It was the first day of Winter Break, and four days until Christmas. With Christmas on a Monday this year, they'd had to make the last day of school Thursday to give people the Friday and weekend to commute to wherever they were going while still avoiding the worst of the Christmas traveling rush. At that, two-thirds of the students had been absent on Thursday, Coach Jack Bolton mused as he stood at the kitchen stove, scrambling eggs. Bacon was sizzling on a stovetop griddle nearby and toast was waiting to pop in the toaster just beyond. His wife Lucille was out of the state tending to her sick mother, and had been gone for three weeks and probably would be gone for another three. Meanwhile, a growing boy like his son Troy needed a solid breakfast, especially when he was the captain of the basketball team and as his son's father and his coach, it was up to him to make sure Troy got it.
It's one point of pride to be coach of a winning basketball team, but when your own son is the team captain and the star player, there is a pride that can burst a father's shirt buttons from intense swelling of the chest. Not that there was anything wrong with his chest expansion anyhow. Good to have the boy home alone for a few days, he saw precious little of his son during the school days, and even weekends were chewed up with out-of-town games and special practice and his own duties as coach.
But they had two weeks of unfettered freedom, broken only by Troy's plans to spend a couple days up at Sandia Peak Ski Resort with his friends a couple of days around New Year's. Well, he'd raised his son right and you have to start letting a kid have some freedom, at age fourteen, a well-chaperoned ski trip was about the right amount.
Troy came down to breakfast and Jack looked at his son and had to smile. The boy was a typical teenager, he hadn't combed his mop of hair and it was a limp bowl-shape over his heart-shaped face. He had his mother's brown hair (Jack's was black) but the face was his own, Jack mused, the same hazel eyes, same nose, same jowl-line. Troy was less handsome than beautiful, Jack thought, but with that face and athletic body, and his skill on the court, a fine career awaited his son, full of fame and fortune and when sports palled or his body gave out, he could pull a "David Beckham" and model underwear or cologne or something.
Jack snickered and, giving in to temptation, said to his son now standing in a fairly suggestive pose in the doorway from the hall. "What are you doing, modeling for Calvin Klein?"
Troy grinned at that. "Aw, Dad!" The boy was wearing only a fairly new pair of light gray briefs made, in fact, by Calvin Klein. The outline of the teenaged dong was clearly visible, the prick a gentle banana-curved arc above a pair of oblong orbs that were his son's testicles. A little too racy for a commercial shoot, but standing in your own kitchen, it stirred Jack's own testicles with the hint of sex in the ascendancy. That dong must now be as big as his father's! Jack told himself he had to find a chance to peek at his son in the shower one day, here or at school, and see for himself.
"Shouldn't you get dressed before you come tramping in here?" Jack asked. He, himself was wearing navy blue sweatshorts and a light gray t-shirt, white athletic socks and sneakers. "What if Mrs. Thompson had come over?"
Troy laughed at that. "She'd get an eyeful. The old lady keeps trying to get up close to me, pinch my face, put her arm around my shoulder, I think she's got the hots for me."
"If that were true, she'd have the hots for me, too." Jack laughed himself. "She's old and a widow and lonely and probably tells herself she's just being friendly. Be nice to her, but don't let her get too close, that's what I do."
"Set the table and put out the orange juice and milk." Jack changed the subject. "Then we'll eat and decide what you want to do today."
Troy shrugged as he took down the plates. "I figured I'd go hang out with Chad, Zeke and Jason."
"You do that every day." Jack protested. "I thought we should give ourselves a father-son day for a change."
"I see you here every day." Troy pointed out. "Then I go to school and I see you there. After school we have basketball practice and I see you there, too. Then I come home and see you."
"But it's all in bits and pieces, here and there." Jack went on. "Can't you spare your dad one day at least?"
Troy shrugged, obviously giving up. "Sure, Dad. I don't have to see my friends today."
