Date: Fri, 11 Mar 2016 23:08:56 +0000 (UTC)
From: a4f101@yahoo.com
Subject: Luck of the Irish

Here's a story taken from my Tumblr, at a4f101.tumblr.com/storytime. You
can find this one, and the pic that inspired it, here:
http://a4f101.tumblr.com/post/113906861484/

This story is purely a work of adult erotic fantasy, copyright me 2016. I
own it and all legal rights to it. If you're under the age of majority in
your jursdiction, please come back when you're of legal age.

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I love hearing from you guys. a4f101@yahoo.com. Enjoy...

*****

"Happy St. Patrick's Day," the voice growled in my ear over the noise of
the crowd and the rock band playing in front of the bar. I turned around to
return the greeting, being a polite boy and all, even if I was halfway
drunk off my ass, and saw my Dad.

"Oh shit!" I laughed, seeing his big, woozy grin. "What are you doing
here?"

"Same as you, buddy," he said, winking, slinging one suited arm around my
neck. I could see a few other suited middle-aged dudes near him, plastic
cups of beer clutched in their hands, watching the crowd, checking out the
girls, so I guess him and his work buds really were doing the same as me
and my fraternity brothers. I wrapped my arm around dad's waist as we
leaned in closer to hear each other over the din, his breath heavy with
whiskey and beer.

"I take it you're not heading back to the office?" I chuckled as we touched
our plastic cups together and took a drink.

"Fuck no," he slurred, giving me that roguish grin again, and I had to
laugh. Damn, he was a handsome dude, his five o'clock shadow already
settling in all dark on his face, little flecks of silver in his thick,
neatly styled dark hair. "Shit, we're Irish, kiddo. We deserve the day off,
amiright?"

I laughed, we toasted again, and I felt him squeeze his big arm around my
neck again, all loose and affectionate. I loved this side of him, all
playful and relaxed, so different from the hard-charging C-suite exec he
usually was by day. And running into him like this, the middle of the day
in the middle of the week, both of us getting slightly blitzed with our
buds at the bar nearest campus, was a hilarious coincidence. A good one,
though. I hadn't been drunk with Dad since Thanksgiving, when he'd cracked
open a bottle of bourbon with me while we escaped the rest of the
family. Somehow, three drinks in, I'd wound up blurting out that I was gay,
and the good, close talk we had after that, the way he hugged me and told
me he loved me no matter what, had made my year. Made it easier for me to
start edging my way out of the closet. Most of my buddies knew now, all my
family, and I felt pretty damn good all around. Though part of that may
have been the Jameson shots. Speaking of which...

"I think we should celebrate our heritage, son," Dad half-shouted. "Round
up your boys, and let's get some fucking shots going!"

Dad collected his buds, I collected mine, and we made our way into the
bar. Dad slapped down his corporate Amex, a dozen shots of Jameson and a
dozen beers appeared, and the newly mingled crew of businessmen and college
boys toasted each other, and the day, and me and Dad's Irish lineage. Dad
stuck by my side, giving the back of my neck the occasional squeeze, a
proud paternal hug here and there as his boys and mine mingled and talked
and shared college war stories. Dad had wrestled for my school back in the
day and had been in the same fraternity, so of course he had the best
stories. I loved hearing them, seeing my bros all rapt with attention as
they listened to my big, handsome businessman Dad made me proud as
hell. But I can't deny that Dad's typical loose, friendly drunken
closeness, the easy physicality he showed, the way his hand rubbed up and
down my back every so often as he made a point, squeezed my neck, hugged me
into his side... well, the drunker I got, the more I got thinking. Things I
shouldn't have been thinking. The kinds of thoughts I'd been having since
my early teens, and suppressing nearly as long.

A while later, my brothers announced plans to go get pizza, and Dad's
buddies seemed to think that was a pretty good idea, but Dad shook his
head. Said he wanted to have another quick one with his boy, and maybe we'd
catch up with them in a while. So they filtered out, and Dad ordered us
another round and leaned up at the bar next to me, elbow to elbow. I felt a
nervousness, now that we were alone. Something I'd never had with
Dad. Something in his loose, easy, warm smile and gaze at me. A warm heat
in my loins, fueled by the whiskey and inflamed by the closeness with the
big, handsome guy. Fuck.

"You getting lucky with any of your bros there tonight, kiddo?" he said
with a wink. I downed my shot in one go, let the sear of the whiskey try
and unrattle my nerves. Shook my head.

"No such luck," I said. Then, emboldened by the whiskey: "What about you,
big guy?" He made a grimace, shook his head.

"Same story, bud," he said. "When I get home in this state, your mother
will tear a piece off my ass for sure."

"Stepmother," I reminded him, maybe a bit too tartly. I'd never warmed to
the woman much. He just chuckled, slapped my back, which turned into a
slow, lazy rub that had my cock starting to firm and grow in my
shorts. "Well fuck, don't go home tonight then. I'm sure we can find you
some room to crash at the house."

