Author's Note: As always, thanks for all the glowing feedback!
Comments always welcome at [email protected].
As you can tell, the central dynamic in this story is between Richard and Matt. So I'm very pleased to say that, after many adventures in between, Richard and Matt have now reunited since their fateful trip to Rome. They've uncovered lots of secrets along the way, and now they're starting to culminate.
Please enjoy the beginning of Camp Harding, currently scheduled to be a four-part finale.
Chapter 7: Camp Harding, Pt. 1
MATT
September 2025
-- Day 1 --
We drove the last mile to the state park with the windows down. The air was still warm this time of year. The rich scent of pine and moss filled the car, reminding me of summers long past. As Dad steered into the park's entrance, the road turned to gravel, crackling beneath us.
Three tents sat atop our truck, pinned down with braided rope. My stepdad Enrique sat in the front passenger seat next to Dad. Meanwhile, Uncle Patrick followed closely behind in his own truck, joined by my brother Justin and Justin's son Lucas.
We unloaded in the empty parking lot, the sun hanging high above our heads.
"Got everything?" Dad said to no one in particular, resuming his usual post as captain.
Uncle Patrick said, "Yep, need a hand with anything, Richard?" as he closed the trunk of his car.
Dad said nothing.
The six of us marched into the wooded area and followed the familiar route to the campground. The path was well-known to us after all these years. The ground was uneven and soft with fallen leaves. It was a 30-minute walk to the best spots close to the river.
Colorado Bend was a great park. Hiking trails abounded. Even for Texas, there was some decent elevation, and a steady stream of clear water curved through the landscape. But the biggest highlight of all was Gorman Falls -- the 70-foot cascade that rushed and splashed over the limestone rocks further up the river. A pristine swimming hole if I've ever seen one.
The amenities weren't too bad either. A fire pit at each campsite. Kayaks to rent. And, mercifully, plumbing. Even though we didn't mind roughing it, running water was a treasure at the end of a sweaty day. There were three outdoor showers just minutes from our usual campsite, in a neat little row by the restrooms.
Toting our gear in a single line down the path, we shared which activities we were most looking forward to.
"I can't wait to jump in the river," I said.
"The water should still be good this time of year," Dad called out over his shoulder.
"I'm going to beat my s'mores record," Lucas piped up, shaking the blond curls from his face.
"Easy, tiger, we don't want you getting sick," Justin fired back.
"Oh, let him have some fun," said Uncle Patrick. "It's his trip after all."
Uncle Patrick had a point. The camping trip was our usual tradition to celebrate Lucas's birthday. Today was Lucas's last day before turning eighteen.
We arrived at our favorite clearing, and we whooped when we saw that it was available. The few campsites nearest to us were similarly empty. Peak summer season had already passed.
For as long as I could remember, the sleeping arrangements had been the same: Dad and Patrick together in one tent, Justin and Lucas in another, Enrique and me in the third. It had become standard without ever being stated.
This time, though, Dad cleared his throat when we dropped our gear and said, almost offhandedly, “Let’s do it a little different this year.”
We all paused.
“Matt, you should bunk with Patrick this time,” he added, already lifting a tent from the pile. “I’ll go with Enrique, and Justin and Lucas can have the big one.”
Dad didn’t look at Uncle Patrick as he spoke. He focused on the tent poles in his hands, as if they required his full attention.
The words landed lightly, but the air shifted. Uncle Patrick gave a small, unreadable nod.
Enrique blinked once, surprised, then shrugged with his usual diplomatic warmth. "Sure."
Justin glanced at me, eyebrows lifting a fraction.
Weird, I thought, returning Justin's glance. But aloud, I said, “Works for me.”
Lucas, oblivious, was already tugging at his backpack. “So where do I put my stuff?”
“You get to pick, birthday boy. How about over there?” Justin said, pointing and calling Enrique over. "Hey Enrique, give us a hand with the big tent first?"
