Every Boy Needs A Dad

Every Boy Needs a Dad

And every dad needs a boy

All characters in this story who engage in sexual activity are over eighteen when they do so. This is fiction. Any resemblance to real places is arbitrary and literary. This is kind of a reverse of the typical Literotica Daddy story. Arguably there is incest. If that bothers you, skip the story. I've tried a little different format this time--a longer story, cut into chapters, but submitted for publishing all at once. ©Copyright, 2025, Brunosden. All rights reserved.

1

I was almost fourteen when Dad died; eighth grade had just begun. Since I am an only child, he was my best friend, playmate and confidante. From the time I can even remember, he was always very physical with his affection. When I was a toddler, he carried me everywhere. Later, when we walked together, his arm was always over my shoulder. And we didn't "shake"; we hugged. He coached T-ball and Little League, soccer, and was the one to get up early to take me to swim practice--even on those cold winter mornings in Quincy. Maybe he was compensating for Mom's coolness, but I didn't realize it at the time. I loved him like no one else in my life. We were best friends.

He and Mom had married young--she was only 18 when she had me. He was several years older. It was probably a forced marriage. They married when she graduated high school and I was born the following August. He was a master plumber, like his Dad, my grandfather. Mom went to nursing school and is now an OR nurse--typically working three 12-hours shifts a week, plus being on call for emergencies. So we were okay financially. His life insurance paid off the house mortgage--so we had a place to stay--even though it's small with only two bedrooms--the third is the TV room. At least I've got my own bath. And Mom got some sort of monthly government payment for me--until my last birthday.

I was devastated when he died. It was a quick illness. He went to the doctor complaining of stomach pains, and he was dead six weeks later from an aggressive cancer that had gone undiagnosed for too long. Mom blamed herself and went into a long period of depression. She got help and medicines. I did not. I was lonelier than I had ever been in my life.

Various dads (and moms) in the neighborhood tried to pick up the slack--so I continued in all of the youth athletics. School had always been easy for me. So, even if I slacked off, it didn't make much difference. At first some of my closest friends at school backed off--maybe afraid that my bad luck would rub off on them. But a few stuck around, particularly two swim team buds.

I'm a senior now. It's been five years and I just celebrated my eighteenth birthday--August 2nd. Dad is now just a long-ago memory who haunts my dreams every now and then. I've given up baseball and soccer--except as part of gym class, but I've kept up the swimming and added diving. I'm All-State in breast and butterfly, but just mediocre on the spring board and the platform. In fact, at my last meet in the spring, I set a new junior record for breast and came close to doing so in the butterfly. I keep up the diving because I relish the challenge and sheer and unadulterated terror of leaping from such high platforms and boards, headlong into nothingness. It's the highest I ever get--and it keeps me alive.

I'm probably headed to Williams next year. Their swim team coach has promised--although nothing is final yet. Until I get the acceptance letter, it's just a promise. For safety, I'm applying to a few other Boston area schools.

Coaches have repeatedly told me that I've got a swimmer's body--not a diving body. My arms are long. I've got great delts and pecs. And my thighs are well-developed. And I've got the deeply concaved gut of a breast stroke and the wide shoulders of the butterfly. So I'm not one of those ultra-slim Chinese needles who can slip into the pool without a splash. I'm six-three, deeply tanned from July to December with the typical Speedo white anti-shadow--and white, white from January to June when we practice indoors. I'm a tow head, but my crew cut means that the hair is mostly blonde at the roots. Based on laptop porn and the pool locker rooms and showers, I would say that I'm bigger than average, cut and a shower. I've never been embarrassed in front of teammates by my size--and I know that I get glances from time to time, from women and men, when I appear in competition.

After Dad died, Mom's brother, Jim came by often. He attended some of my meets, and often took us all to dinner. I really liked Jim, and I even occasionally fantasized about having him around more. He was terrific guy, apparently happy and free, making good money and so much more upbeat that Mom. He looked nothing like Dad, but I admired him nonetheless.

About two years after Dad died, Mom began to date a guy that Jim had brought around from his office on one of our dinner dates. He and Mom hit it off, and they went out a few times. After a few months, he moved in. And, Jim faded away. I was sorry to see him go. He was fun and easy to talk to.

