Inheritance

The old place was definitely in need of a new coat of paint.

Overnight bags in hand, I pushed the car door shut with an elbow and looked up at my childhood home. Flaking paint aside, it looked good. Well, no. It looked like I remembered: with the broken-ass upstairs window I used to sneak back into after a night of chasing after girls, the gutters full of leaves that hadn't been cleaned in forever, and the wonky front screen door still being held closed with the most complex of tech—a big rock—to stop it banging in the wind. Mom had been nagging Dad to fix that even before I moved out. I was kind of amazed she hadn't gotten him to finally do it before...well.

The emotions surged again, as they'd been doing for the last month. I thought I'd gotten through the worst of it, but seeing the house again for the first time since the wake and knowing she still wasn't going to be inside, waiting for me...

I tried wiping a tear away with my shoulder and succeeded only in banging my heaviest bag against the car door, leaving a lovely little scratch for my troubles. I snorted and glared at it as if it was solely responsible for everything I felt. Typical. I found myself already planning a route to the panel beaters in town—*were they still around?*—and trying to work out what shopping I could do at the same time while I was there. Some vegetables, yeah, some dessert too, maybe have a tub of something in front of the TV tonight, put on that nice show with the calm news horse who puts me to sleep before I've had too much time to think about it all...

It took a conscious effort to push my thoughts out of that rut. They say everyone deals with grief in their own way, but it's all just shades of self-distraction: putting distance between yourself and the truth until you think you can bear to face it head-on without crumbling. I might have been there by then, but I was too afraid to try. Too scared to be wrong. I still wanted the distance, and going through life's mundane, necessary actions was my distraction. The more boring and borderline irrelevant, the better.

But I wasn't here just for me, and I knew Dad would get mad if I acted like I wasn't taking it all seriously. Even without seeing him, I knew that that would be his distraction. You don't have time to be sad if you're really, really mad. I'd seen it in his eyes at the funeral, in those weird moments when the loss briefly felt manageable. He was pissed. If Fate had a form, he'd have been wrapped around it since Mom passed: legs throttling the neck, fists pounding the face, screaming his rage at the audacity of taking her from him.

The mental image made me smile, and my mood perked up. It had been a rough couple of weeks trying to negotiate some time off from work to spend with my sire, followed by multiple cramped flights to actually get here, but that was all done now. I was here...and I was already missing the grumpy old donkey. I took a deep breath, looking up at the house once more. Memory inserted a ghost of Mom at the downstairs window, smiling and waving at me as if I'd just come back from sports practice, and I smiled back before the tears dissolved her.

Fuck. This could end up being a tough visit.

I walked up the steps and onto the porch, balancing on one hoof to gently kick the other one against the screen door. "Dad? I'm here". No response. "Dad? It's Michel. Can you open for me, please?" Silence. I kicked the screen door harder. "Dad? Daaaad!"

There was a muffled voice from somewhere upstairs, followed by the thump of hooves on wood as my father descended the stairs. I'd feared I might find him in a state of grief where he'd stopped bathing or wearing clothes, but he was clean and dressed. Mostly. The thin coat he had on to ward off the autumn chill had nothing underneath, letting his fuzzy muscle gut rest against his belt and his nipples protrude like only hard nipples could. The family's genes were pretty reliable like that: all the males on Dad's side since forever had been the sort who could have been strongmen without much effort. As a result, I barely had to visit the gym twice a week to keep my powerful physique. Maybe we weren't lucky enough to have the sorts of bodies that showed off eight-packs, but we could punch a hole through a fucking wall if we had to.

The nipples weren't a part of that, though. Dad just had really thick nipples.

"H-Hey, Dad." It was, I suddenly realised, a massive relief to not have to try to cover up the quaver in my voice. Seeing Dad again had instantly taken me back to the funeral and the memory of him standing over the casket. As my chest clenched, I savagely thrust the memories away as hard as I could and flooded my mind with the minutiae of self-distraction instead. Looks good. Rested. Eyes are a bit red. Grey hair's really spreading; it's almost at his belt—

"Hi, Michel." No quaver in his words, just as I'd expected. Dad grunted and pushed the screen door hard enough to shift the big rock that held it closed, and I shuffled past him into the house. As he knelt down to reposition the rock, I set down my bags and looked around. I hadn't been in a headspace to really take anything in when I'd been here for the funeral, and now it felt like I was seeing everything with new eyes. The wallpaper wasn't just the same old hideous mustard colour: it was the hideous mustard that Mom had liked. The fake plastic plants that she'd preferred to taking care of real ones. The broken laptop on the dining room table—

My brain latched onto that like a delicious snack. Distraction mode engaged. "What happened here?" I asked.

Dad got back to his feet, brushing dust from his hands, ears perked in my direction. "What?"

"The laptop. Is it broken?" I walked over to it and prodded the crack in the screen. "Did it fall off the table or something?" Should be fixable. PC shop in town.

"Yeah. No." Dad's face was all frown. "It was broken. Wasn't working."

"Huh? When did it break?"

"The other day." He waved a hand vaguely. "I was trying to email, and it wasn't working or something."

"A cracked screen shouldn't have stopped emails from working."

"I closed the lid. Or opened it. Maybe too hard."

"And it...what? Slid off the table?"

Dad simply shrugged, and I looked back at the machine. "So, did it fall off or not?" I asked again. I tried turning it on, but it was non-responsive. "Looks like more than a broken screen, Dad." Hopefully a quick fix, though. Couple of hours, maybe. Can go past the bookstore during. Get something to read. Need to do some cleaning too. Buy some bleach...

My father remained silent, and I looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Dad?"

He seemed flustered. "I don't know, Michel! Does it really matter?"

"It matters to me."

"Well...not to me." The set of his mouth said he believed the conversation was over, but if he'd just listen. So easy, quick trip to town, not even a whole morning...

I pushed the laptop closed and gave him a come on look. "You need to take care of your stuff, Dad. It was expensive. It—"

"It's not my fucking stuff!"

His scream brought me up short, blinking in confusion and worry as my father's face unravelled before me. The semblance of control I'd seen in his eyes moments earlier was revealed to be paper-thin, and behind it...pain, anger, and fear. He sagged as if ten more years had suddenly landed on his shoulders, and I stepped close and wrapped my arms around him. He felt like tense steel wire coiled into the shape of a father, and his arms held me so tightly I could hardly breathe.

"It's not my stuff," he repeated thickly, his chest heaving and his voice shaking. "It's h-hers, I don't know how to...s-she helped me...and s-she's...she's..."

I squeezed my eyes shut and took a shuddering gasp. "I know, Dad," I croaked, the tears flowing freely.

"It's so hard without her..."

"I know, Dad, I know...I'm sorry..." And I was, but not only for his loss. Without thinking, all wrapped up in my own suffering, I'd been trying to pull him into my own private world of grief avoidance and pretend everything was fine. The one thing guaranteed to make it harder for him. "I'm a giant idiot," I murmured, sniffling. "I'm an idiot, but I'm your idiot. I'm here for you, Dad. Anything you need, I'm here. Anything." If he wanted to face the pain down with sheer, teeth-clenching grit, then so be it. I had chosen to run, but Dad would endure. He might rage and weep and curse the world...but in the end, he would be okay. And until he was, I'd be here for him.

I held him as tightly as I could and felt the warmth of his tears soak deeper into my fur.

I made us a couple of mugs of sweet, dark tea. We sat together on the swing chair on the back porch, looking out at the overgrown garden and reminiscing about Mom. There was a lot of crying at first, and no small amount of quite inventive swearing from Dad. He rarely held back when he wanted to express himself. It took another two mugs of tea—with a healthy tot of brandy in the last one—before the two of us finally fell silent. Night was approaching by then, and the porch had fallen into shadow. A breeze ruffled the fuzz on my ears and made me shiver a bit, and instinctively I shuffled closer to Dad. He put a warm arm around me, and as I rested my head on it, I recalled another memory. One of just us two.

"Heh. You'll never guess what I just remembered..."

"Mochel?" he supplied.

"Yes!"

"Was thinking the same thing."

"Hah. Yeah. Jeez, how long's it been?"

"Must be twenty years."

"No way..."

"Yes, way. You were twelve, maybe thirteen, when you stopped asking for stories. And you're thirty-six now."

I squinted up at him. "I'm thirty-four, Dad. C'mon. You only have one kid's birthday to remember."

"Oh. Shit. I just got two years younger, then."

"Really don't think it works like that."

"Who are you, the Age Police? Prove it."

I reached a hand up and tapped his muzzle. "Your beard's getting greyer by the day. And it's started converting the rest of you. I saw your"—I stopped myself from saying pubes—"chest."

"I dye it."

"Sure, sure. Or you've just gotten old."

"Your mom used to say I'm as spry as a colt."

"Probably just trying to butter you up into fixing the screen door."

He laughed. "Ah, son, she didn't have to butter me up. I was hers the moment we met."

I smiled at the simple satisfaction in his voice. "At your friend's party, right?" Mom had told the story many times, but it always made me happy to hear it again. It was like something out of a fairy tale.

"Yeah..." Dad sucked on his teeth and equivocated a little with his head. "Well, sort of."

"...huh?"

"The story Mom always told, you mean? About us meeting at the fancy dress party?"

"Uh, yeah." I pulled back and frowned at him. "Is that not how it happened?"

"I guess it is."

I choked a little. "You guess?"

"No, no. I mean, I don't guess. That is how it happened. She just...left out a few details." He stared into the middle distance and chuckled knowingly, and I stepped warily out onto the thin ice that had materialised before me.

"Details like...what, Dad?" He didn't respond, and my tone grew higher with growing urgency. "Uh, Dad? What details? Details like oh it was actually a barbecue or details like..." My brain helpfully concocted a worst-case scenario. "Aw, shit: you weren't some kind of creep or stalker or something, were you, Dad?"

A huge grin formed on Dad's face, as if he'd remembered something wonderful, and he shrugged off my rising concern with a laugh. "No, no, nothing like that, Michel." He stared at me with thoughtful eyes. "I mean, you're an adult now. I guess I could..." He trailed off again, eyes glittering. I felt transfixed by them, like a mouse unable to look away from a snake.

"Dad, this is kinda freaking me out now. What details? Just tell me!"

"Okay." He was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "It wasn't a fancy dress party quite as much as it was a fancy dress...orgy."

"WHAT?!"

Dad lifted his hands in mock apology. "You asked."

"You and Mom met at a fucking orgy? I...what the fuck?

"All orgies," he said sagely, "are fucking orgies. If they're halfway decent. And the more I think about it, the more it makes sense that you should know. That way, once I clip-clop off into oblivion to be with her, you can be the one to pass on the knowledge—"

"Pass on the knowledge?" I all but shrieked. "To whom? I am never telling anyone that my parents fell in love at an orgy!"

"Better keep it down, or you'll end up telling the whole neighbourhood. And I guess just...if someone asks." He gave a sudden nod. "Yeah. Your mom would approve. It doesn't need to be a secret. It was the sixties, right? Sex was like weed: you borrowed it from anyone who was offering and gave it back in return when they wanted some."

"Sweet mother of—"

"Oh, she was no sweet mother back then, son," Dad interjected, his grin only getting wider. "She was a thick-hipped jenny in a nun's habit with tits like—"

"I really need to not be hearing you describe Mom's sexual allure right now!"

Dad ignored my bleats of dismay. "—tits like grapefruits, and I was a very randy jack putting on a rather genius elephant impersonation."

I kept my look of righteous indignation up even as my brain quickly recalibrated. "Let me guess, your..."

"My cock was the trunk, yes." Dad looked ineffably smug. "And I painted ears on my hips."

I rolled my eyes and smacked a hand to my face, then sighed and crossed my legs, looking levelly at my father. "Fuuuuuck me. Alright. Sure. I guess."

"And when I saw her...well. The elephant gained a good ten inches of reach, if you know what I mean."

"I am, in fact, cursed with knowledge."

He laughed, then sighed. "She pulled me into an empty room and blew my mind that night. Not to mention my—"

"I can imagine what else quite vividly now, thanks, Dad."

"I wasn't going to say that, actually!"

"Oh."

"...I was going to say my balls."

"You can't blow balls."

"She could."

"I regret everything."

