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My Stepfather Page 3


  Then as I ruminated more, it finally dawned on me that maybe I already knew how I feel, confused, more than a little weird, but basically okay. After all, we had always been very close. He was in fact my best friend, even though he was my stepfather.

  Finding a reference point was the hard part. Most of my friends liked their stepfathers, some of them didn't get along with their parents at all, but none of them had the type of close relationship that I did with him. In fact they envied me. My friends were always telling me how cool my parents were, especially Christos, and said they wish they had a stepfather like mine.

  I took stock of what I felt sure of. The sex, both times was really hot even if I had been a bit embarrassed. Also I felt strange being the compliant one, the one who had to be forced or cajoled into sex. This was not my style; I was basically a pretty aggressive person when it came to sex, or at least trying to get it with my girlfriend and other girls in the past.

  But Christos was also very aggressive, especially last night, and I was still reeling from the intensity of his approach to me. He really knew what he wanted. Had he been thinking about his for a long time? Also, I was still unsure about this scene and where it might lead. I decided to let him make the next move. After all I had no power, whether he said so or not. I knew my stepfather would never really force me to do something like this if I did not want to.

  The next move didn't take long. When I went downstairs to get breakfast, he was in the kitchen wearing only his jockey shorts; this was not how he usually walked around the house.

  “Hi,” he said brightly.

  “Hi,” I responded, noticing as I always did whenever he was partially clothed, how handsome his body was, all muscles and hair.

  “Are we still talking?” he said in his usual kidding manner but with a hint of caution.

  “Only if you do my laundry for the rest of your life,” I said, feigning anger.

  He laughed and said, “Screw you punk.”

  I went to the sink and began running the cold tap to get some water. He came over to me and put his arm around my shoulder standing very close, and kissed me on the cheek like he often did. I just smiled, melting inside, things were still the same.

  He could always charm me and make me feel good. But it was hard to reconcile this familiar fatherly affection with the intense passionate sweating man that had been pounding his cock into my mouth the night before. This was a shift I was going to have to work at assimilating I realised.

  He kept his arm around my shoulder and stood close, waiting for something. I just pulled away and went to the shelf for a glass. Could he possibly want sex again, so soon? After all it had been more than a week between our last two encounters. But then I remembered his words from last night that he wanted to continue having sex and would keep asking.

  Oh boy, I thought, when is mum coming home?

  I moved to the sink, filled the glass with water, and drank it down. He hadn't moved and I looked down and saw the bulge in his underwear. Without a word he reached down and put his hand on my crotch, very gently cupping my balls and cock in his hand.

  “I've got to go into the office for a while in an hour,” he said. “How about a little fun before I go?” His tone was expectant but almost quietly respectful. I leaned forward with both hands on the counter.

  He still held my crotch, and the flash of irritation at this intrusion was belied by my cock starting to get hard. I couldn't say anything for a few moments while my mind raced, and then I muttered, “Okay.”

  That was all that was said for the next fifteen minutes.

  He led me into the living room, knelt in front of me and stripped off my sweatpants. Then he began sucking my cock, licking my balls and inner thighs and generally working me into a frenzy of passion. Then he pushed me to the floor and started jerking me off while he sucked me. All this time I had said nothing.

  I had stared in fascination at the sight of his head working my crotch as I stood over him. Now I stared in equal fascination as I lay on my back and tilted my head up to see him lustfully sucking me.

  All I could do at this point was moan loudly as I started to feel the cum rise from my balls.

  Hesitantly, I reached my hands down and grabbed his head. Then I came in his mouth, long hot streams, with my hips bucking, and he swallowed it all.

  Then he pulled off his underwear exposing his raging hard on, and lay on top of me.

  He took my wrists and moved my hands over my head, as he stretched the full length of his body over mine. His cock was hard and rubbing against my belly, and I had quick intense images of my mother, was this what it was like to be fucked by him? Is this how it felt?

  His face was close, and he leaned in to kiss me. As I felt his lips descend I involuntarily opened my mouth and his tongue entered.

  I was completely consumed at this point. His body was touching mine at every possible point, as he continued to fuck my belly. I was acutely aware of how hairy he was. I could feel the heat of his heavy body as he rocked faster and faster on top of me.

  His tongue stayed in my mouth frantically massaging my insides.

  I could smell the fresh sweat from his armpits as they moved close to my face while he held my wrists extended above my head. Then he started to come. As he heaved above me, lifting off for a second and then plunging down again, I could feel the hot liquid beginning to mash onto my chest and belly and mix with the dark thick hair on his chest.

  When he was done, he collapsed on top of me still holding my wrists above my head. He took his tongue from my mouth and just lay there. I felt like I had been in a wrestling match at school, and the referee had just stopped the action. But this was better. The feel of his heavy body on mine, his sweat, his body hair, the smell, it was all incredible.

  I didn't dare move, fearing he would get off.

  Finally after a few moments he stirred, and said, “Ready to say Uncle?” Still the disarming humour.

  “Uncle,” I said weakly.

