Mr. C's Story
This is a story that claims to be in two parts. It’s not. It’s the same story told twice, one from the Old Guy’s Perspective (Part 1) and the other from the Younger Guy’s Perspective (Part 2). I don’t think it matters which you read first, if you decide to read both. Enjoy, read my other stories and let me know what you think at [email protected].
I am a divorced father of four teenage boys. It’s a long story, but I have custody of the boys. I’ve tried to make our house as fun and comfortable for them and their friends as possible.
I finished the basement off to create a theatre and room, featuring two pinball machines, a fuss ball table, a pool table and then an oversized big screen tv with a few rows of couches for viewing. Off to either side of the main room is a full bath and 2 bedrooms. One bedroom has a queen-sized bed. The other has 4 bunk beds.
My house (which I kept in the divorce) has always been “the” meeting place for all of the boys’ friends. As they grew older, of course, less of their time has been spent here. But we’ve always had a full house. And all of the boys’ friends (boys and girls) are always encouraged to think of our home as a second home; a safe place featuring a well-stocked pantry and refrigerator.
I’ve grown close with most of the kids, some more than others. One who has always been a favorite of mine is my oldest son’s friend, Brandon. He first showed up around junior high. He recently moved to town with his mother. She grew up here and after a fairly tough divorce, decided to move back home to be closer to her parents.
Brandon started hanging out at the house with my son. He and I spent a lot of time talking. He had no father figure in his life. I guess I became a surrogate dad, but looking back now, I realize our conversations were a lot more intimate than I had with my sons.
As he grew older, I realized that he was maturing into a very handsome guy. He had a brown mop of hair that dropped to his shoulders. His eyes were ice blue—literally—and he had soft facial features. I doubt he shaved more than twice a week. He worked out daily and by the time he was on his way to college, he had very nicely defined chest and pec muscles that tapered down to a slim waist. He was not particularly hairy but had two nice bushes under each arm. A very thick pleasure trail started at his belly button and traveled south below his waistline. I’d never seen his cock, but I imagined it was cut (as most men are around these parts) and pictured a solid 5 or 6 inches.
And, since my description is somewhat sexy, I guess I should say that while I had never been with another man in my life, I did sometimes notice when someone from the same sex was particularly attractive.
Brandon, like my son and his other friends, went off to college after summer ended this year. Our house barely noticed the exodus, since my younger sons and their friends were always present. But I would be lying if I said I didn’t sometimes think about Brandon and looked forward to seeing him and his friends at Thanksgiving. I always felt a special bond with him.
Soon it was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. My house was the meeting place that would launch the college freshmen into their first night back together. After warning them about overdoing it and reminding them that I was just a text away for either picking them up or ordering an Uber, I sent them off for a night of fun.
The night was uneventful. These are all levelheaded boys, so I wasn’t surprised that I received no rescue texts. But I did get a text from my son late in the night, it read: “Hey, Brandon’s mother has been out west. She was supposed to fly home tonight, but her flight is canceled. His grandparents are in Florida, so that’s not an option. He could stay at his house, of course, but that sucks for him to be alone. Do you mind if he spends the night with us?”
If this weren’t Thanksgiving eve, he wouldn’t even ask. He would just show up with Brandon in tow. However, our house rule was that anyone could stay over whenever they wanted, with their parents’ permission, except any night of or before a Holiday. The rule was for my benefit. I didn’t want to be dealing with kids in our house Holiday mornings. So, this was an unusual ask. But, these were unusual circumstances, so I texted him back and said that of course Brandon was welcome to stay. And he could join us for Thanksgiving if his mother could not fly home the next day. There was a massive blizzard out west and it didn’t look like it was going to end quickly.
He sent me an “ok” emoji.
I was in bed when I heard the boys coming in through the front door. There were a few minutes of talk and then I heard my son walk up the stairs and down the hall to his room. I lay awake for about half an hour. For some reason I couldn’t sleep. I got up quietly and noticed it was 1:05 a.m. I slipped on a t-shirt and sweats, sans underwear. I was aware of my flaccid cock—at least 4” when not hard, usually—rubbing against my thigh. As I often do, I got a little hard. I walked down the hall and could hear gentle snoring and breathing coming from my sons’ bedrooms. Everyone was fast asleep.
