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A Different Kind of Thanksgiving

This story is a spinoff of Model Dad

It was available to  Silver Supporters  in November 2019



    "Fuck. What time is it?"

    Barely managing to open my eyes, I looked at the alarm clock on my nightstand. 8 AM. Shit. I better hurry the fuck up.

    "Hey. Time to get up," I nudged the 18-year-old boy in bed next to me. What the fuck was his name? Pablo? Paco?

    "Nah, it's too early, papi," he buried his head under the pillow.

    "I know it is, but I gotta go pick up my nephew. C'mon, get up."

    I pulled the cover off both of us. "Holy shit," I thought as his dick sprung up in all its morning glory. How big was that thing, 8-9 inches? Did I really manage to take all of it last night?

    "I know what'll wake me up," he mumbled, his hand reaching for his cock and starting to stroke it.

    "As tempting as that offer is, I gotta head to the bus station. Get up."

    I managed to kick him out of bed, and he put his clothes on while I hurriedly brushed my teeth.

    "Yo, I thought you was rich," he said, lacing up his shoes. "Why's your nephew taking the bus?"

    "I'm rich, my nephew's not," I lied. My Chelsea apartment might look nice, but I was drowning in debt. Fake it till you make it. "He's your age," I told the young hustler.

    "Mmm. Maybe you should introduce us. All three of us. I'll give you a special rate."

    "I doubt his straight ass will be interested. But I'll let you know if he needs someone to babysit his kid."

    The boy laughed.

    "Now, what did we agree on, $100? Here," I counted up five 20s and handed them to him, eager to get going.

    "Aight, papi. Your nephew change his mind, you know where to find me."

    The bus terminal was only a short walk away from my place. "Looks like I'll make it," I thought, checking my watch. Luckily it hadn't snowed yet, even though it was the week of Thanksgiving and winter was fast approaching. I walked as fast as the usual throng of New York City tourists and locals would allow.

    Like in a movie, I arrived at the station just as the bus was pulling up. As I watched my nephew get off the Greyhound, he looked like the clichéd protagonist: the handsome, naive all-American boy arriving in the big city in pursuit of his dreams. Aw, bless him.

    To be fair, as handsome as the actors who played those roles always were, my nephew was even more attractive. At 18, and taller than anyone else who'd gotten off the bus, he was at the intersection of teenage prettiness and adult handsomeness. When he spotted me, he smiled, exposing his beautiful teeth (all natural, unlike my veneers). He waved at me before running his fingers through his gorgeous wavy brown hair, pushing it away from his face.

    Even in a winter jacket, you could tell he was all muscle underneath his clothes. He picked up his enormous backpack and carried it as if it weighed nothing.

    "Uncle Mitch," he walked over to me and gave me a hug and a strong pat on the back. He smelled like a fucking Abercrombie store.

    "Benny boy. Welcome!" 

    "Where should I leave my stuff?" my nephew Ben asked nervously after we'd both stepped into my apartment.

    "Oh, wherever. Not like there's that much choice. Sorry, it's a small place."

    "No. Thank you for letting me stay here! I'll try not to be in your way for too long."

    "Ah, you're not in the way," I waved it off.

    "I've been working at the local diner back home for the past six months, so I got some money saved up. A little more and I'll try to get my own place. Maybe something nearby, so we can still see each other."

    He smiled at me and I smiled back. "You're lucky you're cute," I thought to myself. How the hell do I tell this kid his diner money ain't getting him anything around here?

    "I'll introduce you to some of my friends who are in fashion on Thursday. I'm sure they can help you find an agent and we'll go from there," I told my nephew, who'd moved here to try his luck at modeling. "In the meanwhile, if you wanna look for a day job there's a stack of papers there, or you can just go looking for Help Wanted signs around the neighborhood."

    "Wait, Thursday's Thanksgiving..." Ben seemed confused. He was used to spending the day with family, not out making social calls.

