My Son

Life

I would never really have imagined that I would fall in love with a white man, let alone a married white man. But there I was, and there he was, leading to a messy divorce, his kid to try to explain things to, and a new road ahead.

Michael was convinced I should try to get to know his son Jeff, and I loved Michael enough that I agreed to give it a shot. I really hadn't spent much time with kids, so I tried by just reaching out whenever it seemed to make sense. Plus Michael and I would be with him every other week, so Jeff and I gradually started becoming acquainted.

Initially, I was mostly just surprised that Jeff didn't blame me for his parents breaking up, or that he seemed to be so calm about his dad being in a gay relationship, and of course that he really didn't seem to have any prejudices at all that I could tell, against me as a black guy, against me and his dad being gay, or really about almost anything, especially given the privileged way he seemed to have grown up. Over time, I became increasingly impressed at how grown up he seemed, as well as how hard he worked, and how naturally smart he was.

I did, gradually, at least become aware of how I seemed to be succeeding at getting to know him, priding myself the first day he actually seemed to slip as he called me dad. As soon as it slipped off his tongue, he asked me if that was ok, and of course I smiled and said of course. With that, he gave me a hug, and said, for the first time, as far as I can remember, how glad he was to have me around. I reciprocated and said of course I loved him, since he was Michael's son, and repeated what I had said before, that I really would be more than happy to do anything for him that I could to be helpful. When I shared the story with Michael, he was very pleased as well, and said he would make sure to give him a bit of an extra allowance, "since he really was such a great kid."

What I seemed to have paid less attention to was the handful of maybe awkward moments when Jeff would seem to accidentally run into me. The first one I can remember was when he came into our bathroom just as I was stepping out of the shower so he could borrow some toothpaste, although in retrospect that was likely not the first time he had seen me naked. I was a guy, and so was he, so I really didn't think much of it at the time, even as he seemed to more and more often come up with some kind of excuse to either run into me there or in our bedroom as I was dressing.

Then one day he turned to me and asked whether I really was ok with talking with him about anything. Of course I said happily, although I was a bit surprised when he said "even if it might be a bit awkward?" That worried me because of drugs and whatever else he might be stumbling into, so of course I said absolutely.

That still didn't prepare me for his question: "Any chance you remember the first time you came?"

I'm sure he could tell he caught me off-guard, but I tried to recover as quickly as possible, and tried hard to remember when and how that had happened, as far as I remembered by myself, years and years ago. He somehow seemed reassured, and his father seemed happy when I shared the experience with him that evening. "I'm glad he feels comfortable turning to you. I'd much rather have him learn things like that from you than from friends on the street corner."

I felt embarrassed that I really hadn't gotten into it at all with Jeff, even in terms of why he had asked, so I tried to brace myself for whatever next moment might arise. The kid surprised me yet again a few days later, when he happened to stop into my bedroom again just as I was getting out of the shower. "Hope that wasn't awkward what I asked the other day, dad." When I assured him nothing was out of bounds, I actually saw him look down at my dick as he surpised me once again: "So is your cum clear or white, dad?"

I tried not to gasp, and tried to act as cool as possible, as I even got a bit of a laugh out. "It's white, almost all the time, son." Jeff looked at me again: "Cool." He laughed even more than me: "That's what I imagined," as he grabbed his crotch. He then said "I love you, dad," and gave me a kiss on the cheek, although way closer to my lips than I had ever remembered before. My dick had gone semi-hard, but I did my best to hide it, as he headed off to do his homework.

That one I didn't immediately bring up to Michael, even as Michael continued to encourage me to do my best to be close to Jeff. Michael would often work late, so Jeff and I had a fair bit of time alone together, eating meals, sometimes watching tv, sometimes just talking. If Michael was working late, Jeff would always make sure to kiss me good night as he headed off to bed, and even started kissing both me and Michael more often than not. Every once in a while Jeff would even give me a kiss as I dropped him off at school, and tell me how much he loved me. I would love to say that never aroused me, although every now and then it was a bit hard for it not to.

Then came the day Jeff asked me whether I considered myself a good kisser. "You keep surprising me, son." Jeff was not backing down at all: "You did say I could talk to you about anything, right?" As usual, I agreed, and we had a discussion about kissing for way longer than I ever would have imagined, ending with him saying: "So rate me," as he kissed me, out of nowhere, right on the lips.

I made myself laugh. "You're almost as good as your dad, son."

Jeff seemed done for the moment, as he laughed as well: "I'll work on it," as he headed off to do his daily mile run.

I'd be lying if I didn't admit I ended up blowing a load over that one while he was out running. In my head I told myself that was the best way to make sure I did my best to remain in control here, as yet another incident went unreported to Michael, who continued to thank me for being such a great stepdad, as well as prod me to keep it up: "I'm so glad he really seems to love you."