But, I guess Mom and Jeff didn't work out--and he left in December before I could really get to know him at all. After he was gone, I decided he was sort of creepy anyway. He had showed up for a few of my meets and had appeared in the locker room afterwards when we were changing. He seemed unusually interested in the young boy flesh on display. At home, I would occasionally catch him staring at my basket or my ass. In fact, there were times when he seemed more interested in me than Mom. He seemed to touch me often, and not only when he greeted. He stayed over a few nights, and left after breakfast, even when she left early. On those days he'd appear for breakfast bare-chested and wearing only tight bikini briefs. He had slept in her bed, but something seemed off. As I said, he creeped me out.

2

I belong to the generation which mostly avoids one-on-one dating. There are gangs and cliques in our school--and we tend to go to the movies and parties as a group. I've got two close swim team buds, often referred to jokingly by our classmates as the Three Mouseketeers. We went together in a rented limo to the junior prom, all with dates that were part of our group. All of the guys were virgins at the time, but our dates all had reps from dating older members of the team. Essentially, the older guys had passed on their "swim groupies" to us when they left for college. We had fun and went to the beach together the next day. At the time, I guess you'd have to say that I hadn't had any sexual experience except vicariously with a ready hand. We had hopes. The prom was great, and we partied (with alcohol) at Jason's afterwards. The day was hot--in every sense of the word--but, unfortunately, none of us "got lucky." It wasn't because we weren't trying.

About a month later, for my birthday, Jason Bronwell, one of Mouseketeers invited the six of us to his family's beach house on the Cape for a long weekend. Jas, Bob and I had been carefully planning a replay of the prom--with specific ideas about how we were going to get laid for the first time. When Jason's dad heard that the six guests included three young women, he tried to cancel the trip. But, when I expressed my disappointment, Jim agreed to chaperone. So the trip was back on. We headed to the beach in various cars on Friday morning, planning to meet with Jim for dinner later on Friday evening.

Jim mostly stayed out of the way--in the owners' suite on the top floor of the house in the dunes. The six of us chose rooms on the lowest floor, all opening onto an entertainment space which faced the ocean. As we walked into the large room, Jason's date, Kerry (believe it or not, the girls were named Kelly, Kerry and Kaylee) asked Jason which room was his. He pointed. And she deposited her bags there. The other two deposited theirs in one of the other two. Yes!!! It was going to happen. Little bri perked up and began to prep. Needless to say, we had a great weekend.

Friday afternoon was spent at the beach. And the girls, who could have been triplets for the way they looked and dressed (blonde bobbed, blue-eyed, clear skins, mature breasts, slim waists, tees and Daisy Dukes), appeared in the briefest Brazilian string bikinis we had ever seen. Fortunately, we were wearing loose board shorts. But, there was a good deal of interaction in the waves and in the dunes. Putting on sunscreen took on a whole new meaning.

Friday night, after dinner with Jim, we indulged our "dates" with Romcoms (and booze) while we each made out on the big comfy lounge chairs--each of us emboldened by the need to prove our manhood to bros a few feet away. After dinner, the girls had "changed"--bras had been discarded under the tees and loose terry beach shorts had been pulled on. (All the better to feel you with, my dears.)

I got plenty of skin on skin action with Kelly. We were glued to each other, playing tongue hockey and feely-feely. It didn't take long: she managed to stroke me off and catch my first load of the night--and my first brought on by a date--in a some ready tissues. Later, we moved off into the rooms, and I headed into one of the bedrooms with Kelly. She was obviously willing and ready. (And of course, so was I.)

Minutes later we were in bed. I rolled toward her, pushed up her tee and began to suck on her ample nipples. My hot spit-moistened hand cupped her vulva and rubbed softly, as she moaned in obvious pleasure, pressing hard into my hand as my index finger explored her depths. I guess my big swimmer's mitt was good for something after all. Then she pushed me down and my lips touched her moist, hot clit. She was shaved, perfumed and creamed. My tongue came out and swiped over and over as my lips attached themselves to her nether lips. She hardened and swelled as Kelly pushed up into me, obviously enjoying my attention and inviting more, holding me by the ears and intoxicating me with her musk.

Then she whispered, "I'm ready, Brian. Put it in." I rolled on a condom, lubed and returned to her body. We ground together and, at her direction, I used my thighs to thrust repeatedly, being sure to massage her as I did. "God, I love swimmers, particularly those who do the breast. It's so nice to have those hard thighs pumping between my legs." Then, she rolled on top and artfully used my dick to apply pressure exactly where she wanted. She complimented my size and technique--and I, of course, believed her. From the look in her eyes, she was aroused and ready.

