Dad, Divorced and Desired
After the divorce, my dad got hot. First came the sleek haircut, then stylish new clothes, and finally a monstrous intensity when he hit the gym. His middle-aged dad bod transformed into a seriously sculpted frame, getting both lean and strong in all the right places.
âSingle life forced my hand,â he told me when I tried to tease him about it. âA guy doesnât try as hard when heâs married. Maybe he should, but you donât, and thatâs part of how the relationship slides away. So, having a âcomfortableâ body doesnât fly when youâre single. Not at my age anyway.â
âWell, seems to be working, old man. Youâre looking good.â
I couldnât help but notice, and once I noticed, I had to compliment him. He was dedicated and he got really great results with this change. And not just with his body, although that was the most visible part. But really, between the new look, his nice management job, and the wisdom he accumulated in his 43 years, heâd made himself the complete package for some lucky woman. Mom had no idea what she lost.
Dad smirked at the compliment. There was a towel slung around his neck and his chest glistened with sweat.
âThanks,â he said, voice low, confessional. âYouâre not the only one noticing. Iâve been getting lots of attention lately. More than I ever did in my twenties. Itâs kind of cool.â
I teased him about making up for lost time, and we bantered back and forth. He was relaxed and surprisingly open about his new single life. And then I caught a slipâsomething about the âkindsâ of people checking him out. I pressed on that. I did it playfully but I was legitimately curious. And then he admitted it: some of the attention came from men. After a pause, he added that he doesnât mind that. In fact, heâs beenâŚexploring it a little. Quietly. Casually.
âHoly shit, Dad. Are you gay? Or bi?â
âBi, maybe. I guess. I mean, I must be, given how Iâve responded to it. How it made me feel. What I sometimes did.â
And just like that, he opened up and responded to my questions. He admitted that heâs always had some bi tendencies but he kept it all under wraps while he was married to Mom.
âBut Iâm gay!â I protested. âWhen I came out to you, didnât you think you could also confide in me?â
âNo way. I wasnât going to burden you with my shit. And I was still married to your mother, denying myselfâwell, all of that. So itâs only recently that Iâve done anything about it.â
He didnât offer a lot of details, but he responded to most of my questions. And gradually he got more comfortable confiding in me. No, no dates yet. Like not real ones. But he had kissed. Hooked up. It was easiest on the apps, but he was getting tired of how transactional that felt.
I thanked him for trusting me, and I told him i was glad heâs coming to terms with it. And I validated his exploration, getting out there and having some hookups.
âThatâs all part of gay culture. Bi culture too, I suppose. When you get with a guy sexually those first few times, you canât help but to suddenly know something about yourself.â
âBut you know, if youâre tired of the apps, you should take it out in the real world. Be with people face to face. Like out at a bar, where you can have a real conversation. Where you have to come up with something more than âInto?â before you can stick it in a guy.â
Dad laughed. He looked more at ease right now than he had through the entire conversation.
âI can take you, if you want. Show you a good place or two. Help you break the ice.â
âReally? Yeah, sure, Ben. Iâd like that.â
âJust donât hog all the attention or Iâll really feel like shit.â
âNever gonna happen, son.â He slugged my shoulder. âYou inherited my looks. And frankly youâre the younger, better model.â
The music was upbeat, thumping loud enough to feel it in our chests but quiet enough for conversations at only a quarter-shout. In a few hours the lights would go down, and the music would come up, and men would pack themselves onto the dance floor for the most physical kinds of conversation. But right now the bar was in social mode. Men clustered to talk and flirt, and the lights were still up enough to see and be seen. The bar light had that flattering glow that made everyone look a little bit better, a little more dangerous.
Dad stood beside, nursing a beer and scanning the room like he was trying to memorize it. He wore a black tee that clung to his chest, and his jeans sat tight on his hips. With his full, dark hair streaked silver at the temples, a pair of thick forearms, and a quiet confidenceâŚyeah, he stood out. And guys were looking.