Dad chuckled and ruffled my ears. "I sure don't. The stuff we did...wow. "He shook his head in disbelief. "The old elephant-trunk misses her almost as much as I do, I'll tell you. That soft body of hers was my own personal theme park."

I gave a shocked bray. "Dad! Come on. That's just pornographic."

Dad nickered. "It's not pornography! It's love. Making love, expressing love. You've made love, haven't you?"

"I...well, yes, Dad, I've made love, obviously—"

"Have you?" he teased. "Or have you just fucked?" I opened my mouth to respond, then slowly closed it again. Dad smiled and spread his arms out along the swing chair. "Yeah. Take your old jack's wisdom, boy. There's sex, and there's sex." He waggled his eyebrows. "And your mom...well, she was great at both, but when it was making love, when it was intimate and slow and perfect...there's something there I can't even describe, Michel."

I was impressed, honestly. It wasn't that I'd ever thought of Dad as just a simplistic, stereotypical sex-driven guy, but we'd never talked about it like this before. And it made me...proud. Proud that my father had been such a devoted and loving husband to Mom all his life. Proud that he felt that our relationship was at a point where it could handle an extended discussion about my parents' sex life. Proud that I'd made it this far in said discussion without hearing anything that would make me—

"You know," Dad drawled suddenly, as if reading my thoughts, "your dad's a real pack of meat down there, son. Just a slab of beef, with a couple chunky meatballs thrown in. And not everyone's been able to handle the jackhammer at full power. But Francia could..."

I buried my face in my hands and clenched my legs together. "Dad! C'mon. It was kinda sweet before—I guess—but do I really now have to have a mental image of your massive dick and balls flopping around..."

"You don't have to. I guess you could say 'thank you' instead, if you want."

I couldn't hope to answer that, and my wordless gape sat in its stead for a few seconds as Dad stared calmly back.

"Uhhhh...?" I eventually managed.

Dad spread his hands. "I mean, let's be honest, son. Nobody talks about it, but it's a thing, right? What does any well-hung father secretly want for his son? Huh?" He shrugged coyly as my gaping mouth remained cavernous. "To, you know...pass on the lucky gene."

"O-oh." I wet my dry tongue and tried to corral my thoughts. "I...I mean, we're equines, right, so it's kinda...uh...automatic?"

"Well yeah, but I'm...well, look, son, I'm not just hung like some random donkey, okay? It's not plain equine good fortune down there with me. It's really like..." His hand gesture could have been demonstrating the barrel of a battleship's guns. "You know. And just think...it'd be satisfying to know you got a...heh." His eyes lit up. "That you got a big inheritance from your dad."

The exaggerated and utterly unnecessary wink he attached to the word pushed the whole situation over the brink for me, and I gave an explosive bray of released tension and threw my hands in the air. "Shit! I mean...fuck, why not, right?" I nodded madly. "Yeah, Dad, I did. I do. Thank you for having a bigger-than-average donkey's cock and for passing it on to your son."

My father laughed and raised his empty tea mug. "You're welcome, son. Glad to help. And if your mom was here—" I braced, anticipating a highly inappropriate comment, but my father calmed me with a wave. "I was just going to say, if your mom was here...I just know she'd say how proud she is of you. Just as I am." He raised his tea mug and smirked. "No matter how big your dick is."

I raised my own mug, and we downed the cold, boozy dregs of our drinks in silence to the memory of a wonderful jenny. Then I set the mug down on a side table and slid closer to Dad again, sliding an arm behind him and cuddling close as he put an arm across my shoulders and cupped the side of my face. I let the silence be, and us with it, as memory stirred once more. This place, this pose...it had happened countless times before when I was just a colt.

"Dad?"

"Mmh?"

"Could you...tell me a story? Like...back then."

I could feel his slow breaths against my sensitive ears. "A Mochel one?"

"Yeah."

His voice was infinitely tender. "But you're all grown up now, my boy..."

"I know, but...it's nice to remember. Here. With you."

"Alright." He gently kissed the top of my head and stared off into the night for a few moments. "A long time ago," he began, "in the highest house of the highest land, there lived a donkey called Mochel. A big, strong, brave donkey who loved to go on adventures and discover hidden treasures..."

As Dad carried on telling a story about Mochel, my heroic alter-ego who had battled and adventured through years and years of bedtime stories, I listened to his heartbeat and his breathing. Firm and steady, as if nothing in the world had ever been wrong. I was sure tonight had helped. Spending these hours together, sharing our pain and our love, using them to grow closer. Mom would have approved. I looked up at my father's face and gave a small smile as he described a sticky situation with a bridge and a ravine. This guy...what a guy. My rock.

I nuzzled a little closer against him and closed my eyes.

When Dad's story ended—with Mochel tucked back into bed after another exciting adventure, as always—the sounds of night enshrouded us. I remained still, eyes closed, listening to the crickets chirp and something rustle through the unmowed grass. A question swam around in my head, getting closer and closer to being said. I wanted to, but I didn't know if I should. It was important, but quite possibly only to me.

"Dad?" I eventually murmured. I felt drowsier than expected. Bloody bedtime stories.

"Mmh?" He sounded half-asleep himself.

"Do you think you'll ever..." I faltered, unsure, and Dad the Comedian took the opening.

"Eat a whole barrel of raw onions?"

I snorted. "No, Dad. Jeez, no, please. Let's keep that to the stories. It's bad enough after you've had sprouts." I felt my father lean to one side as if to release gas right there and then, and smacked his ear. "Hey! What did I just say?"

Dad snickered. "You sound just like your mother when you say that."

"Guess I inherited her good manners. You animal."

"What were you gonna say?"

"Will you ever...I dunno...look for someone else?"

Dad was silent for a good while, and then he sighed. "I...I can't think about that, son."

I immediately felt bad. "No, sure, I understand. I'm sorry, Dad. Not trying to say you need to...or...anything..." I shut up and hugged him. "I just...I don't want you to be alone."

He kissed the top of my head. "I appreciate the thought, Michel. But I'm not alone, am I? Got you."

"Yeah. You got me. Promise."

He hugged me tighter, sighing and looking out at the rising moon. "There's nobody I've ever met that I can imagine loving as much as I loved your mother, son," he said, and my eyes grew wet to hear the lonely sadness in his words. "She was my world. Might be it's like that forever. I think..." He stopped speaking for an awfully long time. "I think I'll be okay with that. Not...not yet. But I will be." He grunted as my arm tightened around him. "She filled my heart with love, and that love's not going anywhere. Get to feel it every single day and remember her that way." He grinned and ruffled my mane. "Or I can just look at you. The amazing son she and I made together."

"Love you too, Dad."

He sighed, taking a few deep breaths before disentangling from me and getting to his feet. He gave a stretch and a giant yawn. "The cold's starting to make my knees ache," he complained. "Gonna head to bed."

"Alright, Dad."

"I made up your old bedroom for you."

"Okay, perfect. I'll head up in a bit myself. Just gonna sit out here a bit longer."

"Alright, son. Sweet dreams."

"Night, Dad. Sleep well."

As his footsteps clumped off through the house and up the stairs, I fell down onto my side until my head was resting in the warm indentation Dad had left in the cushions. I shut my eyes, breathing in his scent and softly groaning. Only when I heard his bedroom door close did I dare to let my hand drop to my crotch and grip the hard cock I'd been desperately hiding ever since I crossed my legs. When Dad had so unexpectedly and incredibly started talking about the size of his dick.

I rolled onto my back, my head turned to let me bury my nose in Dad's scent, and pulled my cock free of my pants with a gasp. The cool air felt like ice against the heat of my donkey dick. My massive donkey dick, Dad, that I got from you. My heart had almost stopped when Dad had told me to say thank you. For a few impossible moments, I'd thought that my most unbelievable fantasies had been true all along, and Dad was—in his own way—trying to tell me. But, of course, that was just fantasy running wild. That dirty secret had to stay hidden deep, deep down inside. I'd kept it that way for twenty years; what was another twenty? Besides, Dad had inadvertently given me years of fresh jerk-off material tonight.

Your dad's a real pack of meat down there, son...

I moaned into the cushions, imagining my father's powerful body standing before, naked and proud, hands encircling the battleship-cock he'd intimated. I wanted to see his cock more than anything in the world. It must be enormous, maybe bigger even than mine; so thick and heavy it hung straight down even when hard. I imagined him grinning and hefting his nuts, too, each filling a hand with ease. Two chunky meatballs, son. Served with the most delicious sauce imaginable.

"Oh, fuck," I moaned. I pushed my face deeper into the cushions, snorting up father-scent, imagining I was snuffling into Dad's sweaty balls and taint instead, with his strong hand pushing me down deeper into his crotch. My rock-hard cock drooled all over my chest as I jerked it off as fast as I could to the images flashing rapid-fire through my mind. Dad's body. Dad's cock. Dad's nuts. Dad's smell. Dad's body. Dad's ass, Dad's nuts, Dad's cock, Dad's cock, Dad's...

Dad's jackhammer cock.

A final, perfect mental image, honed over years of fantasising: my father, lying on his back, legs spread wide, with my entire cock buried inside him as we both climax and a look of dumbfounded pleasure on his face as his son finally shows him how much he truly loves him.

The thick cushions muffled the sound of my orgasmic whinny as my tense, straining flare finally let loose, squirting thick semen over my shirt in hot, arcing spurts. My head pounded as if with a headache, and my blood thundered in my ears. Pleasure soared, peaked, and diminished. The mental image held fast just a little longer, and then fractured and began to dissolve. I let it, unwilling to dwell on my filthy fantasy any longer than needed to extract the fierce, unmatched nut that was guaranteed when my father was the subject. The awkward shame arrived on schedule next, and I sighed and rolled back onto my side. Another day, another fantasy over the most unavailable guy in the world.

I stood up slowly, rolling the hem of my shirt up to keep the small lake of cum I'd made from spilling across the floor. If this sort of session would be more frequent while I stayed with Dad—and despite my mental gymnastics, I had to accept that that was a given—then I'd need to do my own laundry. Frequently.

I slipped back inside and up the stairs with soft footfalls. As I passed Dad's closed door, I slowed...and then paused. Through the thick wood, I could just make out some sounds. Repetitive, wordless sounds that any male would instantly recognise. Just like that, I had another item in my suddenly burgeoning spank bank. I paused for a few moments longer, then hurried towards my bedroom. It felt a little invasive to be spying on my father's masturbation, more so than a harmless fantasy. The poor guy had probably worked himself up with all the talk earlier about his past with Mom. He didn't deserve an overly kinky son leering at the door, too. I was glad that he had that outlet: he might not remarry, but that definitely didn't mean he had to become a monk.

"Fap away, sweet father," I murmured to myself as I slipped into my room. "And may horny devils guide you to your nut."

This really was going to be a tough visit.

Dad was already awake when I stumbled blearily down the stairs the following day. He peered at me over the top of the newspaper he'd balanced against a jar of marmalade.

"You look like shit," he offered unhelpfully, crunching down on a mouthful of toast. "Trouble sleeping?"

"Sleeping? No." I found the biggest mug in the cupboard and filled it with coffee. "Staying asleep, yes. That bed's too fucking soft. Kept waking up with my head and hooves in the air and my ass almost touching the bedsprings like a fucking folding chair." I drank deeply of the blessed fluid, stretched until my back gave a horrifyingly loud pop, and looked at Dad. "Is my old bed still around somewhere? I think I'd almost prefer that."

"No, Michel. You're like six times the size of it now. Anyway, it's under a decade of boxes and stuff in the garage."

"Well, the couch then."

"You can't sleep on the couch for two weeks."

"Why not?"

"It's a couch. It's not for sleeping on." Dad shrugged. "We'll figure something out. Look here, though." He pointed to something in the newspaper. "You remember Qiraj Park?"

"Not really."

"They used to have like a dinosaur park there. Skeletons and models and animatronics ad everything. We took you a couple times."

"Oh, shit, yeah. That was cool."

"They shut it down a while ago, but now it's reopened." He looked up at me. "You wanna go?"

I grinned. "Yeah, sounds fun. We just need to do something first." I picked up the broken laptop and examined it. "Wanna get this thing fixed. Won't take long. Hour or so, I think, and...what?" I blinked in confusion at the crumb-filled frown that had materialised on my father's face.

"Why, Michel?" he asked.

"Why what? Why fix the laptop? Because it's broken, and you need it."

"I don't."

