This post contains the full, complete, unabridged text of this story. If you get this part and the last thing at the bottom is "The End" then you don't need any other parts to have the whole thing.

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(1) This story may not be substantially altered in any way. Specifically, this means that you have my permission to fix any spelling errors you may find but you can't re-write it as a Father/Daughter story, no matter how much you may consider that an improvement.

(2) I would prefer that no fee be charged to the recipient (reader) of this story but if the method of distribution requires you to charge something for the costs involved (as in printing the deluxe, hardback edition of the collected works of "Erotic Fiction from the Internet") then you have my permission to include this work and do as you must.

Since the author wishes to remain anonymous I won't be suing you in any case.

This story is a work of erotic fiction intended for adult readers only. It contains explicit descriptions of sexual activity between an adult father and his consenting teenage son. There is a little bit of corporal punishment (spanking) involved, but mostly it is a story of love and trust.

If you find any of this type of material offensive in any way you are urged to stop reading now and go no further with this story. It's not for you, don't waste your time. If you are under the age of majority (i.e. a minor, not an adult) it is forbidden for you to read this story anyway. It's not for you. Do not read it.

Those of you who are left and continue -- enjoy.

This is pure fiction.
No actual fathers or sons were harmed in the making of this tale.

"What I'm doing breaks every rule. It's unethical and actually, it's illegal."

"So, why are you doing it?"

"Because," Dr. Ackerman stroked his beard and looked at me with fervent eyes, "I believe it's in the best interest of my patient. And NOTHING is more important than that."

It was a strange situation. Dr. Ackerman had been my son's psychiatrist for almost a year now and had come highly recommended in his field. Taking my son, Mark, to see him had been my wife's idea. Ex-wife, I should say. After our divorce she'd been worried sick that the situation would screw-up the boy for life if he didn't get help. I wasn't as panicked as she was but I had to admit I was concerned. Especially since we hadn't been perfectly honest with him about the reason for our divorce.

That had been my wife's idea too, not telling him the whole truth. Even though I knew it would be the hardest thing I'd ever done in my life, I'd mustered my courage, rehearsed my speech in front of a mirror and was ready to tell him. But she wouldn't let me.

The boy respected me, she insisted, he idolized me. I was his father and he looked up to me as a man to emulate, a role model. How could I destroy him, his trust and all that he believed me to be by telling him the horrible truth, that after twelve years of marriage, his father was gay?

Mark was everything to me. I'd only gotten married in the first place because after a one time sexual episode with my wife, she had gotten pregnant with our son. Marriage had seemed the proper, manly thing to do, but we had built on a weak foundation and our marriage was crumbling from the beginning. I was always honest with her, I never cheated, but our son was the only reason I remained in our loveless union.

It was my wife who cheated, and I can't say I blame her. Our sex life had become almost non-existent. The more I got to know her, the less I actually wanted to have sex with her. It was only natural she eventually sought satisfaction elsewhere. Fortunately I was the one who came home early that day, and not our son, so I got the shock of finding her in bed with my dear friend and neighbor, Jim Hardy.

I stood there for a moment, stunned. She thought I was appalled at having caught them. I wasn't. Oh sure, I was startled, but that wasn't why I stood there, speechless, my jaw hanging open. The truth was I had long harbored fantasies about my neighbor, but knew it was impossible. Now I couldn't take my eyes off of the naked man in front of me.

I completely understood why my wife had wanted him, the desire that had sent her into his arms. Near the end we almost never had sex in our marriage, even though I knew she wanted to. I just couldn't get in the mood, and yet, I was secretly masturbating more than ever. My fantasies, however, never concerned women, only men. Young men, mostly, teenage boys occasionally. Sometimes I even imagined... Well, I really shouldn't say.

Anyway, I knew the problem with our marriage wasn't her - it was me, and I finally had to accept a truth about myself that I had long suspected, but always denied.

Naturally we never told Mark the truth about what happened. Perhaps we should have, but I think my wife couldn't face admitting to her own part and I was easily coerced into her ritual of denial. After all, what father really wants to tell his son he's queer?

Instead we told him how "People just grow apart." Never the truth: that the strong, masculine figure he looked up to and called Dad wasn't man enough to keep his woman satisfied. Never, ever, the whole truth - that his father didn't lust after girls at all. Daddy liked boys.

It really came as no surprise that three years later Mark's psychiatrist, the man we'd brought in to help him deal with his parent's divorce, was telling me my son had problems. I knew he would. That's why we'd hired him. What I didn't know was why he was talking to me about it instead of respecting Mark's privacy.

Mark and I only spend two weekends a month together, and in the years since the divorce I had been extremely careful not to reveal even the slightest clue that Dad was anything other than the "All American Male." I'd gone to great lengths to keep up the charade.

I never had any lovers who lived with me, never let him meet any of my male friends, lest he suspect something. The truth is, I led a very minimal sex life and lovers were few and far between, so that part was easy. The only friend of mine he did meet, on several occasions, was my best friend, Suzanne, a woman I knew through work. I'm an architect, and Suzanne would come by on occasion to talk and have drinks. Our relationship was totally platonic and I never said anything to my son to imply we were lovers, but I figured seeing Dad with a woman (and never men) would help put the idea in his head that Dad was still sleeping with girls without having to actually lie about it.

Then there was the magazine ruse. Conveniently "hidden" around my house were copies of "Playboy" and some of the other men's girlie magazines. I never much looked at them myself, except for the occasional "Playboy" interview (yes, I really do read "Playboy" just for the interviews!) but I always hid them poorly, knowing he'd come across them. Again, I never lied, but I did my best to maintain an appropriate image for a young teenager to have of his father.

I worried that he never wanted to talk to me about sex. At his age (15 now) we felt long over due for the inevitable father-son talk about men and woman. But he never asked me any of the things a son might be expected to ask a father. I even looked for opportunities, ice breakers if you will, to prompt him in that direction.

One time I actually walked in and caught him looking through one of the magazines I'd left poorly hidden about my place. His tight jeans revealed a burgeoning erection which I saw him vigorously stroking through the denim as I came in the door. I scared him so much he practically hit the ceiling. I apologized for startling him and told him not to be nervous, it was perfectly natural for a boy his age to want to look at a beautiful woman's body and if there was ever anything he wanted to know he should feel free to ask me. But he never did. Too bashful, I assumed.

Now, as I found myself seated behind a one way glass mirror looking into my son's Doctor's office, I worried there might be more to his silence then I'd believed. Was he beginning to suspect the truth about his Dad? Had someone inadvertently let the secret out?

It seemed unlikely. My wife had been more adamant than me on keeping the matter hidden, and although Dr. Ackerman knew of my sexuality, my wife had sworn him to secrecy. Still, I couldn't help but wonder about the way Mark had been acting toward me since the divorce.

I knew Mark had been late hitting puberty, but since the divorce he'd become extremely private about his body, at least around me. The last time he ever let me see him naked I'd noticed he was just beginning to show the faintest hint of peach fuzz in his pubic area. That was well over two years ago. Since then he'd always gone to great lengths to prevent my eyes from ever catching a glimpse of him nude.

I earn an excellent living as an architect and own a pretty nice house. I've got a pool, steam room/sauna and Jacuzzi on the premises. Every weekend Mark comes over we use the facilities together, especially the pool, but although I still freely undress in front of him when it's natural to do so, he never allows me to see him uncovered.

Even though the pool, Jacuzzi and sauna are fully enclosed we both keep our swim trunks on all the time, never "skinny dipping." I figured that was for the best. Imagine how his mother would react if he went home and told her he'd been playing naked with his (queer) Dad?

Mark is such a handsome boy. I found I secretly longed more and more to see his fully nude form. He was maturing and I was both curious and aroused to know how that small boyish penis of his was changing into the healthy cock of manhood. As his childhood body ripened into a young adult I found myself looking at him in different ways. Ways, I feared, he could sense. I know most boys his age are pretty nervous about their bodies, but his apprehension about me seeing him nude was getting a bit extreme. After all, it wasn't like I was some strange lecher or even his mother, I was his Father.

First he'd just wrap a towel around his waist then change in and out of his suit underneath. Occasionally I'd try to steal a quick glance over at him, but he always caught me in the act, as if he'd been vigilantly watching, suspecting I was going to try and get a look at him. Now he always locks himself in the bathroom to change.

At first I thought he was just shy, but soon I became worried that he'd somehow figured out my secret, that he knew I was gay and he didn't want a "queer" to see him naked, even if it was his own Father.

Another area where our relationship had changed was in matters of discipline. When he was young I'd always been very strict with him. Sometimes I worried I was a little too hard. In an era when most parents refused to spank their child I had no hesitation in turning him over my knee and laying an educational slap or two of my hand against his bare bottom when he'd done something to deserve it. But since the divorce that had changed. I'd never do that now. For one thing he really was a very well behaved boy, but more importantly I felt we should spend what little time we had together being "friends," acting like "buddies." I wanted his visits to be a sort of fun, quality time he would always look forward to, not marred with painful experiences like spankings. In addition, the spanking process had gotten a little awkward for me near the end and finally, the guilt of my secret effectively neutered me as a disciplinarian.

The way he shied away from me more and more, my fear that he suspected I was gay, convinced me of one thing for certain: I knew now that I could never tell him the truth. His love and trust meant the world to me and the thought of losing him because he found out I was gay...? I knew I could never live with that. My apprehension of being discovered made me act ever more "macho" around him, ever more determined to keep up the strong, heterosexual image, lest he suspect the truth. I never kissed him or hugged him, as I did when he was a boy. Now is was a firm handshake and a manly slap on the back. No more wrestling in our underwear, as we'd innocently done in earlier days. I kept our physical contact to a minimum, lest I do something that might betray myself or raise suspicion.

As I sat concealed behind one way glass I watched as Mark was escorted into Doctor Ackerman's office. I felt like a predator hiding there, violating my son's sacred trust with his psychiatrist. He was about to begin his "private" session, totally unaware that his Father was hidden where every word he said could be heard, his every action seen. I was worried what other indiscretions this doctor may have committed "for the good of his patient." But for now I had to trust him. I had to know what problems my son had that his doctor felt so strongly about, and I also had to know what he may have figured out about his old-man.

"I'd like to pick up where we left off last week, Mark. There had been something on your mind and you'd been debating whether you were going to tell me or not. You said you wanted another week to think about it. Have you decided?"

