Date: Fri, 16 Dec 2016 14:01:53 +0000 (UTC)
From: a4f101@yahoo.com
Subject: The 12 Tales of Christmas: Separate Bedrooms

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/135350248136/

You can also find a whole lot more of my stories here on Nifty - look for
'a4f101' in the Prolific Authors listing.

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*****

I guess this was probably the last time I'd be doing the holiday under this
roof. Kelly and me weren't legally separated, but that was just a formality
at this point. My last trip home, things had been pretty frosty, and the
Skype conversations since then - what few we'd had, anyway - had been no
better than polite. When she'd said that she'd prefer me to sleep in the
guest room this Christmas, I could practically feel the chill radiating
from her, through the webcam, down the undersea data cables, all the way
across the Atlantic to my sweaty little company apartment in Lagos.

Yeah, maybe I'd spent too much time over there. But Africa had paid for the
house, paid for the cars, paid for the kids to go to college, paid for the
diamonds on her wrist. And now it looked like Africa had put paid to our
marriage. Lauren was in grad school, and Bailey was halfway done with his
last semester at State, so it looked like it was gonna be one last
Christmas together as family.

"Family" - what a fucking sham, I thought to myself sourly as I put the
truck in Park and sat there, engine off, looking up at the house that I'd
always thought was so important. Just a nice box for Kelly to live in until
we liquidated the assets, I guessed. And then what? Well, who the hell
knew. The kids would go their way, we'd go ours, and we'd be one of those
ex-families, just a collection of people who once had a life together. Just
four people who were related to each other, that's all.

I had a hunch Lauren was going to side with her mother, because much as I
loved her, that girl was Kelly incarnate. Bailey, on the other hand - well,
he was my little buddy. We'd always been tight. The kid - no, the young man
now, I reminded myself with a grimace, thinking of all of the big events in
his life that I'd missed - was just as much like me as his sister was like
her mother. He still loved me, at least. And sure, I'd give Lauren a big
hug, and listen to the stories of her new, adult life, and get all wistful
for the little girl she once was. But if I was being honest with myself, I
was really here to see my boy. I'd Skyped with him more than I'd talked
with his mother, the past year, and as long as I still had him, I'd be able
to tolerate the rest of the shit heading my way.

"The fucking guest room," I thought as I stuck my key in the lock and let
myself into the dark, quiet house. Shit, not like I was expecting ice cream
cake and a fucking brass band, or anything, but it would've been nice if
somebody had maybe waited up for me, to see if I got in alright. I guess
that's where we were at, now. I dropped my keys on the little side table,
only for them to crash to the floor, because Kelly had taken the
opportunity to finally get rid of it while I was gone. "Insult to injury,"
I groused to myself, pocketing them and humping my bags down the hallway to
the guest room door, wondering how we were going to explain this
arrangement away to the kids.

"She's probably told them it's my snoring," I thought, even though the
subtle little nose job I'd bought her the first year of the Nigeria
contract hadn't done a damn thing to subdue hers. Least I won't have to
wear one of those goddamned snore strips-

"Shit!" I blurted in surprise as I lumbered through the door to the room,
and the lamp over the bed snapped on. I dropped one of my bags with the
unexpectedness of it, and then I had to do a double-take.

I'd always hated that ugly fucking bed, a family heirloom of Kelly's that
she had some kind of mysterious sentimental connection to. The guest room
was the perfect place for it, besides Goodwill. But right now, all that
faded into the background, because all I could really see was the naked
young man's form spread out on it. Creamy skin, stretched over rippling
young muscles. A thick head of auburn hair. Strong athlete's thighs splayed
out. But more than that, above and beyond all of that, twin smooth, firm,
perfectly rounded globes of muscular young man's ass, displayed to
perfection, upturned and tight, the deep cleft between them falling into
shadow from the lamp above.

"Hey Dad," Bailey said, looking over his shoulder at me with a smile that
was both brave and nervous at the same time. "Welcome home."

"Uh... thanks, buddy," I said, setting my other bag down. "But... what are
you doing in here?"

I swear I tried not to stare at him, all of him all spread out like an
early Christmas present there on the bed. But that ass, jesus - it was
tough to pull your eyes away from.

"Mom said you were getting in late, and I wanted there to be somebody
waiting for you," he said.

"No, I mean, what are you doing in here, uh... like that?" I managed,
gesturing vaguely at his spectacular, naked young bod.

"Oh," he said in a small voice, blushing so his creamy skin nearly matched
the deep auburn glow of his hair. "Well, after that Skype we had... I just
got the idea all of a sudden, to, like... maybe surprise you?"

