The roads were a mess, the torrential downpour thrashing against the windshield as I drove speedily but carefully through the winding roads into Holden. My irritation was palpable. I had to piss, the entire trip an inconvenience. A sensor from the furnace had gone off, indicating a failure. And so I’d headed straight up to the house—five hours drive, on a good day — now slowly turning into six, the way the weather was pummeling the sides of my pickup. But I’d almost made it, hitting that last 15-minute stretch through the back roads to the summer cabin I’d maintained for years.
Would be a quick overnight stay, nothing longer, a chance to make sure everything was in order before heading back the following morning.
My wife Eileen had offered to join me, to keep me company, but it hardly made sense to waste her time. Plus, someone needed to stay behind with Nate. He was home from fall break, his second year of college having started, and his pattern of misbehavior was only getting worse. Over the summer, we’d caught him partying behind our backs. I knew it was what boys did, but I hardly saw the point in enabling it by giving him an easy opportunity.
The rain picked up, and I pressed the windshield wipers into highest gear, watching them flick back and forth with even more intensity, my eyes as focused on the road as possible. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, bobbing and weaving around each curve of the wooded terrain, trying to balance out speed with safety. The pressure was accumulating in my groin, and there was no way I was stopping in this rainfall before I made it home. There was no gas station for miles.
I slowed down at the intersection where Route 27 met Beavercreek Rd., a T-junction, and after making a half stop, I sped around the corner, just narrowly missing a small sedan parked on the side of the road—lights on, hazards flashing, a slight figure hunched over its open hood.
I slowed down, mildly shaken, my heart racing, upset at my own recklessness. Looking in my rearview at the stranded vehicle, I half considered just driving off. The selfish part of me wanted to keep going. But we were in the middle of the woods. Whoever that was would be stuck there for a long time, no tow truck for miles. Something in my gut, in my heart, told me to stop, to be the neighbor and help this guy out. And so I turned the steering wheel and pulled over just in front of the sedan, setting the gear into park.
Grabbing my hoodie from the back seat, I threw it over my head and then, taking a deep breath, opened the driver’s side door, making a run for it out into the storm.
As I approached the car, I sized up the figure in front of it, partly distorted by the glare of the headlights. He appeared to be a young kid, probably no more than 17 or 18, tall but slight, his body hunched over the hood.
As I neared the figure turned around, revealing his face—boyish, handsome, his skin a deep tan and a nose almost Roman. His eyes betrayed concern, a fluster. He knew he was in a jam.
“What’s going on here?” I asked, sidling up to the car, the hood of my sweatshirt barely holding back the rain from my face. The downpour was relentless, already beginning to soak through the thick cotton fabric of my t-shirt.
“Car’s totally stalled out,” the kid said, shaking his head in dismay. “I’ve tried a few things, but nothing’s working, and there’s no cell service here.”
That was for certain. This was about as far off the grid as you could get.
“Yeah, you’re not gonna get a call out here. And no tow truck’s available this late at night.”
“Fuck,” the kid replied, his face sinking, despondent.
“You from around here?” I asked.
“Not really,” he demurred. ”Just passing through.”
“My place is just a few miles down the road,” I told him. “I can get you set up with a phone and figure out a game plan. But likely nothing’s getting solved tonight.”
The kid sized me up, his face mildly suspicious.
“I promise I’m not a creep,” I replied, reassuringly. “I’ve got a kid your age, I wouldn’t want him out here all alone.” I glanced down at him, already soaked to the bone, helpless. “I’m Jack,” I offered, extending my hand.
The kid looked down at it, still reticent. And then, overcoming his hesitation, he reached out and received it. “Toby,” he replied, giving it a firm if tentative shake.
“C’mon, Toby,” I called out over the din, “let’s get you to dry land.”
Toby lowered the latch of the hood, pressing it down firmly to close, and then went around the side of the car to grab some things from the front seat before rejoining me, the two of us hustling back to my pickup.
