Date: Wed, 28 Jan 2015 16:36:01 +0000 (UTC)
From: BH
Subject: Dad and Me at the Lake House - 12

I stared into my father's eyes, watching his expression shift rapidly from
confusion to embarrassment, then to horror and finally anger. If there was
a spark of sympathy in his eyes, I had mistaken it for something
else. Something cold and unfamiliar. Dad was looking at me like I was a
monster for lying to him in the first place. But I was starting to fear
everything we had just done together had been his plan all along. Not that
I regretted any of it. I didn't. But I regretted trusting that it meant the
same to my father that it did to me.

"Stop looking at me like that," my father scolded. His voice didn't sound
like him. He wasn't the sexy beast I'd just had inside me. Or the loving
man holding me in his arms. I pulled my naked legs up to my chest and
wrapped my arms tightly around my knees, unable to meet his glare.

"So it was you?" Dad muttered. "The whole time?" His voice was shaking, and
it made something inside me shake, too. "On the phone, and everything?
Jesus."

"I'm sorry," I said, but I was still so angry. The words came out sounding
all wrong. But I couldn't take back how it sounded. Dad huffed at my
indignance. I sat there for what felt like a long time, waiting for his
apology and explanation. Something--anything--that might justify his
betrayal. But Dad just sat there, as defiantly as I did, his arms crossed
over his sweaty chest.

"You sent him the pictures," I reminded him, matter-of-factly. "With my
face in them. Both of us identifiable."

"I sent YOU the pictures," Dad argued, as if his intentions didn't matter.

"You sent them to a stranger, Dad! He could have been anyone. He could have
POSTED them!" I still couldn't believe that he'd done it. That my wise old
dad had been stupid enough to trust someone he hadn't even met. "I mean,
what the fuck?!"

"Hey! Watch it!" Dad snapped at me with such sudden rage that for a split
second I wondered if I had called him stupid out loud. He looked at me like
it was him that should expect an apology. And the thought made my stomach
turn. I thought of my red face in the pictures, filled with illicit
pleasure. And of his. He looked proud of what we were doing. I imagined
finding them in my porn feed on Tumblr. Or of friends at school passing me
the link, asking if it was me. Asking if it was my own father. Bullies at
school printing the images out. Teachers looking at me differently,
whispering behind my back. The rest of my life ruined. Always having to
wonder. No one capable of understanding.

I started to cry again. I felt chilled, suddenly, and reached for my
clothes. But all I could find was Dad's underwear.

"Stop crying," Dad commanded. "No one will post them, okay?" But I knew I
couldn't trust him. Not after what he'd done. An awkward, defiant laugh
escaped my throat, like the air had been knocked out of my chest. Dad
reached for my shoulder and I pulled violently away from him.

"Son," he said. "Don't be like that."



"Like what? Angry? Hurt? Repulsed by you?" I let my eyes do the real
talking. I glared at him now, deep into his own angry eyes. I needed him to
understand what he'd done, and why it had been so dangerous. For both of
us. "You don't get it, do you? The internet is, like, a thing. You can't
just send people shit."

"I'm not an idiot," he said. He sounded sorry, but I wanted him to say it.

"Could have fooled me," I said, knowing I was crossing a line. Dad's face
changed instantly. He looked ready to punch me.

"Do NOT talk to me like that. I'm still your father! Hear me?!" He reached
for me again. And I was afraid of what he'd do. I leapt up, still naked,
and fumbled for the zipper to the tent door. Dad's hot hand was gripping my
ankle hard. I kicked backward, not caring if I hurt him. And when he let go
for a second I burst out of the two-foot opening I'd managed to make. And I
ran into the darkness, naked, with nothing but my phone and Dad's
underwear.

"Hey!" Dad screamed. But I was gone. Dashing into the woods, unsure exactly
what I was running from.

-

I remember being out breath and sobbing when I reached the clearing. And of
searching the darkness for the lights of the neighbors' properties. I had
pulled Dad's underwear on and was standing there, panting, listening for
footsteps behind me. But there were none, which was somehow worse. My feet
hurt from running barefoot over God knows what. And I realized I'd have to
return to Dad eventually. Or at least to the cabin.

My phone buzzed in my hand, and it startled me. I wanted it to be Dad, but
it wasn't. It was Uncle Steve. I let it go to voicemail, not knowing what
to say. Surely Dad had told him what had happened. And if Steve was calling
and not him, my best guess was that Dad wasn't ready to apologize.

I listened to the message, my body shivering.

"Hey kiddo," Steve said warmly. "Everything's gonna be okay. Come back and
we'll talk about it. I'll come pick you up. Text me where you are. We just
want to know you're alright." There was a pause. Dad was saying something
to Steve in the background. "Your dad says he's sorry," my uncle reported
sympathetically.