Then, I flipped back on top. She stiffened and moaned, wrapped her legs around me and held me tight. I felt movement, trembling, maybe a spasm inside (her orgasm?) just as I exploded into the safe. Kelly held me tight. I think I had done okay for my first. Or maybe she was a very good actress. I wasn't experienced enough to know the difference. Certainly, I was very pleased with myself. But, I knew she was very into me afterwards. She slipped into my arms and peppered my neck with little kisses as I massaged her back and butt. Once or twice a finger strayed into her cleft and touched the rim. She froze and tightened the muscles. So obviously, I wasn't going there. She wanted more necking. We did until I was ready to go again. But, she stopped me, making some comment about the dangers of changing condoms between sex acts while remaining in bed, without a thorough cleaning. But soon we both were asleep in each other's arms. Thus, by the end of the first evening of my birthday weekend, I lost my virginity, but fell asleep in the arms of an attractive woman, lusting for more.

Sounds from the other two bedrooms seemed to suggest that my two pals were also getting what we had all been hoping for. The Mouseketeers were now Musketeers. All of our swords had been baptized, blessed and sheathed.

The next morning, we woke late to the smells of Jim's breakfast upstairs. The guys all smirked at each other and tapped asses as we climbed the stairs while the girls finished in the bathrooms. We were now men. We had gotten some.

We sunned in the dunes, often rolling into our partners, squeezing tits and grinding. We splashed in the surf, grabbing anywhere. And, that night, thanks to rounds of strip poker and Truth or Dare, the rest of the weekend was everything we could have wished for. Strip segments segued into more. I Frenched with Kelly, then came between her breasts. I kissed and stroked the other girls and even jerked one of my (male) friends--both on dares. I jerked off Jason as he did me, and participated in a circle jerk--while the girls urged us on. Jason even had the guts to play with my ass while I was dry-pumping on top of Kelly. Saturday, Kelly actually took me in her mouth. She was really quite talented--although she made me pull out as I came. I was stunned at my luck.

And Sunday morning before we prepared to leave, she let me make love to her again. I was VERY grateful. Thus, I grew up sexually in one weekend--and realized I really liked sex. Even with boys, almost (?) as much as I liked it with girls.

Jim must have known about at least some of our activities, but he stayed carefully in the background and said nothing. Surely at mealtimes, which he orchestrated and prepared for us, he noted our clothes in disarray, lipstick marks, hickies, hard-ons and telltale glances among the six of us.

Fuck, I was a man. And Jim, Kelly and my friends had made it happen. I'd never forget what he had done for me, for us. What an incredible birthday.

3

Jeffrey Stewart, of whom Mom could not stop talking, suddenly disappeared a few weeks after school started. The "man of her dreams" was gone from our house. He had apparently determined there was no future. Frankly, I was relieved. As I said before, he creeped me out. I was pretty sure he was about to make a move on me, and I wasn't sure that I wanted any part of sexual experimentation with Mom's boyfriend. But,she went back into a silent funk, and her family, which lived nearby, feared a return to depression. They "intervened;" a therapist was found quickly; and, her brother Jim was cajoled into moving in with us. That was the weekend after Thanksgiving. It seemed that we had come full circle.

Let me tell you a little more about Jim who was becoming more and more a part of my life. He's a neat guy--nine years younger than Mom and thus nine years older than me, a systems analyst at one of the 128 tech firms. He had been around when I was a toddler and a young boy. While he was no competition for my Dad, he was nevertheless someone in my life--well-coordinated, an easy friend and a big bro who didn't treat me like a baby. Mom adored him. I appreciated all he had done for us and was coming to love him.

Jim has matured into a terrific young man. By no means a nerd. He's short--probably six inches shorter than me. But, he's not small--a gym rat, with light muscles, not an ounce of fat, and carefully groomed and dressed. He's always got a joke--often a little risqué. He even makes Mom laugh--which is such a welcome sound. He immediately ended the "Uncle" in front of his "Jim." He joined our local gym--and talked me into going with him. He's become my biggest swim team supporter. He makes every home meet, and even some of the away ones. He's been a constant source of support for me. And a second coach--as it turns out he had been a competitive swimmer himself, although with his build, he hadn't really gone anywhere. He was a wrestler, not a swimmer.

