Date: Fri, 24 Sep 2010 09:51:16 -0400
From: Z McGuire <zanemcguire@hotmail.com>
Subject: Discovering Nick - Part 3 of 6

Discovering Nick - Part 3
By Zane McGuire
zanemcguire@hotmail.com


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Now, back to the hot action...



Feeling confident that he was alone, Nick raised his hips up off the chair
and slowly began to slide his trunks off.

I had a choice.  Close my eyes and wait for it to be over... or watch...

Guess which one I chose?  I bit my lip and watched as he lifted his thick
legs toward the sky.  The trunks slipped from beneath him, exposing the
underside of his fuzzy buttcheeks and his smooth balls.  He pulled the
trunks off one leg at a time and dropped them next to him, finally allowing
his legs to descend before coming to rest on either side of the lounge
chair.

"Dear god," I whispered in awe.  I had a completely unobstructed view of my
boy's thickly muscled body; his strong, thick legs, covered in a dewy fur,
leading up to an impressive lump of flaccid penis.  I watched as he gently
began rubbing his member, coating it with silky white lotion, coaxing blood
into it.  His beautiful hairy chest glistened with sweat and pool water,
gently heaving as he concentrated on the task at hand.  His mouth had
formed a small "o" and his sunglass-covered eyes appeared fixated on his
own dick.

I knew I shouldn't be watching; I knew it was not only a perversion of our
relationship, it was an invasion of my son's rightful privacy.  I knew all
of that... but I kept watching.  My heart began to beat and I continued to
bite my lip to keep myself from breathing too hard.

Nick's hand massaged his dick slowly, but forcefully as it began to
thicken.  I could see small tufts of blond-brown fur surrounding his
impressive package.  Fascinated, I stood stock still as he worked it into a
slight erection, then an even stiffer tower and then, finally, an
impressively engorged full size hard on.

My son was HUNG.  I couldn't help but smile in pride as I gazed at his
throbbing dick.  Based on the way it filled his hand, it looked to easily
be about eight inches, possibly nine.  He had me beat, that's for sure.

Speaking of which, the sight of my son working himself into a bone had the
not unexpected result of sending my own dick into a growth cycle.  I
casually reached down and grasped it through my gray track pants, the shaft
forming a thick, diagonal missile in my hand.

As Nick began stroking in earnest, I paused to reflect on my feelings.
Although I was immensely aroused and my heart was certainly racing, I found
myself feeling less and less disgusted.  Maybe it was my mind's way of
justifying the situation; after all, I wasn't so much WATCHING my son
masturbate as trying NOT to disturb and embarrass him.  And, I had to
admit, there was a sense of wonder and astonishment at seeing something I
had made experience one of the most primal and intensely male experiences.
It transcended a sexual urge; it was almost instinctive.

Okay, at least that's what I was telling myself...

Nick's lotion-covered fist was now flying in a rage up and down over his
massive dick.  He would stop every few minutes and slap his thick meat
against his hand, which sent echoes of sound wafting across the property.
I think he enjoyed that, as he smiled each time he did it.  I continued to
grasp my own throbbing dick in my pants, trying not to squeeze too hard,
lest I have a repeat of the incident I experienced years ago when watching
Marshall and Phil.

"Fuck..." The sound of my son's exclamation caught me off guard and I
nearly gasped.  He released his prick, which slapped obscenely back against
his flat stomach and laid there for a few moments in stock stillness.  I
allowed myself a slight grin as I recognized this action; I'd done the same
ever since I had first discovered masturbation.  Taking yourself just to
the edge, then releasing before ejaculation.  It made the ultimate orgasm
all the more powerful.

After a brief refractory period, Nick casually rolled over on to his
stomach and brought his knees up to his chest.  His beautiful, sun-kissed
rear end was now airborne and I could make out the slightest hint of a hole
between his tight ass cheeks.  I felt my face flush as I realized I was now
seeing a part of him that only his most intimate partners had seen.  I felt
slightly guilty, but also very honored.

Nick reached back and pushed his hard penis between his legs and resumed
stroking it.  I watched as his heavy balls bounced up and down along with
his rhythm.  Just then, I noticed his left hand gently inching toward his
fuzzy ass crack.

Casually, almost hypnotically, he gently pressed first one, then two
fingers into his tight asshole.  I couldn't help but exhale slightly,
impressed that my son had learned such amazingly wonderful ways of
experiencing pleasure.  I had never considered whether Nick was a "pitcher"
or "catcher" in his relationships; I mean, really, what parent does?  But
it was clear by the ease in which he was thrusting into his butt that he
enjoyed having things put in there.

