Everything Changes at Twenty-One

EVERYTHING CHANGES AT TWENTY-ONE (PART 1)

by Robert Furlong

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If I hadn't watched my son getting ready to go out for the night on his twenty-first birthday, I don't think I'd have screwed things up so badly later on when he returned home in the small hours so drunk that he could hardly walk.

As soon as I saw him fall head-first out of the taxi and then lurch unsteadily into my neighbour's hedge, I surprised myself by feeling a rush of opportunistic excitement.  Even while I was picking him up and helping him into our house, I'd already decided I'd undress him fully before putting him to bed.  After all, in his barely-conscious state I could sneak a more leisurely look at the intriguingly swollen arsehole he'd flashed me just hours earlier.

From the glance I'd had of it, nestling snugly between his squat buttocks while he'd been pulling on a pair of bright orange boxers, it had startled me by how raised and puffy its once-insubstantial sphincter had grown.  It's oval shape and reddened flange had instantly brought to mind his mother's pussy, and while he'd been out and I'd been downing three or four glasses of wine, I'd repeatedly found myself musing on how curiously enticing my son's ripened anus had become.

He hooks up with guys at uni: he makes no secret of that fact.  He has a girlfriend who he professes to be in love with, but at the same time enjoys bending over for other young men who aren't too fussy about whose hole they're sliding their cocks into.  He refers to himself as 'outwardly straight but discreetly bisexual' and now it would appear that his enjoyment of entertaining horny boys in his bedroom has stretched and bloated his backdoor to produce in it a fullsome, almost womanly, shape.

I managed to get my drunken son upstairs on only the third attempt and, having made a stop-off in the bathroom to make sure he didn't want to piss or throw up, we floundered into his bedroom and I laid him down on his bed.

"The fuckin' ceiling won't stop," he chuckled and I told him to close his eyes while I fetched him a bowl to put next to his bed.

What the hell had he been drinking, I wondered.  His mates had no doubt been lining up shots for him down and quite probably lacing his pints too.

Once the bowl had been positioned within reaching distance, I undid his bootlaces and pulled off his sweaty sour-smelling socks.  He muttered something incoherent as I hitched his t-shirt up over his head but by the time I'd undone his belt and fly and was pulling his skin-tight jeans off, he was snoring softly and his muscles were completely limp.

That gave me the confidence to gently roll him onto his stomach so I could properly inspect the muscular bum that had been fascinating me all evening.

Now that I had the time to really study it, I found that I liked it a lot.  It was round and ample - not unlike a nice pair of breasts - and his two buttocks looked pert and solid filling the stretched seat of the orange boxers I'd seen him pull on just a few hours earlier.

I stroked his left buttock gently and found that it felt just as firm and sturdy as it looked.  I swept my fingers all the way down it, from the small of his back to the top of his thigh and enjoyed its graceful curves and the way its gentle camber drew the fingers inwards towards the hot trench between his cheeks.

I teased his shorts out from his crack and pulled them gently apart so I could see where they'd been wedged up inside.  A small patch of the material must have been pressed against my son's gaping hole because right there, in the middle and low down near the hemline of the gusset, the fabric was stained with a coffee-coloured streak.

It was just a small brown smear but I knew I should have been disgusted by it.  My son's anus had been cleaved wide by a succession of frantically pounded cocks and while he'd been out for the evening, laughing at the bar and joking around with his mates, his big puckered bumhole had been dribbling its sticky goo onto the back of his orange underpants.

But I wasn't disgusted: I was utterly enthralled.

I stared at it, mesmerized by the sight of the male equivalent of vaginal discharge.  The boy version was so much darker and enticingly chocolately and all at once I had the urge to lean down and sniff it.

At first I managed to restrain myself.  This was Jake's butt and I knew full well what a young lad's dank hairy arsehole was likely to smell like.

And yet... maybe this one didn't smell like that at all.  When I'd seen it earlier it had looked so much like a pussy that it seemed possible - unlikely but not entirely absurd - that it had taken on a feminine odour too.  And then I wondered if perhaps he might perfume it to make it more appealling to his bisexual buddies, or whether he uses a gel or lotion that removes the stark evidence of its more bodily function.

