught my hand with his, and pulled it away from his cock.

"Shhhh," he whispered and hugged me tight. "Just guy stuff. Go to sleep."

I felt Dad's face against my back, his mustache scratching. As I drifted
off, he planted a warm kiss goodnight on my shoulder blade.


I dreamed a vine was growing out of the place he kissed. It started tiny,
but it kept growing, and then it was all over Gram's backyard, but pretty,
like a vineyard. And there was a wedding, but I couldn't see who was
getting married, even though I actually was the vine then. And I was glad
to be there, and I thought everyone would be so happy at the wedding.


7.

Day three was a swim day in my grandparents' pool. Naturally my eyes were
drawn to dad. His nipples were quarter sized and brick colored, and his
chest and belly hair was brown and looked surprisingly soft. I liked how he
had a nice rounded belly thay tucked back in right over his trunks. His
Irish cheeks went pink in the sun, his eyes were the color of honey, and I
again wondered how I'd gone my whole life without seeing any of this until
now.

"Mom," I asked, "is it normal to not realize you like something, and then
be crazy about it all of a sudden?"

She was lying in a lounge chair tanning, wearing her black sunglasses that
covered half her face.

"I don't know what's normal. I guess so. When you were little you insisted
you didn't like anything but cheese pizza, and then one day you tried
something more interesting and loved it. Thank God."

"I guess. I did that with old Star Trek too. Remember?"

"Oh honey, I don't keep track of your shows." I couldn't tell if she was
even looking at me behind her black plate sunglasses.

I glanced again at Dad, underwater up to his chest, resting his elbows on
the edge. He was squinting in the sunlight, as the light danced around him
on the water like flashing diamonds.

"Mom, but did you ever do that? Like something all of a sudden after barely
noticing it before? Or, like, someone?"

"Hm, sounds intriguing," she said, pursing her lips. She had a keen sense
for gossip, and was always hungry for a little quiet side discussion after
too much with the boisterous Hurlys. "What's the story, morning glory?"

She seemed a little disappointed when I didn't bite, but after a little
while she said quietly, "You could say Ezra was like that. After your dad
and I divorced I was NOT looking to fall in love again. And I had worked
with Ezra and never thought of him in any romantic way. Good lord, I would
have laughed in your face at one point if you told me I'd be married to
him."

"Didn't you think he was hot?"

"Not hot like you probably think of it. Not in an obvious way."

"Well what way?" I asked.

"You're going to laugh. One morning he brought me an Egg McMuffin. The
thing is that after your dad and I split up I had some bad days and my
treat to myself to get me through was an Egg McMuffin. And on this day I
was feeling, oh, blue. I guess he saw that I was a little weepy. So he went
out and came back with two Egg McMuffins. He put one on my desk and said
maybe I'd like one. And my heart just opened to him."

"So he seduced you with McDonald's? You totally hate junk food."

"Mock if you must, little man. I do love an Egg McMuffin. But what mattered
was that Ezra had observed this one little thing about me that no one else
in the whole wide world even knew. And when I needed it, he was
there. You'll see someday, but that matters. I just fell for him, a little
retroactively, you could say."

The spell of our shared secret broke, and she said, "Well now I'm
embarrassed."

As if waking up I could suddenly hear and see the Hurlys chattering and
laughed all around us as if the volume slowly turned back up.

Mom turned to me, lowering her sunglasses to make eye contact. In her most
conspiratorial tone she asked, "Trevor, do you have a crush on someone? Who
is she?"

I thought of all the ways I could answer that I could never say out loud,
and finally said simply "Someone unexpected."

I don't know why I hadn't come out to her before. I was pretty sure she
wouldn't care. But she knew everyone's secrets so well, I couldn't
understand how the one she missed was mine, right there under her nose.


8.

In bed I curled up behind Dad who was on his side, and asked, "Can I be the
big spoon?"

"Sure," he said, and raised an arm so I could wrap one under it, around his
chest to hug him, and then he let it rest over mine. My dick sort of fit
into the hot crevice under his butt, and I tried to not get a boner but
couldn't help it.

I said "Dad, remember when I was a kid and we'd go for long drives and
listen to old music and talk?"

"Yup."

"And I would talk the whole time and tell you everything, and I guess it
was because we were both looking forward, not at each other?"

"That was kind of the point."