For a split second, I imagined Nick, back in his dorm room, in a similar
position, with a man sliding his erect penis into his ass.  I wondered if
Nick had done that?  I wondered what the man looked like.  Nick had said he
liked older, balding guys with nice legs and a hairy chest.  I wonder if...

Suddenly, in my mind's eye, the man who was thrusting into my son's
upturned ass took shape.  And, much to my shock and surprise, the man was
me...

I gasped in surprised, stumbling slightly as the image overwhelmed me.  The
hedge rustled and I quickly regained my footing, biting hard on my lip.
Returning my gaze to my son, he seemed undeterred.  If he HAD heard the
noise, he must have dismissed it as the wind or something.

There he was, stroking his huge dick, fingering his ass... I watched as a
shiny coating of precum began to form on the head of Nick's engorged
member.  He must be a leaker like his old man, I thought.  That would
explain all those years of sticky undershorts and sheets I'd find in the
laundry basket during his teen years.

This went on for a few more moments before he finally turned back over and
laid on his back again, grabbing hold of his dick with two hands, forming a
tight double fist.  He began to thrust roughly upward into his grasp, and
he was covered in sweat.  No wonder he had such great abs if this was part
of his daily workout routine, I observed.

My dick was now pulsing along with my son's, but I dared not touch it.  I
had allowed myself to continue watching by justifying it as somehow merely
observational and situational, but if I allowed myself to have a sexual
response, I knew the feelings of sickness and shame would return.

I struggled to remain still as Nick began building up to his climax.  He
began to breathe heavily and I started to hear words and groans forming on
his lips.

"Ugh.... oh yeah.... oh fuck yeah, that's so good.... yeah, that's it, take
my cock... take my big hard fuckstick..."

God, that foul mouth, I thought, slightly put off.  Where on earth had he
learned to speak like that?  But there was something somehow masculine and
powerful about it, and I found myself licking my lips as he spoke.

"YEAH!  You like it, don't you?  You like my big hard cock, don't you?  I
want to hear you say it, tell me you like my cock..."

I almost felt as if he was talking to me; it was hard not to think that, as
he was virtually staring straight at me, albeit behind sunglasses and me
behind the hedge.  But there was something incredibly shocking and erotic
about imagining my son shouting at me about his big hard... well... you
know.

I wanted to call back, "yes, Nick... yes I like it, buddy.  I'm so proud of
you.  Show off that penis!" But even I knew that sounded horribly lame.  He
certainly had a talent for verbiage, I will give him that.

"Oh shit," he called out.  "Oh, I'm gonna cum soon... Yeah, you wanna see
me cum?  You want to watch me shoot my hot, thick load?  You wanna see
these balls explode?"

My goodness!  I think I do!  You know, just out of curiosity...

"Well get ready, because it's gonna blow soon..."

I took a deep breath, steadying myself.  I wanted to see my son's orgasm; I
wanted to memorize every moment and file it away, just as I had memorized
his first steps, his first words and his first heartbreak.  I was thinking
these thoughts, justifying my voyeurism as nothing more than the actions of
a loving father when Nick shouted something that changed everything...

"Yeah!  Yeah!  I'm gonna cum... you want my cum, Dad?  You want to see your
boy's cum shoot all over your face, Dad?  Suck the cum out of me!"

"JESUS CHRIST!" I shouted, completely taken off guard by Nick's
exclamation.  He could SEE me?  He knew I was here the whole time?  Oh my
god!  I immediately stumbled forward, losing my balance and stumbling into
the hedge.

"Who... Who's there?"  I heard Nick call out.  "Oh my god, is someone
there?  WHO'S THERE?"

I tried to regain my footing, but just slipped further and further into the
shrub.  I glanced through the branches and saw Nick quickly slipping back
into his shorts and racing toward the pool gate.  As I tried to find a
strong branch with which to pull myself up, Nick came racing around the
hedge, covering his still swollen bulge with his hands.

"Who's there?" he said, lifting his sunglasses.  "Who's... Oh my
god... DAD!"

Our eyes made contact, both of us clearly horrified.  I was filled with
confusion.  He DIDN'T know I was there?  He was just saying those things,
calling out for me to... do the things he was saying... because he thought
he was alone?  But how could he...

"No!  NO!" he cried out, his skin turning a deep shade of red.  "I...I
thought I was alone... I didn't know you were... oh my god, Dad, tell me
you didn't hear... tell me you didn't see..."

I swallowed hard, still shuffling amongst the broken hedge.  "Nick, I..."