Ah shit, that Skype call. It had been a few months back, and I'll admit, I
was bored and lonely and more than a little buzzed. Drunk, let's face
it. Bailey had Skyped in from his dorm room, fresh back from a post-workout
shower, looking handsome and grown-up and really nicely built in his tank
top, and we'd got to talking. He'd wound up hitting a joint - I was always
cool with that to an extent, his mother definitely not - as I put a deep
dent in my bottle of duty-free Sailor Jerry, we got to talking deeper, one
thing led to another... and we ended up busting a nut together.

The next morning, I was cringing with shame and self-hatred, but the next
time we'd talked, it was like nothing untoward had happened. Maybe there
was a deeper warmth and ease to our conversations. But it had never come up
again. Just in my mind, practically every time I jacked my cock, alone in
my lonely bed while the streets of Lagos hummed with the sounds of the
night below. Stroking my cock, spurting my cum across my stomach and chest,
thinking of that intense, incredibly hot time with my boy. Remembering his
O-face, the way his big, hard young cock spurted that thick cum of his up
his chest as he stared at me through lust-hooded eyes, watching me mirror
him with my own cock and cum thousands and thousands of miles away.

"Well, I'm surprised, alright," I said, scratching my head under the back
of my ballcap, still trying not to look at him, and failing. Trying to
ignore the growing sensation inside my jeans, and failing at that too.

"Lauren won't be down until Wednesday, and Mom took a couple of Xanax and
went to bed early," he said, pushing his ass down a little, making it flex
and shift, as he twisted his shoulders around to look at me. "So I guess
it's just you and me, huh Dad?"

I swear to god, I never said anything to lead him on, give him ideas after
that hot, intense Skype. This was completely out of the blue. But I thought
about my probably-soon-to-be-ex-wife upstairs, all the years I'd given her,
been faithful, bent over backwards to give her the things she wanted. And
look where it had got me. Down here in the guest room in my own goddamn
house, with my loving, handsome, incredibly hot son waiting here for
me. Naked. Ready to fill in the gaps in my life. To give me what I
needed. What I yearned for.

"I guess it is, buddy," I said, swiping my ballcap off and tossing it on
top of my old Army duffel as I shrugged my jacket off and stepped closer to
the bed. "I guess it is."

Damn, his skin was so smooth, so warm, so densely packed beneath with
fresh-grown young man's muscle, as my rough hands slid over it, pulling him
into me, his lips parted to greet and accept my urgent, thrusting
tongue. My cock was a crowbar in my jeans, throbbing angrily as I grabbed
hold of that amazing young ass of his and pulled him in tight to me, his
hungry little whimper-grunt just spurring me on even further as I sank my
fingers deep into the pliant flesh of his cheeks. His own cock throbbed
right back against me, a twin of mine except for the copper-brown shade of
the hair that crowned it. He slid his arms around my neck like he'd done a
million times as a boy - only he sure wasn't a boy anymore, he was a man,
all man, and tonight, he was mine. All mine.

Tonight, my son was exactly what I needed. What I'd always needed,
probably.

His fingers were eager but clumsy as they worked the buttons of my shirt
open, and the way he buried his face in the V of my undershirt, deep in the
dark hairs there, and inhaled deeply, I knew he'd been thinking about me,
and this, for a long time. Meanwhile, his fingers were more assured as they
undid my belt, then popped the buttons on my jeans, letting the humid,
straining mass of my cockbulge free. It was my turn to whimper-grunt as his
hand lightly touched the hard jut of it through my boxer briefs, just
tentatively tracing the outline of it as his tongue returned to my mouth,
then exploring it more intently, taking a firm, yet gentle grasp of it and
sliding his palm up and down the length of me as our tongues dueled, hungry
and wet.

"Damn, you've gotten big, kid," I huffed as we came up for air, my hands
roving over the new-grown muscles of his back, ass, thighs, shoulders,
anywhere I could reach, as he pushed my jeans off my ass and down my
thighs.

"Yeah, Dad? You like?" he said with a cute, modest little smile on his
handsome young face, and I just had to give him a quick, deep kiss.

"Damn right I do," I said. "Wish I'd looked this good at 21."

"You did, Dad," he chuckled. "I've seen the pics. Jacked off to `em."

"Shit, really?" I grunted, surprised and suddenly even more turned on, my
head full of images of him going through the old boxes of pics up in the
attic, his hand buried inside his shorts.

"Hell yeah," he half-moaned. "All those pics of you back in your Army
days... you were such a stud, Dad. Still are."

