Telling Mom And Dad

TELLING MOM AND DAD

We'd been round and round about this, telling my parents that is. After six years-we would be thirty in a few months-keeping up the fiction that we were "just room mates" wasn't difficult, it was impossible. Remembering to spend at least one night in the other/guest room. Putting clothes in the other closet, switching soap so it looked as it had been used since their last visit......Gary said I was Obsessed with this, I said I was careful, they were my parents and....I didn't want to hurt them. Gary pointed out that it wasn't as if I was considered being transgendered, taking up with a horse or even transferring in my job to some place gruesome like...Florida. He did make the point that we owned the business so moving it or splitting it would be hard to impossible. Also, he was always quick to point this out, we did custom carpentry not custom flowers for a wedding or custom wallpaper for a dining room. We hung doors, repaired broken cabinets, made furniture....nothing "faggy" if that was what I was worried about. It wasn't but it was a point he always made.

And still I dithered. I loved my folks, wanted them to be happy for me, wanted them to love Gary as I did.....well, maybe not precisely as I did, but emotionally as I did. He was a great guy, we'd met on a job site, both discovered we'd dropped out of college, followed our hearts to the wood pile and, after a very brief while, to each other. We moved in, room mates, sharing expenses, the dumbest Labrador Retriever ever, and, gradually, a much better town house which puzzled the dog as the second floor was a new arrival and the stairs were beyond his comprehension. (His howling got to be a bother-not to mention a guardedly nasty note from our neighbour about noise.) Finally Gary picked him up, carried him up stairs, plunked him on our bed-familiar territory-and thought the issue was solved. It was not solved. Having got up, he then was bamboozled as to...how to get down. Gary carried him down. I could see this extending into the distance so, between us, we got on the stair case with his leash and more or less dragged him up and then down. His call name? Dopey as well as a number of vulgar epithets that just fell from our mouths as his lack of comprehension further showed itself. He got the idea but I developed a strange loathing for the staircase that is still with me.

Gary said, "I'm going to pick up the phone and call them, ask them to come to dinner on Saturday and we'll tell them or I'll tell them, one way or the other, they are going to leave here more informed then when they arrived."

He stared at me. "Think of something to serve, you know all I can do is tear greens for salad." Before I could say anything, register a complaint, a plea, he was on the phone, my father happened to answer, and in about two minutes the deed was done, arrive around seven-ish;hey'd bring the wine. "Don't even think of calling them back and 'remembering' we've been quarantined, you're dead, we've just found we're going out of town....Saturday, you, me, them. Here.Dinner. We are going to tell them that, over the years of being room mates it got a little out of hand and now we're partners, we sleep in the same bed, have sex with each other, all the things that two men who are partnered do."

I started to say something.

"What? You want me to tell them that while we're a little more intimate than we were, say six years ago, there's nothing going on below the Mason-Dixon Line? No, they get to know it all. And that's that. You're gonna make an honest man of me before I'm too old to be honest." then stalked out the front door: I hoped he had a key in his boxers.

It was a far shorter week than most weeks with which I was familiar. From Monday evening to Friday night went by faster than a crowd at an NFL game at half time headed for the mens' can; I even felt pushed and shoved. Gary exiled me from the shop, said my whimpering was giving him sinus trouble, go home and teach the dog....something. Maybe how to get to the basement, he didn't care all he wanted was me out the door and, when he got home, naked, in bed, ready to be warmed up and then used up. Fuck Dinner, there was always pizza delivery and, if he remembered correctly, a fresh faced young man who ALWAYS made ours his last delivery of his day. If we'd actually wanted pizza, hot pizza, we would have to have called some place else; Sam had a magic mouth that no high school seniors and few adults could even match in terms of suck value. If we were feeling a bit poor, such as a commission we'd hope to get hadn't come through, we'd let him "sleep over" and take our fucking him, as well as some other diversions, as his tip. The pizza? Show me a man who can't eat cold pizza and I'll show you a resident of Papua-New Guinea. Sam occasionally took deliveries a bit too far in that once or twice he got stiffed on a cash pay when he got wherever it was destined so  he delivered it to us instead, gratis.; More cold pizza and hot Sam.

Gary once yawned and wondered aloud if we could work out something similar with the UPS driver (a fine looking stallion even if brown wasn't his colour), as far out as the shop was, we had to be pretty close to the end of his route.

Three days at home, including most of Saturday-Gary had an installation of some book cases to do-I read cook books, jacked off, thought about telling my parents, discovered I had incipient Erectile Dysfunction, forgot the folks, shot one-or two-over the moon and returned to reading cook books in the nude. Here's a visual that will give you ED; Imagine Julia Child hoisting a leg of lamb in the air. Stark Naked. Under any other circumstances, I'm a more than competent chef, can zip dinner out of what appears to be Mrs. Hubbard's cupboard and most people will if not really like it, find it edible but this time I couldn't come up with cream of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. In fact, when Gary dropped by for lunch on THE day, he seemed puzzled that while I was in the kitchen, what I was doing was washing the pegged wood floor and there were no visible signs of dinner in preparation. He asked me what I was serving and, wanting to be honest, I told him it was to be a surprize, sort of to go along with the theme of the evening. Part of why I love him is that he departed perfectly confident that there would be some sort of adequate dinner and that was a topic about which no worry was necessary. Good thing he didn't run by around three, he would have found the same situation save that I was in the living room teaching the dog how to jump up on the couch. Time passes and so, apparently, did I for when Gary came in, he gave me a big hug and kiss and said it smelled good. I did a quick, sick smile and said that I hoped it would be and he pounced off to take a shower, one of his favourite activities. Under other conditions I would have started stripping in the kitchen and followed him but...I needed to find out just what did smell good and what I needed to do about it. My parents were both suckers for a medley of steamed veggies so that was easy....although I had to use the veggies I had on hand; This was the first time I'd ever steamed Brussel Sprouts but at least it was different. Somewhere outside the grill was going and steak was the meat dish. Mercifully we all like the sort of packaged rolls that you pounded on the side of the counter until it popped open ready to be baked. I found an almost full jar of Lemon Curd, took a hammer, smashed some lemon drops, hoped I had ice cream, set the automatic coffee brewer to brew automatically and that was dinner.

Upstairs my boy was revealing some of the reasons I loved him; Without his clothes on he looked like a grown up, buffed up, pumped up Christopher Robin. Same innocent smile, freckles on his nose, nice big tits, which got hard and tall almost on command, size 13 feet, balls that were too large for his cock but, as if to make up for that, a cock that not only extended when getting an erection but expanded beyond what was rational; When we'd first started fucking each other, I'd had to be worked up to accepting all of him, no matter what sort of grease we used. Took months but, now, I could see a passing bulge in his overalls and feel my rose bud turn into a blossom. Per usual, as he dressed, he looked.....like the man I loved. Casually elegant, well shined cowboy boots, shirt unbuttoned just enough to show his somewhat hairy chest not to mention the muscular breasts which it covered above snugly fitted jeans.... He was about to put his barbells in his tits when I stopped him. They looked great but....piercings and parents didn't seem to quite go together.