"OH MY GOD!"  He turned and ran toward the house, his eyes welling up with
tears.

"Nick, wait!  I can explain!"  I watched as he ran into the house and
slammed the door shut.  Finally, I managed to pull myself out of the hedge.
Covered with pine needles, I saw that my erection had (naturally) faded,
and I raced toward the house, filled with panic.

What had just happened?  I was so confused.  If Nick DIDN'T know I was
there... then why would he say such things about me?  And... if he thought
I had heard him... oh my god, he must be feeling so ashamed.  But he had no
reason to be ashamed!  HE wasn't doing anything wrong, I was!  He wasn't
the one hiding in the bushes watching his grown son pleasure himself, was
he?

But a little voice in my head responded: "No... he was just the grown son
pleasuring himself while thinking of shooting his semen all over his
father..."

This had just gotten a lot more complicated.

**********

I had been standing outside Nick's bedroom door for thirty minutes.  He
refused to respond to my repeated knocks and pleas to let me in. Inside, I
heard him gently sobbing.

"Son... please, please let me in so we can talk," I begged.  "I promise, we
can make this right, I just need to understand what you... well, what you
meant..."

"Stop!" he finally shouted back.  "Please, just stop!  I'm totally
humilated and ashamed!  I don't want to talk about it.  I don't want to
think about it!  I just want you to leave me alone and let me be!"

"I..." I felt my eyes begin to moisten.  "Oh, Nick... you don't have to be
ashamed.  I don't want you to EVER feel shame, son, not for anything.
And... and you don't even know, you didn't even do anything to be..."

"DAD!" he yelled forcefully.  "PLEASE!"

I stood there for a few more seconds in silence as tears rolled down my
cheeks.  "Okay, son," I finally whispered, walking away.

I tried to wrap my head around what had happened.  Maybe I'd misheard.
Maybe he hadn't called out "Dad."  Maybe it was "Dan" or something like
that, maybe the name of the new guy he was dating.  But, no, he had
specifically said "your boy..."

My mind was reeling.  What did this all mean?  Was it possible... did I
even want to CONSIDER... that while I was watching my son masturbate, he
was actually thinking of ME while he was doing it?  I mean... what are the
odds?  And what did that mean?  Did I somehow... corrupt him with my own
twisted thoughts?  Had he somehow realized I had been having these
perverted sexual feelings toward him and they'd somehow... infected him?

No.  No, that was ridiculous.  I was a logical thinker, not one prone to
paranoia or crazy conspiracy theories.  There was no way that my own
feelings of guilt and arousal had in any way been demonstrated to Nick.
Hadn't that been the very reason I'd stayed away from him today?  No,
whatever he was experiencing was 100% his own situation.

But one thing was clear; we needed to talk.  I had become very aware of how
disturbing and hurtful it could be to wrestle with the shame and confusion
of these conflicted feelings, but Nick had the added drama of having those
feelings exposed in a deeply personal and embarrassing way.  I had to help
him through that.

Nick remained in his room the rest of the afternoon, even after the twins
returned from the city.  They inquired about his whereabouts and I told
them he'd been feeling sick all day and had just gone for a nap.  They
seemed to accept that explanation and went out to wash their car, as I'd
planned.

It was coming up on six when I finally heard Nick's bedroom door open.  I
was standing in the kitchen, drinking coffee.  As he entered the kitchen, I
noticed he was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, his hands stuffed in his
pockets and his eyes cast downward.

"Nick..." I began.

"I'm heading to the train station.  I'll have the boys drive me."

"We need to talk."

"I can't," he said, and his voice cracked.  My heart breaking, I started
toward him, but he held up his hand.  "Don't.  Please, Dad, just don't.  I
still feel so embarrassed and I can't imagine what you must think of me."

"No, you can't, so let me tell you, son..."

"No, I just... I need to go."  He turned and rushed for the door, grabbing
his travel bag.  "I'll... I'll send you an email later."

"Nick..."

"Bye, Dad."

The door slammed behind him and I felt the coffee cup trembling in my hand.
There's nothing to describe the kind of pain that comes from not being able
to reach your children emotionally.  Coupled with the stark realization
that my son was struggling with shame over an issue that not only did he
NOT need to feel shame for, but that I desperately wanted to tell him he
was not alone in struggling with...

I just didn't know what to do.  He needed space, so I had to give it to
him.  He was a grown man, after all.  But I was horrified to think that
this misunderstanding might change our relationship, that it might make him
build a wall between us that could never be crossed.