I smiled as his hands roved over my bigger body. Sure, I wasn't in the
tight, all-muscles shape of my twenties, but for a guy in my mid-forties, I
looked pretty damn good. I had a lot of free time to work out over in
Nigeria, time most of my married coworkers used to go chase cheap
pussy. Me, I was always staying faithful to Kelly - pointlessly faithful,
it had turned out. But no more of that. Starting tonight, right now, I was
going to do what I wanted. And what I wanted now was this incredibly hot
young man, all muscles and smooth young skin and willing mouth, and all
mine. My very own son.

It had been decades since I'd messed around with another guy, since my Army
days, and sure, I'd thought about it since. More in a wistful,
those-were-the-days reminiscing kind of way. More so since that Skype call
with my boy. A whole lot more, in fact. But it all came flowing back like
I'd never stopped. The feel of hard muscles against mine was amazing,
unleashing a flood of sense memories in me, like the scratch of his faint
stubble against mine as our mouths worked together, like the insistent
press of his hard young cock against my hip as his eager fingers skinned my
strained underwear down, setting me fully free.

"Shitttttt," he whispered, staring down at my cock. I had a nice
cock. Long, good thickness, neatly cut, a big, handsomely shaped
head. Already leaking precum, because it had been a couple days since I'd
beat off, and much longer than that since it had received any attention
from anybody but me.

"Go ahead, buddy," I murmured, squeezing the back of his neck encouragingly
as he reached for it, took me in his hand, with a kind of respectful
gentleness at first. That gave way to a slow, swirling stroke, and it was
funny to see that my son handled a cock pretty much the way I always
had. Not with awkwardness, but with the natural ease of a man who knows how
to handle his own dick, and how good it would feel to show a close buddy
how he does it. Enjoying the full range of sensations - the heat, the
stretch of skin, the heft. The throb and moisture. The manliness of it
all. The intense, masculine bond two naked men can have.

I kissed him, softer this time, exploring his whimpering mouth as I took my
boy in hand, admiring his size, his pleasing solidity. He was a leaker like
me - he took after me in so many ways - and I loved the way he shivered and
whined into my mouth as I grazed my thumb over the big, handsome head of
his cock, smearing his slickness around it.

The way he wrapped his lithe, muscular young body around mine as we fell to
the bed was another rush straight from the memory banks, charged up with
the incredibly horny, pervy knowledge that this was my own son I was
messing with - my pride and joy. The fruit of my loins. My finest
achievement. Our cocks thrust slowly together, sticky with each other's
pre, his muscled calves hooked over the big mounds of my ass, leg hair
entwining with ass hair, spurring me on like he was riding a horse.

All of this, so familiar even though the last time was so long ago. I
regretted giving all of this up, leaving it behind to marry and settle down
and be a one-woman man. But then, doing that had given me Bailey, and now
here he was, taking me back to that place again, two men bonding on the
deepest, most intimate level possible. Bringing me full-circle. I was so
full of love and pride in him, I thought I might burst. Beneath that,
seething, kinky lust, especially when he rolled me on my back, kissed me
hard and deep and well, and then nuzzled his way down my big chest, over
the thick fur covering the once-flat expanse of my stomach, like he was
burrowing down to the still-hard layer of abdominal muscle under the slight
middle-aged swell. I felt like a goddamn king, even more when he took my
heaving cock in hand, smearing my streaming juices all up and down the
shaft with an awestruck, lusty grin on his face.

"You got no idea how long I wanted this, Dad," he said, smiling up at me
with worshipful heat.

"I wish I had, bud," I murmured back, sinking my fingers into that thick
auburn hair. "Maybe we could have... y'know... sooner..."

"Maybe, Dad," he smiled, then leaned in and ran his tongue from the root of
my cock to the tip, in a slow, sexy move that had my toes curling as I
fought off an early orgasm. "But we're here now, just where we should be,
right?"

All I could do was nod, and clutch more of his hair in my fingers, as he
opened his mouth and took me in, slowly, with a surprising level of skill
for a young dude, lips swollen round my shaft as they worked their way
down, while his tongue lashed and teased and explored my fat cocktip.

For all her faults, Kelly sure could suck cock, and I had to stifle a
chuckle at the idea that maybe he'd inherited this trait from his
mother. But then again, I'd been known to swing on a bud's pole every now
and then, and usually had repeat business with that, so maybe chalk this
one up to me too. I could have let him do this all night, but as good as he
was, the night would be over in very short order. So it was almost a relief
when he came up off of me, licking his lips, growling with hungry
satisfaction as he looked me square in the eyes.

"There's just one thing I want for Christmas this year, Dad," he said
huskily.

"Yeah? What's that, buddy?" I asked, even though I was pretty sure I knew
exactly what that was.

