Home For The Holidays

When I was eighteen my Mom died unexpectedly leaving my father a widower not yet forty. We had each consoled the other but...his depression and loss was truly greater than mine. I'd moved away, had new friends, a job in technology that he didn't understand and impenetrably a wedge was shoved between us. As often as I could I'd go home to visit but it wasn't a pleasant experience for either of us; He knew I was doing this as a duty, not because I wanted to and I dreaded going and facing his glum face, taciturnity and lack of conversation. A time or two I'd tried to reminisce about Mom but that just drove him away. Even a couple of years after she died he was either in mourning or depression or both; I'd take the latter if there was a choice as there wasn't. When I'd walk into the house it was if I'd disturbed him and his grief, as if he'd just come indoors with it and it was chilly although he was sweating.

What made it doubly unfortunate was that my Dad was a good looking man, a Stud if you will. His grief didn't keep him away from the gym or his hour long swim each day. Hell, I envied him. Office work isn't known for it's cardiovascular elements and, frankly, I was verging on being a little too heavy, not much, I could still wear the same clothes but....nothing fit as well as it once had. Shirts were clingier and, depending on which one I wore, there was a slight gap in the placket between the button holes. Still, it was a good job, almost a great one, and if a spreading figure was the price to pay for the benefits I got, I would just pay it and plan on "doing something about it"in the future. (Gyms make money on guys like me who take out memberships, use them vigorously for a little while and then...they're never seen again although the dues continue through the life of your contract. You even get periodic letters written to you-by their computer-noting that they hadn't seen you around, drop by and see what was new. But you don't and not going breeds guilt which leads to a double latte mocha with whipped cream. Somewhere there might have even been coffee in there.)

For those who think Christmas is the Joyous Season, try spending it with a parent who has raised moping to an art form. I suggested we buy a tree. He suggested I stick it up my ass. I asked what he wanted for Christmas and knew it was the wrong question, it was a "Mom Question". Early in September I can still hear her saying, "Well, Jack, what do you want for Christmas and you might as well tell me or I'll get you socks and underwear." And then she'd laugh and he'd smile. That was a line from the past I couldn't quote, I have little doubt he would have cold cocked me and I'd have deserved it. So no tree, no gifts, no Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, no carolers, no nothing. Just two men caught in a box they owned and with no way to get out.

Twice I went out and got shit faced, not because I drink but because it made it easier to go home sauced than go home and find the television staring at him even though he didn't seem interested. During the day he was gone for several hours at the gym and swimming and I almost gave into temptation to put up a few bits and pieces of the holiday but....I didn't. However, like it or not, I had to get him a present, a task somewhat more difficult than untying the Gordian Knot but looking for something got me out of the house. Even when Mom was alive, Dad wasn't sentimental except about her and that would be no help. He had never been too interested in hobbies for, as I realized, they'd done everything together. So no fly tie-ing or a new golf club...I seriously thought about underwear and socks but realized that would be my last Christmas at home, not that never having to come back wasn't an appealing idea.

Malls are pleasantly impersonal although at the holidays, there's an almost overt effort to try and be "friendly" even if it seems a bit fraudulent. And I needed some friendliness however spurious the sentiment might be. One thing, my miles of mall walking was at least good exercise but it also brought me to the conclusion that the majority of the stores sold clothes for the young, foot gear for the young, inexpensive jewelry for the young and music, as well as the gadgets that played it, for the young. Any store that sold anything else became a target for me. And so I found "His Place" which was a day spa for men. Actually, it was a fancy barbershop that seemed to have had a head on with a fern bar but it was different and as it seemed aimed at adult males, not kids, I went in.

The pleasant receptionist asked how I might be helped and I had to tell her that, honestly, I didn't know, I'd just walked in to see what it was. Apparently, she sensed a mark and suggested I sit down and she'd explain what I could get, all their facilities and perhaps I'd be interested in a half price, introductory set of treatments. Sounded good to me, it gave me something real to do and kept me from going home. From the list of services I selected a facial, a massage as well as a trim and a shave. She asked a few questions, such as my name, accepted a credit card-for no small amount-and asked me to wait for just a moment.