  Then I brought my knee up gently and banged it into his crotch. He yelped and rolled off me. Like only a few hours ago I was lying on the living room floor covered with his cum and sweat, only this time it was less of a shock, and felt all too familiar.

  After a minute he reached back up over his head and reached for my crotch. What he found was a very hard cock.

  “Well, well, what do we have here?” he said in mock surprise.

  “Nothing for you, you rapist arsehole,” I said in mock anger. “Go to the office, and take a shower before you go so everyone else won't have to smell your hairy-arse body.” I added in mock disgust.”

  He chuckled as he got up and said, “You'll know it when you get raped by me you sissy.” Then he grabbed my thigh and gave it a squeeze as he headed off to the bathroom saying over his shoulder, “What are you doing today anyway?”

  “Playing football, and jerking off, you pervert,” I yelled as he disappeared down the hall.

  “Well at least you're good at football,” he yelled back.

  I laughed out loud.

  I played football that afternoon for hours outdoors in the sun. I left the intense sexual encounters of the past few days and the blur of thoughts and emotions behind. I loved sports. I loved the competition, the running, shooting, physical contact, friendship, even the occasional fights.

  It was always great to be with my buddies. Whether it was playing football or running track or playing cricket or all the other sports we were constantly obsessed with. We were teenagers, full of energy, good at what we did and loving it. Life flowed through us in great waves as we endlessly worked our bodies into better shape and admired how we were growing into men. When together, we joked and criticised each other about our size and strength; about who had the biggest arm and leg muscles, the best defined chest and stomach, the most body hair.

  There were ten to fifteen of us who had been close since school and stayed close friends as we grew through adolescence. We argued about life, about girls and lied
a lot about our experiences with both.

  As I walked home late that afternoon, exhausted from the day-long workout, I found my thoughts wandering back to Christos and the recent change in our relationship. As thoughts of our sex together raced over the surface of my mind, I found them interspersed with images of my friends and many of the other boys we knew and spent so much time with in our athletic pursuits.

  I thought about all the bodies I had seen, naked in locker rooms for so many years, or partially clothed running around the tennis courts, basketball courts, and gymnasiums in which I had spent so much time. Older men, fathers, teachers, young men my age.

  I began to think of some of them differently. I began to realise that I had always paid more attention to some of them. Not formal attention, rather, an extra almost fleeting attention, a subtle watchfulness.

  I thought about how I had noticed over the past year that one of the older guys we hung out with had developed a very dark hairy chest, I had , without ever realising it stared at his body from time to time admiring it.

  I would also admire the thick forearms of my friend Carl and how the blonde hair on his arms would lighten in the summer from the sun. And how, though he was blonde, the hair in his armpits was so thick and would darken when he sweated on the basketball court.

  I thought about all the cocks I had seen in so many locker rooms. It was a strange sense of intimacy, cocks of all sizes, private parts, private for who? I had seen them; we all had seen each other’s. All those hairy crotches, those balls, the interesting way young men began to develop that line of hair from their navel that led down to their pubic area. I began to wonder how big some of my friends’ cocks would get when they were hard.

  All these fleeting images seemed so vague compared to the forceful, explicit acts with Christos. I knew exactly what his hairy chest felt like!

  I knew exactly how big his cock was, how it tasted, even what his cum tasted like.

  There was such a gap, I had been noticing other men almost subconsciously from a distance, wondering. Yet I had experienced him in such intense physical intimacy, all of a sudden in the span of a couple of weeks.

  These two worlds seemed far apart, yet I had a feeling they would merge. I laughed quietly to myself as I thought about how my friends and I had fantasized for years about getting laid. How we had talked about it endlessly since we were thirteen.

  Then finally when we were sixteen or seventeen it had finally happened to some of us. Some of the guys had bragged about their sexual adventures. Others, like me, had told some of my friends about the fact that my girlfriend and I had finally done it, but basically kept it quiet.

  What a strange set of events to compare, fantasize for years about sex with girls then after all the begging and pleading, finally get laid.

  Compare that to never fantasizing about sex with a man, and suddenly you're having intense sex with one and he is your stepfather.

  Was I gay? Was he gay? What the hell was going on? Why didn't I feel crazier about all this? Why did I think in some ways it was pretty cool, as a private experiment? Why did I find it even humorous sometimes? What would happen if I told one of my friends?

  As the questions began to build and race through my mind, I realised they were pushing the feelings of a great day out of my mind. I didn't want to lose the joy of the day so I began to run the rest of the way home, smiling to myself, running faster and faster, and sprinting the last three streets to my front door.

  I arrived drenched in sweat and walked in the front door with a yell, “I'm home.”

  I had seen my stepfather's car in the driveway, but I did not get a response. Walking quickly up the stairs to the second floor I realised why. My stepfather was standing in his upstairs office talking intently on the phone. I walked into his office and silently waved hello.

  While still talking, he winked at me and motioned for me to come closer which I did. He had been pacing around the room while talking on his cordless phone and stopped in the middle of the room with the phone to his ear. As I approached and stood close to him he reached out and lightly grabbed my crotch while still talking on the phone.

  I jumped, and tried to swipe his hand away, but he stepped closer and held on, all the while continuing his animated conversation on the phone with whom I could only assume was one of his business clients.

