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Sharing My Son's Toy


    I saw my son waiting for me by the baggage carousel, looking as handsome as ever. And as usual (at least these past couple years) he was wearing clothes that showed off his increasingly muscular body. As sad as it made me to only be seeing my boy a few times a year, I always felt proud of his continual growth. He had really become a man, making his own way in the big city and chasing after his still-forming dreams.

    Owen greeted me with a warm and strong embrace, which I returned with equal fervor. We shared a quick peck on the lips and looked into each others eyes, smiling.

    "It's so good to see you, buddy," I said as we separated and took stock of one another. "Been looking forward to this for weeks."

    "Same here, dad. I feel like we barely got any time together in May." Owen had surprised my wife for Mother's Day with a quick trip home, but it was only one night and with all the family hubbub we had barely had a chance to talk one-on-one. We chatted on the phone every few weeks but of course it wasn't the same.

    I hadn't checked a bag so we headed out to the terminal sidewalk and Owen got us a cab. The whole time he was talking about what he had planned for the day. We'd drop off my stuff at his apartment and then grab some lunch in Central Park. He had some ideas for after that, museums and other sights. He said it could be up to me but in truth I didn't care as long as we had time to catch up and enjoy one another's company.

    This was the first time I'd seen Owen's apartment, which he shared with three other guys. Only one of them was home when we arrived and after a quick introduction we stepped into Owen's room. One step was just about all I could take, since the room was so small. With the two of us standing just inside the door, it was crowded.

    "Wow, Owen. You weren't kidding about the room." I said, laughing.

    My son laughed as he fell backward onto the bed and executed a skilled roll across it to stand on the other side in front of the small closet, which was the only other piece of floor available.

    "You know, I don't even think about it much anymore, Dad. I've figured out how to make the space work and I'm out doing stuff most days anyway. The guys and I all have different schedules so sharing the rest of the apartment isn't too bad most of the time."

    The three-bedroom apartment had a small living room, even smaller kitchen and a tiny bathroom. Two of his roommates shared a room and the whole space was much less cluttered than I would have expected from four guys in their early 20's.

    "Toss me your bag, Dad," Owen said, opening up his hands for a catch. For a second, it was like we'd gone back in time, and I was looking at my son the high-school jock on the football field again. I did as he said, and he hung my bag by its straps on a hook in the closet. 

    "You wanna change or anything before we head out? It's gonna be warm today" my son asked, as he pulled off the tight T-shirt he'd had on and tossed it in a laundry bag. 

    I had him grab some shorts from my bag and took a moment to appreciate how cut my son had become. I knew he spent lots of time at the gym and it was certainly paying off. He was just… big. Only an inch taller than me, but he was overall a much bigger man. Again, my pride swelled at his discipline and accomplishments. I also noticed a new tattoo in his growing collection. He slid on a barely-there tank top and we headed out into the bustle of warm New York Saturday.

    We spent the next seven hours seeing sights, eating street food, sharing recent stories, and reconnecting. I found that I eagerly consumed every detail about his life. I wasn't envious, but I did take some vicarious pleasure in his adventures, his freedom, and his zest for new experiences.

    When I asked about his love life, he grinned modestly and said he had plenty of fun.

    "No one serious?" I asked as we sat on a park bench near the zoo entrance.

    "Not really," he replied. "But that's fine right now. I've got a great group of friends, mostly other gay guys round my age. We're kind of a pack and that works for me. We all hook up with each other periodically which is perfect, and I get plenty of ass on my own too."

    My eyebrows both went up when he said that, and then he looked down and I saw him blush a little bit. For a second I saw my sheepish sixteen-year-old son again and had a brief moment of longing for that time. I laughed and said, "Plenty of ass, huh? Man, you sound like some of my buddies… but then again I guess that's where you learned to talk like that."

    "Oh yeah, just from them, right? You dirty fucking old man," he teased back, and punched my shoulder with his fist.

    We chuckled together for a moment.

    "So it's you getting the ass?" I asked. "Is that how it usually is? I just…" I trailed off as he looked at me, both amused and curious. He knew exactly what I was wondering but he was going to make me say it.

    "I guess just after seeing you with Scott that one time I… figured you liked to… bottom," I used the gay lingo I'd picked up over the past few years.

    Owen gave me a knowing smile and nodded.

    "Well, sure. I mean it's all fun. Getting fu— bottoming is fun with the right guy. But most guys I meet expect me to be the top and so I've gotten into more of a groove with that."

