Father's Wisdom

First entry in an exploration of father-son sex.

Contains: consenting gay sex between a teenage son and his father.

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"Calvin!" his mother was accustomed to shouting up the staircase. "I'm about to put a load in the wash. Can you get your father's laundry."

"Yeah, and I was about to take my pants off and shoot a load."

This was something I wasn't going to miss when I started college in the autumn. No interruptions. No shouting up the stairs, no family laundry, no household chores. Time would be my own, and I would be thousands of miles away.

"Calvin?" she shouted back. "I need it now. Dinner is soon!"

"OK," I shouted back, not hiding my scorn. "I'm getting up!"

"And make sure you get whatever he left on the bathroom floor. He's just back from his rugby game, and I don't want to smell his stink!"

Calvin was an only child house and their home wasn't too large. Fortunately for his masturbating habit, his room was at the opposite corner of the upstairs from his parents', but it was a short walk around the staircase nonetheless.

When Calvin walked into his parents' bedroom, he set his eyes on the closet, but was distracted by the heavy mist emerging from the on-suite bathroom. Even as it cut through the heavily air-conditioned home, the humidity of the shower was having an impact in the Virginia summer and the room was warm. Hot even. Calvin peered through the mist and caught sight of his father's built body through the glass shower door. It was at first only a glimpse in the fog, but the longer he stood there, he caught a clearer sense of his dad's body, pelted with driblets of water and suds, on full display.

I had seen my dad naked before. When he was a small boy, his dad would take him to the swimming pool and he remembered seeing his dad's lithe swimmer's body, his shapely calves, and the smattering of hairs that marked his manhood: nothing on his bald head but there was a manly five-o'clock shadow, sprouting weeds on his armpits, a healthy smattering across his masculine and bits of wiry hairs peeking up from his waistband, leading into a small trail to his navel. Calvin loved these swimming trips with his dad; his special occasions with dad. But it was the before and after that matter the most; the local swimming pool had an open changing room and an open shower. He remembered the smell of man sweat and chlorine—it was a sweet chemical smell that Calvin attached to his sexual awakening, looking around and seeing cocks of different shapes and sizes at every time, squeezing into short shorts and board shorts and speedos and briefs. Cut and uncut, densely hairy and neatly trimmed. But it was his dad's that he remembered best: a dense mat of pubic hair that would have swallowed his cock were it not so thick, vein-y and round, ending in a sweet pink dome.

These trips with his dad ended around the time Calvin was ten or so, old enough for a faulty sense of shame to come over him. And certainly old enough to know that he shouldn't feel so turned on by his naked father. Mr. Hobbes began to sense his son's shame and eventually stopped bringing him, knowing that puberty was beginning to drive a wedge between the two of them.

So it was a thrill for Calvin to see his father like this. He had caught him shirtless before on family beach trips. He knew his father's body, though aged as he passed his half-century mark, was still lean and muscular. His pectorals were still sculpted from his insistence on exercise, his shoulders still broad, with muscles creating divets in his body where pools of water collected the shower spring. His abs, not a six-pack, but defined, as if they were chiselled from the solid rock of his torso. His buttocks still defined, as if he was clenching it, and his cock as big as ever. With the water casting down his body, his thick pubic hair was moistened, collapsing into his skin and draping his large cock. The water seemed to drip down it for ages, charging down its veiny surface into his thick head. But Calvin knew this was one area of his body that looked as fresh as ever.

He ducked into his parent's closet and grabbed their hamper, filled with dirty clothes. But he had to step into the bathroom to pick up his dad's dirty clothes. Calvin still felt that sense of shame around his sexuality. To be closeted and a virgin was one thing, but to lust for his father was another entirely. He tiptoed into the bathroom, bending over to pick up his father's rugby clothes: smelly socks, short shorts, a jersey. Each piece brought him closer to the shower, closer to the thin piece of glass separating moisture and dry, nude and clothed. Fortunately, his father's back was turned so he couldn't see his son creeping around, reaching toward the sweaty jock strap he had left on the floor.

