Smashwords

I turn my head slightly, looking to Chad and Derek. They’re both engrossed in the game. I turn back toward dad, my lips just a mere inch from his.

“Dad…” I say. I try to keep my voice low and steady, but it comes out with a crack. I sound like a pubescent teenager.

He glances past me, toward his friends, then his eyes meet mine again. “They know,” he says.

Then it hits me. It all hits me. Dad does remember that night. I thought I was the only one living with this guilt, but he is too. But … he doesn’t seem like he feels guilty. He seems… Dad takes my hand and puts it on his hard, massive bulge.

“Dad…” I say again, my voice cracking again.

“Trevor…” he says. I moan at the sound of my name on his lips.

Absently, I realize the game is over. I hear the theme music emanating from the TV, but it sounds like it’s a million miles away. He grabs the back of my head and pulls me close to him for a kiss, his lips crushing against mine, and it’s like all I can focus on, like my whole world exists in this kiss and nowhere else. Everything drops away — the TV, Derek, Chad — they’re all gone and it’s just dad and I and our kiss. I can taste the beer on his lips and his tongue, and the warmth of his body soaks through his clothes and through mine and warms me to my core. His hand falls to rest on my hard bulge and he starts rubbing it.

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I bite my lip, nervous with indecision. Looking in the mirror again, I catch the cop look up at me again from the seat of his car. Despite his mirrored sunglasses, the look of disgust is clear. Yeah, he’s a fag. He’s probably sucked more cock than me — probably taken more loads up the ass too. I can’t stand those two-faced homophobes who secretly have an insatiable desire for cock. Either own up to it or fuck off.

My cheeks are burning hot again, but now with anger. Fuck. I pick up my phone and dig through the links I have bookmarked. Near the bottom of the list is the hypno soundtrack that worked the best on my ex. I look in the mirror one more time, weighing whether or not to actually try this. I catch him glaring at me once more before getting out of his car — and I also take a moment to ensure that he is, indeed, alone — and I decide that I’m fucking doing this.

I hit the link, then start the audio track that pops up. I place my phone on my dash, pointing the speakers toward where the cop will be standing. A loud droning noise fills the car. A moment later, that perfect view of his crotch happens again. Then he bends over. He’s about to say something, but then he eyes my phone.

“Turn that off,” he says, command clear in his voice.

“Listen to it … it’s soothing … it’s calming…”

“I said turn that fucking thing off.”

My heart suddenly beats at something like three times the speed, hammering against my ribs. This is the do-or-die moment.

“Listen to the sound of my voice …

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I was reliving my childhood years by watching cartoons in my PJs on a Saturday morning in the living room when it happened … when dad walked in with the giant dildo I kept in the back of my closet.

“Son,” he said, with a stern look on his face that made me whither and desperately want to just hide under the blanket I had over my legs. “I think we need to talk.”

I felt my cheeks burn extra hot with a blush that had to be deep scarlet. “Were you snooping in my room?” I asked. I knew it was obvious I was trying to avoid the real discussion, but I was desperate to talk about anything but the massive rubber dong in dad’s hands.

“That’s not the point,” dad said, not taking any of my bullshit. “Turn off the TV.”

I did as ordered and then dad sat down next to me on the couch. He held up the dildo between us.

“So … what’s this about?”

“I…” I couldn’t get out more words than that. I felt my cheeks burn even hotter, so hot they felt like they were on fire. I looked away — I couldn’t make eye contact with dad.

“Colin, do you … do you use this on yourself?” he asked. When he said the word “this”, his gaze settled on the dildo and a look passed on his face that I couldn’t figure out. I expected it to be a look of disgust, but it wasn’t.

I couldn’t answer, couldn’t even open my mouth to utter a sound, couldn’t even bring myself to nodding or shaking my head.

“I’ll take your silence as a yes,” he said.

He put the dildo down on the couch between us. Even though I’ve had that thing shoved up my butt countless times, I was almost stunned by how massive it is. It seemed that in the heat of self-sex, I accept it for what it is, but now that I was looking at it when I’m completely not horny, it almost shocked me that my hole was capable of expanding that much. The girth of it had to be as wide as my wrist and it was about a foot long.

Dad sighed, then put his hand under my chin and forced me to look up at him.

“Colin … are you gay?”

My lip quivered in utter nervousness, but I was determined to answer this question. “Yeah, dad, I am.” I felt an instant rush of both relief and even more nervousness — I had just come out, but what would the consequences of that be? It had taken me a long time to accept this fact about myself, with only my recent discovery of the college gay club giving me the strength to do so. For dad, though, this had to be all so sudden.

