Date: Tue, 30 Jul 2013 09:14:08 -0700 (PDT)
From: BH
Subject: Dad and Me at the Lake House - 4

"Kyle!" Dad yelled for me while I'm in the bathroom. "I'm heading again out
for a bit. Realized I was jealous of your walk."

I'd just finished replying to his email to my ad, not telling him who I
was. I couldn't help but wonder if he'd seen there was a reply and was
going on his own walk, wanting privacy. Then again, my dad wasn't one to
check his email through his phone. He barely replied to his email at all,
in fact.

Maybe his porn account was more active. I smiled at the thought.

"Okay, Pops," I said, not wanting to ask questions, but curious where he
was running off to.

"Text if you need anything," he told me. I heard the door close. I stepped
out into the living room, and the house felt oddly quiet. Like all the
weird energy from the trip so far was gone and the air finally clear.

Instinctively, I took out my phone--wanting to turn every free moment into
an orgasm. I checked my messages, and of course there was nothing from
Shawn. I was beginning to wonder if he even existed. Or if he was someone
else's persona. The way "Keith" turned out to be my dad. I opened the
pictures I had received from him and looked again at his tan shoulders and
shaggy hair. I wasn't as attracted to him as I remembered being that first
night he emailed. I couldn't explain it. His expression seemed forced, his
middle finger making up for actual personality. It's possible I was mad at
Shawn for not replying to my latest messages, and that my annoyance
overshadowed my lust for him. Instead, I convinced myself I was no longer
interested in waiting for a reply.

I deleted all of Shawn's messages. It felt good to let go like that, to
trash the idea of him all at once, no longer waiting.

I went outside to sit on the back porch. I looked at a feed of images, men
with their shirts off, drawings of brothers wrestling, hairy dads tucking
in their horny sons. I found it extra erotic, scrolling through them
outside, out in the open. The lake breeze was loud, rustling the
willows. My dad could walk up behind me and I might not hear him coming. I
looked over my shoulder to be sure, but I was alone. My dick started
dripping in my shorts. I could feel the line of pool of precum forming.

I gripped my dick through the fabric and enjoyed the sight of it's shape in
the dappled sun. I gripped it until it was completely hard, and my pool of
pre started to slowly run down my thigh.

"Oh, fuck," I muttered out loud, liking the sound of my own lustful
voice. I realized I was used to jerking off silently, after Dad was
asleep. Or next to Trevin, my breath held and my mouth dry from being
nervous. It felt good to moan, to hear my own pleasure.

Suddenly I wanted to scream, like guys in porn. I wanted to scream, "Fuck
me, fuck me"--even though I'd never particularly wanted to be fucked. The
idea of touching a guy's dick with my hand was enough. Or my mouth. To feel
a man's chest against mine would push me over the edge, probably. Or my
hard dick against his. I went back into the house, back into the big
bedroom. I pulled off my shirt and shorts, so that my dick sprang up,
flinging pre. I didn't care what mess I was going to make. I wanted to let
loose for once.

"Oh, man, yes," I said, and then said again, louder. "I want to suck your
dick, bro." It felt a little silly, since no one was there, but it made me
hot so I didn't care. I stroked my dick and got onto my knees, miming like
I was blowing someone, using my other hand. "Dude," I said, trying to sound
sexy, "Your dick is so hot. It tastes hot too, man."

I was moaning so loud the room was full of it. And probably the whole
house. It felt great, not to care what Dad thought, and to let myself go.

Suddenly I heard a sound out the bedroom window. It was a bird, I think,
but it didn't matter. I wondered if the neighbors might hear me. I didn't
want to be any quieter, but I decided I did want to shut the window. I
rolled out of the bed and walked naked to shut it, my dick pointing out in
front of me, practically dripping. I didn't want to get any precum on
anything, so I had to lean pretty far to pull the pane down. And when I
did, I shook the bookcase, knocking something over.

It was a picture frame. A picture I'd never seen before. Of my aunt and my
dad with my grandparents. They all looked so young. Especially Dad, with
his long hair and pimply face. I realized how much he looked like me, how I
might look like him more as I got older. I stared at him, his handsome
features and his funny grin. He was looking at the camera funny, like he
knew something I didn't. Or like he was trying to seduce the photographer
with his eyes and mouth. He looked mischievous.

