COLTON:

    Moving in with my dad at the age of 24 made for an interesting experience, even though I was well used to shared housing. When I was in college, I lived in a frat house along with dozens of my fraternity brothers. There was lots of drinking, lots of sex with college chicks, and lots of male bonding. After graduating, I went on to share a couple of apartments with a few people my age. All of my roommates were at the same stage of life as me: struggling to make ends meet while figuring out what we wanted to do with our lives.

    My 48-year-old father's life was completely different. This was my first time visiting his new apartment in Seattle, and I was flabbergasted by how nice it was! Although fairly small, it had a killer view of the city and I knew that places like this don't come cheap.

    "You moved here what, two years ago?" I asked as I first walked around the apartment.

    "A year and a half," Dad said. "It's kinda small but it's enough for one. Obviously, with you here it'll be a bit cramped, but you're welcome to stay as long as you need."

    "Thanks," I said, holding back from asking the obvious ("How'd you get the money for a place like this?"). Instead, I went on to assure my father I would be out as soon as possible. "I'm hoping it won't take longer than a few weeks to save up some money for rent."

    "It's all good. It'll give us some time to catch up," Dad added with a smile.

    My father had moved out when I was six. After coming out as gay, he'd settled down in the Seattle area and lived in a house a few miles out of the city. I stayed with him for a couple of weeks each summer and I had fond memories of those visits. Dad would usually take time off work and we would go camping or fishing, or else drive up to the city and do some urban exploring. He did a good job at cramming as many father-son activities in those couple of weeks in an effort to make up for the rest of the year. If he ever had a boyfriend, I never met him and it was never brought up in conversation.

    When I turned 18, I kinda lost touch with Dad for a while, save for the occasional text message or phone call. We weren't trying to avoid each other; we were just busy doing our own thing. Now that I was about to stay with him for the longest stretch of time since I was six, Dad felt like a weird mixture of "a stranger" and a person I'd known my whole life.

    On that first night, Dad gave me a tour of his new apartment. The living room was a bit difficult to walk though, with barely enough space between the large sofa and the massage table that was there. Next we walked to the spare bedroom, which looked like a spa, with many plants and candles all around. The only thing sticking out was the twin-size bed in the middle of the room.

    "I'm sorry the bed's kinda small, but I couldn't fit anything larger in here," Dad apologized.

    "No, it's perfect!" I quickly replied. I assumed this was normally Dad's massage room. I felt bad enough for imposing; the last thing I wanted was for my father to feel like he needed to apologize to me for anything. 

    "We'll store some of your stuff in my room, cuz there's not enough space here," Dad continued. "And that door over there is the bathroom," he said as we walked back through the hallway. "Only one bathroom, so we'll have to share. Aaand… I think that concludes our grand tour."

    "What about that door? The one between the bathroom and your room?" I asked, pointing at the only door that was shut.

    "Oh, that's just a closet. But it's really, really cramped. It's locked, because… I keep some valuables in there. Now, what do you say we go down to the car and bring up your suitcases?" Dad asked, seemingly eager to change the topic.

    "Okay," I shrugged. "But I'm warning ya, they're heavy. I'm okay with going up and down a few times on my own."

    "What, you don't think your old man can handle it?" Dad grinned, flexing his bicep in my face. I had to admit, it was a decent muscle for a man his age, stretching the sleeve of the T-shirt Dad was wearing.

    We spent the next hour bringing in my stuff and making room for it in the smaller bedroom as well as Dad's room. Most of my clothes, packed in a few duffel bags, had ended up in my father's room and I was going to need to transfer some stuff into the small dresser next to the twin bed.

    I was sweaty and tired and I realized that what I wanted to do even more than unpack was to take a shower. Dad was just finishing one up and when I heard the water turn off, I found my shampoo and body wash and grabbed a towel from a linen cupboard that my father had pointed out earlier. About thirty seconds later, he emerged with his hair neatly combed and a towel slung low around his waist.

    Seeing my shower supplies in my hand, he quickly apologized for taking too long, but I reassured my father that it was no big deal. When I finished showering, I dried off and wrapped my towel around my waist before stepping out into the hallway. Realizing that my usual sleepwear was tucked into one of the bags in Dad's room, I entered without knocking since the door was halfway open anyway. I was startled to see my father still naked, his wet towel tossed onto the chair next to his closet. Dad seemed to be pondering his clothing choices intently. I silently watched him for a few seconds, specifically noting how defined his ass muscles were, before I cleared my throat and resumed walking over to my bags.

