The Milkman

My old bike hung on the wall of my dad's garage for more than two years. But on that sunny morning on my hometown, I decided it was time to pick it up. My dad woke up to help me with it. He came to the garage after hearing me working on it. He was wearing some old boxers that were a bit loose around his growing belly and I could see his sac and dick moving under it. It made my face grown red, but due to the heat, I assume my dad thought it was just me putting too much effort on a simple task as filling up the tires of my bike.

“Jesus, Henry, what on earth are you doing?” Dad asked as he scratched his balls and stared at me kneeling on the floor of the garage. “It is six in the morning.”

Indeed it was, but here I was, with my 20 years and a summer vacation with not enough money to run far away from home, but instead, ending up stuck with my dad for long long months of nothing to do. My dad was 58 back than and I was the son of the second failed marriage of that old man. I always wondered why it never worked for him – he was a hot piece of a man. Not that he knew I thought that, but as a young gay man, I always found my dad a classic example of a hot dilf. And with those loose boxes? Fuck. I did had to turn my eyes away.

“Sorry, dad. It is just too hot and I couldn't sleep. So I remembered of my old summer holidays and this bike and I thought, why not?”

“Are you having one of those crisis of young people who come home from uni or something?”

“What?” I asked, standing up but quickly lowering my hand over my crotch. I was wearing some old short shorts that definitely showed off my engorging cock. My young body was still on full hormones in plain work – I got easily hard in the presence of a man that had a hairy chest and a bit of a belly. Like my dad. Me? I was slightly hairy on the chest and very hairy on the legs and the ass – which I shaved once a month, of course. I was the normal type of guy, not very prone for sports, but with a good lean figure thanks to genetics or whatever. And there we were, the two of us standing. “Dad, can you help me with this?”

“Gimme this.” He took the pump from my hand and did the work, crouching on the floor in such a way that his boxers moved and I could see the hairy crack behind him. It made my cock go completely hard so I was thankful he wasn't looking when I took the bike and quickly moved away. “What about breakfast?” He yelled as I jumped on my old bike and started down the neighborhood.

I got enough speed as I hit the main road and the breeze was such a welcomed feeling that I couldn't help but smile. I raced a bit more and closed my eyes just a bit before opening to see my old neighborhood once more. My dad didn't move away from our house – instead, my mom and my sister moved to downtown and left the suburbs for my old man who said he was glad with an easy going life. And a part of me could understand his feelings. It was an easy life. Sometimes even too easy.

The entrances to the houses were mostly empty except for the cars or the children toys all around. Some people were already out, going for the train station or driving their smooth cars down the roads. I turned to the left and made my way to my old school. As I rode, I saw the milkman. I pulled my hand out of the handlebar and waved. “Hello, mr. Carson.” But as the man in the white uniform turned, I noticed he was way younger than mr. Carson was when I was still a kid. The milkman opened a huge white smile on his scruffy face and waved back. “Hello.” I heard him yell but I was already speeding up, too shy about my mistake to even look back.

Seeing your own hometown after almost two years is a bit weird. I was born and raised on this little part of the world and only left when my parents divorced for real and my mom moved – first to the city and than to another, far away place. She hates my father, as you may have guessed, but I never truly knew why because she said she wouldn't dare to make her children feel the same. So my relationship with dad has always been good, even after me going to college and making him travel to meet me instead of the other way around.

Mostly because, as a gay child, the memories of this town wounded still now. I stopped the bike in front of the school and I thought I would be filled with nice memories but instead all I could think of was how grateful that I could simply be me now instead of that project of a person I tried being when I was younger. Still, I made myself look at the building and feel all the feels before I started my riding once more.

It took me around an hour to go back home. Not being inclined to sports and having to deal with a strong hot summer, I felt the need to just lay back and not move until my body cooled off again. I left the bike on the grass in front of my dad's house and entered.

It was all complete silent and I decided not to make much noise because I was sure my dad was sleeping. Except, he wasn't. I was basically tiptoeing to the kitchen, so in his defense, he couldn't have heard me. But as I got to the door, I saw the white uniform of the milkman and his hat was over the table and I could perfectly read the letters of MILKMAN on it. The sounds were also very soft, but in that silent house, they were loud enough.

“Mr. Robinson, oh my god.” And than a soft happy moan.

And I spied. I looked in and I spied on my dad. And it was easy because the old fucker was not even trying to hide it. He was there, kneeling in the middle of the kitchen, sucking the milkman's cock. And now I could only see the back of the new milkman, but he looked strong inside that tight white shirt. His pants were down around his knees and I could see his bare ass exposed. It was firm and muscled and well taken care off. I was immediately hard. And guilty because there I was, spying as my dad grabbed the ass globes of that man so he could deep throat that cock. And I haven't seen it yet, but I could only imagine it was big.

I don't know exactly how I got to that, but I pulled my dick out and started to stroke it right there by the door. I heard my dad's slurping sounds and I heard the milkman's moans as the two of them got going and damn, oh, damn, my dad was good. My old man was a fucking cocksucker.

“You're so hungry today, mr. Robinson. I'm glad your kid went out so I could come and feed you. Does his dick is as big as mine?”

“Uh-hum.” My dad didn't take the man's cock out of his mouth but his answer was pretty clear and hearing it made me denounce myself. It was a simple step back but my back touched the door and the door made a loud noise.

The milkman turned and I saw my dad's face looking at me as he kept still on his position to serve.

“Henry?”

“Dad!”

My cock was out and hard and I could see the milkman's face clear. He was smiling. A deviant, inviting smile.

“What are you doing?” We both asked at the same time. And the milkman was the one who had an answer.

“He is jerking off to his old father sucking the milkman, isn't it?”

I was unable to move. My hand was still in my cock and it throbbed between my fingers. “Y-yes.”

“Do you want to watch it closer?” The milkman asked. He was in his 30s for sure and he was such a fine damn man, like those you saw on an ad on television.

I nodded and walked into the kitchen, stepping closer to them and seeing my dad. He looked mortified but he was naked and his dick was hard under the small curve of his belly.

“Closer?” I felt a hand on my shoulder and I looked to my side. The milkman's smile was charming as ever as he pushed me down to kneel beside my dad and I than saw the man's cock. It was beautiful – long, hard, vein-y. His balls were a wonder a part and the black pubes over the shaved and trimmed dick made that a cock of my dreams. I licked my lips and my dad smirked at me, shyly.

“I'm sorry, son, you weren't meant to see this.”

“It's okay, Dad. I like this too.”

“But I'm your father.”

“I love you no matter what.”

Between us, the milkman's cock throbbed and we both looked up. “I don't have all morning, but my balls have enough milk for you two.”

We both stared at each other before my old man got back to his work. He closed his lips on the red mushroom head of that cock. His blue eyes still stared at me while he did it and I understood then what I could do. So I leaned in and put my mouth on the milkman's balls, licking and sucking, getting a bit of an intoxicating musk of a male's dick. And there, with my dad, we had a small feast.

We licked that cock – every inch of it. We kissed with tongues as we both served that powerful member. We both took turns too and my dad would hold the base of the milkman's cock so I could take it down my throat. I wasn't as good as dad – that cock was too big for me. But my old man took it all down his throat and held it there to the milkman's delight.

When the man announced his orgasm, my dad aimed that big cock to my face and the young milkman exploded all over it. My dad licked some cum out of my cheeks and I licked the rest. The milkman put his cock back into his white trousers, took his cap and left. But before going out of our kitchen, he smiled back – that perfect advertising from the 60s smile.

“I come back tomorrow!”

“Yes!” I answered him with my father as we still had our cocks hard on the kitchen's floor.