I quietly crept downstairs to the first level, stopping in the kitchen to grab two beers from the fridge. I then descended to the basement. The tv was on low and Brandon was sitting on the couch, staring vacantly at a movie. I noticed with a smile that his left hand was under his sweatpants, and he was absentmindedly cupping and mauling his cock and balls. He wasn’t really playing with himself. He was just doing what I, and I suspect most other normal men do when left on their own with nothing to do. If I’m sitting by myself or under a blanket, my hand will be in my crotch within a matter of seconds, fiddling about.
I moved closer to the couch and softly said “Hey Bran. How was the night out?” I smiled when his hand jerked out of his pants. I said, “You shouldn’t feel self-conscious about that. I think every normal guy likes to hold his package when he’s alone. It’s probably something innate—primitive.”
He laughed and said, “You know, Mr. C., I’m not sure I’d know half the stuff I’m supposed to know about being a guy if it weren’t for you.” I offered him a beer, which he accepted, and sat down on the couch beside him.
“I’m sure you give me too much credit, but I’ll take the compliment,” I said.
I noticed the movie he was watching. It was Mulholland Drive. Just as I sat down David Lynch’s infamous sex scene between Laura Harring and Naomi Watts filled the screen. We both sat there, transfixed by this intense lesbian action.
“Does that make you hot,” Brandon asked.
“Absolutely,” I said. “I love their bodies and how they’re using them with each other. Their breasts are perfect, with perfect nipples. How about you?”
He nodded his agreement, taking a pull of his beer. Then he whispered almost too low for me to hear: “but I’m not sure I get as turned on by watching too women getting it on as I might if it were two men.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. Had this wonderful young man just come out to me? If so, he did it in the most understated manner I could conceive.
All movement seemed to stop. We were both frozen by this admission. He looked over at me and smiled, “Sorry, maybe that was too much for you?”
I quickly regained my composure and reminded myself that at that moment I needed to be 100% there for him.
“No,” I replied, “I’m just processing.”
I sat there for a few seconds. I wasn’t really surprised. When I thought about it, I realized that while my son and his friends were constantly falling in and out of relationships Brandon never had a girlfriend that I knew of. The pins started to rotate and the fairly obvious understanding that Bran was gay was unlocked in my brain. Thinking more about it, his orientation was probably obvious to his friends; I was just blind to it.
After a few minutes he asked: “are we still cool?”
I put my arm around his shoulder and hugged him close to me. “We are one thousand percent cool,” I assured him.
He snuggled in against me and sighed loudly.
We didn’t speak for a few minutes—both of us vacantly watching the screen.
Finally, he spoke again: “I knew you’d be cool about this. I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to tell you. But we had such a special relationship, I didn’t want to risk ruining it.”
We chatted for a while. I asked what I thought were the usual non-invasive questions—like, when did you first know, how much experience have you had and, most importantly, are you careful? Things like that.
It got very quiet downstairs and soon I could sense that he had fallen asleep, tucked in under my arm. His left hand was resting on my right thigh. My right arm was around his shoulder.
I dozed off for a bit but then woke up to an out-of-place feeling: a hand was lightly massaging my inner thigh near my crotch. I could feel a warm hand rubbing through my sweats, and I could also feel the beginnings of a hard on.
I looked down and whispered, “Bran, what are you doing?”
He said, “honestly, Mr. C., I didn’t realize I was doing it. I fell asleep and as I woke up, I was massaging your leg. I must have been having a dream, but I don’t remember it,” he said, as he stopped massaging me.
“You don’t have to stop,” I whispered. “I mean you can if you want but it sure feels good, so don’t feel like you need to stop on my account.”
He looked up at me. I looked down and smiled. I nodded at him to let him know I meant it.
“Would you,” he paused. “Would you,” he started again, “would you like me to give you a massage?”
I thought about it for a split second. Thousands of reasons why I should say “no” flooded my brain. But my lower brain, which was now sitting atop a very stiff 7” cut cock, was loudly telling me something different.
