Getting off the T at Downtown Crossing, I was surprised by how bright it still was outside. Just a couple of weeks ago, it would be pitch-dark by the time I'd get off work and come home. Now, I had to take off my blazer and carry it in my hands 'cause I was sweating so much.
It was a very short walk home, that I used to call Brady, who'd been texting me earlier.
"Finally!" he said. "Everyone's been ghosting me today."
"What do you mean?" I asked, checking out the nice ass of the commuter in front of me in the tight dress pants he was wearing.
"You, Will, David, Sven. No one's picking up their phone."
"Will and Sven are still at work. No idea what David's up to, he oughta be home. Maybe he's making dinner. Are you joining us tonight?"
"Not tonight, I'm in full-on panic mode over finals. But I got a question: how would you feel about going to San Francisco for Pride this year?"
This was unexpected.
"Yeah. My roommate's going, and he invited me to come. So I think I'll go. I'll ask your dads if they can come with me, and you guys are welcome to join."
"Well, as far as I'm concerned, it sounds good. It's kinda last minute, but I'm sure I can get a few days off work. I'll bring it up during dinner tonight and we'll text you."
"Great. Talk to you soon."
"Take care. And good luck with finals," I said, hanging up the phone just as I reached our apartment building.
I nodded at the friendly doorman and headed upstairs. I started unbuttoning my shirt as soon as I stepped in the elevator. If one of the neighbors got in right now they'd get quite a show, but I couldn't help it. My shirt was drenched in sweat and I couldn't wait to take it off. Looking at myself in the elevator mirror, I took my shirt off, flexed my muscles, and took a quick selfie. The lighting was too good to miss out on.
"Honey, I'm home!" I yelled out as soon as I was in through the door. I dropped my jacket and shirt on the floor and started unbuckling my belt next. "Fuck, the air-conditioning feels good!" I thought as sweat dripped down my torso and through the ridges between my abs.
Just as I turned around, I realized the person sitting on the couch wasn't my dad David (although he did look a lot like him). It was a cute, younger guy I'd never seen before.
"Hey there," I said with a hint of sex in my voice, assuming this was a new fuck buddy of Dad's. As I turned and started walking toward him, I flexed my pecs and abs, hoping to impress him. With my belt and zipper undone, I casually hooked my thumb in the waistband of my underwear, pulling it down just enough to expose some of my pubes.
"Hello," the man replied formally. With his chin up, he made it look like this was the military.
"I'm Eric," I offered him my hand which had just been touching my sweaty crotch.
"I'm Nathanael," he accepted, giving me perhaps the tightest handshake I'd ever had.
"Love that name," I smiled at him.
"Then again, I might be biased. That's my middle name."
"Oh, really?" he seemed surprised.
"Do you spell it with an I or an A?"
"No way, me too!" I laughed, feeling a bond with this guy already.
"That's not a coincidence," David's voice sounded behind me unexpectedly. "You were both named after the same man, your Great-Grandpa Nate. Eric, this is your cousin."
"Daddy's home!" I said when I arrived back in the evening. Hearing voices in the kitchen, I walked straight there, then had to pause for a second. At the table were three men, one of which looked uncannily similar to my husband David when I'd first met him.
"Hi, honey," David said to me. "I'd like you to meet someone. This is Nathanael."
"How do you do, sir?" the young man sitting between my husband and my son got up to shake my hand. He nodded at me like I were his lieutenant. "Nathanael Hill. Pleasure to meet you."
"Sven Hillbecker," I replied, feeling confused.
"Nathan is my sister Katherine's boy," David filled me in promptly.
"'Boy' as in her son?" I asked, somewhat stupidly. Words like "daddy" and "boy" were so overused in my community that they were starting to lose their original meanings to me. But in my defense, David hadn't spoken to his sisters in about 30 years; I didn't particularly expect to see one of their children sitting in my kitchen.
"Yes. My nephew," David confirmed.
"Nice to meet you, Nathan. If you excuse me, I need to take these off," I pointed down to my sweaty clothes, and headed for the bedroom. My husband got up and followed me there.
"So, what's going on?" I asked David when we were alone in our room.
"You know as much as I do. He showed up this afternoon and said he was my nephew."
"And you're sure he's telling the truth?"
"Either that or I got another son out there, 'cause he looks just like me."
"Yeah, no shit," I said. To this day, we had no idea who Eric's biological dad was. Eric looked like David and me both; but the similarity between Nathan and David was eerie.
"Did he say why he's here?" I asked my husband.
"No idea. It's been like pulling teeth, getting anything out of him. Not that I blame him. I mean, he's entitled to feel nervous, I guess. He doesn't know any of us."
"So I guess he's staying for dinner?" I started taking off my clothes.
"Yes. Let me go back there. And honey? Please wear some clothes tonight."
"Fineee," I rolled my eyes, and let my husband give me a kiss. I could understand why he didn't want me naked in front of a family member he didn't even know; but that doesn't mean I was happy about it. If I had to wear clothes, I put on the tightest white T-shirt I could find, one that perfectly showed off my pecs and nipple rings; and a pair of gray shorts that made my bulge look even bigger.
