Date: Tue, 3 May 2011 23:01:17 -0700 (PDT)
From: Bruno Boyd <bruno.boyd@yahoo.com>
Subject: What Brandon Needs- Part 1

What Brandon Needs

Part One

Mike got home, as he did most nights, about 6:30. Coming through the door,
he could already hear the din of the TV in the living room. It was one of
those trash channels Brandon loved to watch, they all sounded the same to
Mike.

He tossed his keys on table and put his thermos on the kitchen counter.
Brandon usually made dinner on Fridays, but Mike noticed there was nothing
cooking tonight. He grabbed a beer out of the fridge, took a long swill,
and headed to the living room.

Even though it was still daylight outside, the blinds were closed and the
room was flickering from the TV. Brandon knew how much his dad hated for
him to sit in the dark like that.

"Turn that shit down!" Mike barked. "I could hear it coming up the
driveway."

He switched on a lamp in the corner of the room and saw his son spread
across the couch under a blanket. It never ceased to amaze Mike-- it was
the dead of summer, about 100 degrees outside, and sure enough his son
would be laying under a blanket. Brandon turned the volume down without
saying a word.

Mike walked back to the kitchen to get the mail. Brandon always brought the
mail in after school and set in right next to the phone, just as he had
done for years. It was part of their routine. Today, there was nothing next
to the phone.

"Hey," Mike shouted, "no mail today?"

Instead of a response, all he heard was the sound of a couple teenage girls
bitching about a guy on TV. Mike walked back to the living room and looked
over the couch.

"Brandon, no mail today or what?" Brandon shook his head, a no.

"What's the matter-- you not saying anything today?" Beer in hand, he
walked around the couch and plopped down on the end by his son's
feet. "What's the deal, Brand? What we eatin' for dinner? You hungry?"

Finally a soft reply from his son: "I don't care."

Mike looked over and noticed what looked like tears in his son's eyes. He
took another long swill of the beer--he was already almost done with
it--and set it on the coffee table.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

Brandon sniffled a little, but didn't take his eyes off the TV. Something
was going on, Mike knew, and it was starting to bother him.

Looking at his son right now, Mike was reminded again just how different
Brandon was from himself. Having just turned 18, Brandon was only about
5'6, and maybe 110lbs soaking wet. His hair was dirty blond and moppish,
and was probably the only hair on his body. Mike wished he'd get it cut but
he knew all the guys were doing that nowadays. Brandon never played any
sports in high school, spending the last 4 years of school in orchestra and
choir instead. "Choir? Jesus...," Mike had thought to himself at the time,
but he'd supported what his son wanted to do.

Brandon would much rather watch cheesy-ass reality shows about models or
housewives than sit through a football game with his dad. Mike had tried
for years to get his son interested in football, even dragging him to games
at the university Brandon would be going to in a few months. But Brandon
had resisted, and Mike gave up. His son was just... different.

Mike himself was about 6'3, 235lbs of muscle. He had dark hair and eyes,
and a deep natural tan. He was 40 now, but even when was much younger than
Brandon he was way bigger than him. He'd played varsity football--running
back-- all four years of high school, and he still loved to throw the
ball with guys in the neighborhood anytime he had a chance. By the time he
was 18, Mike already had chest hair and for the past 10 years or so he'd
sported a short, dark beard.

Even today he kept himself in good shape. He'd worked on drilling rigs for
different oil companies the last 20 or so years doing heavy lifting out in
the sun, the kind of labor that gave him a natural muscularity. But even
after a long day, Mike usually found time to work out. The garage had an
old bench he used for lifting and he went to a gym run by an old buddy of
his a couple times a week. But just like football and everything else,
Brandon wasn't interested in working out with his dad. Staying in watching
TV and avoiding athletics left him skinny and pale as a ghost.

It wasn't that Brandon wasn't "cute", because he was. He just wasn't the
kind of boy that attracted a lot of positive attention in high school.
While all the other guys were putting on muscle and becoming men, Brandon
was still considered a boy, and this made him a target.

It didn't really surprise most people that the two looked so different.
Brandon's mom had been blonde and petite after all. But after she'd run off
with somebody else years ago, some people couldn't help but wonder if Mike
was even the "real dad". Mike had even wondered this himself-- who wouldn't
considering they were so different? But when he looked at his son he could
still see himself--maybe it was in the eyes-- and he accepted him for all
his differences.

