Date: Mon, 30 Jul 2007 21:20:41 -0700 (PDT)
From: Cover yer Teeth <coveryerteeth@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Hardwick Men, part 1

This story is a work of original fiction intended to explore unconventional
familial relationships between consenting individuals fully capable of
acting in their own best interest.  Depictions of young characters'
developing sexuality are not intended to promote the exploitation of
minors, rather to establish necessary character development.  However, if
this content sounds offensive to you or is prohibited by law where you are,
please do not read it.  Although this story was penned as gay erotica, it
does include implied/mild depictions of heterosexual sex.  I assure the
reader that they are not at all graphic with regards to the female
characters, the focus remains on the males and they are only included, as
necessary, to further the plot.

The Hardwick Men, part 1

     The Hardwick house was a free-for-all while the three of us were
growing up.  Mom died a few weeks after our baby brother, Brad, was born
from some kind of disorder she developed resulting from the pregnancy. No
one ever bothered to explain the specifics to us, but I know it had to do
with a lack of potassium in her system or something. I was too young to
recall much about how Dad handled losing his wife, on top of being left
with two toddler boys and a newborn. It must have been rough, though. It's
hard to tell since Dad has always been the sort to keep things light and
comedic. Probably because he never saw the use in getting too emotional
about much of anything. By cracking jokes all the time, he taught us not to
take ourselves too seriously. The few occasions when I was around to hear
him speak of Mom coincide with most of the almost-as-rare instances when I
was witness to his earnest side. That speaks volumes about how important
she was to him. He must miss her a million times more than we do. I guess
that's probably a major reason why he never remarried.

     Or it could have something to do with the kind of free spirit he is.
In fact, it's hard for me to imagine the man I've known all my life ever
being married in the first place. I can't believe there ever lived a woman
willing to put up with all his "eccentricities." For one thing, Richard
Hardwick is basically a nudist.  As far as I know he doesn't frequent
full-fledged nudist retreats, or any such, but as soon as Dad came through
the door, up until the minute he had to leave again, more often than not he
was bare-ass naked. When we were little he used to tell us that it was
because he despised doing laundry. Even though we were raised to look upon
the sight of our father streaking around the house to be as normal as
anything, he was always mindful to instruct us that most people's homes
were different. I can't remember a time when Dad didn't speak to us as
though we were adults. He clearly laid out the guidelines about where and
when it was okay to be nude, so that we wouldn't get into trouble when we
visited other people's houses or had friends over, and we always
understood. Young children have a capacity for understanding that most
people don't realize, but Dad did.

     Perhaps it's just that Dad knew how to elicit that out of us. He is
what more dainty people, these days, might call a "firm believer in
corporal punishment." The very instant that we began to contemplate going
against one of the few parental edicts that Dad had laid down for us, he
was right there to yank our shorts down and tan our hides. I say, "our." My
older brother, Shane, was the most common repeat offender. I suppose that's
not too unusual though, for the oldest to test his boundaries the most and
us others to learn from his mistakes. Thinking back on it now that I'm
older, I would bet his "don't spare the rod" approach was what kept the
three of us from running roughshod over him. And it's not like we lived in
fear of his wrath or anything. He'd come down on us like a ton of bricks
and then, a heartbeat later, he'd say, "Pull my finger!" or something
equally ridiculous to let us know that it wasn't the end of the world.

     However, that's just the tip of the eccentricity-burg. Dad's engine
runs a lot hotter than most, in a manner of speaking. That is to say, our
Old Man has an extremely high sex drive. He stayed home with us a lot until
Shane got to be about ten years old. It came from the mindset that good
parents don't let nannies or baby-sitters raise their kids, but we always
had tons of fun together anyway and that's why he didn't really mind, I
think. Even an average man would need the occasional release, of course,
dividing so much of his time confined to either work or home the way he
did. I can't honestly recall the first time I caught him, but I can
honestly say that I've walked in on my father stroking his cock more times
than I could ever count. I'm not talking about a guy who hangs around in
the buff all day giving his junk the odd tug or scratching those massive,
low-hanging balls, now and then. I'm talking about serious wankfests, here.