Mark nodded reluctantly. At fifteen he was a handsome boy, strong and manly looking. He was dressed in a school football jersey and wore a pair of athletic shorts. His short brown hair was neatly combed.

"I gotta tell somebody. I can't keep it to myself forever or I'm gonna explode."

"Go on," Dr. Ackerman encouraged him. "We have no secrets here."

Hidden behind the one way glass I felt my pulse quicken. I was a voyeur at my son's private session. If I'd had an ounce of decency in me I should get up and walk out right now. But my baser instincts prevailed, my desire to know overcoming my flimsy virtue. I found myself on the edge of my small chair, waiting anxiously for what was to come, fearing what he might know.

"It's about my Dad," Mark continued.

My skin chilled. 'He knows,' I thought to myself madly, 'He knows.'

"What about your father?" Dr. Ackerman continued.

"I've got a lot on my mind these days. I think about sex a lot. Heck, sometimes it's the only thing I EVER think about."

"That's pretty normal for a kid your age."

Mark nodded, his face hung low as if he didn't want to make eye contact with his Doctor. "I know. But still... Sometimes, I really wish I could talk to someone about some of the things I'm going through, some of the things I'm feeling. But it's not easy to talk about."

"That's what I'm here for. So you have someone to talk to, to help."

Mark kind of moved nervously. "I know that, but still, you know. A kid shouldn't have to go to a shrink just to talk about... You know. These kinds of things."

"What kinds of things, Mark?"

Mark swallowed hard before speaking. "You know, thoughts, feelings... Sex things," he stammered, struggling to get the words out. I noticed he had to pause for a moment before continuing. "The one person I wish I could talk to about all this is my Dad. I know he'd like me to, I can tell. But I can't talk to him about this."

"Why can't you?"

Sitting behind the glass I wondered if the pounding of my heart would be loud enough for Mark to hear in the next room. My pulse was racing. I had to know.

"Because I can't talk to him."

"Why can't you talk to him."

"Because, I know the way he is. I know all about him, "

I felt a large lump forming in my throat, pain as I choked back tears. This is why the Doctor had brought me here, so I could hear the truth for myself. My son knew I was gay and he feared me for it.

"What do you mean, you know about the way he is?"

"I mean about, you know, his sexual preference. Trust me. You don't know my Dad, you don't know what he's like." Mark continued, having trouble speaking. "He tries to hide it, but it's pretty obvious. I've got questions about my body, the changes I'm going through. Feelings, a whole lot of sex questions that I need to talk about with someone who'll understand. And my Dad...."

"Go on."

"He wouldn't understand."

"Why?" the doctor inquired.

"Let's just say he's not the kind of man a boy like me can talk to about these things."

A tear slide silently down my cheek. Only the first of many. My nightmare was coming true. I'd had lost my boy forever.

"Why do you say that? You Father was your age once. What makes you feel he's so different from you that you couldn't tell him the truth."

"Because, my Dad's not like other men. He and I are, well, 'different' from one another, sexually. Do you know what I mean? He's not like other boy's Dads. I can't even say it."

"Try. Tell me what makes your Dad so different from other boy's fathers."

I could see Mark fidgeting as he tried to say it.

"All right. Most boys have the same interest in sex that their fathers did when they were boys. You know. Boys liking girls, men liking women. But my Dad and I aren't the same that way, you know."

"How do you know that?"

"Oh, I can tell. My Dad's so obvious. The way he acts, the way he tries to hide it. He thinks I don't know, but you can't hang around him as long as I have and not pick up on all the signals he gives off. I know the way he is."

The Doctor sighed, mirroring my own fear and anxiety. "Look, Mark, I want you to stop beating around the bush here. Stop being evasive. No matter how hard it is the first step in solving this problem is for you to lay it clearly on the table. What's so wrong with your Father that you can't talk to him about your sexual issues in the way other boys do with their Dads?"

I could see Mark winding himself up as he prepared to spit out those horrible words.

"Okay. Point blank. Here it is. My Dad is a big, fucking, sexist womanizer. One of those over the top macho bastards that thinks the human heterosexual male is the dominant life form on earth and everything else is below them. He's the total 'he-man,' you know, the perfect friggin' American male! There's just no way I could ever tell a man like that about how I feel. How do you tell a man like that, that his only son is gay?"

I was sure my heart had stopped beating.

It couldn't be true. I couldn't have been that wrong. All these years, trying to give my son the proper signals, to make sure he didn't hate me because I was different, only to find he now feared and avoided me because of the all the lies that had become my life.

I had been too successful. Everything I had put out, everything I had pretended to be he fully believed I was -- and he wasn't.

I fell softly back into the chair I'd been sitting on the edge of since the session had begun. How had this happened? It had taken me years to accept that I was gay. How could a boy of fifteen know with such conviction and certainty that he was bent that way? Obviously, I wasn't the only one wondering that.

"We've discussed this before," Dr. Ackerman continued to my son, "But I want you to tell me again, Mark, because it's important that you be sure of this. You're only fifteen and I've told you it's perfectly common for all boys, and I mean normal, heterosexual boys your age, to have some homosexual thoughts and even experiences. That's all part of growing up. How can you be so certain that you're gay?"

"I'm sure," he said with a mature conviction. "And it was my Father who really pushed me over the edge and made me realize the truth."

"How was that?" the doctor asked, obviously as curious as I was.

"He's got these magazines around his house. You know the kind, Playboy, Penthouse, Hustler, that sort of macho shit. He tries to hide them when I come over, you know, do the right thing and not expose the kid to that kind of trash, but he doesn't hide 'em very well. I always find 'em. He must have hundreds of 'em cause I find 'em all over without hardly even looking. Imagine the ones he must have hidden away well."

In fact I only had a half-dozen or so, but he assumed there must be more he didn't find. Suddenly I could see the image in his mind of the man he thought I was, a macho womanizer carelessly tossing porno rags out of sight to try and make the kid think I WASN'T a degenerate macho pig. My plan had worked too well, with emotionally devastating effect on my son.

"Go on."

"Well, one day I'm at my Dad's place. I was already to the point that I only ever jerked off thinking about men and I was really worried about it. Never girls. I just keep thinking about men. But I want to be normal, you know, like other boys. So I start looking thorough some of his magazines when he's not there. I keep looking at the chicks with the big, stupid boobies. And I'm trying to get myself turned on, but it's not working. Then I turned the page in this one Hustler magazine and it's got a series of pictures of this one woman. There's a guy with her and the guy looks like my father."

"In what way?"

"You know. Big, macho, hairy. He's not as well hung as my Dad is, but he's pretty good. Anyway, he pulls it out and soon he's got this chick on her hands and knees and he's doing her from behind. And the next thing I know, I'm starting to get a hardon. But it's not from the chick. It's from looking at the guy. I keep looking at him and I'm getting really turned on thinking, 'I bet this is what my old man looks like when he's banging one of his babes.' "

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I knew the magazine he was talking about, and I suddenly knew where this story was going.

"Next thing I know my dick is so hard in my jeans that it hurts. I reach down, and I start to rub it through my pants, you know, just because I have too. And I'm looking at this guy, and I'm thinking of my Dad and it's getting me really, really hot, when suddenly the door to my room flies open and there's the old man! Geez, I nearly pissed my pants."

I almost laughed, remembering the moment I'd walked in on him. Suddenly I saw the incident from a whole different perspective.

"What did your Father do to you?" the doctor asked.

"Well, you know him, Mr. Macho. He thinks I'm looking at the girlie pictures and suddenly I could tell, he was actually proud of me, you know. Chip off the ol' block, ogling the naked babes just like Dad. He tells me how it's so normal for me to like looking at women and if I ever had any questions about it, to just, you know, ask 'The Man,' 'cause Dad's like THE expert on handlin' babes."

"What did you tell him?

"I couldn't say anything. I mean, I didn't want to lie to him, he could probably tell I was lying if I did. I swear, he can read me like a book sometimes. He knows what I'm thinking. So I didn't say anything, you know. I couldn't tell him the truth. How do you think he'd react if he knew his kid was whacking off to pictures of men? That his only son was a fucking faggot who fantasized about fooling around with his naked Dad?"

"I don't know. What matters is how you think he'd react?"

"Oh, I know exactly what he'd do. I told you, he's not like other men. They might understand, or even if they didn't I bet they'd still love their sons, no matter what. But not my old man, no way. If he thought his boy was queer, and that I got my rocks off thinking about seeing him naked... Shit! He'd bounce me out so fast. I'd be out of his house, out of his life... He'd turn me over to mother and never let me see him again. And, I just.. . I just couldn't take that."

My heart sank and I felt a deep pain welling up in my chest. I wanted to reach out to my son, take him in my arms, hold him, tell him how much I'd always love him, no matter what. But I couldn't. He could never know that I was here.

"I love him. I love him so much, he'll never know. I couldn't risk losing that," my boy continued. "My Dad is everything to me. I love him more than I could ever say. I can't ever let him know the truth. I just can't."

The pain was almost too much. Learning that he felt for me as deeply as I felt for him, that our desires were the same. All I wanted to know was how I could help him without telling him how I found out. How was I going to handle this?

"You say your father can 'read you like a book,' that he 'knows what you're thinking sometimes.' Do you have any idea if he knows you feel this way? Does he know that you desire him, sexually?"

Mark shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I think he's stating to suspect the truth. I've been pretty obvious sometimes and he's pretty smart. There's times when I'm sure he knows something is up. Probably just keeps denying it. Won't let himself believe that any son of his could be a queer."

"What makes you think he suspects you."

"Well, there's really a lot of things. Like when we go swimming at his place. Afterward, my Dad always changes in front of me. He always has, he's just really secure about his body and all. I mean, hell, if I had his body I'd be pretty comfortable with it too. But whenever he changes, I can't help myself, I keep looking over at him and I'm sure he's noticed."

"Why are you so sure?"

"Because, whenever I look over at him he turns and looks back. I know he can feel it. It's like he's got eyes in the back of his head. He knows I've been staring at him."

"I see," the doctor continued. "How do you know he's not just trying to see *you* naked?"

I felt a chill at that one. The doctor had hit it too on the nose, if Mark didn't have suspicions about his old man before Dr. Ackerman was going to plant them, but Mark didn't take him seriously.

The boy just laughed, "Very funny, Doc. Really. That's a hoot."

"Well," the doctor continued, "How do you know he's not?"

"First of all, there's no way he'd ever have any interest in another guy. He's just not like that. He's the ultimate woman-fucking machine. He doesn't have a queer bone in his body. Secondly, even if he did like a guy, he'd have better taste that to want a scrawny little kid like me. And finally...

