Date: Wed, 15 Jun 2016 12:00:38 +0000 (UTC)
From: a4f101@yahoo.com
Subject: The Father's Day Club Part 1: The Beginnings

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can find this one, and the pic that inspired it, here:
http://a4f101.tumblr.com/post/121932869804/

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*****

It all started, as these things do, with our Dad. A real man's man, a guy
from a different era. Stern when he wanted to be, strict when he needed to
be - and raising three big, rowdy boys, sometimes he really needed to be -
but above all that, endlessly loving. That's what shone through, the love
he had for us, and over time, as things grew and developed and changed and
deepened, that love he had shone even more strongly.

He had presence, a decent-looking guy with a naturally big, strong body
that just seemed to improve as it grew over time. I'd seen the pictures of
him from his Army days, right before him and Mom had Phil, with me and Dave
following along behind in very quick succession, a son a year, almost like
clockwork. I'd beat off to some of those pictures, shamefaced and in
secret, until one day my big brother came home from shooting hoops with his
friends and found me with my shorts round my ankles, jacking my big teenage
dick with the old photo albums spread open in front of me - this was well
before the internet, so you had to get your jack material wherever you
could find it.

"Whoa!" Phil said, a big, surprised smile on his face as he stood in the
doorway to the bedroom we shared. "The hell are you doing, Marky?"

"I... uh..." I stammered, then puffed up my chest and rallied as best as I
could with my wilting dick still in my hand. "The fuck does it look like
I'm doing, asshole? Can't a guy get any privacy?"

Turns out, a guy couldn't, as Phil kicked the bedroom door closed behind
him and dropped his basketball on the floor. Came over to the bed, saw the
spread I was working with, and gave me an even wider smile. Began to tug at
the crotch of his shorts, where a big teenage lump was starting to show
itself.

"You too, huh brother?" he said with a smile in his voice, and sat his big
football-player ass down beside me. My bravado was starting to wilt along
with my dick, when he leaned over, pointed to a picture of the folks on
their honeymoon, on a beach somewhere in their 1960s swimsuits, Dad all
big-chested and young and handsome.

"That's a good one, buddy," he grinned, digging his elbow playfully into my
side. "And here, let me show you the ones I like..."

And he did, shocking the hell out of me, and soon he'd dropped his shorts
and we were sprawled out as best as we could be on my bed, stroking our
hard young dicks, looking at the pics of Dad over the years. We shot two
loads, driven wild by the mix of our teen lustiness and the discovery of
our shared secret interest. And then we heard Mom's station wagon pull up,
and we had to bust ass to clean up, cover up and act casual.

From that point on, me and Phil started getting along much better. And the
closer we got, the deeper we talked, and he was just as amazed at me to
discover our shared latent Dad-lust. Amazed, and enthused, because we beat
our brother cocks together all spring long before one day, down in the
woods by the creek, in a tucked-away space that had become our second home
for our special new play sessions, Phil slipped his bigger, older arm round
my shoulders as our naked thighs pressed together, as our hands stroked a
blur on our cocks, as we whispered dirty shit about our Dad, and after a
moment of hesitation, laid a big ol' kiss on my lips.

I grunted with surprise, having never really kissed anybody before, but
Phil had, and he was good at it - as far as I knew at the time, anyway, but
later, I'd have plenty of experience comparing, and I always found Phil's
lips and tongue to be the best to dance with. And soon, I was kissing him
back, and then we were blasting our hot, thick young loads all over the
dirt as we moaned hungrily into each other's mouths. And then, we boned
right back up - damn, being a teenager is awesome, isn't it - and went for
another round. Slower, wetter, and when his big hand reached for my dick,
it seemed only fair, and natural, to do the same for him.