And it was just a moment. A good looking guy in a black polo shirt with the firms name on it came up to me, addressed me by name, introduced himself as Paul and said he'd be my man to lead me through the spa and also be my barber. First was the massage. The place was larger than it looked and, to my surprize, was actually quite full. Paul said I'd been lucky to have walked in just then, I'd caught a cancellation, and I believed him. First stop was a cubicle where I could strip and put on a heavy terry cloth robe that made me want one like it. He asked if I'd like to put my watch, billfold and anything else in a personal safe-which I did-and then through an arch labeled"Treatments".

It was a typical massage room, low lights, massage table with the usual ring where you could put your head when laying face down. However, we started face up. Paul introduced me to PJ who was to be my masseur, said I was in good hands, clapped me on the back and then said he'd see me later. PJ was wearing standard issue white shorts and a white tank top, both stenciled with "His Place". I made him to be about 45, well built, crew cut, regular features, good smile;The true professional masseur. He had me sit on the edge of the table while we discussed a few things, had I ever had a massage, how did I react to pressure for a deep tissue massage, any allergies to oils, was I having any specific problems, did I prefer to keep my genitals covered...all good, relevant questions. The last one was asked as just a question never betraying whether it made any difference but simply acknowledged that some guys aren't comfortable being around another man when they're nude. I slipped out of the robe to answer his question.

He turned away to ready some towels, some oils, wash his hands, almost as thoroughly as a surgeon before surgery. This gave me a chance to look about where I was-not that I expected much. His diploma from a massage school, some instructional drawings of the physique indicating pressure points, some pictures of, apparently, good clients. And there my attention was riveted as if I were watching a head on collision. In the center, and the largest picture, was Dad, nude, shaking PJ's hand. A few other pictures also featured him on the table both face up and face down...imagine my surprize when I noticed that he had no tan line. Just as my imagination hit full Gallop, PJ returned and said we'd start on my back. Dutifully, and mindlessly-it was otherwise involved-I got on the table, stuck my face through the ring and felt oil being applied to my legs. I was encouraged to relax, no need to make conversation and if I wanted to nap, great. However my eyes were wide open curiosity practically dripping from my tear ducts. This was not the Dad I knew, certainly not stark naked, smiling, oiled up and not looking like a man in terminal grief. As casually as I could be-and having my face constricted by the ring covered a certain shock to my voice-I asked who the guy in the big picture was, adding something about how he"was just my type". PJ laughed and said he was just about everybody's type but, confidentially, that was his partner.

If one can simultaneously relax and tense up at the same time, I did. PJ took it differently. "Hey, buddy, he's a peach alright, best piece of tail I ever had. Normally he works out of Chicago but his kid's in town so he's here playing Daddy to his son."

In my considered opinion he wasn't doing a good job of it.

But what should have been obvious still had to be asked, "So, you and he are lovers?" "Yeah for about five, ten years, started back, oh, I don't know, I remember his wife was still living and we had to be awful careful. His going to the gym all the time helped. Then I was a masseur at that club and we could get a private room and get it on." That seemed to answer my question as completely as I'd wanted...but why not push my luck...

"You say he works out of Chicago?..."

"Yeah, got a good clientele there, all professional men, no trash, no quickies. Some times, on weekends, I go up and help him with three ways. We make a good team, the customers are always glad to see two muscled up guys fucking each other and then working them over..."

I considered answering but was in shock too deep to say anything cogent.

"...Yeah, Jacks a great guy, everybody likes him, he's kind, clean, a good sport..."

I found my voice, "Kind of a sexual Boy Scout..."

PJ laughed, "Well, he's a sport alright. Fact is I think he's coming in today so Sean can give him a good body shave, he likes to be clean."

It occurred to me there was a major difference between being clean and coming clean. And a plan formed.

"Hey, I know he's on his down time but....with his kid in town, would he like to meet a potential customer? I get to Chicago fairly often, it's not that far from Des Moines..." And why I picked Des Moines I'll never know other than it was in reasonable distance from Chicago and someone working there could conceivably get to the Windy City sometime. PJ was right on it. "I'll go check and see if he's here yet and whether he's 'available' right now...."

"Tell him I've got a shaving fetish and would pay to watch that..."


I sat up and stared at my foot trying to think what to do next. This wasn't a situation covered by any instructional manual ever printed:"How to Meet Your Suddenly Discovered Gay Father Who's A Male Hooker."

