Date: Tue, 23 Jul 2013 13:33:40 -0700 (PDT)
From: BH
Subject: Dad and Me at the Lake House - 3

I went to bed early that first night, embarrassed by what I'd almost let
happen. I convinced myself my dad was innocent in all of it, that he was a
typical horny man that would have accepted sex from anyone now that mom was
out of the picture. But me, I was actually gay. And actually turned on by
the idea of my dad nutting all over my lap. I wanted that cum in my
mouth. Inside me. Everywhere.

That night, after I told my old man goodnight, I listened for any sounds
coming from the living room. I thought maybe he'd come knocking at my door,
wanting to share the big bed. And I would have let him. I would have done
whatever he wanted. But he didn't knock, and in the morning I knew that it
would be my fault if anything more happened.

I jerked off in the shower, even though I prefer not to. And any time our
chit chat became the least bit sexual, I'd change the subject.

Finally, around lunch time that next day, my dad started tugging on his
balls, whining about being horny again so soon. He said that it would be
fun to watch me cum, now that I've seen him. I laughed like it was all a
joke, and clenched my jaw to keep from getting aroused.

"You could jerk in private if you want, and just come out of the room to
shoot," he said, like it was the best idea he's ever had.

The thing is, I didn't want my dad to know what I was thinking. Or that I
was turned on by men generally. Jerking off together, even separately in
the same room, would reveal what all turned me on. I'd risk him seeing what
porn I looked at, what emails I'd been writing, what personal ads I'd been
posting. And I didn't want him to. Even the idea of him watching me cum
made me as horny as he seemed to be. Yet when I pictured it, I imagined me
coming out of the room with my shorts down to my ankles, ready to climax,
and looking him in the eyes and seeing his face so full of lust. I was
afraid my face would give away every thought I'd had about him over the
past twenty four hours. And the idea scared the hell out of me.

Dad asked if I wanted to come into town with him. He was going to get me
the wifi password finally, along with some groceries. I told him I wanted
to go for a walk instead. After he left, I paced around the living room. My
mind was racing. I had just jerked off, less than an hour or two before,
but I was already raging hard. I saw his bathing suit on the ground by the
couch, which gave me an idea. I ran to my room and found my own suit, which
he had cum all over. I sniffed the spots and savored the smell. But soon,
it wasn't enough.

I didn't want to move any of his stuff, in case he might notice, so I knelt
down to sniff his own shorts, right where they were laying. They smelled
like lake sand and nothing like him. I snooped around for underwear but
didn't see any. And then found two balled up socks, under the couch. One
was wet, like he'd filled it with cum just that morning. I opened it up and
sure enough, it was soaked. I could smell it was semen, and loved that it
was his--though I convinced myself I cared more that it was cum and less
that it was my dad's. Licking it tentatively, I pretended I was licking it
in front of him. I imagined him telling me to suck all the cum out of it,
and that's what I did. And when the sock no longer tasted like cum, I
wrapped it like a rag around my dick and balls and jerked off furiously
until I was going to shoot. And then, just before I did, I shoved my dick
and hand into the sock, filling it with cum again. I found it hot that Dad
and I had
 cum in the same place, and wondered what it would be like doing it at the
same time, like he said.

Having gotten off again, my head was clear. I took a walk like I said,
pulling up old emails from Shawn. One of the pictures he had sent showed
the lake in the background, and I thought that maybe if I studied the
perspective of the photo I could approximate where around the lake he was
staying. As hard as I tried, though, I couldn't pick out a single
recognizable landmark other than a single boat docked across the way. And
the boat looked like dozens of boats, so I gave up.

"Do you still want to meet?" I replied, forgetting I had no service. The
message would wait in my outbox until Dad got back with the password. Or
unless I walked far enough to find service. I decided it was worth a try,
and watched my phone the entire way around the lake and then up the road
toward the highway. Finally, after I had been walking for over an hour, I
noticed I suddenly had one bar. I checked my outbox, and the message had
sent.