I sighed. "You do, Dad. They don't deliver mail by pigeon anymore, you know. And I need to keep in contact with you more directly now. Just think how convenient it will be to instantly DM me when you want to tell me about a really nice can of prunes you just had, instead of having to wait for me to visit."

"Dee-what?"

"I'll teach you, Dad. It's actually quite easy. They have pictures, too. You'll love them. There's one of a sleeping kitten falling off a table, and it just says Mondays."

Dad looked flustered. "Fine, I'll...go get it fixed some other time. We don't need to do it now."

"We do, because else I can't teach you how to do everything before I leave." I frowned. "Is it a money issue? I'll pay for it, don't worry." I saw my father's mouth opening to offer yet another excuse and quickly held a finger up to silence him. "Dad. Listen. I know Mom did all the computer stuff before, but it's really not that hard. Or scary. You need to learn to do it yourself now, and I can and will teach you. So just...let me do this for you, okay?"

Strange expressions flittered across Dad's face in quick succession, and then he growled and took a massive bite of toast, ears twitching. "Fine."

"Great." I finished off my coffee. "Shall we go now?"

We drove to the mall and found the local PC shop. Dad loitered behind me like a moody child as I explained the situation to the technician, paid, and left. I didn't comment further on his attitude. It seemed to be some sort of complex intersection between having relied on Mom to handle the PC stuff, his generation's suspicion of technology, and a healthy dose of donkey stubbornness. Once the machine was fixed and I showed him video chat, I was sure he'd be sold on it all. Especially the filter that made you look like a horse. He'd love that.

"He says it'll take an hour," I said, and Dad nodded. "Thought we could go get something to eat while we waited. Is Kiki's still a thing?"

As I'd hoped, Dad's face lit up at the name. "Oh, shit. Kiki's! I haven't been there in...I think not since you moved out. Wow..."

"Are they still around?"

"No idea."

"Let's go break that streak, then." I slapped Dad on the back. "Got to maintain all that mass you've accumulated, old stallion."

"Look who's talking. You're bigger every time I see you."

I clenched a bicep and admired it. "Yeah, I'm a beast. Soon I'll be eligible to terrorise a small town."

Kiki's still existed, luckily, and I ordered us each a vanilla cone. We sat outside on a small patio overlooking the parking lot and the city beyond, as clouds slowly gathered above, threatening rain in the afternoon. Dad slurped loudly on the top of his cone, then held it out towards me.

"Look. I made a nipple." The teat of ice cream he'd made slowly flopped over as I watched, and I snorted.

"Very clever, Dad."

"Thanks. I try." He sucked the treat down and crunched on the cone, chewing thoughtfully. "Did you have a struggle getting time off to visit?"

"Not really a struggle. I was due the days, but the project was—" I waved a hand. "Doesn't matter. They were just being assholes about it."

"Oh, okay. When you said last week that you might have to delay it...I thought maybe you had someone else who didn't want you to go, maybe."

"What, like..." My eyes narrowed. "There are simpler ways to ask if I've got a girlfriend, Dad."

He slurped innocently on his cone. "Oh." Crunch. Smack. "Weren't you seeing...hmm...that lacrosse mare?"

"Her name was Cindy, and yes, I was." I shot him a look. "Well remembered."

"I like lacrosse."

"Yeah, I bet you do." He tried to hide a shit-eating grin behind the half-demolished remains of his cone. It looked like a buffalo hiding behind a lamp post. I snorted. "I'm not seeing her anymore, though. Not seeing anyone right now, actually."

"Oh, sorry about that." Slurp. "Still looking, though, right?"

"Oh yeah. I mean...I guess." I shrugged. "Don't know if I want anything permanent or whatever, but always looking for someone to just...be with."

"Do you use those grinders?"

"Those what?" I stared blankly at Dad for a moment until the gears ground a little more. "Oh...Grindr?"

"Isn't that what I said?"

I brayed in amusement. "No, but you said it like...never mind. I mostly use Tinder."

"Grinder, Tinder...it's like a fucking camping expedition." He shook his head in wonderment. "Such a different world you live in. So much easier to find love."

I stuck my cone in my mouth and lifted my hands to make generous air quotes. "Lof." The cone came free with a squelch that briefly made me remember Cindy the lacrosse mare. "In a lot of ways, it's harder to find love now than in your day, I think."

"Well, of course. You've all got your noses stuck in your phones instead of..."

"...hanging out at fancy dress orgies?" I finished archly. Dad blinked, then shrugged.

"Maybe your generation could do with a few more orgies."

"Wow. Amazing. I want that on a shirt. 'Fewer Phones, More Orgies'."

"Exactly. You can borrow my elephant costume idea. You won't be single long."

"This from the donkey who just last night was teaching me about the beauty of making love."

"Michel, I grew up in the sixties. Once I met your mother, she was the only one for me...but before that, it was just about having a good time. And I had a very good time."

I raised my hands in mock dismay. "Please, Dad, no more lectures on your award-winning penis."

"Son, if you've got it, use it."

"Is that your motto?"

"Well, not a motto, but..." He shook a finger at me. "All I'm saying is, don't let your inheritance go to waste. It should make you happy."

"Heh. It does, Dad, don't worry." But not as much as having my secret crush tell me to use my dick more. I'll use it on you if you give me half a chance, how about that, stud.

"Well, I'm ready."

I started at Dad's response, coming as it did almost perfectly timed to seem like a reply to my silent thoughts, then coughed violently as my gulp sent a bit of ice-cream cone down the wrong way. Dad leaned over and slapped me hard on the back a few times until it subsided.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Ugh. Thanks." I wiped my mouth and looked at the remains of the cone on the ground between my legs. "Dammit." As casually as I could, I looked across to my father. "What are you ready for?"

He pointed back into the mall. "If you wanna go get the machine?"

"Oh! Right." I prodded at the fallen cone once more. The rapidly melting ice cream oozed along the tiles, white and viscous. "Yep. They should be pretty much done."

We sauntered back to the shop and I tracked down the tech I'd spoken to before. He still had the laptop with him, tapping away, and he looked up as I approached.

"Hi, sir. Almost done here."

"Great. What was the issue?"

"Apart from the cracked screen, just a virus, I think. Random deletions all over the place. Think I've just about got it sorted, and I should be able to recover what you were working on at the time, too."

"Oh, really? Even better." I turned to talk to Dad and saw him lurking around the display cases at the back of the shop. "Dad?" I called. "They sorted it out. Looks like they're gonna get the emails or whatever back as—"

"Fuck me harder, stud! Smash my pussy like a tin can! Yes, oh yes, oh fu—!"

The tech slammed the laptop closed, but his initial shock had allowed enough of the loud, feminine voice to be heard by everyone in the store. We all stood as if frozen for a few seconds, all eyes on the poor, beet-red tech looking down at Dad's laptop as if it was filled with wasps. Then one of the other employees let loose a muffled snigger, and the tension defused. People one by one went back to what they'd been doing...except for the two donkeys who stood as if turned to stone, looking one another in the eye.

I turned from facing Dad and wordlessly held out a hand for the laptop. The tech passed it over in equal silence. "Sorry," I mumbled, trying to think of something more to say. Saying "sorry" again was all I could think of, and then I turned, walked to my father, took him firmly by the arm, and frog-marched him out of the shop with as much dignity as I could muster.

I considered pausing to interrogate my father on what sorts of "emails" he'd been checking when the laptop broke, but a glance across at him showed me he probably wasn't in a mood for my snark. His ears were folded down and curved inward, his hands in his pockets, and there was a slump to his shoulders as if he was trying to avoid the regard of the world. Shame emanated from him like heat from an exposed flame.

The silence between us continued even as we got into the car and began driving home. I didn't like it. He'd done nothing wrong. It was unfortunate that that particular aspect of his private life had been so publicly exposed, but he wasn't hurting anyone. Shit, if there was any time a person might need the escapism of a bit of porn, it was now. Fuck, he deserved it, if anything. He was ashamed about something he shouldn't be. He'd probably seen the smug eyes following us out of the store, same as I had, but they could all go and fuck themselves. They didn't know what Dad was going through. Only I did, and frankly, I approved. I needed Dad to know that. Needed him to not feel alone.

"I've actually been using Grindr as well, this year," I said conversationally. Dad looked over but said nothing. "I use Tinder if I wanna find women," I explained, only a slight hitch in my voice, "and Grindr if I wanna find guys."

Dad was quiet for just a few seconds. Then: "Oh?" As if I'd mentioned my favourite kind of crisp. Bless you, you horny old donkey.

"Mhm. More options, you know. For the old, uh, inheritance."

That got a smile out of him, and his body language seemed to relax a little. After a few more silent seconds, he said, "Just this year, huh?"

"Well, yeah. Didn't really know I liked 'em before, you know? Kinda just crept up on me."

"Oh. It...can do that?"

"Sure can. Think I realised that when I watched porn, I was often looking at the dicks as much as the girls, and just figured...hey, guys look like they could be fun." I gave a wry smile." Pretty crazy, the stuff you like that you don't know you like until it happens, you know."

Dad's look of shock made my heart skip a beat in panic, but then he brayed a laugh and looked out of the window, shaking his head. "Wow..."

"W-what?"

"Your mom said almost the same thing once. After we'd gotten experimental and I found out I liked her using...strap-ons. On me, I mean.."

"Oh. Oh yeah?" I deserved an award for keeping my voice calm. "Sounds fun."

Dad grinned. "Very fun."

I wanted him to never stop talking about getting fucked in the ass. "Just imagine if you'd had porn of that playing instead," I mused, and Dad burst into a belly laugh beside me and slapped his thigh.

"Haha! Don't think they'd have appreciated it any more than what was on, though."

"Yeah, I think you're right. They seemed more like feet folk."

Another belly laugh, and I grinned as relief percolated through me. I'd quietly come out to my father, and he'd paid me back with the same respect of a simple truth. I kept glancing at him as he talked, looking at the excited perk of his ears, the glister of his big eyes, the greying hair that surrounded his eyes and ran down his thick neck and underneath the shirt that strained to contain his giant form. He was a fantastically handsome donkey, even at his age, and my heart melted with joy and sadness that I was his son—even as my cock hardened while imagining him grunting and moaning as his tailhole got ravaged by a toy.

"Dad?" I said, interrupting him.

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

His grin was so simple, so pure. "I love you too, son." He patted me on the leg. "Always."

Sudden guilt swirled up inside me, and I quickly looked away. He was too good for me, for a son who couldn't even look at him without venal thoughts. I needed to stop thinking about him like that. I'd made that decision a hundred times before, but this time it had to stick. Dad needed me now more than he ever had before. He was so strong, but he could only be as strong as the foundation he stood on. I was his last family. I had to be the bedrock for him to rebuild on top of.

And bedrock didn't constantly need to push its big cock out of sight.
**
Dad pointed out the window, distracting me from my wretched obsession. "If we turn here, I think it'll be faster to get to Qiraj Park."

"Oh, right. The dinos."

"Still wanna go?" He peered at me. "I guess we could just head home if you—"

I shook my head and smiled. "No, no, Dad. Definitely. Let's go. It'll be great."

He smiled happily. "I'm warning you, though, I'm gonna hide behind the models and do voices like I did when you were seven." He made claws of his hands in the air. "Rawr! Here comes the Spankosaurus!"

I'll spankosaurus you until your ass glows, stud. I blinked the thought away. **"I wouldn't have it any other way, Dad."

It was already dark when we got home, bedecked with dinosaur-themed tat from the gift shop and carrying the remains of the meal we'd bought on the way home. The park had ended up being a highly underwhelming and poorly funded attraction. Still, our enjoyment thereof had only grown as we beheld each new terrible and almost certainly not anatomically correct model. We had spent most of our tour—and the drive home—recalling the saddest parts and laughing ourselves breathless.

Dad slurped on his drink and turned to me excitedly. "Oh! The Triceratops! Who made that face?"

"I know! It looked like—"

"—a Muppet!"

"Yes! Exactly! Jeez, so bad..."

"Still didn't beat the T-Rex, though."

"Wasn't that one of the better ones? I mean, it still looked like a kid that just got told off for stealing a cookie or something..."

"It wasn't the worst, but why the fuck did it have a dick?"

I choked on a mouthful of soda. "You're shitting me. I didn't see that!"

"Did you take a photo?"