Back at the dinner table, the conversation was surprisingly tame by our household's standards. It never took us long to start talking about sex when we were all together: who did what, who did whom, who jerked off at work during their lunch break... Now, it was vanilla conversations about the weather and Nathan's recent trip throughout the country.
"Speaking of traveling," Eric interjected, looking at David and me, "Brady's going to San Francisco."
"Oh is he?" David said. "He's been texting me today but I didn't get a chance to reply."
"Yeah, he's going there with his roommate for Pride. Asked if we wanna go."
"What do you think?" my husband looked at me.
"Sounds good," I nodded.
"Nathan, do you wanna come with us?" my son said excitedly, as if he were inviting his best friend.
"Um, I'm not sure," Nathan looked down at his food. "Thank you. But I'm not sure what my plans are."
I remained cautious. I wished Eric wouldn't push this. If I knew one thing about David's family it's that they were all homophobic with a capital H.
"It'll be fun. You'll meet my fiancé," Eric insisted cheerfully.
"I'll think about it," came Nathan's reply.
Wanting to change the subject, I brought up the first thing I could think of: Nathanael's name.
"So your last name is 'Hill'?" I asked. It was my husband's "maiden name."
"Is there a reason why you have your mom's last name?" Eric asked.
"When my parents got married, they decided to both take her name. My father's got four brothers to carry on his family's name, and Mom, she –" he cut himself off.
"She has none," David finished the sentence for him somberly.
"I'm sorry," Nate apologized, and from what I could tell, he meant it.
"That's okay," David smiled at him. Thankfully, Nate changed the topic next.
"And all of you are Hillbeckers?" he asked.
"Yes," I answered. "My name was Becker. When Eric was born, we wanted us all to have the same last name, so we combined our names to Hillbecker."
"That's nice," Nate smiled at me for the first time. Encouraged by that, I decided to ask him another question.
"So how long are you in Boston for?"
"I'm not sure yet, sir," Nate replied. I couldn't tell if his formality flattered or bothered me. Usually, I was used to people calling me "sir" when I had my dick up their ass.
"Where are you staying?" I continued, starting to feel like a cop. David was right: it really was like pulling teeth.
"I noticed there's a lot of hotels nearby. I'm sure I can get a room at one of them."
"You don't have a place to stay?" David asked. Apparently this hadn't been brought up during their conversation earlier today. My husband and I made eye contact, communicating silently, with no words, the way only long-term partners can.
"You're welcome to sleep on the couch, if that helps," I offered.
"Thank you. But I'd hate to impose."
"Oh, it's nothing," Eric chimed in, still smiling at Nate. "People come and go through here like it's Times Square. Please, stay."
The first time I was expected to "socialize" with colleagues outside of work, I felt awkward as fuck. They did that every time the company wrapped a big project, and I felt obliged to go to keep up with "team spirit" (and hey, free drinks!). After two or three times, I realized my coworkers weren't all that bad, fortunately. (Even though, admittedly, over the last few years, I'd lost my ability to socialize with straight people.)
Tonight's drinks went on longer than planned, so much so that they had to kick us out of the bar when it was about to close. Feeling tipsy, happy, and horny; I got a cab back home, hoping Eric wouldn't mind being woken up in the middle of the night for a fuck.
I snuck into the apartment silently. All the lights were off and I didn't want to wake up Eric's dads. In the dark living room, I noticed Eric sleeping on the couch. Did he fall asleep watching TV, waiting for me? I quietly took off all my clothes, and tip-toed to the couch to give my fiancé a big, wet kiss.
"Mmm," Eric moaned sleepily as I kissed him. He opened his mouth and reciprocated the kiss, sticking his tongue in my mouth. I could feel the taste of the alcohol I'd had earlier mixing with Eric's saliva as we made out in the dark. In just a few moments, I was hard as a rock.
I put my hand on his and quickly guided it to my dick. He gave my boner a firm squeeze, making me drip precum. Slowly, his fist started pumping up and down, jerking me off. Between his sleepiness and my drunkenness, our movements were slow. More and more precum gushed out my dick as he continued to stroke it. I scooped some of it up with my finger, and gently rubbed it on Eric's lips, watching him lick it off and getting a taste of me.
That seemed to be the wake-up call he needed to help him regain consciousness. However, when he did so, he instantly jumped off the couch and switched on the nearest light.
When I got a better look of him I realized: THIS WASN'T ERIC AT ALL!
"Who are you?! What are you doing here?!" he whispered at me aggressively, keeping his tone down so he wouldn't wake anyone up.
"Man, the fuck?! I live here! Who the fuck are you?" I replied, snapping out of my drunken stupor.
"You live here? With David?"
"Yes! And Eric. I'm Eric's fiancé," we continued whisper-fighting. If it weren't so upsetting, this would be hilarious.
"His… I didn't know Eric was… When he said 'fiancée,' I thought he meant a girl."
"Again: who the fuck are you?!"
"I'm sorry," he said, toning it down and all of a sudden sounding less aggressive. "My name's Nathanael. I'm David's nephew. Eric's cousin."