I could have sworn I'd worn my grey briefs this week. But I couldn't find them on the bedroom floor. I even checked the wash basket when I was stuffing the machine, but they weren't there either. I wouldn't have given it a second thought, but I decided it was probably time I put Dylan's bedsheets through the wash like a responsible Dad - and there they were! My dirty briefs, in his bed.
I didn't know what to do. I even felt nervous he might somehow be home and walk in on me there and then. But he was at college. I thought the best thing was just to leave it, not ruffle any feathers. I tried to act normal when he did get back later that day. Tried not to stare at him. He seemed the same as ever, regular kid, not much interested in anything, least of all his Dad.
That night I couldn't stop thinking about it. What was he doing with my underwear? Smelling it? Wearing it? Jerking off with it. I never thought abut Dylan like this before, but now I couldn't get the picture out of my mind. Biting his lip as his teenage boner squirts into my pants. I didn't allow myself to jerk off about it. Seemed dead wrong. I tried to ignore it.
Next time I loaded the washing machine my briefs reappeared. Put back in the wash basket on the sly. I supposed Dylan was hoping I wouldn't notice. He was playing video games in the front room. I tried to keep my mind off the sexy thoughts I'd had about him the other night, but now I found myself handling Dylan's Calvin's, those daydreams came rushing back in. He was always walking about downstairs in these, with his tight little bulges on show. Had he been teasing me all this time?
I threw a quick glance over my shoulder before inspecting the crotch of his pants for pee spots. There it was, an innocent yellow daub in the white fabric. Against all better judgment I took a deep sniff. My boy smelled good, and I got a punch of Fatherly pride before the shame overwhelmed me again. I did my best to hide my boner as I shuffled around in the kitchen that morning.
This week I kept deliberate count on my underwear. Sure enough another pair went missing. My Lonsdale briefs. How long had this been going on? I searched Dylan's bedsheets again but they weren't there this time. I felt overcome with lusty rage, furious that Dylan had made me think about him like this. Such wicked desires had never crossed my mind before now. No Father should be jerking off about his own son, but I was doing it each morning and every night. Imagining his His slender, hairless, 18 year-old body; pulling him closer; gorging on his kiss.
I told myself to cool it, and let this whole thing blow over, but when Dylan sidled into the kitchen that night I got angry all over again. Why did he button his polo shirt up like that? And that pink baseball cap! Was Dylan gay? Why did he never have a girlfriend? I was banging girls left and right at his age, couldn't keep me off them.
"Are you a gay boy?" I blurted heatedly, surprising myself with the passion in my voice.
Startled he stammered some half-arsed rebuttal, but his abashment only stoked my anger and I stepped up with another accusation.