"Yeah." I tucked my drink under my arm and pulled out my phone, and Dad stood beside me as I flipped through. He smelled of takeaway and warmth, of clean sweat and my horny youth. I kept my eyes fixed on the screen, paging through the files until Dad's finger stabbed down.

"There. See?"

I peered closer. "Holy shit. That dinosaur's got a fucking horsedick."

Dad snorted. "Rexy wishes he was that well-endowed, though..."

"It looks like...no way. They couldn't have..." I looked for a photo from another angle. "Yeah! Okay, no, this is definitely a prank. Someone else put that on there. That's a Kans."

"Kans?"

"A, uh, a sex toy."

"Someone stuck a horse sex toy onto a T-Rex model?"

I giggled. "Looks that way."

Dad's laughter echoed off the house as we walked up the stairs and pushed the door-rock out of the way. "That's the funniest fucking thing I've ever heard."

I giggled, breathless and lost in the moment. "Quite an investment for a prank, too. Those things aren't cheap."

"Oh, so you have one?"

I stared at my father across the living room as he noisily finished off his soda, high on life and sugar. "Me?" I let a cocky grin spill out. "Don't need one, do I? I got a nice big inheritance." Dad laughed and lifted his cup for a final drink. "Just remember seeing the price on the website when I...got some other stuff."

The slurping sound from Dad's drink cut off immediately. "Huh? They have websites?"

I patted him as I walked past, quickly sitting down on the couch to hide the umpteenth awkward erection of the day. "Everything has websites now, Dad," I explained. "Nobody's got time to slink into a badly lit alleyway shop called Lust Queen's House of Possibilities or whatever and then aggressively pretend they don't recognise the mayor's wife buying a double-ended dildo." I pointed at him. "See? This is why you needed the laptop fixed. The twenty-first century is here, old donkey, and it's all inside that little box."

Dad looked down at the machine he had tucked under an arm as if he'd been given the keys to a mansion of wonders. "I just thought...it was all so secretive, the websites couldn't be so..." He looked up at me with sudden understanding blossoming on his face. "You...horny little fuck!"

I blinked and raised my hands. "Er, guilty, I guess, but...of what?"

Dad dropped down onto the couch next to me, looking smug and oddly excited. "You got all uppity about me meeting your mom at an orgy, and meanwhile your generation's ordering sex on apps and buying plastic cocks online like they're candy!"

"Very expensive latex candy, but I guess..."

He shook his head and snorted. "Nothing's changed, has it? In forty years, nothing's actually changed. It's all different, but it's all the time..." He slapped the couch and flopped backwards, chuckling. "Sex toy websites. Can't even imagine what your mom would have done with that sort of power."

"You." The word slipped out between breaths, faster than thought. Arctic cold descended through me, starting from my neck, and I stopped breathing. Dad's head rolled to the side to look at me, expressionless—and then boisterous.

"Haha! Little smartass. Well, yeah, true. True that, as the kids say. Or something." His head rolled back, and he stared up at the roof for a moment as my pale smile and I quietly defrosted next to him. He slapped the couch again, and then a third time. "This couch," he reflected, looking down at the material critically, "is not great."

"Pretty old," I agreed.

"Not just that. We got it second-hand from Aunt Lamada. You remember her?" When I shook my head, he held his arms out to the sides, hands bent, to outline an oversized form. "Remember? I once had to send a search party into her bosom to rescue you after a hug, before you suffocated. Anyway. I think her furniture put up with a lot, and it's never quite recovered." He bounced a little on the cushion. "Yeah. Springs are nearly spent." He gave me a decisive look. "You can't sleep on this, Michel."

I'd forgotten all about that. "I think it'll be alright," I said. "It's better than the spare bed, I'm sure. I can put down extra cushions on top..." But Dad was already shaking his head.

"Forget it. There's a simple answer, I realised. You can just sleep in my bed."

"Oh...Dad, no, that's super nice of you, but I don't wanna kick you out of your own bed—"

"What?" Dad's frown was genuinely annoyed. "Who said anything about that? Michel, my boy, I love you, but I love proper sleep more. No, I mean you can just sleep next to me." My expression must have said it all because he rolled his eyes. "Too grown up to sleep next to your pa?"

In a way. "I don't wanna get in the way of—" I began, and then I looked into his eyes. Saw the same sheet of fury and stubborn grit I'd seen it in since the day of the funeral...but less. The sheet was starting to thin—now that I was here, I realised. Now that Dad had someone who understood, someone with whom he could share it all, he wasn't feeling like he had to keep the walls up as high. And when I looked behind it all: there crouched the pain and the loneliness. Because what else could there be, after forty years? Get in the way of your normal life, I'd been about to say to him, but normal was elsewhere for him now. Forever. Dad had to make a new normal, and that meant starting over in all sorts of ways. Like going back in time thirty years to when a gangly little colt would sleep tucked up next to his dad, feeling perfectly safe and loved.

Dad blinked at me. "In the way of what? It's a big bed, son, there's plenty of space. If you get too sprawly, I'll just push you out to wake you up."

I pulled myself out of the memory and laughed, then finished my drink with a loud slurp to give me time to settle myself. "Nah, nothing, "I said eventually. "Thanks, Dad. That actually sounds great."

He grunted as if it was the simplest thing in the world. "Just keep the gas inside. The only one allowed to burp and fart in there is me. House rules."

I opened my mouth and let rip a tremendous, soda-powered burp. "Get ready to make some new rules, then, old stallion."

"You do not want to start a burp war with me, Michel," he said sternly, but his eyes glittered, and I could see the smile. I blew him a kiss, grabbed the remote, and flipped on the television.

Dad poured us a couple glasses of wine, and we sat together, watching TV. Or maybe we turned the television off after a while, and Dad just talked. My mind was elsewhere for a lot of it, remembering the day, the things we'd done. The things Dad had said. Slowly, a sheen of dread formed on my thoughts. Sleeping next to Dad...for two weeks. Heaven—until I actually fucking thought about it. Just a whiff of his scent in passing made my cock twitch; being immersed in it for eight hours a day would be like shooting up with pure testosterone. Fuck. I'd never be able to hide it if I got a proper hardon. What then?

My fretting continued as we finished our wine and moved upstairs. I unpacked my things as slowly as possible, but they were finite and time was infinite. Dad's bed abruptly stood before me, the cover pulled aside to let me slide in. I stared down at it as if it was a carnivorous plant.

Dad stuck his head out of the bathroom, toothbrush halfway embedded. "Ith you need more pillowth, ctheck the cupboardth." I nodded vaguely, staring at the bed. Remembering soft, repetitive noises.

I dragged my eyes away and took in the room as if a dream. No scrawled mood boards asking how do I tell my son I love him or shrines filled with pictures of me surrounded by hearts. Just an ordinary, middle-aged widower's bedroom. Clothes half-hanging out of a hamper. On the table, his cellphone and laptop—I absently pushed the lid shut to save battery—beside a bouquet of plastic roses. A photo of a kid on the wall, laughing on a beach. A picture of me. I remembered that holiday. I burned my ears so severely, Mom had to spend two days applying salve before I could go outside again.

Dad reappeared as I felt one of my ears. "Something wrong?" he asked.

"Nah." I nodded at the photo. "Just remembering."

"Oh right, your ears. Aw, you were so unhappy. Wouldn't leave your mom's side until it got better." He chuckled. "I suggested we put a sock over each ear."

"That would have looked ridiculous."

"I think it would have looked adorable."

"You think?" I opened a cupboard and dug inside, then tossed two rolled-up socks at him with a smirk. "Go on, then."

Dad looked at the bundle. "Well, maybe not on an adult."

"Oh, no, I think it'll look even more adorable on you." My grin couldn't stretch any farther. "Come on, let's see it."

Dad unrolled the socks with a put-upon sigh and began tugging them over his ears. Before he'd even gotten halfway, I was shrieking with laughter, bent over, tears streaming down my cheeks. Dad kept going with the determination of a martyr, until he finally spread his hands before me—one besocked ear flopping down over his face—and intoned, "Beware! The Sockdonk cometh."

He looked utterly ridiculous, and I loved it. "S-sock...don..." I couldn't bear it, and fell onto the bed in paroxysms of mirth. Dad's weight sat down next to me and patted my side.

"Sockdonk's work here is done."

I recovered myself, wiping the tears of laughter dry on the duvet, and sighed. "You silly old fart."

"Old, indeed. Now come to bed, so I can get the sleep my ancient bones need."

Come to bed, son. Come to bed, you horny little fuck, so you can fantasise all about me.

The lights flicked off and I crawled under the blankets, shuffling about until I lay on my side, facing away from Dad. I sensed his heat behind me, radiating away under the duvets like a furnace. The tips of his fetlock hairs brushed against me, and I clenched my eyes, heart pounding. I dared a final shuffle to move my foot a little closer until we were just touching, skin to skin. That was enough. That was all I needed to be happy. Or happy enough. Or almost happy enough. Or whatever the fuck I counted as happy just then.

Fuck.

One of my hands slid slowly down under the blanket to my crotch, cupping my genitals and gently massaging them. I was lying next to the most powerful, most gorgeous male on the planet. Our skin was touching, and I was feeling myself. Was this perfection? Not even close, but a fucking reasonable distance in the right direction nonetheless. Perhaps sometimes, when you couldn't have heaven, you got a nice viewing platform to at least see it on a clear day.

"Michel?" Dad's whisper came as if trying not to wake some putative other sleeper.

I froze, hand on cock, and carefully pulled it away. "Yeah?"

"Can't sleep."

I had no idea how much time had passed since the lights went off and my thoughts had started circling like listless sharks. Twenty minutes? An hour? "Same."

Silence. Shuffling. A grunt. "I had a really great time today, son."

"Me too, Dad." Our legs were still barely touching.

"You should visit more often now, I think. Not just once a year."

"I'm sure I can." My words came out more mechanical than I'd intended, but my focus was elsewhere. Something—a tone, an unsaid thing—in Dad's voice had rung familiar. My heart beat faster, and the heavy flesh I'd just let go of began to swell.

"Hey, Michel?" Again. Something there. Something running underneath his words, reaching for a goal. A feeling. A hope.

Excitement.

"Yeah?"

"You know that...website you talked about? With the...the toys. Kans."

I had to open my mouth to keep my faster breaths from causing an audible sound. "Sure."

"When you said you bought other stuff...what stuff?"

There was a fantasy I'd had about Dad. Well, there were many, many fantasies. But one, in particular, I'd revisited often when still a colt and living in this very house. In it, I'd have snuck a girl into my room—which was dumb already, since Dad never actually cared about that as long as I used the condoms he casually left lying around my room now and then—and Fantasy Dad be mad. Very strict, he was. No fucking the neighbours in my bed without his say-so. So he'd escort the nameless girl out and then come back to my room. I'd still be under the blankets, naked as a sailor, with just that single barrier between us. Dad would have a thunderous face on, but that would just make him hotter: as if he wasn't genuinely outraged, but just stock-full of vigour and masculinity and needing an outlet to expend it.

He'd tell me off for breaking his rules, and then he'd get a wry little smile and say something about hoping I at least gave her a good ride. And I'd smirk back, and stand, and the blanket would fall, and Dad would stare at my erection with the same lusty look I'd sometimes risk using on him when he wasn't looking. In the fantasy, I'd always say the same thing at the end...and there, in his bed, with darkness birthing possibilities around us and the scent of his sweet breath wafting over me, it was the only thing I could think of to say.

"I can show you if you like?"

As Dad sat up in bed, I collected the laptop and set it before us, flipping it open as if it was a treasure chest. Like eager schoolboys clustering around the well-fondled remains of a dirty magazine, we both leaned in as I typed in the site. The actinic light of the screen cut off, replaced by the devilish red-on-black colour theme of ToyBoys, LLC.

"I got these," I told my father, loading up both the mare and stallion toys I preferred to fuck. Dad's mouth was in a perpetual 'o'. "They're really nice and tight, and the stallion one can almost fit my whole length."

Dad's answering leer was made even more fiendish by the light from the screen. "Even your flare?"

"Nah. No toy can handle that. It just pops out the end." I tried not to sound too smug. "Only real studs have ever managed that."

"Sounds familiar."

"Hung donkey problems, right?"

Dad giggled, biting his lip. His eyes jumped to the links at the top of the screen. "Where's that other one?"

