In Part 1, we see 18-year-olds Marty & Jake help each other out after high school track practice. What they don't know, is that John, Jake's father, has gotten off of work early.
Part 2 - Like Son, Like Father
John Vilsack left work early, entrusting his employees to close shop.
John was a mild-mannered man who had grown up on a nearby farm, long since sold upon the passing of his parents. He owned a lucrative farming equipment repair shop that attracted customers hundreds of miles away.
He bore a mustache and maintained his sinewy stature even at age 46, a physical trait his only son inherited. He was tall and broad-shouldered. The town knew him to wear only button-ups and tight-fitting jeans, a wardrobe staple for a man who grew up riding horses.
John hadn’t thought much about his bulge, knowing it existed and was quite visible—balls and cock tucked to one side. He didn’t know how much a blatant, public show of crotch embarrassed his son. But it didn’t matter.
Always happy, despite his wife leaving when Jake was just 3, John hummed along to the radio in his pick-up, excited to have dinner at a decent time. More time to spend with his son, to boot.
He unlocked the front door and entered the foyer. On the ground was a trail of two pairs of jeans and two shirts. Unable to see the couch from the entry, he heard the moaning sounds. John thought his son was playing a video game. Likely with Marty, a fixture of their household for years. Always welcome.
As John bent over to pick up the jeans on the foyer floor, the moaning from the TV—the profile of which he could see but whose screen wasn’t yet in view—became more evident. “Eat my pussy,” a woman’s voice screamed as John made his way into the living room before predicting the scene.
On the couch sat his 18-year-old son, Jake. A skinny, pasty white boy whose slender track-star body bore lean muscles. In his hand was his penis, hard as a rock and just as thick.
It’s one thing to be a father and catch your son masturbating. It’s another to see him sitting next to his lifelong friend. Marty was caramel-skinned, the son of immigrants. His body otherwise mirrored that of his blond-haired, blue-eyed friend. John noticed the size difference before words stumbled out of his mouth.
“Hey guys,” John stammered. His cock grew, straining against his denim. He placed the boys' clothes over his crotch.
The boys, eyes transfixed on three women going at it, jumped at the sound and sight of Jake’s father.
Jake cursed, jumping up, his cock swinging in front of him. He panicked, frantically searching for something to cover himself. The blanket on the back of the couch would do.
Jake didn’t unfold the blanket. He planted himself on the couch with the folded fabric covering his shrinking cock.
Marty half-assedly tugged on the blanket to get his friend to share. Marty’s hard-on wasn’t going away. It pointed up to the ceiling. Damnit.
“Dad, what the fuck,” Jake yelled while Marty quietly greeted, “Hi, Mr. Vilsack.”
John stared, frozen in curiosity and perhaps out of fear of making his bulge prominent.
Is this the beginning?
. He was unsure if he should normalize, de-escalate, or walk out of the room. Should he reprimand them? That didn’t seem right. He enjoyed similar situations himself in community college. That would be hypocritical.
“Hey Martin,” John said as if his son’s friend wasn’t 10 feet from him with an erection barely hidden by hands.
But John’s response was muffled by the loud TV: “I’m cumming, I’m cumming,” a woman yelled.
Wide-eyed, Jake quickly turned off the tv entirely. Silence.
“Look,” John began cautiously. He set the pants on the floor and walked to the couch. Jake tensed, and Marty was a deer in headlights—naked and erect, Mr. Vilsack walking towards him. Marty thought of nuns, to no avail.
John sat to Marty’s left, as far from the guys as possible. “This,” John gestured with a free hand, “is normal.”
“Oh my god, dad,” Jake said, face flush. “This,” he mimicked the gesture in return, “is not fucking normal.”
“Hey, hey, hey,” John said calmly. “I’m just trying to tell you that I’m not judging you. I don’t want anyone here to be ashamed of being nude or—“
Jake groaned so loudly Marty thought he heard the windows shake.
“Or!” John yelled, regaining control of the floor. “Pleasing yourself with another guy. It’s fucking normal. You guys are normal. And there’s nothing wrong with,” John paused to choose the right words, “what,” he stumbled. “You’re doing.” Very articulate, John.
“We were just watching some porn,” Marty said awkwardly, looking John in the eyes.
“Yes, I saw that.”
“Lesbian porn.”
“Oh, that’s one of the best kinds,” John said with trepidation. Where was the line, and was it crossed? John recalled the image of Jake’s penis, ampler than his, though not by much, and he was proud. His son was going to do just fine in the Girls Department. Grandkids guaranteed.
Jake sat in silence and confusion. His heart beat out of his chest. Was it embarrassment? Yes, absolutely. But part of him felt relief that his father had seen him naked and erect, though he was unsure why. His and Marty's secret was out--that didn't feel good. But to have someone's eyes on him in such a vulnerable moment was a rush, even if it was his father's.
Marty, not one to get embarrassed—the same man who gargled cum and had no regrets—relaxed his posture. Mr. Vilsack had already seen everything. There was no point in pretending that this was a secret anymore. However, Marty was grateful he hadn’t walked in on the scene he and Jake shared earlier.
“Porn is one of life’s great joys,” John said sarcastically. His legs tingled with indecision. Move along? Stay here? Give them their clothes?
