I had been expecting the message.
I pulled the phone from my pocket as it buzzed and tapped the screen. The preview showed a thumbnail image, mostly pale, and I thumbed it open without hesitation.
There it was. My dad's naked body, filling my screen in high definition.
He'd taken it in the bathroom mirror, his ass reflected in the mirror of the cabinet that never closed quite right. The lighting was harsh and bright. He always had to have every light in every room turned on when he was home. It used to drive me crazy. He had the same stern face I remembered from growing up, just with more grey in his beard. Except now I knew what that face looked like in the throes of pleasure. That’s not really something you can ever forget.
The photo was already downloading the details my brain catalogued without permission: the faint tan line from his swim trunks, the way his lower back dipped, the shadow between his legs. He was hard, obviously, his cock jutting forward beneath him, but the angle kept it peripheral. The focus was the ass—round, firm for a man in his late forties, and he used that to his advantage.
Like I said, I wasn't shocked. I'd been expecting this.
My father was one of the horniest men I'd ever known. Growing up with him had been an education in male desperation. After Mom left, he'd gone through a dry spell that lasted maybe two weeks before he started bringing women home. Then men. Then both at the same time. The parade of bodies through our house became so routine I stopped keeping track. But nothing had changed him like John.
I leaned back in my desk chair, thumb scrolling up through the message history. A dick pic from yesterday, veins prominent against his shaft. A torso shot from two days before that, his nipples hard and his stomach flexed. A video from last week—twenty-three seconds of him working a dildo in and out of himself, his moans tinny through my phone speaker even with the volume low.
All of it sent with the same casual energy another dad might use to share a meme or a sports score. Like this was normal. Like sending your son your nudes was just how you communicated.
And maybe, by now, it was.
I set the phone down and stared at my reflection in the mirror above my dresser. Twenty-three years old, still carrying the lean build from my baseball days even though I'd stopped playing so much after the community college rec league. Brown hair that needed a cut. My dad's nose. I thought about how this started.
I'd been in high school, just home from an away baseball trip. The bus had dropped us at school late on a Sunday afternoon, and I'd caught a ride with one of the guys rather than ask my dad to pick me up. The house was unlocked, which wasn't unusual—Dad was careless about things like that. I'd walked in expecting to find him watching TV or grading papers or doing whatever it was he did on weekends when I wasn't around.
He was in the kitchen, barefoot and wearing nothing but a pair of tight boxer briefs. I still remember the blue stripe pattern on them. Tall, built like a brick wall, with a military fade and tattoos crawling up both arms. He was making a sandwich—peanut butter and jelly, I remember that detail for some reason—like he belonged there. Like he'd been living in my house for weeks and I just hadn't noticed.
"Hey," he'd said, not even startled. "You must be the kid."
I wasn't a kid. I was sixteen, only a few years younger than he was I’d guessed. But he looked…harder. The kind of maturity that came from boot camp and deployments and things I couldn't imagine. He carried himself like the house was his, and I'd later learn that in many ways, it already was.
"Marco's in the shower," he'd added, taking a bite of his sandwich. Peanut butter on his lip. He didn't wipe it away. "Should be out in a bit."
I'd stood there in the doorway, bag over my shoulder, trying to process what I was seeing. My dad had never brought a man home who looked like this. The others had been forgettable—older guys from his gym, twinks from dating apps, the occasional curious straight guy who didn't count it as gay if he was on top. John was different. John was young, closer to my age, and already integrating himself into the place.
I'd heard them that night. Through the walls, through the floor, through whatever thin barrier separated my bedroom from Dad's. John's voice, low and commanding. Dad's responses—higher, needier, the sounds of a man getting exactly what he needed. The headboard had knocked against the wall in a rhythm I couldn't ignore, and I'd lain in bed staring at the ceiling, listening to my dad get fucked within an inch of his life by a marine who was barely older than me.
That had been seven years ago.
I picked up my phone again. My dad's ass still glowed on the screen, waiting for a response I hadn't typed yet. My thumb hovered over the keyboard.
Seven years, and their relationship was still going strong. That was the part nobody expected. Dad went through lovers like tissues, but John had stuck. John had stayed. Even when his orders took him overseas, even when the distance stretched into months, he came back to my father every time.