I clicked on the equine toys, and my father's mouth dropped open another centimetre. "Fuck me," he murmured. A hand lifted as if to stroke the products through the screen, then fell back down. "Oh. There's Kans."

"Yeah."

He peered closer, then frowned. "Expensive. But I suppose that if you want the biggest, you've got to—"

"Oh, he's not the biggest." I kept my voice casual. "There's definitely bigger."

Dad's eyes grew rounder yet, and my heart beat faster. Do it. Do it. My cock was hard, bulging out the blanket behind the laptop, hidden only by the darkness of the room. It could not bear to hear the words, even as the rest of me ached for them.

"Show me the biggest," Dad instructed.

My penis would just have to find a way to survive, I guess.

I pulled the relevant page up in the browser, scrolling down to the images before the rest loaded. The colossal beast squatted inside the limits of the exemplar images as if trying to break free of them. Dad's hand rose to his mouth in shock, then reached forward to stroke the screen. "I don't believe it," he whispered. I clicked on the 3D viewer, letting the entire creation silently rotate before us like an obscene Christmas tree, and Dad gasped. "How...how big is that flare?" he asked.

I recited the stats from memory. Flared and unflared diameter. Shaft width. Flare depth. "...and twenty inches long. Excluding the base and the balls. Which are soft latex, perfect for squeezing."

Dad still looked shocked. "Is that...the biggest? How big is Kans?"

"Not even seventeen." And wasn't he just so pissed about that?

"Son..." He licked his lips, looking utterly determined, and I felt a squirt of pre-cum land in my boxers at the sight of his pink tongue sliding over those full lips. "I need you to help me buy one of these."

I opened my mouth and found it had run dry. I gulped, finding enough saliva to croak out, "Sure, Dad." I moved the cursor around a bit, unwilling to scroll up to the cart. "But, uh...why him? It is just the size?"

"It's..." He stared, transfixed by the enormous shaft spinning before us. "It's everything. The veins. The flare. The medial. Those balls. He's...impossible..." I could hear him panting, and it was possibly the sexiest sound I'd ever heard. "I've...I've really needed...since your...uh..." Drool was literally running from the corner of his mouth. My balls felt like a rope had been tied around each one and pulled tight. My cock was going to explode. I wanted to scream. This was insane. Why had I let it get this far? It could only end one way, and it sure as fuck wasn't the way I wanted it to. As always. As it had to be. I should hurry things along, finish this, and hopefully I could sneak off to the bathroom and release some of the self-inflicted agony in the only way I ever could.

But I thought those thoughts deliberately, to excuse myself for proceeding to utterly ignore them. The plaintive cry of the repeat offender: I tried. I did not have the strength to walk away from what was happening any more than I'd been able to stop fantasising about it. I'd never had the imagination to envision the two of us lying in bed, all but naked in the dark, browsing sex toys while Dad begged me to buy him the biggest equine cock toy he could find, but that was academic. It was happening. Dad wanted a fat, firm donkey cock toy. A toy he would then ride. With his ass. Enveloping the entire thing with his sweet, hot, beautiful flesh: up and down, in and out, deeper and deeper until it drove him to new heights of pleasure and made him scream the name of the toy making him cum...

I suddenly remembered to breathe and sucked a lungful down. My skin, clammy and shivering, felt the touch of the blanket with painful sensitivity. I shoved the laptop away before my racing mind could bring me to an impossible orgasm, but it just fetched up against the bulge of my hardened cock and didn't move further. Dad's hoarse breathing next to me cut short as he looked sharply at me, and panic flared inside me.

"Fuck...shit!" He sounded upset, and I felt my fight-or-flight kick in. I hadn't known my cock could deflate that fast. "Shit," he repeated. "Sorry, Michel." That threw me. Why was he apologising to me?

He shuffled a little more to his side of the bed, taking my heart with him. I stayed where I was, confused and unsure. "I...shouldn't have asked," he elaborated. I couldn't see him as clearly anymore, but I could hear his tone. Angry, yes—but not at me. "I didn't mean to make you feel weird, just to help your old donkey..."

"It's fine," I said quickly, but it came out so much terser than I intended, with my body still clenched and shaking with horniness half-transmuted into fear. I clamped my mouth shut, breathing in just through my nose, snorting like a racehorse and feeling worse by the second. The red glow from the laptop suddenly felt accusatory. I pushed the lid closed and the room fell back into infinite darkness, but it still wasn't enough. I could still hear him. Shit, I could feel him. Like a splinter that I couldn't bear to pull.

But had to.

I pushed the blankets off and climbed out of bed, hiding a sniffle amongst the creaks and groans the old springs made.

"I, uh..." I gestured, pointlessly, into the dark. "Couch'll be..."

"Okay. Uh...okay." Barely audible. I felt like a complete shitheel. I nodded, stopped myself, and gritted my teeth. Just leave. With arms outstretched, I began searching for the door in a room that seemed to have suddenly grown ten times larger—and yet, when Dad spoke, it still sounded like he was right next to me.

"Son. Sorry. I just..." Well, fuck me with a cactus. He just sounded tortured now. Good job. I'd successfully made my grieving father feel like shit. Son of the fucking year.

"It's fine," I lied again, but Dad wasn't done.

"No, no, just before you go, please. Sorry, son. Sorry to...ask." So many sorrys tonight, and all of them from the wrong person. "I won't ask ever again, I promise, and we don't ever have to talk about it again, but I have to..." I clenched my eyes shut, trying not to hear how miserable he sounded as my heart fell. So this was it, then. I thought I'd gotten away with it, but Dad was no fool. He'd put the pieces together after twenty years, just in time for me to fail him when he needed me most.

You don't have to ask me anything, Dad. Please don't. Don't ask me that. Ask me anything else...but don't ask your son why he's a disgusting, pathetic, incestuous piece of shit...

"I mean," he continued, "I can figure it all out, it's fine, you don't have to do anything, I'm so sorry I'm asking, but just to...to find it again, you know...just...what's the toy called, Michel?"

I almost brayed in shock. Of all the fucking things he could have asked. Of every question that he could possibly have formulated that wasn't the one I was dreading...he'd found the only one that was almost as bad. And the only one I couldn't bring myself to answer with a lie. I could have said anything. I knew the complete line-up of toys by heart. I could have named ten that were almost the same, or made up one that didn't even exist, or even said nothing at all. I didn't need to tell him the truth...but there was no way I could do otherwise. Because he was Dad, and all I wanted was for him to be happy.

"Yes," I whispered. "It's called Michel, Dad."

An unexpected light flared behind me as my hand found the door handle, and I turned instinctively. Dad sat up, laptop opened, staring at the screen. His eyes were wide as plates, just as before, but now a huge grin accompanied them. He nodded as if in sudden understanding at what he saw, then lifted his face to look at me, and in his expression I saw vast satisfaction.

"Thank fuck for that," he grunted. "I thought somebody copied my penis."

The floor was vinyl, but I still felt as though a carpet was pulling away beneath my hooves. I grasped the doorframe for support and blinked. "Copied...your...?"

"Yeah!" Dad's finger stabbed the screen. "This is my dick, son."

What...was happening? "Uh. Well, no. It's actually my dick—"

"—which is just my dick with extra steps. One extra, to be precise." He looked back down at the screen. "I couldn't fucking believe it when that popped up. Thought these fucking thieves got hold of some photos of me or something and stole my biggest asset." He frowned a little at something, looking absently around the room as he did so—then swung his head back to look at me. "Shit! I'm fucking doing it again. Making you uncomfortable...sorry, son. I'll shut up."

"I-it's fine, Dad," I hastened to say, taking a step back in his direction. "It doesn't bother me."

Dad's eyes softened. "You sure?" he said gently. "You seemed to have had your fill of helping your poor dumb horny dad earlier..."

I shook my head rapidly. "No! No, not at all, Dad. Actually I...I really like chatting to you about this stuff." I shrugged. "I was worried it was getting awkward for you. I guess."

"Awkward?" Dad snorted. "Who am I trying to impress? I'm a fat old donkey who wants to stick something up his asshole, and who's somehow lucky enough to have a son who's willing to help him do that and not get weirded out when he gets all horny. If you're happy, son, then I'm ecstatic." He barely seemed to think about the words, but they filled me with a powerful warmth and a sense of...rightness. It was as if a knot in my upper back had abruptly evaporated. Dad understood. Dad cared.

Fuck, I loved this guy.

I climbed back onto the bed next to Dad, who poked the screen again. "Now," he said, "explain this to me. How the fuck did they do that? Photos? Was it like getting a tailored suit made? How did they find you?"

I laughed. "No, Dad. They've got this liquid gel stuff they mix which sets quite fast. And they didn't exactly find me—I applied. They had a competition to be the model for a new toy, and...well." I sniffed smugly. "Wasn't like I was gonna lose, right?"

The look of childish wonder on Dad's face as I discussed live-casting my own dick was thrilling. "So I just went to their offices, got hard, and they stuck this big plastic vase thing filled with gel around my cock. Easy. Actually, the hardest part was staying perfectly hard until it set. Took a couple minutes."

"Did they give you decent-quality porn mags at least?" Dad asked.

"I guess normally, but...nah. Not for me." A coruscation of memories, and my cock responded. "The owner of the company thought I was hot, so he rimmed me until I was hard, then kept rimming me until the gel was set. Would have kept going if I'd let him, but he got me so fucking horny, the moment I pulled free of the mould I just shoved my dick in his maw and blew a load down his throat."

Dad looked awestruck. "What's that?"

"What, a load?"

"No, not a load. You're a load."

"I was, once."

"Filthy boy." But his eyes glittered, and I could see his chest moving in time with his shallower breaths. "No. Rimming."

I made a doughnut with my curled fingers and lapped at it in a demonstration, and Dad's eyes lit up.

"Oh! It has a name." He licked his lips. "Your mom did that to me sometimes. I liked it. A lot." He smirked. "Like pretty much anytime she got experimental. Loved to take control, your mom."

"Like a femdom?" I offered, and Dad blinked.

"There's a word for that too? Fuck me!" He slapped the bed in delight. "I feel like I'm the last guy to arrive at a very awesome fucking party."

"All fucking parties are awesome. Someone told me that once."

"Sounds like someone incredibly wise and handsome." He looked back down at the laptop. "We could only find a basic smooth dildo. Couldn't find better—or bigger. Never imagined looking on a website..."

"That's why I'm here. Purveyor of naughtiness."

Dad's face was fixed on the laptop as if hypnotised. "I hope it's not too big to fit."

I lounged next to him on the bed, watching his face in the reflected light of the screen. "Well, what size have you managed before?"

"I don't know." He leaned across to the other side of the bed, and I heard him opening drawers. A bright pink strap-on flopped onto the blankets before me. "How big is that?"

I held the simple, tapered toy up thoughtfully. "Thirteen? Around there. Pretty big for most, but entry-level for an equine." I shook it, making it wobble in the gloom. "Don't you want something smaller, maybe, Dad? Michel is seven inches more than this." It felt hilarious to be talking about myself in the third person. "Practically a whole bull-cock extra."

"I want big," Dad breathed. "I don't care. I want as much as there is. I'll...I'll work up to it."

"Please, yes. I don't want a call from an emergency room to come and collect my father who just had a giant donkey cock toy extracted from him after an incident." I wasn't sure Dad even heard me: he was starting to drool again, lost in fantasy.

"It feels so fucking good..." he murmured, then shot me a look. "Don't you think? I mean...when you saw other guys...did you ever—?"

"Sometimes," I admitted. "It's nice, yeah. But I prefer being on the other end. Heh." I groped myself. "When guys see this, it settles the roles quite quickly."

Dad looked like a teenager seeing his first strip show. "So is it...I mean, which is better? Like, pussy or ass?"

"Different. Not sure either's better. Guys get more into it, though. Or maybe just the ones I found. But their noises, the way their dicks start dripping as I fucked them, their balls getting tight...it was very hot."

"The flare...it's always that size?"

"The fla—oh, on the toy? Yeah. No growing inside you like the real thing. You've got to be able to take the monster at his absolute biggest."

"What...what if it doesn't fit?"

I patted his back. "Got to loosen up properly first, old stallion! I'll send you some websites with guides."

"Ah. Websites. Of course. For everything." He sighed. "For that price, though, I wish you could order a trial model or something. To be sure."