But if anything stood out, it was the fact that Brandon never had any girls
around. Sure he had lots of `girl friends'. In fact it seemed like all of
his friends were girls, but never any girlfriends. Not that he was going to
pressure him, but Mike expected a guy Brandon's age to be banging chicks
left and right. When he was his age, Mike couldn't keep the girls off of
him, yet Brandon was always "just friends" with the girls that he hung
around with.

Mike wasn't a fool--he knew his son might be gay, but he sure as hell
wasn't going to ask him. Brandon was still young and he still had time to
figure things out, maybe grow a little and start getting the confidence he
needed to ask girls out. "Yeah", Mike thought, "That's all it is."

"Hey, buddy. Tell me what's goin' on," Mike said. Brandon didn't budge.
"Either turn the TV off or tell me."

"Nothing, Dad, don't worry about it. There's nothing you can do, so just
don't worry about it." His voice cracked a little and Mike knew he was
hiding something. Something bad. Something that was hurting him.

"Something happen at school?" Mike asked.

"Yeah, Dad, something happened at school." His voice was still cracking,
but louder now. "Something always happens at school and I'm sick of it. I
just want to graduate and get the fuck out of this town." Tears came down
his face now. He wiped his face with the blanket but still didn't look his
dad in the eyes.

Different as they might be, Mike was still his dad, and he stepped into
protective mode. He pulled the blanket off and grabbed the remote out of
his son's hand. "Dad, please! No! I was watching that," Brandon whined.

Mike switched the TV off and pulled his son up. Brandon was really sobbing
now. Mike tossed the blanket aside. Brandon had on a T-shirt and shorts.
Mike put his hand firmly on his son's shoulder.

"Hey. Just tell me what's going on. Are you hurt?" Mike asked.

"Ugh- Dad, no. I'm just sick of the people at school and how they treat
me."

"Tell me. Do I need to do something? Do I need to call somebody?"

"Dad, please, no. That's why I don't wanna tell you. I don't want you to do
anything. Just let me graduate. Jeez it's already embarrassing enough
without getting my dad getting involved."

Mike thought for a minute. He wanted to say the right thing. "Son, I know
it's hard. Kids can be some dumb shits..."

"Dad," Brandon interrupted and pulled away, "No! Don't act like you
understand because you don't. You never had to go through what I'm going
through. You don't know what it's like everyday at school. I just wish..."

"What? What do you need?"

"I don't know... I'm just upset. I just..."

Mike reached over and pulled his son close, wrapping an arm around his
shoulder. "Hey, you know you can talk to me. Yeah I may not understand
everything, but how many dads do? You gotta talk to me and let me know when
you're in trouble. If you need help, I gotta know first and then we'll
figure things out. OK?"

Brandon sniffled and rested his head next to his dad's chest. His dad was
sweaty under his work clothes but Brandon didn't care. He felt protected
and safe next to him like this.

"You got that, boy?" Mike asked.

"Yeah, dad." Brandon said. He wrapped his right arm around his dad's chest
as far he could and hugged him tight. Mike kissed his forehead and squeezed
his arm around his shoulder. Brandon could feel his dick getting hard in
his shorts and wondered if he should put the blanket back over him.

"Dad, is it OK if we sit like this for a while. It feels good."

Mike knew his son didn't get much physical interaction so he understood how
important this was. Being just a father and son living together all these
years, Mike had let his son know he could count him for protection. But
again, he wasn't a fool. He knew his son wanted to feel his body. In fact,
he was probably getting off on it, he thought.

"Yeah boy," Mike said. "Come here."

He motioned for Brandon to climb into his lap. Brandon scooted over and
climbed into his dad's lap, his legs hanging off his dad's and his head
resting on Mike's chest. They hadn't sat like this in years, and it felt
good.

Now that Brandon wasn't watching the TV, Mike grabbed the remote and turned
the TV to a sports channel. Brandon felt better, much better. His dick was
getting harder. Under his shorts, he could feel his dad's dick too. Was it
hard too, or was that it's normal size? He couldn't tell.

Mike shifted and brought his son's head to rest against his neck. One arm
was wrapped around his son's back, the other was holding his leg. He was
almost surprised at how natural this felt.

Several minutes passed and the two said nothing. Brandon seemed to drift
into a nap, despite his growing hardon. Finally, Mike spoke up, "Brandon,
it's hot in here. I gotta get out of these clothes and take a shower."

Brandon was breathing in his dad's smell. He liked it. It made him feel
good, not mention horny. "Mmm, no Dad. This feels good just laying like
this. Don't go yet."

