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NOVEMBER 2008 | NICK:

    I walked around the cabin, fluffing every cushion and straightening every piece of furniture. I wanted everything to be perfect for when my son Ben got here.

    It didn't take too long, since the house wasn't all that big. I couldn't believe it was all mine now! I'd first set my eyes on this Vermont cabin eight years ago. I remembered it like it was yesterday. It was shortly after we'd learned that Ben was about to have a baby. He and I came here for some blissful time of skinny dipping in the lake and heart-to-heart conversations between a father and a father-to-be.

    Earlier this year, when my wife... well, my ex-wife (I wonder if I'll ever get used to saying that) announced that she wanted a divorce, we agreed that she'd keep the house and I would be the one moving out. By that point, I was friends with the owner of this cabin and I knew he was about to put it up for sale. It felt like serendipity.

    Meanwhile, it'd been years since I last saw my son. He'd moved to New York, and then Europe, where his career as a model seemed to be getting more and more successful. Ben wasn't a part of his son's life, except financially. I only ever saw my grandson a few times. He grew up with his mom's family, and that was probably the best for the little tyke. They seemed to have it together much better than we did. I never imagined my life like this – alone, in the middle of Vermont in my 50s – but life doesn't always turn out the way you planned.

    It wasn't all that bad, either, to be fair. I loved the nature. I appreciated not bumping into neighbors who I knew felt sorry for me. I was at peace; albeit, a tad lonely. But that would change now, at least for a few weeks, as my son flew from Europe to stay over for the holidays. 

    Ben didn't usually come to visit for Thanksgiving and I assumed that this year it had to do with the divorce and him feeling sorry for me, just like the neighbors I was trying to avoid. So I wanted the house – and myself – to look as good as possible. I vacuumed and dusted everywhere at least three times this past week. I shampooed and trimmed my beard. I walked around checking every detail as if I was about to get a visit by some sort of inspector.

    I still had a couple of hours to go until I had to leave for the airport to pick up Ben. I made myself a hot cup of coffee and walked out onto the front porch. The morning was sunny, but way too chilly to be standing here naked as I was. Still, I clasped the hot mug between my hands and tried to enjoy the breeze on my bare skin. It was one of the upsides of living in the middle of nowhere. "Good morning," I said out loud to the goldfinch that was helping itself to food from the bird feeder by my porch. I finished my coffee and went back inside to get dressed in my daily uniform of jeans and a plaid shirt. Even though it was still early, I grabbed my keys and set off in my truck to head to Logan Airport.

    A few hours later, as I started to approach Boston, it felt like the biggest city in the world. I'd always lived in small towns, but my latest home was extra remote and isolated even by my standards. I was losing my ability to deal with chaos. I'd barely entered the city, and I was already looking forward to driving away.

    At the airport, you could spot all sorts of people. From those flying in stained sweatpants, to those wearing expensive suits from designers that my son probably modeled for. I could easily spot Ben when he came out of the gate, even though it'd been so long. He wasn't dressed particularly fancy or anything, but he just had this... glow about him, this charisma, especially when he smiled, that attracted everyone's attention at the gate at least for a few seconds.

    "Hi, Dad," he gave me a hug, overwhelming my sense of smell with his nice cologne. He was taller than me now – he had been for a few years – but he still felt like my little boy in my arms.

    "Benny," I said while patting his back, even though I knew he didn't enjoy being called that. "Come, let's get out of here. I want to show you the cabin."

—

    "I still can't believe you bought this place," my son said a few hours later when we walked into my house. He left his suitcase by the door and walked around with what I hoped was a sense of nostalgia. "Do I still get the same bed?" he asked.

    "Yes," I smiled, and took his suitcase and rolled it to the spare bedroom. When Ben joined me in the room, he was already taking his shirt off.

    "Same bed and everything," he said, dropping his shirt and feeling up the mattress. Next, he took his shoes off, obviously getting ready to take a shower after his flight across the pond.