     Mostly when he wasn't doing stuff around the house, he would wrestle
with us, play "sack-check" or just chill out with us watching TV. Every now
and then though, he would slip off by himself. I would go to look for him
and find him in his room, furiously jerking away on a giant erection. He
never locked his door or even acted embarrassed when one of us would catch
him. In fact, it wasn't uncommon at all to come upon him stroking off by
the pool. Our house was built in the hills outside of town and was pretty
secluded. He would just take a break and converse with me,
matter-of-factly, about whatever it was I wanted to talk about. When I
needed him to come help me with this or that, he would just set his
stroke-book down, pause his porno or what have you, and follow me into the
rest of the house with that big, swaying boner pointed to the sky. I
remember having this sense that, though I didn't completely understand it,
I found what he was doing to be sort of titillating. We didn't give too
much thought to it, since it happened to each of us every now and then, and
^Ö besides ^Ö it wasn't that much weirder than any of the other shit he
did. I mean, this is the man who would answer the door for the mailman
(cable guy, missionary, unwitting unexpected visitor, etc.) stark naked for
Christ's sake!

     I was eight years old when I began to follow his example. I was taking
a bath and just as I had gotten into the tub I realized I needed to pee. I
didn't want to have to jump out, be cold and dry off just so that I could
tinkle and then get back into the bath. As I tried to think of a way to
make the uncomfortable sensation go away, it occurred to me, "Maybe that's
why Dad does it! Maybe he pulls on his pee-pee so that he can keep looking
at his magazines or movies without having to stop and go pee." I started
tugging on my wiener until it got stiff.  It got more difficult to easily
yank on it after that, so I lathered up my hands with soap and made it
slippery so I could keep pulling on it. It felt really good so I kept going
and kept going until this unbelievable tingling sensation came over my
privates, my tummy, my seat, my hands and even my lips. I was afraid I was
going to let loose and pee in the tub, but nothing happened. I just
collapsed back into the water and tried to catch my breath. A life-long
habit was born.

     Once Shane reached his pre-teen years, it became a regular thing for
Dad to say, "You boys know how I expect you to act when I'm not around,
right?  Cade, Brad ^Ö I'm leaving your brother in charge. Just don't burn
the house down.  Alright? I don't want to have to wear any of you out when
I get back!"  Usually he wouldn't be gone for more than a few hours and
never after dark. If he needed to leave us at night or overnight, that
always meant a trip to Grandma & Grandpa's.  It's not like we had that many
rules to follow anyway, so we weren't too inspired to act up when we were
left on our own. But boys will be boys and it wasn't long before Shane got
the itch to see how much trouble he could get into.

     One time, Brad and I played video games for a good long while before I
began to wonder where Shane had gotten off to. After I beat Brad for, like,
the millionth time, I said, "Here.  You need all the practice you can get!
Play 1-Player for a bit.  You can even restart it and be Mario this time."
I went all over the house looking for Shane until I found him . . . in
Dad's room. As I got closer to the door, I could hear a familiar sound. It
was the sound of panting and moaning that we normally heard when Dad was
watching one of his grown-up movies. I thought to myself, "Is Dad back,
already?" and slowly pushed the door to his room open, expecting to find my
father butt-nekkid and legs akimbo, yet again. Instead I saw Shane sitting
on the edge of Dad's bed, eyes wide, staring intently at his TV.  Plainly
enough, I asked him, "What'cha doin'?"

     "What?!?!? NOTHING! I mean . . . come here. You gotta see this!"

     On the screen there was a big, strong man with a beard and a hairy
body that looked kind of like Dad's (except his muscles were a little more
ripple-y).  He was banging the Hell out of this blonde lady that was on her
knees in front of him.  He was grunting and cursing and slapping her ass. I
had seen a grown man's hard dick before, but this was lots different than
when I caught Dad jerking. I was fascinated to see someone get fucked. Our
eyes darted back and forth, intently watching the big man slam his mighty
cock home over and over again. We both jumped when we heard the garage door
go up and Shane hurriedly ejected the tape from the VCR, slipped it back
into its case and tried to put it back in the stack where he had found
it. We weren't sure if watching Dad's pornos was wrong, but we were sure
that it was totally awesome! And usually when we were having that much fun,
one or all of us ended up in trouble so we hauled ass downstairs. Little
did we know that Dad didn't give a rat's ass if his men-to-be watched
porn. Looking back, it all seems clear. If he did mind, why would he leave
such a huge stack of it right out in the open where we could easily get our
hands on it? It's not like 10-year-olds are terribly meticulous either.  It
must have been obvious that we had riffled through his stash and yet there
it stayed, all the while we lived at home. Dad's porn stash became
something of an institution.  Often updated. More often raided. Always a
guaranteed good time.