I don't think he meant anything other than what he said, but in my newfound comfort, I couldn't resist being cocky. "Didn't you say it's identical to your dick?" I asked casually. "Just use that as a guide."

Dad paused, then pulled the laptop a little closer and stared over the lid at his covered crotch. The look he gave me was genuinely concerned, and I loved him for it, but it was the least necessary emotion in the world just then. "If it's too weird for—"

I held up a finger to silence him, then stood up without a word and pulled off the pyjamas I'd put on earlier with the vague hope of containing any night-time erections. Heart hammering, now wearing only my well-filled boxers, I lay back on the bed and tried to project an aura of utter disinterest.

"There," I said. "Not weird if I do it too." A wet spot of pre was quite visible on my underwear, as well as my state of medium arousal, but I'd chalk that up to talking about ass-fucking if it came up. I gestured casually at him. "Go for it."

Dad seemed lost for words, but a few seconds later he set the laptop aside, stood up, and without pause pulled his natty tartan pyjama bottoms off.

And Michel came flopping out.

It wasn't actually Michel, of course, and it was mostly flaccid and entirely unflared, but Dad was right: it looked exactly like him. Like...me. I'd seen the same sight in the mirror so many times, I felt a sort of vertigo to be seeing it from this angle, but even a team of rugby horses could not have dragged my lust-drunk eyes away.

The thick pillar of ash-grey skin—daubed with white as it approached the flare, with a single prominent vein wending down along the top from sheath to crown—was exceptionally sized even for our breed. The medial ring looked almost obscenely swollen in the laptop's half-light: ruddy and shiny, like a thick band of red gold had been slipped around his shaft and cinched tight. His fuzzy balls—he didn't shave them either, I noted with satisfaction—hung low behind the tremendous pole, cradled between the gigantic thighs that marked all the males in our family. The scale of him almost made his penis seem ordinary...until you recalibrated for bulk and realised that, even essentially soft, Dad's cock must be a good twelve inches long.

A very good twelve inches.

It took only seconds for me to commit the view to memory, ready to power a lifetime of new, anatomically-correct fantasies. Now with accurate articulating Dad-penis. Dad had already slid back into bed with a grunt and pulled the laptop a little closer, balancing it on one thigh. Now he frowned, alternately staring at the rotating 3D model and lifting his cock as if to gauge a comparison.

"The problem now," he said, as if comparing insurance, "is it's not the same when it's like this." He took his flare in hand, squeezing the soft flesh. "See, this I could take. But that"—he gestured at the screen—"is fully flared. A lot bigger. Hm." He measured his flare with two fingers, then lifted them and stared, slowly spreading them further apart and scowling. "I need a ruler."

"Just get hard," I blurted. A ridiculous thing to say, but I was in a silly place, mentally. Dad was actually naked next to me. My synapses had fried.

Dad chuckled. "Ah, to be young again. Son, at my age, you don't just get hard. You, randy jack that you are, can probably be straining those boxers with just one thought of a sweet jenny, but I have to pencil it in a week in advance to get a running start." He lifted his massive, soft member and let it flop back down against his legs with a meaty sound that made me have to swallow a whimper. "This is as far as I get without effort, or time—or, preferably, both."

The urge to say something was so overpowering I had to pretend to say it in my mind to not actually say it. I can help. And then Dad gave me a curious look, and for a moment, I thought I'd really actually said it.

"Help?" Dad asked.

Oh. I had.

"I..." I ransacked my thoughts and—because my mind only had one setting—turned up an ancient fantasy. "I...can get hard. Because we're...the same." Genius. "So you can get a better idea of how big it is."

"Oh!" Dad's eyebrows rose, intrigued. "That's a clever idea. Yes, that'd be great, son. Hah! The unexpected advantages of identical cocks, hm?"

I risked no words but flashed him a smile, then shuffled off the bed and stood, thumbs tucked into the band of my boxers. I must have paused because I heard Dad say, "Again, son, if I'm asking too much—"

He could not have imagined how wrong he was. "You're not," I said firmly. My hands shot down, taking my underwear with them, and the warm room air kissed my cockhead. I had dropped a good few inches more than Dad already, and I felt myself lengthening further even as I stood there like a heroic status, half-naked before my father in the breathless night. I looked down at my inheritance and hefted it, feeling the sexy, comforting weight of it in my palm. My hand slid back and forth under it, skin on skin, as if it was a great python to be gently awakened...and awaken it did.

Our pricks—I presumed Dad's to behave the same, seeing as we were cock-brothers in all other ways—were far too hefty to stand upright like a lesser species'. They hung down at a distinct angle, bobbing with each movement. At full arousal, even a hard clench of my well-developed cock muscles could only make mine shoot upward to be momentarily parallel with the ground before it fell back against my balls with a loud slap. A neat trick for impressing a date, but not especially arousing for me. No, to get genuinely, painfully hard, all I had to do was...

This.

One hand held my meat aloft and the other reached for my flare, fingers gripping it around the coronal ridge like I was about to throttle it. Clenching made the flare swell with contained blood and made me grunt as pleasure skittered through me. I closed my eyes to focus better as my hand got to work, clenched tight and sliding around my flare as if tightening a bolt. As stupid an idea as it was, I wanted to put on a good show for Dad.

My hands were the unmarred ones of the eternal desk worker, but even they felt rough as sandpaper against the sensitive skin of my cockhead. Through my fingers I could feel the blood pulsing along my shaft: hot, throbbing waves that would be beaten only by the explosion of thick, musky cum that would cap it all off. My lip rose in flehmen as my stallion scent grew stronger, feeding back into me and super-charging my arousal, making me grunt and snort. The hand supporting my shaft slipped closer to my body, sliding under my balls to heft them and feel their own constrained churning. Billions of swimmers champing at the bit, ready to squirt out and prove just how virile a robust jack like me in the prime of his masculinity could be when he—

"Michel?"

Dad's voice sounded oddly soft, almost drowned out by the thud of my heart in my ears. My eyes opened, but their unadapted lenses saw nothing but dark. "I'm here, Dad," I replied, hoarser than I expected. I took a deep breath. "Just...had to get in the mood."

"Yeah, I...heard." And, doubtless, more than that: the room was now suffused with the pleasant musk of aroused donkey. I could just make out the end of Dad's muzzle and the flared nostrils there. Which was normal. It wasn't just a personal scent, after all: if one donkey had reason to be aroused, Nature had concluded, then others probably did as well. I remembered locker rooms after some all-donkey league games I used to do. A typical bunch of very straight, very not-confused donkeys...but if someone's musk happened to wander far enough from "just testosterone" to "arousal" territory—maybe as they considered some of the volunteer cheerleaders that equine teams like ours always attracted—then soon every cock on the team was flopping around as freely as if a mare had just walked in and pissed right in front of them. Shit, there was an excellent chance I'd actually given Dad a chub simply by playing with myself as I had, even if it wasn't his sort of...

I let my eyes fall, willing them to adapt faster to the gloom. Between Dad's legs: a bulge. Bigger than before? Possibly. Swollen by my musk.

"You good?" Dad sounded more normal now, as the blood in my ears receded to a soft hiss. I blinked.

"Yeah." And I really was. Flooded with testosterone, glowing with vasodilation, I could hardly remember why I'd been so torn about this. The only things my mind was split between now was whether to focus on the massive, smug weight of the giant donkey cock pulling down between my legs or to look around with horny intent for somewhere to put it. Instinct told me to breed, but I played instinct like a spinning top. "Yeah, I'm great. Got him all ready for you, Dad."

I let my cock go and it dropped like a falling tree to hang between my legs, knocking against my knees. What a fucking stud I was. I walked around the bed towards Dad, who watched my approach with something like disbelief. When I stopped before him, the red glow from the laptop screen made the taut flesh of my dick look shiny and wet, as though I'd just pulled it free of a warm, welcoming hole. I stuck a hand under it and lifted it, the swollen flare hanging freely, and gave it a single shake.

"There you are, Dad. One Michel, in all of his glory." I felt drunk on the impossibility of it all. Showing off my erect cock to my father as if it was just an interesting creature I'd found. "Think you could manage all of him?"

"I..." Dad looked taken aback. "Shit...it looks exactly like me..."

Only a few minutes before, that comment might have made me be more...me. But I didn't feel like me just then: I felt like a different Michel. The one that people lusted for and paid money to imagine being pleasured by. Michel the donkey. Michel the giant throbbing sex toy. Michel the bold. "We're really fucking hung, huh?" I said, shaking my cock again. It felt good to shake it. The mass, the latent power.

"It looks smaller...when it's between my legs," Dad said. To my delight, his eyes were darting all over my prick as if trying to memorise every vein and every fold. He'd leaned in a little to get a better look in the low light, and I resisted the desire to take a step closer and hit him in the face with my flare.

"Yeah," I agreed. "Good idea, to get a good look like this. But you need to be sure." I adopted a wide stance and crossed my arms. "Feel it, maybe, and get a proper idea."

A twitch or two of his fingers, as internal thoughts debated, and then his hands rose, inching closer until they settled on the flare like two wary hummingbirds. He let loose a pent-up breath as I pulled one in, and then he laughed.

"This is like...I mean, in the dark..."

"...mmh?" The heat of Dad's hands on my penis felt like firebrands.

"It's like I'm playing with myself. Like that thing where you sit on your hands until they're numb and then jerk off, and it's like someone else is doing it. But...in reverse." He lifted my flare and stared into its Cyclopean eye. "It's a lot bigger from this angle. Fuck..."

"You can do it, Dad," I said huskily. "Just got to prepare properly."

"Yeah. I've got lube. Uh..." He made a ring around my flare with his fingers, then lifted them away and stared at the resulting shape. "Fuuuuck..." Not a curse of fear or worry, but of sheer lust. "What...what lube do you use? When you're, uh, with a guy. Maybe I can get some of that."

"I don't need any." The lingering warmth of Dad's touch was like the fading echo of a siren's song. "I make my own." I lifted my cock, holding the flare upright. A drop of pre-cum glistened there like a tiny decoration. I'd dripped many more onto the ground already tonight, but this one had clung on after Dad's touch. Like me, it was unwilling to move on. I caught it on a finger and licked it off. "Can't get better lube."

Dad looked fascinated. "That's all it takes? And they can fit all of you?"

I nodded. "With some help from my tongue, it doesn't hurt anyone." It came out low, like I'd use on a guy in a bar, and Dad started. His eyes flicked up to my mouth at that, seeing my tongue just slipping free of my lips, then rising to my eyes. I held the stare, not knowing what else to do. Had he...that look...? A wild, impossible hope came sprinting out from the corners of my mind. Did I dare imagine that he—?

But not a second later, Dad's eyes swept away. "Well," he said gruffly. "Thanks for, uh, the...the help...son..." His hands wrapped around one another distractedly, and I felt something inside me clench tight. A sudden hot flush prickled my skin, and I quickly turned away before I had to explain any tears. It was stupid to cry, anyway. As stupid as I was to think this could actually happen. I'd gotten more than I could ever have hoped for, but—greedy, stupid, horny pervert that I was—I'd wanted it all. I'd wanted the impossible.

I stared into the darkness, silently raging. Fucking idiot. Fucking idiot. "Okay." Fucking—*!*

"Fuck..." Dad completed my silent curse. "You sound just like your mother when you say that." My ears perked and swivelled in his direction, unsure what he meant by that. The obvious, of course, but he sounded...tense. I heard him shuffling on the bed, but tears still pricked the corners of my eyes and I didn't dare turn towards him, so when he continued speaking—haltingly—I simply stood and listened.

"She took me to dinner once, a couple of years ago. Bunch of people, somewhat fancy. Didn't know most of them. There was one couple I got along with quite well. Hit it off early and chatted up a storm all night. Older guy and his younger boyfriend. Clearly insanely in love. I told them they were proof that opposites don't always attract because despite being like thirty years apart, they were still so damn similar. They just laughed.

"Anyway, on the way home, I comment on how nice they were. Asked your mom, how do you suppose two nice folks like that found one another? On account of the age difference. And she said nothing at first, but she had a funny expression. Then eventually she said, well, I'm guessing the bedroom. And I laughed at the joke and all, but she said, no, not like that. And then she tells me...that's not his boyfriend. That's his son."

The air of the room grew close, collecting about me like invisible chains. I could not have moved if I wanted to.