By now I was in overdrive, showered, shaved most of my face, found some clothes-Gary and I were about the same size in everything so more often than not we just pulled something from the closet or a drawer and wore it. Tonight, however, I didn't want us to look like Bobsy twins or the Hardy Boys so I carefully found corduroys rather than jeans, a long sleeved pull over and penny loafers. Gary looked at me strangely and asked if I was thinking about pledging Sigma Chi. Said he thought he'd go downstairs, have a drink before the company arrived (a ha! He was nervous, he'd forgot they were bringing wine.) and make sure the place looked half decent.Oh, and get the God Damn dog out of the basement, again, UP had been beyond his cognitive abilities.

Upstairs I stripped to the skin and started over again.Shark skin slacks, a Paisley knit V neck sweater over a dark coloured T shirt. One look in the mirror and realized that was no good and swung back to the corduroys but took off the shoes, added boots and a cowboy styled shirt, the sort with pearlized snaps. The cords weren't right but I was screwed as I heard the doorbell ring.Sort of like a tocsin in dour Scottish poetry where those who aren't dead or ghosts at the beginning are at the end-with the exception of the author whom you felt was going to off himself once he put his pen down. So I hopped to the stair, pulling on my boots as I went, giving Gary the chance to do the meet 'n greet thing and move them into the living room.

Whatever they were about to know, just now they adored Gary. Dad called him Son as did Mom and, even up the stair well, I could hear coats being removed, Gary being repeatedly hugged-kissed by my mother-and then the voice of doom; The one asking where I was?I put one foot on the top riser. Looked down, ran through a number of prayers to various and sundry religions and started down the stairs.

In the dim of the stairwell I failed to notice Dopey who was either going up or down, probably wasn't sure himself. Whatever.He and I landed on the floor interrupting the love fest between my partner and my parents. Everybody noticed and all came to see if either of us was injured. It was almost like payback for them swarming Gary, now they were all over me, solicitous, concerned but, fortunately, there were no serious injuries to either of us and Gary hauled me to my feet, his arm around me.

"Guess this is as good a time as any to spring it on you. Probably something you guessed but....your son, this clumsy oaf here and I are partners...have been for some while but, we don't know, thought you might be upset..."

We were immediately cluster fucked by my parents who expressed their delight, happiness...and then the motif changed.They'd always hoped it would be Gary, he was such a great guy, we were such a great couple, nobody was better for me than Gary....Gary this, Gary that, I was idly tempted, since they loved him so much, that they take him home with them. And the damn dog as well.

That's why you have partners. He realized I was being forgotten so he squeezed me harder-which hurt some after my tumble-and kissed me, full on the mouth. That set off a round of everybody kissing everybody and all agreeing what a great thing this was. Yessireee. Just a great thing.

Fathers love their sons and sometimes find the best place to show it; That was here and now. He slipped me out of the clutch of lips, put his arm around me and moved me a bit away. "Son, I'm proud of you. You've always been the son I wanted and this just doubles that. You don't hear about it but...just like mothers overtly worry about who their daughters will bring home, fathers quietly worry about what sort of bitch will get her hooks in the product of his sperm; I don't have to worry about that, best man got him. But this from me to him, some night when you're fucking, give him a deep one and tell him it's from me." He winked, patted me on my nuts and we shifted space to join Gary and mom who, I feared this, were plotting a little party to introduce us to their friends.Seemed pointless to mention that I'd known their friends for almost thirty years and Gary and I had been around long enough for him to hardly be a new face. Also, how do you give a party to introduce your son and his partner? Something sit down or more casual? Steaks on the grill, maybe a keg just to sustain the manliness of it all.

And then Gary fell to one knee while I almost fell out.I saw the box come out of his pocket, I saw the sparkling love on the faces of my parents and I felt extremely embarrassed.

I didn't think it could get worse but it could. "Carol, will you stand on one side of your son and Jake, will you stand on the other? This couldn't be official without a token of some sort so....." He opened the hand made wooden box and took out a ring, but what a ring. It was made from shop nails and worked so that it wouldn't shred my fingers but also showed an intense amount of love, must have taken hours to make. No diamond but the sparkle in his eyes was enough. For some reason I knelt beside him, my partner shouldn't have to ask me anything from the floor. "I guess you pretty much know what I'm going to ask.....not much, just for your life and the love in it. Your parents are here and just like in church, if they have any objections well....they don't matter. Cooper, I love you, plain and simple. Nobody else just you and if you'll continue to have me, well, I guess that solves our residential problems for years to come." He looked at my mom. "Carol, you're never too old to take your laundry home to your mom and Jake, I'm always available for 18 holes...then we'll go home and help Carol with the laundry".

It was all vaguely foolish and yet....meaning was dripping from it. We stood and carefully kissed each parent. Dad, being dad, said, "Put on the damn ring, he didn't make it for you to wander around without it." I did.

Suddenly I felt very much his partner. Not just the ring but the feeling of love and approval that came from my parents and the overwhelming love that came from him. Stupid fool, I started to cry.

Mom took out a handkerchief and, reverting to being mom, not only wiped my eyes but, having done that, moved the piece of cloth to my nose and told me to blow....I did. Gary and Jake howled with laughter, comments about once a momma's boy, always a momma's boy.

The moment slid past us, never to be forgotten but impossible to hold. Slight changes, we were now two couples in the same room, adults, happy, this had been an occasion.

Jake walked to the drinks table pointing out that this was a time for men to drink whiskey, Carol could have whatever she wanted, but he and his sons were each going to have about five fingers of good Kentucky sippin' whiskey and relax.

Dad got his drink, got comfortable on the hide a bed sofa-for really unexpected guests-causing Dopey to fall off what he had just achieved. Dad said, "If that were your child I'd kill myself."

That was two down, two to go. Gary's family knew he was a homosexual and that he lived with me. Whether they'd ever bothered to put one and one together-as I'm sure my parents had-Gary was unaware of it. Having bitten the bullet here, it was time to go on the journey to California and make things official there. His parents had visited us, once, and the most I can say for their visit is that they had their own agenda while they were here and so apart from one meal, we seldom saw them. They were crisply polite and formal even with my family who'd attended the one dinner mentioned above. (A few days later, and after they were gone, my dad sent me a large bottle of very fine Bourbon with the card, "Take In Case Of Relative Emergencies." )We had also visited there, once, and found that our reception was perfunctory. Two meals were had with them, other than that, they were gone leaving us with time on our hands to wander about their home which had all the cheerful intimacy of the Tomb of the Medici. Just to spice things up, we fucked in as many rooms as possible being careful, but not too careful, about the slightest bit of semen left behind. And, of course, with the guest bedrooms, the unmade, much rumpled beds either meant we were sleeping in them or some one had gained entry and tried out all the beds looking for one that was just right. Over six years, his contact with them had been....minimal; Knowing or not, my parents had taken him under their wings and made him part of our family. I'm sure that first Christmas with us when he got a stack of presents was both embarrassing and heart warming.

