The front door slams. It's basically 3:00 am.
From my bedroom I hear my dad's feet shuffle into the kitchen and open the fridge. The microwave beeps. The TV turns on and the volume cranks up. Sounds like he's playing some standup comedy. Probably on BET.
I know he's intoxicated because it's Friday night and he's drunk every Friday night. Especially when he's hangin' at Frank's, who is never not fucked up.
This is gonna be another earpods kinda night for me. But I expect this, so I'm not super pissed.
Footsteps approach my closed bedroom door.
"Wanna hit this joint, Tev," I hear him ask from the other side of the wall.
Hmm.
A big part of me doesn't wanna join him.
I don't really like my dad. I guess I love him, whatever that means when you don't really know someone. He's not a monster, but he's kinda dumb. Homophobic. Can get mean and violent sometimes.
But I needed a place to stay after my split with Jonathan and dad needed help with rent. So here we are, cohabitating for the first time in, like, over ten years.
He was the last family member I came out to. Back when I was 19.
I was at his apartment two years ago:
"I didn't raise no faggot, Tev."
"This is a part of me that's not going away, dad."
"I didn't raise no faggot, you hear me?"
"Yea, you're kinda right. You didn't really raise me."
"The fuck you-"
"Yeah," I interject, "mom and grams raised me. You know that. I saw you, like, once a month, tops."
"Clearly you been raised by females, cause now you thinkin' you are one. You really wanna be a faggot bitch?""
"Well, I'd rather be a faggot than whatever version of a man you are."
He shoves me against the wall and wedges his forearm against my neck.
His teeth are clenched, and I can smell the whisky on his breath.
He's trying his best to not escalate things any further. I know it's time for me to shut the fuck up and get outta there.
I knew this wouldn't go well, but it was an important step I needed to take.
He doesn't puff his chest too much with me these days, thank God. It's been uneasy, obviously. Feels like a battleground sometimes. But, frankly, it's better than being homeless. I stay out of his way. I clean up after myself. I pay rent on time, and I like my room, so it's been ok. I ain't mad about it.
And even though I have a lot of resentment toward my dad, I still have some empathy for the guy. I know that a lot of his issues are bigger than himself. And the product of, like, unmet needs 'n shit. Lack of guidance. Systemic shit.
He didn't have it easy, ya know, so his decisions haven't been easy.
And, yeah, there's been a few special moments between us, it ain't all bad.
And lowkey, y'all, he's handsome for a man in his late 40's. A tall, built black man. Car mechanic by trade. He's always attracted women toward him with his wide smile, thick lips and dimples.
A smile I wish I saw on his face more often.
He was nominated for Coming Home Court in high school, which I always thought was hilarious. When he's doing well, and taking care of himself, he can be a pretty charming and sexy guy.
He used to love singing Otis Redding while fixing up bacon and eggs.
"These arms of mine.
They are lonely.
Lonely and feeling blue."
The truth is that I've beaten off to fantasies of my dad many times.
I imagine walking by the bathroom door, cracked ajar, catching him masturbating after a shower. After rinsing the grease and sweat from his hard-working body.
Through the steam he catches me watching him and demands that I give him throat.
A way to show me what happens to sluts.
When they're being slutty.
"Get over here. This dick ain't gonna suck itself, boy," dad says as he flashes me his throbbing erection.
He has a forceful tone.
So I dutifully get on my knees and milk him.
Covering his cock with my mouth and grabbing his smelly balls with my hands. Sucking that seed out of his snake.
The seed that created me.
Slurp, slurp, slurp.
Mmm, yeah. That'd be hot.
Or I think about those nights when he brings a woman home sometimes.
These women must come from Frank's place or the Village Bar, because those are the only two places my dad hangs out at outside of work.
They come home around 2:30 am after a couple pitchers of beer. And basically beg me to join them in taking some shots.
They start making out on the couch beside me. And she reaches to grab my junk, like a wildcat.
Invites me and dad into his bedroom for some double-penetration, a fantasy she confesses to have always wanted to try.
He's lying on his back, while she rides his dick on top, bent over. I slide my dick into her pussy, alongside my dad's, and we fuck her together.
As she slides up and down his cock, I stare at it. My dad's dick is fucking pussy.
With me.
His cock plops out of her cunt, so I grab it and guide it back to her snatch.
And we continue to fuck her together.
And cum.
Together, inside her.
I snap back into the present. It's 3:00 am here. Dad's watching some stand-up comedy and asking me if I wanna share a joint.
He rarely invites me to hang out with him. And, though I know he's drunk, he's apparently in a good-enough mood to be feeling friendly toward me, and open, and I wanna be more at peace with him. And feel less strain between us. And I think it's gonna take both of us getting out of our comfort zones a little bit more to get there.
... and I also don't mind getting a little high right now, too.
So we smoke together. On the living room couch we watch stand-up. Both dressed in a T-shirt and gym shorts.
He lifts himself up to grab another corona from the fridge, and I stare at his fat ass as it walks away from me.
He's always had a fine ass. An ass I inherited more-or-less, fortunately, so 'thank you, pops', I think to myself.
Asses that are meant to be devoured.
We ain't talking much, but we share some laughs and keep passing the joint. He flips to some music videos and we watch a few.
My dad sings along to some of them, which is kinda cute and fun. I chime in sometimes, too.
We're being cool with each other.
Maybe we have a chance.
And while staring at the TV and just really enjoying my high, dad decides to drop a bomb.
There's always a curveball with my family, I swear.
"So, you really like sucking dick?"
He doesn't look at me when he asks this.
I suddenly have a moment of panic.
Like, is he about to start some shit?
Wait, what?
What'd he say?
I glance at him to assess his vibe. He doesn't seem agitated.
Hmm.
And his tone is non-confrontational.
Curious, even.
And we're both stoned, just chillin'. Brandy's playing in the background. He's just watching music videos.
I don't quite know how best to answer, to be honest, especially cause I'm baked.
So I just choose to keep it simple.
"Yea," I say matter-of-factly.
There's a long moment of quiet between us. Stretching uncomfortably.
I'm anxious, for sure.
But he asked a yes-or-no question and I answered it.
Yes.
Yes, I do like sucking dick, dad.
I'm a very big fan and practitioner of the sacred art of sucking dick.
Fuck, I can hear my pulse.
Thump, thump.
How's he gonna respond?
Thump, thump.
Thump-thump, thump-thump.
And then my dad drops another bomb.
"Show me," he says in a low voice.
Hold up, what?
Nuh-uh.
I'm second-guessing what I think I heard, trying to do calculus in my brain.
And then look down toward my dad.
And notice that he's pulled his cock out.
He's straight-up holding his erection in his hand.
Was it out when he asked me if I liked sucking dick?!
My world is flipping upside-down.
He's offering himself to me.
Breathe, boy, breathe, don't act too excited. Play it cool, play it cool.