And then suddenly it was Dad's voice. He had taken the phone from Steve.

"I don't know what I was thinking," Dad said, barely showing any
emotion. "I am an idiot. I'm not mad. Just come back, okay? I love you."

I left the phone pressed to my cheek for a long time after the message was
over. I thought about calling them back, but I was crying too hard to
breathe. I sat on the ground with my naked shins pressed into pine needles
and twigs. All around me, the sounds of the woods had quieted. It was as if
every creature in earshot were watching, pitying me from their dark
perches. I looked up to where the summer moon shone between branches. Even
it seemed to know what I'd done.

I tried to call them back, but my phone no longer had service. I waved it
in the air, desperately watching for bars to return, but it was no use.

The thought crossed my mind that I should pray. Not for forgiveness for
what I'd done. Not exactly. But for guidance, or strength. I'm not a
religious person. I can't remember ever having prayed before. But I put my
phone down and pressed my palms together. I quieted the angry thoughts in
my head the best I could, and let myself recall my father's voice begging
for my return. As the sounds of the woods returned, all around me, I
realized something was biting me on my naked back, and I twisted in place,
reaching to scratch it. And then I stood, feeling weak with shame and loss.

"I'm still your father," my dad had said. That's the line that stuck with
me as I wandered in the direction of the lake house, unsure of my exact
direction. He had said it as if it weren't obvious. As if the opposite
might have been the case. And that's what hurt suddenly worse than his
betrayal. Of course he was still my father. Of course he would always be,
won't he? But the way he had said those words, it was as if he needed to be
reminded himself. And so the thought of someday losing him filled my heart
with sadness. My mom had left us earlier that year, and I hadn't let myself
fully process those feelings. It had been easy to blame her, to shut out
all of the other nuances of what that loss meant for me in my life. But now
with Dad and me fighting, it felt like nothing would ever be the same. I
felt totally and utterly alone.

The bug bite on my back itched and swelled. I scratched at it until it
stung. My lungs burned. My shins were tender from sprinting. Suddenly, I
felt Dad's cum leaking out of me as I walked. It was horrible. Images
flashed, hypotheticals, in which I was found like that. What would people
assume? How would I explain any of it? I tried weakly to hold Dad's cum
inside me, but there was no use. It seeped into his own underwear, and the
idea made me sick. My ass was sore. My stubble-scraped skin felt impossibly
raw. And my feet stung more with each step. Every part of me seemed to
ache. Except for my heart, which had inexplicably grown numb.

Step my tender step, I eased my way through the woods. Eventually my phone
buzzed in my hand a few times, and the screen lit up with texts from Steve
and my father. I read them calmly, each more pleading than the next. I
thought of calling, but I still had no service. Somehow the wifi seemed to
be working, and I realized I must have been in range of the lake house. I
turned in place, searching the darkness for signs of where I stood. Sure
enough, the little lights of the windows were visible. I spied for my dad
as I approached, but he wasn't there. And as I stepped out of the woods,
back into the yard, I realized Steve's truck was gone, too. I wondered if
Dad and him had gone looking for me. Or if Dad was still in the tent,
waiting hopefully.

But when I checked, the tent was empty. I grabbed my clothes and crept onto
the dock. I dipped my sore feet in the dark water. I bit my lip at how bad
it stung.

I'm back, I texted Steve. Tell Dad I don't want talk yet. Okay?

Within seconds, I got a text from Dad. He agreed. Said he was glad I was
back, and safe. Asked if I wanted to sleep inside, or alone in the tent. I
crawled into our sweaty sleeping bag without writing back. I was asleep in
seconds. And when I woke to the sound of the truck pulling in, listened
numbly to their two hushed voices. I pretended to still be sleeping when I
heard the tent door unzip halfway, then close again. Steve whispered
something to my father, and they both went inside.

My heart was pounding, and I wasn't sure if I'd be able to fall back asleep
again. My mind was racing anew, filling quickly with second-guesses and
unlikely escapes. What if I had kept walking away, and never saw Dad again?
What if I had lied, covering for myself, and Dad never realized my own
betrayal? What if I wrote to Shawn, and he took pity on me? I told myself I
could be gone by morning.

I searched my emails, eager for any distraction. But I had deleted all of
my emails from Shawn. I could barely remember what he looked like. But I
found his address in my sent folder and wrote a pathetic, vague note to
him, drowsy and incoherent. I didn't tell him what had happened, only that
my trip had gone horribly wrong, and that I needed to get away from my dad.