“Jesus Christ,” I bellowed once were in. “It’s really coming down out there.” I glanced over at Toby. He looked like a drowned rat. “You’re drenched.”
Toby peered down at his clothes, as if he’d hardly noticed. “Was out there for about 20 minutes trying to figure it out. I thought I was totally fucked.”
“It’s all right,” I reassured him. “You’re safe now.”
I was about to turn the ignition when I was reminded of the pang in my groin, my balls aching. I was about to burst.
“Hang on for one second,” I said. “I’ve had to take a leak for the last 40 miles.”
And with that, I hopped out of the car again, making my way towards the passenger side just off the road and found some light tree cover, enough to avoid the brunt of the showers as I pulled out my dick.
With my back half turned, I clenched my ass and began to drain, letting a long stream out onto the ground before me, steaming in the crisp, wet air. It was sweet relief after holding it for so long; my body finally relaxed. And then the flow finally slowed to a dribble, a few last spurts onto the ground before I turned, dick in hand, towards the car, about to zip up. It was then that I caught Toby’s gaze through the window, his eyes laser-focused on my piece, finally released. I paused, surprised, caught by the intensity of his stare, the reality dawning on me. He’d been watching me the whole time.
But then the torrential rain shook me back out of my stupor, my hand doing the work of folding myself back into my fly, hustling back to the driver’s side.
I piled back into the car, shaking my head to slough off some of the water, letting it fall on the steering wheel and the console.
“Sorry,” I apologized, mildly self-conscious at what had transpired, wondering if I had been too immodest with my display.
“Hardly,” Toby replied, refusing to make eye contact and staring straight ahead. “Thanks for being my savior.”
And so I turned the ignition, putting the car back into drive and pulling away.
We made it back to the house in ten minutes, mostly in silence, making a run for the safe cover of the front porch once we arrived, my fingers fumbling with the keys before the latch turned and I entered, Toby following closely behind.
I ushered him in, finding my way to the light switches around the periphery to illuminate the space, the kitchen and family room coming into view.
“Nice place,” Toby offered, walking past the kitchen island towards the couches arranged in front of the TV, pictures framed on the wall above the mantle.
“Thanks,” I replied. “Been coming up here a long time. Twenty years,” I added, somewhat wistfully.
“This your family?” Toby asked, staring at a family shot from five years back—me, Nate, and Eileen on the fishing boat, the last day of summer.
“Yeah, that’s my son and my wife,” I replied. “They’re back at home. Had to make a quick trip up here to check in on things.”
“They look nice,” Toby offered, smiling at me. It was the first time he seemed relaxed, calmer, knowing that I wasn’t just some stranger but a husband. A father. Someone he could trust.
I made my way to the directory by the phone, picking it up and turning it to the page for the local mechanic.
“Let me give the garage a ring,” he offered. “They’re probably closed, but it never hurts to check.”
I lifted the receiver and dialed, the line ringing and ringing before going to voicemail.
Toby watched, his face expectant, hoping for an answer.
“Closed,” I replied, my suspicion affirmed. “It’s the only spot nearby. I think we’ll need to wait until morning.”
Toby’s face sank, his disappointment palpable.
“I really need to be getting on my way,” he replied, shifting from side to side.
“Well, you’re not getting anywhere fast in a broken-down Honda,” I replied.
“I can go back to my car and sleep there,” Toby offered, the suggestion ridiculous.
“I’m not letting you go back out there, not in this storm. You can stay here for the night.”
He looked uncomfortable again, uncertain. “I couldn’t impose on you like that.”
“It’s hardly an imposition. I’m just up here alone,” I replied. Toby hesitated, still unsure. But I refused to let it go. “I insist.”
“All right,” he agreed. “So long as it’s no trouble.”
“Not at all,” I affirmed. “Should we call your parents, let them know where you are?”
Toby flinched, the prospect appearing almost a threat.
“No,” he protested, defensive. “They know I’m fine.”
I knew that couldn’t be true. If he didn’t have enough cell service to call a tow truck, he certainly didn’t have it to phone his family.