No one loved us more than my dad. I knew, because halfway through a bottle of Jack Black he mentioned that he'd always wanted a house full of baby boys who grew up to be men. Mom was in a car wreck and her reproductive system was fucked up by a steering wheel and that was that as far as more children. Gary was a benefit, a bonus to having me and, within the week after our outing-if you can even call it that-I heard both my parents refer to "Our Boys"which almost brought tears to my eyes, they did love him as much as I did. But if mom cooed and would have baked cookies everyday, it was dad to whom I turned for whatever and he came to me for advice, about the greatest compliment a son can get from a father.

Dad was not the typical television dad, pleasant but vaguely stupid, the one who was the butt of every joke and who laughed right along. No, my dad was on television, an anchor for a station in D.C. Which gave him "exposure". He and colour tv were made for one another starting with his tan which must have been genetic as he never went to the beach, had one applied or even lay out by their pool for more than a few minutes. Naturally, he had a semi-military crew cut that made one wonder if his head was upholstered with a very superior silver gray velvet and then there were his eyes. I don't know this, can't prove it, but both Gary and I stoutly believed that all across about four states there were women who, whenever he came on, grabbed what ever was around, even if it was only their husbands, and masturbated while dad commented on some tragedy that had killed thousands. (We know that this is somewhat true as a buddy of ours was in his ER rotation in med school and reported that, just after the news had concluded, women had shown up with vaginal bleeding that they claimed was of an unknown source but since splinters had been found and removed on more than one occasion....some conclusions might be drawn.) He had the requisite blue eyes but he surpassed the standard issue blue and went right on to somewhere between a Siamese cat and the better grades of sapphire. One of the DC papers said that such was his appeal that if he stared at a camera, the camera blushed. Did I mention his lashes? I meant to.

To explain the depth of his charm, he was as popular in gay bars as in straight bars; Once, as a test, we'd taken him to our local boys only drinking establishment and damn near had to have the bouncer help us get him out and unmolested-assuming you do not count being groped or your ass fondled as molested. Since it was widely assumed that we were both his sons, even before he started saying it, we were very popular particularly with somewhat older men who thought it would be a real pleasure to meet him. Somewhere that wasn't a boys only drinking establishment. In a statement that both pleased and puzzled me, he said that there were only two guys he wanted to fuck and have fuck him and those were his two sons. I asked Gary how he felt about that to which he, regretfully, explained that when he and I were first dating, before we moved in together, he occasionally had to suddenly use the toilet to jerk off when he saw Jake, either that or fight a hard on that would have followed my father like radar tracking incoming. And, okay, I had a crush on him when I was young....which lasted until I met Gary. Oddly, that's probably why I knew that he and I could make a go of it, when we were around each other, he gave me a hard on and I completely forgot my father. That may sound perverted but....better to have (suppressed) hots for your dad and have to beat off a lot than going out, having pointless sex, however good it felt, and then going on to the next man.

It was Gary who got my cherry-at 22 for Christ's sake.Late? Yeah, but I had no desire for anal sex with anyone, little got further than some polite sucking and very little of that. Gary changed it all and, now that I remember, rather quickly. My memory which isn't too accurate when it comes to our courtship, suggests that we introduced ourselves to each other at a job site, went to lumber yard and a couple of board feet later I was ass up being plowed and, in the next instant, he and I were looking for an apartment in Northern Virginia while fucking like stoats every night.As a courtship it may lack romance, walking under the Cherry blossoms in Spring, looking deeply into one another's eyes across a candle lit table but when you start in a lumber yard, what happened is more likely even if a helluva lot faster. Just to illustrate how quickly things moved, the first time my parents even heard of Gary, much less met him, was when we swung by in his pick up to collect my things and tell them I was moving out.

My being gone was of no concern to my parents, what was at issue was that I wouldn't know how to pick out bed linen or drapes. Okay, just out of laziness, I was still sleeping in a twin bed with sheets celebrating Superman with the change out set being Speed Racer. Mom was a true Southerner to whom matters such as sheets, a tea service and good mattresses were as important, if not more so, than I was moving in with a man they'd never heard of. It's just possible that at that point and for a time thereafter, they honestly weren't sure of the situation. That Dad couldn't have figured it out is impossible but, good parent that he was, he elected to wait to be told although six years was probably longer than he expected.

As a house warming gift for our first place together, Mom sent a set of china and my father contrived to have a fully stocked bar installed. This was a pattern that persisted in their home and ours. The soul of kindness, it was not possible for her to decide that Gary and I didn't need this or that and immediately see to it that we had one. She had a mania for cooking equipment and kitchen gadgets that was unequaled outside The Food Channel. One day I got home after Gary and found him staring at the contents of an open box trying to figure out what we'd been sent. Only because I'd lived at home for 22 years did I know it was a grapefruit sectioner, a cherry tomato scoop and an ice cream dipper whose scoop was filled with antifreeze. Dad sent a gas grill with a years supply of propane.

Gary, who probably never got much from his parents-I shudder to think what Christmas in their home must have been like-was puzzled at this onslaught of "things". Food Processors, Ice Cream Makers, Coffee Bean grinders, two kinds of coffee makers, as well as an automatic one, an electric shoe polisher, kitchen mitts for a family of twelve....she was an unending source of kindness and concern if confusion at our end. At one point Gary said that as we really didn't need these things, they should be returned, my mother thanked and told she had a credit at wherever they'd come from. I froze at this insult to Southern Womanhood. She would be offended, wounded that her thoughtfulness was rejected. Would not understand that two men who worked all day about six-or more-days a week, did not have time to appreciate, much less use, a meat marbler, a nested set of bowls in glass, some sort of fancy plastic and disposable plastic. (Gary once said we should have a Tupperware party for her not understanding that Tupperware wasn't in her social skein.) Even the dog did not go unnoticed, she sent a matching food and water bowl set mounted in Stainless steel.

In our galley kitchen it was almost immediately a question of her thoughtfulness versus our ability to open the refrigerator door. That brought on another explanation about my mother and Southern Women in general. We didn't actually have to use any of this crap, we just couldn't get rid of it. IF he really wanted to kick the after point, he would sit down and write her a Thank You note, which he did using yellow foolscap and a carpenter's pencil, and then we could put it all in storage even if we had to rent the storage. That way, if asked, we could honestly say we had it and the subject would be dropped. She had the Thank You note framed and hung in a prominent place in their home.