"I'm going to talk now and you need to stay facing forward not looking at
me or I won't be able to finish."

He just said, "Okay."

"When I said I quit wrestling because of too many wrestling boners, I
really meant I had too many. Because I liked wrestling with boys. A lot. I
liked being with them and I wanted to do things with them - like sex
things. And I still want to, with other guys, I mean. And do do sex things
by myself. not with anyone else yet. But things that would shock you. And I
look at porn and stuff. A lot."

He still said nothing, but pulled my arms tighter around him.

Curled up against his broad warm back, my dick snug between his ass and
thighs, I didn't even mind having an erection, and he didn't say anything
about it either.

I held onto him, and whispered all my secrets against his skin until I fell
asleep, with one last unspoken confession under my breath.



9.

The next day was the worst.

It was the day after I told him almost everything. Dad was unusually
distant, constantly asking his own disorganized parents what else needed to
be done for the big dinner that night. He carried chairs and moved tables,
and of course I noticed the damp of his armpits as he worked up a sweat. I
tried to tell myself it was about the wedding and not about what I told
him.


And it was the day my sister's new in-laws arrived. At dinner, Frank and
Evie, the bride's parents, tried to understand our family structure.

"So, you're the car salesman," Frank asked Dad, but then he turned to Mom
and said, "but your dad owns the dealership where he works. But you're
divorced. Do I have that right?"

Everyone laughed. "Yeah," said my dad, "that's pretty much it."

"We need an org chart," said Mom. "It's all a little incestuous."

Oh mom, I thought, half choking on my iced tea. Choice of words, please.

At dinner Dad made a toast and everyone cheered. He looked a little
self-conscious being the center of attention even for a few minutes. I
thought to everyone else there but me he was just another middle aged
dad. But I knew how it felt to press up against his back and shoulders. And
I knew under that manly belly was a big cock, and I wanted to see it and
touch it. I could see it in my mind's eye even then.

After the meal and chatter, Mom asked me to go keep an eye on Gram. "The
last thing we need is for her to be hung over tomorrow."

I found Gram in her kitchen, topping off her glass with a bottle from the
refrigerator.

"Isn't this FUN?" she chirped to me. She sat at a kitchen barstool, her
feet dancing in place, her joy increasing with the sounds of chaos just
outside, thrilled to have all her people back home.

"It is, Gram."

She leaned in close to me and whispered, "Did your mother send you to
monitor me?"

I shrugged, and said "Maybe a little."

Gram laughed out loud. "Well then you have to help me."


She held out her wine glass to me. I took it and had a sip. It was more
acidic tasting than I expected, but sweet too. I had another sip.

"Trevor," she said, "you're the next oldest grandchild. So you'll probably
get married next. I'm already excited about it."

"Oh I don't know about that," I said, and my heart panged for my dad.

"I know not yet," she said. "College first. But...." she put her hand on
mine, "since it's legal now. For you to get married."

"Gram?" I asked.

"I know I'm daft and silly," she said, "but I see things. When I was your
age I had a special friend. He was so sweet. Just the most precious
thing. And then your father's friend Rudy, he was a special boy too. He
liked to come over for a soda even when your father wasn't home, so we
could gab. And then you. So darling. I've always had a soft spot in my
heart for my special boys. You know what I mean."

She kissed my cheek hard, and my eyes stung with unexpected tears.


10.

Dad settled in on his back in bed, but placed his pillow between us.

"Need a little distance?" I asked, mock offended, but not entirely in jest.

"It's just hot tonight is all," he said.

"I like snuggling," I said.

"Yeah Trev, I'm aware that you like snuggling."

"I'm sorry I grossed you out," I said, feeling stupid.

"You didn't gross me out," he said. "Trev, you never gross me out." He
paused. "You're just making this a little hard for me."

"How?"

"Well for one thing -- Jesus -- I have not had, you know -- sex -- for a
long time. And I'm sharing a bed with a teenager with a non-stop boner, and
it's not like I don't have one too, and I can't *you know* with my kid
right there, and it's just, Jesus, Trevor, y'know?"

"How long is a long time?" I asked, and pulled up close next to him despite
the pillow between us.

"A long time. Except for a couple of, uh, things I guess, since your mom
and I divorced, basically." He thought for a moment. "Well and even before
the divorce not for a while."

"Dad, that's years! That's literally years. You could have had a -- a
girlfriend or something."