    "Is it because you're bigger?" I asked, referring to his overall size but immediately realizing what it sounded like.

    "Well dad, you know I inherited my dick from you," Owen joked as he jabbed me with his elbow gently.
   "Yeah yeah, I know you're hung like a stallion and that," I teased back. "But I mean more like in general. You've really gotten bigger this last year. All over," I emphasized to show I was serious about complimenting his progress. "You look great. I can imagine some guys get really into that."

    "Yeah, once I got to a certain point, it was almost funny. The twinks are all over me when we go out. So I… kind of have my pick," he said, looking pleased with himself.

    "Twinks?" I asked.

    The next half hour was a revealing glimpse into today's urban gay culture and all the terms they used for one another. Most of my gay friends were my age or older and more settled down, or at least they didn't talk this way with me. It was quite an education I got from my son.

    As we got up to head to dinner, Owen came back around to why he found topping more fun.

    "I just like the control, being in charge of the rhythm of fucking. You can do that as a bottom too, but it's not as easy if the top is smaller than you. And plus a lot of these twinks my age are size queens and that's what they want. Um, that means..."

    "I know what that means," I replied with a grin. "Women can be size queens too you know."

    We moved on to other topics and continued to wind our way through the city. Now that I was more attuned to it, I definitely noticed the type of guys that checked Owen out the most as we walked around. He got plenty of stares from all types of men (and women) but some of the younger, smaller guys would get these looks on their faces as we walked past. Like a kid getting a giant bowl of ice cream put down in front of him. I realized I was happy to have found a new way to be proud of my son.



    It ended up being almost 9 PM by the time we got back to the apartment. Dad and I were both sweaty messes by then so we took turns showering in my tiny shower. I was lounging on my bed naked, texting a few friends. The bedroom door and the window were both open to keep the apartment cool in the lingering heat. My roommates and I had given up on all modestly long ago.

    Dad emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his waist, hair neatly combed. He tossed his small bathroom kit on top of my dresser and stood in the small open space just inside my room.

    "I forgot to pack pajamas," he said in a playful voice.

    "Do you even own pajamas, Dad?" I replied, matching his tone.

    "Not in thirty years," he said. Then he grabbed the towel off himself and tossed it at my face. We laughed and he bounded onto the bed next to me. There was a decent-sized couch in the living room but there hadn't been any question about where he'd be sleeping while he was here.

    Dad relaxed back next to me on the bed and got comfortable.

    "I walked more today than I have in the past month," he said. "I'm probably gonna be asleep in five minutes."

    I was tired myself and agreed. Normally I'd have a quick jerk to wind down before going to sleep – if I was sleeping alone, anyway. But today I knew I'd conk out fast no matter what.

    Dad kept shuffling his head and finally got frustrated and sat up, turning and picking up the pillow.

    "Is this a flashlight?" he asked, picking up something I'd forgotten to put away the day before.

    I cracked up, slightly embarrassed but it faded quickly.

    "It's a Fleshlight," I replied. "A Fleshjack, to be exact."

    Dad turned the sex toy over in his hand and saw the skin-colored covering on the wide end, a remarkably realistic asshole right in the center. He nodded knowingly.

    "Back in my day we called these 'pocket pussies' and they were smaller. This is actually...way better though. The whole flashlight shape. It's pretty genius."

    "Yep," I said, as he handed it to me and I put in on the small table on my side of the bed. "Sure comes in handy"

    "Do you use it alone?" he asked, and I could tell he was genuinely curious.

    "Sometimes. When I want more than my hand. But it's fun to use on another guy too."

    "Maybe I'll have to get me one of those," he said as he laid back down.

    As predicted, we were both asleep before we had time to say much more.

    A noise from the kitchen woke me up later that night. My roommate Kyle, home from his bartending job and trying to make some food for himself in the dark. As usual, he was no good at being quiet.

    Dad and I had kicked off the thin sheet during the night, and I immediately saw and felt my hard cock jutting up into the cooler night air. My balls were used to being emptied every night and clearly were upset at the disruption in their schedule. Who was I to argue with nature?

    I grabbed my cock and figured I'd be able to relieve the buildup and be back to sleep in a few minutes. I tried my best to go slow and not rock the bed, not wanting to ruin dad's own much-needed rest.