While Dad was distracted with laying out supplies, Uncle Patrick and I were left alone with our tarp.
He leaned toward me, his voice low. “That was… unexpected.”
“Yeah,” I said. “You two OK?”
Uncle Patrick shrugged. “Your father’s the one acting strange.”
I didn’t disagree.
While Uncle Patrick and I began setting up our own tent, he began whistling a jaunty, meaningless tune to pass the time. It was silly and grating, but that's Uncle Pat sometimes.
It was rough, hard work, and we all worked up a sweat.
Dad and Enrique were the last to pitch their tent.
In any other family, it might seem strange that our dad and stepdad would get along so well. But since our parents' decades-old divorce was amicable, Dad took a decent liking to him -- and Enrique blended well with everyone.
Enrique is soft-spoken, in his mid-fifties, about medium height with a solid, lived-in dad bod. Jet-black hair fell over his forehead when he sweated, and his steady brown eyes carried a sense of calm that came from years of responsibility.
Enrique shared a common love of the outdoors with Justin and Patrick, and he was like a third grandfather to Lucas. Unlike Dad, Enrique was also warm and accepting with me when I came out, just as Uncle Patrick was. And so, Enrique's been part of the camping crew for years.
Once they set up their tent, Dad and Enrique began gathering firewood and stacking logs neatly by the fire pit.
Patrick’s whistling started up again, the same looping melody with no real ending. I noticed Dad rolling his eyes, his jaw tightening just a tad more, each time Patrick's whistling restarted.
Uncle Patrick walked over to Dad's tent, inspecting the rope that held it aloft. "Hey Rich, you might wanna check that line. Looks loose."
Dad's shoulders went rigid. Curtly, he said, "It's fine."
"All right... Need some help with the firewood?" Patrick walked to the fire pit. "You've-- oh hey, you're gonna need some more kindling--"
"Jesus, Patrick," Dad snapped, his voice tight. "I got it."
The remaining four of us all noticed that. Patrick turned silently and walked into the woods to keep some distance.
The sky softened by the time we all finished, the sun falling behind the high canopy of trees.
As the light thinned, Patrick drifted over to me and said quietly, “You got a minute?”
We walked a few steps away, just far enough that the others’ voices softened into background noise.
“He knows,” Patrick said carefully. “Your dad knows. About me and you.”
The words landed quietly. I didn’t ask what he meant. I didn’t need to.
So, I thought, Dad knows that Uncle Patrick and I have stroked our cocks together. Maybe he even knows that Uncle Patrick and I blew our loads watching that sex tape where Dad lost his virginity.
I nodded once, steadying myself.
“That’s why he’s off,” Patrick continued. "He even asked me not to come -- but c'mon it's Lucas's birthday."
I glanced at Dad through the trees, sitting back in a folding chair.
"Well, what's the big deal?" I whispered. "Didn't you and Dad -- you know -- circle jerk or Eiffel Tower or whatever the hell it is you did? For years?"
"I know. But something about hearing about you and me -- and me and Justin... That just got to him--"
"--Wait, you and Justin? He knows that too? But you said that was ancient history."
"It is. It was -- and still..."
I looked down at my feet. This is weird, I thought. Maybe Dad's spiraling. Maybe he thinks Patrick set me up or used me in some way...
I smiled to myself: Oh, please... Meanwhile, I'm the one who set up the whole threesome plot for Dad in Rome... And it's not like he's been so innocent, being a little voyeur on Steven and me.
I looked back at Uncle Patrick. "Don't worry, I'll figure something out."
* * * * *
It was nearing dusk, and the fire had been set. The smell of caramelized sugar wafted around us. Lucas was already on his mission of consuming as many s'mores as he could. Justin sat near him, clearly restraining himself from asking Lucas to lay off the sweets.
Enrique stood up after he finished his canned dinner and grabbed a towel. "Okay, I think I will take a shower before it's too dark."