     Not long after we discovered our new favorite pastime, Shane and I
were over at our friend Jeff's house, goofing-off. They lived in a
neighborhood on the other side of town and his Dad was an appliance
repairman. They had this great manufactured building out behind their house
that Jeff's Dad used to warehouse and work on a lot of second-hand
appliances. There was all kinds of stuff to get into back there. It was a
great obstacle course for playing Army or Cops & Robbers and we were
welcome to, provided we didn't break anything. On this particular day, Jeff
had something extra-super-cool to show us. It was a broken clothes dryer
with a tumbler just big enough to fit boys our size into.  We each took
turns piling in and playing like hamsters until we got the tumbler rolling
enough to flip us upside down a few times. Great fun was had. We played and
laughed and talked about what a cool little duck-out it could be.

     Always one to push the envelope, Shane declared, "I know what would be
really cool to do in there!" then climbed in.

     A few moments past before Jeff and I looked at each other in
puzzlement, wondering where the clanging noises were that should
undoubtedly accompany whatever extra-super-cool trick Shane had come up
with. Growing short of patience, I decided to get to the bottom of this and
I yanked the door to the dryer open with gusto. Inside, Shane was laying
long-ways with his back against the rear of the tumbler, his pants around
his ankles and his fist flying up and down over his turgid dick.

     "HA! You've got a boner!" I chortled as I pointed at my idiot older
brother.

     "What? I wanna see! What's he doing?" Jeff asked.

     Erudite 11-year-old thoroughly versed in the ways of the world as I
was, I deftly educated my naïve, young friend. "He's jerking off."

     "Cut it out! You're gonna get us in trouble!" was his reply.

     "How come? There's nothing wrong with jerking off. Everybody does
it. Heck, our Dad does it all the time!" Shane said in his defense. He had
to slow his rhythm down to get the sentences to come out right, though. He
was too much of a clod to walk and chew gum at the same time. Imagine how
much trouble it was for him to formulate coherent thoughts whilst
masturbating.

     Jeff's brow furrowed and he said, "I don't!"

     It's not like I was Matlock or anything, but I could smell a rat.
"You never rub yourself when you've got a boner to make it feel good?"

     "Well . . . yeah, I guess so. But I always do it in the bathroom with
the door locked. I can't believe you're doing that right in front of us,
Shane!"

     "Why? What's the big deal?" I asked. "Heck, I'll do it, too." I
dropped my pants and climbed up onto the dryer with my legs hanging off to
the side.  Well acquainted with this routine, my hard-on shot up and, with
a little spit, I was tearing it up in no time. Shane was still working it
while sitting in the tumbler with his legs hanging out the front.

     Being inside the dryer put a little reverberating echo sound into
Shane's voice as he coaxed our friend on. "Go ahead, Jeff. What are you
waiting for? It feels awesome!"

     The three of us sat there stroking our young dicks, practically in
silence, while at any moment one of Jeff's parents or his sister could have
stumbled upon us. Shane got a cramp from sitting all hunched-over in the
tumbler so, when he started to climb out, Jeff moved to climb up onto the
dryer on the side opposite me. Shane just stood there facing both of us and
the open dryer door while he whacked it like a wild man. Pretty soon he let
his head fall back and his body started convulsing. He kept making these
gasping, gulpy noises that drew both of our attention. Jeff and I sat there
and watched my older brother Shane demonstrate what I had, until this
point, only seen in Dad's movies. His gasping and gulping grew into what
sounded more like expressions of pain before a sudden, short spurt of white
goo popped up out of my big brother's wiener.

     "WOOOOAAAHHH! I didn't know you could do that!" I said breathily.
Jeff was stunned in disbelief.

     Shane panted and wheezed for a bit then, once he'd caught his breath,
said, "Sure. I've been able to spooge for a while, now. Don't tell me I
have to explain to you tards what 'spooge' is!" I knew, of course, but
since Jeff looked like he was in need of CPR Shane launched into his
explanation anyway.

     That was the first time Jeff, Shane and I jerked off together, but it
was far from the last. You know how boys are. Eventually we discovered
girls and then, an eternity after that, the girls we had discovered finally
decided we weren't too disgusting, after all. Until that time, and ^Ö
honestly ^Ö even after, hardly an hour went by when we didn't have our puds
in our hands, be we alone or together. Brad was always pulling up the rear,
but it wasn't too long before he was up to speed with the rest of us as
well.