If I had resisted telling my parents, Gary was very sangfroid about his. For one, they lived down the peninsula from San Francisco, the other side of the country. For two telling them was to no purpose, send them a note and one of their employees could post it in some file and be duly noted. I'm sure they knew, which could have accounted for their almost overt hostility on their visit to us and I'm also sure that they wanted a grandson and heir and expected Gary to produce one. None the less, I took a view that was quid pro quo which said we needed to haul our asses to the city by the bay, drop the bomb on them and then find out what San Francisco had to offer two gay men which was.....plenty Maybe stop by Vegas, anything to get the taste of home chat out of our minds and systems. It wasn't that he was adamant about not going, he simply could find no compelling reason leaving me as the one anxious to do the right thing. I must have been nuts.

I'd been in the city measuring for a hoped for commission and as the traffic getting out of town was going to be horrendous, dropped by the station to see Dad, watch him do the news, in short, kill time until their traffic reporter told me I could take a shot at it and expect to get home before the clock struck twelve.For no other reason than conversation I told him about Gary's disinterest in going to California and at least try and be a respectful son (I was Southern myself in many ways) and lay things on the line. Oddly, Dad put me off until after the seven o'clock news saying we'd go to dinner, he wanted to talk to me about that.

Over the many years, I'd been around the station so much that I was accepted and unnoticed. I was Jake's kid just as there were other children of employees who also wandered in and out. Sandy, the floor director, was a buddy of sorts in that he took up having the hots for dad when I shifted to Gary so my being there was almost sanctioned and, once during a blizzard, I'd run a camera for all the news broadcasts that evening. Okay, I was fifteen but Sandy slapped a headset on me, showed me how to zoom in and out and....no one noticed that a kid was part of the crew

Being a carpenter, and a good one, got us some lucrative contracts building new sets for the station or whatever sort of similar work they had. So, in addition to me, they were also completely familiar with Jake's "other" kid, Gary. As I've said, absolutely dad knew but he played it the way we seemed to want it played. Some of the guys were brothers with the same sexual tastes and, when dad finally made the announcement, they wanted to give a bachelor party for us down to and including every one getting shit faced and having male strippers who would and did go all the way.Thoughtfully held on a Saturday that slopped over into Sunday, it was about as much fun as you could have. I don't know this but...I think one of the strippers was pissed off when dad jumped up on a table and took most of it off. The SOB had obviously planned it for when we got down to bikini underpants I hoped he'd gone as far as he would go but, nope, he whipped those off to reveal a posing strap. There are pictures, not in wide circulation, but there are pictures.Fortunately I was too drunk to be embarrassed-that, and a hangover, came the next day. From then on I lived in fear that one of those photos would show up in print although, to date, that hasn't happened. The other slightly disturbing part about that was he said he would have been perfectly happy to go all the way and then jump on Gary and me. Again, I remembered what he'd said about the only two men he'd fuck or let fuck him and it was us.

After the last evening news and when he was certain nothing major was going to need him, we slipped out and to a restaurant where the crew and on air people were well known and well protected from any inquiring eyes. Not only was it almost as dark as the Blue Grotto but there was enough fake greenery breaking up sight lines, to make anyone who wandered in wonder not only at what was going on but if this was even a restaurant. If you weren't known or couldn't give a name you were meeting, you probably weren't even be met at the door much less admitted. The name of the place was the first four digits of their telephone number and, to further dissuade those who may have heard who occasionally was there, signs in the window offered specials such as "Squid Surprize", Buffalo Tartar and, the catch of the day, Slime head. (Known to most as Orange Roughy)

In about two minutes he slipped out of his anchor duds and into sweat pants, a zip front hoodie, some decrepit sneakers and very large sun glasses. (until we were in and seated, he took no chances.) He had three hours until the late news and, since he was used to it, had a double Bourbon on the rocks with a beer chaser. I had a beer. He looked serious, unusual for him, and immediately lit into his topic which was Gary and the visit to San Francisco. He agreed with me that we should go but his reasons and mine were hardly the same. Seems he'd done some research on Gary's family and what he'd found would not have elevated their social status. The one promise he extracted from me was that what I now knew stopped with me, Gary was never to know. Of course I agreed and then he informed me that he would take over the trip, handle the details and the next Saturday, Gary and I were to present ourselves at his home for a guys only excursion. From here on, going to California was his baby, he'd pay for it, all he asked of us was that we do what he asked. Why not?

That settled we moved on to pointless topics such as what was new with everyone, had the damn dog learned how to do anything? Was I as happy as I'd been some months back when he'd been told. With my thumb I felt the ring on my finger, looked at his amazing blue eyes and told him that I was happier. He smiled as if he was about to toss to the sports guy who would report a Washington team had won. It was nice just to sit with him in a comfortable banquette, not pressed for time, just being glad to be with him.Which is probably what inspired the next question and I meant it almost as a joke. Almost. I brought up something he'd said about the only two men he'd fuck or allow to fuck him were Gary and myself.

"Meant it. Fuck incest. I cannot imagine a more pleasant evening than the three of us all comfortable in your big bed and, little by little, both of us taking him, me first so I'd get his cherry." Further, he had wondered what it would be like to just sleep in the bed with his sons, nothing more, just the comfort and pleasure of having his sons with him, slipping off to sleep and then, in the morning, I'd make an English breakfast for everyone. He looked at me. "Run it by Gary, see what he says". And then smiled which left me wondering how much of what he said was putting me on or how much was something he'd really do. I took a large swallow of my beer and decided to switch to Bourbon.

"Cooper", he said with a certain profoundness and determination, "I want to run that trip to California to make it as easy for Gary as possible and also to stick it to that family of his.I'm gonna guess he never talks about his childhood (he didn't) or much about living there at all. He moved out when he was what?Fifteen? Sixteen? With no comment from them and, eventually, walked away from Stanford about the time you decided that UVA wasn't for you, but wood work was."

"Tell you straight out I believe every man should have a trade, know how to do something so they can always find work of some sort. People will always need carpenters or mechanics or barbers so if you can do one or all of those you have it knocked. Look at me, what can I do that doesn't involve looking into a camera, doing interviews or trying to fill time when there's a disaster on the set but after that, I'm screwed. I could probably change a tire but your mother knows if there's something wrong around the house, best to get out her book of repair people and ask that they drop by. Not very successful as a man, is it son?"

I sat and stared at my glass of beer now flat. Could've been piss if I was going into hepatitis. Looking at him I knew I'd heard something....horrible, something that had gnawed at him, he couldn't be a whole man, he couldn't grunt and snarl and rip the back door off, sweaty, holding his shirt in his hand and then take his woman on the floor. I'd filled a part of that wedge of his life inadvertently, vicariously, but now he had to understand that as fathers go, he was absolutely the best. He was staring at whatever was on his plate, one fork despondently dragging across it, catching nothing in the tines and stared, not at me, not at where we were but at something I could not see because it was wholly in his imagination and it was labeled "failure". Pointless to mention his enormous professional success as, in his mind, he'd obviated that. It was just another job like being a production line worker, put in your eight hours, go home, then go back again the next day. He'd occasionally used the expression "media whore" but it never occurred to me that somewhere within him, he thought it had personal application.