"Great." Jack said. "So what do you want to do after breakfast?"
"Well, I was going to see Chad and...." Troy cut it off. "But if I'm staying home, I'd like to sleep in a bit more."
"How long?" Jack asked. It was now seven-fifteen.
"Maybe ten o'clock?"
"Make it nine." Jack compromised.
"Okay." Troy agreed. Their talk drifted over to the basketball games scheduled for after the winter break and between the two, they put away a half dozen eggs, a pound of bacon and eight pieces of toast. Boys Troy's age ate a lot, he'd matched his father (who believed in a hearty breakfast and a light lunch) bite for bite and then some. Long as the boy's body stayed slim and muscled, Jack never intended to say a word about it, a growing boy needs energy.
A large meal can make anyone lethargic, Jack followed Troy upstairs to bed and a short nap. Jack was used to such naps, he'd learned the art when Troy was a baby and waking him up every few hours around the clock. You never quite lose that talent, you sleep soundly but the slightest sound from your child of pain or distress and you bolt wide awake and know there's trouble.
Jack heard such a sound and sat upright in bed. He'd stripped to just his jockstrap for the nap but didn't think of that, he woke up, heard the same sound again (Troy was in trouble!) and jumped out of bed and went for his door.
Neither his door nor Troy's had been closed, that was why he'd heard the slight sound. Sounds, actually, for they kept on as Jack strode toward his son's doorway. He was almost at the door when he recognized that the sounds were not of distress. He only had to shift from intent stride to soft motions and he could peer right in at his son's door. The bed was on a line where he could see most of it from the small opening of the door.
Troy was seated on his bed, one leg up on the bed and the other on the floor, one hand on the mattress and the other at his cock. He was staring at a magazine he had propped up on the bed's footboard and pumping his prick. Troy's prick had developed most of its length, his father noted with some embarrassment and some tingling at his own groin at viewing it, his son had enough cock to wrap his entire hand around it and have a couple of inches above it for his shaft and then the flare of the glans all wrapped up in its foreskin, Troy was staring at the magazine and pumping away as he murmured, "Ooh, so big, so nice and big, ooh, I want to lick it, I want to lick it and then suck on it and then lick it some more, ooh, so big, I want it and.... Jesus! Dad!"
His son had seen him. Troy moved convulsively, the hand on his prick now tried vainly to cover it and the one on the mattress reached to grab the magazine, the growing body did well on the basketball court but in making an unfamiliar motion such as this...the boy missed, instead of grasping the magazine, he sent it flying right at his father's feet near the door.
Jack looked away as he started to speak, "It's all right, son, it's a normal...thing...you are....." He trailed off as he saw the contents of the magazine. It had flown in a way that the pages had not turned on it, he was looking up close at the very page his son had been jerking off to.
A man. A naked man. A naked man with a erect cock held in one hand and splayed out much as Troy had been while he masturbated, and the words on the dead space on one corner said in lurid yellow letters, "Do you, want to, LICK, THIS?" The words "lick this" were in all capital letters and occupied each an entire line in the boxed sentence of four lines.
"Dad, oh, God, Dad!" Troy moaned. "Dad, you should have knocked! Jesus!"
"It's all right, son." Jack said quickly. "Playing with yourself is normal, as is wanting to look at naked pictures while you do it. You're fourteen and you can't be hard on yourself for your normal hormonal urges." He picked up the magazine and closed it. He'd hoped that would defuse the situation and it would have, except for a small but important fact. The picture on the front of the magazine (it was called "Man Dishes" for Christ's sake!), was of the man featured in the picture Jack had viewed. But the picture... He didn't mean to say what he was thinking, but he did, "Dear Lord, this man looks like me!" The resemblance was more than passing, it was uncanny. The man in the magazine was practically his long-lost twin. A doppelganger!
Jack looked up at his son, his mind reeling. "Where...where did you get this magazine, Son?"