âYou see him?â I asked, leaning in. âOver by the jukebox. That guyâs been staring at you for five minutes straight.â
Dad laughed and his eyes flicked over.â Which one?â
I gestured discreetly. âAbout 25. Blue shirt. Sleeve tattoo. Built.â
He raised his glass in mock salute. âGuess I still got it.â
âYou more than got it. And heâs not the only one looking.â I scanned the room and noted how many guys were staring at us. âYouâre kind of killing it.â
Dad turned to me, just slightly. âIt feels good, Iâm not gonna lie. I never thought guys would be into me. They had never looked before, andâŚ. Well, I guess that was before the divorce and all ofâŚthis.â He waved a hand in front of newly jacked body. âBut I see that they look now. And itâs different. Intense.â
I watched his eyes follow another man who came our way; he made an effort to brush against Dad on his way to the bar. Dad shot me a look; there was a glint in his eye. âYou didnât say it would be this fun.â
âBetter to see you finding out for yourself.â
Dad smiled at thatâslow and a little wicked. âYouâre a smartass.â
We stood in silence for a moment, letting the horned up, flirty energy of the bar soak into us. Then he leaned in, close enough for me to feel his body heat.
âYou get off on this attention?â he asked, his voice low.
I blinked. I was unsure how to answer. Then I realized what he must be asking. âFrom the guys in the bar?â
âSure. Especially when Iâm out with someone and weâre both pulling the looks. Like weâre the hottest ones in the room.â
He looked at me as if he were deciphering something. He held my gaze. âYeah.â His voice was low. âThatâs how I feel. Like you and me are the hottest ones in the room.â
Something crackled between us. I felt itâlike the static that makes your arm hair stand on end. Dad was still looking out at the crowd, but more and more, I felt his attention sliding back to me.
âYouâve been getting looks too,â he said. âYou know that, right?â
âYeah.â I made eye contact with him. âBut Iâm not the one they want to take home.â
He raised an eyebrow. âYou sure about that?â
And just like that, we werenât talking about the other guys anymore.
The energy between us was a live wireâvibrating, pulsing, crackling. Every time our arms brushed each other or our eyes locked a little too long, I felt something tighten in my chest. Dad looked good. Noâdangerously good. And he saw that I saw it. How I took it all in, which only made it harder to be standing there.
We tried to stay engaged with the bar scene. Or at least we put on a show of doing that. We were laughing about some guyâs spastic dance moves when someone stepped up beside us at the bar.
âHey there.â It was a warm voice, deep and smooth. I turned to see an older man, late forties at least. His salt-and-pepper beard was neatly trimmed, and his shirt was open a few buttons, chest hair spilling out of it.
He smiled at me and ignored Dad completely. âI couldnât help noticing you. Youâve got a beautiful smile.â
I blinked. He had surprised me but I was flattered. âThanks,â I said, taking a sip of beer. âYouâve got good taste.â
He laughed. âI try. Can I buy you another one?â He gestured at the last inch of beer in my glass.
Dad was quiet beside me. I could feel him listening.
I glanced at Dad and then back at the man. âIâm flattered, really. But Iâm kind of here with someone.â
The man looked at Dad and raised his eyebrow slightly. âLucky guy.â He tipped his glass to Dad before sighing and moving off.