The nagging urge to find out grew within me until it was irresistible.  I said his name to check that he was still flaked out and then, when he didn't so much as murmer in response, lowered my face to the back of his shorts and pressed my nose up against the dirty streak that had oozed from his loosened fuck-hole.

My son's anus might have been vaginal in its appearance but it certainly wasn't in its smell!  There was nothing feminine about the stink he'd left on the back of his boxers.  It was uncompromisingly harsh and masculine: wincingly fierce and brazenly feacal.

And yet I found to my surprise that I rather liked it.

Girls' pink openings have their own subtle sexy fragrances, and boys' brown openings - while producing a cruder stench that was in no way subtle - could be just as sexy in their own far more assertive way.

I inhaled it more deeply, pushing my nose betwen my son's two prominently buxom cheeks, and felt my own cock stirring at the sheer pungence of this most private odour.  I craned further down right into his crack and inhaled eagerly right where his swollen bumhole was.  The air inside here was richly infused with the delicious feculence of his arsehole: I snorted hungrily at the hot, moist vapour as I revelled in its eye-watering and yet peculiarly compelling stink.

Then I pulled out and gasped for breath as I considered what I wanted to do next.

I decided I'd follow plan A and strip him naked before throwing the spare duvet over him and going to bed myself.  I'd take a good look at his bulging pucker to see if it really did look as round and ripe as the part of his mum I'd used to make him, and then I'd leave him to sleep, patting his shoulder affectionately as if to persuade myself that this had merely been a bit of father-son horseplay.

As emboldened as I was from the wine I'd downed (let's face it, there's no way I would be doing this if I wasn't half-drunk), I thought it wise to check that my son really was unconscious before I went the whole way and stripped him stark naked.  After a few pokes to satisfy myself that he was now deeply asleep, I grabbed both sides of the waistband and gently slid his cotton boxers down his strong, hairy legs.

If he asked next morning why I'd taken off his shorts, I'd say it was so he could easily take a pee into the bowl if he was still too drunk to get up in the night.

Once I'd managed to hitch his underwear over his two enormous feet, I leaned back to admire his bare backside in all its smooth, voluptuous magnificence.

As men's bums go, I've got to say that Jake has one of the most aesthetically-pleasing examples that I've ever seen.  It looks simply exquisite when he flaunts it in his tight-fitting underwear and now that it was right front of me exposed in the flesh, I had to admit it was even better.  Its two flawless cheeks were round and full, but the squat shape and brawny athleticism of its build made the overall effect unmistakably masculine.

After again checking that his eyes were closed, I carefully parted his cheeks with a finger and thumb and leaned in to peer at his over-sized opening.

My God, it really did look like a pussy!  It was so swollen and succulent... so much like his mother's!

I squeezed my thickening shaft through my trousers as I remembered pulling down his mum's panties for the first time.  How deliciously fragile her ruffled lips had felt when I'd licked up between her legs.  And how much her taste inside had dumbfounded me, making me pant with an excitement that I hadn't known was possible.

My cock was now pressing hard and insistent against my trouser pocket.  I rubbed it gently through the material, my left hand sliding back and forth along its rod-like length, as I saw my ex-wife's curves and folds mirrored so seductively in my son's well-fucked arsehole.

Why was I finding this so utterly fascinating?  Why was it making my mouth water and my cock leak its juice into my briefs?

It had been years since I'd fantasized about the woman who had walked out on us.  Over a decade since I'd made the decision to stop thinking about her sexually and instead to focus on the life I was putting back together with my son.

Jake chose that moment to rouse himself from his slumber and laughed drunkenly, "Aw yeah... is my old man checking out my boy cunt?"

"Jake, you're awake!" I sputtered.  "You were... er... too drunk to undress yourself."

Jake guffawed at my pathetic attempt to explain and then leered back at me, my right hand still parting his cheeks and my face poised just inches above his graphically distended anus. 

"Havin' a sly peep at my cum-dump?" he slurred.  "Like the look of it, do you?"

I pushed his buttocks back together to hide the opening I was finding so inexplicably arousing, and said, "I thought your friends had played a joke on you... I thought you had something pushed up there..."

"'Course you did," he laughed.  "So how'd'ya explain the massive donger tentin' your trousers?!"

"It's my wallet!" I snapped, ruffling the material of my crotch to conceal my erection among the folds.

