Father and Son Moments

And then his head fell forwards, his chin brought down almost onto his neck by the power of his orgasm.

His rhythm slowed, but didn't stop: his hand continued to milk his shaft and prologue the thrill of his climax as long as he could to maximise his release. Like me, perhaps like all men, he luxuriated in his self-induced orgasm, coaxing every last twinge of pleasure from his squirting organ by maintaining his rhythm for as long as he could sustain it.

When he did, eventually, stop, and was lying there with the sweat running in dribbles down his forehead, gradually recovering his breath, I was faced with the dilemma of what to do. Should I pretend to have slept through my son's masturbatory enjoyment, or should I come clean (as it were) and let him know that I had witnessed it?

As I lay wondering, the smell of his discharge hit me abruptly. His seminal odour was strong -- probably even sharper than my own -- and thickly laced with the acrid smack of his adolescent testosterone.

I decided I'd better speak up. I didn't want to have to endure repeat performances every time we shared a room.

"Couldn't you have done that in the bathroom, Jake?" I'd asked, my voice sounding harsh in the post-orgasm silence of the room.

His head swung round to face me, his eyes horrified. "I... er..."

"It's okay... it's just not really appropriate in a shared room."

For a few seconds he'd stared at me, aghast. When he'd recovered his bearings he snapped, defensively, "You do it sometimes!"

"What?"

"Yeah. All that stuff about scratching yourself... and then the same smell afterwards. It's just the same as me doing it."

I sat up and faced him, keeping my own erection out of sight beneath my covers.

"Fair enough -- so I won't do it either. I just did it when you were too young to know about stuff like that and when I thought you were asleep."

"Yeah, well I thought you were still asleep," he countered. His voice was hoarse from his just waking up. "How was I supposed to know you were perving on me?"

I smiled. "I wasn't. I just... well... you were making a bit of noise. It woke me up."

"You should have said something. Made me stop."

I nodded. "Well, maybe I should have. But... you know..." (how could I admit that I'd found it deeply captivating to watch my own son masturbating without confirming to him that I'd been 'perving' on him, as he'd put it?) "By the time I woke up, you seemed... kind of... into it. It would have seemed inconsiderate to have interrupted."

He threw me a look. Part-quizzical, part-indignant.

"You still should have let me know you were awake," he insisted. "It's not something I really wanted you to see."

I shrugged. "Fine. So do it in the bathroom in the future, and I will too. Okay?"

He nodded and then threw me a small smile. Looking down beneath his sheets he said, "D'you wanna pass me some tissue? Quite a lot, actually."

I smiled back and then got out of my bed on the far side so that my back was turned towards him. I didn't want to add to his discomfort by letting him see how tented the front of my pyjamas were. It might freak him out; make him think that watching him pleasuring himself had aroused me. I had, of course, awoken with an erection. The sight of Jake in the throes of his own self-indulgence hadn't contributed to it at all. Had it?

Stumbling into the bathroom, I called out, "It's good practice to have some at the ready. It's a habit you get into."

"You mean, I'm going to be doing this for years? Until I'm old? Like your age, even?"

I smiled, obscuring the front of my pyjamas with the bathroom door. Throwing him a thick wad of tissue I replied, "Even older than that Jake, in all probability."

I closed the door to give him the privacy to clean himself up and switched on the shower to conceal the noise of what I was desperate to do to my own straining organ. Attending to myself over the toilet bowl, I felt compelled to try and match Jake's speed; jerking my shaft with the same impatient rhythm that he had employed on himself. Being unfamiliar with the technique, my wrist made frantic clapping sounds against my thigh which sounded loud and blatantly masturbatory even over the noise of the shower. I thought it likely that Jake would be able to hear his father behind the bathroom door following in his footsteps (or should that be handslaps) but I was too titillated by adopting the same masturbatory rhythm on my cock as Jake had on his to be able to curb my enthusiasm. Nevertheless, after I'd finished off and the copious outpouring of my seed was flushed away, the soreness of my foreskin and the ache in my forearm dictated that I'd probably leave such adolescent excesses to him in future.