As soon as the guy was out of earshot, Dad said, âWell, *that was something.â
Dad gave me a look. âHe was my age.â
Dad sipped his drink, then gave me a cautious glance. âYou into older guys?â
I didnât hesitate. âYeah. I am.â Dad shuffled his feet. I continued. âI mean, not exclusively. But Iâve been with plenty of older men and we had a lot of fun. I donât discriminate.â
Dad stood still for a moment, like he was working through something. Then he laughed under his breath. âHuh. Didnât expect that.â
âI dunno,â he said. âI guess I figuredâŚyou probably liked something different.â
âI dunno. Maybe I shouldnât have thought that. Itâs just funny, because⌠Well, most of the guys IâveâŚtried things withâtheyâve been younger. Much younger. So I get it. But I also worry it makes a walking clichĂŠ.â
I smiled. âYou are a clichĂŠ: the divorced Dad who decided to get hot.â
He huffed a laugh. âDonât flatter me.â
âToo late. Youâre the one who walked in looking like an ad for Daddyhunt. And you know itâs working.â
He rolled his eyes as if it was nothing, but his cheeks got red. He looked to the side for a moment, then back at me. âYou really like older guys?â
âYeah,â I said. âEspecially ones who can take a hint and run with it.â
He sucked in his breath. Moved even closer in. There was a little space between us, standing together at the barâbut only the tiniest bit. Just enough to leave room for plausible denial. And for possibility.
Tonight at the bar was a weird moment for me and Dad. We had gone well past our everyday.
But at the same time, I realized it wasnât completely new. There had been some past occasions when Iâd felt something like this. Maybe he had too. They had been little moments that pulsed briefly, like the flash of a fireflyâs tail before it goes dark. And then disappears.
I thought back to one of those times, to last summer. It was a hot evening, with dusk about to give way to darkness. The fireflies started to come out, to dance and glow.
Inside the house, a friend and I were hanging out. I was half-watching a game and half-scrolling my phone while my buddy raided the fridge for snacks. I was sprawled on the basement couch, barefoot, with my legs stretched out. It was too hot for anything but shorts and a tank.
Dad came down the stairs, toweling off his sweat after a run. Jogging was one of the start/stop fitness efforts Dad had made prior to the divorce. These efforts were partially motivated by him and partially a response to Momâs nagging. He had tried tennis before. Swimming. Rock climbing. He was trying running now. In the end he would try just about everything before discovering his true love was the discipline of the weight room.
Sweat dripped from his face and darkened the collar of his T-shirt. The damp shirt clung to his chest and stomach. His skin was flushed, radiant with post-workout heat.
âI didnât know you were still here.â Dad walked casually past me and toward the laundry room.
âJake came over,â I explained. âWe decided to hang here until itâs time for the movie. Heâs upstairs, grabbing food,â I explained. I tried not to stare.
I couldnât help it. Dad was as familiar anyone should be, but his post-exercise glow put him in a new light. I appraised his body in a way I hadnât really before.
His belly was a little softâthatâs what the running was supposed to fixâbut his arms and shoulders were still pumped from last monthâs rock-climbing mania. I hadnât realized heâd put on that kind of strength and size, but now, with his sweat soaked shirt clinging to him, it was obvious.
I watched a drop of sweat slide roll off his cheek and slide down his neck, further soaking the collar of his shirt. He grunted and peeled the shirt off in one quick move, turning away as he did it. I faced his
a broad back, all sweaty and shining the low light. His shoulders shifted as he moved, flexing without effort.
I told myself it was just curiosity, me looking at him like this. But then I felt a low ache in my crotch. The unmistakable pulse of arousal that came up out of nowhere.
I looked down. I was embarrassed that I was getting hard, and by how fast it was happening. I put a throw pillow over my lap. My heart was racing like Iâd done something wrong just by feeling it.
He bent down to toss his laundry into the machine and get it started. He hooked his fingers into his waistband and slid everything down, shorts and briefs and all. It was a quick, casual movement but Dad was now buck naked, his ass on display. My dick twanged higher.
Fuck. I had to look away. I worried that Iâd start to spurt if he swung himself around. I could picture his cock smacking his thigh on the off beat. No way.
So I stared at the TV, trying to focus on the game, on the score, on anything else. I forced myself to think about mundane thingsâhomework, errands, junk mailâthe least sexy thoughts I could summon.
By the time Dad walked past again, he had pulled on a loose pair of gym shorts, clean from the dryer. His bulge pushed its outline into the shiny fabric.