“I’d feel better if we talked to your parents,” I said. “I know I’d be concerned about my son if he didn’t make it home.”
“I just left them, actually, I’m headed to meet friends,” he offered.
“Well, surely they’ll want to know you’re okay?”
“I promise you, it’s fine,” he said definitively, refusing to budge.
I hesitated, not happy with such an arrangement. My gut told me this wasn’t right, but something about the way he responded stopped me from pushing any further. After all, this kid wasn’t my son, but a stranger. Despite the age difference, I wasn’t his father, no matter whatever inclination I had to play dad.
Then I remembered the furnace, the reason I was here.
“Just give me one second. I just gotta run down to look at something.”
I turned and made my way to the basement door, switching on the light and finding my way to the bottom of the stairs. In front of me was the furnace, totally blown. I shook my head — it was just as I suspected. The whole thing would likely need to be replaced.
I made my way back upstairs, re-entering the kitchen only to find Toby shirtless, standing in the same place by the kitchen island. I stood, frozen, taken aback by his half-naked form. His body was a sight, his biceps tight around his arms, his chest modest but defined, giving way to a six-pack and the exposed waistband of his boxer briefs and the jeans that hung low beneath.
I stared at him, his eyes still sullen but beautiful, feeling a pang in my heart, and somewhere deeper, further beyond.
“Sorry,” Toby said, reading my surprise. “Had to get out of that wet shirt.”
“Of course!” I practically shouted, upset I hadn’t offered him anything else to wear.
But before I made the gesture, the house phone rang, and I reached for the landline and lifted the receiver.
Eileen’s voice came through the line.
“Yeah, it’s totally conked out,” I told her, my eyes back on Toby in his state of half-undress. His gaze was steadfast, almost goading me, his nipples tight and skin full of goosebumps, the phone still pressed to my ear.
“I’ll get it fixed tomorrow, hopefully be back by tomorrow evening,” I told her. “I love you too.”
I replaced the receiver, realizing the moment the call had ended that I hadn’t mentioned my houseguest at all. The omission struck me. Why did I leave it out? But I hardly had time to think about it.
I was too focused on my guest.
“The wife,” I said, by way of explanation. “The furnace downstairs is crapped out. You must be freezing in here without heat.” Toby nodded. “Come on, let’s get you something dry to wear.”
I gestured for him to follow, leading him up the stairs to my bedroom and making my way to the dresser as he lingered in the doorway. Thumbing through my drawers, I grabbed a pair of my sweatpants and a sweatshirt, turning around and passing them to him.
“There’s a bathroom just beyond there,” I said, nodding to the corner, its entrance ajar.
I watched as he walked over, flicking on the light and stepping in, neglecting to close the door behind him, such that his body was still visible in the full length mirror just inside.
His back turned, he unbuttoned the fly of his jeans and let them fall to the ground, exposing a tight, round ass framed by boxer briefs, just as soaked through as the denim. I admired the way the fabric clung to him, unforgiving in its wet state. And then, before I could look away to afford him actual privacy, he released those as well, letting them drop to reveal his naked backside — broad shoulders giving way to an arching back, the deep contours of his lats tapering to his waist and a wide, hairless ass, its cheeks a smooth milky white. I stood, motionless, unable to look away, my eyes widening as his body turned ever so slightly to reveal the first suggestion of his cock, its head dangling precipitously low between his legs—its length, its girth, surprising, impressive.
I blinked, wondering if I had seen that correctly. But before I could get a better look, he reached for the fresh change of clothes, stepping into each leg of the sweatpants and pulling them up around his waist and fastening their ties, the sweatshirt soon to follow.
I turned around, pretending to rummage through my drawers, feigning surprise when he re-entered the room and stood next to me.
I took in the view, his figure clothed in my XLs, dwarfed.
“Thank you,” he murmured, “I needed to get out of those.”
“Of course,” I replied, still slightly on edge from what I’d seen. Toby looked back at me expectantly, the silence lingering just too long, before I realized he was waiting for my cue.