Troy had fumbled the covers of his bed over himself and was now lying awkwardly, miserably, in it. "Jason gave it to me."
"Jason?"
"He found it at a magazine stand when visiting family in Amarillo." Troy went on. "He saw the magazine and brought it to the locker room, showing everyone and saying that he'd found a picture of you posing naked. I made him give it to me and told him it wasn't you in the magazine." Troy hesitated and then went on, as if he had to, "Dad? The picture isn't of you, is it?"
Jack smiled. "No, son. It's not me."
"But it looks like you."
"Yes, it does. It looks a lot like me. But it's not me."
Troy wasn't convinced. "Dad, I...is there any way you can prove that to me and the guys? I mean, everyone is sure it is you. I brought it home to show you and, well...."
"Son, I'm positive it isn't me. And I can prove it."
"You can? How?"
"The man in the picture has a circumcised penis. Mine isn't." Jack explained.
"Can...can I see it?" Troy asked. "I...I need to be sure. So I can tell the guys."
"My word isn't enough for you, Son?"
"Well, Dad." Troy said. "I mean, if you had posed for those pictures, you wouldn't want to admit it. And I've never seen your.... You know."
Jack sighed. "If this will kill that rumor before it goes any further, fine." His hands went to his waist and he pulled down his jockstrap, let it fall to his ankles. He'd forgotten in all that happened that this was all he was wearing. Well, it was one article of clothing his son didn't have on!
His penis was somewhat swollen but still clinging to his ballsac from body sweat and the perversity of the wrinkled human skin there. He caught it and lifted it away and it drooped, curving like a banana on the just-harvested branch, his foreskin a good half-inch of empty velvet-like dark-toned skin. "There, you see."
"Uh...yes."
"What's wrong?"
"Well, Dad, the guy in the picture has one like that when he's soft." Troy said.
Jack opened the magazine and looked at the earlier pictures of the man. Hell, the man did, a perfect match still! A teacher lived his career by dealing with rumors quickly and thoroughly. Jack walked over to his son's bed and plopped the magazine on the bed next to his son, and gave his cock a few jerks until it stood upright, erect and full...and still coated on the head by his foreskin with only a small dimple at the tip showing where the glans would poke through. "There! You see, son?" he demanded, almost angry. "I'm not the man in this picture."
Troy was looking at his father's cock and the young lips were licked by a soft, pink tongue. "Yeah, Dad. You're not the man in the picture." The hand covering his son's cock moved as the organ underneath it swelled back to turgid urgency, a bit of the tip peered out from the edge of the hand between the index finger and the thumb.
Jack could feel the boy's eyes as if they were fingers stroking his father's prick, and it jerked and pulsed in response. He remembered now what his son had been doing when he'd first seen Troy. "You see my dick now, Son." he said softly, "So, do you want to lick it?" He lifted up the dong toward his son's face, which was leaning forward, as if under its own power independent of his son's will. "Do you want to lick this?" he said again.
"Uh-huh."
"So go ahead, Son. Lick your daddy's cock." Jack said. Troy's eyes lifted and stared into his own. He reached up with one hand and stroked his chest, his fingers playing with one nipple; Troy's eyes followed those fingers as if hypnotized. "You can lick me anywhere you want. I don't mind." The fingertips caught and tweaked his own nipple, which converted from a loose fold of brown flesh into a taut oval with the tip a button-like shape in the center. "I don't mind at all."
"Yeah? Cool!" Troy reached up for his father and as he did, Jack caught his son in his own arms and they fell back onto the bed together, their lips reaching for each other hungrily, to kiss not as father and son, but as two men, one older and one barely into manhood, true, but both men together, kissing with the urgency and need that springs from a man's loins and flows through his blood like liquid fire, as it has for endless measureless millennia.