I slumped and put my hands over my face. I knew I was going to cry and, probably, cry hard because I could not do for him the one thing he desperately wanted and that was to take back his life and allow him to relive it as he wanted it. Automatically I rotated so that my torso and head was on his chest, my head just above his shoulder. Just as automatically, he put his arms around me not having even a vague idea as to what had set me off. I was gulping out words.

"I love you so much and I don't care what you do. I'm so sorry that you didn't get what you wanted but, dad, please, please, try and find a way to yourself, I love you, mom loves you, Gary loves you and God knows how many people out there, in the ether, love you, rely on you to be straight with them, tell them when it's hard or that it's going to get hard....not every one can do that without being resented. You're craft is truth and your contract with people that you'll tell them straight up or walk off.....it's the greatest thing you could do...."

He held me increasingly tighter, pressed the side of his face against mine and I felt a tear come from him. "You're everything a man could want in a son...." Trying to move away from where we were I said, "Well, I'm everything you want in a son and I did the impossible, I found another son for you.....I'd crawl under the table right here and go down on you if that would prove anything."

He took my chin in his hand, turned it so I had him, full face, very, very close up, "Nah, I want to blow you as my thanks for reminding me of what I do and why. I'd forgot." I was amazed to watch how immediately he regained his composure-probably came with the job. "Thanks for the offer, by the way, it felt good just to know that there really aren't any barriers between us."

"None. You want to drop by and crawl in with your two sons, you got it. Want to fuck either of us, our asses are yours.You're our father, not only do we love you but respect you and...I guess you might as well know, at various moments, we've both had the hots for you; Gary still gets hard at certain moments."

Dad smiled a secretive pleased kind of smile that meant he understood, we were father and his two sons. "One son for each nut, that works out about right."

"...and I wouldn't want two fathers, just you and.....thank you for giving real brotherhood to Gary, it means a lot to me and he would be humbled and grateful." Just before he relaxed into where we'd been, he reached over and gave my crotch a grope.Winked at me, "Are you sure you or Gary can't have a kid?" It was a wicked smile that he got back. "I'm for it but...you'd have to mix your sperm with his, can't take any chances...." It was like the camera moved back and we were once again a father and his son having dinner. He swirled his Bourbon over the dying ice cubes, looked at me and said again, "I'll take care of California, just do what I tell you."

After the eleven o'clock news, it was late-by my standards-so I elected to stay with my parents. Also, this was the witching hour when drunkies from Arlington and the District decided it would be a good idea to go home to get some sort of rest although their chances at having a hangover were in the 99 percentile. Called Gary, told him although that was a pointless errand; He answered the phone by saying something like, "Yeahard" which meant he was sound asleep. I could have told him I was at Dulles ready to fly off to Babylon with the Secretary of Agriculture and he wouldn't have heard it. My message was delivered and, when there was a silence he said, "Ahhuh" and the line either went dead or he hung up.

Over the years of my absence, Mom had got rid of Superman and Speed Racer in terms of what I slept on replacing them with a nice masculine stripe. Other than that, the room was exactly as I'd left it years earlier, just as comfortable, just as familiar and just as impossible to sleep more than one unless you both used the floor which Gary and I had done when a blizzard got to town a few hours before predicted. Dad was bunking in at the studio and Mom, I could tell, was overwhelmed with happiness at having two, count 'em two, men to care for and about. It's moments like these that I cannot believe she didn't know something; Just after lights out, it was lights on as she came into my room carrying a footed silver tray with two mugs and a heat preserving pitcher filled with hot chocolate. We were stark naked, although under covers on the floor which, apparently, she accepted as normal for two boys on a sleep over. Mom made hot chocolate that was off the chain and, if a tot or two of Brandy was added, so much the better. Did she include a bottle of brandy? Of course. On that night she'd offered to sleep in my room and we could have their King size bed which was a pointless offer as they have two guest rooms, each with beds that easily could have accommodated both of us. I was having a sentimental journey and taking the man I loved with me.

The next morning was almost a moment from episodic television; when we stumbled into the kitchen, wearing only crumpled boxers and T shirts that were too large when I was 14. She was there, fully dressed, low heels, a double strand of pearls and a starched apron that had Velcro attached oven mitts. She shifted into one of her better roles, mother as provider of nourishment, and presented each of us with a pasta plate full of eggs, sausage, bacon and silver dollar pancakes. Coffee, of course, sides of three kinds of toast plus bagels and a Danish apiece. And, to start, a mug of orange juice that was adequate for four people. I knew what was coming but Gary did not; Her performance as a concerned mother who felt she'd forgotten something. In my whole mortal life I'd never seen her eat breakfast apart from when, as a family, we were some place like a hotel, but her ability to worry about what she'd produced-thank God we were snowed in or I have little doubt she'd have staged a daring four a.m. Raid on the local grocery story to get things she didn't happen to have on hand. At the ready, though unused, was a waffle iron-a bowl of batter beside it-as well as the orange crop from a small county in central Florida to squeeze more orange juice if we asked for it....or if she felt we should have some. Keep in mind, this was very early for her as she and my father seldom went to bed until two or three, a few hours after he got home. She'd make a"snack" they'd have cocktails, talk, go to bed and sleep until ten or eleven. I mention that for as soon as she'd assured herself we were minimally, if adequately, fed, she went back to bed. Looking out, unless we really wanted to take some unnecessary chances, there was no reason not to do the same. Fucking on a heavily ladened stomach isn't as much fun, even if it's on the floor and I had Gary's ankles tied to to my bed posts. It's probably just me but....being cock deep in someone and having them suffer an attack of gas and farts, the loud, smelly kind, isn't the answer to "good sex".

Saturday, per his request, Gary and I presented ourselves at their home almost expecting to guarantee a recent scrubbing as well as having our nails checked; Only one of those happened, Dad mumbled something about a manicure. Typically Mom was just cheerfully happy about "her boys" going off to do something together even she hadn't the vaguest idea what it was. Dad said not to plan on us for dinner, which seemed to disappoint her, but only briefly. Then it was off on whatever it was we were going to do.