He stared up at the skylight and sighed. "At first I thought your mom and I
would get back together. So I wasn't going to be with someone else while I
waited for that to happen. I just worked a lot, killed time at the gym,
watched TV. I had dinner with your Gram and Grandpa every week. Had you
guys on weekends."

I slowly slid the pillow between us away and he let me, getting closer.


"And then when I knew we weren't getting back together, then I really
didn't know what to do about it, because I'd have to figure out how to
start all over again. But I wasn't a kid. I *had* kids. And
responsibilities."

"You could date, Dad. You're still really good looking. Like *really* good
looking. And fit. You could get a girlfriend no problem. You're a himbo."

"I don't even know how to date. I only did a little before I married your
mom. And it's not like high school where everyone knows each other
already. You have to go *meet* people, and how to dress and what to talk
about. What's a himbo?"

"Nevermind."

"It's not like I had a plan for everything," he continued."It just
happened."

"Well, is this the life you wanted?" I asked, feeling like it was a hundred
different questions wrapped up in one.

"I don't know what I wanted," he said. "I was just a kid in high school and
then one thing happened and then another and they all piled up."

The night seemed so quiet, and I had no adequate response, so I propped up
on my elbow and Dad turned to face me. I leaned in and kissed him on the
mouth, and then again, and then our tongues brushed up against each other.

"I don't want to gross you out," I said "But I really like being here in
bed with you. And if you have a boner, instead of pretending you don't,
maybe we could just jerk off together? Like just a couple of guys just
doing guy stuff?"

He looked in my face and I tried to say with my eyes *I really really want
to*.

"Dad, are you going to tell me that's never happened in the pool house
before?" I asked. "With all the sleepovers?"

He had to laugh. "Once, Trevor. Just this one time."

I dropped to my back and fought the urge to say "YES!".

We both reached under the sheets to stroke our dicks, and I gradually
kicked the sheets off of my legs, pulling them from him too, both of our
hard-ons exposed.

"You have kind of a big dick," I said. I guessed it was seven inches, and
fat and just kind of juicy looking.

He ignored me for a minute, but then looked down at his and my erections in
our hands. "You look like you're doing just fine. They're like the same."

I couldn't even believe we were lying there complimenting each other's
dicks. And I was so turned on by being next to Dad, with his furry chest
and manly belly. I loved seeing how his hand pumped the shaft of his dick
in long strokes and swirled the head, smearing precum as he did.

I couldn't take being so close and not even touching it and his eyes were
closed as he got more into it, so I drew up even closer, reached down and
slid my hand in next to his on his cock. He didn't look at me, but he
sighed and very slowly let go, so I could work it for him.

I kept stroking him, trying to do it the same way he did, listening to his
breathing for cues. And he let me do it, grinding his hips up to let his
erection slide in and out of my grip. As he started pumping I worked my
hand faster, taking my hand back to spit in it and stroke him some
more. That big dick needed a lot of spit.

On one of my releases to get saliva on my palm, he took his cock back in
his own hand and started pumping even faster, in shorter strokes and
thrusting too. His cheeks were flushed and he was dewy all over, and he was
really fucking his own hand hard, and I'd never seen him like this before,
like he wasn't even Dad at all anymore, just a big cocked stud.

"Oh fuck," he huffed. He groaned out loud and his cock spewed a jetstream
of cum. First just one short white streak, then a huge stream that landed
on his belly and my arm, then smaller arcs, again and again. It was more
cum than I'd ever shot myself, and I was mesmerized as he pumped it out and
exhaled hot breath from his nostrils.

As soon as Dad started cooling down I nudged myself into the crook between
his chest and arm and started jerking myself fast.

I was doing everything I could as fast as I could, but I just couldn't get
myself to cum, not even cozied up right against my dad, not even after
seeing him do it.

"Fuck," I gasped, yanking furiously. After wet dreaming on Dad's ass and
jerking off in his arms, the one time I was supposed to blow a load and I
couldn't. "I usually use lotion or something.

Dad gave it a minute, and reached down to his belly to scoop up some of his
cum.

"Want some help?" he asked, and I let go.

He wrapped his hand around my dick, lubing it with his own cum so he could
stroke my shaft in smooth glides and run his palm over the sensitive head.

"Oh fuck," I gasped, quivering as he triggered spasms of pleasure in my
whole body.