Jake laughed again before treating me to a combined burp and hiccup.  I had a sudden fear that he was going to throw up all over his bedding.

Instead he reached back with both hands to grab at his arse cheeks and prize them apart.  He pushed his hips up a bit so he could present for me fully his alluring sphincter bulging so plump and full.

"Have a good look at it, dad," he chuckled.  "It's taken a shitload of cocks to get it lookin' this vagged-up!"

"It does look somewhat vaginal," I admitted.

"Doesn't just look like one," he slurred.  "Some guys say it feels like one too..."

"Really?" I asked.  For some reason, the idea made my throbbing bell-end strain even more painfully against the material of my undies.

"And they say it tastes as sexy as fuck... not like a girl's cunt... but even hotter... like a boy's!"

I wanted to masturbate, urgently.  My son was flirting with me but instead of being disgusted, I was desperate to jerk my cock off directing the big mushroom head of it towards the bullseye of his butt.

"Boys' cunts taste dirty... dead rough but really fuckin' horny..."

He reached towards his arsehole and teased an outstretched finger around its bulging circumference.

"Jake... don't..." I managed to mutter, but my eyes were locked on the swirling motion between his cheeks.

"Go on... have a lick, dad," Jake invited me, sliding his finger into his hole and then withdrawing it as moist as if he'd just pulled it from his mouth.  "It's nice and wet inside... all warm and sticky..."

"Please..." I gasped.  My cock was threatening to tear itself through the front of my trousers!

"Just lean in and have a little taste of my tush... I won't even remember it in the morning!"

"I can't..." I implored him, struggling to push myself away from him and telling myself I had to leave.

"Just a tiny lick around my snatch," he insisted, now sliding his slimy finger gently in and out.  "Just to see how much it tastes like mum's."

That stopped me in my tracks.  My son has always had a knack of reading my mind at the most inopportune of moments and even while pissed out of his head his psychic abilities could still surprise me.

If I hadn't have seen him naked earlier, freshly showered and preening himself in front of the bathroom mirror, I think I'd have managed to tell him off for coming on so crudely to his own father and pushed my way out of his bedroom to let him sleep off his over-indulgence.

But I had seen him in his all his spectacular glory, looking wet and muscular and bending low to reveal my former wife's very own opening puckering so invitingly between his cheeks.

So I heard myself mutter, "Just a little taste... see if it really is like your mum's..."

He pushed him himself up on all-fours and prized his cheeks apart to offer his huge protruding arsehole directly to my face.  I stared at the puckered ring that was darkening in his mounting excitement and watched it grow taut and shiny as it inflated like a balloon.  And I peered into the cavernous opening, splayed and yawning as if to lure me in, finding it on one level appalling and on another frighteningly thrilling.

"That's it," he chuckled, "just lean in for one last lick of mum's lovely ripe cherry..."

I'd gone upstairs to see if Jake fancied a birthday drink with his old dad while he was getting ready to go out with his mates for the evening.  The bathroom door had been wide open and Jake had been inside, standing casually naked while fiddling with his hair in the bathroom mirror.

His newly-toned physique had caught me be surprise and I'd stared speechlessly at him, unable to stop myself admiring how buff and muscular his body had become since he'd started a daily work-out regime in the university gym.

"You reckon I should shave my junk?" he asked, still staring in the mirror but turning towards me to show off his long thick cock and heavy bollocks sporting a month-old fuzz of pubic hair.

"I dunno, Jake," I muttered.  Wow, the lad was growing really big down there!  "I'm a bit old-fashioned, I guess.  I like a bit of undergrowth... not a sprawling forest or anything... but I always find the smell of pubic hair very arousing!"

"Yeah, I guess," he replied, pushing his hips outwards to inspect his his huge floppy phallus and two long-hanging nuts through the mirror while he decided whether to apply the razor to them.  "I like a bit fluff myself too... but maybe my boys are getting a bit too furry."

"Does this mean you're expecting to score tonight?"

"You never know," my son grinned back.  "This dude called Michael Arquet who I knew from school is gonna be there, and I always thought he might swing both ways."

"Well, I think you look fine as you are, Jake," I smiled.  "Stunning, actually."

Jake beamed at the compliment and then flexed his muscles to pose like a male model in front of the mirror.