As Calvin reached for the jock, he could immediately smell the pungent stench left behind by his father. A warm aroma of intense sweat mixed with a hint of piss and a general man musk. Coupled by the scent of his father's middle aged body, still showing signs of his muscles—a V-shaped framed, a crease down the back ending in soft dimples and an ass built like two soft stones, dimpled with muscles, dusted with a bit of moss around the crack and cheeks. He slowed down enjoying the moment, just briefly but sensed his father turning and snatched the jock and hopped out of the bathroom, jumping through the door and immediately beside it, pressing his body against the wall as he took a breath.

Calvin looked down and realized that the jockstrap remained in his hand. He contemplated it for a moment, looking at the hamper of clothes at his feet, thinking about tossing it in. But he instead brought it closer to his fast, grabbing the very piece of cloth that had kept his father's cock in place during his exercised. Within an inch of his face, he eyed it, seeing small stains and a stray pubic hair across the white knit fabric. This close, the smell was intoxicating. He pulled it closer to his face, burying his nose in the space his father's crotch had been, only fifteen minutes ago, and took a deep breath of it. The nuances of the odor were familiar, ones that had become naturalized from living with his dad for eighteen years. But with such potency, they took a new effect. He felt it immediately, this odd proximity to his father sent blood flowing through his body. Endorphins rocked Calvin's brain, and he felt pressure in his own underpants.

The door to his father's bathroom was still ajar as he did this. He wanted one more look at the man who had produced this incredible odor, and peeled his body off the wall, peeking through the door hinges to get a fractured glimpse of his father's body. Tanned and muscled, Calvin was having flashbacks to his early childhood arousal. He had repressed his memories of his sexual desire for his father, but this serendipitous encounter had awakened them anew. The combined man scent and the gaze of his suds-covered father was irresistible. He stood there, massaging his engorged cock over his shorts, sniffing and watching, only for a minute when the sound of the water ceased.

"CALVIN! Where are those clothes?" his mother shouted.

"I'm coming," Calvin shouted in reply. He shoved his father's jock strap in his pocket and set off downstairs, wobbling slowly, praying his erection would go away.

***

At the dinner table, Calvin sat across from his father, as he had for his whole life. But tonight, rather than engage his parents in conversation, he kept his eyes on his food, engrossed in his the consuming shame at his attraction to his father.

"Just you and me this weekend, bud. Your mother is off on her girls' trip," his father growled, trying to break the silence that had become familiar with their teenage son.

Calvin nodded.

"What time do you leave, honey?"

"Bright and early tomorrow, I probably won't see this sleepyhead."

"Well, once the bear emerges from his slumber, maybe this guy and I can have some good fun." his dad said.

"Now Elliot, Calvin's eighteen. Don't squander his youth."

"Yeah, but he's about to go off to college. One last weekend with his old dad can't hurt." Underneath the table, Elliot smacked Calvin's knees. The feeling of his dad's soft but calloused hand against his knee excited him. He could feel his dad's strength in the gesture, could imagine what it was like to be locked in his grip. "You don't have any plans this weekend, do you?"

Calvin looked up from his plate for the first time the whole meal. "Um, just on Saturday night. Nothing is fixed yet."

"Great! You can help me out in the yard maybe."

"Fantastic," Calvin said sarcastically.

***

When Calvin climbed into his bed that night, he was beaming with sexual energy. The door was closed and he had unearthed his father's jock strap from the depths of his pockets. Stripped out of his clothes, he was finally going to have the encounter with this jock strap that he wanted; shooting his own wad into his father's filth, mixing their fluids together.

It remained ripe as it was when he first extracted it from the floor of the bathroom.

Calvin pulled the crotch of the jock up to his face and sniffed deep. It made him instantly hard. With one hand, he pushed the jock deeper into his face and with the other grabbed his raging hard cock and began to stroke. Calvin imagined the ripe smell of his father on top of him, his seasoned and partially hairy skin on top of Calvin's smooth body. He imagined their bodies pressed against each other, the feeling of his father's skin on his. He wondered if he would bottom for his father, and the thought made him harder. He wet his hand with saliva and began to stroke, losing himself in the ecstasy of sent and its associated incestuous fantasies. Calvin, always quiet in his masturbation, let out a quiet moan. Uhhhhhhhh

A knock on the door snapped Calvin out of his fantasy. "Hey Calvin," his father's voice said through the door. "I'm going to do an early run, but thought we could start the yard around 9. Beat the heat, huh?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever dad." Calvin said hurriedly.