“Head on downstairs,” I offered. “Let me throw on some fresh clothes myself, and then I’ll make a fire and some dinner.”
And with that, Toby nodded, appreciative, and made his way out of the room and down the hall.
Alone, I looked into the mirror above my dresser, catching my eyes in the reflection. What was I doing, checking out a guy half my age? Scratch that. A third of my age. Younger than my son. Had he known what I’d seen? I couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t so casual, just two guys changing near each other, his immodesty nodding to something deeper. I thought back to the car, the way I’d thoughtlessly whipped out my dick in front of him. Perhaps I’d invited this, with his wanting eyes. Perhaps he’d intended for me to watch. It felt entirely inappropriate, a man of my age and a kid that young. And what would he want with me, after all?
I slid off my sweatshirt, soaked through, and the t-shirt underneath, exposing my bare chest. I thought I looked pretty good, even if the years were starting to take their toll. I’d once been lean muscle like Toby, but now I’d become what Nate would call thick, goading me during sessions at the gym. I was hardly overweight, but all the muscle built from years of working out so diligently was now covered in an extra layer, making my body more imposing than it had been in my forties, if less impressive, at least to my critical eye. Fur covered the expanse of my chest, my pecs now thick and weighty enough to hang over my stomach, its foreside still shapely but no longer a lean six pack, instead more of a barrel than a washboard.
I flexed downward, extending my arms towards the ground, clenching so my arms and pecs tightened. Not so bad for an old guy, right?
I hadn’t seen a teenage guy like that naked in years, certainly not Nate, the way he hid out on the third floor in his cave. But something about Toby’s exposed body awakened a fire within me, a yearning that felt shameful, something I was loath to admit. I was a Dad now. It wasn’t appropriate to even think about, let alone act on it. Any feelings I had would have to be squelched, set aside.
An irony set in, though, as I fumbled back in the dresser, reaching for some workout shorts and my own fresh sweatshirt.
The few guys I’d ever fooled around with were Toby’s age, back when I was that young.
I got older, but the guys I fantasized about stayed the same.
I made my way back downstairs, finding Toby crouched over the hearth by the TV, already making a fire.
“Thought I’d make myself useful,” he said, using a lighter to set the pile of kindling and newspaper aflame beneath the stack of logs.
“Where’d you learn do that?” I asked, impressed.
“Boy Scouts,” he replied matter-of-factly.
“Thought so,” I nodded, “I was a troop leader back in the day for my boy Nate.”
Toby gazed up at me knowingly. “Nothing has ever made more sense,” he teased, walking his way back over to me as the fire grew to a blaze.
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“You’ve just got that heavy Dad energy. Commanding. Caring. A good Samaritan.” He searched my eyes. “The kind of guy who picks up lost kids on the side of the road.”
“Were you lost?” I asked, searching his face, the hint of anguish never having left him from the moment we met. “Thought you were just stranded.”
“Right,” Toby agreed, correcting himself. “Stranded kids on the side of the road.”
I pulled together a makeshift meal—a frozen pot pie, some sides—and we sat down to eat it at the kitchen table, the fire having warmed the house despite the broken furnace, our bodies finally thawing after having been soaked to the bone.
“So what had you driving through these parts?” Jack asked.
“I told you, just visiting some friends.”
“Yeah, you said,” I reminded him. “Where are they?”
“Albany.”
We were a long way from Albany, and it was already 9 o’clock. I wasn’t convinced.
“Listen, you don’t know me from Adam,” I started, “but you’re out here all by yourself late at night, won’t let me call your parents, looking like a deer in the headlights. What’s really going on here?” My eyes pressed him. “You can level with me. I’m your friend.”
Toby hesitated, the food on his plate still mostly untouched.
“Things at home are…complicated,” he started. “My father and I had a …disagreement…so I bailed.”
“Perfectly normal for a guy your age to get into it with his Dad.”
“Yeah,” Toby grunted, “normal.”
“I know I fight with my son all the time — how old are you? 17? 18?”