He turned this way and that, checking out his sculpted pecs and abs and admiring his own bulging biceps, and I laughed, "Your penis has grown enormous... what on earth have you been doing to it?"

He swivelled around to inspect himself side-on, clearly liking the profile he made with his trunk-like cock drooping halfway to his knees and his firm bubble-butt looking tight and round.

"Yeah, it's really massive, isn't it?" he laughed back.  "I reckon it's the way dudes suck it... a guy's throat can give a really high-pressure blowjob!"

"Do you like your size?" I asked him.  At his age I'd been very self-conscious about my own less well-endowed but still very large cock and bollocks.

"Like it?" he chortled.  "Are you kidding?  I fucking love it!"

He turned to admire himself from the front again, putting his hands on his hips and pushing his crotch forwards to show off the long, thick tube that was curving forwards from his well-stocked scrotum.

"Aw yeah... look at it!" he grinned at himself through the mirror, clearly revelling in checking himself out.  "I love flashing my giant schlong in the gym showers to other buffed-up boys!"

I smiled.  "Doesn't it put them off, though?  Or at least the ones at the straighter end of the bisexual spectrum?"

"Of course it doesn't!" he laughed even louder.  "Guys shag me as a dude, dad!  They like that their fuck-buddy's as brawny as they are and hung like a horse!"

"Well, in that case, I think the short pubic growth you have around it emphasizes its masculine qualities and frames the whole generous assemblage very nicely!"

"I'll leave it as it is, then," he chuckled.  "You never know, Michael Arquet might be like you and enjoy having a bit of bush to sniff through!"

He returned to fixing the hair on his head and trying to work his fringe into a quiff.  I was about to suggest I bring up a beer for him along with a glass of wine of my own, when he called over, "Chuck me my wax, would you, dad?"

"Your wax?"  I had a mental image of 1920s men waxing their moustaches which I knew was ridiculous.

"My hair wax," he clarified.  "This gel's too heavy..."

"Okay... where will I find it?"

"I dunno... maybe on my drawers... or next to my phone..."

"And how will I know where your phone is?"

Jake had sputtered in exasperation at that.  "Oh come on, dad... you know what my phone looks like.  I'm meeting the guys at seven... I can't be late for my own party, can I...?"

That's when he'd bent over to start pulling on the tight little orange boxer-briefs he'd brought into the bathroom with him.  And that's when I'd seen the spectacular arsehole he'd managed to grow during the past couple of years.  My eyes had felt like they'd been out on stalks, staring so fixedly at the sumptuous ring of flesh surrounding the dark deep hole of my son's most private entrance.

If it hadn't been for his enormous bollocks and long fat cock swinging between his legs, his bumhole had looked for all intents and purposes like a succulent pussy, and a well-used one at that.

I'd started growing a hard-on - I'd felt it expanding in my own less-fashionable underwear - and had to put a hand into my pocket to stop it from tenting my trousers outward.

Jake had seemed oblivious to my difficulties.  As he'd pulled his underpants on he'd laughed, "What's up... you need me to draw you a map of my bedroom or something?"

And I'd stammered something about needing to know the brand of the hair wax, while continuing to stare at his enticing arsehole looking so full and distended between his two squat solid cheeks.

It had looked like his mother's pussy, that's the thought I'd had from the outset.  Like the hole that had helped to create him; the hole that his tiny body had been expelled through twenty-one years ago this very evening.

Jake had laughed again.  "I dunno, dad... VO5 or L'Oriel or something... it's blue and it's the size of a can of tuna... seriously, you'll see it as soon as you go into my bedroom..."

I kept staring at that wonderful arsehole of his as he yanked his shorts up his thighs.  I was fortunate that he always bought underwear a size or two too small: it kept him struggling to get his boxers up and kept my eyes glued to the fattened mound of his awe-inspiring cunt.

It really did look like the warm wet entrance I used to fuck his mother through.  He was densely hairy above and below the inflated gash of his opening - just like his mother's - and the distended lips on either side of his anus were reddened and angry - recalling to me the way his mum's would look after I'd finished discharging my seed into her.

"And it's next to your phone?" I muttered, mesmerized by how voluptuous and succulent my son's man-vag looked.

"Yeah... come on, dad... the taxi'll be outside any minute..."