    "The, uh... the door was open. Sorry," I muttered as I bent over to get what I needed, holding onto my towel with one hand.

    "Oh, heh... I guess I never really close the doors around here. Never needed to, ya know?" Dad replied with a chuckle. To my surprise, my father then started a conversation about the Seahawks, and we got to chatting for a good few minutes, with him standing there naked and me with just the towel on.

    Dad's voice had a soothing undertone that helped dispel any awkwardness of the moment. I remembered that he'd always been able to do that, help me relax and mentally shift gears with just a few soft-spoken sentences. I supposed that came in handy for his massage work, since that was all about helping people relax and unwind.

    Trying not to stare at him too much while we talked, I went about my search for the basketball shorts I'd been planning to change into. Dad didn't seem at all self-conscious, though he was in such great shape that he probably never felt that way. He even had a nice tan, though I had no clue how he managed that in Seattle. And his cock... well, I was trying really hard not to stare at that. But that was a little tough since it was definitely on the big side, and was flopping around a good deal as he stood in front of his closet and held stuff up to his body while looking into the mirrored sliding door. Realizing he might be able to see me staring in the reflection, I returned my attention to my own search for clothing. 

    As I dropped my towel and reached for the basketball shorts to put them on, I glanced up and noticed Dad openly staring at my body in the reflection. I didn't feel embarrassed – while I was nowhere near as ripped as my father, I'd always made a point to stay toned and tried to stick to a regular exercise schedule and eat right. We made eye contact in the mirror and he chuckled and shook his head while smiling.

    "You're really all grown up, Colton," he said, with a wistful tone. "Damn... I'm sorry we've not been more in touch these last few years."

    "It's... it's fine, Dad," I said, adding "it's just as much on me as it is on you. But we'll make up for some lost time while I'm here, right?"

    "That's what I'm hoping, son," he responded. With that, he finally seemed to settle on a pair of briefs: a red pair with white accents. As I slid on my shorts, I watched Dad slide the briefs up his long, tanned legs until they covered his ass. In the reflection I saw him reach into the pouch to adjust himself and position things to maximize the bulge he was showing. Then, he moved his hands behind himself and slid his fingers under the seams that sat on the lower half of his glutes, as if to make sure the back of his underwear was showing off the right stuff, just like he'd done on the front.

    "I'm heading out with a friend tonight, though," Dad said as he reached for a pair of dark gray pants. "Can we plan to hang out tomorrow night?"

    "Sure," I replied. I usually didn't wear a shirt to bed, so with my shorts on, I was basically done getting dressed. But it seemed like we were in the middle of a conversation, so I kept moving stuff around in my bags, trying to get things a little more organized. "So, uh..." I continued, getting ready to ask a delicate question. "This friend that you're seeing... Is that your boyfriend or something?"

    "Why do you say that?" Dad replied as he zipped up his pants, which I noticed were pretty tight and definitely showcased his assets well, just like the briefs has been doing. He turned to me and looked curious as he slid on a silky, short-sleeve top that had a deep V in the front, exposing a good amount of his solid pecs.

    "Well... it seems like you're getting dressed to impress," I said, now wondering if my assumption had been way off. "Or whatever. So I figured maybe it was a date or something."

    "Nah, I don't have a steady guy at the moment," my father said, returning his attention to the reflection and carefully running a few fingers through his styled hair. "Tonight's just a good buddy and I."

    "Cool," I nodded. "I hope you guys have fun."

    "How about you?" he asked. "Do you have anyone special? Or did you leave someone with a broken heart when you moved?"
   "Ha. No," I said with a grin. "Kinda like you. No one steady, not for a while. But hoping to meet some cool chicks here."

    "Any woman in Seattle would be lucky to have ya," Dad told me with a proud smile. 