We had a damn good thing going on, and it was cool that Phil's girlfriend
wouldn't do any more than let him cup her little tits, because we were very
hands-on with each other. No more blue balls, no more arguing and brawling,
just fun and pleasure and a deepening of our shared bonds, as we talked out
our fantasies about Dad, and each other, and both of us with him. Sucking
cock was a natural progression, something I discovered I really, really
liked, the heat and the mineral slickness of my brother's big hard teen
dick throbbing its way into my mouth, as my lips crawled down the thickness
of his shaft, as he moaned my name and tangled his fingers in my hair and
coaxed me through it, teaching me how to make him feel good. He even wanted
to kiss after, tasting himself with horny curiosity, and then he blew my
mind when he reached for the throbbing hard bulge in my jeans, unzipped me,
and returned the favor.

So we were on a pretty good track there, weeks of making out and jacking
each other and sucking cock and getting generally hornier and dirtier and
deeper, and then one rainy afternoon, we'd snuck out to the garage to do it
some more, when our little bro Davey found us.

Dave hadn't been on my radar - I had a big, 16-year-old stud of a brother
to play with, and my teenage sexual needs were being very well met, and I
guess we were too into the kinky heat of what we were doing to think much
about little Davey. But he was growing too, just a year younger than me,
and when he burst through the door to the garage and found me on my knees,
three-quarters of Phil's big jock dick down my throat, both of us with
stunned expressions on our faces, that changed everything.

"What are you guys doing?" he half-gasped, half-whispered. I mean, when
you're 14, some things are obvious, and some things haven't quite occurred
to you yet. Like what a cocksucker actually is, in the flesh. And what to
do about it when your two older brothers turn out to be cocksuckers. As it
turned out, all we could do to keep our dirty little secret was invite him
into it. From that point on, Davey stopped being our annoying kid bro, and
really became one of us.

I guess all teens think they know everything, and that they're getting away
with whatever they're getting into all the time, but we were soon proved
wrong. Me and Phil did a pretty good job of keeping our little
brother-adventures quiet, and could usually manage a good makeout and suck
session in our bedroom late at night. Adding Davey into the mix made that
much more complicated, especially once the kid was hooked on all the hot
shit we were doing together. He'd pad down the corridor to our bedroom -
Phil had long grumbled about Davey being the one with his own room, while
he had to share, but the grumbling had stopped pretty quickly once we'd
found each other like this - and creep in, and of course we'd welcome him,
but you can't put three big teenage kids into a bed together and not expect
to make some noise. The way he would suck Phil's cock while stroking mine
as the two of us made out, then alternate to sucking me and handling Phil,
though - we didn't care about anything else. The Russians could have been
nuking us, and we'd hardly notice.

But Dad noticed. It wasn't until I became a father myself, with sons of my
own, that I really understood paternal intuition. Maybe it was the way we'd
all look at breakfast the morning after, baggy-eyed from lack of
sleep. Maybe it was the sudden downturn in our usual brotherly scrapping
and arguing. Maybe Mom had said something to him about the state of our
sheets. Phil first picked up on it, the way Dad would fix us with a certain
look sometimes, like he was figuring something out. An inscrutable gaze,
not like he was mad - just like he was turning something over inside his
head.

"I think he might be onto us, Mark," Phil said one day, as I was pushing
his T-shirt up his solidly-muscled torso, already hungrily licking at his
big jock muscles and into his blond-furred, musky pits, making him moan.

"No way, man," I huffed. "You're paranoid, that's all. Now shut up and suck
my dick."

That year, Father's Day was on a Saturday, and after he lounged around in
bed - probably after a good long fuck with Mom - we were all shooed out of
the house to "go and do boy things together" while Mom set to work fixing
him a special dinner. So we went fishing down at the lake, Dad and us three
boys, and now that Phil had planted the seed in my mind, we were both
starting to get a little paranoid, and even Davey was picking up on our
uneasy vibe. Dad wasn't a big talker at the best of times, and we'd gotten
pretty good at reading his silences, but out there on the boat, his silence
just made us tenser than usual, the longer it went on. And then finally, he
dug in the cooler, popped the top on a Budweiser, rested his forearms on
his knees, and fixed us all with that inscrutable gaze.