Dad called out a âSee ya laterâ on his way to the stairs, but then he paused for second. He turned back and looked as if he was trying to decode my facial expressionâand like he found something there to make him smile. Or smirk. He absentmindedly scratched his balls, then caught himself. He stopped his movement, made his face blank again, and looked away.
âOK, have fun at the movie.â He hurried out.
When Dadâs footfalls hit the last stair and I knew he was gone, I exhaled hard. And then I sat very, very still, trying to calm myself.
I had felt something today, something surprising, but it was raw and real. I knew to bury it deep.
And I was successful with that. For a good long time.
Here in the bar, Dad swirled the last bit of beer in the glass, watching it like the suds held answers. His jaw flexed reflexively and he avoided looking directly at me. We were hyper aware of how close we were standing, but neither of us was willing to move away.
âYou know,â I said, nudging his elbow, âfor someone whoâs supposedly just figuring things out, you do a damn good job of acting like you belong here.â
Dad smirked but he didnât turn his head. He continued looking out at the crowd. âIs that a compliment, or are you accusing me of being a flirt?â
âBoth,â I said, sipping my beer. âYouâre adjusting to this scene a lot faster than I would have thought.â
He turned toward me, making eye contact again, and coming in close. âAnd what about you?â His voice was low. âYou always this smooth when youâre out with older guys?â
âOnly when inspired.â
âInspired to try out your material on me, then?â
I gave him a once-over, slow and deliberate. âYeah, Iâm trying it out. Is it working?â
Dadâs lips twitched. âCareful,â he murmured. âYou keep that up and I might start thinking you actually mean it.â
I shrugged. My shoulder brushed his. âMaybe I do.â
Dad went very still. He tilted his head, looking at me like he was trying to make a decision.
Then he reached out and casuallyâtoo casuallyâpicked a bit of lint off my shirt, right near my collarbone. His fingers lingered a beat too long, his knuckles brushing my bare skin before they pulled back.
âYouâre trouble,â he said.
âAnd youâre pretending like you donât like that.â
He chuckled. âI didnât say that.â
There was a pause. It was long enough for our eyes to lock, long enough for the world to fade around the edges.
Then he pulled away a bit, took a breath. âWe should probablyâwhat? Mingle? You know. Be social.â
âOK,â I said. I tried to keep my voice easy. âBut Iâm kind of enjoying this.â
He exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. âGod. What are we doing?â
âJustâŚtalking. We havenât done anything wrong.â
Dad looked at me sideways. âNot yet.â
I leaned in. I was close enough to feel his body heat. âYou say that like itâs inevitable.â
He didnât move. Didnât answer. He just smiledâa small, private smile that made my stomach tighten.
The music shifted to something slower and deeper. The lights dimmed.
Dadâs face fought with itself and then he turned it back out to face the bar. So I turned out too. But our shoulders were touching now and his forearm rested next to mine. Not quite touching. But it was close enough that any small movement from either of us would bring us together.
âYou know,â I said, still facing out, âif this is your midlife crisis, itâs a pretty good one. Hottest one Iâve ever seen.â
He let out a breath that was part laugh, part groan. âKiddo, youâre gonna get me into trouble.â
âLike you need me for that.â
He didnât respond for a little while. We just stayed there. Not talking. Barely touching. Just standing side by side while the space buzzed between us like a live wire.
Eventually Dad broke the silence. He suggested that maybe this was enough for one night. Part of me felt let down that we were leaving this space where Dad had felt free and something interesting started to build between us. But another part of me was relieved.
We left the bar laughing. The warm buzz of beers and bar music hummed under my skin, but the cool night air cut right through it. Like a reset. Things were quieter outside, calm rather than charged, the vibe intensely ordinary. We stepped onto the sidewalk and walked. The glow of the bar lights faded behind us. It was like stepping out of a dream.
Dad stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets, and I shoved mine into my jeans. We walked side by side, not touching, the space between us suddenly vast again. We were just two guys leaving a bar. Like friends. Like nothing had happened.