Moments after Enrique walked off, Dad said, "That was a good idea, actually. I'll hit the shower too -- while we still got the good water." Whatever that meant.
"I'll come too, Dad," I sprang up, picking up a towel. "Before the mosquitoes come out."
Dad looked unfazed. I turned to give Uncle Patrick a look that said "I'll handle it."
Dad and I walked down the narrow, dusty trail that curved toward the showers. It was about a ten-minute walk, and I paced myself slowly.
The sky shone a deep amber above us, with cirrus clouds streaking across like gashes overhead. The crickets had already begun chirping.
"So, Dad," I said tactfully, "Everything OK with you and Uncle Patrick?"
After a pause, he said, without looking at me, "We just... had a fight. Don't worry about it."
"You sure it's OK? We shouldn't spoil Lucas's birthday..." I knew a guilt trip might help nudge him along.
"I know, I know," he sighed.
"Is it because Uncle Pat and I had some... guy time?" I suggested.
Dad stopped with a jolt and looked into my eyes.
"He told you."
"Don't be mad at him. I asked him what happened," I lied. "All you need to know is it was my idea."
"Your... idea..."
"Dad, it's just 'guy shit' or whatever Patrick calls it. No harm, no foul. The end." I shrugged. "Just fun."
I could see the gears turning in his head.
"Matt, you should know better--"
"Yeah, maybe," I blurted out, "but you and I fucked the same pussy together too, so there's that."
Dad winced.
"Dad, it's not the end of the world. You got Audrey, I got Steven. Patrick needed some fun. We were drunk. Let's just live with it."
"Okay, Matt," he sighed. "Okay. I'll think about it. But you're right. For Lucas -- I'll try to bury the hatchet this week."
"There we go," I said, slapping him on the shoulder twice. We continued walking.
By now, we could see the restroom building and the shower platform just alongside it. Deep-orange lamps were already lit outside the facilities, attracting moths.
The outdoor showers were on a raised wooden platform surfaced with cedar planks. Three stainless steel rainhead showers were set in a neat row along the back edge of the platform, spaced a few feet apart. A low wooden wall ran along the front of the platform, about four feet tall, just high enough to provide some modesty, and you had to climb onto the deck by using one of the short staircases at either end. The back wall was tucked up against a row of tall trees, which formed a natural backdrop.
Enrique was there on the platform, shirtless behind the short wall, and he had just turned on the shower in the middle. He faced away from us, toward the water.
As we approached, I nodded to one of the staircases, suggesting that Dad take the one on the right, and I'd take the one on the left.
Dad and I made quick work of stripping off our T-shirts and pants onto the grass, left in nothing but our underwear. I had a pair of briefs on, and Dad was sporting what looked like a square-cut compression Speedo. Enrique remained facing the showerhead, washing the sweat and grime from his hair.
Dad and I reached our respective staircases at the same time. We looked up and froze.
There was Enrique in his full, naked glory.
* * * * *
At first, Enrique's ass was on display to us both -- a tight, lean pair of caramel cheeks, fully hairless. Naturally so, I thought.
Dad and I glanced at each other across the way. Dad's face was partly clouded by the mist that floated around Enrique's feet. From the waist down, Dad's body was obscured by the platform. We measured the situation. With a shrug, Dad bent down. Then I saw him toss his black Speedo behind him.
I followed his lead, dropped my briefs, and flung it to the side from my ankle.
As I climbed up the few steps, Enrique turned in my direction and opened his eyes.
"Oh! Matthew. Hey."
There was his dick. My stepdad's dick. New to my eyes.
His cock was an uncut little sausage, about three inches soft, slightly darker than the rest of him, under a thick, dense bush of jet-black pubes. His balls were darker too, a coffee-brown sack between two tanned thighs. His foreskin hung just slightly below his dickhead and formed a noticeable pucker. The water rolled over it and formed a steady stream that splattered the wooden planks.