    I chuckled and basked in the compliment from my father. I'd never really craved his approval, but it was nice to hear that he thought I looked good, especially since he so clearly valued staying fit and attractive. As he finished up his preparations, I was a little in awe of how dashing he actually looked. Men had been catching my eye more lately, something that I wasn't really comfortable sharing with many people. My very infrequent hookups with dudes were always more of a fun indulgence than anything else – something I didn't even tell my friends about.

    As Dad got ready to leave, I followed him into the living room, where he pulled on a light jacket before grabbing his keys.

    "I'm so glad you're here, Colton," he said as he walked up to me, clearly wanting a hug. The fabric of his jacket felt smooth and a little cold against the bare skin of my upper body as we embraced, and I felt the heat of my father's breath on my shoulder.

    "Don't wait up!" he added as we both pulled away from the hug after a moment. I wished him well again and then he was gone, the apartment suddenly feeling very quiet and still without him. I considered sitting down on the couch and finding something to watch on the big TV, but I decided to just settle for scrolling through my phone. I was pretty tired and wasn't sure I'd even be able to make it through a movie if I started one.

    As usual, my aimless internet browsing eventually landed me on some porn feeds, and before long I'd slipped one hand into my shorts to stroke my growing cock as I sampled various video clips. When I found one where a hunky masseur was getting started on massaging a curvy young lady lying prone on her stomach, I had to laugh because the massage table in the video looked almost exactly like the one Dad had out here in the living room.

    I let the video keep playing while I stroked my cock more steadily, and by the time the masseur had lost his tank top and was sliding two fingers inside the woman as she cooed and moaned, my shaft was slicked up with precum. When he'd flipped her over and was about to slide his long and engorged porn star cock into her pussy, I pulled my own dick out and began pounding it fast. Weirdly, I found myself suddenly wondering if my father ever did anything sexual with his clients. I knew it wasn't unheard of for massage therapists to offer a little bit "extra" sometimes, though I felt sure Dad was very much on the up-and-up. Still, he was a single man, and maybe he had a small number of "special" clients…

    By this point in the video, the actors were full-on fucking and as hot at that was, I usually preferred the teasing and slow burn in porn, rather than the main action. I decided to look for another video, this time opting for a man-on-man massage instead. I tapped my way into the gay section, and one of the first massage videos I found featured a man who looked fairly similar to my father. I played that clip, and watched as Dad's doppelgänger slowly massaged the hunk lying on his table. My right hand continued to slide up-and-down on my slicked up erection, while my left hand held up my smartphone. By now, the hot guy receiving the massage in the video was lying on his back, fully naked, with his hard dick pointing up in the air. The masseur, who still had all his clothes on, began to jack off his "client." 

    I'd never gotten a professional massage in my life, and I had no idea how common happy endings really were (outside of parlors that were known for that sort of stuff). While watching Dad's lookalike giving a handjob, I once again began to visualize my own father doing that to some of his clients. Was that how he made so much money? It couldn't be! Although he wasn't a prude, Dad was a professional through and through. Still, it was a hot visual, I had to admit.

    Getting up off the couch, I let my loose basketball shorts fall to the floor. I found myself walking while stroking, headed to the massage table behind the sofa. Without thinking too much about it, I hopped onto it and lay down on my back, in a similar position like the naked guy in the video. Without missing a beat, I jacked myself off with the same rhythm that my father's lookalike was using on the hunk. I wondered what it might be like to get a massage from Dad. Having his strong hand slide all over my body. Everywhere…

    "Ah, shit! Fuck!!!" I grunted as I suddenly began to blow a huge load all over my stomach and chest. I stroked my dick for a few more seconds, enjoying the climax before putting my phone down and hopping off the massage table, careful not to get jizz anywhere.

    There was a box of tissues by the table, and I used a few to clean up my cum. As the aftereffect of my orgasm subsided, it was replaced by a feeling of guilt. It was extremely inappropriate for me to visualize my father doing anything sexual with his clients, when I had zero evidence that he was anything but a hardworking certified professional. Shaking all sexual thoughts from my head, I disposed of the cum-soaked tissues and went straight to bed. As I fell asleep, my mind decided to disobey my commands. I couldn't stop dreaming of a person who looked like me, getting a massage from someone who looked a lot like my father… As was common in dreams, the visuals were blurry… but both people in my dream were naked… and hard… touching each other… Until I woke up with a boner and once again ordered myself to stop thinking about such smut.​