PJ stuck his head in the door. "You got three hundred in cash?"

I tried to laugh. "Not on me but in my pants, yeah. Oh, and one more thing, I have this thing about fucking guys when they're blindfolded so if you could...."

PJ smiled, "Gotcha...I'll be back directly."

You will understand this isn't an everyday situation. I was grateful I'd thought of the blindfold, it at least gave me the upper hand which, under these circumstances, I had anyway.

"Come on, he's just like you like 'em, Can't see a thing...we'll finish you in a bit...if you need to be finishedif you take my meaning." and then leered at me.

He handed me a bath sheet which I draped it over myself, toga style, feeling like Brutus on the way to stab Julius Caesar.

Dad was Dad as I'd never seen him. When we walked in he was up on his knees, his ass in the air, his blindfolded head looking toward where he thought I probably was. And then I knew what I would do.

"Sean this is...."

"Alex".It was the first name that popped into my mind and, as I said it, I managed to have a coughing spell that partially concealed my voice.Sean could have been a clone of PJ save that he had a buzz instead of a crew cut. "So, you wanna watch the best piece of tail West of the Mississippi get shorn? Well, sit back or get up close and enjoy the view. "

Sean put one hand around Dad's low hangers and applied shaving cream into his ass hole with the other. He'd give them a good yank now and then-probably part of the performance for my benefit-and Dad would yelp, slightly. Also part of the performance. For a while he lathered him up and than began the shave-at which he was quite good I must say. If ever I'd wanted my tail peeled, I'd have him do the job. Dad writhed in enjoyment probably enhanced that he knew someone was watching-I'd already assumed he probably was something of an exhibitionist-and when Sean finished, PJ leaned over and ran an exploratory finger around his hole. "Gimme that rose bud, come on, Jack, push it out." And Jack pushed it out.

In my cough scented voice I said, "Go on, hop up there and take him.See if he's smooth enough. Call it quality control." And we all laughed as PJ jumped up and dropped his shorts-he was going commando-revealing a professionally sized cock, not too long but hard, thick with a good mushroom head, a Prince Albert piercing and bristling with veins. He spat in Dad's ass and after some minimal diddling with his dick around the perimeter of the hole started for the penetration. I moved around the table to see it from all angles-I was, after all paying for this part although others were going to pay for what I hand in mind next.

PJ was obviously used to what he was doing as knew Dad's innards like he knew his own hand. I stood at the head of the table and whipped off my towel revealing a hard on and began to stroke it. If you could forget who was the fuckee and that his son was standing there, watching, beating off, it was a pretty hot scene. But I also wanted to continue the illusion of a customer getting what he wanted and getting satisfaction. And I fully intended to for just a few minutes more, just until PJ got deep inside his "work" partner.

I got my face down close to Dad's, reached out and with one swipe, pulled off his blindfold. PJ was almost thrown when Dad bucked up."Holy Jesus, Shit, how did you get here?" He was trying to reach for a towel but, apart from the one covering his eyes there wasn't one. No one could understand this shift in the light spectrum and I could find no reason not to let them in on the whole thing. Extending my hand to PJ I said, "Hey, I'm Jack's kid, the one who comes to town and slows down business. I guess under the circumstances-and don't quit what you're doing-you're my, uh, Godfather. Of sorts. Sean was goggle eyed and edged toward the door. "Oh, no, don't leave us, the party is just starting and I'm going to need you. Aren't I Dad?"PJ's dick had as much stiffness as a just washed sock but I encouraged him to continue the fuck he'd just begun. Apart from just staring at me, he just sat there, on his knees, his face a congested shade of red. As was Dad's.

No one seemed to have much conversation and since I hated silence the way nature hates a vacuum I continued what was probably going to be a monologue with only gurgling interruptions. I found a stool that got me to about the height of his head.

"You've made a good choice, PJ looks to be a fine man and a great fuck-he mentioned the shows in Chicago-and I compliment you on your choice.And, Sean here has shaver written all over him. I bet you've spent many pleasant hours feeling the cold steel of his cut throat on your ass and, I'm guessing, your pubes. And I'm not going to interrupt your fun although I bet we're going to have some interesting dinner conversation tonight, I've got some good questions to which you better have some great answers...Don't stop, plug him, he needs some diversion...and I'll tell you something you didn't know and neither does he and that's I'm gayer than a summer festival. 