“Yes,” I whispered, “but not out here. Go on into the bedroom. I just want to take a quick look around upstairs.” I headed up and went to my bedroom. I took one of the long throw pillows and tucked it into the bed to make it look like I was sleeping in there. I walked down the hall and heard light snoring.
I then crept back downstairs. I entered the bedroom. A small nightlight provided dim light in the dark room.
I could see Brandon standing by the bed. He was dressed only in his white boxer briefs. I noted a very nice bulge.
I closed and locked the door behind me and moved toward the bed. “I think,” he said, “you’d enjoy it more if you were totally naked. But I get it if that makes you uncomfortable.”
I didn’t reply—I simply shucked my sweats off on the floor and pulled my t-shirt up over my head and dropped it beside my sweats. I lay face down on the bed parallel to the headboard.
He came around to the side of the bed where my feet hung over the side. His warm hands cupped each of my calves and started to gently rub, from the knee joint down to the ankle and then back up again. His hands encircled my legs so that he was actually massaging the front and back of my lower legs. “That feels nice,” I said, “you’ve done this before?” He whispered “yes” and continued with long strokes up and down my lower legs.
Soon he moved up to my upper legs. He had a medium, relaxing touch. He massaged my left thigh and then my right, going back and forth between them.
His hand crept closer to my ass cheeks. No man had ever touched me this way before. Not surprisingly, I was starting to get some nice wood going. I reached under and adjusted my cock so that it would lie flat between my lower belly and the table.
I resumed my prior position, and he continued to rub up my legs, closer and closer to my ass crack. At one point his hands rolled down under and the back of each hand grazed my ball sack. I shuddered.
“You like that?” he whispered.
“HMMMMM,” was the only reply I could give.
At that his right hand reached under and cupped my package and played with my balls. I groaned in ecstasy. It had been a long time since any other person had touched my cock and balls. He took my moaning for what it was: approval and permission to do more.
He pulled my cock back and started stroking it.
I wish I could say I had mixed emotions here. I should have felt like I should stop him. He’s my son’s best friend and he just came out to me. This was wrong. But my other brain was clearly yelling: “well, if it’s so wrong why does it feel so right?”
The good angel won out and I said, “Bran, we really shouldn’t…”
“Shhh,” he whispered, “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking ‘I can’t take advantage of this younger guy.’ But you’re wrong. You are not taking advantage of me. If we go forward, you are just making me very happy and fulfilling a fantasy that I’ve had for many years now.”
That shut me up. “Is that possible,” I thought to myself. “have I been on one end of a flirtation without even realizing it?”
I rolled over on my back. All pretense slipped away. This was no longer a massage and we both knew it.
He smiled when I rolled over. My cut cock was now it’s full, steel-hard 7” and fat in his hand. I kept myself tidy and my bush was neatly trimmed. I knew without seeing that my big balls were spread out on the bed below my cock. I spread my legs to give him a better look and better access.
I looked over and I could tell his cock was fully hard. I touched the pouch of his boxer briefs and he groaned. “Let’s take these off,” I whispered as I pulled at his waist band. I tugged his briefs down below his cock. He then stood back and rolled them off the rest of the way.
His cock was perfect. It looked to be about 6” or 6.5” long. A master craftsman had cut him 18 years ago. Like me, he had a nicely trimmed brown bush. His cock struck straight out from the bush.
“Have you ever done this with a guy before,” he asked.
“No,” I sighed. I didn’t know what I was missing. I jacked him off as he jacked me off. I let my hand explore his balls and cock. This lasted for a few minutes until he quietly slipped into bed beside me.
His beautiful face was inches from mine. My hands found each side of his face, and I pulled his lips toward me. He did not resist. Our lips met and his tongue pressed between my lips. I was amazed by how much I was enjoying this and how quickly and intuitively I matched his movements. Our tongues wrestled with each other while his hands found my chest and my nipples. He pulled and twisted them. No one had ever done that before. A thunderous shock wave rocked through my body to my loins and out through the tip of my cock. I could not believe how good it felt.