    "Yes. We're invited to have dinner with a couple of friends of mine."

    ("I just hope they don't eat you alive," I thought silently.)



    The entire time on the bus, I wondered if I was doing the right thing. I'd been wondering that for almost a year now, since I found out Danica was pregnant. Were we really doing what's best?

    I flashed back to the conversation we had with her parents in their living room. They seemed pretty adamant about it. Their daughter was to go to college, and they were to help raise the baby until she graduates. Funny, I thought usually the girl's parents forced you to marry her. Danica's seemed like they couldn't get rid of me fast enough.

    They were right in that we were awfully young. I wasn't even 18 yet when Sam was born. When I held him for the first time it felt like I was holding a baby sibling rather than my own son. 

    A few weeks later, when my uncle Mitchell visited for my 18th birthday, he brought up the option of me modeling in New York. A lot of his friends worked in the industry, and when I heard how much some of the models made... Well, it was a hell of a lot more than I would make bussing tables in my small town in Western Massachusetts.

    Sure, people told me I was cute my whole life; but modeling had never been on my radar in the slightest. It was the money that really attracted me to it. But not for myself; for Sam. If I started earning properly I could send some of it to Danica and her parents, who were just as lower-middle class as my family. It seemed like I would be a lot more useful to Sam doing that, rather than insisting on being in his life right now when he couldn't even remember.

    My parents might be lower-middle class, but Mom's brother was definitely not. I never knew exactly what he did in New York, he was always vague about it, but he seemed to be doing just fine for himself. Sure, his apartment was small, but that's nothing unusual in New York I'm sure; and it was very elegantly furnished. 

    If my uncle seemed to be doing well, his friends were doing extraordinarily. Three days after my arrival, we were invited for Thanksgiving dinner by two male friends of his who were a couple, at their gorgeous 15th-floor apartment. I'd never met a gay couple before, but I tried to act cool. I knew Uncle Mitch was gay but I'd never met a partner of his. I wondered if there was anyone special in his life that he hid from the rest of the family.

    "And you must be Ben. Look at you, you're gorgeous!" one of the hosts squeezed my cheeks as soon as he saw me, making me feel like a kid. It was weird having this done by someone who was shorter than me.

    "Now, now, Al, hands off the child, don't scare him off," Al's partner Bob came to give me a hug. "If any of these queens get too handsy with you, you just let me know," he winked at me, patting me a bit too low on my back.

    Walking into the dining room, the only thing I could recognize on the table was the turkey. All of the side dishes were much smaller than I was used to. Upon closer inspection I realized all the staples were there; the sweet potatoes, the cranberries, the apple pie; but everything was arranged and decorated in a way that rendered it unrecognizable to me at first. 

    There were three other guests already sitting at the table, all men. When I was offered a drink and replied "I'm not 21 yet," it was met with roars of laughter around the table. Further laughter ensued when my uncle told everyone I'd suggested going to see the Thanksgiving Day Parade earlier today, followed by everyone complaining about how much of a pain in the ass it was.

    I stayed quiet for most of the dinner, even though I was the main topic of conversation. Al and two of the guests (a hairdresser, a stylist, and an event organizer) all seemed to compete to see who had the best fashion connections and who could get me in where and introduce me to which agent. I didn't know what to say other than "thank you" and "that would be great," so I kept reiterating those two phrases throughout the evening. 

    If there wasn't too much to eat, there was definitely enough to drink, and everyone at the table indulged freely in it. I had a couple of glasses of champagne (mostly because I didn't want to stand out, but also because I'd never had champagne before) and listened as the men around me got louder and louder. All except one, the remaining guest, who didn't seem to talk too much either.

    After a while, we all left the table and headed to the living room following Al and Bob (the Berts, as people collectively called them, since their names were Albert and Robert). Unused to so much noise I asked for the bathroom, not because I needed to use it as much as I wanted some time to myself.