Why the fuck do you think I stayed away from this place for those years? Nothing I wanted here-although if I'd known I could have had my own father, I'm not sure what I'd have done...and I bet you don't know either. Also, it's nice to know that all those years when Mom wanted to know what you wanted for Christmas that you really couldn't tell her....No PJ, you'll get it hard, here, let me give your hand... Is the hand of the son like that of the father? Do I know the same strokes?...but Dad, now we can go whoring together. Sell the house here and take PJ and move to Chicago permanently. (Jesus I was mad suddenly) Get closer to your clientele and not have to worry about keeping up some fiction about the grieving widower for my sake, that should be a relief. I can still come home for a visit but you won't dread it this time, maybe you can just add me to the stable. What would be hotter or more twisted than offering a bona fide father and son doing each other? What would you charge for that? Sure, I'm a little on the chunky side but give me a month or two and I'll make you proud.Remember how you once said that you were glad a son of yours got your sausage cock and bull balls? Lets hear it for genetics. That's about as psychologically kinky as it probably gets not that we'd do anything but seeing us together, jacking each other off, maybe sucking each other, eating each others cum...that's worth big money, and what about video? You, me, father. Son, it would be like an annuity....Keep going PJ, you can find a hard on in there or would you like some starch?..".Dad looked as if he actually had tears in his eyes..".Now, lets get started on what we're going to do.PJ, since you seem to be temporarily incapacitated you can help Sean, and then I'll help Sean. Since you're partners, you should want this.I want you both tied up, face up arms and legs stretched out. PJ, you start on Dad and when you're done, hop up there and we'll get you racked out. And no loose rope. I want tautness all round."

It took a while but finally they were both secured (I wondered why they had that rope on hand?) and gagged-just for the hell of it. Of the four of us, I was the only calm one and that was just on the surface.

"Okay, Sean, it's shaving time. I'll start on Dad, but I don't think I'd better use that straight edge, wouldn't want to cut off his money maker, and you pass the lather and keep a bowl of water handy. He handed me a more prosaic Gillette and a lather coated bristle brush but I didn't start where he expected, I slathered foam over his toes and up to his ankles. And that's where I started. His legs were next and I skipped over his crotch-I had some plans for that-but continued to his neck and worked down to below his navel. I'd never shaved a man's pits before and it was harder than I had thought. Also my cock was getting in the way so I wandered over to PJ and told him to turn his head sideways and suck me. And, damn, he was good at it, although I should have known he'd be. Got me calmed down but not to the point of shooting, and I returned to Dad.

I picked up his nut sack and fondled it and took the razor and made a slit down the center, just enough for their to be a thin line of blood. "Ya know, I think you'd look good with two sacks, ball in each one. Add to the interest value of your clients, bet they'd never seen anything like it. Also, we've got to get you a Vasectomy, wouldn't want PJ knocked up and, I guess, we'll have to cut him as well, don't want you with a bun in the oven". And tried to laugh as nastily as possible. Playing with the razor and his dick, I made very tiny cuts that almost instantly healed but he knew I was close to doing something more. Not that I'd have nutted him but probably a good ball bashing that would have left hims knock kneed for days and not "open for business". Some passes along side his scrotum made him squirm and that was what I wanted. I squeezed some places and punched some others and then handed the razor to Sean.