He trailed off, having trouble reaching the third reason.

"Finally...?" the doctor asked.

"I don't get naked in front of my Dad. Ever."

"Why is that?"

"Because... Whenever I'm with him, and especially when he gets undressed in front of me... My dick starts to get hard."

I felt my jaw drop. As much as my son had misunderstood my signals, I had misunderstood his, and yet now, it seemed to make such sense, it was so obvious. Any objective person could have figured us both out in a moment, but neither of us was objective about the other. I saw him through idealized eyes at least as much as he romanticized me.

"I see," said the doctor, coolly. His voice carried no hint of approval or of disapproval. "So, you always hide yourself."

"Uh-huh," Mark continued. "I used to just put a towel around me, you know, to keep it covered while I changed, but now, I swear my dick gets bigger than ever and he keeps looking over at me like he can tell. I'm sure he suspects I'm getting hard looking at him. And he's right. He makes me so hot. Just talking about him here is getting me turned on. My dick gets so out of control now that I have to lock myself in the bathroom and jerk off before I can even come out. I mean, I know you don't like guys, Doc, but if you did, you'd understand. My Dad is just so hot. That's why all the women love him. He's perfect. I fantasize about doing it with him all the time and when I see him for real, stripped naked like that in front of me. I just can't help it. I've gotta go jack-it-off before I cream in my swim suit."

Mark wasn't the only one getting turned on by all this. Hearing his fantasy, imagining my hot, young boy in our bathroom whacking off to thoughts of me was making me hard as well. Jeez, what was with me. I had to reach down and adjust my swollen cock to a more comfortable position out the leg of my jockeys and half-way to my knee.

"Let me ask you something," the doctor began again, opening a new line of inquiry. "How do you react when your father touches you, when he hugs you or kisses you?"

My son kind of snorted at the question. "He doesn't. I mean, not anymore. You know, he's got too much of that macho thing going to actually, you know, 'touch' another man. I think he's homophobic or something."

"He never touches you? Never gives his son a good fatherly embrace?"

Mark shook his head sadly. "Just a hand shake and a slap on the back like he was my football coach or something."

"Has he always been like this?"

"No. Just since the divorce. I guess he didn't mind horsing around with me when I was a little kid, but now, it's like I'm his best buddy or something. We just talk and do stuff but he never lays a hand on me."

I knew that was something I could change, if he'd let me.

"How do you feel about that, Mark?"

Mark shrugged, at first, but then... "I miss the way he used to be. Sometimes when I was a kid we'd wrestle. I always loved the way it felt, to really be in contact with him. Sometimes we'd do it in our underwear and I'd pretend to miss my hold just so I could let my hand slide across his jockey underwear and try to get an 'innocent' feel of his dick. But I never did really, and then of course, he put an end to that. I really screwed that up.

He was so wrong about that. He hadn't screwed up, I had.

"And that's not all I miss. He used to be real strict with me. If I got the slightest bit out of line he'd pull my pants down to my knees, turn me over his lap and smack my bare ass but good."

"Do you feel he was right to do that?"

"I dunno. I guess. I really didn't mind when he did it. I liked him being tough with me. I knew he only did it because he cared. And, I know I wasn't supposed to, but, I actually liked it sometimes."

The doctor showed the first emotion I'd seen in him, looking almost as surprised by Mark's confession as I did.

"You liked being spanked by your father?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah. No. I dunno. I mean, you know... I didn't like being, you know, spanked. But I liked the way it felt to have my pants down and to be in his lap. Even when I was a kid it felt kinda like a turn on, you know. There I was with my bare bottom laid out for him to have his way with, just sticking up at him, and my naked little dick pressed into his lap right next to his own cock. Sometimes I could actually feel that huge dick of his. It's the closest I ever came to touching it, something I was always fantasizing about. It made me feel really close to him, really intimate, that he'd let me be with him like that. I mean, you knew it was something special, just between him and me, that there was no other male on earth he'd ever lay naked in his lap."

"I see," the doctor said. I wondered if under his cool voice he was actually as shocked as I was. "But your father doesn't do that anymore?"

Mark shook his head, and I thought he looked rather sad again. "Not since the divorce."

"Do you have any idea why he stopped?"

Inside I wanted to shout out the truth about why I had stopped, the fear that I had, but of course I said nothing.

This time as Mark nodded I could tell he was getting choked up. "I think he started to get suspicious about me. The last times he spanked me, that's when I..." he trailed off, it was actually hard for him to speak. The doctor didn't say anything, just gave him time.

"That's when I started getting my first boners around him. I know he could tell. I was still a boy then, you know. I hadn't started to, you know, mature down there yet."

"You hadn't hit puberty."

"Yeah," Mark said, "My dick wasn't very big but, the last times he spanked me, it actually got hard when I was laying in his lap. I'm sure he noticed. I guess he knew I was getting turned on by the spankings, so he stopped."

"You're sure that's the reason?" the doctor asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure. And now, of course, I'm a little too much like a man, if you know what I mean. He'd never let some guy with a big hairy dick lay in his lap like that. You know, it'd just be way too queer for him."

I never would have imagined any of this. That my son enjoyed being spanked by me.

The truth, which I had never told anyone, was that I had been aware of his little dick getting hard. It had sacred me, but not for the reasons he thought. I assumed his erections were an involuntary reaction to my hand slapping him, an innocent response, a muscle tightening in expectation of being hit, no more sexual then a morning piss-hardon.

But those innocent boyish erections had a very different effect on me. Feeling his firm little boyhood pressing against my own like that, my hand contacting the soft, naked flesh of his smooth rounded buttocks, had triggered a very sexual response in me. *I* got hard, and that scared the shit out of me. I became terrified he could feel MY hard cock, pressing back in answer to his own. I was terrified by what I was feeling, a growing, abnormal, sexual desire for my own son! It was around this time that Mark first began to appear as an element in my masturbation fantasies, something for which I felt a great deal of guilt.

It all happened at about the time of the divorce. So I had stopped the spankings. No longer were they needed, I felt, and if they continued they might provide him with his first real clue about daddy's true sexual nature. I had to stop. Now, I could hardly believe what I was hearing.

"So, you miss the kind of physical contact you used to have with your father?"

Mark nodded. "A lot."

How had this happened, I asked myself. How had I let my boy drift so far and not been there for him when I was more qualified to help him than any other man on earth.

"Now I just fantasize about him all the time."

"Tell me about your fantasies, Mark. What do you imagine doing with your father?"

I could actually see Mark blush as a mortified smile ran across his face. "I... I can't talk about that. It's too embarrassing. Besides, it's a total fantasy, you know. It could never happen."

"I don't know. A lot of people have turned their fantasies into reality. Some people hire others to play the parts with them, hookers and such, pretending to be the person of their fantasy. They make a game out of it. There's nothing wrong with that as long as no one gets hurt. And these days a lot of people write up their fantasies as stories and post them on the internet."

Mark laughed. "That's pretty lame. I guess if you can't get a life..."

The doctor shrugged. "Actually it can be very good therapy, for some people. A harmless opportunity to get something out of their system and share it with others, not unlike when you talk with me here. And others can get pleasure out of the experience as well."

Mark wasn't impressed. "Well, I'm not hiring a hooker, I can't write too good and I don't even own a computer so I don't think I'm gonna be doing any of that."

"There are other people," the doctor continued with a very serious tone in his voice, "who work to make their fantasies come true."

I really was beginning to like the way this doctor worked. Suddenly I understood why he had brought me here.

"My fantasy could never, ever happen."

"How do you know that? Tell me your fantasy. Tell me what you imagine doing with your father."

Mark looked really uncomfortable, but I was back on the edge of my chair again, breathing heavily in anticipation.

"You gotta promise, swear to me, you won't laugh or think I'm weird."

"Normally I can't promise what I might think, but I know I could never think you were weird. As for laughing, well, that just depends how funny it is." The doctor smiled.

That loosened Mark up enough that he actually laughed a little.

"Okay. It started in a dream, you know, the first time. It was one of those... You know... Special kind of dreams...?"

"Yes, I know the type."

"Okay, so you know in a dream anything can happen and it just seems normal, all right. Don't think I'm too spacey here."

"Tell me your dream."

'Yeah, yeah, tell us already,' I kept thinking, involuntarily rubbing my own stiff erection through the tight fabric of my pants.

"In the dream I'm at his house and we get in the pool to go swimming like we always do. Only this time we start horsing around and playing and my Dad's really grabbing me, like he used to, not like he does now. Suddenly I realize my Dad doesn't have his suit on and neither do I. I don't know how we got that way, or when, it's a dream, you know, suddenly we just are and yet we're going on like everything's totally normal and we don't notice. When my Dad gets out of the water I see, he's got this huge hard on, you know, enormous..."

"Have you ever actually seen your father's penis in an erect state?" the doctor asked clinically.

"I wish!" Mark answered, then got more serious. "No. I've never seen him like that really. But anyway I realize that my dick's all hard too and he looks over and I don't want to get out of the water now because he'll see me and he'll know I'm queer for him. Then he starts getting really mad with me and finally he orders me out of the pool. So, I climb out of the water and he sees me with this huge hard on. You know, he just looks right at my boner and I'm so embarrassed I think I'm gonna die. He gets really mad and says I'm being a bad boy. So he orders me to come over to him, then bends me over his lap and starts to spank me, like he used to when I was little, only now we're both older and we're both totally naked and I can feel our bare dicks brushing against each other. My big hairy cock is rubbing against his and I get really turned on and as he keeps spanking me I get hotter and hotter and the next thing I know I shoot my load all over his dick and balls."

Holy shit, my son's fantasy was really turning me on. This was so bizarre!

"I feel ashamed of myself, just like I was a little kid again. That's when I realize, I AM a little kid again. When he's done spanking me, he lets me stand up, and it's like I'm six years old or something."

"Interesting," the doctor said out loud.

'Very interesting,' I thought to myself silently.

"Look, like I said, it's a dream. Anything can happen. So my Dad stands over me and I'm smaller than him, you know, I'm really small. I'm standing up but his huge dick is right in my face and it's totally covered in my white stuff. I'm so ashamed and then my Dad says that I've been a very bad little boy, look at the mess I've made, and he orders me to clean him up.