âThanks for bringing me,â Dad said after weâd walked almost a block. His voice was lighter now and a little guarded. âThat wasâŚinteresting.â
âInteresting Thatâs the word youâre going with?â
âWhat do you want me to say? The bar wasâŚwild? Hot? Eye-opening?â
âI mean, all of those could be accurate.â
He nodded, looking down at the sidewalk as we walked. âIt felt⌠easy in there. Like I could just let things go. Be real, and open up to stuff.â
âYeah. Thatâs the point, right?â
âRight,â he echoed softly.
We stopped at the corner, waiting for the light to change. His shoulder bumped mine and lingered there, but neither of us acknowledged it. The quiet hung between us.
Then he looked at me. Really looked.
âCan I ask you something?â His eyes searched mine.
âWas that all⌠part of the game? The flirting, the compliments, the looks. Or were you actuallyâŚ?â
I didnât answer right away. I thought about laughing it off or changing the subject. I couldâve pretended we were just two guys one-upping each other. That I was just showing him the ropes at his first gay bar. But I didnât.
âI meant it,â I told him. âEvery bit.â
He swallowed. His jaw clenched, just briefly. âDamn.â
âI was doing a really good job of convincing myself you were just being nice.â
He glanced away and exhaled slowly. âIâm not sure what Iâm supposed to do with that.â
âOK.â It hurt to put myself out there and then feel a wall come up. But I understood it. Even though it was disappointing.
Things were quiet in the car as we rode back. Not exactly uncomfortableâjust contained. It was the kind of silence that presses on your chest a little. Lets you know itâs there. Heavy.
The glow of the dashboard lit Dadâs face in soft tones, making his features look smooth and calm. Like nothing was happening. Like we hadnât just spent two hours flirting under colored lights with music and heat pulsing between us like a quasar.
At the bar we had jokes and smiles and thumping music. Everything felt easy between us. But now, without the music and the lights and the safety of being surrounded by strangers, everything felt sharper, magnified, more real. And a hell of a lot more dangerous.
Dadâs hands were steady on the wheel and he kept his eyes on the road. I sat straight up in the passenger seat. I was hyper-aware of the space between us, a much bigger gap than at the bar, but still one that crackled with energy.
Approaching a red light, Dad reached for the gearshift. His hand bumped my knee.
Not just bumped, but pressed, hard enough to jolt me. Then his fingers froze.
âShit,â he muttered. He pulled his hand back fast, but my hand caught his wrist without thinking.
He looked at me, surprised.
And thenâGod, I donât even know how it happened.
One second we were caught in that look. And the next second we were leaning in at the same time. Like gravity had shifted and pulled us in together with no choice.
Our mouths met awkwardlyâa little off-center, too sudden. But then things evened out. And deepened. Dadâs hand found my jaw. He held my face to his firmly, determined not to let me get away.
The car behind us blared its horn. Dad pulled away and blinked. He glanced at the green traffic light and swore under his breath as he hit the gas.
The rest of the drive was a blur. We didnât talk. Didnât touch again. But the silence between us was deafeningâbuzzing, loaded. It vibrated in my skin.
Dad pulled into the parking lot of his condo complex and cut the engine, but he didnât move. For a second, we just sat there, bathed in yellowed light of street lamps. I wasnât sure if I was breathing right.
âYou want to go in?â he asked.
His voice was rough and hoarse. Like heâd swallowed the words and made himself cough them back up again.
I nodded. âYeah. Definitely.â
His apartment was spare. Divorce had stripped things down to the essentials. Basic furniture. A few lamps. No pictures, because they were still at Momâs house and he hadnât made copies yet.
But that meant everything here was his, and his alone. It was all part of his new life, not the past. His new clothes, some free weights, a bar set up with a bunch of whiskeys Mom had said were too expensive to buy on a family budget.
Dad closed the door behind us and turned to say somethingâprobably something neutral, like want a drink?, or make yourself comfortable.