“And you,” he said, picking up the massive dildo from the fake balls attached to its base, “can take this up your boy butt?”

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My bewilderment faded as I took in the mess again — and as the stench fully filled my nostrils and my lungs — and was replaced with only cold rage. Grant is a useless slob! I’m always cleaning up after him!

I decided I’d had enough. I stormed through the apartment, looking for him. I shoved open his bedroom door and found him passed out on the mattress. The floor was scattered with clothing and the stench of unwashed underwear filled the air.

He was lying face down in his bed, clad in only a pair of white briefs. My rage faltered for a moment — as much trouble as Grant was, he was certainly one fine looking man. Even in the half-dark of the room, I could make out the sculpted muscles of his back and the curve of his muscular ass, the white cotton of his briefs clinging tightly to his cheeks and plunging into the valley of his crack. His legs, hairy and muscular, were long and similarly sculpted.

I wondered what Grant would think if I told him how often I jacked off to mental pictures of him. He was the typical straight guy with an almost frat-like mentality — and he had no idea I was gay. More than once he’d waved his dick at me in a helicopter rotation. Straight boys could be so gay sometimes.

But because of that, I knew just how hung he was.

I sat down on the edge of his bed and stared at his ass. He didn’t stir from the jostling of the mattress. His breathing, slow and steady, helped to calm me down a little further. I had to think this through.

Yelling at Grant wouldn’t work. I’d tried that so many times I’d lost count. He’d be on his best behavior for a day or two, and then I’d come home to filth.

I had to come up with some other way to get him to clean up after himself. But what?

And then I had the craziest of ideas. In my psych class, we’d just learned about hypnotism as a form of therapy, how some people benefitted from post-hypnotic suggestions. Maybe that would be the key to changing his messy ways.

I almost scoffed at myself. Hypnotism? That was the realm of charlatans and cheap magic shows. My prof had also been clearly skeptical. He’d admitted to trying it with a few patients early in his career, but had said nothing stuck longer than a day or two.

Still, though … what if it worked?

I should try it, I decided. If it worked, it worked. If it didn’t, then it was at least a momentary distraction from the stink in the kitchen. And with Grant slumbering, his mind might even be more susceptible to suggestion than normal.

Moving slowly and carefully, so as to not jostle the mattress too much, I slipped my phone from my pocket and quickly looked up a hypnotic script that I could test out on him. A website full of spirals and abstract GIFs popped up. In a few moments, I’d navigated to a script to induce a quick hypnosis. I started reading it out loud.

“Listen to my voice. My voice is calming. My voice is relaxing. My voice is everything you need.” Grant inhaled deeply, but didn’t roll over. His eyes were still closed. He was still asleep. “My voice is comforting. My voice wraps you in a warm blanket and makes you feel safe, makes you feel secure.”

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I pull into my driveway with a case of beer sitting in the passenger seat. I turned twenty-one yesterday and, to celebrate, my dad sent me out to buy beer. But to make it extra special, he invited me to hang out in his Man Cave with him and my uncle.

My heart thuds with anticipation as I turn off the car, grab the beer, and head to the house. Though dad had this Man Cave my whole life, I was never allowed to hang out in it. “This is a twenty-one and over room,” dad would always say.

I’ve seen glimpses of it now and then — wood panelling, a big TV and sound system, a leather couch, sports memorabilia, a pool table — but when dad wasn’t in there, he locked the door. I couldn’t even sate my curiosity by sneaking in when he was out of the house.

He’d always hang out in his Man Cave for hours on end with his brother, my Uncle Robert, and no one would be allowed to join them. Mom would always chuckle and say something like, “Boys will be boys,” and never question what happened in the Man Cave.

But I was always intensely curious. I was dying to know what went on in there, what they talked about, what they did — and now is my chance to finally find out. As I walk up the steps, I notice Uncle Robert’s car parked on the street. He must already be here, hanging out with dad in the mysterious Man Cave.

I enter the house and kick off my shoes. My mom gives me a smile as she heads out the door and says, “Have a good time with the big boys.”

As I descend the stairs with the case of beer in my hand, my heart is thudding against my ribs. I’m suddenly very nervous about what I’ll find on the other side of the door. As I reach the bottom of the stairs and approach the door, I can see a light coming from the crack beneath the door and I can hear some muffled noises, but I can’t make anything out.

I knock.

“That you, Andrew?” dad calls from the other side of the door.

“Yeah, dad. I brought the beer.”

“Come on in. Door’s open.”

I turn the knob, open the door, and walk in. I see the back of dad’s head as he’s sitting on the couch in front of me. The room is all in dark tones and there’s some soft music playing through the stereo system. Sports posters line the walls and shelves hold things like autographed sports balls and framed photos of dad and Uncle Robert on fishing trips.