Behind him, Dad walked up his own set of stairs and revealed the rest of his body from the waist down.
Fuck. That swinging meat of his.
The first and last time I saw Dad's cock was when it was semi-hard at least, dripping with cum out of my friend's snatch. And now, even flaccid, it was something to behold.
Probably a good five inches soft, swinging with girth under his natural bush. His balls were pulled up tight, no doubt thanks to the Speedo.
Enrique turned around, hearing footsteps, and said, "Oh, Richard too. Hey."
Dad and I both gave Enrique curt nods and rotated our shower valves simultaneously. Warm water sprayed over us, onto the planked surface, and disappeared through the gaps in the floor.
Three showers. Three men.
I glanced to my right. Enrique was preoccupied with scrubbing his armpits, untrimmed and thick. The hair in his pits formed two dense, defined ovals of dark fur -- as black as coal.
Meanwhile, Dad was catching my gaze again across the way.
What a scene.
It felt like Dad and I were cornering Enrique right between us. Wherever Enrique faced, one of us would see his glistening ass.
And the other? The other could size up his pipi.
To think, both of those dicks have seen the same pussy. And Dad's and mine have shared Sofia's. What a strange brotherhood we made.
This wasn't a fancy shower. No little soap dispensers here. So the three of us resorted to just rinsing out our hairiest parts.
When Enrique would pivot in my general direction, I glanced down discreetly again. His pubic bush was full and clearly defined. It was so thick and dark that you couldn't even see a hint of skin underneath. Just a solid patch of black wool.
Pretty sure this was the first time that Enrique had ever seen me naked too. I noticed him steal a few glances at my crotch, which made my cock twitch involuntarily. I hoped he didn't notice.
Enrique spoke first, facing the wall. "Ahem -- So did either of you remember to bring the surprise for Lucas tomorrow?"
I wasn't sure what he meant.
Dad replied, "Yeah, Justin picked up the cake yesterday. I think it's a cookie cake -- that's his favorite."
"Nice..."
A wind rustled the trees overhead, and a few leaves fell. A sharp cold brushed over my body, and I turned the knob to warm up the water.
"I would like to walk up the hill tomorrow morning," Enrique continued. "Either of you want to come?"
"I was hoping to do a morning swim myself," I said.
"That sounds good, Matt. I think I'll join ya." Dad called out over Enrique's shoulder. "Sorry, Enrique."
I looked over at Dad to give him a nod. Then I saw Dad's hand was on his dick.
Enrique hadn't noticed. He was still facing in my direction.
I glanced again at Dad. He was definitely rubbing his ballsack a bit longer than usual. His nuts now hung lower than before, loose and relaxed in the steamy shower air.
Dad's nutsack hung so low, it even extended past his cock, which already was looking a bit girthier than before. His cockhead was just poking out of the foreskin, only about a quarter of the way covered.
I began to touch myself too. I wrapped my hand around my cock and balls -- thumb around the base and fingers under the scrotum. I gave it a few shakes. Nothing that couldn't be explained away as just washing myself vigorously. It made my equipment look massive. Pounded by the water above, my cock started chubbing up more.
Enrique ignored his dick, except for the cursory rubbing of his foreskin up and down to wash out his sweaty musk.
Then he turned his back to the torrent of water to scrub between his buttcheeks. What did he call them once? His nalgas?
He bent down to rinse behind his knees. His asscheeks blossomed open for me, just a tad, and the dark fur in his crack peeked out.
Fuck, it was just within reach...
I looked at Dad again and saw his gaze focused on Enrique's ass too. He saw I caught him. I smirked, and he returned a more sheepish smile.
Enrique, still oblivious, turned around and shut off his tap. He dried himself off with a light towel, focusing on his nooks and crannies.
