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Call Me Dad

    "Fuck, dude, this is your dad?!"

    "Did you check out the link I just sent you?"

    "Yeah, I'm scrolling through his Instagram now. Look at that ass! Is this a fucking prank?"

    "Nope. I swear."

    "Got photos of his bulge and everything..."

    "Yeah. I'm surprised the profile hasn't been pulled."

    "Does he look like this in real life?"

    "Well you know Instagram, it's all angles and filters. But in person... Yeah, he actually does look just as good."

    "I would cum in my pants as soon as I saw him, I don't care if he's my dad."

    "Fuck off."

    "What're you gonna do now?"

    "Well, I guess I'll go and get to know him."

    Meeting my dad was by far the most surreal thing that's ever happened to me. I'm sure it would feel that way for every 18-year-old meeting one of their parents for the first time, but after actually seeing what he was like I was even more in disbelief. 

    I grew up with my mom, step-dad, and three half-siblings. We never really talked about my dad, probably because everybody tried to make me feel just as much a part of the family as everyone else.

    From what I knew, Mom got pregnant their senior year of high school. They tried to work it out, but soon decided to split. Mom's parents helped her take care of me while she went to college, where she met my step-dad. My real dad traveled a lot for work, first to New York and then Europe, where he ended up settling down. They agreed it's best for her to get full custody, so I could grow up in a "nuclear family." I think he always sent her a decent amount of money, but we never talked about that either.

    I turned 18 a few weeks before graduating high school. That's when Mom asked to talk to me.

    "Sam, I have something to tell you," she started, sitting next to me on my bed.

    "Yes?" I replied anxiously, horror scenarios already swirling in my mind.

    "I've heard from your dad. Your... biological dad. He's moving back to the country, and we thought you should know. There's absolutely no pressure, but if you wanted to meet him, you could do so."

    I sat looking at her in silence.

    "I thought the timing sort of works out," she continued. "You're an adult now, and you'll soon have the summer off. So I agreed to only bring it up to you once. The option's there, if you wanna do it now or in the future. Otherwise, we don't have to talk about it anymore."

    I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry.

    "And... you're okay with that?" I asked.

    "Of course."

    "Is he... here in Massachusetts?"

    "No. He bought a house in California."

    "So if I wanna meet him, I have to go there?"

    "He's offered to come here if that's what you want. But he's also invited you to go stay with him as long as you want this summer. And don't worry about the cost."

    I thought about it for a second. A paid vacation in California didn't sound like a bad way to spend my last summer before college. But I knew nothing about this man, even if he was my father.

    "Could I... get a one-way ticket," I suggested, "and when I'm there I can decide if I wanna come back in a few days or stay longer?"


    "Okay then. Let's do it," I nodded.

    The next few weeks I was too busy with school to even think about what's coming next. Mom made all the travel arrangements, and all I had to do was pack and get in the car when it was time to head to the airport. It was the middle of June, and I saw the sun rise as we drove up to Boston early in the morning. 

    "He got me a first class ticket?" I looked at the boarding pass on my phone.

    "Your dad... did well for himself in Europe," was all she said from behind the wheel. We were comfortable, but with four kids in the house we were hardly swimming in money.

    "What does he do, anyway?" I asked from the passenger seat.

    "He's in fashion." 

    "Fashion?! Are you sure he's not gay?"

    "I think you're pretty much the proof of that, honey."

    I laughed. Mom and I always got along, and we got even closer when I came out to her a few years ago.

    There was no time for dramatic goodbyes when we got to Logan Airport. We were cutting it short. We said a quick goodbye and it wasn't until I sat on the plane all by myself that the nerves started to set in. To distract myself, I watched a couple of movies and took a nap to catch up on sleep after getting up in the middle of the night.

    I loved flying west. With the time difference, it wasn't even noon yet by the time we landed at LAX.

    My biggest worry was, what if I don't even recognize my dad? Mom had shown me a photo. He was a handsome-looking man, but what if that wasn't enough to stand out at the airport? What if I wasn't sure it was him, do I walk up and ask "Excuse me sir, do you happen to be my father?"

    Turns out, he was the one to recognize me first.

    "Sam! Sam!" I heard a man yelling out and waving in my direction. It was a common name, but there was no doubt it was meant for me.

    My anxiety started to kick in again as I rolled my cart toward him. How do I say hi, do I shake his hand?

    "Come here," he said and pulled me in for a tight hug. "It's so good to see you!" he said, as if this wasn't the first time he was seeing me since I was a baby.