“Where’s Uncle Robert?” I ask as I close the door behind me.

“He’s right here, son,” dad says, not turning to look back at me.

I walk around the couch and find Uncle Robert on his knees, sucking off dad. My jaw drops and the beer almost slips from my hand, but I tighten my grip before dropping the case. Uncle Robert glances at me, never taking dad’s thick cock from his mouth, and winks.

“What the fuck is going on?” I manage to say when I pull my wits about me to speak again.

“Have a seat, son,” dad says, and pats the couch next to him.

Not even knowing what I should do or how I should react, I slowly sit down next to him, watching his brother continue to suck him off. I watch in awe as this continues in front of me.

“Pass me a beer,” dad says, casually, as if he was just watching a football game.

Still not taking my eyes off dad’s cock and my uncle going down on it, I rip open the top of the box and pull out a can for dad. I pass it to him, he pops the top, and he takes a deep swallow.

“Does this…” I say, but then pause as I try to figure out what I want to ask. “Is this what you guys always do down here?”

“Not usually,” dad says. I don’t know if I should feel relieved or disappointed. I’ve been thinking more and more about guys and less about girls, and I’m innately drawn to the kinky. It was sort of hot thinking of this brotherly incestuous action going on in the house all the time. “Usually I’m balls-deep in your uncle’s ass.”

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“Have you ever considered hypnotism?” I ask.

Jack, my star athlete, is laid out on the couch in my office. Even though I’m his football coach and not a psychologist, we’ve been meeting regularly to talk about the apparent lack of motivation he’d been feeling about the sport lately. Back when I was a high school gym teacher, I doubled as the school’s guidance counsellor — and those skills were coming in handy here at my new college position.

It had become clear to us pretty quickly that this wasn’t a matter of exam stress or some other temporary issue for Jack, but rather some deep-seated issue that was now surfacing.

Jack looks at me, eyes curious. “Would that help?”

“It can,” I answer. “Hypnotism can relax you and unlock any mental barriers you’ve got erected in your head.”

“And you can do this?” he asks. He sounds eager.

“It’s been a while, but yeah.” What I leave out is that I’ve never done hypnosis for therapeutic purposes. Back during my own years as a college student, I made some money as a magician for parties. It was mostly sleight of hand at kids’ parties, but when the occasional adult party gig happened, I always included some hypnotism. You know, the usual stuff, cluck like a chicken, bark like a dog.

“Okay,” Jack says. “Let’s do this. Put me under.”

“All right — lie back and get comfortable. Close your eyes.”

Jack does what I instruct and settles down. The leather couch groans softly under his bulk. Now that his eyes are closed, I take my chance to look at his magnificent body. Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, nothing is left to the imagination. His arms and chest are big and bulky, his waist tapers and narrows, and he has a large bulge nestled between his thick thighs. My heart does a little pitter-patter and I feel my cock start to thicken.

I shove those thoughts aside and focus on the task at hand. Hypnotism.

“Listen to the sound of my voice,” I say, in soft and gentle tones. “My voice is the only thing you hear. My voice is the only thing that matters. My voice makes you calm. My voice makes you relaxed.” Jack lets out a sigh of comfort and seems to sink deeper into the couch. “As you focus on my voice, everything else falls away. Everything else disappears. All that’s left is my voice. My voice is the only thing you hear. My voice is the only thing that matters. When I count to three, you will feel totally and completely relaxed. You will respond only when I instruct you to. You will no longer be aware of your body. One. Two. Three.”

Right on cue, Jack lets out a long, slow sigh and he seems to almost melt into the couch with how relaxed his body is. I wait several long moments before moving or saying anything further, just watching Jack and seeing if he’s truly under. His breathing is very slow and steady and his body seems entirely still — no involuntary twitches, no restlessness, no sign that he’s conscious of the moment.

My cock grows hard as I watch him. It’s been a very long time since I’ve lusted over a man and I find myself developing impulses right now that I can’t follow through on. I’m his coach and nearly twenty years his senior — I can’t make my move on him. Plus, he’s straight.

But the devious voice in the back of my mind reminded me that he’s under my spell right now … that a little touch wouldn’t be bad. I could feel him — gently — and then move on with the hypnotism to dig into his subconscious. And then I can go home and jerk off and pretend this didn’t happen.

No, I can’t.

But I want to.

And I will.

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I turn down the music on my laptop and listen to the noises in the house. It’s just dad and me at home, and I’m sure I heard him swearing.