I could see him smiling, as my dick went even stiffer in his grip. "There
you go," he said. "It's not a race."

Even more than the motion on my dick was the idea that it was covered with
Dad's cum he was sharing with me that got me off. I just suddenly start
shooting. My whole body tensed and I felt like I couldn't even see, but I
could feel Dad's measured strokes pumping it out of me until the load ran
out onto his fist. Then he ran a thumb up the underside of my dick to
squeeze out the last of it. "Good boy, Trev. Good boy," he said.

He pressed his lips to mine and our tongues darted into each other's mouth
and heated air from our lungs exchanged between us.

After wiping off, we snuggled up together, feeling some euphoria in each
other's closeness.

"That was great, Dad," I said. "First time you ever used that as lube in
the pool house?"

He snorted a laugh. "It's a guy thing."

"I love you Dad."

"I love you Trev," he answered, and I could hear the sleepiness in his
voice.

I stayed awake as long as I could to enjoy the moment, watching the stars
overhead through the skylight.

And then I dreamt.


11.

The wedding day was as chaotic as any Hurly-Burly gathering ever. The whole
thing took place in Gram's yard, decorated with gauzy white fabric and
lanterns, just the way she wanted.

Dad was happy and proud, and handsome in a suit. I wore a crisp white shirt
and a black and gold vest Mom bought for the occasion. I hoped Dad would
notice, because I wanted to look good for him.

Even though it was foremost in my mind, there was nothing I could say about
the night before. I just knew I wanted to do it again, and I wanted more
than that too. But it wasn't the right time or place, and there was no
language made for that purpose.

My sister and her husband exchanged vows, and when the priest asked them if
they took each other and so on, I repeated the words in near silent
whispers, looking only at Dad.

Later, when it was time for formal family photos, we gathered in various
family configurations that must have been dizzying for the
photographer. When it was time for just the immediate family, Mom reapplied
her red lipstick and turned to me saying "Grill check!"

That was our cue before being photographed to bare our teeth to each other
in exaggerated grins, to inspect each other's smiles for errant bits of
food or, in Mom's case, traces of lipstick.

I told her she was perfect. And she was.

My sister and her new husband had their first dance, and then others joined
in.

Gram dragged Grandpa out to dance. Mom and Ezra danced. All the aunts and
their husbands danced and the new in-laws did too. The little cousins
danced in bunches, jumping and spinning, and the old people danced slowly
in their pairs. Everyone danced, except me and Dad.

The wedding band played the 80's music my sister and I grew up hearing,
thanks to Dad. *Every Little Thing She Does is Magic* and *Hold Me Now* and
"Tenderness*. I could see Dad gazing from a distance, looking a little
wistful, unnoticed by anyone but me.

I made my way to the manager of the wedding band, and whispered in his
ear. I watched and waited for him to in turn tap the arm of the tuxedoed
wedding singer and whisper to him, and only then did I dash away.

I had just reached the spot where Dad was sitting, when the wedding singer
took the mic, cleared his throat and said "We have a special request for
another classic. So let's give it a try. "

"Sir," I said, my heart racing. "May I have the honor of this dance?"

I made an exaggerated courtly bow as the wedding singer began *Don't tell
me you don't know what love is, When you're old enough to know better...*

"My favorite," Dad said, lighting up. His smile filled my heart to
bursting.

"Duh," I said. Of course I knew that.

He stood up and we clumsily joined hands as the singer crooned "Chapter
One: We didn't really get along, Chapter Two: I think I fell in love with
you."

I knew the lyrics even better than the wedding singer, but he managed, as
Dad and I got our bearings. "You said you'd stand by me in the middle of
Chapter Three, But you were up to your old tricks in Chapters Four, Five
and Six."

We moved into the dance floor, and I could feel the other couples make
space for us, as if it was our wedding. We were surrounded by everyone I
loved and they could see me and my date, whether they knew what that meant
or not.

"I'm giving you a longing look, Everyday, Everyday, Everyday I write the
book."

Everyone laughed as Dad spun me, and I landed back against him. He pulled
me into a bear hug and I stayed there, slowly rocking side to side as his
song played on.

In the soft glow of the wedding lanterns, I pressed my face to his chest,
hoping to hear his heart beat to me the answer to the vow I'd whispered
earlier, I do, I do.



- END -