Last fall, he'd proposed. I'd been there for that too—a quiet dinner at their favorite Italian place, John in his dress blues the day he came home from deployment, Dad crying into his chicken piccata. The ring was simple, two gold bands twisted together, and Dad wore it on a chain around his neck now because his fingers were too restless when John was gone and he was afraid of losing it.
The wedding was planned for next summer. Once John was back stateside for good. Once this deployment was over he said he would separate from the military to settle down.
But that was months away, and Dad was suffering now.
I scrolled back down to the photo. His ass really was spectacular—I could admit that without shame. Round and meaty. I often had to remind myself to keep my hands to myself around him. It was an ass built for fucking. John had spent seven years training that hole, opening it up, making it crave cock.
And now John was gone. Six thousand miles away in some desert shithole, doing whatever marines did when they weren't dicking down their slutty fiancés. Leaving my dad alone in that big house with nothing but his hand and his toys and whatever stray dick he could convince to keep him company.
I knew about the other men. Dad wasn't discreet—never had been. Some of John's friends, guys from his unit who were stateside and understood the arrangement. A few strangers from the apps, men whose faces—or rather torsos—I'd glimpsed on his phone when he forgot to close his tabs. Once, I'd stopped by unannounced and found a guy I didn't recognize leaving through the front door, his shirt inside-out and his face flushed.
My father had just shrugged when I raised an eyebrow. "John’s idea," he'd said simply.
I didn't ask for details. I didn't want to know what John did with that information, whether it got him off or just let him know his man was doing ok. The rules of their relationship weren't my business.
But the photos in my messages made them my business. The fact that Dad had sent them to me—his son, a man even younger than his fiance—crossed a line that should have stayed uncrossed.
Except it hadn't. And I was staring at his ass like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Technically, it had been John who had changed things. Once it became clear that John wasn’t just a one night stand, I put in some effort to get to know him. It was easy, John was a personable guy and had a way of making it seem like he belonged just about anywhere.
One night when my dad was working late, he had a couple buddies over to watch a game. I’d joined them but wasn’t really following the team. They were all attractive, muscular, all-american guys. John cornered me in the kitchen later that night and simply asked me which one I liked best. I’d been taken aback and scrambled to come up with a lie. In truth, John was the hottest of them all and knowing he had my dad wrapped around his finger intrigued me. I wanted to know how his innate confidence translated to the bedroom. But I couldn’t say any of that. Instead I indicated the one who had been sitting next to me. He was a little shorter than the other but with more muscle mass. His dark skin stretched tight over corded muscles.
“Campell!” John called to his friend who perked up at the sound. “You’re up, bud” He smacked my back and returned to the living room while his buddy stood up with a smile and bounded over to me.
“Wanna show me to your room?”
John walked into my room without knocking about twenty minutes later and found us naked in my twin bed, my face buried in his friend's ass. I didn’t even notice at first as I tongued that sweet Marine hole. I wasn’t a virgin but my experience was limited to other lanky teenagers. I’d never been with such a meaty man before and I couldn’t get enough.
I pulled out when I heard John’s low whistle.
“Damn, kid. Look at you go.” He tossed me a bottle of lube. “He looks wet and ready to take you.”
I fumbled with the cap and greased up my teen prick before mounting the stud beneath me. I felt the mattress sag with extra weight but didn’t fully process it as I was lost to the ecstasy of the moment. Then a wet pressure was at my parted lips. I opened them to find John naked and trying to feed me his cock. I opened and let him slip in. I wasn’t very good at multitasking at that point so I’m sure the blowjob was less than stellar, especially after hearing him brag about how good my dad was at it, but John didn’t complain. After I busted inside Campell’s ass, he took my spot and got his own nut.
That night, I heard him fuck my dad wild for hours. The next morning he emerged from my dad’s—their—bedroom naked. That became the new norm for all of us. Less and less clothes when it wasn’t necessary. I got used to seeing John’s lube slick dick or my dad’s wrecked hole when they emerged from their room. And then the door was being left open, or they were fucking in the common spaces.
It was after John’s first deployment that all the lines became blurred. It had only been a few months but my dad was ravenous and John was right there with him. They went at each other for a week straight afterwards. One day, I came home from school to find John sitting on the couch naked. Between his legs was my father, on his knees, giving what looked to be a top tier blowjob.
