Editor's note: this fictional work contains scenes of completely fictional incest or fictional incest content.
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I had just finished my first year away at college and was on my way home for summer break. It was a 5 hour drive so I hadn't been home since the New Year. This was the longest time period I had ever been away from my parents. I was going to stay at school to take a summer course and work at my part time job in the local supermarket, but a few weeks ago my mom called and asked me to come home. Apparently her father, my grandfather, had to have emergency heart surgery and she needed to go help him and my grandmother for a few weeks until they got back on their feet. That seemed odd to me because my grandparents were always super healthy and active. When I saw them at Christmas he seemed so robust. Regardless, family was everything and she needed to be there for an undetermined period of time. She said she would feel so much better if I was able to come home this summer and help my dad take care of things. He worked long hours and would probably neglect himself, my dog, and the house. It was the right decision.
My dad would never allow me to come home early just to help him, so I didn't tell him. I'd just walk in the door and say, "Surprise! The prodigal son has returned!" Or something like that, but that kind of grand entrance wasn't likely to happen. I wouldn't be home until close to midnight so he'd probably be fast asleep. I would have called to let him know after it was too late to protest, but we didn't have cell phones back then. My arrival would indeed be a surprise, without the grand entrance.
We were a standard upper middle class family who lived in a nice house with a pool in suburbia. My dad worked to support us in every way possible and my mom ran a tight household. I studied, got good grades, played team sports year round, and was a boy scout. We each had our roles and responsibilities and there just wasn't any question about what to do or when. If there was, my mom was there to correct the situation. She knew what to do and had no qualms about making sure it was done.
Both my parents were first generation Italian. They both came to this country without their families in their early twenties. They actually met and fell in love during the whole immigration process. They shared old world values, and I think that was both a blessing and a curse for them. In some ways, I think they would have lived more fulfilled lives if they extended beyond the constraints of their religious upbringing. Dad made some decent money in construction by the time I was born, and he was able to help bring my mom's parents over to this country. His parents had no interest, which was fine because that meant we got to spend some summers in Italy visiting them.
For some undisclosed reason they waited until their mid thirties to have me. If I had to guess, I would say my mom was the one who had some difficulty with pregnancy. See, my dad was the embodiment of masculinity and virility. He was a towering 6'4" and weighed 260 pounds easy. He wasn't fat by any means, nor was he a cut body builder. He was just large, extra large, or even 2 or 3XL. His arms were thick and his hands dwarfed whatever they touched. His broad, hirsute, chest, back and thighs signified his strength and showed that he was no stranger to hard work.
He was a stone mason which meant that his moved heavy things like rocks, concrete, buckets of water, all day long. It also meant that he came home from work filthy. His work pants and tight wife beater t-shirt were always covered in dirt and sweat. My mom would never allow those clothes in our house. She had a laundry basket just for him that she kept in our mudroom. He was to come into house through the mudroom door and take off his work clothes before coming into her tidy house. As a result, it was not uncommon for me, or really anyone that happened to be in the house, neighbors, aunts, uncles, friends, to see my massive father parade around in his tighty-whities. He didn't care. A man his size exudes confidence with every step.
My mom was only about 5'4" and weighed about 120. Not thin, but very shapely with ample breasts. She always wore dark, tight fitting clothes and often had her thick dark hair slicked back in a pony tail. I suspect that she was the object of many bored men's fantasies during Sunday mass. While they were close and clearly loved each other, I don't think they had sex very often. Given their size difference I could imagine it was challenging for my mom, or really most women, to receive my dad. True to the rest of his features, my dad was enormous.
My parents rarely argued. If they did it was over something silly and my mom would lay down the law and that would be the end of it. There was never any drunken rages or any other horror stories that I would hear from my friends about their parents. The only time they every had words was behind their closed bedroom door. I could never make out actual words, but I could hear the tones of their voices which indicated to me something was wrong. My dad's tone was either pleading or frustrated, and my mom's tone was either resistant or apologetic. So the take home message was, my dad had needs that my mom couldn't satisfy and that was the only source of tension between them. Ever the family man, would never step out. He would just do his best with what he had. I guess that was good enough.
When I finally reached home it was close to midnight. I took my time on the drive. I didn't even have the radio on. I enjoyed the time to think while I was alone.
I was nearly 20 years old, in peak physical condition, decent looking, yet, I had only gotten laid once in my life and that didn't go well. Truth be told, I was questioning my sexuality. I focused all my energy into school, fitness, and wrestling. And wrestling was providing more of what I needed than just the sport. On the mat I was a solid athlete. I could take down some of the biggest opponents. THEY feared ME. Turns out though, wrestling was filling more of a gap in my life than I expected. I LIKED being physical with these men. Sometimes it was really difficult to hold back an erection, so I contained things by wearing a jock AND compression shorts under my singlet. Later, when I was alone, I would rub one out thinking about taking full advantage of my opponent.