Strangely our first stop was at his office where he had us sit down while he hauled out a surprizingly large folder marked"Sons/Cali/Trip". Inside were two packets, one for each of us and we knew that because the outside document was an elaborate First Class ticket jacket from American Airlines with our names on them. As we looked them over, we found that this was first class all the way;He'd arranged with the airline for us to have their VIP service which started with being collected at our home in a limo and taken to Dulles airport-we would be returned the same way when we got home. We were taking a noon flight to the coast and, in SFO, we'd be met by another limo and chauffeur and taken to Gary's parents home. The return was strangely open; we were to call American no less than eighteen hours before we wanted to return and they'd take it from there, limos and all. For whatever reason he seemed to feel he needed to shift into travel agent mode and explained all the detail save one which he'd left for us to select; Where we'd like to sit on the plane. Thoughtfully there was a map of first class and, having pointed at two seats that were by each other, he called American, gave them a code number and then our selection. That done he rose and said we were off to get some things done.

Our first stop was at a pleasant looking building in Georgetown, the sort that had once been a row house and since converted to businesses, very prestigious businesses, the sort that did not have their name on the door and to get in, you needed to have an appointment or be very well known. Dad was well known as the door was opened and a man escorted us into what had once been the parlour but was now the sales room or so it seemed. There were bolts of fabric attractively displayed, a bijouterie showing very fine cuff links and studs as well as on mannequin on which was a beautifully cut tuxedo. Why we were here was beyond me. Another gentleman appeared from behind a curtain, smiled at my father, they shook hands and then, in as cockney an accent as I'd heard, asked what was his pleasure today? Dad pointed at us and said, "Make them gentleman, skin out. No Italian cut, nothing French, I believe for him-pointing at me, a good six button double vented double breasted wool and for him, the gentleman sprang in, "For 'im a slim fitted three button D.V., very sexy, sir, very fit for him. Both 'O your sons are sure to be noticed if they wear feed bags but naow frum 'ere, Sar, naow frum here."

This seemed to satisfy Dad who said, okay, strip. We did.

Two hours later we'd been measured, calipered, weighed, body mass indexed held up I don't know how many swatches of cloth-it was during that period that Dad expanded our wardrobe by the addition of blazers, both blue one with regimental piping, one taped in black.Plus, of course, slacks to go with them. Each of us also got a pair of what they called "trews", a tartan that seemed loud enough to be worn by a golfer. Eight shirts a piece in varous cuts and colours, pin collars, long point, button downs....three cashmere sweaters apiece, and it just went on. At one point the gentleman, who was Mr.Brixton-like the prison he pointed out-asked my father if he wanted the suits to have an obvious "carry". Dad thought about that and a smile came over his face, "Two pair tight carry, one for travel, long term wearing. "Excellent Yaike, 'ou are one of me favaivourite clients" he laughed "If I could sell your aiyes....." and turned away. One at a time he measured and hefted our cock and balls pressing the cock against one leg and then the other. He looked at Dad. "Oi'ed saiy both carries right, maike a little nut sack just for a naice looking bulge. He and Dad considered the gravity of that.Dad, too, handled our tools which responded by getting almost instantly hard. "Per'aps the young laddies would care to use the Gents, relaive themselves?" He showed us to a very large combination dressing room and bath room, complete with not only a can but standing urinal and good sized enclosed shower.

We relieved ourselves, well, we blew each other and that was calming. Quickly reviewing what was an odd situation, beyond all the clothes, Dad wasn't dad, he was some person acting on unseen orders.

When we got back, the two of them were having a private conversation that didn't include us as it ceased as soon as we appeared. Brixton offered us a Whiskey and, out of courtesy and confusion, we accepted. Typical Brit, one ice cube in a very good single malted whiskey. The moments seemed to relax. To be polite as much as anything, Dad ordered what he called an "on air" suit and all that was necessary was to pick the fabric which took about two minutes. And then we were out the door, our tour director not having given us instructions. Standing on the sidewalk by Dad's Mercedes felt vaguely foolish as, typically, it didn't take ten seconds for two or three people to recognize him and that got us moving. Sliding behind the wheel, we jumped in as well and he announced a drive in the country. Pleasant day, why not although I had the sneaky suspicion that we'd "somehow" find ourselves near Burning Tree where he and Gary would play a "few holes" leaving me in the mens card room or getting a massage. But instead we found ourselves in front of our house. As if he owned it,he walked up the front door, his braves following the big chief, waited until it was open, and then walked in.

"Guys, I'm here for a relaxing time with my sons, dinner in or out, doesn't matter, the game on television and then....we're all going to bed together." Burning Tree and the massage suddenly seemed a great idea. "Don't get shocked, this is something I want, my two cubs and their papa bear, naked, close to each other and finding out how to sleep peacefully in a very unusual situation." I got three beers out of habit, three mugs, chilled, and ambled back to the den where conversation hadn't got started. So I started it.

"Dad, I don't think this is a good idea, you know you're welcome but you've got an agenda and Gary and I are taken a little back. You're welcome in our bed, with us but...."I couldn't fill in the next blank.

"You're worried about sex and the married parent and his sons. Something like that?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"I've thought about this a lot, tried to figure out how I felt about it, what did I want, all of which sounds terribly selfish but to go forward I had to be damn sure that what I thought I wanted, was what I really wanted...."

"What is it......" I almost could not finish the sentence. ".....you really want?"

"Sex, with both of you. Call it one off incest.Cooper, you get my ass cherry and Gary you get my cock cherry. We'll see where we go from there."

"Dad, drop it, I can't do it, I'll let Gary speak for himself but, I just don't think I can mount my own father, fuck him for the first time because he wants me do it."

He took me in his arms. "My good Cooper, always concerned, always thoughtful, always trying to not hurt someone like waiting six years to mention that, oh, yeah, Gary and I are partners.That hurt your mother and me because we came to feel that you thought we'd disapprove, be mad, stalk out....Sons, this is what we wanted, we couldn't have been happier. I can't say I've flat out told your mother but she was the one who said, 'Oh, for God's sake Jake, go out there and do whatevers on your mind. Just quit stall walking about it. Go.' So here I am."

Gary who seem to have been absent, in thought at least, said, "Dad, we'd love to have you and whatever you want to do is what we'll do and enjoy doing it. Get a good long sleep, mess up all the pillows and the quilts, just two sons who love their dad very much and the silence and privacy of night."

I looked at him wondering who this person was. "Oh, come on, Coop, we've laid in bed and wondered what it be like to have Dad with us. Who would do what to whom. Or just have a pillow fight.Take a long, hot shower together. Wash each other......shave each other, dry each other and then happily go to bed."

Unfortunately I was getting a hard on which neither of them failed to notice or mention.

Dad looked as nonchalant as if he'd just proposed a hand or two of "Old Maid". Gary had made his choice and that left me in free fall into someplace deep. Like the Grand Canyon. The horrible part, at least to me, was that I did want, wanted to do just what he'd proposed, I wanted to be the first to fuck him, take his cherry and, worse, I wanted this to be more than a one time thing. Hell, if he got up one morning, had a loose schedule, I wanted him to drop by the shop and pick one or both of us to do...whatever.

"Mom...."