Their bare bodies writhed, meshed, matched up, face to face, lips to lips, chest to chest, groin to groin, a pair of hard throbbing puds that seethed against each other, and so alike that it was not possible to tell in the meshing of their bodies which was father's and which was son's. Jack felt the turgid rod of his son and moaned, he rolled them so that he was uppermost and could lie over his son, he groaned and began to thrust at his young, hormone-raging son with strength and vigor. Troy grunted as his father's hardness rolled over his adolescent dong and he began to thrust back at his father with equal energy. Jack's hairy chest was stroking his son's velvet-like skin and Troy groaned at the sensations of feather-like masculinity playing with his nipples.
Jack breathed in and out at Troy's mouth, Troy sucked in his breaths and exhaled his own into his father's as they kissed, their tongues dancing around each other in a timeless minuet, tasting, savoring, loving...needing. Jack pulled his tongue out and began to nibble at Troy's lips, not hard, just a slight pulling, enough to evoke a grunt and giggle from his young lover. Jack raised up to pant in his exertions, and as he did, his tongue still sticking out, a bead of saliva grew on its tip and turned into an oval, a teardrop pearl of man's mouth, and the teardrop reached out and down, a thick gray knotted rope of saliva connecting it still to Jack's mouth as it entered Troy's lips, to perch and cut the rope to rest on Troy's teeth before his tongue snaked over like a thick pink rag to wipe it off and ferry it into the teen's warm mouth. Jack grinned down at Troy as his son did that, and Troy smiled back, then his young eyes closed and he crooned a single, low, mellow note of desire as his father's shaft continued to roll and slide over his young, throbbing prick.
"Oh, God, Dad!" Troy gasped. "This is so hot, so hot!"
"Yeah, it is, Son." Jack grunted, I want, to feel, your body, as it, comes, shoot it, for me, Son, I want, to feel, you come! Uh, uh, uh, HUHH!"
Troy moaned as his teenaged hormonal mania declared itself, he reached climax while Jack was still well back at the first turn, he groaned and clung to Jack like he was falling into an abyss, his young face crunched itself together as he reached his climax. "Oh, God, Dad, uh, yeah, yeah, UH, UH-HUH-UH-HUHHHHH!"
"Do it, Son, do it!"
"AGGGH-HAHHH, HAH, GAH-HNNNNNNNN!" Hot geysers of adolescent, raging spunk sprayed Jack's hairy lower stomach, saturated his fatherly pubic patch with thick clumps of white seething seed, which was smeared as Jack continued to grunt and rub and roll his prong over his son's erupting volcano of young lust. Jack felt the hot young body in his arms, saw his son's face a contortion of ejaculation, and fatherly love transmuted into male lust, and his own ecstasy captured his brain in a vise and squeezed him hard!
"Oh, Son, oh, oh, OH-OH-OH, AHHHHH, GUHH-UHHHHH!" Jack jetted his jizz onto Troy's tawny tummy, hot, white streamers of spooge slashed at the boy's belly, and Jack looked down at glazed eyes at Troy who was watching all of the emotions playing over his father's face with fascinated intensity.
"Oh God, Dad, oh, God!" Troy breathed as his father finished, breaths heaving atop him. "That was so hot!"
"Yeah, Son, yeah." Jack rolled onto the bed and placed one hand over his forehead, resting on its fingertips as an idiotic grin of satiation painted itself on his features.
"That was a lot of fun."
"It sure was." Jack agreed.
"So, what would you like to do next?"
"Next?" Jack was caught off-guard. "I don't know. What would you like to do next?"
"Well..."
"What?
"...if it won't make you mad..."
"Go ahead, Son. What would you like to do next?"
"I'd...like to go hang out with Chad, Zeke and Jason." Troy admitted.
Jack blinked, then barked out a laugh. "All right. But be home by sundown, all right?"
"You bet!"
A bundle of endless energy, his son bounced out of bed and was soon out the door. Alone, naked and drained, Jack lay and thought about what he could do the rest of the day. But sleep stole over him again before he could complete that thought.