Now that I had found service, I didn't want to walk home. Even though I'd
have all the internet I wanted soon enough. I walked over to a sunny patch
of grass far enough away from the road, and sat there. I checked my
messages, but there was nothing interesting. A few more replies to my ad
had come in, but none of them had pictures or weighty responses.

I was about to head back to the lake house, when my inbox buzzed that there
was a new message. My heart leapt up. Maybe it was a reply from Shawn! I
wanted it to be so badly. But instead it was another reply to my ad. I
sighed aloud. Another with no picture. Just a short message. Yet, something
about it having been just sent made it interesting to me, so I read it.

"I'm staying at the lake, too," the message said. "Single older guy
here. Have to be discreet. Can't you host? I have pictures to trade if
you're real." The guy didn't say how old he was, or if he was fit or
not. I'd received several similar messages and never responded. But bored
as I was, I replied with an incredibly brief note back.

"I'm real," I said. "Tell me more about yourself. I'm home alone now." It
wasn't true, but it might as well be. And I would be again. I could host,
in theory, if we timed it right. Besides, it was the possibility of meeting
that turned me on. I doubted I'd ever meet Shawn. Or this older man.

I stayed in my spot another few minutes, hoping the man (or Shawn) would
write back. And sure enough, the man did. I opened the message right as my
single bar of service disappeared. There was a picture attached, though it
wouldn't load.  And the note was much longer this time.

The man's name was Keith. He claimed to be in his late thirties and in good
shape. He was single and seemed to like that I was only sixteen. He told me
he'd jerked off to the photo of my chest and asked if I had more. He
sounded a little pervy, but hot. And he seemed chill and nice enough. I
decided to write back, though I'd wait to see the picture before sending my
reply.

The long walk back, I typed to the guy. I told him about my experiences to
date (leaving out any mention of what had happened with my dad,
obviously). I told Keith that I wanted to suck his dick, that I liked men
his age and would send him more pictures. I asked him what he wanted to
see, and got a little hard imaging what pictures I might send him.

I arrived back at the house, just as Dad was pulling up. He called for me
to carry the groceries and so I helped him. He had bought two big bottles
of liquor, which seemed like more than he'd drink himself. And there was
one black bag he insisted on carrying himself.

"Let me get that," he said, snatching it out of my hand. I wondered what
was in it, but mostly I was surprised by the change in his voice. This
morning he was ready to share everything. And suddenly now he's keeping a
secret?

"You got the password, right?" I asked him, and he told me it. As soon as I
put the groceries down on the counter, I saved the password in my phone.

"So what have you been up to?" Dad asked me, and I made up something about
a family of ducks down by a creek. He sat down on the couch, taking his
shoes off. He sat right where I'd jerked off earlier. As he pulled his
socks off, I remembered my message to Keith that I still hadn't sent.

I went to the bathroom and pulled my phone out. I pulled up the message
he'd sent me, and waited for the photo to load. When it did, and I opened
it, I thought it must be some glitch with my phone. I'd seen the picture
before. It was one I'd taken. Of my dad, shirtless at a pool. He had a warm
smile on his face, because we had been laughing when I took it. He liked it
and had asked me to text it to him. That was months ago.

It took me too long to understand that it was my dad who had answered my
ad. That my dad had answered an ad, and that it had been mine. That he was
maybe gay too, and that he would meet a stranger and talk to a kid all
pervy, telling him he'd jerked off seeing his young chest. I wondered if
Dad could know it was me by the picture, but I decided that he couldn't,
that he had no clue it was me.

It seemed like a cruel twist of fate, that Dad was in my thoughts again and
Keith didn't exist. Then again, perhaps it wasn't cruel at all, but the
other kind of fate. Proof that my dad wouldn't judge me as I worried all
morning. Maybe I could really be myself with him.

I read through the response I'd drafted to Keith, scanning it now for
details that might be too revealing. I added a few questions to the end,
asking for more pictures and if he was traveling with anyone. And then I
sent it, loving the idea of Dad reading it, not knowing it was his son he
was writing to.