This is real, I told myself. No vision, wispy day dream or night's fantasy, but real, solid . . . here. I reached out and touched my son's naked stomach—soft, hairless, smooth, warm. He was laying next to me on the bed with his lower half beneath the covers. One of his arms was beneath his pillow and the other lay limp on his chest, his fingers just above his nipple. In the pale morning light coming in through the shades of the window next to the bed, I lay there with my head propped up with my elbow, gazing at my sleeping lover.
Mine, I said to myself silently.
A stir. He was wakening. Caressing his stomach with my fingers, I watched as he made a real grouchy morning face, yawned and then opened both of his big pretty eyes to stare at me. He smiled.
"Hey early –bird," he said. I loved the cute little dimples which appeared at the sides of his mouth each time he smiled like that.
"Sleepy-head," I joked. He turned onto his stomach and so I slid my hand up onto his waist just above his butt. "Don't you have work this morning?" I asked.
He took my hand and led it over onto his butt which I rubbed very lightly with the tips of my fingers—so smooth, silky even. "Maybe I'll just call in sick," he said, giggling softly. "Don't you think that's a good idea . . . Daddy bear?"
I felt myself stiffen at hearing that—Daddy bear—so cute! I leaned over to kiss him on the lips—such soft lips—and so kind too. Such a good son. "Well," I said, parting from him. "You have already missed a lot of work already, Sweetheart . . ."
"Daddy, I'd quit my job for you," he replied, persistent as always, just like his mother. "I just want to be with you." At this he put his hand down beneath the covers and touched my already hardening penis. He played with its tip as he continued to speak, "All it takes it just one little bitty phone call . . . and then we can have more time alone . . ."
"Oh that feels so good," I said loving his gentle touch. "But Taylor, seriously though, you can't miss any more work . . . you have your family to think of."
He let go of my penis and, frustrated, slapped lightly onto my hand at his waist. "Daddy . . . I want to leave her . . . I want to get a divorce. I've told you about this before. I've—"
"Yes I remember," I said. "It will come through, I know. The divorce, I mean. But like we've said, we first have to wait for Becca to be able to move out and find a job so that your son will be well taken care of, as we agreed. I know you care for him . . . and you care for her also . . ." It hurt me to say that, but I knew it was true. Although he loved me, and I know it, he also retained some feelings for his soon-to-be ex-wife. We had spoken of this issue many times since we started having sex three weeks ago.
"Hmm . . . Daddy, you're right," Taylor said, a sad tired look on his face. "You're always right . . . so smart." He smiled at me and bent over to kiss me. "Now, Daddy . . . I gotta get ready . . . Do you want to . . . get ready with me, Daddy bear?" He giggled, a coy smile on that face of his that I admired so.
"Baby boy," I said, wrapping my arms around him. "You always know just what I am thinking don't you?" We kissed and I slid my hand down from his butt and towards his crotch where I felt his penis—it was getting hard every second.
With that we threw the covers aside, off of the bed, revealing into the cool open room air the bottom halves of our two naked bodies, two penises sticking straight up into the air now craving to be caressed. Holding hands, we crawled off of the bed and went into the bathroom. I stood behind my son as he bent slightly over to be able to turn the shower facet. His bending exposed to me his little pussy—red and raw—the hole into which I came every night since we first declared our love for one another. It was getting bigger though of course as his body was adapting to mine. We were becoming one flesh.
The water began falling from the showerhead, steam arose from it as it splashed to the bottom of the tub. Taylor turned around to face me, a smile on his lips, a twinkle in those soft pretty eyes. Together we stepped into the tub and stood under the shower. I took him into my arms in a slow intimate embrace, our hands at each others' waists gently fondling, searching. I felt my penis push into his as I held him. We rocked a little at our hips so that our penises rubbed together.
"Daddy," Taylor said now. "Remember that day—a long time ago—in the shower when you held onto my stomach . . .?"
I pulled my head away from over his shoulder and looked into his eyes. I kissed him. "Yes," I said. "I remember." We kissed again, my tongue sliding into his mouth and meeting his. Below, I began pressing my penis against his lower stomach and I felt his hard head pressing against my thigh.
"Remember how I wanted you to . . . make me pregnant?" he asked between a kiss. My hand slid down his side and onto his butt, which I squeezed now.
"Yes," I said.
Taylor looked directly into my face again. He was serious. "Daddy, I wish that I were . . . a woman." He swallowed and looked away from me towards the tile along the wall of the shower.
"Taylor," I said. "I love you . . . just the way you are."
"I know," he said. I began kissing his neck as he continued to speak. "I just wish that things could have been different . . . that I had been your little girl instead of your son. That way, we could run away to some exotic country somewhere and get married, and I could . . . have your baby."
I stopped licking his neck and looked at him again. "Taylor, you are . . . the love of my life . . . like I said, I love you just the way you are." I felt sad just then. Did he not realize how much I loved him? How I thought of him every moment that he was away? I wept over him. "Taylor, I don't care about any of that. I want to—"
"But Daddy bear," he said. "Will this always have to . . . remain hidden?"