    He had been on his side facing away from me, but after a moment I felt him turn onto his back. I glanced over and paused my jerking for a moment, a little surprised. Dad was rock hard too. Maybe he was also used to getting off before bed. Maybe it ran in the family.

    I was reminded of one thing that definitely did run in the family, though. It had been a while since I'd seen dad hard, and I'd never really been able to just stare at his rigid cock like I was doing now. Fuck, he was big! Maybe not as long as me (I thought to myself with a bit of pride) but just as thick. And damn if his balls looked a little bigger than mine. They were pulled up tight against his body and I could even see his cock twitching a bit in time with his heartbeat.

    My own cock suddenly throbbed in my hand and I felt a new surge of precum ooze out as I automatically resumed stroking. Fuck, I thought. Was I getting turned on by my own dad's cock? I guess I was. But a dick is a dick and I liked dicks, I thought to myself, not worrying too much about it.

    "Looks like they both had the same idea," I suddenly heard Dad say. To my surprise, as I looked up at his face I saw him looking back at me. Whether it was Kyle's noise or my movements that had done it, he was awake.

    There was a moment of silence. Not awkward or tense, but it was getting warm again despite the cool breeze coming through the window. The air felt thick. I was still stroking, and the wet sound seemed extra loud in the silence.

    "Can I try out that flashlight thing?" my father asked me spontaneously.

    I smiled, reminded why I loved hanging out with dad when it was just us guys. It had been too long.

    I reached over and grabbed the Fleshjack and the small bottle of lube I had on the nightstand.

    "Just use a little of this," I said. "You don't really need much."

    I resumed stroking my own cock as Dad got to work on his.

    I could tell he was a little overwhelmed by the initial sensation. He let out two or three moans as he got going.

    "Damn, Owen," he moaned. "I definitely have to get myself one of these. Fuuuck," he trailed off into another moan.

    I was openly watching my dad use my toy and I was more turned on than I had expected. Dad wasn't the first guy to lay in my bed next to me doing this. Not even the first guy that was my dad's age. But damn, this was wild and new. We'd always been so open about everything since that first summer trip, but I'd never had a jerk off session with him.

    Dad's eyes were closed as he picked up speed and I could tell he was getting close. He had gotten there fast and I recalled how the Fleshjack had felt the first day I'd used it. The memory got me even more worked up and I picked up my own pace.

    I had hoped dad and I could cum at the same time but he was lost in whatever he was picturing and feeling. I saw his balls pull tighter and his breathing picked up. He tried his best to keep quiet, but I knew everyone in the apartment probably heard him. Those sounds weren't anything different from a normal night here, though.

    Dad was unloading into the Jack as he kept moving it up and down his thick cock. I counted at least seven thrusts and wondered how long it had been since he'd last unloaded. Or maybe the newness of this whole moment had him as turned on as I was.

    He eventually slowed down as I was speeding up my own jerking. He opened his eyes and looked over at me with that almost drunken look of satisfaction on his face.

    "Give it to me," I said in a voice that was more commanding than I expected.

    If dad had any reservations about handing me the same sex toy he'd just been using, I couldn't tell. He pulled it off his cock and I took it from him and quickly slid it down my own.

    Now it was my turn to let out a long moan, and I didn't even try to keep it quiet. The sensation was even more intense than usual. The inside of the Fleshjack was so warm, it felt even more like a lubed-up ass than it normally did. It felt like the real thing – like the times I'd fucked a guy right after another top had finished with him. The slickness of another guy's load on my cock was like nothing else. 

    But fuck! This time, that load was my very own father's. The same load that'd made me! I had been on the edge and that thought pushed me over. I threw my head back and added my own large load to my dad's. After the first few spurts, I looked down at myself. We had obviously pushed the toy to its maximum capacity because there was cum oozing out the puckered hole and down my shaft. My cum, and Dad's cum. Mixed together. Pretty sure I got a couple extra shots out just from that visual.

    Dad had been watching me with the toy, idly playing with his own softening cock. As my breathing returned to normal I slid the Fleshjack off and did my best to keep the rest of its contents from spilling out onto my abs. I wasn't that successful.

    I set the toy, open end up, back on the side table.

    "We made a mess," dad said, already getting that sleepy drawl in his voice.

    "I'll clean it up in the morning," I said, sounding pretty much the same.

    He turned back on his side facing away and I cuddled up behind him. Everyone wanted to cuddle after cumming and I didn't think twice about doing it. My sticky abs pressed against my dad's lower back as we both drifted off to sleep.

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