"I don't look for a rag or anything because I know what he wants me to do, 'cause I've been bad. So slowly I start to stick out my tongue and then I start licking his big cock and balls, lapping up all my vanilla cream like he's just a big ice cream cone and I'm cleaning him up like I was a dog or something, his pet, his little slave boy, and while I'm doing it he suddenly takes my head and shoves it deeper on his cock and orders me to suck him. So I do, and I love it. Suddenly it's like I'm a six year old cock-sucker and it's what I've always wanted him to do, every time I've ever seen him naked, and now I'm like a helpless little boy and he's ordering me to do it."

Alone behind the glass I finally had to unzip my pants and let out my own rock hard member. I could see I was not alone in wanting some relief. In the next room my son's shorts looked like they would burst at any moment and he had to shift himself casually, in front of the doctor, into a more comfortable position.

Poor kid, I thought, sensing his pain. At least I was alone in the dark to act on my desires. There was nothing he could do out there now. But I knew that somehow, I was going to make this up to him later.

"Then what happens?" the doctor asked.

"Then he shoots his load and I try to swallow it all, but it's too much for my little mouth. I mess up and some of his jism spills over his balls again. 'Now look what you've done,' he shouts at me, and I say 'I'm really sorry, Daddy,' and I start to lick it all up again. Then he tells me he's going to have to punish me again and THIS time he's going to take more to my ass than just his bare hand.

"He spins me around, pushes me down onto my hands and knees like a dog and suddenly we're on his bed and he's fucking me doggy style."

'Holy shit,' I found myself thinking, hoping I hadn't actually said it out loud. I couldn't believe this! My boy had worked out every kinky detail of his fantasy with me and it was turning me on in a way I would never have believed possible.

"He keeps doing me and at first it really, really hurts, but I like it anyway, like when he spanks me. He keeps asking me if I like being his little boy and I keep saying 'Yes, Daddy' and he wants to know if I think I deserve to be his little boy, and I say 'No, Daddy,' and finally he reaches around and says I can be his little dog-boy if I can show him I'm enough of a man to still cum.

"I get scared because I'm just a little boy now and I don't know if I CAN cum, but he starts to tenderly rub my smooth, hairless little dick and balls. Then he starts to kiss me, and hug me and I say 'I love you, Daddy,' and 'Do it more, Daddy' and he's caressing my little hard on and making love to me and then, he looks into my eyes and says, 'You know Daddy loves you. He always has and he always will. And you will always be my sweet little boy, no matter how old you get.' Then he kisses me hard on the lips and I feel his tongue moving down my throat and his huge, hairy cock is rubbing against my smooth, hairless dinky and suddenly I can feel I'm about to cum. He leans down and takes my little weenie in his mouth and sucks on it and I close my eyes and just explode into his mouth. I feel myself cumming again, and again and again really, really hard, and then...."

Mark's voice suddenly stopped.

Behind the glass I shot my load with a vigor I didn't know I still had. My seamen fountained out of my hard rod and splashed all over my pants. 'Shit,' I thought to myself, having no idea how I was going to conceal this when I left. There was nothing to wipe them on so I tried to use my underwear while straining to hear what my boy had to say next.

His next words were almost a whisper.

"When I open my eyes, the dream is over. I'm awake, back in my room at home and totally alone, like always." Mark's voice was suddenly very serious, and very sad.

"Usually my underwear is pretty wet so I get up and change 'em, but aside from that, I know it was just a dream. That it never really happened, that it never could and that no matter how many times I have this dream, it never will. When I get back in bed, I'm usually pretty upset. Most of the time I cry myself to sleep."

Marked wiped a tear that had just begun to run down his cheek. His voice almost cracked as he finished talking.

"Pretty weird dream, huh Doc?"

The doctor didn't say anything. After a moment, Mark continued.

"I so wish I could be close with my father like I am in that dream. That we could be special to each other that way, that he still cared for me the way he used to. But it's just a fantasy. We aren't even as close as we used to be and we'll never be anything like we are in that dream. We'll never be, you know... Lovers. I see him every other weekend, Doc, but I still miss him so much."

The Doctor stood up and walked over to my son. He handed him a tissue from a box on his desk, then laid a hand on his shoulder in an honest comforting gesture that I felt should have been mine to give.

For just a moment I was suddenly jealous of this man, envious of the honest, intimate relationship he had with my son. But I was also glad he had brought me here to make sure I knew the truth, even though it was a technical violation of all the ethics of his profession. He was a very special doctor, I realized. Unconventional, to be sure, but a man who put the best interests of his patient first.

"I hate my mother," Mark continued as he composed himself. "I mean, I don't blame her really. It's not her fault. Dad was just too much of a man to be content with one woman. She'd have to be like, a sex goddess or something to keep a guy like him. You know?"

After all his fantasies, he still believed I was something I wasn't.

"But because of her he's not in my life like he used to be, and I hate her for that. Of course, if I were with him all the time he'd really be able to figure out I was a fag. Shit, he's probably got it half figured out already."

Everything I thought I knew about my son was being turned on its head. Every subtle signal we'd given each other for the past three years had been misinterpreted, and the results had been pain and loneliness for both of us.

But because of this visit, all of that could still be changed now. Knowing how he really felt, the fears he really had, I could become the father he needed me to be. We could be there for each other in ways most fathers and sons could never experience. Our relationship was about to change forever.

"Our session is almost over," the doctor said to my son. "So I want to end it the way we usually do, with you making a positive affirmation."

My son seemed to know the routine. He stood up and let the doctor lead him straight toward me. At first I was afraid the doctor was about to reveal my presence, but that wasn't what he had in mind.

Mark was stood directly in front of the one-way mirror. There we were, inches apart from one another in space, but separated by an uncrossable gulf in circumstance.

"Look at yourself in the mirror, Mark" Dr. Ackerman told him. "Look into your own face, into your own eyes, and believe in yourself and your dreams."

Mark straightened up, seemed to be staring right at me. I knew he couldn't see me, but the feeling that he was about to address me was overwhelming.

"Now, finding that strength within, pretend you're looking right at your father. Not your real father, the man you can't talk to, but your fantasy father, the one in your dream, the man who you wish you could talk to. I want you to address him, and tell him everything you want him to do, everything you want him to be and everything you want for the both of you."

It felt creepy as my boy, my dearest Mark, looked straight at me from only a foot and a half away, and spoke right to me, having no idea I was there.

"Dad," he said simply, "I want you to always love me and I want you to know that I will always love you. I want to be with you, I mean, really. I want to feel your arms around me and hold you in my arms. I want to be able to kiss you and feel you kiss me, and not be at all ashamed, just like when I was your little boy and you loved me. I don't want to be your 'buddy,' or even your best friend, I want to be your Son, Dad. I want to be the one person you love more than anyone else in the world."

The next words came really hard for him.

"And, if it's possible, I want even more than that. I want.... I want to be able to run my hands across you and feel your strength, I want to lay my head against your chest, hear your heart beating and fall asleep there, in your arms. I want to wake up beside you with our arms wrapped around each other. I want you to feel you can share everything about yourself with me. I want to see and touch every part of your body, even that big, special part of your manhood. I want to hold it in my hands and... And even, to taste it, without being embarrassed or ashamed. I want to taste the seed I grew from. I want to taste every part of you, I want to be yours always in body and soul because you are like no other man on earth to me. You're my Father, and I love you like no other."

There was silence. For a long moment I stared into my son's eyes and fought back a desire to answer his call. I knew what he wanted and I wanted the exact same thing.

Now, it was up to me to make his dream come true.

"That was very good," Dr. Ackerman said as he lead him away. "I'm afraid that's all the time we have for today, but I believe you're supposed to see your father this weekend, aren't you?"

Mark nodded.

"Be open to new ideas and don't be ashamed of what you feel. I believe your father is a much more open minded man than you think he is. And who knows, maybe your dream really hasn't been a dream at all. Maybe it's a premonition. Sometimes fantasies do come true, you know. Even the really weird ones."

Mark laughed. "Thanks, Doc. I'll, eh, try to remember that."

With that Mark was ushered out the door and I was left alone behind the glass.

Driving home from Dr. Ackerman's office my head was a cacophony of thoughts and feelings. For three years I'd been living a lie about who I was, all on the pretense of keeping my son's love and trust. Now I discovered my fabrication had actually driven him away from me. I had to regain his confidence. I had to get my son back.

But how? Dozens of elaborate plans raced through my brain, none seemed right. How could I help Mark without revealing what I knew and how I had learned it?

Hidden behind one way glass in his psychiatrist's office, I'd watched and listened as Mark had confessed his most private thoughts, feelings and even his fantasies about me, totally unaware that I was privy to his every word and gesture. The Doctor had been right to bring me there, even if it was technically a violation of ethics. Dr. Ackerman knew I was the only person who could help Mark with his problem, because his problem was me.

After my son's session Dr. Ackerman had been vague in his advice.

"You'll have to resolve these issues yourself, I'm afraid, as a matter of conscience. You must find a way of giving the boy what he needs without violating your own personal sense of right and wrong."

Unfortunately I no longer knew what I regarded as "right" and "wrong." Sitting behind the one way glass I had actually masturbated listening to my son's description of his sexual fantasy about the two of us. It had been a major turn on to me, and obviously to him as well. If it was immoral to have sexual thoughts for your own teenage son, then I was already guilty. But somehow, knowing how much he desired me, wanted me and even needed me sexually (as I felt I needed him) it just didn't feel like the abominable taboo I'd been taught.

The doctor looked me over scrupulously. "If I may be so bold, I believe you're much more like your son than he realizes. In fact, I might even dare say that perhaps you harbor the same desire to be with him that he has for you. You enjoyed listening to his fantasy, didn't you?"

I was surprised, and a little taken aback, at how intuitive Dr. Ackerman was. It was as if he could read my mind. "Yes," I finally admitted.

"Mr. Phillips, I can't advise you to do anything which might be illegal, but in matters of the heart you must follow your own moral code. I can only encourage you, as I have Mark, to be as honest as you can under the circumstances. Both with each other, AND with yourself."

The Doctor settled back in his chair and stroked his beard as he offered what little guidance he could.

"The two of you must help each other through this. But be careful. Just because someone has a fantasy doesn't mean they actually want it to come true. Many people fantasize about situations they would never actually want to happen. Reality has consequences, dreams don't. Mark's desires are sincere, but he may not be ready to act on them. You must proceed with caution or you could end up doing more harm than good.