“18,” he replied.
“Right. You’re growing up, figuring yourself out. Parents can start to seem like the enemy, even though they’re not.”
“What if they are?” he replied.
The words hung there, Toby’s face serious.
I pressed on, my intuition affirmed — something wasn’t right here. “What was the fight about?”
“My dad doesn’t like…who I’ve become,” Toby offered.
“And what’s that?”
Toby focused, staring straight in front of him, before turning and looking me dead in the face. “Gay.”
His eyes earched mine, anticipating how I’d respond to such an admission. The pieces had finally all come together. The hasty exit. His anxious demeanor. The eyes that lingered on my dick when he didn’t think I noticed. The performance upstairs, likely knowing I could see it all.
The desire I could now smell on him, even if misplaced.
“Ah, Toby—”
“It just escalated, and then I bolted.”
“I’m sure he didn’t mean whatever he said. I’m sure he loves you, the way I love my son.”
“You mean you wouldn’t throw him out for being a fag?”
The words hung in the air, my heart growing heavy as I sized up this young boy, hair tousled and still wet from the rain, the borrowed hoodie hanging on his shoulders, rendering him even smaller than he seemed before.
Tears gathered at the corner of Toby’s eyes.
I reached across the table, taking his hand in mine. “Never,” I replied, running my palm along the ridge of his knuckles. “Not for anything.”
He lifted his other hand, using the cuff of my sweatshirt to wipe the wetness away, sniffling to restrain himself from dissolving further.
And then, instinctively, I leaned around the table and took him in my arms, wrapping him in a deep hug, and letting his head rest on my shoulder. His body released, even more tears falling, convulsing into my chest as he let it all go—the pain and anguish I’d known was bubbling beneath the surface, all of it coming to bear as he gripped my body with all his might.
Finally, his breathing slowed, his sobs receding, and he pulled himself away, wiping his nose and composing himself.
“I’m sorry,” he started, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to let loose on you.”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” I replied.
And I meant it. I felt honored that he’d shared so much with me, trusting a stranger enough to be there for him.
“How long have you known?” I asked, returning to my seat.
“A few years now,” Toby offered. “First, it was just a suspicion, you know. Fooling around with friends, normal stuff. And then I began to realize it wasn’t a phase.”
I found Toby’s eyes again. “You know there’s nothing wrong with you. You are who you are.”
Toby looked at me, his face first flashing a kind of reassurance, and then a resolute anger. “Try telling my Dad that.”
I looked past Toby at the framed photos on the wall, Nate’s young face beaming back at me—the happy boy that had become increasingly sullen, distant, impossible to read. I’d tried to be the model of an empathetic, caring father, the kind of Dad that I’d never had. But it hardly seemed to work on Nate. Instead of meeting me, receiving all that I had to give him, he only pushed me away.
“I think my son’s gay,” I said, cutting the silence.
Toby’s body stiffened, eyes widening. “Really?”
I’d never acknowledged it out loud, the real reason I suspected that Nate had kept me at arm’s length. But there it was, the truth, being laid bare on the dining room table, shared with a complete stranger.
“I can’t be totally sure, not yet, at least. But there are signs. The way he’s pulled away from me. His closeness with certain friends.” I looked back at the photos, at Nate’s face before things became complicated. “I tell him I love him all the time, just so he knows it doesn’t matter. But it hardly seems to work.”
It was the thing no one told you about parenting — you love them as much as you can, but you can’t control them, can’t force them to receive it. You have to let them figure it out on their own.
The admission seemed to soften Toby, his body relaxing even further.
“I’m sure he knows you love him,” Toby offered. “Deep down. He probably just thinks you wouldn’t understand.”
I took in a deep breath. “I understand more than he imagines.”
Toby’s face turned inquisitive, curious. “What do you mean?”
“People think just because you’re married you’re totally straight,” I continued. “Sexuality’s a lot more complicated than that.”
Toby shifted in his seat. “You’ve been with guys before?”