I was tired and more than a little out of it. But I remember stopping
myself from sending it. I remember putting my phone down next to my head so
that it would wake me, and of thinking I was about to fall asleep. And then
I did.

But I dreamt that Shawn was a lie, too. That Uncle Steve had sent those
pictures, and there was no guy my age somewhere around the lake. The house
he'd driven to was owned by an old blind couple. He had made up
everything. I dreamt that walked to Shawn's house and a woman answered the
door. I ran naked through her house, crying for my father. And then when
someone caught me by the arm and I spun around to face them, it was my dad,
calling me an idiot, telling me not to trust strangers from the internet.

I had other dreams, too. Ones I don't remember as clearly. Bats in the
woods. Thorns in my feet that couldn't be removed. The bite on my back had
bore a hole, and when I reached for it with my finger, it puckered. But the
worst dream, the one that made me gasp awake, was of Dad and me arriving at
the lake house anew. Nothing had happened, and nothing ever would. He was
icy and distant, as he'd been just after Mom left. And nothing that I said
or did would get his attention. When he caught me reaching for his dick, he
furrowed his brow with uneasy disapproval. My heart sank and stayed there.

-

In the morning, I woke to the sound of the tent door opening. It was Uncle
Steve. He brought me coffee and clean clothes. "Your dad drive into
town. He's going to make your favorite breakfast," he said. "Jenny left
early. It's just the three of us. So we can talk about it. Only if you
want."

Steve was being so sweet to me. Every word, every gesture was tentative. As
if he were following my lead. And so I took the olive branch, waving for
him to come into the tent, and he did.

"Is he mad?" I asked. But Uncle Steve shook his head.

"Of course not," he said. "He thinks you are. You should be."

"I am," I confessed. "But I'll get over it." I wasn't sure if it was true,
but I was glad that I said it anyway. It felt like a first step. Steve
nodded, relieved.

"Do you..." He started to ask, but trailed off. I caught him surveying the
tent, as if for evidence of the night's events. The black bag. The bottle
of lube. It was all there.

"What?" I took a sip of coffee, watching his eyes as he puzzled through
something.

"Do you regret it?" He started to say. He had a strange look in his
eye. Vulnerable. Hopeful. I wasn't sure. "I'm so sorry," he said. "I mean,
I don't regret it. I had a great time. But if you do, then I'm sorry."

I shook my head. "I don't regret the sex," I said. "I'm not sorry."

Uncle Steve's posture changed. He cracked a smile and nodded. "Okay,
good. I wasn't sure." He leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. It felt
nice. I had felt so utterly alone in the woods, and later in the tent, that
I was starved for affection. I leaned into Steve, feeling his manly heat
warm my chest and arms as I gave my uncle a hug. But after a few seconds,
he pulled away kindly. "Why don't you take a shower and come inside," he
said. "I'll clean up out here."

I nodded, finishing my coffee. And then slinked inside to shower. The house
felt strangely calm inside. My bag was still in the big room, exactly as
I'd left it. I looked at myself in the mirror, still in Dad's undies. My
legs pink with a few tiny scratches, my chest and arms blemished with bug
bites. I pulled the underwear down and turned to check out the worst of the
bites on my back. I stared at myself like that for a long time before
heading to the bathroom with my phone, a stack of clean clothes clutched in
front of me. I sat on the toilet, overwhelmed by the events of the past few
days. And then absentmindedly opened my email.

To my surprise, there was a new note from Shawn. For a moment, I marveled
at the coincidence. But as I read, I realized it wasn't a coincidence at
all. I must have sent that crazed, desperate email to him after all. I
stopped reading his reply and scrolled down to what I'd sent. Rereading it,
I was relieved to find my rant as unspecific as I remembered wanting it to
be. I hadn't told him the nature of my argument with Dad, only that I had
to get away from him. And please, please, please, would Shawn write me
back.

"Buddy," Shawn had written. "You sound like me. I know the feeling. Get me
away from these lunatics." Shawn had written two emails. One late at night,
when he'd received my plea. And another longer one, earlier that morning,
in which he asked if everything was okay, and that he hoped I'd worked out
everything with my dad. "Regardless, it would be cool to meet you. I bet we
have a lot in common."

I remembered my dream and wondered if it was possible that Shawn wasn't who
he claimed to be. I sent a fresh pic of me from the neck up, my face still
pink and raw. Cute in an over it sort of way. I asked him to remind me what
he looked like, explaining that it didn't really matter. But that I was
curious, having deleted our earlier correspondence. "Sure," I told
him. "I'd love to meet up. I think things are going to be okay here. But I
could sure use some time away from the adults."