"Now, obviously, you know I'm a man who has no fear of breaking rules, even laws, when I believe it's the right thing to do, but I can't advise you to do the same. You know what Mark is feeling, how it's tearing him up inside. You know what his needs are, and you know how comfortable you might be in satisfying those needs. How you proceed with your son from this point on is entirely in *your* hands."

I knew he was right. Whatever happened next would be completely up to me and there was a lot to consider. I thanked him for all that he'd done and started to go when he stopped me.

"One thing before you leave," he called as I was about to reach the door. "There's a sink in the corner. You might want to clean those off."

A glance toward my pants revealed some incriminating stains I'd forgotten about, testimony to just how much I had enjoyed listening to Mark's fantasy. Guess the old doctor wasn't quite the "mind reader" I'd taken him to be.

As I turned down Cedar on the final leg of my trip home I knew I mustn't fabricate any kind of fiction to trick Mark into revealing his feelings. A lie had taken us so far from where we wanted to be, I wouldn't use another as a shortcut back.

I knew the truth about Mark and what he secretly wanted. There was no need to construct some elaborate prevarication. I would take it honestly and create opportunities for him to share his feelings without making him feel unfairly compromised.

I would be myself, follow my own heart and hope that through truth alone I might have my son again.

--------------------------------------------------

Friday came and Mark's mother dropped him off as usual. Alicia stayed in her car and watched until he was safely in the front door, then drove away without a word to me. It was a way we had of avoiding each other and it suited us both.

"Hey!? You home, Dad?" Mark shouted as he bounced in the front door with his usual youthful vigor.

"Out here," I answered from the back. I was on the patio area around the pool.

Mark set his things down and came out. I was working at the barbecue. "How do you feel about a couple of burgers for dinner?"

"Cool," he said, as he came over to inspect my work. I was wearing my swim trunks, a pull over shirt and deck shoes, stuff that's easy to peel off for a quick jump in the pool.

Mark was dressed like always in his school jersey and athletic shorts. His chestnut brown hair was neatly combed but appeared more closely cropped than he normally wore it.

"You get a haircut?" I asked.

"Yeah." He said, smiling. "You know, summer coming, wanted something a little cooler, you know?"

I tried not to seem too obvious as I studied him but I couldn't help admiring his good looks. He was around 5' 8", I guessed, since I was still taller than him by almost a full head's height. (I'm just over six-feet myself.) In the three years since our divorce he'd gone from being a cute little pre-adolescent to a handsome young man. His dark hair was beautifully offset by bright, blue eyes that seemed to sing out at you whenever he smiled. God, he was a good looking boy. I was so proud to have him as my son.

All week I'd been thinking about this, about seeing him again. I'd told myself repeatedly I'd need to be careful, to take it slow and easy. Don't rush things, I kept telling myself. It had taken us years to get here, don't try to run back the whole distance in a single weekend. But now that he was here, in the flesh in front of me, I felt my nuts tighten remembering his fantasy. I wanted him.

Looking into those beautiful blue eyes and his sweet, boyish face I found it was all I could do to keep from throwing my arms around him and putting a sweet, fatherly kiss right on his lips. I daydreamed about what it would be like to take him in my arms, hold him, feel his boyish flesh pressed tightly against my own. I wanted to hold him more than I ever had, but I couldn't. Not yet.

"You like it?" he asked, giving his hair a quick flick.

"It looks great on you." I answered honestly. "Bet the chicks really dig it."

Mark half smiled and gave an almost imperceptible little laughed. Two weeks ago I'd have taken that for modesty. Now I recognized it as a way of avoiding the subject.

I went on, "The grill's still getting warmed up, thought we might go for a swim before dinner. Why don't you run upstairs and get your suit on. I've got a football we can toss around in the water."

"Okay," he turned and headed up the stairs to his room. Even though he was only here two weekends a month I made sure he had a room of his own.

Watching him peel his shirt off as he ran up the stairs I found my pulse racing and was aware that I already had a growing hard on in my swim trunks.

'Shit,' I thought to myself. 'Can't let him see that.'

I started thinking about baseball, but then I caught myself.

Don't conceal. Don't hide. The most important thing now was to relax, be honest and be myself. I had to take those first steps before he would. So, I've got a stiff dick. Fine. It's something that happens to men and boys all the time. If it goes away, great. If not, then I'll just ignore it and continue about my business. If he notices, well...? I'll worry about that when it happens.

Mark came down the stairs wearing nothing but his swim trunks, his exposed chest rippling with bare adolescent flesh. Looking at his manly, sculpted features I could hardly believe the handsome young man in front of me was the same infant boy who's diapers I had changed so often. I used to be able to cup his entire, tender bottom in the palm of my hand and I smiled remembering all the times I had wiped his infant weenie clean. As a toddler I had bathed him often, rubbing my soapy hands over every part of his soft little body. Even as he grew older we used to play together in our underwear in the mornings. Sometimes we'd get really physical, wrestling and grabbing one another playfully. Often we'd shower together, innocently taking turns soaping each other up, as almost all fathers and sons do. But not anymore.

All the innocent horseplay had stopped after the divorce. He was still a kid at the time but the situation had changed. He was starting to mature sexually and my feelings for him were growing different. There came a point where I didn't trust myself to be so intimate with him any more.

Looking at him now I was overwhelmed by how much he had changed since then. Moving toward the pool with only his swimsuit on I couldn't take my eyes off of him. His naked chest and torso showed off a firm stomach and well formed adolescent pecs. The warm, bronze flesh surrounding his nipples was hard and muscular, but still as smooth and hairless as it had been when he was a boy. In fact, there wasn't a trace of hair from his neck all the way down to just above his suit. Only there did his low waistband reveal the faintest evidence of pubic hair as it poked it's head tentatively above the line.

I found my eyes looking at his well tanned legs. His long, muscular thighs were still covered in the downy fuzz of boyhood with no hint of the oncoming train of masculinity.

And I couldn't miss the way he filled out his swim wear. A curvaceous ass rounded his aft quarter while something much more than any child's weenie made a gripping outline in the front.

I felt my dick swell even more as I saw him. He was such a handsome teen, but in so many ways he was still just a boy. A boy on the brink of being a man, to be sure. A well ripened, sexually mature boy, absolutely. But still a boy, with all the smooth, fresh, enviable qualities of youth.

"Last one in...!" he shouted and dived into the pool's deep end.

"All right," I said as I stowed my barbecue gear and grabbed the football. "Let's see how well you play against your old man."

I threw him the pigskin, kicked off my deck shoes and started to peel off my shirt. I tried to act casual but in my mind I was very conscious of the huge bulge in my bathing suit. 'Shit,' I thought to myself, 'Well, maybe he won't notice.'

He noticed.

Oh boy, did he notice!

As I pulled the shirt clear of my head I could see the startled expression on his face when his eyes caught on the enormous love muscle that was straining the fabric of my of suit. It was just too big for him to ignore or even pretend to ignore. I saw him swallow hard as he grasp what he was looking at. Daddy had a hard on, and it was HUGE!

Laying my shirt on the lounge chair I tried to observe his reaction out the corner of my eye. I didn't want to embarrass him. Didn't want to scare him out of looking at Dad's healthy manhood, if that's what he wanted to do, but it was an awkward moment for both of us. As I turned around to face him I saw him gulp silently then look down as he tried to act like he hadn't seen anything. We were both uncomfortably conscious of my condition.

I've always felt that in a predicament like this you either ignore it, and usually end up looking stupid, or you address it directly and defuse the moment before it becomes any more awkward. I decided I had to go for it, and I did, with my usual flair of macho bravado.

With a big movement of my head I looked down at my own swollen member like I had no shame. "Whew, boy!" I said loudly as I reached down and gave my bulge a healthy, virile yank through the nylon of my suit. "Looks like Dad's hot as a big dog tonight, eh?"

At first Mark was stunned and even from across the pool I could see him turning three different shades of bright red. But I also saw his lips slip into a nervous smile.

"Guess I need that cold water more than I thought." I added with a laugh as I gave the old John Henry a slap.

I looked up as Mark's eyes met mine. At that instant I guess you could say we "shared a moment." On Mark's face was a spreading smile that came from realizing his Father was actually sharing something private with him. After all these years, I was finally "bringing him in." By playing it with such manly gusto I was officially saying he was no longer a little boy in my eyes, no longer a child who Daddy had to protect from such scary grown up things as erections. I was welcoming him into the private club of adult men.

At first Mark just gave me an uncomfortable half smile, then finally...

"S'okay, Dad," he said with just a bit of a nervous laugh. "Happens to me sometimes too, you know?" he tried to minimize it. "Don't sweat it. Here," he threw me the football. "Gimme your best shot."

Although it was a simple gesture, done spontaneously in the heat of the moment, this little exchange became our first step across the barrier we had built up since the divorce. It was a personal milestone, marking my boy's journey from child to peer; the start of a new father-son relationship.

I smiled back at him, threw him the football then dove into the water. Soon Mark and I were tossing the ball from one end of the pool to the other. After a few moments I suggested we make the game more interesting. Whoever received had to "run" the ball to the other end while the other attempted a "water tackle." Basically, if you get your opponent's head under water, they're down and the ball is yours.

I received first and as I tried to charge past Mark he tackled me for all he was worth. Of course, I didn't go down easily. In moments he had all his arms and legs wrapped tightly around me. His hands moved across my body, grasping at my neck and chest as he probed for my most vulnerable area. Finally, with his bare legs twisted tightly around my own, he tripped me up, placed his hands on my naked shoulders and pushed my head below the waterline.

"YES!" he shouted and slapped the water in personal victory.

I sprung up ready to fight. "Okay, boy, you want to play tough?" I said in faux anger, "Let's see you try to get one past big Daddy!"

Now it was my turn to stop him. As he tried to slip past I wrapped my arms around him, tightening my grasp about his bare chest and pulling his half nude body against mine. It felt like I had him good, but he was stronger than I realized, and turned out to be slippery when wet! He pulled me over and plowed right past! Score.

We continued this way for several more sets, each of us getting more and more vigorous in our "tackling." After awhile, I don't think either of us was even trying to elude the other and the whole game devolved into something more like "water wrestling."

It was wonderful. For the first time in years we were being physical together. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed doing these things with him. But there was a reason I'd avoided it.

Though merely innocent Father-Son roughhousing on the surface, below the water I felt a surging eroticism going on. Each time I tackled Mark and pulled him tightly against my body I felt my cock swell in excitement. Every time he threw his legs around me in the heat of battle, his thrusting hips pushing his adolescent torso against me, I felt a hidden hunger grow. His smooth, boyish skin crushed tightly against my own kept my manhood in a constant state of arousal, and through all our seeming innocent horseplay, I could tell Mark was feeling the same way.