He tossed his head back and laughed, loud and long, drawing smiling stares
from the other patrons.

"Fuck that, kid," he said. "I can expense a hotel just fine. No disrespect,
but the house was a pit even in my day, and I know you boys aren't doing
any better at cleaning up after yourselves."

My turn to laugh now, nodding ruefully.

"Well, I guess if you do wind up getting lucky, a nice five-star hotel sure
would impress a lot more than the frat house," I chuckled. He gave me a
direct look, man-to-man, smiling. I felt my insides squirm. But the whiskey
was working its magic, so I puffed up my chest a little. Saw his eyes move
down over the swell of my pecs under my t-shirt. The muscle in my arms. I
was built like him, even though I'd given up wrestling when I left for
college. He was appraising me, sizing me up, and I liked it. Felt my dick
grow bigger again inside my shorts as my handsome ex-jock businessman dad
eyed me up approvingly. Man to man.

"I dunno, son," he said, a huskiness to his voice. "Something to be said
for kicking back on the sofa at the house, getting a nice slow suckjob from
one of your brothers. Especially after a day-drinking session."

I tried not to gape at him, at the implication there, and he just grinned
at me. Eyes on mine. I felt an electricity between us. Felt my mouth dry
up.

"What, you think I didn't enjoy my share of good times back in my day,
kid?" he said, low and deep, edging subtly closer, never breaking that
almost hypnotic eye contact. "Everybody knows a buddy can give you better
head than a girl anyway, right? And I dunno about you, but I sure love
getting head."

Blame the warm spring drinking weather, blame the whiskey, blame the
serendipity of running into each other and the heady, debaucherous vibe of
the day, but when he said he needed to take a leak, and I announced I did
too, he tipped me another wink. And when we got into the bathroom, cutting
eyes at each other over the little modesty wall between the urinals as we
pissed, I went with my gut, grabbed his arm after we dried our hands,
pulled him into the handicapped stall and locked the door behind him.

"Shit, Brady, are you -" he said, but he was already stiffening in his dark
suit pants as I reached for his belt.

"You said it yourself, Dad," I cut him off as I unbuckled him. "Nobody does
it better, right?"

I stripped his pants and underwear down around his knees, baring his big,
muscular, dark-furred thighs, and the huge cock rapidly hardening from the
forest of his dark bush. I had a big dick too, big like him, I was pleased
to note, and I also knew how to suck a big cock like this. So I turned my
ballcap backwards on my head, gave him a wink, and squatted down on my
haunches. Ran my hands up the thickness of his quads as he stared at me
hungrily, disbelievingly, and then I leaned in for the kill.

"Oh, fuck sonnnn," he moaned, his hand going to the back of my ballcapped
head, the other holding up his shirt and tie, as I took him to the
root. Not right away, I wasn't that good yet, but I was definitely doing
right by him and the big, proud, handsome cock he'd created me with. He
proved it five minutes later by delivering a big, hot, salty load, and I
could swear I tasted Irish whiskey in the thick creaminess of his seed as I
swished it around my mouth and swallowed it.

He stared at me again, chest heaving, sweat beading on his forehead, then
smiled. Pulled me up. And surprised the fuck out of me by pulling me in
close, that big, spent cock leaving a wet mark on my T-shirt, and kissing
me with a hungry growl. Exploring my mouth with his big, whiskey-flavored
tongue, tasting his cream, my spit, the drinks we'd both sunk. I was
ragingly hard, and when he reached down to grope my big young bulge with a
skilled hand, I about lost my load then and there.

"Uh-uh, buddy," he said, grinning, grazing his lips against mine. "Save it
for the hotel." And kissed me again, long and deep and wet.

We never did get that pizza with our group. Instead, we fed on each other,
in the room he got for us at the JW Marriott. Swapping spit and cum, naked
and languid on the big bed, exploring each other's muscles, discovering the
difference 25 years can make to a man's body, and liking it, a lot. When I
finally sank my spit-soaked ass down his big, throbbing bare shaft, as he
clutched my big young pecs, explored the dark fur starting to grow in on
them, dark like his, the look of lust, love, paternal pride and amazement
on his handsome face was incredible. As incredible as the load he pumped up
inside me 30 minutes later, spooned into me, his tongue lashing wet and
thick against mine as his big hand stroked my load out, all over the fancy
bed linens.

"See, I told you a fancy hotel would get you some play, Dad," I chuckled in
the afterglow, as his hands and lips explored the sweaty thickness of my
frat boy body. He chuckled against the skin of my neck, kissing it, making
me shiver, making my cock twitch again.

"Shit, son," he murmured against my neck, against that spot below my ear
that made my body squirm with pleasure for him. "Next time, we'll do it in
the frat house. For old time's sake. I can show you how well I fucked ass
there too."

I laughed at him, rolled over in his arms to kiss him, and the whole time,
all I could think of was his words - "Next time." Next time...