    As I watched my son undressing, I couldn't help but admire what had become of his body. I didn't really know what "models" looked like these days; I didn't use the Internet much and I certainly didn't buy fashion magazines. But my 25-year-old son reminded me of one of those Greek statues you see at museums. The muscles on his stomach looked chiseled, flexing with every little movement. His chest was larger than I'd ever seen it, with two perky nipples poking out. As he pulled down his pants in front of me, I realized that his lower body was just as fit. Finally, he pulled down his underwear (I think they're called "boxer briefs," the tight kind he was wearing) and I was surprised to see that his firm butt was completely smooth. For some reason, I'd expected it to be moderately hairy, like mine. 

    Indeed, my son's whole body seemed smooth from the neck down. "I wonder if...?" I waited another second until my son turned around and I got my answer. Yup, the area around his cock was fully shaved as well, including all of his pubic hair. 

    "I'm gonna go jump in the shower," Ben told me with a smile.

    "You know where it is," I smiled back, and went to the kitchen to make us some coffee.

—

    A couple of hours later, it was already dark out and Ben was getting sleepy, still running on London time. However, he tried to fight it and stayed up with me, catching up after all this time. I wanted to ask him about my grandson but I knew that could be a painful subject for Ben, so instead we talked about his work.

    "I can show you some if you want," my son pulled out a photo album (or a "portfolio" as he called it) from one of his bags and came to sit next to me on the couch in front of the fireplace. Ben opened up the large, leather-bound folio across both our laps, our thighs pressed together beneath it.

    The first photo was admittedly stunning, a black-and-white full-body shot. Ben was in a suit, with the tie undone and the shirt fully unbuttoned, showing off his pecs and chiseled abs. He had sunglasses on, and though I didn't recognize the brand name it was clear that's what the image was meant to advertise.

    As he paged through more photos, he mentioned things about each one, often where the shoot had been. London, Paris, Buenos Aires, Tokyo... my son had been able to travel the world because of his job, and I found myself feeling a swell of pride. Most of the photos had been of Ben fully clothed or shirtless, sometimes alone and other times with other models. But the last few had him in more provocative poses with female models. He turned a page and I heard him chuckle. The image was of Ben in a speedo standing by a pool, holding a fully nude woman up close against him. Part of her perfectly curved ass was visible, and one of Ben's hands was cupping her breast, just barely covering the nipple. They both stared right at the camera with intense expressions. I whistled softly in appreciation.

    "That's one's... really something," I said, unsure of the right words to use. "Smokin' hot" seemed a little too crass to describe an image that wouldn't look out of place in a photography exhibit. "She's gorgeous."

    "She certainly is," my son said in response, looking slightly wistfully at the image. I wondered if he ever slept with the models that he worked with. Stopping short of asking him that, I decided to ask something else that came to mind.

    "Do you ever, uh... get aroused when posing for these kinds of pictures?" It was tough for me to imagine not getting worked up, holding a woman like that up against my bare skin and cupping her tits. Ben laughed, and sat back a little bit, smiling big.

    "Male models get that question all the time," he said. "And yes, it happens occasionally. But you have to realize, we're surrounded by like, ten or more people, usually. People holding lights and reflectors, makeup and hair people buzzing around you like flies in between shots... It's not as sexually charged as people think. And it's also about respect for your partners in the shoot. Everyone needs to be comfortable."

    Even when Ben had gotten started in New York, I'd quickly come to understand that modeling was actual work, not just posing for photos. And you had to keep your body a certain way, always matching the weight and measurements that people expected. But my glimpse into that world was always minimal, especially after Ben jetted off across the ocean.

    As my son began turning pages again, there were a lot more underwear and swimsuit pictures. It seemed like the focus of this part of the portfolio. In most of them I noticed that Ben's body was as smooth and hairless as he was now. But one image featured him standing soaking wet in the shallow part of a pool, with drops of water glistening in the happy trail going from his navel down into an extremely small swimsuit. A fair amount of wet pubic hair was also visible above the top edge of the suit.