Instead, what I hear is something like an alert siren, but it sounds tinny, like it’s coming from computer speakers. I chuckle to myself and get to my feet, leaving my anthropology homework behind. Dad probably got some noisy pop-up ad that he’s having trouble closing. He’s not good with technology.

I wander through the house until I find him. He’s in his room, sitting on the bed, with his laptop across his knees. He looks up at me, startled, like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Need help, dad?” I ask, and start crossing the room to him.

“No,” he says, shaking his head franticly. “I’ll figure it out!”

I almost stumble when I see why he doesn’t want my help. His shorts and briefs are partway down his thighs and his hard, thick cock is laying across his lap.

“Uh…” I say, not able to put together words. I take in the sight of it — thick, veiny, dark, hard. It’s far bigger than mine. When I finally pull my gaze away from dad’s cock, I see his cheeks burning bright with shame. I probably look as red as him.

The only sound in the room, which is only barely overcoming the incredibly loud thudding of my heart, is the irritating shrill coming from the pop-up ad. Dad and I stare at each other for far too long.

Finally, he turns the laptop toward me, not bothering to pull his shorts up. “Can you get rid of this fucking thing?”

I nod, then get on my knees next to the bed. Though I try to focus solely on the laptop, I can’t help but glance at dad’s dick, only inches from my face. I try closing the pop-up, which I’m sure dad had attempted, and I was caught in an endless cycle of warnings, forcing the ad to stay open. It took a few moments of fiddling, but I managed to finally close the ad.

With the ad gone, I could see what dad had been looking at.

I never should’ve come in here.

Gay porn filled the screen.

An older man is fucking a younger man, his thick cock completely buried in the younger man’s smooth ass. I glance again at dad’s cock and feel my cheeks burning hot with a blush. Then I look over to the other side of the bed, mom’s side.

“You okay, son?” dad asks. His voice has a little quiver to it, like he’s as nervous as I am right now.

I bite my lip, trying to figure out what to say. Should I tell him what I really want to tell him? Fuck it. I’ll just do it.

“Let me show you a better site for gay porn,” I finally say.

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Dad stumbles in. I lose focus on the game, then pause it.

He’s drunk. I can tell by the way he’s leaning on the wall next to the door.

“It’s 11:36 in the morning,” he says. “You’re still playing games?”

I put the controller down, but stay belly-down on the blanket to hide my erection. “I did all my chores.”

“Your chores? Fuck.” He takes a step forward, staggers, then plants himself in a firm fighter stance. “You ran that vacuum over the carpet so fast it just moved the fucking cat hair around.”

“There’s so much cat hair, Dad. I can’t help it that he sheds so much.”

Dad takes a step toward my bed. “If you did more than play those fucking games all day you’d take a look and see there’s more you can do to help here. Or maybe it’s time for a job.”

“Dad, I want to take the summer off. We agreed I could take a break before I decide what I’m doing. It’s a big decision.”

“It’s September! All you’re doing every time I come in here is sitting on that blanket, playing those fucking games. You’re not a kid anymore. Time to grow up.”

He takes another step toward me. Now he’s standing right at the edge of the bed. He’s wearing his ratty jeans and tight gray t-shirt. He always looks rough and dirty, and today there’s dirt and sweat in his forearm hairs from working in the garden.

Dad’s never hit me before, but when he gets upset like this I’ve always been uncomfortable. Not that he’d ever hit me. I just don’t like it when I know he’s not happy with me.

“I’m not ready to get a job yet,” I tell him. “I’m reflecting on my life. You know, like they say you should.” The urge to piss comes again, and I hump down by instinct.

Dad notices. I can tell by the way he frowns. “You’re too attached to that blanket,” he says. “Sitting here, lying in your bed, doing nothing, it’s like you’re still ten and life is all fun and games. Maybe if you get rid of that thing…”

The thought of getting rid of my blanket causes me panic. “I’ll do more chores. Even look for a job, if I have to.”

“No.” Dad comes forward some more, leaning his thighs against the edge of the bed now. “That blanket was cute when you were a kid. But now keeping it around is a reminder that you’ve failed to grow up.”

I’m thinking of something to say, but that all goes to shit when Dad’s hands go to the button on his jeans and then he zips down his fly.

“Dad,” I protest. Quick as that, he flips his underwear down and pops his cock out. It’s semi-stiff, a good five inch shaft of thick meat.

I’m still in shock trying to figure out what the fuck he’s doing when the yellow stream starts flowing from his dick. Yellow. He’s pissing! He’s got his cock in one hand and he’s aiming it right at my blanket.

“What the fuck!” I scramble over a bit, but not completely off my blanket. Piss splatters against it in front of me, forming a puddle at the edge.