Still dripping, Enrique started to move in the other direction, to pass Dad and walk down the stairs on the right. But something caused him to hesitate. I don't know if it was Dad's large, muscular frame -- fully bare -- that intimidated him, or if Dad was just blocking the way. But Enrique turned back in my direction, holding his towel loosely over his prick, and he brushed past me to walk off.
"See ya back there," he declared.
Enrique made quick work of putting his shoes and undies back on -- a pair of nondescript boxer briefs with a thick waistband -- and sauntered back up the path shirtless.
* * * * *
Dad and I remained under our own showers, quiet and deep in our own thoughts.
Look at us. Me on the left, my dad on the right, yards apart, drenched with water pouring over our heads.
We've been standing here a bit too long for a quick shower, haven't we?
I broke the silence.
"I always kind of wondered how you and Enrique compared... down there."
"Really?"
"Yeah. You know -- having two father figures. I wondered who outsized who. I mean... just a silly thought. Horniness really," I said casually.
Dad was quiet.
"For what it's worth, I think you won," I said, looking down at the drain. I tilted my head to the side to glance at Dad from the corner of my eye.
He was jostling his cock and balls again, looking straight ahead of him.
"I kind of wondered the same too," he admitted quietly, then laughed. "I guess you don't see a lot of uncut dicks anyway."
"No, not really. Steven is cut like me -- if we're being open here."
Then I remembered that Dad already knew that -- the little sneak, watching my husband and me fuck in our bed. I like that he doesn't know that I know. What other secrets are we Harding boys keeping from each other?
I continued: "But then again, there were some uncut cocks that Steven and I've shared on our travels."
I got a rush from speaking so boldly with Dad. He got quiet again.
"And of course..." I added, "I've seen you. And Uncle Patrick..."
I watched Dad vigilantly when I said Patrick's name. He flinched. His shoulders tensed. But he remained silent.
Eventually, he said, alluringly, "Hey Matt... Come over here..."
My heart lurched.
I left the warm spray above me and walked slowly to face my father, pausing underneath the showerhead that Enrique had just left earlier.
Dad turned his head toward me, his eyes piercing, water splashing off his hair, some droplets hitting me in the face. He smiled.
Whoosh. An icy torrent washed all over me, causing me to yelp.
Dad had flipped the tap of the middle shower, dumping cold water on my head.
"You jerk ass," I cried out, shoving his shoulder.
"Hey, watch it. Language," he said sternly through his laughs.
"Nice prank," I said, bumping the side of his hips with mine. I readjusted the lever, so the water above me was comfortably warm again.
I pretended to continue to wash myself. What a facade it was at this point.
Dad was now facing me entirely, his right forearm casually leaning on the planks in front of us.
"For what it's worth, I'd say you're bigger than Enrique too," he said.
"Oh yeah?"
"That girl in Rome was right... Yours does look like mine soft. Well, maybe not that soft anymore." He nodded to my crotch.
I swayed my hips so that my cock flopped against my thighs. It was now three-quarters chubbed up at least, but flexible enough that it could smack around playfully.
"Yeah?" I said. "Wanna see how big it can really get?"
Dad opened his mouth but couldn't find the words.
"Yours gets this big too, huh?" I added.
"Might be more, you little rascal."
"Let's see it."
"Matty..." he said. A warning.
"Who cares. I've seen it up close and hard anyway."
After a pause, Dad dropped his left hand to his cock and began pulling at it. His eyes never left my face. His foreskin glided off his glans. Dad continued to pump it up. He said nothing.
He just looked in my eyes. Then down at my cock, still swinging around. He bit his lips. He looked back into my eyes.
Once I saw him touching himself shamelessly, I dropped any pretense. I grabbed my own cock, turned to him, and stroked myself too.
The hot water continued to spray over us. Over him. Over his shoulders, coursing over his wide chest. His chest was blanketed with damp, golden-brown fur, and his pecs jutted so far out that his thick, pink nipples almost pointed downward.
My eyes followed the streams of water down over his hairy torso, down his thick bush, and down to his dadcock, proudly at full mast. The source of my inheritance.