     Dad never was big on "meaningful" discussions, but somehow he always
seemed to know exactly where we were in our development into manhood.  Once
he was clued in to the fact that the three of us had grown into little
serial masturbators, ourselves, that gigantic stack of porn in his room
slowly turned into a big stack of porn with little, migratory stacks of
porn left all over the house. We were getting older and developing our own
interests which meant that we needed less entertaining and spent less time
vying for Dad's attention. I bet the Old Man had been waiting for such a
time ever since Brad was born. Instead of sneaking off to steal away some
time for himself, it became common for us to walk into any room in the
house and find him working that big fuck-stick. He would watch pornos in
the living room and jerk off. Or sit at the kitchen table flipping through
a skin mag. And jerk off. Just like when we would bust in on him in his
room, once us boys were around he would just let go of that hard dick and
sit there conversing with us like nothing was up. The most noticeable
change, however, came when Dad starting bringing friends home.

     It started with different lady friends on Friday or Saturday nights.
He would go out on the town for a bit and return home, shortly after dark,
with some of the most beautiful women I've ever seen in tow. Usually they
would sit around in the living room for a while and have a few after-dinner
drinks. If we were around, he would make introductions, but if we were
occupied in other parts of the house he didn't go out of his way to show
his dates off to us. I'll never forget that first time.  We hardly ever had
company come over when we were little so we didn't quite know how to act
with this foreign person in our home. That uncomfortable feeling shifted
into . . . well, I'm not sure what to call it. Excitement, I guess. About
the time we would normally hit the sack, Dad took his lady friend up to his
bedroom.  After a little while, we began to hear some familiar noises
. . . but different, somehow. We three boys dropped what we were doing and
met at the bottom of the stairs to investigate.

     "Are they watching a movie, together?" Brad asked.

     Sitting below his arched eyebrows, Shane's eyes scanned the top of the
stairs in wonderment as though he expected to spot the origin of those
sounds.  "I . . . I don't think so. Come on. Follow me! But, be quiet!" he
said, his voice trailing off from hushed tones to a near-silent whisper.

     Shane crouched down on the steps and began to army-crawl his way to
the top. Nervous and unsure of ourselves with our hearts pounding in our
chests, Brad and I followed suit. Once he was up to where he could peek
over the landing, Shane stopped and laid flat on the top few steps. At
first I stopped because I thought he was afraid we would be spotted, but
soon curiosity got the better of me and I climbed up beside him on his
right. Dad's door was standing a quarter of the way open, but from the
angle we were at we could see straight through to where he was perched on
the edge of his bed. He was fucking that lady like crazy! It all suddenly
made sense. The noises we were hearing weren't the flat, electronic sounds
we were accustomed to hearing from his bedroom television. They were the
full, robust groans of a real-life deep-dicking!

     Frozen in astonishment over what I was seeing, I didn't even notice
that Brad had climbed up next to Shane's other side. The three of us laid
there transfixed by the sight of our butt-naked Old Man sitting on the end
of his bed putting his giant cock to work! I'd seen our father's hard dick
on many occasions before, of course, but there was something different
about this time that I found to be quite mesmerizing.  All those other
times when we caught our Old Man jacking-off, he acted like it was nothing
out of the ordinary so his towering erections just blended into the scenery
in a way.  This time, not only was Dad's tall fuck-meat slicked up and
glistening wet, it was throbbing hard and looked somehow bigger than
before.  We caught glimpses of it when he would pull out completely after
each thrust. His gigantic, hefty balls bounced around like they were going
to take off.

     "Aw, Yeah! Phyew. Ride my big dick, Baby!" Dad blurted out between
grunts and huffs.

     Dad slowed the rhythm of his thrusts then he picked her up and flipped
her over onto the bed without even pulling his schlong out of her! They had
moved out of our sight line, but we hadn't had nearly enough of that
show. We scurried up onto the landing trying to step softly, so that the
floorboards wouldn't creek, to get a better look. It was no use. The only
way we could have seen what was going on at the head of Dad's bed would
have been to push his door further open and we didn't dare! We sat there,
though, for what seemed like hours listening to the sounds of our Old Man
fucking. I can remember practically every noise just like it was
yesterday. Man, that was some night!