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“Come on,” Alex says, “let’s get out of here.”

I catch a strong hint of nervousness in my friend’s voice. I look across the change room to where he’s doing his best not to stare, but still being obvious about it.

Richard saunters into the locker area from the showers, naked except for the goggles around his neck and his skimpy Speedo. Richard is the resident bully here at college — the jock who thinks he’s better than everyone for the simple fact that he’s a jock.

And what a jock he is. Though I detest the man, I take in his glorious body. His pecs are defined, his arms are corded with muscle, his abs are tight like a washboard, his legs are powerful, and that ass … that ass is divine. But I force myself to tear my eyes away. Richard is also a raging homophobe — and he knows that Alex and I are gay.

I quickly drop my pants, doing my best to change into my swim gear as fast as Alex is doing, hopefully fast enough that we can escape before Richard has a chance to utter a single epithet in our direction.

“Have you ever wanted to get back at him?” I murmur at Alex.

“What?” He sounds confused. “How do you mean?”

“I’ve been working on something. You know Alex’s dorm is next to mine, right? His bed is on the other side of the wall between us. Well, when he’s sleeping, I’ve been pressing my computer speakers against the wall—”

“Hey! Faggots!” Richard shouts at us and immediately starts walking our way. His face is contorted with both anger at who we are and glee at the torture he plans to put us through. “Who let you cocksuckers in here?”

“Let’s just go,” Alex says, grabbing his pants to pull them on over his swim shorts.

“No,” I say. I keep my eyes on Richard as he approaches, but in my peripheral vision, I can see Alex hesitate, unsure if he should keep getting changed or follow along with me. “You got a problem with us, Richard?”

Alex lets out a gasp, seemingly stunned that I would confront the bully like this.

“Fucking right I’ve got a problem, fag. I don’t want you pussies getting boned up for me. You should just go fuck each other and stay away from the pool. Seeing you here makes me want to fucking mess you up.” Richard’s words are laced with that same mix of anger and glee.

I don’t think he would actually hit us or harm us. I think he just likes intimidating others and we’re easy targets for his fragile ego.

But this is it — this is the moment I test if my weeks of careful planning and work have been successful. I take a deep breath and wait until Richard comes within spitting distance. God, he’s a gorgeous man. Seeing him this naked and this close is causing all the blood to drain from my head and gather in my dick. I need to keep my wits about me.

“You got something you wanna say to me, fag?” Richard says.

“Checkerboard.”

Richard looks at me like I’m speaking Russian. Other than that, nothing changes. Fuck, did it not work? Did my weeks of planning result in nothing? My heart races as panic sets in. Alex was right, we should have just gotten dressed and left.

“What?” Richard says. And in that moment, it’s like my heart stops. Maybe my plan didn’t fail. Maybe he honestly didn’t hear the trigger word.

“Checkerboard,” I say again, louder.

And a heartbeat later, it’s like a light flicks off in Richard’s head. The anger evaporates and so, too, does his intelligence. His eyes look vacant and all muscle tension seems to disappear from his body.

I poke him in the middle of the forehead, but nothing happens. He doesn’t react.

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I love coming, especially the moment before I know I’m gonna shoot it all over myself. I love the way it’s hot as it hits me and my cock tingles with every spurt. Stroking myself now and feeling the pleasure stir, I’m already excited about doing it again.

I pull my boxers down a little, enough to free my cock and wrap my hand around it. I click to another video of a guy banging a girl bent over on hands and knees. This is one of my favorites. I fast forward to 12:34, when he moans and then pulls out, beating off and blasting his load all over her pussy.

I’m kind of grossed out by pussy, but it doesn’t matter. When I see all that hot cum shooting from a stiff cock I get so excited about doing it myself. The guy in the video groans as his load finishes off and now I’ve got my boxers slipped right down to my thighs. I’m stroking my cock with a tight fist and it’s getting darker red.

I get into the rhythm of it, groaning as the pleasure builds, clicking to different feeds. My cock is turning beet red and I’m gonna blow my load, but I hold it back a bit, drawing out the sensations more and more.

The vacuum stops. The low audio sounds twice as loud and I notice how cold the air in the room is on my bare torso.

I’m so close. I’m not stopping. Fuck it, Dad never comes into my room anyway.

I click back on the video of the guy coming on the girl’s pussy, then jerk fast and hard. I fixate on his dick, the way it pumps all the juice out, the way the cum drips down her thighs, the way the guy’s butt is strong and full of hair. Oh God, yeah, I’m gonna shoot my load now. Fuck, it’s gonna shoot so hard and feel so good. Ohhh…

“What’s going on?” Dad’s voice, from behind me.

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