    "Huh, funny," I said.

    "What's funny?" asked Ben, sounding amused.

    "Well, it's just that in that photo you have... some hair down there. I thought you shaved it all." We both chuckled, but I was genuinely curious about it.

    "I go back and forth between shaving my pubes," my son said after a moment. "Sometimes they want you to have hair for a job, and you have to be ready for that. Other times I've had to get waxed right before a shoot, to be perfectly smooth."

    "Waxed?!" I said, my whole body wincing. "That's gotta hurt!"

    "I'm used to it by now," Ben shrugged it off. "It's just part of the job. Hell, sometimes I just lie there and chat with the guy next to me as we both get our asses waxed. All in a day's work."

    The image of my son's smooth bottom flashed through my mind again. We reached the end of the portfolio, and the last image was of my son up against someone else, arms and legs entwined and faces close together in passionate embrace. Not a stitch of clothing on either of them. It took me a moment to realize that the other model was also a man.

    "That's... certainly provocative," I remarked, wondering to myself how often he'd had to do poses like that with other guys.

    "Yeah, that was quite a shoot," Ben said, raising one eyebrow. "You asked about getting aroused... that other guy was poking me in the hip a lot that day, and I don't mean with his finger." We both laughed.

    "Did that make you uncomfortable?" I asked.

    "All in a day's work," my son said for a second time, grinning as he shut the portfolio.​

​​

BEN:

    "Okay, maybe coming back for Thanksgiving wasn't all that bad," I thought to myself the day after arriving in Vermont. True, I was missing a lot of holiday parties in Europe, but it was Thanksgiving Day and my father had done a wonderful job cooking for us. I was very pleasantly surprised. Besides, there was something about home-cooked food that you know since childhood, that not even the fanciest restaurants in the world can replace.

    Feeling full of turkey and trimmings, Dad and I moved from the dining table to the couch in front of the TV, where we ate apple pie while watching football. A while later, I needed to get up and move, otherwise it felt like I was about to explode. It was too cold for a walk outside so I walked around the cabin instead.

    The house wasn't a mess by any means, but each room still had a few boxes stacked in at least one corner. Dad had had to pack up his whole life, I realized, and I wondered how that must have felt. I'd barely acquired any possessions these last few years, living mostly out of suitcases and spending money on experiences rather than keepsakes. Strolling into the small utility room, I curiously opened up a box and saw it contained a few athletic trophies, wrapped in newspaper. Back from when Dad played baseball in high school. I'd never seen these before and it was fascinating to imagine him in his younger days.

    I moved that box to the floor and looked to see what was in the one beneath it. l laughed out loud as I stared down at the box full of old porn magazines. I couldn't believe Dad still had these! I remembered stumbling across his porn stash when I was a teen, feeling so excited like I'd struck gold. I'd jerked off to these images vigorously many times. Now, in an era of internet porn, it all seemed rather innocent and wholesome somehow. The clothing on the cover models (what little there was) and the hairstyles were twenty years out of date, and some of the styling looked almost comical. 

    Picking up one magazine after another, I remembered some of the cover images so vividly. I'd learned back then what kinds of things could be found in the different titles. Playboy was high-end and almost classy, lots of props and coy poses, with the women sometimes just offering glimpses of what they had between their legs. But titles like Hustler were much more explicit, with legs spread-eagle and pussies wide open. A woman was often paired with a man for the pictures, sometimes multiple men. There was full penetration shown and some photo sets ended with a picture of cum sprayed across a model's face, tits, or stomach. I'd always liked those kinds of magazines more, I remembered. It was hot to see the cocks going into various places, the raw sex on full display.

    Feeling wistful and nostalgic, I decided to go old-school and have a quick jerk as I paged through one of the more explicit mags. My cock was already fully hard as I undid my pants, and soon I was slowly stroking it as I paged through a pictorial, one I remembered well from my youth. It was a "farmer's daughter" scenario, and the model had pigtail braids and was dressed in a pair of skimpy denim shorts that came off after the first image. She was quickly joined by a well-hung older man wearing only a flannel shirt and a cowboy hat.

