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    And just like that, my wife and I were now empty-nesters. After years of struggling to have kids, after finally convincing my brother Austin to be our sperm donor, after 18 years of raising our son Brett – he was now out of the house, off to college, and we found ourselves with a quiet home and way too much time on our hands.

    Thankfully, Brett had decided to go to college just an hour's drive away. He made us promise not to drive down every single weekend to check up on him. We did our best to respect his wishes, but I still kept an eagle eye out on his social media profiles to make sure he was okay.

    "Have you noticed how buff Brett is getting?" I asked my wife one October Friday over breakfast. 

    "What do you mean? He's always been athletic," she pointed out. "He's been playing sports since he could walk."

    "Yeah, but now he's gotten BIG," I insisted, holding my arms out and lifting my shoulders to make myself look as large as possible. "Have you seen his selfies? He's at the gym every day with Juan, posting 'progress pics,' as they call them."

    "I don't stalk my son's social media," Anne said sweetly, "and neither should you. Honey, I know it's hard not having Brett around but he's an adult now. He's a man, not a boy. I don't think keeping tabs on him as close as you do is healthy."

    I sighed and decided not to argue this point any further. I knew Anne would make me out to be even more of a "stalker" (what a choice of word, when we were discussing our own child) if I told her that I also checked the accounts of other people Brett followed. All of his recent follows were other gay men who lived in Minneapolis. Some of them were young adults, like him, but others were well in their 30s or 40s. One thing that almost all of them had in common was the generous amount of skin they liked to display in their posts. I physically blushed, looking at some of the photos Brett had liked, which featured men in their skimpy underwear or sometimes fully naked, covering up their genitalia just enough to get away with it.

    Maybe Anne was right, and I was overstepping my role as a parent. After all, I enjoyed a fair amount of porn when I was 18, as much as I could gain access to it back then, so there was nothing abnormal about what my son was doing. I just found it weird how openly people posted and followed it these days. Even Brett's own posts, where he was flashing his muscles in the locker room, were at times borderline pornographic. He tried to make it all about his physique, but the fact that he posted pics in his underwear – including wearing jockstraps in multiple photos – made me feel like it was all a bit too much. However, I had decided not to make a big deal out of it, or even mention it to Brett. The last thing I wanted was for him to block me or stop contact with me because he found me overbearing.

    "Oh, by the way, I won't be able to make it to Brett's game tonight," my wife announced as she started clearing up the dishes. "I gotta work late on a project. Will you be okay going on your own?"

    "Of course," I said. These days, when Anne and I went down to Minneapolis it was to watch our son play hockey. This would be my first time going without her, but I'd already made friends with some of the other players' parents, so I knew I would have fun.

    As it turned out: I had TOO MUCH fun. Brett's team played exceptionally well, scoring 7-0 against a team which was considered one of the best in the league. After the game, a few of the other dads invited me to go celebrate at a nearby bar. I was going to stop myself after one drink, but people kept buying rounds and before we knew it we were all too drunk to go home. At the end of the night some of the guys called their wives to pick them up. Others took Ubers home. 

    I hesitated. An Uber would cost me a fortune, but I couldn't expect my wife to drive all this way and back. And then how would I get my car back? Just then, I noticed Brett had posted a new photo earlier tonight, which served as a welcome distraction. I tapped it open, and I was shocked to see a naked photo of my son in the locker room, covering his junk with a white towel, a huge smile on his face, while his teammates celebrated their victory in the background. I was almost certain the photo was taken by Brett's boyfriend Juan.

    I had to admit, I was impressed with my son's physique. His biceps were incredibly chiseled and his abs literally looked like a washboard. In addition to his muscle growth, he'd also managed to grow quite a bit of chest hair. The hair thinned going down his stomach into a treasure trail that connected to the bit of bush that was prominently peeking out from the top of the towel. He was holding the towel directly over his package, not leaving much to the imagination. I could clearly make out his bulge and even the line of his shaft.

    Just then, I called my son and told him that the other hockey dads had gotten me drunk. I explained it wouldn't be fair to have his mother come pick me up and asked if I could crash in his room with him and Juan. Brett had no problem with that and soon, I was making my way to his dorm across campus. The walk was helpful in clearing my head a bit, though I was still fairly tipsy by the time I reached the entryway. 

    Coincidentally, a couple of other hockey players were at the door, bragging to each other about the girls they'd just had sex with after the game. They recognized me as Brett's dad so they let me into the building, where I patted the boys on the back and made my way to my son's room.