As we flailed against one another there was ample opportunity for each to surreptitiously feel the other's groin. I could tell Mark was sporting a wicked boner in his britches. Of course, it seemed to me he was also taking advantage of those moments to brush against mine. Though he was always very clandestine I was pretty sure he was checking me out. He was certainly subtle. A week previous I might not have noticed or even believed he was doing it. But now, knowing his true inclination, I felt sure Mark was finally getting to connect with my manhood.

I did nothing to act like I noticed, nothing to discourage him, but the excitement of the contact kept both of us turned on. He had to be aware of the state of my dick, and probably knew that I was aware of his. Feeling sure it was one of those, "he knows that I know" situations, and buoyed by my previous success, I decided to get bold again.

The next time he tried to slip past me I dived for his waist. Without hesitation I took hold of his swim trunks and pulled. Before he could react I flipped him up and literally poured him out of his suit, spilling him butt naked into the water.

"What the fu...?" Mark's shout was cut short as he tumbled bare-assed into the pool.

It took him just an instant to pop back up. I was laughing victoriously as I held up the trophy of his suit.

"Lose something, boy?" I taunted him playfully.

Then I noticed -- he wasn't laughing.

At first I figured he was just nervous. After all, he was suddenly naked below the water and sporting one hell of a boner. Probably just wasn't ready to share it with the world yet.

"That's not funny, Dad!" he shouted as he started coming after me.

"I think it is," I answered as I backed into the shallow end laughing, holding his suit over my head.

"Come on, Dad, give it back to me!" Each time he dived at me I moved aside in a game of keep away. Then, finally, in water just more than waist deep, I let him almost get it. That's when I grabbed him.

With a quick move I wrapped one arm around his chest and pulled him tightly against me. With the other, I reached around his torso and seized him by his cock and balls, raising him out of the water and displaying his rigid member like a caught fish.

It was the first time I'd seen or touched his penis since puberty, and I was quite impressed by what I found. My boy had a handsome cock, and grabbing it was like taking hold of a petrified tree! Mark's teenage dick was hard as a rock and longer than my hand. The head of his penis extended fully from his circumcised shaft and slide easily under the tips of my fingers. This was no "half-hard" wiener. The skin was stretched tight as a drum across the full length of his youthful rod. He was fully erect.

At fifteen his meat wasn't as thick or long as his father's but it felt smoother and more luscious to the touch. For an instant I reveled in the sensation of his dick in my hand. This was the first time I'd touched his privates since I'd stopped bathing him over eight years ago, the first time I'd actually seen it since his maturing. Boy, oh, boy, his thing had changed a lot!

As my hand made contact I could feel his smooth, almost hairless balls suddenly contract in shock at the unexpected invasion. His dick flexed, surged and pumped as I let my grip tighten around the shaft. Boy was he stiff!

"DAD!" he exclaimed in shock

"Oh, you're right," I said making a joke about his earlier comment. "It does happen to you too sometimes, doesn't it?" The entire moment lasted only an instant.

Suddenly Mark twisted hard against me as he broke loose. Without restraint he kicked me solidly in the chest as he pushed away and shoved me back with all his might. He didn't turn till he had half the width of the pool between us. Then he looked back at me with a fury in his eyes I had never seen before.

He was pissed. Really, REALLY pissed. This was not a game to him, not some funny joke. He knew he had just been violated! He was ready to call the cops.

Even knowing what he had said to his Doctor, having personally heard him confess his secret desire, I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Despite his sexual fantasy, he definitely had not wanted me to expose him this way.

Mark was angry and confused. He was a boy realizing a horrible truth, that his own father, someone he trusted, had just molested him! He was freaked.

His mouth hung open as he tried to catch his breath, tried to find the words to express his disbelief.

"Why...? Why did you do that, Dad? What the fuck do you think you're doing to me!?"

Oh Christ, I felt ill. Under the water my knees felt suddenly weak and shaky. I had to hang tough, cover what I'd done, make an innocent game of it.

"Geezus, Mark, don't get so uptight."

"Gimme back my suit."

He held out his hand in a demanding gesture. He didn't care if I was his father. He didn't care who I was. I'd gone too far and he wasn't gonna take it. I felt nauseous. I didn't know what to say or do.

"Give me my FUCKING SUIT!" he shouted with no regard for who he was speaking to.

I held my ground, took a deep breath.

"No. Not till you calm down and remember who you're talking to."

Mark's lip curled in anger. I didn't back down.

"It was just a game, Mark. Two guys horsing around. You're taking it way too serious."

He wasn't buying it, kept shaking his head. "You shouldn't have done that, Dad."

"Done what?"

"You know what!"

"Oh, yeah? Well tell me anyway."

Mark boiled for a moment. "You shouldn't have grabbed me like that. You had no right to touch me there. That was wrong and you know it. You... You grabbed my dick and tried to feel my balls like you were some kind of a..." He couldn't bring himself to say it, and I was glad. I didn't think I could stand to hear my son call me what he was thinking.

He was so upset I could see tears trying to break through his anger. He was fighting them back but his confusion, his disbelief at what I had done, was overwhelming him.

I tried to act tough. "Oh, really?" I answered, sounding far bolder and more confident then I felt. "Why would I want to feel your dick, Mark? Huh? I'm your father. Do know how many times I've touched your little dick and balls while you were growing up? Every frickin' time I washed them giving you a bath, that's how often. You didn't give a shit if I touched you back then."

"That was different. I'm not a little kid anymore."

"You're sure acting like one."

Mark sighed. "Just gimme my suit, Dad."

I was too frightened. I couldn't back down, had to keep up the tough, macho appearance.

"You want it? Go get it."

With that I heaved his suit out of the pool, but Lord knows it didn't go where I meant it to.

With a perfect aim I could never have accomplished on purpose Mark's suit went flying straight under the canopy of the patio and into the flaming center of my barbecue grill. Within seconds the material caught fire, the nylon melting and giving off an ugly smoke. They don't make bathing suits very flame resistant.

It had been an accident. I hadn't meant to do that! But Mark thought it was deliberate.

He turned to me, shaking his head like he couldn't believe what I had just done, and muttered softly, "You mother fucker...."

"Hey!" I cut into him, "You watch your mouth kid! I'm still your father and whether you're pissed or not I'm not gonna let you use that kind of language in my house. You understand? You're not so big that I can't turn you over my knee and paddle your bare ass."

Mark didn't say anything.

"Look," I continued, "I'm sorry about what happened, it was an accident."

He was still upset, still shaking his head in disbelief. I had to make a peace gesture.

"Okay, here, how about this," I said as I slide my hands under the water and stripped off my own swimming trunks. Free of my suit I felt my softening manhood bob gently in the current. Now we were both naked under the water. I held my suit up for him to see, then threw it at him violently.

"Take it! " I yelled as I flung it. He caught it just before it slapped his face. "If you're still such a little boy your scared about being seen naked, even by your own father; if you've just got to have your little pee-pee covered up like an embarrassed child, then wear those." I spoke with a harsh, deliberately mocking tone.

The lines were being drawn now. He looked at me, fuming. He didn't want to come out of the water naked in front of me, but he didn't like his Father calling him a sissy either.

"I'm not embarrassed." He said, his voice sounded weak and not very convincing.

I gave him one, face saving option, "In that case, show me you can act like a man, like I thought you were before this shit started! Go ahead, take my suit and toss it on the grill. See if you can make your shot as well as I did. Then we'll be even."

The ball was in his court. Put on the suit and hide his shame (and be forever regarded as a wimp by his Father) or act like a man and burn the thing to prove he wasn't a sissy.

I watched him stew over it for a few moments. Staring right at him I showed no fear. I was his father. I had to be the boss, couldn't show any sign of weakness. But inside, I was terrified.

For an eternity of seconds we stayed locked. Then, finally, without breaking eye contact at all, he threw my suit.

It was high, but managed to hit one of the overhead beams on the patio, then dropped into the grill with a flourish. My suit was toast in moments.

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Nice shot," I admitted. We were both naked in the pool now, the first time we had been nude together since he was a child. "So, let's call it even, huh?"

He didn't smile. Didn't flinch, just shook his head -- No.

"We're not even. Not after what you did to me."

"Oh, still on that are we?" I said sternly, then added in a childishly mocking voice, "Widdle boy's still upset that Daddy touched his widdle wee-wee? Is that it?"

I shouldn't have tormented him like that. It was wrong of me, but I was afraid. I could see Mark fighting back tears as they formed in his eyes and I knew I was hurting him. Really, hurting him.

"Why did you do it, Dad? " His voice began to crack as his eyes watered, "Just tell me why?"

I couldn't do this. I just couldn't keep tearing at him like this. I had been in the wrong to grab him like I did and I knew it. But I was frightened by his reaction, felt I had to defend myself.

The truth was I desired him sexually. Now it seemed I was about to lose him forever when just moments ago we'd felt closer than we'd ever been.

What would happen when he told his mother that Dad had molested him? How would my ex react when she heard that I had grabbed him forcibly from behind, stripped him naked against his will and shamelessly fondled his exposed penis? I was scared beyond reason. Because of the one stupid thing I had just done, my one weak moment, I might never see my son again. Hell, I might even be spending the rest of my life in prison! I'd do anything to make sure he didn't tell.

But looking into his sweet face, his eyes filling with pain, I just couldn't keep up this verbal abuse. I loved him. I wanted us to be closer. How could I keep hurting him?

"I'm sorry," I finally said softly, feeling like shit for what I'd done. "I'm really sorry."

His voice trembled when he spoke. "Why did you do it, Dad? Why did you grab me like that? What were you doing? How'd you expect me to react? Did you think I'd like it? Do you think I'm like a... a fag or something?"

"Mark," my voice was soft but steady, "I'm really sorry you feel the way you do about this. I didn't mean to upset you."

"Then why did you do it?" his voice trembled.

I wanted to find the right thing to say. I wanted to be honest, but somehow this just didn't seem the time to confess the naked truth: "Son, I grabbed you because Daddy's a queer and he's fucking hot for your sexy, teenage ass." Yeah, right, definitely not the time for that! But there are other ways to truth.