"And I went quiet," Dad continued, "because...well, I didn't expect that. Sat on that news a good while in the car, chewing it over. Looked at your mom a few times, but she was just driving. No skin off her back, apparently, that a guy and his son were dating. And I thought real hard, and eventually I asked her, so, what do you think about that? And she gives me that sharp look she did when it was pay-attention time—you know the one.

"She shoots that at me and says, Bara, do you love me? And I choke and say, of course, why would you ask that? And she says, did you love me when you first saw me? And I say, yes, dear, of course I did, and she says you're a liar but I'll allow it. She says, you just wanted a place to put your elephant, and maybe the rest of you felt something, but it wasn't love like you feel now. And I said, that's fair, the elephant was doing a lot of the heavy lifting back then."

The darkness about me had weight now, and it was crushing me.

"So she nods and says, you see, love changes sometimes. From one sort into another. Because sometimes you only feel one sort of love, but another sort is creeping up on you, slow and steady, and it'll take you over whether you want it to or not. And I kinda got what she was saying, but I didn't really understand, and I think she saw that. So she said..." I heard his throat close up a little. "She just said: Look, Bara. Love is personal. Love is love. It happens sometimes, and you don't get to choose, but that's okay because nobody else gets to tell you it's no good if it ain't bad. Those two people? They made a choice, and it doesn't hurt anyone. So all we gotta do is leave them be so they can be happy."

I hadn't taken a breath for a thousand years.

"And your mom, son...well, you know. She was a real smart lady. So smart." He sniffed and wiped his nose. "Picked up on...a lot of things I was too dumb to figure out." A deep breath in, slowly expelled. "She left me with all this love, son, and it's too much. It's too much. I gotta give it out, just to keep on living. Gotta decide what to give it to. Or...who. 'cos it's not just the simple love, but the rest. The elephant love. I thought I could just give that to a...a thing...but..." I don't remember turning, but I was suddenly staring at my father. He looked back at me with eyes black as depthless pools in the shadow. "I think my love's changed, son," he said, voice cracking, words barely audible. "It's changed, and it...wants. It wants...something....but I'm afraid..."

I fell towards Dad, arms outstretched like an angel's wings, and as they wrapped around him to shield him from the world, I gently pressed my lips to his. They were dry and cracked and the most wonderful lips I'd ever kissed in my life. A few tender seconds and then I pulled back, staring into Dad's face right before mine as wonder, disbelief and joy all warred for expression on it. And when I cupped his muzzle, gently stroking his jaw with my thumb, I finally released the shuddering sigh I'd had inside me for twenty years.

"Give it to me, Dad," I croaked. "Give all your love to me."

It was as if ten years rose from his shoulders and vanished. His face cracked in two, and I pulled him close as he wept. Not for loss or pain or loneliness, this time: he finally cried simply from relief. I held him close, head tucked in beside his, merely being there for him as he let it all out and as my heart grew and grew and grew. Large enough now to easily contain the both of us.

He held on after the tears ended, until at last I heard him sigh and felt him move. We disentangled, and he sat back up. I smiled at him and wiped a tear from his face, and he smiled back and did the same for me. For a while, we just stared at one another. Each of us seeing a whole new person—and a thrilling new landscape of opportunities.

"As simple as that?" he asked, eventually.

I took his hand and kissed it. "Love is love."

He smiled and nodded fiercely. "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

"And I...may have a thing for elephants." My hand released his and slid onto his cock. I squeezed it gently, watching him closely to see if I was moving too fast. No danger of that, apparently: he gasped, looking down, then back up at me with lust-soaked eyes. I could have picked his expression out of a line-up of ten thousand. I saw it every time I dropped my pants in the bedroom.

Dad put a hand on top of mine and squeezed, and I instantly took the hint. He was only half-hard, but I could fix that very quickly. "Dad," I breathed, "I want to...do things to you."

My father leaned slowly back, resting against the headboard with his hands at his sides. His legs spread a little wider, giving me complete access to his body. "Well, son," he said, "this is all new to me, so you'll have to take the lea—fhhhuuuuuuck!"

I was already dragging my tongue along his shaft, tasting every part of him. I finished with a suckling slurp on the tip of his cock, making his body arch and flex, before diving down to sniff and lick his balls a few times—fuck, he smelled perfect—and finally sliding up alongside him on my knees. He was already panting, and I grinned down at him and waggled my hard cock before him. As he stroked and squeezed it like a kitten with a new toy, I pulled my shirt off—so fast it tore—and then helped him to do the same. The heat of him bathed me. My hand stroked his chest and belly, gently circling his fat nipples as I lay down and nuzzled under and along his neck. Then I kissed him again, deeper this time, and longer. He was a great kisser. His tongue was as excited as I felt, tasting me and teasing in slow circles around my mouth and lips. My cock throbbed between us, waiting.

Waiting.

"I'm going to fuck you tonight, Dad," I told him when we broke the kiss. The lingering taste of him on my lips made my head spin. "I'll take it easy, but you're not leaving this bed until Michel's gotten balls-deep in that hot ass." Dad's whimpered moans answered for him. "I'm going to help you relax first," I explained, "and get you nice and loose." I licked his nose, then kissed my way down to a nipple and lapped at it a few times. "But then I will fuck that beautiful hole of yours until it's sucked every last drop out of my nuts." I looked up, along his body, to his face. "Because fuck, Dad...you make me so horny I can barely control myself."

My father's wide eyes and drooling mouth looked back at me. A reflected spot of red from the laptop screen shone in them like a bright flame. "Fuck, Michel," he moaned, "why does it turn me on so much when you talk like that?"

I slapped his ass cheek. "Because you fucking love having your ass filled."

"I do...fuck, I really do..."

"And your son's got the biggest fucking dick you know of." He stared greedily at my cock, and I nodded. "Yeah. That one. The one you gave him. Does it make you hard, Dad, knowing you're gonna be fucked by a dick exactly like yours?"

"Yes." Dad giggled and bit his lip. "Fuck...this is so hot, Michel. Look how fucking hard you're making me, son..."

As if I had stopped staring at any point. Maybe it took Dad a while to get erect when he was just by himself imagining some nameless pussy, but not when he could see the huge dick about to make a loose, sticky mess of his asshole. He was as hard as I was, with his swollen member lying heavily along his chest, ready to be attended to. I shuffled closer and laid my dick atop his, thrusting against him to make our dicks slide across one another. My flare dribbled pre-cum over his shaft, and Dad just panted and groaned, his head occasionally dropping backwards when it all got too much. And I'd only just begun.

"Shit, Michel," he groaned. "Ah, f-fuck...fuuuuck..."

I grinned. "Can't do this with a strap-on, can you?"

"Fuck, no...mmmh..." I felt Dad up as we frotted, stroking the thickness his body presented and feeling the muscle underneath. A sudden mental image: Dad, using that massive strength to pound his own cock into me. Being a bottom for once—but only for my father. Fuck. A hotter thought than I expected. I filed it away with my decades of other fantasies for imminent re-enactment. Soon. But only after tonight.

After I'd consummated my greatest fantasy ever.

I pulled my cock off Dad's and slid down, resting my head on Dad's belly alongside his elephant trunk of a dick. His chest hair was well soaked in donkey pre-cum now—from both of us—and the smell made me lightheaded. He—*we!*—looked even bigger from this angle. I pushed in closer and nosed the shaft, pushing it up a little to lick the underside and the skin it rested on, tasting it and Dad and everything. This was perfect.

"You're perfect, Dad," I murmured. "So fucking sexy..."

He laughed. "If turning grey and getting a big belly counts as sexy now..." He trailed off when I burst into laughter and slid up to give him a kiss.

"You have no fucking idea, Dad," I told him. His ears folded in embarrassment, and I took one in my hand and kissed it as well. "I'm going to have to fight them off with a taser when they hear you're single again."

"Well, I'm not, am I?" To my blank look he added, "Single, I mean. Um. If...this is...?"

I grinned. "Yeah, I...think it is."

He sighed and leaned back against the headboard. "Good." Then he cocked a finger to make me come closer until my head was right alongside his.

"If I'm so fucking sexy, son," he whispered into my ear, "why aren't you eating my ass yet?"

I whinnied and got to my knees, looking down on him, relaxing against the bed like a palace concubine. "Maybe I wanted to give you some time to remember what it was like before," I said archly.

He folded his hands calmly over his chest, right above his flare. "Before...?"

I grabbed his legs suddenly and pulled him away from the headboard with a yelp, then grabbed his side and rolled him onto his belly with a soft oof. "Before your son changed your life forever with his tongue," I growled. I pulled his legs apart and lifted his tail, and the sweet, sweaty aroma of warm equine wafted up to greet me. Under his tail, the black, unfurred flesh of taint ran down from his juicy ring to the top of his hefty ballsack. I spared a few glorious moments to drink in the virgin sight of my father's entirely unvirginal tailhole...and then I began.

Dad's asshole was terrific. I lapped at it first, savouring the sheen of clean sweat and randy musk, before going in deeper. My lips fit perfectly around the ring as I slurped and nibbled. Spit ran down my chin and down his taint; I took a few seconds to lick along that stretch of skin too, until I reached his balls and could slobber over them, feeling them flexing in their warm sack as entirely new forms of pleasure were visited upon their owner. Then, back up to the glistening hole—dark as sin, hot as desire—that invited me in with its mere existence. My hands stroked Dad's thighs as I let my tongue probe in a little, finding the warmth within and wanting more. My father was hot for me, and it drove me wild.

"Fuck, son...ah, shit, fuck...hrrr..."

And him, too, clearly. The sounds he made as I worshipped his doughnut were otherworldly. Every other word was a curse, an unvocalised moan, or a plaintive nicker. When I lifted my head to look at him, all I saw was his head lying on its side against the blankets, jaw slack and drooling, eyes clenched. His hands were fists around clumps of blanket; I could imagine how his cock jerked with even the lightest touch against his ring. I played with it a bit with my fingers, watching the effect it had on him with glee.

"You make a hot slut, Dad," I told him. His eyes fluttered open and he managed a half-smile.

"I'll be...anything you want...son," he said thickly. "Just don't...fucking...stooooopfuuuu...!"

Dad cried out as I pushed two fingers inside him, feeling him clench down around them, release, and clench again. "Tighten up for me, Dad," I urged him. "I want to feel those muscles. I like a tight fuck...at first." My fingers stroked his insides, making him quiver like a debutante and moan like a whore. A third finger joined the others, and my father groaned and pushed back against the welcome intrusion.

"Oooh, Daddy," I teased, "you want it bad, hm?"

"...d-deeper," he gasped, then whimpered and pushed his face into the blankets when I inserted another knuckle's worth of length. "Ffffuuuuck..."

I pulled my fingers back out—delighting in the dismayed cry Dad gave—and replaced them with my tongue again. He felt completely different now: blood engorged his ring, making it pert and fleshy, and I suckled on it like a delicious treat. Dad-hole, I concluded, was the best hole.

"Michel," came his voice, muffled by cotton and dripping with desperation. "Please, son..."

My lips came free with a wet smack. "I'm here, Dad." I slid one hand underneath him, finding the base of his cock and gripping it. "I'm here..."

"Please...I need it."

"Mmh...what do you need, Dad?" I massaged his cock and circled his asshole with one finger.

"I need to be fucked..."

"Yeah. You do." I got on my knees and slapped my cockhead against his ass-cheeks in turn. "By your son's fat inheritance."

"Yes, please, Michel," he begged. "Don't make me wait longer, son...I can't..."

I grabbed his side and rolled him onto his back again, looking down on a clammy, needy mess of a donkey father. His hair was shiny with sweat, and his cock bulged. He was panting and horny and absolutely gorgeous, and my heart felt like it would explode out of my chest when I looked at him. I suddenly couldn't wait any longer to be inside him.

I took his legs in my hands and pushed them apart with a faint whimper from him—and a louder one when I pressed two precum-covered fingers inside him. I was dripping quite freely; there was more than enough to make sure Dad's hole was as wet as a well-oiled bore. When I replaced the fingers with the tip of my enormous flare, I felt a sharp clench from him and met his eyes.

"Dad...if this is too much..."

He shook his head violently, and I cupped his head and smiled. He smiled back and extended a tongue to lick the last of the pre-cum off my fingers, then huffed.

"Your cock will never be too much for me, Michel," he growled. "Fuck the living daylights out of me, son."