"Brandon, I've been working all day. I'm dirty, I gotta..."

"No, please Dad." Brandon lifted his head and looked his dad in the
eyes. "Just take your shirt off. I know how you smell. I like it."

Mike couldn't help but laugh a little, but he knew his son was dead
serious. The look in his eyes was pleading. His son was clearly craving
this kind of body contact.

"Alright, buddy. Let me get up."

"No, Dad. Here, let me do it." Brandon turned around in his father's lap
and started to unbutton the man's shirt. "You've been working all day and
you need to rest. I'm sorry I didn't get the mail or start cooking, but let
me help with this."

Mike could see the hardon in his son's shorts. Feeling the hands undressing
him was making his own dick grow in his workpants.

When Brandon was finished unbuttoning, his dad leaned forward and together
they peeled the shirt off. Mike tossed it aside.

"Is that better?" asked Brandon.

"Yeah. Just hot in here. Don't know how you stay under that blanket.
C'mere."

Mike wrapped his arms back around his son. Brandon moved in close again
resting his head this time against his father's hairy pec. Mike began to
stroke his son's hair.

"That feel good, boy? Better?"

"Mmm, yeah Dad." Brandon's dick was rock-hard now. He didn't know if his
dad could tell, or even if he cared anymore. He took his right hand and
rubbed his dad's chest, feeling the hairs on his hard abdomen and working
up his torso. Mike let out a soft moan of pleasure.

With his dad's shirt off now, Brandon could really take in his smell. He
didn't smell gross, just manly. Normally, Mike came straight home and took
a shower, but tonight was different. Tonight his son was appreciating his
body.

Brandon's hands worked up his dad's chest, feeling his muscles. He lifted
his head and began to massage his dad's meaty, hairy pecs. Mike's eyes were
closed, his head leaning back against the couch.

"Mmm that feels good," Mike said. "You like feeling my body, boy?"

"Yeah, dad, I do. It makes me feel good."

"Good boy. You know I work hard to keep a body like this. Check this out."
He flexed his arm, showing off his biceps for his son. Brandon had seen his
dad's muscles many times, but never so up close. "You wanna feel it?" his
dad asked.

Brandon's dick was throbbing. "Yeah, dad." He reached out and wrapped as
much of hand as he could around the flexing muscle. His dad chuckled and
grunted with each flex. "Wow, dad. Your arms are like, huge."

"Ha, just big, beefy dude, son. Always have been."

"I like it," said Brandon. "It makes me feel safe with you."

Brandon was turned around in his dad's lap now, facing him. He continued
rubbing Mike's chest and working over to his arms, admiring his dad's
body. We worked his hands over his dad's pecs and felt his hardening
nipples under his fingers. He could also feel his dad's dick growing under
him.

Mike let out a sigh when his son worked across his nips. "Mmm boy," he
moaned. "Damn, that feels good."

Brandon leaned his head in and quickly kissed his dad's left pec. Both let
out a nervous laugh. Mike reached over and continued stroking his son's
hair, letting him know it was OK. Ever so gently, he pulled his son down to
his chest. Brandon began kissing both pecs, tasting the sweat buried under
the hair. "Yeah, son," Mike continued.

Suddenly feeling as though he had permission, Brandon scooted down and
found his dad's nipple. He began kissing it, licking it, and sucking on
it. Mike was moaning louder, and he caressed his son's head, making him
feel comfortable about what he was doing. Brandon wrapped his arms around
his dad's chest as tight as he could as he settled into nursing on the
beefy pec. He couldn't fully explain why, but this felt right. His dad was
making him feel safe, and in turn, Brandon was making his dad feel
good. And he could tell his dad was feeling good because his dick was
continuing to grow under him.

Mike held his boy in his arms while he slurped on his pec. After a few
minutes, Brandon stopped and looked up. His dad nodded, and the boy moved
to the other pec. While he sucked, Mike kissed the top of his head. "Yeah,
boy," he whispered. "You like your dad's body, don't ya." With his lips
still attached to his dad's nip, Brandon nodded.

Mike scooted down further and leaned back with his eyes closed, resting
both arms behind his head. Brandon stopped sucking and looked up. His eyes
widened at the sight of his father's hairy, sweaty armpits. He could smell
them and was drawn to them. His father opened his eyes and looked at his
son.

By now he knew what his son wanted. "What, boy? You like what you see?"
Brandon nodded.

"Yeah, you like them hairy pits, huh."

Brandon nodded again. "Dad, can I...?"

"Yeah, boy."