I got hard in the shower, thinking of how a visit with Shawn might play
out. I pictured us in a row boat, out on the lake, away from everyone. I
wanted him to have big arms and kind eyes. I wanted him to kiss me without
questions about what else I'd done with guys. I let the hot water run down
my back and ass as I stroked harder, my eyes closed. I licked my lips,
enjoying the sensation. My feet still stung, but everything else felt
better. And I realized I was glad we had a few more days at the lake.

I reached back and touched my hole as I came, not really thinking of
anyone. Just liking the feeling. And then I kicked water at my cum until it
all ran down the drain. I heard my Dad's voice coming from the kitchen and
geared myself up for our reunion. I toweled off, wondering what to say. If
I should apologize for my part in the fight, or let him do all the
talking. I pulled on my fresh clothes, brushed my teeth. The whole time,
listening for what he was saying to Steve. Something about the "perfect
omelet" and "protein" and how he needed to get back onto that jet ski
later. I didn't know if Dad was trying to sound sexy, but he did. And I
thought about that first ride we took on the water, how I had gotten hard
pressed up against Dad's back on the rough water, the feeling of the engine
between our legs.

I stepped out of the bathroom, and both men turned to smile at me.

"Hey son," Dad said first. "Come here." He opened his arms wide, to hug
me. And I let him embrace me hard, wrapping my arms slowly around his
barrel chest as he held me tight. "I'm SO sorry. I wasn't thinking. You
were right, I AM an idiot." He rocked me back and forth, not letting go.

"No you're not," I said, weakly, enjoying the feeling of Dad's arms.

"Well I WAS last night, that's for sure," he continued. "You had me so hot
I wasn't thinking straight. I guess it didn't feel real to me and I wanted
to show you off--I know, that's no excuse. I will NEVER do anything like
that to you again. I promise you. My sweet boy. Can you forgive me?"

I wanted him to go on. I wasn't ready to forgive him. But I nodded,
anyway. I let out a sigh, neither of us letting go.

"You guys are too much," Uncle Steve said, lightening the mood a
little. "Where's my phone? I need a picture of this."

"Shut the fuck up," Dad snapped quietly. But I could feel that we were both
smiling. When he let go, he looked me in the eyes. "Really, truly," he
said. "I'm sorry. I love you so much and would never do anything to hurt
you."

"I know," I said. "I love you too." And then Dad kissed me on the mouth. It
was innocent, fatherly. But I opened my lips anyway, testing him. And
before I knew it, we were kissing like we had the night before. Our tongues
massaging, our bodies pressing. Confirming nothing had changed.

"You two..." Steve laughed. And stepped away, to give us some privacy. But
Dad pulled away from me with a wink and called him back.

"What about breakfast?" Dad said. "Ham and cheese omelets. You're favorite,
right?" He asked me. And the three of us sat at the table, which the two of
them had set up. There were even flowers on the table in a little glass
vase.

"Thanks, Dad," I said, catching myself smiling down at my eggs.

"So what are we going to get up to today?" He said. "I was just telling
your uncle that I'm itching to get back out onto the water."

"It's a good day for it," Steve said. And then they both looked at me,
mischievous grins spreading on their handsome faces. As if they could read
my mind, they looked at each other with raised eyebrows. "Unless you'd
rather stay in," my uncle said. And then he winked at me. "Or else I could
head out, and leave you two men to... bond some more."

"Don't be silly," Dad said after glancing at me. "It's your place,
Steve. We're not going to kick you out. Right, champ?" Dad rubbed his knee
against mine, and I nodded. Uncle Steve gave Dad a little smirk. And then
he reached under the table, touching himself. I could feel Dad's palm on my
thigh, and I looked up at him, my mouth full of eggs. "Kyle and I have all
the time in the world to bond, just the two of us. I think he wants to get
to know his uncle better." I nodded again, blushing.

"Is that right?" Uncle Steve asked seductively. And then I felt his socked
foot brush against mine. I nodded again, and then his foot swept up my calf
and toward my crotch from underneath.

"Yeah," I said, meeting his gaze as his toe tickled my young balls. "But
first things first," I said, as if snapping out of it. I looked at my dad
as my uncle continued playing footsie with my quickly hardening dick. I put
my hand on top of Dad's as he gripped my leg. "I think Dad here needs a
turn."

"You want Daddy to fuck you again, boy?" My father slid his hand out from
under mine, reaching and slipping his thick fingers into the back of my
pants and under the elastic of my undies. I spread my legs, staring into
Steve's glazed eyes, letting them start at me from both sides. Steve
wiggling his big socked toe against my taint from under my shorts. And Dad,
tickling down my crack toward his boy's hole.

"Not exactly," I said. "I think it's about time you got fucked."