I wondered if it was mom who took the picture, the way his eyes looked. H
was like an animal. I started to stroke again, staring at the look on Dad's
face, fantasizing it's me he was always gazing at like that. I jacked
faster, with longer strokes. I wanted to shoot right onto the ground,
locking eyes with the photograph.

Suddenly my phone buzzed, and I realized I had a new message. I put the
photo frame back where it was, and leapt back onto the bed. It was from my
dad! An email. I opened it and there was a photo of him naked in the
woods. Not his face, but his chest and cock and knees. He must have just
taken it on his "walk."

"You got me hot with those stories about jacking with your friend," he said
in the email. "So hot, I had to write you back immediately." Dad wrote that
he was in fact traveling with someone (though he didn't say who), and
exaggerated his story. He said he snuck out of the house, when really he
told me he was going. But I didn't mind the lie. He asked if I wanted to
meet him in the woods, making it clear that there was no creepy pressure.

"If you can't meet, maybe we can talk on the phone," he said. I imagined
hearing my dad moan, like he did when he shot his load into my lap, hearing
the lust in his voice. I would have done anything to hear him talk to me
like that right then. But how could I get away with it? He'd know it was
me.

"You still in the woods?" I replied as fast as I could type it. "I can't
meet you there, but maybe I could call you. What's your number?" I sent it,
then immediately looked up how to block my number if I called him. Tips for
disguising my voice. Part of me feared he'd know instinctively that it was
me. Then again, part of me feared he already did.

I felt crazy. I wondered, is this what crazy people do? Is this how it all
starts? And then I saw he'd already written me back, and the message had
nothing but his number and a winking smiley face.

Fuck, I thought. Can I really do this? But I wanted to. Every part of me
was scared. I even went soft, which never happens. But I knew I wanted
to. So I put my dad's number in, so that my own would be blocked. And
pressed "Call."

His phone rang twice before he answered. "Hello?" he said, nothing sexy
about it. I almost hung up. I was nervous this was all a mistake.

"Hey," I said, not sounding like me. "I like your picture in the woods," I
told him, hoping to break the ice.

"Yeah. You got me so hard, I wanted to show you," he said. I could hear him
relax a little, and I tried to follow his lead. "You have any more for me?"

"What do you want to see?" I asked him, wanting to sound provocative.

"Whatever you're willing to show me. How old are you again?" he asked. He
sounded nervous, and I liked it. It made me feel powerful--which I realized
I was. I knew far more than he did. I was holding all the cards.

"Sixteen," I said. "Is that okay?" I was shocked when my dad says yes, like
it wasn't illegal or anything. "Do you like younger guys?" I asked him.

"I'm not sure what I like," he said, and it sounded honest. "I had a late
start, kind of." I almost asked him to explain that more, but he started
telling me how hard he was, and that he was leaning against a tree, that no
one was around.

"Are you stroking that big dick for me?" I asked him, and it wasn't my own
voice coming out. It felt like I was witnessing the conversation, not
having it.

"I am now," he said, with a gasp. I could hear the pleasure in his
breathing. I started stroking my own dick.

"Me too," I said, and I blushed. I wasn't sure why. "Sounds like you're
enjoying it too."

"Yeah, I am," he said, all matter of fact. "And I'm going to like it when
we blow our loads together." I listened and could hear the sound of his wet
strokes in the background. "You a big shooter, little man?" It's something
he called me sometimes, and so it really pushed my buttons to hear him say
it like that, his voice deep with pleasure, his dick in his hand.

"I cum everywhere. It's kind of horrifying," I told him, and he laughed. I
loved the way he laughed. And then gulped like he wanted to shoot then.

"Oh, I'm going to cum so hard for you, boy," he said. "I wish I was
shooting this hot load down your throat, Son." He holds his breath for a
second, and when he hears me moaning, he starts panting faster too. "You
like when I call you son?" He asked me.

"Yeah," I said, forgetting to disguise my voice. And then I moaned long
into the phone, until it turned into a whimper. My dick was so hard it
hurt, swollen full again now and lubing itself good.