“Here and there, over the years, mostly when I was your age,” I replied. “You know, playing around with friends, classmates. Nothing wrong with it, as far as I was concerned. It was just a different time. In those days, you didn’t end up with a guy.”
“You say that like you’re so old,” Toby teased. “What are you? 45? 46?”
“56,” I replied.
Toby’s face turned. “I don’t believe it.”
“Believe it,” I replied. “Getting old isn’t for the faint of heart.”
He stared me straight in the eyes, realizing something, “You have no idea how handsome you are, do you?”
It wasn’t so much of a question as a statement, stated so plainly and directly I hardly knew how to reply. I felt my cheeks flush, my eyes turn down in embarrassment.
I couldn’t remember the last time someone had said that to me.
“You’re being polite to an old man,” I protested, hardly able to meet his gaze.
“You’re not an old man,” he replied. “I hope when I’m 56 I’m even half as good-looking as you are.”
I picked up my fork and knife and assembled them together on the plate, uncomfortable at so much flattery.
“Whatever I look like, I grew up in a different era from you guys. You guys can be anyone you want, you don’t have to compromise…” I trailed off. “Or bury these parts of yourself that don’t fit.”
“Is that what you did?” Toby asked. “Bury part of yourself?”
It was then that I realized perhaps I’d said too much.
“I didn’t mean—”
Toby studied me, silent. “What did you mean then?”
I took in a breath, not entirely sure what I meant. “I guess…I just left certain parts behind.”
And with that, I stood up, picking up our plates and carrying them to the sink, letting the faucet wash over the face of them until they were fully clean. Toby walked over to the island, facing me.
“I’m sorry if I pressed too much,” he started.
“Hardly,” I replied, softening, giving him a wink. “We should get some shut-eye,” I suggested, turning off the water. “Particularly if we want to get you up and running first thing in the morning.”
“Whatever you say, Scoutmaster,” he joked.
I guided Toby upstairs to the guest bedroom, turning on the lights to reveal a double bed, already made up, the rest of the room largely unadorned.
“Bathroom’s just through there,” I told him, “and there’s towels under the sink if you want to shower. The hot water’s still working even if the heat’s on the fritz.”
Toby nodded appreciatively.
“And if you need anyt,hing holler, I’ll be just down the hall.”
He hovered there, awkwardly, before moving closer, his body just a few inches away.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, his eyes locked on mine. “For rescuing me. For listening. Your son’s lucky to have a Dad like you.”
I blushed again, the sheer kindness of such a statement touching me. I’d felt like such a failure of a father these days, hardly able to connect with my own son. Here was a young man who was able to let me in, to be vulnerable, to let me be the Dad I knew I was.
It felt nice to be appreciated.
“It’s gonna be all right,” I replied, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Get some rest,” I continued. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
And with that, I left the room, pulling the door behind me.
I let out an exhale, realizing that familiar feeling in my crotch had returned, this time having risen to a semi. I lowered my head, shaken. What right did I have to be attracted to someone so young? I should know better.
But my dick had a mind of its own.
I made my way back down the hall to the first floor, finishing my cleanup. Burning off the excess energy, I busied myself with the rest of the dishes, washing them again even though they were already clean, and then piled them in the dishwasher, setting it to start. And then, the fire dwindling down just to embers, my fingers on the light switches about to turn them off, I noticed Toby’s phone illuminated in the distance, left behind on the kitchen counter. Making my way over, I lifted it to see a litany of messages and missed calls. People who were worried about him, I imagined. Concerned.
I made my way back upstairs, padding to the guest bedroom and knocking, only to be met with silence on the other side.
“Toby?” I asked, knocking again, waiting for a response.
And then I turned the handle and pushed through, opening it just as he was exiting the bathroom door, his body fully naked, this time warm and dripping, beads of moisture punctuating the smooth expanse of his chest and abs.
And then that cock, that massive cock, the one I’d only seen a glimpse of before, now on full display, hanging beautifully between his legs, its girth already impressive, only becoming more engorged.
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