  He smiled at me and winked again.

  I rolled my eyes in mock disgust, put my hands on my hips and stared at the ceiling in an overly theatrical attempt at mild irritation. I was hoping to dissuade him by showing disinterest. He didn't let go. Instead he started to juggle my balls in his hand like they were a pair of dice about to be thrown.

  “Let go you jerk,” I said in a hissing whisper, trying to suppress a laugh.

  He smiled a comically malevolent smile and shook his head, “No.”

  I reached down with both hands and tried to remove his grip. This prompted him to say quickly to whoever was on the phone, “Listen, I have got to go, I'll talk to you later.”

  He took the phone from his ear and thumbed the off button, then tossed the phone onto his desk.

  “Well, what do we have here?” he said looking at my hands trying to undo his hands from my crotch.

  He was smiling in mock amazement and trying to contain his chuckling at the funny picture we presented standing there in the middle of his office.

  “Let go you old goat,” I said, trying not to laugh, but paying more attention to the fact that I was starting to get hard. “I've got to take a shower and clean up.”

  “You look clean to me,” he said with mock naiveté. He had put his right arm around my shoulders and started walking me out of the office room and across the hall to his bedroom, with his left hand securely grabbing my balls through my gym shorts.

  “How was football today,” he said in his best, pretend to be interested, voice which always made me laugh.

  “Just fine,” I said. “I told all my friends my stepfather was a pervert and I was about to turn him in to the police.”

  “Really,” he said, raising his eyebrows and chuckling. “Did you tell them about how much you liked sucking my dick?”

  “Liked it .... my arse,” I said. “You forced me and I'm telling the whole world you’re a sicko. I can't wait to see you on the evening news being led away to prison to be raped by every big black guy in the world.”

  By now we were both laughing and getting into our usual bantering mode. But he still had me by the balls as we entered the bedroom.

  “Really Christos get serious, I want to get cleaned up. I'm soaked,” I said.

  While I was still in good humour, I was a bit irritated at his fooling around. Mostly because while sex was what I had been thinking about as I arrived home, it was not what I had planned to do. I was uncomfortable now because I was very hot and sweaty and like any eighteen year old, self-conscious about my body in close situations at times like this.

  “Cleaned up?” he said. “No problem kiddo, I'll clean you up.”

  He was still being light hearted and offhand in his remarks, but I sensed a bit of seriousness creeping into his voice as he led me to the bed. He let go of my balls and pushed me gently down on the edge of the bed. I sat there as he knelt down in front of me and began to untie my shoes and remove my socks.

  He got them off and stood up and reached for the bottom of my T-shirt. He pulled it up and I reflexively raised my arms for him to take it off. He stared at me for a moment.

  What the hell is he up to? I thought. Is this some game, does he want to take a shower with me, or give me a bath?

  I grinned silently at the thought, how corny can you get? Neither thought was close to the truth.

  “Stand up,” he said with a bit of an edge to his voice. I did, and he pulled my shorts down so I could step out of them.

  I had only my jock strap left as I stood in front of him.

  He leaned forward and put his mouth on my crotch, on my sweaty jock strap, and began to lick it
while inhaling deeply. After a few minutes he reached up and stripped the jock strap off and pushed me back down on the bed. As I lay there puzzled, and even a bit turned off by what he had just done, he unbuttoned his shirt, took it off and stood over me. He was wearing only the jeans he had worn to the office and his socks.

  The room was warm, and his physical attention had kept me sweating the whole time. Now he knelt between my legs as I lay on the bed. He pushed my legs open wider and leaned down to my crotch with his hands on either side of me.

  Then he pushed his head slowly toward my balls and began to lick my scrotum. With long slow sweeps of his tongue he surrounded my balls, tilting his head from side to side as he went, in order to get at every inch. I squirmed a bit, twisting my hips.

  It was starting to feel awfully good, but I was still embarrassed about lying there so sweaty and needing a shower. I reached down to grab my rigid cock hoping to jerk off and maybe hurry this unexpected encounter along. But he intercepted my hand as it arrived at my cock. He reached up and grabbed it, without missing a stroke with his tongue, and held it for a brief moment. Then he raised his head and moved my fingers to his mouth. He started with my thumb, putting it in his mouth. He sucked it firmly moving it in and out of his mouth, the slowly did the same to each of my fingers.

  Then he licked my sweaty palm, the back of my hand and up to my wrist. After which he pushed my hand away up toward my chest, and started back to licking my balls, and moving slowly to lick my right thigh.

  It dawned on me that this session might not end quickly; there was something very methodical about what he was doing. The intense, deliberate, almost athletic passion he had expressed in our recent sexual encounters seemed hidden. It was there, I could feel it, but now it was much more controlled. He was still in charge but now he was setting a different pace. I took a ragged breath and tried to fit my sweaty unease and raging need to come into the sensual glove that was beginning to enclose me. It was difficult, he was relentless and tortuously slow as he moved down my right leg to the ankle, licking, deeply, thoroughly licking and gently biting with his teeth and lips.