    "Oops! Sorry," I said upon opening the bathroom door and seeing someone was in there. Luckily he wasn't on the toilet. It was the man who hadn't spoken much during dinner. Parker, I believe his name was.

    "Hey, kid," he said, sounding surprised but friendly. He waved me in and said, "Shut the door."

    I obeyed, somewhat hesitantly. It felt like Parker was about to let me in on a secret.

    Ignoring me, he bent down toward the marble countertop, and I'd just noticed there were three fine lines of white powder on it. He snorted two of them in quick succession with what seemed to be a toothpick-sized golden straw.

    "Want some?" he offered me the straw. "I came here to hide; last thing those queens out there need is more energy."

    I'd never seen anyone take coke other than in movies, but the desire to fit in kicked in again. "Sure," I said dismissively, as if I did this all the time.

    Unsure what the fuck I was doing or how to even snort properly I improvised and felt the rush hit me instantly. At least I thought it did. 

    "So, you're tryna be a model, huh?" Parker said, putting down the toilet lid and sitting down. It might be weird to hang out and have a chat with someone in a bathroom, but the Berts' bathroom was nicer than my room back home anyway.

    "Yeah, fingers crossed," I said awkwardly.

    Parker seemed different than the other men at the dinner. They were all dressed nicely, if somewhat flamboyantly. But Parker was more traditional, in an elegant gray suit which screamed "Wall Street" to me. Although I'm sure he was gay just like everyone else there, with him it was a lot less... well, obvious.

    "What made you get into modeling?" he asked.

    "Honestly? The money. I just had a kid and I... I need to figure something out." 

    "Good on ya," he said, reaching inside his jacket. "And good on ya for being honest."

    He pulled out his thick wallet and I watched him pull out five crisp $100 bills. He slammed them on the counter, looking at me. I looked back at him, confused.

    "What do I need to do?" I asked.

    Parker reached for the zipper of his nice trousers and opened it. I could make out his black underwear peeking underneath.

    "Just watch," he said, and waited to see if I agreed.

    "Okay," I nodded softly.

    Parker struggled to pull down his underwear and free his cock and balls. As soon as they were out, I noticed how thick his cock was even when it was soft. He didn't seem particularly well-endowed but his average, cut dick was nothing to snide at, especially considering its girth.

    He looked at me the entire time, starting to jerk off. It took him about five minutes to get hard (it usually took me five seconds) and as soon as he did, he started to moan out as if he was close to cumming.

    I looked him in the eye, occasionally glimpsing down so he knew I was watching what he was doing. Having me as his audience turned him on, and hey, I could think of worse ways to make $500.

    I'd never seen another man's hard dick before in person. There was nothing particularly attractive to me about it, but it didn't repulse me either. To be honest... I was kinda enjoying the situation. Maybe it was the booze and drugs. Maybe it's because everyone kept showering me with compliments. Maybe it's because three days in, I'd managed to make $500 purely off my looks. I felt desired, flattered, and... turned on.

    I put my hand on my crotch and gave it a squeeze. The tight jeans I was wearing showed off my bulge even when I was soft. True to schedule, five seconds after rubbing myself I started to get hard. My bulge was obscenely full in my Levi's.

    "Ahhh, fuck. Fuck!" Parker started to yell out, cum shooting out of his thick cock and landing all over his nice shirt. I watched in fascination. The first man I'd seen cum other than myself.

    "Holy shit, kid," he said, closing his eyes and catching his breath. A few seconds later, he reopened them and reached for the toilet paper.

    "Here, let me," I said and reached for one of the soft face cloths neatly folded by the sink. I walked up to Parker and wiped the cum off his shirt. For some reason I thought this was something he might enjoy.

    "Thank you," he put his hand on my cheek gently as I wiped his jizz.

    I smiled, handing him the cloth and pocketing the cash. This was definitely different from any Thanksgiving back home.

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