"Mark, the fact is, I've missed you a lot lately. We were so much closer before the divorce. Don't you remember how we used to be with each other? How we used to wrestle in our underwear and didn't think anything of it? How I could give you a bath when you were a kid, or how we'd take showers together when you were little. Those intimate things made me feel close to you. It felt like we had a really special trust between us. It was our own private thing. We weren't ashamed to be naked together or to touch each other."

My boy keep his weary eyes pinned to me, unsure what to believe.

"Well, I guess just for a moment here, it was starting to feel like that again and, I guess I thought you felt the same and that you wouldn't mind letting your father touch you."

I kept hoping for any break, any sign that I was getting through to him. Christ I was bearing my soul here.

"Mark, I want us to be able to touch each other and not be ashamed about it. I've kept secrets from you and I don't want to do that anymore. I want to be close to you, closer than you know. For just a moment, just now, I started to believe that we could be what I've always dreamed we could. I had a glimpse of what could be, and it was wonderful.

"Please, Mark, please! Don't take that dream away from me. Don't shut me out again."

Mark stood there, hesitant. "I don't know if I believe you."

"Believe me, Mark. Please."

He wasn't quite ready yet. "I don't know." He still wasn't ready to accept what I knew he desperately wanted to be true. Too many years of living a lie. This new father was a stranger to him, he didn't trust the real me when he saw him.

Well..." he finally said. "Well, how would you feel if I reached down and grabbed you the way you did me, huh? How would you feel about that?"

Maybe it was foolish, certainly it was risky, but I decided to go with the truth.

"Mark... I would love you to do that."

I could tell by the look in his eyes he was stunned. As much as he secretly wanted it to be true, he couldn't let himself believe this wasn't a trick. Raising my hands, holding them beside me in an act of surrender I began walking toward him.

"Go ahead, Mark. Touch me."

At first he pulled away, until he found his back against the concrete side of the pool. I walked toward him boldly, hands up in the air beside me giving him an open invitation to my most private parts. I would prove I was telling the truth.

"Please," I almost begged him, "If it'll make us even, if it'll make you feel better -- touch it."

I stopped just inches in front of him in waist deep water. "Go ahead, Mark. Take your time, feel Daddy's dick all you like. I'm your Father. It won't bother me a bit."

Mark swallowed hard, not certain if he wanted to believe me. "It wouldn't, huh?"

"I want you to." I assured him. There was a look of disbelief in his eyes.

"And you wouldn't think I was... I mean.... You wouldn't think your son was like, you know... A fag or something?"

Like a light being turned on I suddenly understood everything. He wasn't afraid that I was gay. He wasn't even afraid that I wanted his body. What he was really afraid of was that I would think HE was gay.

If he did nothing and let me handle him the way I had, if he didn't resist for all he was worth, then his secret would be out, his "straight" father would know the shameful truth about his son

There are two sides to every coin, two takes on every scene, and despite what I'd been through, I still hadn't learned to see the world through my son's eyes.

What I had done had left Mark frightened and confused, but not for the reasons I had thought. It didn't help that he secretly desired what I was doing to him. Why would Dad suddenly be making his sexual fantasy come true? In his mind there were only two possible reasons.

One, was that his father was actually queer for him, and while that may have been an element of his fantasy world, he knew that in reality, it was impossible.

Dad wasn't that way. He'd been fully sold on the lie I'd fed him for years, that I was a hearty heterosexual man. He couldn't believe for a moment that I was anything else.

That left just one other possibility, something far more likely in his mind: Daddy was on to him! I had figured him out and learned his secret. I had read his signals and now, finally, knew he was gay!

My touching him was a trap, a trick set-up by a sadistic, womanizing breeder to catch his fag son in the act.

He was wrong, of course, but then I had berated him, threatened him, humiliated him. All while trying to build a bridge so we could be closer together.

This wasn't what I had wanted. Everything had gone wrong, and all because I hadn't seen it from his side of the coin.

"Oh, Mark," I said softly as I lowered my hands and placed them on his shoulders. "The thing I want most in my life, is to be close to you, to be with you. I want you to feel you can touch me, anytime you like, any where you like and in any way like. You're my son. I want to be more open to you than to anyone else in the world."

Mark's breathing was erratic. He'd obviously been fighting back a need to cry. This was too much, too fast. He was frightened by what was happening. He wasn't ready to accept that his fantasy could actually come true, didn't know what all of this meant.

As his father I knew I had to guide him.

Standing naked together in waist deep water I put my arms around him and held him close to me. At first he held back, unwilling to accept the reality enveloping him and act on his own desire. But slowly, as he began to realize I wasn't trying to trick him, I wasn't going to let go... he gave in. Softly he laid his head against my chest and moved his own arms around me in a loving embrace.

For a moment we stood like that in the water, father and son, our arms wrapped around each others fully exposed bodies as I cradled his head to my breast lovingly. I buried my nose in his hair, nuzzling my dear boy as he started to cry.

"ooohh dad..." he spoke softly with a tremble in his voice. He'd wanted this for so long, we both had, but neither of us had believed it was possible. Now I felt I didn't need to hold back any longer. I wanted him to know this was real, that I would always be there for him completely...willingly...without shame.

My cock rapidly grew raging hard from the intimacy we were sharing. As our nude bodies pressed tightly against one another I felt his penis swelling to meet my own. Just below the water our two shafts touched, father's to son.

I felt him tighten his grip around me as our manhoods connected in unsheathed glory.

"It's all right, Mark," I whispered softly in his ear. His breathing still a tremble. He couldn't believe this was happening.

Gently I took one of his hands into my own and guided it below the water.

"Go ahead," I spoke gently, "Touch me, feel me. Don't be ashamed."

Slowly I moved his hand across my own rigid shaft. I felt him stiffen.

"How does it feel, son?" I asked softly.

Once on my shaft his fingers began to probe on their own, moving cautiously up and down my rigid member. He tighten his grip around my naked penis, just as I had done his earlier. His thumb stroked the head and slipped across the big "eye" on the tip, exploring it.

He whispered, "I feels so good, Dad. You're so big. It feels neat. Really, really, neat."

I again took his hand and guided it down so he could feel my balls, caress my sack as my pubic hair floated around weightlessly in the water.

"Feel those," I said to him. "How does it feel to touch the point of your own creation?"

I sighed softly in pleasure as he freely put his fingers between my legs, exploring with cautious freedom his new playground, my body.

He relaxed and allowed himself to rest against me more comfortably. I began to kiss him. Starting on the side of his face next to his ear I gently took his head into my hands and turned it slowly, rotating him under my lips as I showered him with a long series of kisses. When I reached his mouth I paused, gently ran a finger across his trembling lips, then forcefully pressed them against my own.

I felt his cock swell with excitement as he drove it against my leg. His eyes closed in pleasure and I knew now that everything would be all right.

"Now," I said to him when at last our lips parted, "we're even."

"Oh, Dad...." he said trembling. "You don't know how much I've wanted this for so long." He smiled and held me more tightly to him.

Free of guilt or fear his hands came up out of the water and began to explore my body without restraint. He rubbed his fingers across my face, stroking the rough, manly stubble of on my cheeks and chin.

I returned the gesture, caressing his baby smooth face. I traced the outline of his mouth with my finger and was pleased when his lips parted and he began to suck on it.

After a moment I continued on and moved my fingers gently across his short brown hair to the nape of his neck. He mirrored my actions, his strong, boyish hands running through my mane, exploring around my ears and slipping sensuously down my back.

I touched his shoulders and his arms, leaning forward to kiss and taste the firm tan flavor of his skin and the taut texture of his muscles.

He put his nose to my bearish chest, rubbed it through my course hair, then extended a tongue to lick at his father's nipple. With long, soft strokes he licked at my teat, then gently started to suck on it as I had enviously seen him do to his mother's breasts in infancy.

I felt my breathing become erratic and I moaned in amorous pleasure. Putting an arm around him again I pulled him with me as I wordlessly lead him toward the steps at the shallow end of the pool. As we moved forward the receding water fell back like a curtain, gradually revealing more of our naked bodies to one another.

Being the taller my cock was the first to emerge and I heard Mark gasp ecstatically at the sight. For the first time in his life, he was able to freely look at his father's fully erect manhood. He wasn't disappointed.

"Whoa, Dad," he cooed breathlessly, "It's bigger than I even imagined."

The next steps brought his own reclusive cock out of hiding. His dick was a slender, boyish thing, still maturing into manhood. His skin was smooth and hairless except for the gorgeous bush of beautiful brown hair that graced his taut abdomen.

As we stepped from the pool we both paused to look at each other. Mark's youthful beauty made me feel hungry all over. I felt like I wanted to eat him whole, to put my mouth on every sweet part of his body and taste him all at once.

My son's beautiful blue eyes remained transfixed on the source of his own creation, my enormous man-cock. I noticed his tongue gently lick at his trembling lips as if he too felt an insatiable hunger. His lip quivered. He was shivering.

I picked up a large towel from the lounge chair and placed it across his shoulders, then with another I started to dry him lovingly.

I swept the towel softly over his chest, taking time to swirl about each of his adolescent nipples and well formed pectorals. Then I continued wiping my way down across his stomach, pausing to poke a towel covered finger into his navel.

In reflex he pulled his stomach in and giggled like a little kid.

At last I dropped to my knees and found myself face to face with my son's burgeoning boyhood. I didn't rush to the feast however. I wanted to pleasure him more first.

I began gently drying his curly pad of brown pubic hair, then put my hand firmly against his thighs and indicated for him to spread his legs. With loving care, I reached between his boyish thighs and brought the towel slowly up across his hairless ball sack, drying his testicles with the greatest of care. I rubbed them gently, treating them with as much love as I'd show my own family jewels. Then I leaned forward, and gave each a tender kiss before taking them in my mouth and rolling them softly about with my tongue. I heard Mark coo.

Next I began wrapping the billowy material around the shaft of his achingly hard peter. As I towel dried his most private part I looked up at him and smiled.

"Just like when you were a little boy," I said to him softly.

He smiled back in pleasure and moaned in delight as I began repeatedly moving the towel up and down across his rigid fountain. I was just priming the pump.

I felt my mouth grow wet as I removed the towel and prepared for my feast.

"Well," I finally continued, "Not exactly like when you were a little boy." And with that I plunged my mouth fully onto my son's naked penis and began sucking and licking at his delicious young cock.

"...oh...god..." his voice quivered as he threw back his head, eyes closed, and began rubbing his fingers through my hair. Young Mark had never had a blow job before. They were still just the subjects of masturbatory fantasies for him. Now as my warm mouth worked over his virgin cock I could taste the sweet wine of his precum, and I grew light headed realizing I was tasting my own family vintage.

