On the Beach Ch. 06

He said bye and hung up.

"We?" I asked.

"Don't you think you should tell mom you're bisexual?"

"I've always thought I should tell her but why now?"

"Because you can tell her that you told me, to try to help me. It gives you a reason."

"That all you want me to tell her?"

"I think so. For now, anyway." Bill looked at me. "Are we going to do anything like that again?"

His question caught me by surprise. I had grown hopeful he wouldn't spit in my face and walk away. I took that as the best I could hope for. Was that all I hoped for? I searched my feelings. My mind wouldn't work. It couldn't process the information. I couldn't fit the data into an algorithm and get an answer. The only part of me that had any type of answer was my cock. I felt it twitching in my shorts.

I study Bill's face. Nothing. Damn, he and Muriel would be fucking terrors at a poker table.

"I think doing anything like that again might be a bad idea, son. I'm afraid it would interfere with you finding your own way. You need to get out there, put yourself out there, date, find someone you can enjoy spending time, maybe your life with. That's not me." I looked at him carefully. "And it's not Jim either. That's a pity. He's a good man and he became a good man without much in the way of help. My only fear is this will come between you and Jill, you and Jim, or worse, Jill and Jim. I love all three of you, Jim included. This thing," I gestured with one hand at the two of us, "only complicates everything. What do you think?" I managed a smile. "Besides, I don't want to be your rebound fuck."

"We didn't fuck. You sucked my dick. Very adequately for someone who hasn't done it for twenty years, I might add."

I was too startled by his bluntness to hide it. Bill chuckled at my reaction.

"Since you already seemed to be shocked, I got no reason to be coy." He stared at me. "I want you to fuck me. I've never done that, except with a toy cock. I want you to fuck me. Then, we can call it quits."

I shook my head, opened and closed my mouth. Suddenly, his barefoot was between my legs. He smirked.

"Your cock is speaking very loudly, pop." He stood up. "Come on."

I sat, unmoving. This was wrong, bad wrong, awful wrong. My family would hate me. I would hate me. Bill should hate me. It was my fault. I stood up to walk to my car, to get away.

But instead, I followed my son into the tall grass behind the dunes.

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I lost him for a minute. He had gotten ahead of me. I followed him to convince him that this was a very bad idea. The worst idea. No sane person would believe this was okay. Fifty yards in, I noticed some of the grass had been disturbed. I duck off the path, such as it was, that we'd been following.

Bill had taken off his shirt and shorts. He'd spread them on the sand. On his knees he was invisible from even a few feet away. His chest was low to the ground. He had pushed his cock down between his legs and was pulling at it. His ass was in the air.

The speech I had prepared fled my mind.

I knelt on the shorts spread in the sand. I grabbed my son's ass in both hands and spread his cheeks. I could detect no difference in his body's musk from earlier. He smelled strong, of the earth, rich. My total experience with men was three blow jobs. But I had watched. Without hesitation, I pushed my face into his ass crack.

I licked his crack. The taste was sharp, bitter and it fueled my lust. I relished the way his asshole twitched at the touch of my tongue. I probed. The taste was sharper, more intense and even more of an aphrodisiac. I worked his ass with my tongue until he was relaxed.

I straightened up and pulled my shorts down. I was grateful my cock was only average sized. If he'd been fucking himself with dildos anything close to the size of his mother enjoyed, my cock would not be a problem. I spit in my hand and rubbed spit and precum over my cock. I leaned over and spit in the crack of his ass. I held my cock in my right hand and rubbed the head in the spit and over the puckered muscular hole.

I guided my rigid cock to the center of the pucker and began to push. My son pushed back against me. There was a moment of resistance and then his sphincter relaxed and let me inside his body. I let more spit fall from my mouth to the shaft of my cock and his ass crack. I continued to push and slowly buried my cock in his guts.

I rested there, fully inside him, doing a little bumping motion with my hips, before pulling out.

"Okay?" I whispered.

"Fuck yeah," was his guttural reply. "Now, fuck me. I've given you my ass cherry. Make it worth my while."

At first I worried the sounds of our bodies would give us away but as I began to fuck my son in earnest, my inhibition fell away. I got off on the slap of my thighs against his ass. I got off on the grunts my cock forced from his lips. I got off on the way he threw his head back and looked at me over his shoulder, his eyes on fire.

I even got off on the guy who walked into my field of vision, a young guy, Bill's age, who had the top of his swimming trunks pulled down and was jerking off a cock even bigger than Jim's. Bill raised up on outstretched arms, turned his head and opened his mouth.

Our new companion knelt and began to fuck my son in the mouth. Bill couldn't take very much of the guy's cock. It was too big. The sight pushed me over the edge. Paradoxically, my thrusts slowed, became more deliberate, until I felt my balls empty themselves in my son's bowels.

When I pulled out, a trail of white leaked and began to run down the ridge between his asshole and ball sack. I moved to kneel beside him.

We, my son and I, shared the stranger's cock. Both of us straining to outdo the other when it came to taking the stranger's cock as deep as possible into our throats. I think I won that competition but the stranger came in Bill's mouth. Bill pulled back, giving me the joy of watching jet after jet of brilliant white jizz arch from the head of the stranger's cock to cover his cheeks, tongue, and chin.

When he was done, the stranger left, never saying a word.

I cleaned my son's face with my tongue. We stopped in the bathroom to wash away as much of the evidence of our crime as could be done in a sink. It was a crime, there was no way for me to think of it otherwise. Yet, I could find no guilt. We washed in the cold water of the cold, concrete bathroom and went home.

Bill followed me in his car. His mother, thankfully, was three sheets to the wind. Muriel and Jill gave us thoughtful looks but said little. Jim looked uncomfortable until Bill punched him in the arm and apologized. They hugged, both trying to hide wet eyes.

During a quiet moment in the kitchen, I whispered in my son's ear.

"This is not quite complete. There is one more little thing."

I said no more and stepped out of the way so an impatient Jill could get to the refrigerator.