I nickered back in pure horniness, taking a firm hold of his legs and forcing them high and wide. "Let me hear you, then, Dad," I said. "I want to hear how fucking good my dick makes you feel."

I began pushing in, slow and smooth, watching Dad's face. There was discomfort and the odd flash of pain, but that would pass. I looked lower, to his nipples and his cock. Both were as hard as they could be, quivering and pulsating with minds of their own. Minds controlled only by lust.

"Fuck, Michel..." Dad was almost whining. "You're so fucking big, boy..."

"As big as you." The flare was halfway inside him. "Just a bit more..."

"Uhhhh....mmmnnnhhhh..."

"You like it, Dad?"

His eyes were closed again. "It's so...fuck me, it hurts, but it's so fucking good...fuck, son, why does your dick feel so good..."

"Because it's a gift you gave me, Dad," I said, "and now I'm giving it back." Sweat ran down my face and dripped onto the many inches of cockflesh waiting to be thrust deep into my father. The edge of my flare was all that was left of this first phase: the widest part of my cock by far. I held Dad's legs firmly, easing in as slow as honey, watching for any sign that it was too much. But the twitches of his upper lip that might denote discomfort were almost invisible, while the blood that surged in pulses along the prominent veins of his dick was practically audible.

"Almost..." I said. I could feel the edge of his hole start to wrap around my flare. "Almost, Dad..."

"Ffff..." He gritted his teeth. "Fffffuuu.....AAAAAAH!"

Suddenly, the head was fully inside him. Dad's flesh wrapped in close around it, sealing against the shaft behind it with the faint wet sound I loved. I stopped dead, sucking in a violent breath at the peerless feeling of first penetration. Softness and tightness and heat; so much heat. Dad's body was like a furnace. A slight coolness where my own pre-cum was oozing out inside him, but nothing more. My head whirled, looking down at the point where we were conjoined. Son to father; cock to ass. The impossible made real.

"Fuuuuuck, Dad," I moaned, "your ass feels fucking amazing..."

Dad didn't even reply. The cry he'd given as I slid all of it in had been the last comprehensible sound he'd made. Now he had four fingers hooked into his slack mouth while the other violently masturbated himself, making only soft, animalistic noises. I placed my hand over his, holding it still and meeting his eyes.

"Nu-uh," I teased. "Not until I'm done fucking you." His glazed, sex-drugged expression seemed to reach for me and beg for more, and that alone made my balls clench in need.

As I started pushing my shaft in, Dad started whimpering. Loudly. The battering ram of my flare spread him more than wide enough ahead of the shaft. It was so big, I could see it moving up Dad's abdomen: a slight rise in his own shaft as it lay on his belly, marking the depth his son had reached inside him. Three inches, four, five...I paused at eight, clenching my cock a few times to lubricate Dad's tunnel some more, and lifted my hand free to allow him to masturbate himself some more. I could see that if I didn't keep an eye on him, he'd jerk himself off to an explosive orgasm without a single thrust from me, just from the feeling of having his ass full of cock.

Dad was such a fucking bottom, and I loved it.

I pushed in deeper, ever more eager to hilt in my father. Fifteen inches now. I wanted to pull out and thrust back in, but not yet. Eighteen. Dad was jerking off too fast again, and I made him stop. Our breaths were equally hoarse, and the room had grown hot as a sauna. Nineteen. My balls grazed his thighs and settled atop Dad's own. He may have given me my cock, but the balls had not been part of that package deal; while mine were still of equine size, Dad's hung extra-low, giving space for mine to nestle in right above them as the final inch of my dick slipped into him.

"Gh...hhhah..." I shook my head, trying to clear the torpor of pleasure and warmth. "Fuck...oh fuck..." All twenty inches of my prick was inside my father. I felt him clench around it as he jerked off blissfully. Such a fucking hot sight. I should help.

I pulled ten inches of my dick out of my father and slammed it right back in.

Dad screamed as though his every nerve ending had caught alight, and a massive splatter of pre-cum hit him in the face. I pulled out again and repeated the thrust, and he cried out again. His hand slipped free of his cock and fell to the side. Some small part of me noted that with amusement while the rest—the majority—of me focused on the fantastic, searing pleasure of my cock sliding in and out of Dad. His ass was insatiable; I felt it sucking on me when I pulled out and opening back up like a lover's lips when I pushed back inside. I could fuck it forever. Mind whirling, I forced myself to do my little ritual, the one that kept me from ejaculating too soon. The one way my skills at distracting myself were actually helpful.

The room—
Dad's hands, lifted to grip the top of the headboard as his body swayed with every massive, muscled thrust I made into him—
The stink of sweat and precum and lust in the air, strong as perfume—
The ruddy glow from the forgotten laptop, where our shared penis still rotated in silent splendour—
Dad's face, moaning in ecstasy, lost in bliss—
Dad's body, thick and beautiful—
Dad's ass, hot and tight and filled with me—
Dad's scent, rich and glorious—
Dad's cock. Dad's cock. Dad's...

My jackhammer cock.

I whinnied on each thrust, pulling almost all of my dick out each time. Fifteen hard, perfect inches of donkey maleness storming the wide-open, welcoming gates of Castle Fuckmydad. My flare felt almost numb from pleasure now, but that just made it easier to keep going a little longer. Dad's face was locked into a porn-star rictus, his hands holding onto the top of the headboard for dear life as I rode him like a bucking bronco. His pleasure was mine, and it was unbearable. I needed him to cum. I needed him to reach his peak because of me. All any good son wanted for their father was to make him proud, but I was more than his son now. I was his lover, and I didn't just want to make him proud: I wanted to make him scream in explosive pleasure, to roar as those gorgeous low hangers of his pulled up tight like winter fruit and emptied themselves over both of us.

I let Dad's legs fall to either side and leaned over him, my hips jerking like a berserk machine as they hammered Dad's ass for all either of us had. My own cries now mingled with Dad as drops of spittle flew from my lips and speckled his dusky hair. His head swung from side to side as if seeking a way out, but it was just the overload of pleasure seeking an outlet. His synapses had given up, too soaked in dopamine to know how to fire any other signal. His body was on autopilot as his mind soared through heaven, and that thought was worth it all, worth every night I'd ever spent in self-loathing at what I dreamed of, worth every moment of heartache when I woke from a dream of us being together. Dad was mine, and I was his...and I was going to fuck the ever-living shit out of this donkey's gorgeous ass for the rest of time.

I snarled like a caged thing, pulling my attention inward and focusing on Dad's cock. He'd not touched it in...how long had this been going on? Minutes? Hours? Had we ever, the two of us, not been fucking? The world was just the two of us, in this bedroom, so maybe it always had been thus. A universe of donkey sex. Twenty more inches of hard equine prick thrummed on Dad's belly, pre-cum soaked and fully flared. A thing of beauty. I looked down on it as if it was my own, imagining it deep within Dad. That flare, the bringer of pleasure, and the shaft, the wielder of power. His prostate must be mush already; I just needed to push a little harder.

"Cum for me, Dad," I said, nickering bestially. "Cum for your son. Cum from my cock."

His head whipped. His mouth moaned. Our cocks pulsed.

Harder. Harder! "Cum for me, Dad!" I could not physically fuck him any faster. The bed shook beneath us; the laptop, inching across the blankets for ages from the vibrations, finally fell off with a crash. "Cum for me, Dad!" My balls felt his balls sliding up beneath them, and I grinned with manic glee. "Cum for me, Dad! Show me how that gorgeous cock of yours can blow!"

"Show me how you made me!"

A sudden cessation of sensation along the entire length of my cock...and then, like an infalling star, unbearable pressure. As we bellowed in unison, there was a loud cracking sound and Dad's hands fell down, holding pieces of the headboard he'd snapped off. We only realised that later, of course; there were slightly more pressing matters at hand in the moment. Like the sudden transformation of my cock from a mere piece of flesh into a white-hot sceptre of orgasmic pleasure. Or Dad, choking and spluttering as his cumshots hit him directly in his face, one after the other. Or the beautiful agony of my own balls, pulled so hard up against me I thought they might explode, finally releasing their massive, pent-up load deep within my sire.

I'd cum the night before, but by how long it took Dad to finish cumming, he'd not had a decent orgasm for weeks. The throbbing of my nuts had subsided to below intolerable levels before Dad stopped squirting out small additions to the complete mess he'd made of himself and the bed around him. Litres of mature donkey spunk drenched the bedding, coagulated in his hair, and—mostly—cooled in a thick pool around his cock. Panting, my arms shaking as they supported my weight, almost passing out from light-headedness, I looked down at that glistening sea. The moon had risen at last, casting light through the window, and I could see it all so clearly. There was...so much...

I let my elbows fold, dropping my muzzle towards Dad's body. My mouth opened to let my tongue lap out, and I began drinking out of that sea of cum as one would upon happening across an oasis in the desert. The warm jizz tasted of nothing so much as...Dad. Nutty and a tiny bit sour, but on top of that, dominating it...simply the taste of Dad. I nickered and drank faster, folding my arms further when I couldn't reach any more of the glorious drink. My well-drained cock was softening, but I was still so deep inside Dad that it wouldn't come free without effort. I still felt his heat around my member...and now another heat, radiating out from my belly, as I drank down every drop of hot cum my father had made.

When his body was licked clean, I moved on to his cockhead. He groaned at how roughly my tongue scraped over his hypersensitive flesh, but in that one moment, I did not care. I had to have all of him. And when the cock was cleaned, I leaned back. Reached down and pulled my cock out of him like a python—awoken, satiated, and now returning to slumber—and laid it atop him. Then I crawled up his body, legs shuffling wetly through sticky, cum-soaked blankets until my head reached his head. Finally, I fell on top of him, our spent cocks slithering alongside, kissing one another with the final dregs of seed within them as my mouth found Dad's and I kissed him too, with a mouth coated in his seed and a deeply happy heart.

Dad kissed me back, his tongue supplying what cum I'd missed by virtue of it still being inside his mouth, but it seemed that was all he had the energy left to do. When the kiss broke, and I let my head flop down onto his shoulder, he could only pant and wheeze. I let the old donkey recover his breath, more than happy to just lie here with him and marvel at what we'd done.

Some time later, on the verge of falling asleep, I heard him take a deep breath. I looked up, waiting to hear what wise, insightful thoughts he'd been thinking since we'd fucked. Since we'd made love.

"Michel," he said thoughtfully.

"Yes, Dad?" I asked, then giggled. "Yes, boyfriend?"

"Oh. That's...yes, I like that. But also: you're sort of crushing my nuts."

"Shit!" I quickly rolled off him and looked between his legs in alarm. "Sorry, Dad. Are you okay?"

"Yep. All good now." He gave me a thumbs-up. "Luckily, they're very empty, so no harm done."

I chuckled and cupped them. "Good work, boys. Outstanding work." I shook my head a little. "Fuck, Dad, you cum more than anyone I've ever seen."

He squinted down at me. "Oh, didn't get that little extra with your copy of Dad's big donkey cock, huh? Interesting."

"I'll have to keep sponging off you for that bit, then, I guess."

Dad lifted one arm and considered his cum-filled pit. "A sponge does not sound like a bad idea right now."

We got out of bed with varying degrees of awkwardness until we stood facing one another. I looked at my father's beautiful face and felt my heart swell again...but already, thoughts were gathering.

"Dad?"

"Shower's that way."

"Yeah, no, I know. But, uh...what comes next?"

Dad paused and looked back at me, halfway to the bathroom. "Fuck, Michel, I don't know! I mean...this is all fucking new to me, boy. Can't look to me for answers. Like...do we, uh, tell people? Are you gonna—?"

"—move back to be with you? Obviously, Dad."

"Aw, son, that's wonderful! But I was going to say, are you going to be responsible for somehow cleaning that mess on the bed, or am I?"

I rolled my eyes, and Dad laughed, flicking on the bathroom light. "I really don't know, son," he admitted. "But then, I didn't know what the fuck I was doing when I met your mother either, and we made that work. All that matters is...doing it together." He walked back to me and kissed me on the nose. "And we are. So. Leave the big questions for another day."

"Heh. Okay."

He walked back, turning on the shower, and over the rush of water, he added, "There's one question that I do already have an answer to, though."

"Which one?"

"Well, now I know why people want to buy a copy of your inheritance."