I gazed out the window and watched as he jumped in the back of Grant's
freshly washed Ford and they drove off down the country road toward the
train station.

**********

Later that night, after the twins returned from the train station and
headed to their rooms to finish up their weekend homework, I made a call.

"Hello?" came a voice I hadn't heard in far too long.

"Marshall Akins!"

"Yes, who is... well no, that can't be Mack Lawson, can it?"  The booming
voice of my dear friend made me smile for the first time all afternoon.

"That's me!"

"Well, now, this is a mighty fine surprise, Mack!  Mighty fine!  Heck, I
was just about to sit down and write you an email, as a matter of fact!"

"Saved you the bandwidth!"

He laughed heartily.  "Yes indeed you did!  It's good to hear from you,
pal!"

"You too, Marshall, you too."  We spent the next ten minutes with small
talk as Marshall inquired about my work and how things were going back
home.  I asked after the promotion he'd told me about in his last message
and whether or not the painters had ever come to finish his office.  When
he got around to asking about the boys, I took a deep breath.  "Listen, I
know we normally stay in touch via email, but I've got a... situation of
sorts that I can really use your advice on, buddy."

"Uh-oh," he said.  "I take it this has something to do with that wily pack
of boys you've got back there, huh?"

"Yeah, afraid so.  Well, just one.  Nick."

"Nick." He repeated.  "I figured as much since you were calling ME."  He
chuckled.  "What's the matter, did he tell you he wants to be a drag queen
or something?"

I laughed.  If only it were something as simple as that. "No, no, not
quite.  It's actually kind of... complicated.  And a little embarrassing.
No, make that a LOT embarrassing."

"Now, Mack, you've known me for almost 20 years and we've been through a
lot of ups and downs together.  You've seen me at my worst, when I was
hitting the booze pretty hard after Phil died, and I can recall many an
embarrassing moment where you never made me feel foolish.  So you just tell
me what's going on, and let me help, my friend."

I felt warmed by Marshall's kindness.  He was the closest thing to a
brother I'd ever had, and even though time and space had come between us,
he was never far from my thoughts.

"Thank you, Marshall, I appreciate that."  I gathered my nerves and began
to explain what had transpired today.  I didn't feel it necessary to tell
him about my OWN tormented feelings, as my priority right now was reaching
out to my son and helping HIM deal with his own.

"Wow," Marshall said after I finished.  "And you're sure, absolutely sure,
he said 'dad'?"

"Yes."

"That's something."

I sighed.  "Yeah, and then he took off before I could do anything to help
and..."

"You gotta let him breathe for a bit, Mack," Marshall advised.

"You think?"

"Yeah, buddy.  Look, nobody wants to be caught in a situation like that by
a parent.  And I mean, yeah, he was taking a hell of a risk sitting out
there in the middle of the day, but y'all live in the back of beyond, so I
guess he felt safe.  But I'm still confused about something..."

"What's that?"

"How did you get there so fast if you had told him you were still in the
city?  Or was he just getting his freak on that whole time?"

Shit, I hadn't thought of that.  "Well... okay, here's the truth.  I had
already come home and saw him out there when he texted me, and I didn't
want to embarrass him, so I just figured I'd stay hidden in the bushes
until he finished and then..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Marshall said.  "You're telling me you were already
there?"

I felt my face go flush.  "Yeah.  It's just he..."

Marshall broke out into a huge belly laugh.  "You sneaky shit!  You were
watchin' him, weren't you?"

"What?  No!  Of course not, he was..."

"Come on, Mack, this is me!  I know you.  And, let's be honest, you've
always been a bit of a watcher."

I felt overcome by waves of embarrassment.  "WHAT?  What do you mean?"

"Two words, buddy.  Snow.  Storm."

"I... I..."

"Mack, just breathe, relax, it's okay.  I'm sorry I never told you that we
knew about that, but... well... I guess it never really seemed relevant
until now."

"But I... how..."

"I saw you, buddy!  I looked right at you.  And then, when I came to the
window, I saw your truck drive away and we found your footsteps outside the
window."

"Oh my god..."

"Listen, it's no big deal, seriously.  We were REALLY embarrassed about it,
but hey, we figured if you were watching, you must have been enjoying
yourself and..."

"It wasn't like that, Marshall, let me explain."

"That's what I'm saying, Mack, you don't HAVE to.  It's fine.  All I'm
saying is, if you were watching Nick, I can totally understand why this is
tearing you up inside.  You were watching HIM and he feels embarrassed
because he was thinking about YOU."

"Jesus," I said weakly.  "How the heck do you DO that?  You put that
together in no time fast."