I continued stroking myself, in a trance.
Dad muttered, "Have you always done it that way?"
I looked at him confused.
"Stroking yourself. You always do that technique?" he asked with a chuckle.
I looked down at my dick, held tightly in right fist. My thumb was closest to my bush, and I was jerking it in that backhand way that makes it feel extra special.
"It's one technique of many," I said, feeling a bit off-guard.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, the original way was more like this." I flipped my hand around, so that my thumb was on top, and began stroking faster down the full shaft. Rapid-fire. Like I couldn't be any hornier.
Dad roared with laughter, looking down at my dick.
"When you couldn't cum fast enough," he said.
"Exactly."
"Nice that we can bond like this," he said.
"Agreed."
"Maybe..." he said, "we could bond a little more."
Dad reached out his hand underneath my scrotum. He made contact, cupping my balls.
"Fuck." My knees buckled. My thigh brushed against his thigh.
I reached out for his ballsack too, hungrily.
And so we stood there under twin rainfalls in the great outdoors. Jerking our cocks impatiently. Fondling each other's nutsacks at the same time. Out in the open. No darkened hotel rooms or hidden gloryholes. Just fresh air.
While I focused all my energy on my shaft, Dad reached his other hand to the tip of my cock. Another point of contact. Warm, soft, and firm. He was in control. His fist rotated around my cockhead like a doorknob.
I moved my hand from my penis to his as well. My thumb rubbed Dad's frenulum underneath his cockhead, while I continued massaging his large balls, hanging a couple of inches below his taint.
The pleasure had been building up my cock. I could feel my semen collecting near the head. I let go of his balls and smacked my hand against the wall and shivered.
"Dad, I'm close."
"That's my boy."
"No, stop. I wanna time it together."
"Oh yeah? Keep going then."
He slowed his pace and started edging me, while I stroked him faster.
I looked down to brace myself and saw a large, fresh, green leaf upturned on the wooden flooring between our two shower drains.
"How about a game?" I gasped. "Look at that leaf. Let's aim our cum onto that."
I grabbed ahold of my cock again.
Dad laughed. "A game, huh? What's the prize for whoever drops the most?"
He grabbed his.
I reflected. "M-m-maybe a little treat when we get back to camp."
"Don't even think about doing this back at camp," he said with a half-laugh.
"We'll -- ah -- we'll figure something out."
I felt myself reaching the point of no return. My fingers clenched against the wall, and I pointed my cock straight at the leaf.
"Oh-- oh fuck," Dad said. He clenched the wall too, right next to my hand.
Instinctively, I lifted my hand, slapped it onto his, and held tight.
Dad looked at me, and I looked at him.
Then we both looked down, remembering our challenge.
I came first. I squeezed Dad's hand tighter against the wall, while volley after volley of my semen burst from my cock. I aimed right at the leaf.
The first rope overshot it and and landed on the floor, partially on Dad's big toe. His foot flinched.
I aimed the second rope directly downward. Bulls-eye. It pooled right on the leaf. The few smaller jets that followed were scattershot and missed the mark.
Right as I made direct contact, Dad started groaning.
"Ohhh fuuuuck," he moaned, voice rising in pitch.
His aim was better. He stepped forward, planting one foot next to mine, so that he was angled right over the leaf. His first jet of dadcum landed right on top of my spunk. So did the second. And the third.
The streams spewing out of his cock were thick and white. Substantial.
He tossed his head back into the rain shower and laughed heartily.
I relaxed my hand over his and threw myself back against the wall, looking back into the woods and the path from which we came.
"I won," he said mirthfully.
I snickered. "Yeah, I guess you did."
Dad shut off his tap and walked over to the short wall that separated the shower platform from the clearing and the pathway back to our family. Now out of the water, his entire form was in full view. His broad shoulders, his tapered waist, the full mounds of muscle on his ass. Slick and shiny. Dad was quiet again, contemplative.