From then on, Jake and I kept our sexual habits largely private when we had to share together, save for occasionally getting unintended eyefuls of each other's morning glories inside our pyjamas (or in Jake's case his underwear, once he'd grown out of wearing pyjamas for bed) when we happened to wake up together. Our masturbatory needs were consigned to the bathroom; while we never spoke again of what we both needed to do, we were both fully aware that we were doing it. In my case, such necessary activities were always disguised behind the sound of running water; my sense of modesty being significantly greater than my concern for the environment. Jake showed no such qualms and got on with what he needed to do without any concern that his father might overhear. The fact there was only a wooden door between the two of us to absorb the sounds of his early morning duties seemed largely immaterial to my son: he'd attend to his ministrations with the same abandon as he'd show when using the toilet, and a for a good few minutes I'd have to pretend I couldn't hear the unseemly and sometimes bewildering commotion of noises he would happily make in there.

===

Just before bed, while I was brushing my teeth and Jake was taking a pee, he asked me when we would be going away to watch another match.

"I don't know," I admitted, through a mouthful of foam. Then, after spitting into the sink and rinsing my mouth, I added, "I don't think Guy had a specific match in mind. He just said sometime in the New Year."

"You'll want to go sooner rather than later though," he suggested with a grin.

"I don't really mind when we go, Jake. Obviously you're quite keen, though."

He shook himself and tucked himself away. "Only for your sake. It might help you decide that maybe this isn't for you after all."

"What isn't for me?" I asked in surprise, walking over to the towel rail to dry my mouth.

He reached for his toothbrush. "This whole 'butt monkey' thing. Doing stuff with other guys."

I smiled towards him through the mirror. He was putting toothpaste onto his brush.

"Do you think it's a phase I'm going through?"

He glanced over at me and smiled back. "Maybe."

He put the brush in his mouth and switched it on.

"Jake, I'm not thirteen," I said. "I think my days of going through pubescent phases are long over."

He switched off his brush and spat a mouthful of foam into the sink. "I don't mean like that," he said. "I just mean maybe it's some kind of weird obsession you've developed... after looking at all that stuff on the internet. Maybe when you're faced with the reality of... well... being sexual with another guy... going the whole way with him... letting him... you know... well, maybe then you'll realise that it isn't for you."

His speech complete, he reinserted his brush and got on cleaning his teeth.

I was taken aback that he would think like this. Admittedly, and thankfully, he didn't know the vast majority of what I'd done with other men during the past few months, but I was still surprised that he might regard me as immature enough to need to 'go the whole way' with another guy to know whether interested in him sexually.

I put the towel back on the rail.

"Well, I guess I'll soon find out," I remarked. "It's the office Christmas party on Friday night."

He looked over at me and I saw his memory cogs turn a few times before his eyes widened slightly when the penny eventually dropped. After spitting into the sink again, he said, "I'd forgotten about that. I'm staying over at mum's, aren't I?"

"You are indeed."

He smiled at me and said, "Maybe that'll be night that you figure out whether all this is for you. Maybe that'll be the night that things will... well..."

"Slot into place?"

He guffawed. "Well if anything does, one way or the other, that'll kind of settle it for you!"

I chuckled back at him.

Then I asked, more seriously, "Does all this bother you, Jake? That I'm getting interested in other guys..."

He rinsed his mouth and spat again. "No, not at all. As long as it's right for you. That's my only worry."

I patted him on the shoulder. "Well, don't worry. You've enough to think about with your exams approaching and university next year. All this stuff with me... well... it'll sort itself out one way or another."

He nodded and said, for some reason with a thick Yorkshire accent, "Aye, 'appen."

I smiled at him again. He was being silly to mask his concern.

"Goodnight, Jake."

"'Night, dad."

I left him to scrutinise his skin in the mirror and dab antiseptic lotion onto the spots he imagined he had, and crossed the landing to go to bed.

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Next story: Roadside Assistance

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