"Your mother doesn't care. We waited so long to be told what we already knew she wondered if she and I should drop by and show you how it's done. She fucked her brother."

I staggered but Gary caught me. "Jake, I think that was too much information, it's interesting as all get out but....just not now."

"....so there's nobody without sin throwing Champagne bottles at double glazed windows..."

Dad had to think about that. "Guess so. And, by the way, lets keep words like 'sin' out of this, we're just a father and his two much loved sons having a sleep over." And smiled that smile that melted hearts and alarmed prostates in four states. In living colour. Just then I knew if I looked into his eyes, I was dead meat;Why wait to go upstairs to something prosaic like a bed. He could just throw me on the floor and take me however he wanted.

Gary, who hadn't the actual burden of blood relationship, walked up to him, put one hand over his cock and balls, another hand around his torso, pulled him close and started to kiss him, not the standard lovely-to-see-you kiss but the one that says,"This is just the overture, we aren't anywhere near the main feature." Dad reciprocated by putting both his hands on Gary's ass and cupped his nice, hard cheeks. I knew, from long acquaintance, that his tail wasn't a bubble but one acquired from years of stooping, squatting, having to put it in all manner of positions that lead to a hard butt. As dad was now discovering. Watching my father get warmed up by another man had an effect you could not plan on; I got hotter than I already was. Somewhere deep in my testicles, looking for the cords, was a tanker load of sperm warming, preparing, waiting-impatiently-to spill forth. That's when I dropped my pants.

Dad turned loose with one hand and grabbed my cock, looked at me and smiled. Had he displayed that lascivious smile on the air at any time, not only would Scotty and a few guys at the station forget decorum and that they were live with only a five second delay jump him, but all those women out in wherever they were, would mount the clothes washer, hit spin cycle and grab the mop handle. Just before the transition tower and cables that carried the on air program melted, their usual four state access would have caused a tidal wave in the Delaware Water Gap, Washington would cross it again and, in far away Sydney, suddenly fireworks would have erupted from the Harbour Bridge.

That it was afternoon held no meaning, we were all hot, desirous of pieces of ass and names, relationships and whether there were clean sheets was without meaning. I turned, briefly, as we passed the top of the stairs and saw Dads bikini underwear move.Dopey, again, hadn't been able to decide on up or down, a problem we did not have. It is a testament to our ability as carpenters that the bed did not collapse when three good sized men hit it more or less at once. From an open door it would not have appeared like sex was on the agenda but a collage of legs, arms, heads, feet with socks flailing about as if trying to get organized but weren't succeeding.

"First, shower, it's the way to go, it's what we do and what you'll always do with us...assuming you want another turn at the stock tank." Dad laughed, started to sit up, as did we all, put one arm around each of us and said...."Guys, I've wanted this for a long time. Not just the sex but to be this close to my sons."

"Well, you're going to get closer. Come on, first shower and then.....some other things." Oddly, I did want to fuck my own father. I wanted to be up on my knees, my dick hard, only covered with my own spit looking down at the cleavage in his ass knowing that just below that lay something he had to give me or, as I now thought of it, something I wanted to take. Not rape, but he'd know he'd been fucked by a man.

One of the improvements we'd made when we bought the town house was to tear out the shower stall that was there and install a custom steam shower that easily held two people, easily.There was a bench on which to enjoy the steam and it was also long enough to use for fucking purposes. The only thing this had cost, besides some money to buddy who was a journey man plumber and therefore licensed to work on this, was a closet in a guest room.Lots of spigots that could be adjusted, water that could be as cold as needed to really close pores to almost dangerously hot. And the water heater? There wasn't one, we invested in the new wall mounted electric kind that provided endless hot water. Another thing we liked, and, face it, it was ours, was a standing urinal that the few who saw it wondered about. Having wondered, most guys thought it was a great idea and, for those who were married, solved the seat up/down problem. My parents had used it for their own purposes, indeed had called to see if they could use it-in particular, I remember their twenty fifth wedding anniversay.... Perhaps it was the Mom in me, but we had almost more towels than five town houses needed, hooded robes that were damn near floor length, bath sheets and a dryer in which one could literally stand for a few moments and, if you were in a hurry, no dampness just dry. We both used straight razors so there was a special shaving bowl with mirror, the vanity, two sinks, was forty eight inches high, in short it was a room for men as well as a men's room.

While we were in the bedroom, all of us boned up, I held dad and whispered in his ear...
"It's fantasy right up to the moment you do it so.....if you want to have a shower, sleep with us, great but....". He cut me off with a kiss. "I'm tired of having the fantasy only in my head, it's time." Shot me down with that smile and his eyes. This time I knew he was not tossing to the weather girl, the sports guy or some unlucky bastard who was doing an on the spot report in a rain storm about a cat stuck in a tree. We held each other, our cocks almost leaping to make the journey into the other. I ran my hand over his nicely furred chest, "Jesus I want you, always have...." He took hold of my cock. "You smell, time to get you showered boy." And slapped my ass.

If their were a profession for professional persons to join you in the shower, I'd take the course, get the license, major in soap and their uses, harvest my own loofahs, invest in all manner of lotions, soaps, cleaning devices and have a shower with a built in enema snake as well as a tall stool to sit on when what went in needed to come out. I would have french doors that turned opaque with the push of a button, non slip floor, a shelf with a selection of various sized and shaped dildos, the finest in male milkers built in, steam-of course-minimum two screens to show porn (the client's choice of subject) as well as a massage table that also had straps and chains to make sure my client didn't move around.

Gary says he thinks it has possibilities but that I could look forward to almost daily visits from the authorities, and not about whether the plumbing was up to code. I suggested that we make further improvements to what we had and he suggested that what we had, modest as I might find it, had served us well but he would make one consolation; Monogrammed towels. Mom thought of that herself and before Gary could do anything, a "Mom" box arrived with a full set of towels, already monogrammed. And for the viewing public, six hand towels each of which had "My Son" on it. I knew what was next but Gary still hadn't learned about mom and her pathologies. Two days later another "Mom" box arrived, this one bearing a selection of soaps, shaving mugs, shaving soap, expensive English tooth paste as well as expensive English tooth brushes, a tract on dental health, some deodorant that was guaranteed to squash anything up to and including the sewage plant and, as she'd forgotten them previously, a dozen kitchen towels, monogrammed using vegetables to spell out our initials. Gary was non plussed but I had the inside track and knew her largesse was not quite finished; It was, three days later, when UPS showed up, took a dolly from the back of the truck, heaved a very large carton on it, rang the bell-Gary happened to be at home-so he signed for it then worried it into the foyer. He called me, wondering what the fuck....and I would have made book on this one. If I could have found a bookie to give me long odds that it was toilet paper, I would have slapped a friendly thousand down. It was toilet paper, but three ply, not ordinary two ply, anyone could have that. That would have seemed to be the end but with mom, it never quite is. A case of paper towels was next and, at our shop, another crate of shop towels plus heavy duty soap. We had installed a shower unit just to jump in and get the dust and dirt from work and, wisely, never told her that it existed. Just to make sure, I'd taken a large piece of camouflage cloth and "casually" thrown it over so it just didn't seem to exist. She did know we had a half bath and only because I got dad to help me, persuade her that it was okay, she need do nothing. She complied but never felt quite right that she hadn't done .... something.