    When he opened his door, Brett seemed surprised to see me.

    "Dad. I thought you would call me first. How did you get into the building?" Brett asked, wearing nothing but a ratty pair of boxer briefs. They sat low enough on his hips I could see that same bit of pubic hair I'd spotted in his photo. He also looked semi-erect – his bulge was obnoxiously large. 

    "A couple of guys let me in," I said, realizing I'd probably interrupted an intimate moment between Brett and Juan. "I'm sorry for… disturbing you guys like this," I said as I walked into the room. 

    The lights were out but Brett used his phone flashlight to point me in the direction of the beds. I knew from previous visits that the two beds were usually pressed together. Tonight, they were separated, just a few feet apart and parallel to each other, so I could sleep on one of them.

    I remembered back when I was dating my wife in college and how difficult it was to find a place to have sex while we lived in the dorms. The boys were lucky: as a same-sex couple, they were allowed to share a room. 

    I stripped down to my boxers and climbed onto the small mattress. The sheets smelled used, like musk and sex. Beggars can't be choosers, so I wasn't bothered by it and I quickly dozed off.

    I wasn't sure how long I'd been asleep, but a noise woke me up. My eyes had adjusted to the dark, and from the moonlight coming in through the window, I was able to make out the silhouettes of my son and his boyfriend in the other bed. It looked like Juan was on all fours with Brett kneeling behind him, my son's erect cock lined up with Juan's ass. Holy shit, were they about to fuck? With me right next to them?! 

    Next thing I knew, Brett's hips were moving forward and Juan moaned, trying to stifle his noise with a pillow. Their bed started to squeak gently as Brett began to pump back and forth, fucking his teen boyfriend's hole. They were trying to keep the noise down, but I could easily hear their suppressed grunting and whispering. 

    "I need your dick, baby," Juan moaned.

    "Mmm, bet you do. I love fucking your boy-pussy," Brett whispered to Juan in return, causing my dick to stir. I had no idea that these two could get so explicit! But more importantly: I had no idea why the hell was I so turned on by this?!

    Still feeling carelessly drunk, I slid my hand inside my boxers and I started to play with my growing cock under the cover. It was fun to stroke myself, all while my son was fucking in a bed only a few feet away. I could even feel my sticky precum gathering at the tip and I used that to lube my shaft.

    "Baby, I wanna play with your ass again," Juan suddenly whispered and the sounds of fucking stopped.

    "Okay, but only a few fingers, just like we practiced," Brett replied.

    The two switched positions and now my son was the one on all fours with his ass in the air. I saw Juan's silhouette reach for a small bottle and I heard the sound of lube squirting out. Then: a sharp inhale coming from Brett, probably caused by a finger being inserted into my son's hole. It was now Brett's turn to moan into the pillow as Juan began finger-fucking him. 

    Curious, my hand drifted to my own hole. It wasn't usually a part of my body that I paid too much attention to, but I was inspired by my boy's actions on the other bed. I gently pressed against my pucker, but I tensed. I stuck my finger in my mouth and tried again. This time, I was successful and managed to get one knuckle deep inside my virgin hole. Surprisingly, my dick remained rock hard. Over the years, some buddies of mine had talked about enjoying their wives sticking a finger up their asses, but I never believed them. Now, I finally saw what the hoopla was about. I worked my finger inside myself deeper and deeper, all while discreetly stroking myself under the covers and watching my son have sex.

    "Fuck, I'm getting close. Let me dump it inside your ass," Brett suddenly told Juan.

    Juan agreed and Brett quickly rolled over onto his back. Juan sat on my son's cock and started bouncing, the squeaking of the mattress resuming, louder than ever. The boys were too far gone to care about noise by this point. In less than a minute, Brett was groaning as he dumped a load inside his boyfriend, simultaneously jerking him off until Juan came all over my son's chest. Listening to the sounds of their orgasms, smelling their cum, I couldn't hold off any longer and I came inside my boxers, biting my lip so I wouldn't make any noise. Thanks to my intense cumshot, I fell asleep immediately afterward. 

    I didn't wake again until the morning. I felt hungover, wondering where I was for a second. Yes… I was in Brett's dorm room. What a crazy night. I wasn't used to drinking, and it certainly messed with my head. I had some wild dreams… I dreamt that I watched my own son and his boyfriend fucking in the other bed, right next to me. And I jerked off while watching them! What an insane dream – that would never happen in real life. Or so I thought… until I noticed the dried patch of cum inside my boxers. It was no dream after all.

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