"Great, have a good night."

Calvin was spared and those well wishes for the night allowed him to resume. He began to sniff and stroking his prick, feeling it more erect than it had ever been. The interruption by his father introduced dirty talk to his thoughts; his father growling in his deep masculine to bend over and take his big hairy prick. Calvin was lost in his body, eyes closed, ignoring the world beyond him.

It came as an even deeper shock then to hear his father's voice again this time. "By the way son, did you put my jockstrap in the laundry? I couldn't find it." The shock was amplified into tremors of terror when Calvin opened his eyes to see that his father pushed the door open, his head sticking through the crack, his body on full display.

Calvin recoiled in horror, gathering his legs and arms to hide his priapic pose. Of course, he missed that the jock strap in question was in full display, and his father's blank gaze in slight horror at the accidental invasion of privacy provided an answer to this question.

The deafening silence that existed between the two Hobbes men seemed to last for minutes, but it was only a matter of seconds before his father withdrew his head from the room.

Calvin sighed in relief, ignoring that the door was still open. He pulled the blanket over his body, waiting to recover some shred of dignity from what had been perhaps the most horrifying encounter of his young life.

His father, however, had no interest in ending it, popping his head back in the room, as if he couldn't get enough of bothering Calvin, of taking away his pleasure.

"We can look for it tomorrow. But tell me something, how often do you jerk off?"

Calvin stared incredulously at his father, who had gone so quickly from his ultimate fantasy to the subject of his deep disdain. His face—no, his whole body—was visibly red from embarrassment.

"No seriously. I did it at least once a day, sometimes four, when I was your age. So many how times?"

Calvin nodded, unsure how to even broach this question before. His parents had been open, they had been receptive of sexuality. His older sister was a lesbian, and the parents had assumed Calvin was also on the gay spectrum, but were waiting for him to come out. This seemed an overextension of the open parenting model though.

"And you're a virgin?"

Calvin tightened his body, hiding his genitals even more. His face grew redder. The look of shame on his face was a wordless answer.

"It can be hard to get laid when you're a teenager. I get it," Elliot said coolly. "Don't worry about it. But don't wank your life away. There are a lot of pleasures to be had. But carry on." He removed his head from the room, closing the door behind him. "See you in the morning," he said through the door. "Night."

Calvin unfurled the knot he had curled himself up in, outstretching his legs and letting his arms flop loose. As his body spread out, he saw his cock glistening with moisture flopped over as well. He wasn't going to shoot after that encounter.

***

The next morning, regardless of his shame, Calvin decided to get dressed and would do the yardwork that was demanded of him before retreating into his cone of shame again. He slipped into an old pair of white briefs and athletic shorts and an old t-shirt, a half-size too small. It was an odd look for Calvin, not because it was unbecoming but he wasn't one to exercise much and this look screamed fitness, even making him seem more muscular than he was. His slim frame was caught somewhere between boy and man. His armpit fur poked out from t-shirt, but otherwise this was the extent of his secondary sexual characteristics. His face was still relatively smooth, much like his body. He had an attractive build, but still that of a boy. He was prepared to identify as a twink, when the time came.

Calvin stepped down the stairs and saw his father mowing the lawn in the front of the house. Guided by his shame, he headed for the backyard, hoping to preserve some distance between him and his father. The pool needed cleaning so he thought he might as well do that. He could plug in his headphones, listen to music, and be safely hidden from the shame of the earlier encounter with his father.

As Calvin left behind the air conditioned home, he immediately felt a palpable difference in climate. It was muggy, hot, sticky. Hopefully his proximity to the pool would provide some respite. He plugged his headphones into his phone and began playing music.

"Doo, doo, doo, I won't go out tonight, because I haven't got a stitch to wear..." The jangle of early Smiths records filled his head, cutting out any noise around him, especially the roar of his father's lawn mower out front. Cleaning the pool was oddly hypnotic; the leaves and grass could be tricky to catch, but if forced the cleaner to embrace the motion of the water. It was like raking sand. And of course, Calvin was not immune to the pool boy fantasies. Once or twice when he had been left alone, he had gone out there in a speedo and skimmed the pool, lied by it, fantasizing about the kind of sexual encounter he might have. But this were private moments, things he could not share with anyone.