I'd pulled myself away from my son's enticing ex-wife vagina and hurried into his bedroom to find his hair wax.

How come Jake now had his mother's minge tucked away between his buttocks?  How many of his mates' big cocks had it taken to inflate his arsehole to the size of a doughnut?

By the time I got back to the bathroom, Jake had managed to pull his boxers all the way up and was now squeezing a spot in the mirror.

"That's it... thanks dad," he grunted, as I put the only blue tub I'd managed to find down on the shelf.

"I hope I do get a fuck tonight," he went on, now immersed in dabbing some lotion onto the pit in his skin that he'd just emptied.  "If a guy can't get a fuck on his twenty-first birthday, when the hell can he?"

I started licking at my son's anus, hardly believing what I was doing but finding the sensation for some reason utterly electrifying.  Once my tongue had swept around the swollen polish of his fleshy ring and I'd lapped at the intoxicating pungence of his most taboo of openings, I found that I was unable to restrain myself and pushed in for more.

"Aw yeah... that's it..." my son sighed as he felt his father's hot slimy tongue entering his darkest crevice.  "Lick inside the hole..." he urged me, bending further forwards and parting his knees on the bed to fully splay open the hairy crack of his backside.

I slid my tongue further into him and tried to stimulate him the way I'd excite his mother by flicking the tip rapidly back and forth against the smooth sides of his tunnel.

That made him gasp with delight in a near action-replay of how it had been twenty or so years ago.

"Lap it in and out!" he called out, proving far more vocal than she had ever been.  "Tongue-fuck my gash... go on!  Make it froth!"

His mother had never said anything like that: if she had I'd have probably gone down on her a lot more!

I swept my tongue around the wide circumference of his passage, making rough jabs against the bloated rim of his entrance like I would if this were a woman's labia rather than the over-stretched arsehole of a suprisingly promiscuous young man.  It didn't taste like a woman: instead, his gaping opening filled my mouth with the strong, biting flavour which betrayed without doubt exactly what it was.  Nevertheless, I feasted hungrily on it, suddenly feeling like I was again making love to his mother, lapping eagerly at the harsh fetid stink like it was the sweet juice seeping from her silky chute.

I reached underneath him as I licked him out, as if expecting to find... what...?  A clitoris, perhaps?  The wiry forest of a woman's pubic bush?

Instead I groped clumsily at my son's two bulky bollocks and then reached forwards to find that his huge cock was now engorged and throbbing thick and full underneath his stomach.

"Wank my big dick off!" he commanded as I fumbled, unthinking, with the beer-can girth of his erection.  "Wank it hard and really fast while you eat my big sloppy minge!"

His mother had never told me to do anything like that!  But then all she had was a pearly clitoris between her legs; not my son's massive tree-trunk cock that was demanding his own dad's hand vigorously gratify.

I wrapped my hand as tightly as I could around his implausibly fattened shaft and started sliding his foreskin back and forth.

To my surprise he thanked me by farting full on in my face.

He laughed at his own indiscretion and called out, "Aw yeah!  Fuckin' sniff it!  Then lick where it came from!"

I pulled back from him, disgusted by the stench of his fart but with my cock now chaffed red raw by its overwrought confinement, and panted, "I don't want to sniff it or lick it... I want to do you properly, Jake... I want to fuck you up it!"

He laughed even louder.  "Come on then, just go for it!  Pull your big cock out and fuck me up the arse while you wank me off!"

"I wanna do it from the front," I gasped.  "And it's not your arse, okay?  It's your mother's tight little pussy..."

"Whatever does it for you, Robert!" he chortled, using the name his mother used to call me.

He rolled over and hooked his arms over both of his knees, pulling them back to fully expose the yawning socket between his cheeks.  "Not so tight or little," he laughed, "but I reckon you're packin' enough meat to fill it!"

I hastily undid my trousers and yanked my briefs down so that I could scramble onto the bed in front of him and line my pounding cock up with his big brown cunt.

"Come on, Robert... fuck me like you used to!" he grinned and for a moment his angular features softened so he really did look like Linda.  "Fuck me hard and fill me up with all that thick creamy man-spunk of yours!"

