Date: Fri, 23 Feb 2007 12:35:24 -0800 (PST)
From: T. Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dads Dilemma 05

The story below is a work of fiction, set in the
format of reality. Any resemblances to real people,
alive or in the hereafter, is entirely coincidental in
nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon
persons, in towns, cities, countries, nor governmental
areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene
involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then
you should not read this story. Additionally, if you
are under 18 years of age, in most state and
countries, you are not allowed to read this story, by
law. Check with your local laws regarding such. %
Sexual safety matters. Remember guys, this is fiction.
In real life, use protection.

%

"Dad's Dilemma" 05
wriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

Time flew and soon I was at home, in my bedroom, my
books on my desk, ready to tackle homework. Something
was different about me. At first I chocked it up to
being a day older, but then I thought about yesterday.
As I changed clothes, got stripped down to my briefs,
I really thought about maturity.
I smiled, thinking about the size of my cock. How
often had I heard, in gym class, the words of some guy
saying, `he's really hung'! I never knew whom a guy
was talking about, but I did do private
investigations. Often it was in the gym shower. As
with Adam, yesterday in the shower, I thought about
how to detail a guy's looks. I decided to do something
I've done a million times over... I went to my closet,
opened the door and stared at the long mirror. I
became kind of kooky, too. Some guys might call it
kinky, as I put my thumbs under the elastic of my
briefs and slowly pushed downwards. There was one
Italian kid in gym class, same age as me and the other
guys, but endowed hirsuitely. I say that because,
compared to all the other guys, he already had dark
pubes and a trail running right up to his navel. It
ran a little past, plus he had moderately hairy
armpits.

I peeled my briefs down lower, maybe hopefully to view
what I could see of Armando Valdiveso, but no such
luck. The hair coming in around my cock was sparse and
so blonde-colored it was like seeing nothing. Even at
the base of my teen cock, there wasn't anything usual
to report. One good thing is, as I stared at myself in
the mirror, I tended to make my cock throb, with
thoughts of Armando and then general thoughts of how
my own cock appeared to be just as `built'. So, I came
to the conclusion that my tool, (what I heard a guy
refer to another's as), wasn't anything `too small' on
the `jock scale'!

"Having fun?"

"What do you want?" I slammed the closet door shut,
hiking my briefs up.

"Maybe you would like to compare that thing to some
real meat?"

It was tempting. There, stood my brother,  Steve, with
a towel around his waist.

"How come you're out of work so early? Coming back
from the Pines Motel, from meeting your boyfriend?" I
teased my brother.

"C'mon, you know I don't swing that way, bro!"

As he left, he let the towel swing loose. Even though
he was my brother, five years older, and straight, I
slighted him on the maturity scale. Sometimes he did
stoopid stuff like flaunting his body or `body parts'
in front of me.

I returned my greetings, "Didja know your towel's
falling off, faggot-bro?"

He just laughed his ass off, saying, "One faggot to
another!"

Only, I knew he was joking. There couldn't be anybody
straighter in this family than Steve. However, even
though straight, sometimes I've fantasized about him.
To me, he wasn't just a `brother' at times. I'd lay in
bed at night, my hand on my cock and think of him
coming home from his job at Jacoby Construction. He'd
walk in the jon, me standing there, invisible. I'd
watch him go through all the motions. Standing there,
at six feet, one inch tall, he would slowly unbutton
his grimy shirt. My hand would get more motion, as he
peeled back his sweaty shirt, revealing his dark,
hairy chest. It ran from east to west, so thick in
certain places, it almost hid his rosy-red nips. Then
it would trickle down as it left his mid-chest, than
quick as a dart, shoot down to his waste in a neat
line. The rest of the view was awesome. He was twice
as big as me, from his cock, on down. So real was all
of this, I could swear I smelled his musky man scent,
mixed with his construction grime!

Now I really had to come to grips. In an hour and
fifteen minutes mom would be calling up the stairs,
alerting me to supper. Closing the jon door, pressing
the little latch my dad affixed years ago, I lay down
on my bed, my teen balls already anchoring my briefs.
While my mind was on my brother, I let it set there,
imagining him in the shower. It took all of a few
minutes to stoke off, but the cum spurting out was as
if I was storing up for a year!

"Jaaaaake! Dinner!"

Wow! I must've been dozing for over an hour! When I
went for my briefs, the sticky residue told how long
it's been `drying'! A washcloth quickly cleansed my
pubes.

"I hope it was worth it!"

My dopey brother again!

I just said, "Oh it was!"

If he only knew `how' I got to the state of releasing
my inner tension.

Dinner wasn't anything special, except from my point
of view. I felt really weird inside, as the `rents
went about with their usual banter.

"How was your day today?" My dad asked mom.

In a way, I felt like saying something. Only thing, I
loved both my parents. Why did that have to get in the
way of anything. In a way, I felt I didn't `owe'
either of the `rents an explanation to what was going
on behind their backs. As for dad, it was his business
what he did during the day, taking time out from his
work to relieve his pent up mansex. God only knows
what mom did in her free time, as a housewife. Dad
already pointed out one incident. How did any of us
know the wiser? Then again, dad had more or less
already said the writing was on the wall. Should I act
surprised if one of them came out with the prospects
of wanting a divorce? In a way, as a side-line to this
charade, I wanted to blurt out what I knew. I wanted
to ask when the divorce was, have everything out on
the table. Then again my mind traced back again to the
thoughts of loving both my parents. I've known from
others in my class at school. The kids become custody
of one parent and see the other one occasionally. No
way could I ever make a choice. Maybe I'd choose to
live with the grandparents, upstate. Suddenly I felt a
toe, kicking me under the table. It was Steve's foot.
"Huh?"

"Mom asked you how school was going?" Steve retold the
question.

"Good," I answered, with the least bit of interest. "I
got a B on my science test."

I should have thanked Steve, but instead, let the
conversation pass on to a new subject... Steve's car.

"What do you think, dad? Sell the old one and trade up
to something more modern?"

"I thought you were saving your extra cash for
college?"

Bringing up Steve's car, triggered something deep
inside my brain. While the `rents and Steve talked
`college', my mind floated towards `the other guy' in
dad's life. I remember Adam's last thoughts to me,
`find out who this guy is'. However, I hadn't had the
opportunity to discuss it with dad. Maybe it was none
of my business. For sure, I was keeping it in my
confidence, especially where mom was concerned. For
sure, I didn't want her to overhear anything being
said.

"Can I be excused?"

"If you're finished," Dad said.

I scooted out from under the table, took my napkin
from my lap, folded it nicely and left it beside the
plate. I know I didn't need an excuse, but offered the
need to study for an English test. Going to my room, I
thought of how different life was now. Dad's gay, mom
could be a lesbian. Where did all this leave Steve and
I? I knew Steve would survive, going back to college,
but what about me? I still had
two years of high school to be confronted with. If mom
and dad split up, would I be living here in this house
or someplace else? Where would I be attending high
school? Life was presenting itself and here was I, in
the thick of it.


%

Copyright 2007 T. Chase McPhee
This story may not be sold, nor made part of any
collection, without prior consent from the author.