"You finish him, I want soft and smooth and you're the expert. In the mean time, help me turn this one-pointing at PJ-and I'll start on him.Mission accomplished. Once PJ was rolled and secured I had them both gagged for no particular reason, it just seemed a good idea. Now I had PJ's ass headed to heaven. Sean was distracted as to what to do, watch what was going on? or start the shaving I'd told him to do. I took my time getting up on the table and then on my knees, my dick resting on it's final destination. "Shit, no lube..." Sean handed me something slippery in a plastic squirt bottle, the sort condiments come in at cheap cafes so it had a pointed tip which I stuck down his hole and squeezed until the back flow came out. And he was ready.Sean was making hypnotists passes at Dad, most of the time not even hitting his skin so taken with my session. And it was an easy session, he was well greased and I was hard, hot and close to shooting. His ass was well used, hardly virginal and he had control of it like a pro. I sank in all the way to my pubic hair without trying or meaning to while globules of oil pulsed out around my in bound cock. Not surprizingly, his hole wasn't particularly tight but it was accustomed to things being stuffed up it so he'd worked on muscle control and, almost from habit, clenched down when he felt my cock head. Shame I was so far gone, he would have been a great long, slow fuck but I was almost shooting even on the approach. My cum was about to rocket out so hard it could've penetrated him without my dick. I did get as far as his prostate before I could feel the churning in my abdomen, and my toes curling which meant I was at max orgasm and spewed just as I hit bottom. It was easier laying over him and continuing to pump that it was to stay upright. Not that I could have. By now Sean was standing there, his brush dripping foam and riveted by seeing PJ get plowed-maybe a first. Who knows?

Which left Dad. I got down and, almost like turning a window display dummy, turned Sean back to what he was supposed to be doing. I'm guessing that not that much had happened around him in a long time, if ever."Shave his cock and balls and perineum. I want them smoother than crystal 'cause he'll be checked." I looked at Dad square in the eye. You could see he wondered if I meant I was going to take him and it was just as well to let him wonder. Right then the morality of the situation was of no consideration and, hell, at times, many guys have considered fucking their own Dad and here was a chance never to be had again. I thought about it. Stuck my finger in his hole, went for the prostate, got him going and then backed down.

Sean did a great job. Once he got back to his normal way of thinking, he had a hand with that razor few could match. After one pass, skin was smooth, not a follicle left. Hell, he even shaved the cock head where there was no hair but just to prove how good he was. Dad was enjoying this whether he wanted to or not. He couldn't help little moans of pleasure when his nuts were picked up or his big dick was lovingly cradled in Sean's hand.

And then it was over. I thought about having his head shaved but that would have been a bit radical even for someone who already had short hair. I did check Sean's work, ran my hands and fingers all over Dad's body which embarrassed him but I was just admiring the work I'd paid for. I noticed that Sean was almost done with PJ and so I picked up my towel and said, "Gentleman, your money will be in an envelope at the front desk. Thanks for the afternoon, it was more interesting than looking for a present for my father although I'm pretty sure I know what-or who-to get him for Christmas. Dad, come on home and I'll pick up some take out for dinner, beer and I expect you to talk.We've got a lot to tell each other, don't we."

Months later, Dad and I were at last what we always should have been, friends. He and PJ did move to Chicago permanently and I did visit them. This time they took me to the best blade man in town and, once I was tied to the cross-his request, got the best body shave I've ever had. Dad's treat-he even took pictures for what was now a radically different sort of family album.

And did I ever make it with Dad or to put it in more basic language, did I ever fuck him, did he ever fuck me? Well, as I said, you get not just big, but huge bucks for a father and son show. Quite a little act it was, when we wanted to really make something of it. Dad would pretend to be a slaver looking for a special man to fill a special request. No hair, head covered, ready to be deballed. PJ, as the assistant, would carry me in, chained, blindfolded and toss me on the floor. Dad would roll me, get my balls and cock where he wanted them and then just as he'd made a narrow cut across my sack he'd find a mole (we applied it) that marked me as the son that had been stolen from him. After we finished fucking and sucking each other, PJ would be beaten for almost allow his master to castrate his own son. (You could buy the video, made as we did it and with our "audience"reactions included for five gs and we never failed to make a sale.Some times, and for an additional fee, the audience could be videoed as the three of us took turns punching him ass.)

I'd always wondered about incest and now I knew; It was fucking wonderful. PJ found a good gym where I lived, also a hot trainer and in about six months I had washboard abs,a good start on calves, thighs and pecs-on which "Dad" was tattooed. (It matched the"Son" tattooed on him.)

Did we live happily ever after? Well, Dads considering an offer from a major porn studio as am I. PJ is part of the bargain and since we've proved there's nothing we won't do, it's going to take big bucks to lure us away. So, I suppose you could say we all got it in the end.....

Looking for a gift for your Dad? Going to be in Chicago? We're in the yellow pages under Father/Son Productions in the "Film Studios" section.




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