"You. This," he said, giving my cock a slow, precum-inducing stroke. "In
me, Dad. Can we?"

I looked him in the eyes, pulse pounding, and slowly nodded. I reached down
for him, hooking my big hands under his pits, tugging him up to kiss him.

"We can, son," I murmured between sloppy, slow kisses. "Anything for you,
little buddy."

I saw a flash of the cute, loving little boy he'd been in his face then,
his smile radiating love and excitement, and I felt myself fill up to the
brim with love for my boy. I let that guide me, guide us, as we maneuvered
around, helped each other with the mechanics of lube, exploring with lips
and tongues and fingers to prep each other. And then, his eyes all shiny,
his smile faltering briefly as I breached the tightness of his hole, before
widening into a slow, gasping moan as I steadily pressed my way up inside
of him, his tension easing into pleasure as I filled him with the cock I'd
made him with.

God damn, he felt amazing. I'd forgotten this particular, special kind of
tightness. It was nice to fuck a woman's ass, sure... but there was
something even more special to a man's hole. That same incredible heat,
tightness, slow-giving resistance, sure. But it was everything else wrapped
around that tight chute that elevated it - the muscles and fur and flesh,
flexing hard, sweating, emitting that musk only men in heat do. Feeling the
slow throb of his prostate as my cockhead grazed over it, returning again
and again to tease it as his fingers dug into the thick meat of my upper
arms, down into the steely bands of muscle straining to hold me up over
him.

Kelly hadn't let me fuck her since Easter, and I hadn't much wanted to,
either, even in the most desperate depths of my solitary horniness. But
Bailey, hell, I wanted to fuck this kid into next year, the next
decade. Wanted to saw my way ever deeper inside of him, until I flooded his
tight, clutching guts with my father cum. Breed him. Knock him up. Then go
back to square one and start the journey all over again.

But it had been months, almost a year in fact. That, plus Bailey's
beautifully muscled body glowing with sweat, the slow dance of his tongue
with mine, the tight clutch of his insides wrapping round my cock, drawing
me in deeper and deeper, was going to be my undoing. That, and knowing that
this was my own son, that he'd willingly drawn me into him, had planned it
for months or even longer. All that was hard to take, hard to keep myself
riding the edge, hard to maintain.

"I know you need to, Dad," my boy murmured up at me, eyes all hazed with
pleasure. "Do it. There'll be other, longer times. I want you to cum in
me. Want to feel you unload. Cum in me, Dad. Please."

I could never deny my son anything, least of all this, and so I nodded and
locked eyes with him, and I fucked my load up into him, a steady, thick
stream of spurts shooting from my cock as our hips rocked and we worked
together. His hand found his cock, corkscrewed it with a layer of my thick
spit as lube, and within a few strokes, he was joining me in plunging over
the edge. His cum streaked white across his sweat-glowing young muscles, a
thing of true beauty. I almost could have gone back-to-back into a second
round with him from that sight alone, but he was right. There'd be time for
that later. For now, this moment, this connection, was everything. His gift
to me in return.

"Things are gonna change, aren't they?" he said as I spooned into him, both
of us spent and sticky, all lazy in the incredible afterglow. "This is the
last Christmas, isn't it?"

"Maybe," I said, then thought better of it. We were on a different, higher
level now, me and Bailey. He deserved honesty from me. I owed it to him.

"Yes," I corrected myself. "Very likely, anyway. But you and me, buddy -
we'll always have each other. That's all that matters, son. The rest is
just details and things."

"Maybe next Christmas can be over there. With you," he said.

"Your mother would throw a damn fit, son," I chuckled, rubbing the muscles
of his stomach. But damn, that was a fine idea. Me and him, in the Nigerian
weirdness. Christmas lunch at the American Club. Then back to the apartment
for a long, slow afternoon of father-son bonding in bed, as the heat beat
at the window shades outside. The fine glow of his young skin, all dewy
with the sweat of us...

"I don't care," he shrugged. "I'm grown-up now. I get to choose how I want
to do things. And I choose you, Dad. Always."

Damn, this boy of mine. I don't know what I did to deserve him, but I was
glad I'd done it.

"You really do take after me after all," I chuckled, and he craned his head
back so I could kiss him, long and slow and deep.

"I'm glad. And at least this Christmas, I can come down here and see
you. Be with you. All night, even."

That last bit said with a degree of hope, and he was more and more like me
all the time, because I'd been hoping the very same thing.

"Maybe this won't be such a bad Christmas after all, son," I grinned, and
he rolled over in my arms, kissing me again, and leading me down the path
to Round Two.