It normally took about 20 minutes to clean the pool, and another ten to check chemicals. As the album played through, Thomas was engrossed enough in his task that some of his shame from earlier had abated. Calvin was putting them chemicals to the pool back in a small storage shed and decided he would then go confront his father about what was left to do in the yard before sinking back into his den of privacy. When he exited the backyard shed, he was surprised to find his father out by the pool, and noticed him mouthing something.

Calvin stepped toward the edge of the pool and removed his headphones, "What," he shouted at his father, across the glistening blue water.

"Thanks for doing this," his father shouted back. "I really need a swim after that hot sun. It's so sticky out here." Elliot was wearing sneakers and socks, a pair of mid-thigh length khaki shorts, and one of his rugby jerseys. His father proceeded to remove his socks and sneakers and then tear off his jersey, revealing his muscular body dabbled with sweat. As he pulled the shirt over his head, Calvin could see the sweat pouring down his side and the moisture that had matted the hairs underneath his arms. He began to step closer to the pool and unbutton his khaki shorts, slowing revealing a pair of white briefs underneath his clothes. He stepped out of his shorts and stood at the edge of the pool. "Well come on, aren't you going to join me? It's fucking hot out here. It's the best way to cool off."

"Um, I don't think," Calvin replied. "Isn't there more yard work to do anyway?"

"Forget about it," his dad said. "It's too hot and we've already done enough. Just take a dip."

"No, I think I'm going to go back inside," Calvin said. He was drawn to his father and could feel the blood in his own underpants, his cock growing harder just at the sight of his father. Not to mention the prospect of swimming with him. "Besides, I'd need to get my bathing suit."

Mr. Hobbes began to walk around the edge of the pool toward his son. "Oh come on, Calvin. How often are you going to be able to just jump in a pool, no regard to what you're wearing. I'm sure you've skinny dipped in here before."

Calvin grew red at another revelation. His father stood only a few feet away from him now, growing closer.

"Stop it with the shame." Mr. Hobbes reached out toward his son and began to tug at the bottom of Calvin's t-shirt. "Just take it off. No one is around."

Calvin batted his father off his shirt, but his physical refusal would be denied. "Okay, I'm taking control." Mr. Hobbes lunged toward his son and grabbed him by the waist. Calvin tried to resist, but his father's stronger, larger body was fully in control and he pulled them into the water, their bodies crashing through the blue bathwater. They sunk deep for a minute, but Calvin splashed and pushed, struggling to get free of his father, who freely let go of him, letting him get up for air.

"What the fuck!" Calvin shouted through his splashing, water having pressed his hair down to his head, covering his eyes just so. "My clothes are soaked."

His father just looked back at him, treading water, laughing with joy

Calvin swam toward the edge of the pool and began to hoist his body up out of it, but struggled against the weight of his water-logged clothes. As he got out, water flooded out from his clothing and he began to strip out of it. First he wrestled with his own t-shirt, squirming out of it to reveal his pale flesh to the dad. His father continued to look on at him, while Calvin fumed and released the button on his shorts, allowing them to drop to the ground. He was left standing there in only a short pair of black briefs that clung tightly to his body. Fortunately for Calvin, the struggle in the water had sent his erection away, but the water forced his clothes tightly to his body and left little to the imagination. But some veneer of modesty was better than what he experienced.

"Why did you do that?" Calvin yelled. "Why do you keep bothering me? It's so embarrassing!"

His father's tone changed, he was calm and collected. "You know Calvin, you don't have to be embarrassed about your body. You are a handsome young guy. Just embrace it."

Calvin blushed again.

"Besides, I just want to spend some time with you before you go off to college. That's all. Some real father-son time."

"But why does that involve embarrassing me," Calvin balked back.

"I guess I just thought this is what you wanted."

Calvin cocked his head, giving his father a confused expression. Mr. Hobbes left his position in the pool and began to swim toward its edge, closer to Calvin. He rested his arms on the side and looked up at his son, whose wet lithe body glistened in the sun.