    Feeling dirty after my long flight, I was worried I'd stain his clothes. He was wearing the whitest, tightest polo shirt I could imagine. It matched his shiny teeth when he smiled.

    "How was your flight?" he asked, again sounding like we were old buddies.

    "Good, thanks. Thanks for getting the ticket for me. I've never flown first class."

    "Important thing's that you're here. Come on, let's get to the car."

    He grabbed the larger of my two suitcases and led the way. I watched him as I walked behind him. He was dressed simple but nice. His fitted shorts made his thighs look great. Even his flip flops looked expensive.

    "You packed lightly," he joked as he put my suitcases in his BMW. His biceps bulged, nearly tearing the seams of his shirt.

    "Sorry, I didn't know what to pack."

    "No worries. If you forgot anything we can always get it here."

    The ride to Laguna Beach took over an hour, but the conversation made time pass surprisingly fast. We started talking about the weather, then life in California. He told me about all the places he'd traveled, and how he spent most of his time in Europe in London and Paris. It felt like the type of conversation people have on a first date.

    By the time we got to the house, I wasn't even surprised to see it was basically a mansion. Some parts of it looked empty, as if it wasn't fully furnished yet, but most of it looked really nice. 

    "This is your room," he said as he showed me one of the bedrooms upstairs. "It looks really generic, but if you wanna get some things to put in it, let me know."

    "It's great, thanks," I said. He was right, it looked like a nice hotel room, but there was no homey feeling to it.

    "How about I let you unpack, and you can come meet me in the kitchen when you're done?"


    I closed the door as soon as I was alone in the room, and took a deep breath. I texted Mom to let her know I made it to the house, then checked a text from my best friend. ("Well?? 😳😳" Lamar asked. "I'm here. It feels weird, but we're being so casual," I texted back.)

    I put my clothes in the closet, and my toiletries in the bathroom. I noticed there were no towels, so I went downstairs to ask for some.

    "Ben? Do you have any towels I can use?"

    "Shoot, I forgot. Sure, c'mere." 

    I followed him to his bedroom where he got me a set of towels from his closet. As he bent down, the waistband of his designer underwear showed, grabbing my attention.

    "I'm gonna take a quick shower, if that's okay," I said.

    "Of course. Lunch will be ready by the time you're done, if you're hungry."

    I showered and changed, and went back down to the kitchen. The table was set and it looked amazing.

    "Did you make all this?" I asked.

    "Fuck no, I got it delivered. Here," he said, passing me a glass of champagne. "Do you drink?"

    Was this a trick question? I'd been drinking with my friends for over a year, but always hid it from Mom.

    "Um. Maybe a sip of champagne, to celebrate," I said.

    "Exactly. To us finally getting to meet. Thank you for agreeing to come visit me here. I hope you enjoy your stay."

    We looked at each other in the eyes as he spoke. This was his usual style, I could tell. Somewhat emotional, but never sappy. We clinked glasses.


    The champagne tasted nothing like the cheap vodka we usually had in Lamar's basement.

    It turned out my dad had the charisma of a talk show host, and he could talk without there ever being a lull in the conversation. At times, I completely forgot I was talking to someone who was not just my elder, but my parent as well. Even though they were the same age, Mom was much more of an uptight adult. My dad just seemed... fucking cool.

    After lunch, he suggested we go out to the pool for a swim, which seemed like a great idea.

    "Did you bring anything to swim in?" he asked. "I might have something for you."

    "I brought a pair of shorts. Thanks, Ben."

    "Sam?" he said just as I started to head upstairs.

    "Listen," he walked a few feet closer to me, "it's okay, and do whatever makes you feel comfortable. But as far as I'm concerned, if you want to, feel free to... call me Dad."

    "Okay... Dad," I said, and we both smiled at each other.

    I was in for a shock as soon as I stepped out in the backyard, and it wasn't only because of how nice it was (the inside of the house seemed nice but the backyard, with the large pool and the hot tub, seemed to be the focal point). I was wearing a pair of baggy boardshorts, but my dad was lying in one of the chairs in nothing but a small, tight pair of speedos and sunglasses.

    I'd noticed how fit his body was as soon as I saw him at the airport. His pecs and biceps bulged through his T-shirt, and his strong thighs and big bubble butt were obvious through his shorts as well. But seeing him in his speedos was just unreal: he was probably the fittest person I'd ever seen in real life. His abs and obliques looked photoshopped. I was less hairy than most guys my age, but he was completely smooth, probably to show off his muscles as much as possible.

