Carried Away

Jake returned with a wad of toilet roll and threw it in my direction. It landed on the desk on which the monitor was still playing out the scene of the two men fucking: one was still bending over the pipe to receive the other from behind. Their position made the general theme of the movie obvious to even the most unseasoned eye.

Jake flashed a glance at the screen and said, "Dad, I can't believe you'd jerk off to that!"

He took a step back towards the doorway, probably about to give me some welcome privacy, but then sniffed the air. "What's that smell?"

"I better clean up, Jake," I said, pointedly, grabbing the tissue from in front of the monitor.

"What is that smell, though?" he insisted on asking. "It kind of reminds me of scout camp..."

"You know how this stuff smells, Jake," I muttered, turning away from him to wipe off both hands and to dab in some privacy the fattened head of my oozing cock. A copious amount of semen had landed on the carpet but a near-lifetime of experience had equipped me with a few ways of attending to that.

"It's not a cummy-sort of smell," he said, as unperceptive as always as to when to drop a topic and make himself scarce. He sniffed the air a few times and announced: "It's like the smell at camp when those two lads were... you know.... when we were watching them... doing it..."

"I need to clean up, Jake," I said more emphatically than before, hoping he'd get the hell out of there. I wanted him gone, feeling more self-conscious than I could have imagined about having myself exposed like this.

He kept sniffing, trying to place the scent. "It's kind of sexy in a way... but, at the same time, not..."

My cock was still oozing but it was sufficiently spent for me to begin hitching up my underwear and trousers and stuffing its swollen form back into them.

He glanced at the tissue I'd used to clean myself with and asked, "What are those dark stains, dad? You're not bleeding are you?"

"Jake! Enough!"

"But where have those stains come from?" he blundered on. "They're like skid marks..."

He leaned forwards and took a sniff towards the sodden, stained tissue.

I quickly snatched it away and turned to face him.

"Jake -- please! I need to clean up."

He stared at me and I saw the penny drop in his eyes.

"Oh God! You weren't...? Oh my God! You were..."

"I was just trying something out," I muttered, part of me wondering why I was justifying myself to my son. "I should have done it in private."

"Oh Jesus, dad! That's like... heinous! "

I fastened up my zip and did up my belt. "I thought you were downstairs. I was... well... curious to see what guys do... you know, when they get together. I guess I got carried away."

"And some!" Jake gawped, his eyes wide like saucers.

"I'm sorry," I said, aware that these apologies were becoming rather a habit. "I'm really sorry you saw that."

Jake stared at me, his eyes still full of shock. He muttered, "Christ... forget what I said about the smell being sexy... ugh!"

And then, collecting himself and perhaps realising that, since I'd put myself in the position of being the naughty boy caught playing with himself, he should try to take an adult stance on the matter and offer a mature response.

"Look... seriously... it's not a big deal, dad. Honestly. I could have done without seeing... you know... what you'd been doing... but... well... these things happen, don't they?"

"Do they?" I asked. "I mean, do things like this happen to other people?"

Jake smiled and shrugged. "Well, maybe not. But it happened to us, so... well... what can you do, eh?"

Trust Jake to be so philosophical about things.

I tried to smile back but suspect I was rather less than successful.

He said, "I only came up to ask if we're doing anything on Boxing Day. Dan's dad is getting tickets for the Newcastle match and they asked if I can go."

"Oh," I said gormlessly, feeling like I'd been brought down to planet Earth with a jolt. "I don't know... I don't think I've made any plans."

Jesus, was Christmas that close?

"I'll phone him back, then. Tell him I can go."

Hitting the redial on the phone, he smirked. "Don't worry. I'll tell him you had a computer meltdown, or something."

I nodded. "Yeah... I suppose I sort of did."

He went back downstairs, chatting to his friend as if nothing had happened -- as if he hadn't just walked in on his dad climaxing to gay porn with his fingers up his bum -- and I walked through to the bathroom to flush the dirty tissue away and wash my hands.

I glanced in the mirror at my scarlet face, flushed not only from my exertions in front of the computer but at the humiliation of being caught in flagrante by my eighteen-year-old son.

"Robert," I said to my bemused face through the glass, "You should put in for the Dad of the Year award. You really are a natural at it."

===

Next story: By Popular Demand

===