I held onto both of his butt cheeks now and pressed my penis hard against him. We rocked back and forth between thrust after thrust after thrust. "Oh god, baby . . ." I said. We kissed, our lips wrapping around each other, sucking and slurping saliva. "Taylor, I love you . . . and I don't care . . . we will make this work . . . trust me . . . now turn around!" I smiled at him and he giggled. As he turned around I slid my hands around his body, and towards his stomach. Caressing his neck with kisses I positioned my hard cock between his butt cheeks. With one trust upwards my dick passed between the lips of his anus and up far into his ass. Taylor whelped.
"Oh Daddy!" he yelled as I thrust into him. "Daddy Daddy Sugar Daddy!"
I came, and shortly after he came too, his cum spraying away from us onto the wall of the shower in front of him. We took the rest of the shower in a kind of delightful and simple happiness which we had only ever known between each other. I washed his body and he washed mine. After soaping our bodies up we rinsed off and turned the facet to stop the water. Taylor went into the room to get dressed into his nurses uniform and he kissed me goodbye. I went downstairs to prepare some breakfast. I loved him so much!
After breakfast and reading the newspaper a bit, I went back upstairs to my room. It was a mess—sheets and blankets all over the place, semen stains all over the bed, even some on the wall directly behind the head of the bed. But I loved it. The strong salty smell in the air, a testament to the dozens of sessions of intense love making which had passed between my lover and I over the last few weeks since we found each other, truly found each other.
I smiled as I thought of his slick young body before me while I slide my wet throbbing penis in and out of his rectum. I closed my eyes and my hand fell to my penis which had begun to chubby. I took a deep breath, opened my eyes again, and abruptly turned around. I went down the hall and found the closed pull down door in the ceiling which led to the house's attic. I stood on my tiptoes and reached for the dangling cord and with one smooth motion pulled down the cord causing the door to open and stairs to appear. I unfolded these and climbed them up to the attic above.
It was dusty in there—hadn't been there for a long time. Various old pieces of furniture were piled up in one corner and grimy boxes were in another. I looked around for a moment before finding the box that I was looking for. I took it into my arms, blew dust off the top of it, and carefully brought it down the stairs with me and into the hall. I hefted it to my bedroom and, sitting among the spots of my son's cum, I opened the lid. To my view came what I had known I would find in the box: family pictures. There were five or six photo albums which my wife had prepared for the family. I took the first one and opened the cover.
"Not too long ago," I said aloud as I looked at the first picture, a family portrait from over a decade ago. We were all there; me, my wife, my daughters Lauren and Christine, and the then 12 year old boy Taylor. He stood next to me in the picture, a smile on his cute young face. "My baby boy," I whispered. Suddenly an image floated into my head: a family portrait much like the one in front of me except instead of me in the center with my arm around my wife, it was me in the center with my arm around Taylor, both of us in tuxedos. In the image/photo we were surrounded by children, our children—some of them with Taylor's lighter hair and some with mine. All smiling.
I flipped through the pages finding first photos of me and my daughters—pictures taken at the hospital at their births, and then their early childhoods and infancies. I found Taylor's section just beyond theirs. There we were—I and his mother—she in a wheelchair and I next to her, Taylor in her arms. Again an imaginary image—a photograph—popped into my head: Taylor in a wheelchair, our baby in his arms, me at his side. Another image: Taylor with breasts, a babe sucking greedily at his nipples receiving milk.
I took a breath and returned to looking at the photographs—pictures depicting my son's early childhood and his subsequent development into a young man. Had I ever noticed how cute he was, I thought to myself now as I looked at a photo of him posing in a basketball jersey. That youthful slim body of his! My penis started to harden beneath the photo album. "Oh Taylor," I moaned aloud as I pressed the head of my cock upwards towards the bottom of the album. "Oh my baby, baby boy."
"Daddy?"
I turned away from the photo album and found my daughter Lauren standing there in the doorframe watching me—a look of disgust on her face. "Um, yes?" I croaked.
"Daddy, it stinks in here," she said, bringing her hand up to her nose. "And what are you doing with those photos . . .?"
My heart thundered. "Nothing, just, um, having a look."
"No Daddy, you weren't," Lauren said. "You were . . . are you masturbating? . . . To that book?" She ran off down the hall.
"Honey," I yelled, throwing the book to the side. Getting up from the bed I noticed that my penis was still stiff beneath my robe so I adjusted it in my boxers waist band in order to hide it. "Lauren, wait, honey!" I ran down the hall behind her and took her by the shoulder. "Lauren!"
"Daddy, you were masturbating to Taylor!" she cried. "What is happening to you? I came over to have a nice little visit with you and I find you in a disgusting smelly sex chamber jacking off to your own son's photo?" She tried to move away, heading towards the stairs.
"Lauren, honey," I kept saying, trying to stop her. "Lauren!"