"You don't think anyone saw us did you?" he muttered.
"Nah, the place is deserted," I said, looking down at what we produced.
"Let's... try and pretend that didn't happen," Dad said, still looking out.
"Dad, really?" I scoffed. "Again? Time to just face it. Besides, be happy. You just won a prize. I just gotta figure out what it is."
Dad looked back at me over his shoulder and smirked.
"Well, keep it PG."
Dad collected his towel and continued on down the stairs to get dressed. The shower still rained over me, and I could feel my fingertips getting pruny.
"You coming anytime soon?" he called up.
"I'll just do another rinse," I stalled. "Got kinda sweaty just now, you know."
"All right," he chuckled, heading back toward our campsite. "Well, don't take too long."
Once I made sure he was out of sight, I turned off the last tap, leaned against the back wall of the shower, and slowly slid down to sit.
So Dad and I stroked each other off... I smiled to myself. Bet Patrick and Justin can't say they did that.
I looked to my left and saw the leaf that my Dad and I abused. It sat there, largely safe from the downpours of water that had streamed over us.
Two barely distinguishable pools of semen.
Two tributes of hot man's milk mingling together... Dad's and mine.
I thought back to seeing my dad's hot cum dripping out of my friend's pussy last spring. And then using his freshly made lube as I fucked it back in.
I picked the leaf up to inspect it closer. One deposit was thin and watery and light. The other was thick and creamy and white. I think I could tell whose was whose.
Oh, screw it.
I lifted the leaf to my lips. I poured it all in.
The taste was a hybrid, I think. Overall, a little sweet, a little bitter.
As the two puddles of semen washed around my tongue and mostly down my throat, I couldn't tell one from the other.
I gave the leaf some final licks.
I closed my eyes and enjoyed the moment. First Justin, now Dad.
My eyes flew open. I had an idea for Dad's prize after all. I dressed quickly and made my way back to the campsite.
When I returned, Justin and Lucas were tending to the fire. Meanwhile, Dad was at the picnic table, engaged in conversation with Enrique and... look at that, Uncle Patrick...
Patrick caught my eye from across the way and gave me a half-smile. Looks like my job was done.
After the sun had set, the six of us sat around the fire again, the crackle of wood filling the spaces between our voices.
We sat in a loose circle, and all except Lucas sipped some beers. Enrique was directly across from me. Dad and Uncle Patrick were to my left, and Justin and Lucas were to my right. The flames caught and climbed, casting flickering shadows across the clearing.
Dad listened more than he spoke. Lucas talked about his hiking plans for the morning. He wanted to reach the highest ridge before noon to make the most of his birthday. Justin teased him about overestimating his stamina. Enrique offered to go with them, and Lucas brightened.
I asked Lucas to toss me the bag of marshmallows, while I held some graham crackers and a chocolate bar in my other hand.
"What happened to Mr. No-Sugar?" Justin nudged me.
"Sometimes you gotta live a little, Justin," I said.
After roasting two large marshmallows on a stick, I glanced around to make sure everyone was looking elsewhere.
I gave the chocolate chunk in my hand a soft, gentle lick. Then a second one. More generous.
Topping the chocolate off with the gooey mess of the marshmallows and a second graham cracker, I let the concoction melt together in my hand.
"Hey, Dad," I said.
He turned to me with a warm smile, the flames of the campfire dancing in his glasses.
Handing him the dessert, I whispered, "My treat."
--To be continued--
Email: [email protected]
Twitter/X: @mharding1985
---
"Dad's Helping Hand"
© 2025 Matt Harding
Chapter 1: What Happens In Rome...
Chapter 2: ... Cums Back Home
Chapter 3: The Videotape
Chapter 4: Steam
Chapter 5: Glory Days
Chapter 6: As We Used To Be
Dad's Helping Hand: The Christmas Special
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