    "There you are," he said as soon as he noticed me. "I made a jug or margaritas. You're free to have one, but I don't want you to feel like you have to drink just because I'm doing it."

    "Well, maybe if we don't have to tell Mom," I said, sitting on the chair next to his.

    "Oh, did she tell you she wasn't drinking by the time she was your age?" he laughed. "How do you think you came to be?"

    "You know, this is the second time today I hear about how I came to be. I can't with you two."

    He passed me a drink and we clinked glasses again.

    "Why," he asked, "what happened?"

    What the hell, I decided to be honest.

    "She told me you work in fashion, so I joked about you being gay. She said obviously not, otherwise I wouldn't be here or whatever."

    He smiled. I was glad he seemed entertained by the story, rather than upset.

    "Nah. I don't discriminate," he said.

    "What do you mean?"

    "I'm not gay but... Men, women, anyone in between, it's not what matters to me," he said, then took a break when he saw the surprised look on my face. "What, don't tell me you're homophobic?"

    "It would be pretty funny if I were," I said and took a sip. "I'm gay."

    "Well cheers," he said, "to us queers!"

    "Cheers to us queers!" we raised our glasses. "Now that's a sentence I never thought I'd say to my dad."

    We spent the next couple of hours going in and out of the pool and lounging under the umbrella.

    "You phone was pinging," I said as my dad came out of the pool, dripping wet.

    "It's nothing, just Instagram notifications," he said, glimpsing at his phone.

    "So what does being in fashion even mean, what do you do?" I asked, as the toweled himself dry in front of me, dabbing his muscles. 

    "I'm a model."

    I looked him up and down.

    "Really? They'll let anyone model these days."

    "Fuck you," he laughed. "D'you know how hard it is to look like this at my age?"

    "Nope. I don't even know how it is at this age."

    "What're you talking about? You look great." I rolled my eyes at his obvious flattery. "But if you ever wanted to start working out, I have a gym here in the house. And if you need some pointers, I'm happy to do it together. I work out pretty much every morning."

    "Really? Will it show a difference?"

    "Depends on how long you do it. A week or two won't make any difference other than make you feel better. But if you keep at it all summer, it'll definitely start to show."

    The thought of me rolling up to school looking even half as good as he did was what pushed me.

    "Deal. Let's do it then."

    "Deal. We start tomorrow."

    That evening I went to bed early, running on East Coast time. I texted Mom to say everything was going great, much better than imagined, and I was thinking of staying as long as possible. 

    Scrolling through various apps before turning in, the thought came to me and I opened Instagram and searched for my dad's name.

    "Holy shit!" I screamed out loud.

    He had over a million followers, and as soon as I saw some of the photos I could see why: he was nearly naked in all of them! There were photos of his bare ass; photos of him flexing his muscles; and photos of him posing in tight speedos or underwear, basically showing off the entire outline of his dick. 

    I opened the latest photo, of him lying in a chair in the same speedos he wore earlier. Fuck, this was posted a few hours ago! Probably while I was in the pool. I read the caption.

    "Dear friends," it said, "I might be posting a bit less than usual over the next few weeks. I just wanted to let you know everything's okay. More than okay❣️ A person very important to me came back into my life, and I want to spend as much time as possible with them. Have a lovely day, and greetings from sunny California. ☀️❤️🍹👨‍👦"

    I started to tear up. I looked at the photo. His abs, his pecs, his whole body looked even better than it did in reality. His speedos, tight as they were when I saw them earlier, looked positively obscene from this angle, I could almost entirely make out the head of his dick.

    "Are you up??!!!" I texted Lamar. "You'll never believe what the fuck happened!"

    I shared the Instagram link with him and my phone rang five seconds later.

    I woke up in the middle of the night. I was only semi-conscious but I was aware of my dick. It was so hard it hurt. That's probably what woke me up. I reached for it and felt it throb in my right hand. Precum was already dripping on my belly. The dream I'd been having was quickly escaping me. I tried to cling to it. It was my dad, coming out of the pool in slow motion, dripping wet. 

    "If you want I can help you look like this," he said, walking toward me. The inside of his speedos was the size of a melon. "You're very important to me. I hope we get to spend as much time as possible together." 

    "Mmm," I moaned, stroking my dick faster and faster until I shot a load all over myself. I scooped up as much cum as I could, and put it in my mouth before dozing off to sleep.

Next Chapter

Ben makes an appearance in My Boyfriend and My Two Dads, Chapters 16: "Go Ahead," 17: "Hotel Rooms, Pt. I," and 18: "Hotel Rooms, Pt. II"

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