But he didnât get the words out.
Because I stepped toward him at the exact moment he turnedâand then we were on each other. There was no hesitation this time.
Our mouths crashed together in a kiss that was nothing like the one weâd shared in the car. This one was all heat and teeth and breathless urgency. There were hands in hair, on facesâwe clutched at each otherâs clothing like we were afraid the other might disappear.
Dad pressed me against the wall just inside the entryway. One hand gripped my right hip and the other curled around the back of my neck. He pulled me deeper into the kiss like he worried I might escape.
Dad ground into me. I could feel him, hard, through his jeans. He made a sound with his throatâhalf growl, half groanâand his hands roamed my body like they couldnât decide what they wanted to touch most.
âThis isââ he started. But I put my mouth on his again. Whatever has going to say died on his tongue.
We stumbled into the living room, our lips locked and fingers fumbling with buttons and zippers. We were greedy, consumed.
Dadâs hands were on my chest, my waist, under my shirt. Mine went to his back and traced the taut muscle under his tee. He pulled back long enough to look at me. His eyes were a little wild and his chest was rising and falling hard.
âIâve wanted to do that since the bar,â I admitted.
He leaned in and put his forehead against mine. âIâve wanted to do that since you complimented me in the kitchen last week.â
And then we werenât laughing anymore.
Because we were kissing againâdeeper, rougherâfully caught up in each other. And dragging ourselves to the bedroom.
We were kissing so hard now it was clumsyâteeth catching, tongues colliding, our lips swollen and slick. Dad tasted like beer and hormones.
Our clothes came off in uneven bursts. My shirt hit the floor. His followed, unveiling a chest that was somehow even hotter in this light than it had been under the barâs perfect glowâbroad and hard, dusted with dark curly hair that my lips begged to taste.
âYouâve been hiding this?â I murmured. My fingers grazed his torso, trailing down the ridges of his abs.
âYouâve seen it before.â
âNo. No way. Not like this. And not able to do this.â
I dropped to my knees without thinking, looking up at him while one of my hands pawed his chest and the other one unbuckled his belt. Dadâs eyes widened, like the sight of me down there unraveled something in him. A hand went to my hair, just holding it, like he needed to anchor himself.
Dad was rock-hard when I freed him from his jeans and briefs. It was thick. Heavy. Gorgeous. I stroked him slowly. I watched his face twist and his jaw tighten as he tried to keep control.
I took him into my mouth, inch by inch. It filled me, and I made the effort to stretch my lips around its girth. Dad groanedâa low, broken sound that sent fire straight to my crotch. Dadâs hips twitched once. But he mostly held himself still, trembling a little as I worked him, tongue flicking, lips tightening, my hand stroking whatever I couldnât fit.
âFuck, youâreââ he exhaled, cutting himself off. âYou donât have toââ
I pulled off with a wet pop. âI do. I do have to. And I want to.â
His fingers grabbed my hair tighter. I licked the underside of his shaft, going slow and teasing him until he started cursing a blue streak and then pulled me roughly to my feet.
He kissed me again, giving me everything in that kiss: hunger, gratitude, need. He turned me toward the bed with his hands on my hips, shoving my jeans down and pulling his off the rest of the way too.
âWait,â he said, pausing. âLet me get a condom.â
âYou donât have to, Dad.â
âWe should be responsible.â
âWe are. Iâm on PrEP, and I can tell you about that later. But more important: youâre my Dad. I donât want a condom between us. I donât want anything between us. I want to feel you bare.â
âJesus, son.â His cock twitched and spurted at my words. âYouâre asking for your Dadâs raw dick.â
âNo,â I said, stopping him with a kiss. âIâm insisting.â
We kissed harder. Both of us were turned on by the admission that we were about to fuck. Skin to skin. Father and son.
Dad broke off the kiss. He gave me a playful shove. I fell back onto the bed while he grabbed a small bottle of lube from his nightstand. I watched him slick himself up, greasing the fat dick that 24 years ago had made me.