His mother would never have dreamed of saying anything like that, but I shuffled up between his gaping legs and started sliding my cock into his warm, sticky tunnel.  I knew that it was my spit and his shit smoothing the entry of my plum-sized bell-end, but I told myself it was really the slick juices of a pussy and that the eager body underneath me was the woman I'd once loved.

"Ah yeah... fill me up!" he gasped, as the broad girth of my phallus was steadily consumed by the hungry pout of his entrance.  "You've got a massive cock, Robert... really thick and veiny... and... oh Jesus Christ!  It feels fuckin' awesome!"

I tore my shirt off and quickly yanked my vest over my head and then, once my full length was buried all the way inside him, I crouched over him and wrapped my arms around his shoulders.  I positioned his enormous cock tight between our bellies and chests, so that once I was thrusting in and out of him the friction of our bodies would jerk his foreskin back and forth.  I'd certainly never had to think of anything like that when I'd been squatting over his mother!

My face was right above his and I was panting wine-breath into his mouth.  I said, "If you cum first, let me finish, okay?"

He grinned.  "I'm pretty good at holding out..."

I held him more tightly, sliding my cock out from the grip of his innards and then slowly back in.

He laughed, "Just remember I've got my own pair of knackers down there... take care not to crush them!"

Something else I hadn't had to think about with his mum!

I pulled back a bit to give his bollocks a bit of space and then started steadily fucking him, driving my cock in and out with increasing force and pace.

"Aw yeah!" he smirked as I grunted hot breath against his face.  "That feels so big up there... so massive inside me!  Don't afraid to be rough... I like a nice hard fuck!"

I chuckled back at him.  "I wish I could say you take after your mum... but you really, really don't!"

He grabbed me around the back and ran his hands down my spine to cup both cheeks of my bum.

"Do you want me to finger your arse?" he asked.  "If you push your pants down a bit I can probably reach it..."

"No," I told him, now fucking him with a strong, quickening pace.  "Your mum wouldn't do that... in any case, I'm getting quite close..."

I became aware of a gathering smell: the barnyard stench of animals mating.

He saw me sniffing curiously and grinned at the thickening odour of his shit coating the shaft of my cock.  He said, "I know it stinks like I've just taken a dump... but imagine it smells dead nice, just like mum's pussy!"

"I like the smell," I told him breathlessly, now pounding agressively between his legs.  "Don't be ashamed of it... it's the smell of your own lovely hole!"

"You like my stinky shitty boy-cunt?" he grinned as I realised I was drooling onto his nose and mouth.

"It's deep like you're mum's," I panted, now hammering in and out of it so roughly that now it was my turn to let out a fart.  "But so much smoother and wetter..."

"Nut off up inside it, then," he commanded, his face now turning serious as he clung onto me more tightly so that our gyrating bodies would rub his cock up and down.  "Come on... fill it up... shoot your spunk right up it like the night you made me..."

I dug my fingers into his shoulders as I pressed my mouth against his and kissed him more passionately than I had ever kissed his mother.  He pushed his tongue up to meet my own and we tasted each other's breath and spit as they wrestled together between our lips and teeth.

Just then I felt my balls unleash their load and Jake's mouth broke into a momentary grin as we kept kissing and tongue-fighting.  He grabbed both cheeks of my bum and clung onto them tightly as he ground his fingers into my crack.  Then his grin abruptly faded and his own cock started shooting off between our chests.  Soon I was covered with his semen all the way up to my neck and as I fell on top of him, gasping, one of us farted again but I wasn't sure which.

I slept only fitfully and kept waking up alternating between bouts of agonizing shame and sheer disbelief at what I'd done.  How would I apologise to Jake?  Would he want to move out for good?  Might I never see my own son again?

At about four in the morning I became convinced that our neighbour Dan had heard my incestuous exertions through the wall between our semi-detached houses.  I'd started having cold sweats about the police coming around to arrest me... my mugshot appearing on the front pages of the gutter press...

Such melodramatic fears were mercifully dispelled by first light.  Once I could hear Jake staggering into the bathroom, I was already showered and downstairs, feeling more ready to handle whatever fireworks were about to kick off.

I'd decided to refer the events of the previous evening as "the two of us allowing ourselves to get too intimate".  That would share the ownership of what had happened between us both and sounded far less sordid than any other wording I could think of.