It didn't occur to me at the time, but Jim never dated--or at least he never talked about dates or went out evenings--although he occasionally arrived home late after work--which I assumed was due to overtime. He quickly became my best friend--and substitute Dad. The years of difference between us made it possible for him to both friend-bro and Dad.

When he moved in, it was to the pull-out sofa in the TV room, and we shared my bath. It wasn't convenient--since the TV room was down and my bath was up. But, Mom's depression and her OR hours often saw her awake and wandering late into the night. He needed sleep--and she wanted space, even late So, a month later, he moved in with me. My room was reasonably large and remote--finished in the "attic" of the garage, and thus the only room on the second floor of the Cape Cod. I had a queen--and there was discussion about changing it for two twins, but we never got around to it. So we were in the same bed.

I sleep nude. And when he moved to my bed, I learned that Jim did too. Downstairs on the sofa, he had worn tees and sleep shorts, but when he moved up to my room, he confessed his preference. It didn't seem to bother either of us. We had been sharing a bath and showers at the gym for a month by then. And fuck, if you're on a top swim team, you're an exhibitionist. Everything is on display all the time. The iconic Speedos (ours were pale blue with a wide white band on each side) were next to nude, and the tight latex body suits that came later were nearly as revealing--particularly if you're reasonably hung like me. If nudity and being on display bother you, find another sport, boy.

Curiously, after the summer weekend, Kelly went cool--and then I discovered that her "first love"--a guy I knew, now a sophomore at BU, had re-appeared on the scene. He too had been on the swim team, two years older than me, and a breast stroke contender. She had ghosted me. I was working on another relationship, but those things are difficult and slow. So I had moved into a period of infrequent solo-sex. I was horny all the time.

4

After a week of the new arrangement, two things happened on consecutive nights to shake my world. We had both just gotten under the covers. This was frequently our time for man-talk. Mom wasn't around obviously. It was quiet. And we were both settling down. Jim started with his typical questions about my day, which girls I had met or wanted to meet, and my plans. I complained about Kelly and mentioned that I was having trouble getting started with another.

Then he rolled toward me, and in a lower, more conspiratorial voice began, "You know, Bri, it won't shock me if you need to jerk off. I realize we have no privacy, and that young men like us need to relieve the pressure now and then. It's really kind of you to give up your privacy and your bed to me. So go ahead whenever. It won't bother me. I know what happened at your party--and I've never said a word. I won't now either." I didn't, but I fell asleep with one of the hardest erections I'd ever experienced. Did he really expect me to jerk while he was on the other side of the bed? He was a Dad for chrissakes, not a bro. And I think I was at least a little attracted to him. I hated doing it in the shower, but it wasn't that bad. No way was I going to jerk in bed with him. Jerking with a swim team bro on a dare is one thing, but...

Then in the morning of the next night, I woke early to find myself spooned. His right arm was around my waist and his hand was fisting my wood. His chest was tight against my back. Given his smaller size, his lips were attached to my delts. And his erection was planted into my cleft. I quieted and reveled in his closeness. No one had so affectionately hugged me like that since Dad had died. He was warm, and obviously still sleeping. I loved having his hand on my dick--if only he'd stroke it a bit. I tried to move to stimulate a stroke, but I feared waking him. Moments later, he woke too. He realized where he was, backed off quickly and apologized. Over and over again. It reminded me of one of Shakespeare's character's lines: "Methinks thou dost protest too much."

"I didn't mind, Jim. Actually, it felt pretty good. It's cold in here anyway. Anytime. Be my guest. Maybe tonight I can hug you. Maybe we both need a little love."

He didn't say a word. But, he did get up immediately and headed for our bath. I noticed when he did, however, that he was rigidly erect and enormously endowed. It was the first time that I'd ever seen him fully erect. His dick pointed straight forward at 90 degrees, seemingly straining against the cantilevered weight. He was definitely an impressive grower. That was a trophy piece of hooded meat. It had to be eight inches and thick. It looked heavy. And the balls were big and hung low in loose sacs. He could make some serious babies with those instruments. They looked way out of proportion, given his short stature. And his generally mild manner. But, fuck, who's complaining about a big dick?