John winked at me and asked how my day was. I don’t think I responded with anything more than one word. He beckoned for me to come join him. Once I was seated next to him, watching my own dad’s lips move up and down his thick shaft, he laid his bare, muscular arm around my shoulders, holding me close to his side. John guided my dad’s head over to my lap. I made eye contact with the man who raised me as his tentative hands slid down my waistband and fished out my dick.
I was embarrassed how quickly I blew in my father’s mouth but John just laughed and refocused my dad on his own member until he was blasting down his throat chasing my sperm down to his stomach.
My cock was hard looking through all the pictures in our messages. I noticed it belatedly, the pressure against my zipper, the way my jeans had gotten tight in the last few minutes as I reminisced. I adjusted myself without thinking, my palm pressing against the length of me, and a jolt of heat shot through my gut.
This wasn't new either. The attraction. I'd been living with it for years, pushing it down, ignoring the way Dad moved through the house in his thin shorts, the way he bent over to pick things up, the sounds that came from his bedroom whether John was home or not. I'd jerked off to those sounds more times than I could count, my hand over my mouth to muffle my breathing, my cock slick with precome as I listened to my father beg for more.
It had probably started before that day on the couch with my dad and his boyfriend, but that experience cemented it. I was totally into my father.
And I liked to think he was into me too. Invitations like these sure made me feel like he was.
I pulled up my other texts. My buddy Devin had been asking about tonight—bar hopping, maybe some pool, the usual Friday routine. I'd been looking forward to it all week. A chance to get out of my head, drink some beers, maybe find someone to take home and forget about everything for a few hours.
My thumb moved across the keyboard.
"Hey man, gotta cancel tonight. Family thing came up, sorry."
Devin's response was immediate. "Everything ok?"
"Yeah, fine. Just gotta help out my dad."
I didn’t waste any more time. I grabbed my keys and wallet, shoved them in my pockets, and headed for the door. The drive to Dad's house took twenty minutes, and I spent every single one of them thinking about his ass. The way it had looked in the photo. The way it looked in person. The way it felt under my hands, my mouth, my cock.
The way it had sounded when John was inside him, all those nights I'd lain awake listening. The way it gripped me the first time I fucked him as John slid into my own ass, sandwiching me between the two most important—and hottest—men in my life.
I parked in the driveway and sat for a moment, engine off, hands still on the wheel. The house was lit up, warm light spilling from the living room windows, a flicker that meant the TV was on. Dad's car was in the garage, the door closed. No other vehicles. No strangers tonight.
I walked up the front path and let myself in with the key I'd never given back. The house smelled the same—Dad's cologne, a hint of the candle he burned in the bathroom, something cooking that I didn't think he'd actually eat. He was on the couch when I walked in, legs tucked under him, wearing a pair of shorts that were too small and nothing else. Habits he’d picked up from John’s pervy fantasies.
"Hey," he said, and his voice was casual but his eyes weren't. They dropped to my crotch, where my cock was still half-hard, then back up to my face. "I’m glad you got my message."
"I got it." I stood in the doorway, not moving closer yet. "John messages me every week to make sure I’m taking good car of your ass." I crossed the room and sat, leaving a careful foot of space between us. The couch cushions dipped under my weight, and Dad's body heat reached me even from that distance. He smelled like soap and musk and home.
"You know how hard John's deployment is on me, on both of us," Dad said, his eyes on the TV but his attention clearly on me. "He needs to know I'm taken care of while he’s away. I need to be taken care of. It's that simple."
"You want me to take care of you tonight." It was a statement.
"I want you to want to fuck me." He turned to face me, his knee brushing my thigh. "Do you? Want to?"
I looked at him—really looked at him. The gray of his hair, the lines around his eyes, the meaty pecs. My dad. The man who'd raised me.
"Of course," I said. "I want to."
Dad's hand found my thigh, warm and heavy. He smiled at me, something loving. "Good. Because I've been thinking about your cock all day. I almost had you come meet me at my office over lunch today."
I smiled back at him. I would’ve gone if he asked.
He leaned in, and I met him halfway.
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