After all, what did one call what the two of us had done?  I'd fucked my son up his bum and had heavily climaxed deep up inside him.  Worse than that, at least in some ways, I'd been kissing him full on the lips while I was cumming.  And just to cap it off, Jake had cum too: right when I'd been squirting my seed up into his bowels and slobbering all over his mouth, I'd felt my son's own semen shooting out of him to copiously soak our stomachs and chests.

So what did one call a dad-and-son moment like that?  An affectionate bout of paternal buggery... a spot of heart-warming fatherly butt-fucking?

After Jake had finished noisily using the toilet, he lumbered downstairs to make himself a coffee.  He'd pulled his dirty orange boxers back on but had managed to find himself a fresh t-shirt.

When he saw me he surprised me by laughing and saying, "Bloody hell, dad, I just shat out a bucket-full of spunk!  Must've been a good night..."

He went to grab himself a mug and seemed completely oblivious to whose cock had deposited such an abundant load inside him.

I muttered, "You don't remember...?"

"Not a thing," he shrugged, switching on the kettle.  "Last thing that's clear is when we were in the pub and Michael Arquet was checking me out... I wonder if me and him went into the loos and had a bit of fun in a cubicle..."

I peered at my son and realised that he looked extremely worse for wear.  I asked him, "Are you sure it was just alcohol that you were downing...?"

He smiled and shrugged.  "Might've had a little something else to help me get in the mood... a couple of little something elses..."

I felt a combination of concern that Jake was sharing dodgy tablets with his mates and relief that whatever had been in them had spared me the discomfort of a very unpleasant conversation.

"Stank dead rough though," he chuckled, "as bad as your spunk reeks..."

That's one of the perils of two men living in such close proximity: an exhaustive knowledge of each other's habits and smells.

As he spooned coffee into his mug, I scanned his face for any sign that he knew what had happened and was baiting me for a reaction.  In spite of how tired and hungover he looked, his expression was completely innocent, if that's possible given the crudeness of what he'd just said.

"Must've been a good fuck," he grinned across at me bleary-eyed.  "Pity I can't remember it!"

"Do you remember getting home?" I asked him.  "Falling into next door's hedge?"

"Not even how I got home," he laughed.  "Did you have to undress me, then?"

"I did," I admitted.  "I was afraid you'd need the loo in the night..."

"Oh right," he chuckled.  "You must've felt like I was a kid again!"

We grinned at each other and then Jake's expression became suddenly thoughtful and serious.  His forehead furrowed at the thought of his father pulling down his underpants and his eyes became wary - hostile even - as it dawned on him why the spunk he'd shat out might have smelled so much like mine.

I just smiled back at him, fighting to stay calm and casual, as I could see him mulling over the possibility that his dad had used his inebriation as an opportunity to strip and sodomise the birthday boy before leaving him to sleep it off.

I was about to say, "Look, Jake... it wasn't like you were out of it... you were awake and egging me on..."

But then just as suddenly the dark clouds lifted from his face and his expression softened back to a friendly smile.  I let out the breath I realised I'd been holding, grateful that the idea of his dad sneaking a quickie up his drugged-up backside must be too ridiculous for him to consider further.

As he poured boiling water on his coffee, I thanked my lucky stars that I'd managed to come through this unscathed.

But then, before he headed back upstairs to take a shower, he said, "Next time you're pissed-up on two bottles of wine, dad, I'm gonna undress you down to the buff..."

I could hear the edge in his voice but I pretended like we just having some playful banter.

"You do that," I muttered, trying to smile back at him.

"Whatever you did to me last night... next time you're shitfaced... I'm gonna do the same to you."

"Okay..." I replied, struggling to maintain my neutral expression.

He nodded slightly as if something in my eyes, a nervous tick perhaps, had told him what he needed to know.

"Really rough and really hard," he added, now glaring coldly at me.  "So you get to shit my spunk."

I felt my face blush scarlet, no doubt confirming what he'd already figured out.

"Fair enough," I muttered quietly.  "If that's what it takes..."

He nodded solemnly and then went upstairs to take his shower.

I took a couple of bottles of chardonnay from the shelf and put them in the fridge to chill.  It seemed that daddy was going to have to get wasted tonight so that Jake could get the birthday party he felt he was owed.

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