Guys showering together is one of the highest forms of camaraderie unless you're doing it with men who feel nudity of any sort is an affront to God or at least the Pastor of their Fundamentalist church. Before I said Sayonara to University I'd been on the La Crosse team and we had as much fun in the locker room as I could remember having up to that point in my life. Not just the towel flipping or pointing and giggling about what some guy had not got but the shared masculinity that always exists. Too, if you'd lost that day, then it was a shared loss, one to be washed away with vulgar language-about the other team-and congratulating yourselves on what did go right. Then there's the long sit on a bench, maybe with a towel, maybe not, when you contemplate leaving the shared place and time and experience for the world outside where all they'll notice is that you're clean or have a black eye or some deep tissue bruising.They'll make you notice that as well although back there, in the mist, in the slightly crappy room that could be nothing but a locker room, none of that had matter. Dad and Gary and I were in that mode, suspended by falling water, no thoughts, no worries. At that moment we weren't a father and his two sons but three guys in a shower after whatever had happened or getting ready for what might be next on the agenda.

This day in the shower with the water blinding us to what we would do next, it was great.

This was the beginning, the opening moments of displaying to one another what would come next. It's washing each other, slowly, erotically, putting soap in the hair on your chest and using it as a brush to wash the hair on their chest or their back or squat down to get the soap in their crotch. Eyes closed, heads shampooed, six hands cleaning three men, hands, slippery lotions, holding someone ever closer while you slide a bar of soap in their ass then follow it with your fingers, your hands. Balls tenderly held, massaged, cleaned. They are the last stop before the cock is touched, involved. It's already hard but not it's in play, everyone has their stick and balls and three men meld into one mass of flesh oozing soap with water continuing to pour into the group, heads on shoulders, lips on lips, faces washed and kissed and stroked and rubbed. Fingers in mouths, mouths opening, loosening on their joints for...later when that ability to open will please everyone. One person slowly jacks off another, leans down, eats the sperm, shares it. This first shoot is necessary to cool down the balls, loosen them, empty them so later stamina is increased. No one is ashamed to dump a load of cum now, this is warm up, everyone does it, enjoys it, gets you ready. And, besides, this is a shower jerk, get out, towel down, get dressed go wherever and fuck the shit out of the person who's next in line and for whom you got all cleaned up.

I was holding Dad, my arms behind him, rubbing and scrubbing his ass and his calves his head bent over my shoulder turned slightly toward me. "Oh Jesus, this is what I want, feel my hard cock, it's for you, boy, and for him, and I have something for you. Put your hand over it, run some fingers in it. I've been practicing." He was almost giggling, "I knew when you finally told us that this day would come. Bought myself a set of training butt plugs and, just like the instructions, worked my way up to very large, some time, I'd like you to fist me. Here, now I can tell you how I've desired you and Gary, wanted to feel your hands on my tits, pulling them, jacking me off while I jacked both of you. Cum everywhere, tongues fighting for it. Oh, shit, Cooper, I love you so much...."

He reached for Gary and was holding both of us, bits of sperm at the tip of all our cocks.

"I want both of you, I want to go all night. I know I may not be very good, but...I'll try. I want to feel you in me, have my seed in your ass in your seed in mine. I want to drink your piss, lick your cum covered dicks, sleep with a finger up my ass or a dildo but with my sons...we can never sexually satisfy each other because we're father and sons, we'll go at until you have to pour starch in my dick. Fuck, if I thought you'd like it, I'd have my teeth pulled just to make blowing you better."

It seemed a fairly direct proclamation of what Dad was up to, no hesitation there and so we eventually finished out shower then enjoyed the pleasure of toweling each other down. Down right, this can be almost as much fun as the shower and, because you're not wet, you get better traction. What Dad didn't know was that after that we shaved each other. Over time we'd learned how to use a straight razor and we'd take turns. There's a ritual to all that, getting the brush just the right amount of wet, whipping the brush in the on the shaving soap until it produces just the right texture of foam, usually about meringue. That done, hot towels then the pre shaving oil and finally the foam applied with a certain lack of precision, just all over the face from the eyelids down. Lacking a barber chair, we'd made a sort of stool with a back that could be lowered, had an arm into which the soap and holder could go and a hook from which the razor hung. When you love someone letting them take a cut throat razor to you proves it. Always took two latherings to get baby's butt smooth and then the one last bit of tidying up, carefully trimming back the chest hair from the nipples, the better to show them and, with Gary, the better to display his barbells.

We wrapped dad up until he looked like a Saudi business man-the point was to keep him warm-while we did each other and he salivated and dribbled cum.

We could see beneath his Thobe he had something no proper Saudi would have-a boner the size of the Gulf of Hormuz and almost as wet. Just to annoy him, we kept him wrapped but we both picked him up, carried him to our bed and then proceeded to rip the fabric from his body and rolled him on his chest. It was quick work to get him up on his knees so that Gary could scoot under and take his Dad Dick in his mouth while I quickly slathered some lube on me, on him and then with a sense of triumph I'd never felt, plunged into him. Once in I draped my body over his and set up a good rhythm while reaching down with one hand and giving Gary some attention.

The sun was just setting making all of our bodies golden, exaggerated by sweat, but also by the obvious sensation of everyone loving each other and, just incidentally, what we were doing feeling great.

I gave Dad the slow, deep, fuck, the one that avoids the prostate-until the end-but is composed of a man's dick in another man's ass, dominating it, pleasuring it, taking it. When he began to moan and buck slightly, I gave Gary the high sign and he worked to get him to shoot just as I was on the verge of doing the same. It wasn't quite at the same time but...who cared.

Dad lay there, his sons on either side, the bed spotted with semen and that good man smell they cannot put in bottles and only occurs after sex and then only after good sex; If any of us had smoked, that would have been the moment.

"Dad? We love you so much.....and.....you're one hot fuck. Sure you haven't been practicing?"

"As the song says, 'I been saving all my love for you', both of you."

What we all needed was a nap and so curled together like a Yin-Yang emblem drawn by someone who's more into linear pieces, we faded into sleep and each other. I suppose during that period we scrunched around to get more contact, hold something that wanted to be both needed and held...as I drifted off, as happy as I had ever been, all I could think was, "Film at Eleven". And the the flawless rest that follows great, fulfilling sex with people you love......

To Be Continued.

Next Up, "Telling Mom and Dad in California"