I could feel his balls tighten and knew it would take just a few more laps to make him come. So I stopped.

Mark whimpered like a hurt child, "Oh please, Daddy," the fifteen year old exclaimed as if he were a little boy again when I took my mouth away, "Don't stop, please don't stop."

He was so horny, he didn't care now whether he acted like a big boy or not, he just wanted his father to take care of him and relieve his aching need.

I wanted to. It was everything I could do to hold back and fight my own desire to suck him all the way to completion. But not just yet. I wanted to pleasure him more first. I wanted to make his dream come true.

I stood up and put my fingers on his lips. "I don't know..." I said to him teasingly and he began to suck on my finger again like a well trained lad. "You said some pretty nasty things to your Daddy in the pool there. I think before I take you the rest of the way I need to punish you first."

Mark's face suddenly flushed.

"From the kind of language I heard in the pool I think I know a young boy who's way over due for a spanking from his Father."

Mark couldn't say anything, his mouth just opened in mute astonishment and desire. I knew I had him right where he wanted to be.

I have always been amazed at how strong, sexual desire can change us all. Take the biggest, strongest man in the world, put him a situation he finds sexually desirable and tease him without relief for twenty minutes. Suddenly he's a child again. He'll do anything to get the sexual satisfaction he so badly desires.

Mark had always been strong in front of me. Never showed weakness. He never acted childish, even when he was a child. Even in the pool a few minutes ago he'd continued to be a defiant young man. But now, two strokes shy of an orgasm, he was just a helpless little boy who would do anything for his Daddy.

I stripped the towel from his shoulders, leaving him fully exposed and vulnerable.

I moved to a chair and sat down, my rigid cock sticking up like a king's scepter, the symbol of my ruling authority. I took a moment to look my son over from head to toe as he stood naked and vulnerable in front, waiting for me to pronounce judgment.

He was thin, but muscular. There didn't appear to be an ounce of fat on his boyish body. His beautiful cock stood out rigidly, curving up slightly, like his Daddy's did. Mine was bigger, of course, but his had a smooth, lean quality that I found maddeningly desirable. His petite teenage ass was well-developed and smooth looking. He was a perfect teen boy.

"I told you in the pool that if you kept acting like a little kid I was going to treat you like one. You think you're too big for your father to turn you over his knee and spank your bare bottom?"

Mark gulped and I couldn't tell if he was afraid of the spanking or looking forward to it. He didn't resist. "No, sir," he said respectfully.

With a single finger I motioned for him to come to me.

Cautiously he moved over, his rigid young boy meat looking sweeter and harder than ever. When he was close enough I took his hand like a little boy and turned him around.

"Now lay down across, Daddy's lap and take your medicine."

I could see him hesitate. He was fifteen now and not quite sure he was ready to submit to this level of humiliation, but deep inside the whole erotic adventure was turning him on. He was powerless to resist what he so desperately wanted.

"Yes, sir," he finally replied and bent over my lap without any further encouragement.

As he laid his crotch over mine our steel rods connected and I felt the head of his own sweet meat pressing against my privates. I had teased him almost to the point of ejaculation and now had his weapon poised against my own. A few whacks, a little father-son dick-to-dick action and I was betting nature would take care of the rest.

I reached my hand across his teen ass and felt his flesh, his lustrous flesh, in the palm of my hand. I had never touched his behind so intimately, certainly not when I'd diapered him as a little baby. Even when he'd been a small child and I'd felt his tiny naked globes in my hands after his bath, I'd never dared to consider the sensual nature of my boy's smooth and tender bottom. Now as I touched him without fear I could tell he still had that same baby soft quality to his skin that I had known so long ago, only now it was enhanced by the added firmness and definition of a teen's amble globs.

I rubbed his bottom with my palm, preparing the place I was planning to put a few licks. I still couldn't believe this was something he really wanted me to do.

"Son," I said to my boy, "Do you feel this is right, that you deserve this punishment?"

"Yes, sir," he answered without any hesitation. But I still had to be sure.

"Mark, if you really want me to do this, I want you to say, 'Daddy, I've been a bad boy and I want you to spank me.'" I knew he wouldn't say that unless he really, REALLY meant.

It took only a second for my fifteen year old boy to answer me.

"Yes, daddy," he said, his voice sounding boyish, "I've been a bad widdle boy and I want you to spank me. Pwease, Daddy?"

Wow. He'd gone even further than I had asked him too, adding all the "widdle boy" qualities to his voice and words.

It felt so strange having Mark in my lap after all these years, to hear him talking like a child. I could feel his hard cock pressing against my own and suddenly it was like being back in time. Here was my little boy again, his naked bottom turned up, waiting for my handiwork, only now things were different. Now, he was literally begging me to paddle his behind and his huge, teenage cock was pressed into my own, turning me on in ways I was ashamed to admit.

Anything to make him happy. I pulled back my hand, swung and gave him the smack on the ass he'd begged me for. I heard the boy whimper a little as I made contact, and felt his wee-wee rub against my own as he lurched forward. His hips pushed down, shoving his meat firmly against his daddy's.

I continued with another smack and felt the same thing. Mark's face was a mixture of pain and ecstasy. I kept going and he starting pumping. He was gonna cum in my lap.

"Do you want, Daddy to stop now?" I asked him.

"Noooo," he cried, "No, Daddy. Please don't stop, please..."

"Are you gonna cum for Daddy like a big boy does?"

"Yes, Daddy," he cried out, "I'm gonna cum for you."

The next thing I knew he was a living fountain, shooting what seemed like gallons of his warm boyish juice between my legs. I felt the wetness of his cream running down the long shaft of my dick and dripping all over my bag. Soon my own huge cock and balls were drenched in his boyhood pleasure, dripping with the cream of his loins.

Mark's whole body stiffened as he came repeatedly, then my teen-child moaned and collapsed across my legs exhausted. I let my fingers move to his hair and began to pet him.

"That's a good boy," I whispered softly.

"...thank you daddy..." he muttered weakly as he tried to regain himself. "Thank you."

"That was good, wasn't it? But Daddy's not done with you yet," I said to him firmly. "Get on your knees."

Not knowing what was coming Mark did as I told him. Once on his knees I stood up and moved until my wet, dripping dick and balls were hanging directly over his face.

"Look at that," I said to him as his own jism began to drip into his face. I tried to sound as if I were angry. "Look what you did to Daddy's nice clean cock. You made a mess all over him. Now, how are you going to clean that up?"

He only hesitated for a moment, then without a word Mark put out his tongue and started licking my cock and balls clean.

It was ecstasy. Geezus, I'd never known any sensation as erotic in my life as seeing my own son on his knees licking my genitals clean of his own creamy ejaculate. I found my breath quickening as I felt the erotic heat of his stimulation. The next step was only natural.

I took my firm cock in my hand and bent it down toward his mouth.

"Suck it," I ordered him. "Take Daddy's big cock in your mouth and suck it."

"Yes, Daddy," Mark replied obediently. His lips slipped over the shaft and soon I found myself experiencing the most erotic blow job I had ever known. I couldn't believe what a talented cock-sucker my young teen boy was. It was something he'd only practiced in his dreams, but he had a natural talent for the work.

I had no desire to force Mark into anything he didn't want to do. But this was his dream, literally. To drink the sweet juice of his family tree, to taste the seed of his own creation.

As he worked my cock I remembered how almost sixteen years ago I'd spent one evening with his mother. A single squirt of my fertile fluid had brought into being this young man who was now on his knees before me nursing at the phallus that had given him life. I could scarce believe how the fruit of that single ejaculation was now sucking me, calling out that same seminal liquid that had brought him fourth, ready to receive it into his willing mouth. It was a rush I never would have thought possible.

Quickly I felt my manhood swell in preparation of what was to cum.

"Son," I said to him firmly, "Are you ready to taste your Daddy's seed?"

Without breaking his rhythm he indicated that he was.

"All right, boy. Here comes Dad's baby juice just for you....OOOOohHHH!"

I felt my load shoot into his welcome mouth and thought he was going to suck my balls right out of me the way he drank so deeply. I felt my dick pumping repeatedly as he took in all I could give and then some. I was ready to cry out from the sheer agony of my ecstasy.

Then, it was done.

Mark kept going at the super sensitive head of my dick until I was ready to scream. Finally I had to push him off of me just to get some relief.

"There, there now..." I spoke, winded, "That was Daddy's good boy." I petted his head like you would a dog who'd just done a trick you were proud of. He moved his head against my palm, responding to the affectionate gesture. He liked being Daddy's little boy again, I could tell.

"Was I a good boy, Daddy? Did I do good?" he asked.

"Oh yes... You were a good boy. Daddy is very pleased with his son." I replied honestly.

It had all gone almost exactly as he had dreamed it, from our meeting in the pool through the spanking right up to him being Daddy's little cock sucker.

About the only thing that was different was that, unlike the dream, he hadn't lost a single drop of his father's jizz out of his sweet, young , mouth. He was such a good boy.

And just as in his dream, he was a little boy again. But that part was going go change.

"Stand up," I said softly, "Let Daddy hold you."

He did as he was told and I took him in my arms again. For a long moment we held each other, naked flesh to naked flesh. Then I moved him back just enough to take his chin between my fingers and look into his eyes.

"I've missed my little boy," I said to him honestly. "I've missed him a lot. But even though you'll always be my little boy, I want to know the man that boy has become."

Putting my arm across his bare shoulders I lead him up the stairs to my bedroom. There, for the rest of the night, we made the final part of his dream come true, for both of us.

I made love to my son, not as to a child, but as one man to another. We were intimate in every way two men can be. I was gentle with him, always, but I also gave him what he most desired and he took his father's manhood into him with a passion that gave us both pleasure.

When it was over we lay tenderly together, wrapped intimately in each others arms, Mark pressing himself deeply against my musty fur. I thought I heard him crying.

"What's wrong?" I asked, worried I'd somehow hurt him in the fire of our actions.

"Nothing," he said, wiping a tear from his face. "It's just, now that it's over, I'm afraid I'm gonna wake up."

I smiled and held him close. "Don't be afraid," I said as I lay his head against my naked chest. "Just go to sleep, dream beautiful dreams and when you wake up, I'll still be here. I promise."

The next morning when Mark opened his eyes, he was still in his father's bed and his Dad was still there, holding him tightly in his arms.