"I KNOW you, Mack Lawson."

I smiled.  "Yeah, I guess you do."

"Listen... he's a man.  A young man, but a man nonetheless.  His hormones
are raging, he's ALWAYS horny, and he's gay.  Who knows, maybe he's got a
thing for daddies or something, maybe that's what he meant, not necessarily
YOU, just... a dad."

"I'll never understand how all that works..."

"You don't have to, buddy.  That's why you got me.  The important thing is,
don't freak out, don't smother him and don't overthink it."

"But what if..."

"What?"

"What if... what if it WAS me he was fantasizing about?"

"Heh," Marshall chuckled.  "What if it was?"

"Well that would be... wrong."

"Why?"

I couldn't believe my ears.  "What do you mean, why?  Because
that's... unnatural and unhealthy and... sick and..."

"Why?"

"Because... he's my son, Marshall!"

"I know that, Mack.  Relax.  All I'm saying is, if he's fantasizing, it's
just that... a fantasy.  You mean to tell me, in all these years you've
never once fantasized about something that some people would consider
wrong?"

"That's... I can't say I..."

"It's human nature, buddy."

"I guess..."

Marshall sighed.  "Listen, Mack... I can tell you're real torn up about
this, so I'm just gonna be straight with you.  I actually knew about this
situation before you called.  In fact, that was what I was about to email
you about."

I was stunned.  "Nick?  He called you?"

"We were chatting earlier online.  He's a good kid, and I like to check in
with him every now and then and see how he's doing.  He told me all about
what happened.  But listen, I'm betraying his trust by telling you this,
and I don't like doing that.  But I can tell how much this is bugging you.
So you can relax."

"So... he told you... what exactly?"

"Just what you said.  He was out by the pool, playing solitaire, when he
said some pretty bold things, only to find out you were actually in
earshot."

"So... he doesn't know..."

"Nope, he has no idea that you were there the whole time.  Poor kid never
put two and two together because he's so humiliated by being caught
red-handed, so to speak."

"But Marshall... are you saying then, that he told you he WAS talking about
me?"

Marshall fell silent for a second or two.  "Mack... listen, does it really
matter in the scheme of things?"

"It does to me!" I exclaimed.

"Buddy... look, maybe you need to sit down, because I have some old home
truths to tell you."

I took his advice and sat down at my desk.  "Go on."

"Look... I don't know how to tell you this except to just spill it.  Your
boy's got it BAD for you.  He has for as long as he's known how to jerk
off.  He's said some things to me over the years that made me wonder, but
it wasn't until about a month ago that he told me he fantasizes about you
constantly."

"God..." My mouth fell dry.  "I... had no idea..."

"How could you?  I've tried to tell him to get out there and meet new
people, get his mind off of something that could never happen, but he's
stubborn, like his dad."

"And now..."

"Now the cat's out of the bag and he's reeling.  So you gotta just let him
lie low for a bit, Mack.  Send him an email, just to let him know you love
him and that you're there for him, but if you push too hard, he's never
gonna be able to get over this infatuation he has with you.  Assuming, of
course, you WANT him to..."

"That's... that's good advice, Marshall, thank you," I said, sidestepping
his question.  "And thank you for being there for Nick."

"Of course, buddy."

We made some awkward small talk, but he knew I was trying to absorb
everything he'd said to me.  I wished him well and promised to keep him in
the loop as I hung up the phone.

I sat there for a few minutes, thinking about his suggestions.  Nick... my
beautiful son, whom I'd been secretly lusting over for the last 24 hours,
was INFATUATED with me.  I couldn't comprehend it.  It was too much.

What I did know was that it didn't fill me with dread.  Instead, there was
a strange happiness surrounding me.  Of course I wasn't happy that my boy
was wrestling with these crazy feelings, but I knew that, much like
everything else in our lives, we could find our way through it together.

Marshall had recommended giving Nick space and letting him get over his
feelings for me.  That was good advice, but I also had something else in
mind.  I had to confront him about what I'd learned and I'd make sure my
son knew he had NOTHING to be ashamed about.

And if the best way of showing him how much I loved him meant giving him
EXACTLY what he wanted... so be it.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Enjoying the story so far?  Drop me a line at zanemcguire@gmail.com and let
me know!

Still to come...

A grin began to cross his face.  "And... what, Dad?"

"I... I just kept thinking about... you... and the cockring... and those
little nylon shorts you had on and... the lotion and..."

"And that made you... what?"

"It made me..." I gulped.  "Hard son.  It made me hard."