    I'd started to pick up the pace of my jerking when I heard my father's voice coming from the doorway.

    "I didn't think I still had to hide those from prying eyes," he said in a teasing tone when he realized what I was doing.

    "I always did have a knack for finding them," I replied, turning to look at him with a smile. I slowed down my strokes but didn't stop. I already felt like I was building up to a good cum and I didn't want to lose the momentum. A moment passed and I looked back down at the magazine, and then back up at my dad.

    "Well, I'll leave you to it," he said with a grin and started to turn back toward the hallway.

    "Feel free to join me, Dad," I said impulsively. This had the potential to be an awkward moment, but I was pretty sure he would be open to the idea. Sure enough, he only seemed to give it a moment's consideration before his smile got wider, and he wordlessly stepped over next to me, reaching down to turn the page.

    Dad squeezed his crotch for a moment as we both looked at the farmer's daughter getting nailed in the back of a pickup truck, her eyes closed and mouth open as the cock pushed deep into her. Then my dad unzipped his pants and got out his cock, which already seemed fully hard. It was nice to know that age wouldn't stop me from boning up as quickly as I did now, assuming I took after my father in that regard.

    And looking at his cock, I realized I probably did inherit some things from him. It was about the same length as mine, with a similar shape to the head. I'd seen Dad's penis before, but it had been a while back. During those intervening years my sexual palette had broadened considerably. Now that I looked at cocks in a much different way, it was interesting to see my father's through that lens. He had a great one, easily rivaling the one wielded by the farmer in the pictures we were stroking to.

    We paged through the magazine, both of us conveying our appreciation of the visuals with soft moans as each new spread of images was revealed. The farmer eventually sprayed his load across the young woman's ass, and another series of images began. I remembered this one well from my youth: it was the first three-way I'd ever seen. In it, an elegantly dressed woman was approached by two handsome men in suits. The clothing came off quickly and all the best parts were put on display. I'd appreciated the men's bodies when I was younger, but there was a more carnal interest as I looked at them now, and I found myself getting closer to an orgasm as Dad and I flipped to the next spread. It showed the woman sucking one man's cock while the other fucked her from behind.

    Glancing over at Dad, his fist was flying up and down his shaft and I could see precum leaking freely onto his hairy knuckles. I felt a surge run through me, knowing that my dad was just as turned on as I was. My father reached down and turned to the next page, moaning again softly as we both saw the next images. The woman sat in one man's lap with her legs spread wide and his cock buried deep in her ass. The other man was in front of her and sliding himself into her pussy. She clung to both men with her arms and her head was thrown back, a look of ecstasy on her face.

    "Fuck, they're really filling her up," I said quietly, knowing how much my father was enjoying what we were seeing.

    "Bet she loves having both of them inside her like that," Dad whispered back. His voice was a little deeper than usual, and he sounded so manly in that moment. It did something to me and a moment later I was shooting my first blast of cum right onto the magazine. I closed my eyes and felt more of my load shoot out as I kept stroking. I heard Dad's breathing quicken and he whispered something unintelligible that turned into a moan.

    I opened my eyes and looked down to see cum spurting out of my father's cock, landing onto the magazine as well. For a few seconds we were both spraying our loads right onto that model as she got double fucked by the two studs. It was intense, seeing my father's cum mixing with my own and hearing the sounds of the drops hitting the paper.

    Dad stopped cumming a few seconds after I did, and we both let out a few deep breaths. We looked at one another and both smiled big. I looked down to see Dad flipping the magazine closed, out loads now pressed together between the pages. He tucked his softening cock back into his jeans, and I started to do the same with mine. Looking back up at him, I couldn't help but laugh a little.

    "Just like in the good old days, huh?" I said, remembering the first time we ever did this together, when I was much younger...​