"So," he eventually said, as we all fidgeted nervously, three big kids
crammed into the end of the little metal john boat, looking like guilty
pups. "You boys are messing around, huh?"

All three of us blushed hard, and stuttered and mumbled and looked anywhere
but at each other, or at him, but he'd always had a commanding presence. He
was a man who took no bullshit, least of all from us.

"Don't bullshit me, boys," he said. "I know what's going on. How long?"

As the eldest, and I guess the one most responsible, Phil started to spill
the beans, and then I joined in, Davey adding his own voice to the mix, and
soon enough, it was all out there - how long, how often, what we did, how
we'd gotten into it - just hanging in the tense air between us. Dad gazed
silently at us, and then gave the briefest twist of a smile as he fished
out another beer. And then three more, handing one to each of us as we
stared, stunned, at him. Waiting for him to spring the trap.

"Well shit," he chuckled. "Guess you're men now, huh? I'll be damned."

Suddenly, the tension had come down a few degrees, easing more as we drank
our beers, still half-wary, half-stunned at his ease with all this.

"Are you fucking yet?" he said, and all three of us choked almost
simultaneously on our beers, before Phil sputtered out that no, we weren't.

"But you're thinking about it, am I right?" Dad said knowingly.

Phil and I shot a look at each other. Davey hadn't come that far with us
yet, but yeah, we'd talked about it. Played with each other's asses. Were
starting to fumble our way down that road. Seemed inevitable. I was hoping
to get there before the end of the summer, and the hungry gleam in his eye
Phil got when he licked at my sweaty ass told me that was very likely.

"I guess boys will still be boys," Dad chuckled to himself, tossed his
now-empty can into the bottom of the boat, and yanked the cord to start the
little outboard.

Grandpa's old place at the lake - not much more than a little shack, with a
ramshackle boathouse at the end of the swaybacked dock - was still in the
family, and Dad motored the boat back there, as Phil and Davey and me shot
questions at each other with our eyes. It was too soon to head home. But
Dad said nothing, just pulled the boat up to the dock, and we quietly
helped put it up and stow the fishing rods, then followed him up the dirt
path to the shack.

"I know you don't think so, but I was your age once, and I had brothers
too," Dad said once we were inside the dimly-lit little house. "I ain't
mad. I understand better than you probably think I do. And as long as
you're careful and you ain't forcing each other..."

He said that with a meaningful look at Davey, who shook his head, all three
of us staring wide-eyed at our big, bearded Dad as he took in the sight of
us, and then smiled one of his big, rare grins as he spread his big,
solid-muscled arms.

"Well then, shit," he chuckled. "Get your asses in here, boys. It's
Father's Day, after all."

It took us a moment to pull ourselves together, and Phil stepped in first,
then me, then Davey, into his big, warm, musky embrace, and all three of us
kind of shuddered. With relief, and yeah, a growing tinge of lust, as Dad's
big hands came to our backs, began to rub, and then he looked each of us in
the eye and kissed us slow and soft in turn. Just on the lips, but in an
unmistakably intimate way that he'd never done before. Like the first kiss
between Phil and me, only much more assured.

Slowly, our clothes hit the floor, tossed on the old furniture, as Dad took
the kisses deeper, the scent of our bodies filling the little room as we
kissed him, kissed each other, as hands and lips and tongues began to
wander, as hard cocks filled our underwear, as our father drew us in and
drew us closer than we'd ever imagined we could be.

We were a little later than we'd intended to be, getting home, and as Dad
put the Pontiac in Park in the driveway, he turned round and quietly
surveyed all three of us. We were all still grinning from ear to ear,
pleasantly fucked-out, still amazed, and all so in love with him. He looked
serious, and then slowly smiled.

"This is just between us, OK?" he said. "You all are men now. And some
things men do together, nobody else would understand. So keep your asses in
line, don't screw around at school, pull your weight around the
house... and maybe we can keep things between us. Understood, men?"

"Yes sir!" we said in unison, making him smile. And then slowly, we
followed him inside, to continue celebrating Father's Day. The beginning of
a very special annual tradition between us.