"Oh, good," he said. I wished I could see him there, against that tree. I
wanted to see his dick in his hand, maybe feel it in mine. "I wish you were
here with me, little guy."

"Me too, Dad," I said, and for a second I feared that I've gone too
far. But Dad must have heard it as role playing, because he groaned with
pleasure when I said it.

"I wish you were here to watch your old man shoot this load." I licked my
lips.

"I want it in my mouth," I said. It sounded like I was crying, so I blushed
again. But Dad loved the pain in my voice.

"Oh, Kyle," he said, and my blood went cold. "You're so fucking hot."

I didn't say anything. I couldn't think anything. I just stood there,
hearing him go on.

"What?" He asked me, eventually. "What's wrong?" And then, as if he
realized, he apologized. "Oh God," he said. "Did I say Kyle?"


"Yeah," I said to him, not sure what was happening.

"Fuck, that's fucked up," he said, laughing again. "I'm sorry,
though. Awkward."

"Who's Kyle?" I asked him, my voice disguised.

"My son," he said. "I'm embarrassed, sorry."

"Don't be," I told him, but he seemed to want a moment. "Do you have a
crush on your son or something?"

"It's complicated," he said. "If you were older, if you had a kid yourself
it might make sense. I'm not sure."

"You can call me Kyle if you want to," I told him. I was so turned on by
his slip, I was feeling close to cumming. "Is he cute?"

"Oh my God, yes," Dad said, and it made my cock twitch. "He's
gorgeous. Looks ten times better than I did at his age. And he's so
confident and smart. He's going to make someone very happy." I wanted him
to go on forever, talking about me.

"What do you want to do with him? I mean, if he came to meet you in the
woods."

"Mmmm," he said, sinking back into his lust. "I want to do it all." I
moaned at the thought of what "all" might mean. But then Dad got all
serious again. "He's my boy," he said, like he felt the need to explain
himself. "It's like he's an extension of me. And he's going through a
phase. He won't talk about it, but he's clearly struggling with his
sexuality. He's keeping it all secret. I just want him to know how fun and
happy sex can be. I want to give him the gift of knowing that. Because I
was the opposite at his age. So uptight. Which attracted an uptight woman
to me. Anyway."

"Why don't you do it, then?" I asked my dad, wanting to put ideas in his
head. "I'm sure he wants you to, sexy man like you. Why don't you just make
a move?"

"I tried to," he said, "but he seemed freaked out after. And now I have all
these feelings for him that seem inappropriate. I don't know. You probably
don't want to hear about my son," Dad said.

"No, it's nice," I said. "I think all boys wish they were closer to their
dads." My dick is still hard in my hand, but suddenly the lust is gone from
Dad's voice.

"I should go," he said. "Thanks for being a sport." He said it like he was
going to hang up.

"No, wait!" I said, no longer disguising my voice. "Dad, I want to cum with
you." There was a silence on his end, like he wasn't sure. I couldn't tell
if he had recognized me yet, but I didn't care. I wanted him to be turned
on again. I wanted him to shoot with me.

"Okay, little guy," he said, and he sounded turned on again. "Tell Dad how
you want to cum." And then he started stroking again. Breathing heavy.

"I want you to come home," I said, "back to the lake house." I heard him
mumble something about it sounding hot, but I couldn't hear him. "I want
you to come back and find your son in his bed. Naked. Hard."

"Yeah?" Dad moaned deeper.

"I want you to strip down naked for him, like he wants you to."

"Does he?" Dad asked and I confirmed.

"He wants you to get up in bed with him, for you to straddle his lap with
your own, your dicks pressed together. He wants it so bad." I could hear my
dad breathing, but not much more. I thought he must be into it, so I kept
going. "He wants you to suck his dick for him, and he wants to suck yours.
He wants you to put your big balls in his mouth. And he wants you to roll
him over on all fours." Dad made a whimpering sound when I said it, and so
I took it a step farther. "He wants you to let your spit drip into his
crack, and for you to dive in to lick it up."

"I'm getting close, bud," Dad says to me.

"Me too," I told him, ready to hear him grunt into the phone.

"No, close to the house, I mean," he said.

And then he hung up.