I wanted him to feel the same way, so I repaid him in kind—feeling him up and tweaking and pulling his nipples. I suddenly became the leader. I slid down his chest, kissing the magnificent pecs on my way down. I took his right nipple in my mouth. This I knew how to do, as I’d sucked on many a woman’s nipple over the years. I figured it must be the same, regardless of gender. His nipples were pink and puffy. I’d not seen nipples like this since I was a teen. I sucked greedily while my free hand played with his other nipple.
He groaned as I continued to suck. He finally pushed me off and repaid me the favor. He bent down and greedily sucked my left nipple into his mouth. His lips and tongue were luscious. I’d never felt this before, and it was clear that I liked it. I felt like I could almost cum just from him sucking on my nipples.
He went back and forth between the two of them. He then kissed his way down my stomach, toward my cock. I arched. He looked up and whispered, “is this ok?”
I just nodded my head, put my hand on his head and gently encouraged him downward.
He did not need encouragement. When he got to my cock he said, “this is a real beauty. I knew you’d have a nice cock, but I never imagined it would be this nice.”
He held my cock in his right hand and kissed the tip. I felt his tongue swirl around the end and lick into my piss slit. He leaned back and drooled spit down on my cock, spreading it around with his hand. He then opened his mouth and dropped it down on my cock. His tongue licked the shaft while he loosely swallowed my cock. He slowly dropped down on it until I could feel my cock pushing my way down his throat.
My cock has been sucked by some very talented women but no blow job I’d ever had compared to this. Without the slightest hint of gagging he backed off, closed his lips around my member and then went down again. His hands gripped and pulled on my balls, slipping off my package to touch me on the thighs, the belly and the bush. He ran a line with his finger down to my taint and then followed it back to my ass. All the while he kept going up and down on my cock. I was rock hard and in blow job heaven.
He popped my cock out of his mouth for an instant and I groaned. I watched as he licked his fingers ‘til they were soaked. Then he went back down, licking and sucking me from top to bottom. Meanwhile, his fingers on his right hand made their way back to my asshole. He pushed against it. I remembered that when I was around 20 a young woman I was with rimmed me and finger fucked me. It was an exquisite experience, but since then my asshole hadn’t been touched by any other human who didn’t have a medical degree. He slipped in and I groaned again. “You ok?” he asked. “A little tight,” I said.
At that he grabbed my hips, flipped me over and raised me up on my knees so that my ass was in his face. He opened my cheeks with his hands. I felt his warm breath on my hole. I then felt his tongue as it caressed the inside fold of the right cheek and licked its way down to my hole, where his tongue paused, flicked my button two or three times, and then proceeded to bathe the inside fold of my left cheek. His right hand play with my balls and alternately stroked my cock.
Meanwhile, his tongue had once again found my hole. It darted in and I could feel it inside, just slightly. Then he pushed it in further and I could feel him licking my insides. Another first. No one had ever stuck their tongue inside me. I knew about rimming, of course, but I’d never experienced it. Now I found out firsthand why it is loved. In and out his tongue darted, licking the hole as it came out and then darting back in. Back and forth and forth and back, as both of his hands cradled my balls and jerked my steel hard cock.
I ground back into him and moaned, “ah, I’m going to cum.”
As I said those words his lips quickly left my hole and felt his head down beneath my cock and balls. I was still on my knees. He grabbed my cock and put it in his mouth. He licked and sucked and played with my balls.
“Arggghhhh,” I yelled quietly, “I’m cumming. I’m cumming.” He didn’t stop sucking and licking; he picked up the pace and pulled me back in his mouth, his tongue now licking my cockhead as my jizz squirted and coated his tongue. As my rock-hard cock began to deflate, he kept it in his mouth—sucking the last cream from me and then bathing my cock and balls with his glorious mouth and tongue. He licked my softening cock as if it were an ice cream, savoring every liquid pearl.
He pulled off my cock and then licked my pubes and balls. He lightly kissed my thighs.
I fell forward and to my side. He scrambled up beside me. I looked at him in wonder and he smiled at me. “I think I’ve wanted to do that since the first day we met,” he said.
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