He climbed onto the bed and pulled me into an embrace. His lubed-up cock lay against my cheeks.
âYouâll tell me if itâs too much,â he murmured into my neck.
Dad pushed in, slow and careful. We both groaned. The shock and delight of entry. Dad then filled me inch by inch, plugging me thick and deep. His cock stretched me until I gasped and my eyes rolled back in my head. One of my hands flew out and clutched the headboard.
âJesus, Ben,â he muttered. âYou feel soâŚI mean, oh my God.â
He started to move. It was tentative at first, his hips pushing out his cock with shallow thrusts. But that hesitation didnât last long. Soon his hands gripped my hips hard; his rhythm and aggression built up. I pushed back against him to take it deeper. I matched him stroke for stroke.
We found our pace, and it was nothing graceful. It was rough, messy, desperate. The bed creaked under us, skin slapped skin, the smells of breath and sweat and sex filled the room. Dad reached out to stroke me, his hand pumping me in time with his thrusts.
âYou like that?â he growled.
I could barely speak. I just nodded, moaning into the pillows.
âYeah, I can see you do,â he rasped. âAnd youâre so fucking tight. My sonâs tight ass is taking the cock that made himââ
That sent me over the edge.
I came hard, gasping; my body clenched around him. My spasms tipped him over too. A second later he groaned low in my ear and jerked against me, burying himself deep inside while he unleashed a gusher.
We collapsed, panting, our bodies tangled. The room was quiet except for our breathing, which gradually started to slow. Dad wrapped an arm around my chest, warm and solid.
Neither of us said anything for a long time.
Eventually, he spoke. His voice was soft and he sounded a little dazed.
âI think Iâve been waiting to do that for a lot longer than I realized.â
I smiled into his arm, then burrowed my face into his chest. âYeah. Me too.â
The light was soft when I wokeâstill gray and slow, filtering through half-closed blinds. The air around us was cool, but the warmth of Dadâs body behind mine made up for it. He had an arm draped around my waist and his breath was steady against the back of my neck.
For a long while, we didnât move. Everything felt still. Everything felt real.
Eventually, Dad stirred. I felt his breath shift before I heard his voice.
Silence stretched out again, not quite comfortable this time. But not awkward, eitherâjust thick with the knowledge that now everything was different.
He pulled back a little, just enough that I could roll onto my back and look at him. His hair was a mess. His eyes were still soft with sleep. And yet, the moment our gaze met, I saw it thereâthe question he didnât quite want to say.
He exhaled slowly and rubbed a hand across his face. âI donât know.â
âDo you want it to happen again?â
His hand stopped moving. He looked at me, serious now.
âI donât think Iâve ever wanted something as much, but Iâm worried about it at the same time.â
I gave him a small, wry smile. âYeah. Same.â
He sat up slowly and rested his elbows on his knees. He stared at the floor.
âI feel like I should be freaking out more,â he admitted. âBut Iâm not. Not really. Iâm just scared of anything that might drive us a wedge between us at some point.â
âI get it,â I said. âI donât want that to happen either. But maybe this doesnât have to mean anything yet.â
He looked over his shoulder at me. âSo what, we just⌠pretend it didnât happen?â
âNo,â I said firmly. âThatâs definitely not what Iâm saying. I donât want to pretend it didnât happen. I justâthink we should be honest. About wanting it. And about not being sure what if means. And about being ready for us to not be ready NOT to do it again.â
âThatâs a lot of ânots,ââ he said, laughing. âIâm too confused to respond to that. ButâŚin all seriousnessââhis eyes searched mineââYou really think we could just⌠see where it goes?â
I sat up enough to look him in the eyes. To give him another kiss.
âYeah. Because I think we already are doing that.â I reached over and grabbed his cock. It pulsed in my hand. Or am I wrong?â
âNo,â Dad said as I squeezed him. âYouâre definitely not wrong.â
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