Cucked By My Dad Ch. 10

You learn something new every day.

For example, did you know that in Canada, they pronounce the letter "Z" as "zed?"

And did you know that the name Häagen-Dazs doesn't mean shit? The creator literally just wanted something Danish-sounding for his ice cream company.

And did you know that, when you're leaving a father-son retreat in the Blue Ridge Mountains to go home and confess your incestuous, gay love affair with your father to your poor, ignorant mother, the drive home feels twice as long as the drive there?

Who knew.

As my father drove steadily toward our doom, I stared out of the passenger's seat window, trying to distract myself with passing cars and billboards. In less than an hour, we'd be back home with my mother, who had no idea the shit storm that was about to hit her.

In less than an hour, my life would change forever.

"What do you wanna do for dinner tonight?"

The question was so innocuous, I had no clue how to respond. I just stared at my father blankly from the passenger seat.

"I was thinking we could go out to Golden Corral, like we do every year before you start school. Or, if you want, I could cook something."

I'd almost forgotten I started community college the next morning. The events of the last weekend had been such a whirlwind that the last thing on my mind was Spanish class and remedial math.

I still hadn't said anything, so Dad took my hand and squeezed. "It'll be okay, Leo. I promise."

He smiled. God, what a beautiful smile. He was so good at it that I nearly believed him.

But I knew my dad. I'd spent 18 years seeing him feign smiles or laugh politely when colleagues or friends made boring conversations and told stale jokes. I knew what he looked like when he was actually at ease and how he looked when he was pretending to be for one reason or another. Hell, I suppose now I even knew what he looked like when he was having an orgasm. Probably not something a son should know about his father, but here we were nonetheless.

Yet even though I knew Dad was putting on a brave face for me, secretly just as scared as I was, the sight of it actually did make me feel better. He couldn't protect me from everything, but dammit if he didn't try.

Yesterday had been proof of that. I'd never seen him take charge like he did then.

"I can't go back there," I'd said, practically shaking. The woods had felt dark and suffocating, but I would have spent the night in the dirt before facing the men back at camp. "I can't be around these people right now. Please, let's just go."

I'd expected him to protest, to give me some spiel about how we made a commitment to be here, we couldn't waste the money, and if I could just tough it out for one more night, we could drive home in the morning.

He didn't do any of that. Instead, he took my hand and said, "Let's get out of here."

I was practically floating as he led me out of the woods back toward where we'd parked. He opened the passenger door of his Chevy Astro and helped me inside, closing it and locking it behind me. Then he disappeared around the corner, returning a few minutes later with our bags and our tent all folded up.

He must have been subject to all kinds of questions: What the hell happened back there? Did your son have some sort of mental breakdown or something? Is he fucking nuts?

If he did, he didn't relay any of that to me. He just slid into the driver's seat, squeezed my hand, and we were off.

It was too late to drive all the way home, as the sun was already starting to set. Plus, I think we were both a little too wired to havethatconversation without a good night's sleep. Once we'd gotten off the mountain and back toward some semblance of civilization, we pulled into a motel off the highway. It was a seedy little thing, the kind of place where you might bring your secretary and rent by the hour. Dad got us a room with two beds (to my surprise), and soon I was enjoying a hot, luxurious bath with motel soap and shampoo that probably doubled as laundry detergent.

I don't think I'd ever enjoyed a bath like I did that night. As I washed off the dirt and grime from my jaunt through the woods, it felt almost as if my sin and shame washed off with it. Was this how it felt to be baptized? I'd considered letting Pastor Carl baptize me at one point, but that was just so I could feel a man in a wet t-shirt hold me. This felt like renewal.

By the time I got out an hour later, my skin all red and soft, Dad was sitting on the bed with a plastic bag full of takeout and a carton of ice cream.

"I thought you might be hungry," he said with a half-smile.

Hungry was an understatement. All I'd eaten that day was half a sandwich and, between the fucking, hiking, and running, I must have done more than a week's worth of exercise (or a month's worth, in my case).

I devoured the takeout spaghetti he'd gotten me, my hunger making the food taste like it was from some fine dining place instead of a drive-through Pizza Hut. Dad even let me eat both orders of garlic bread, though I'm sure he was just as hungry as I was. Then I cuddled up next to him on one of the beds, the two of us sharing the carton of ice cream while we watched Fern Gully.

In between bites of ice cream, I snuck a few glances up at my Dad. He seemed wholly engrossed in the film, not a care in the world behind his eyes. I wondered if he was feeling the same dread that I was. But it wasn't entirely dread-there was comfort, too. We'd barely spoken since leaving the retreat, but we didn't need to. It was like we were on the same wavelength, finally. Like he could tell when I needed space, or food, or comfort without needing to ask.

I'd never felt this close to him. I didn't even need to have sex with him to feel how much he cared about me.

Well. Maybe I'm not being entirely truthful.

I hadn't meant for it to happen. I'd fallen asleep at some point during the movie, still cuddled up on my Dad's chest. The next thing I knew, I was on my back again, my father knelt between my spread open legs. I couldn't remember when we'd awoken, or how I'd managed to take his girth yet again, but this time, there was no pain at all. I held his head in the crook of my neck, bearing his thrusts with an almost zen-like acceptance.

"I love you," he whispered in my ear, his voice low and gruff.

"I love you, Dad," I whispered back, wrapping my legs around his waist to pull him in deeper.

"I wanna be with you," he continued. "Only you."

His thrusts grew faster, rougher. I held on tight, afraid to let go.

"I wanna marry you," he said, his voice breaking. "I want you to be mine."

For the first time since being with my father, fear crept in. Marry me? What was he talking about? Why would he say something like that?

I noticed a movement out of the corner of my eye. To my terror, I realized we weren't alone. Elijah stood in the corner of the room, his face twisted in disgust.

"Dad!" I cried, frantically tapping his shoulder. "Dad, stop. Someone's in here!"

"You're disgusting," said Elijah.

Dad didn't let up, continuing to plow away at me.

"I love you so much, son," he said, his voice choked with tears.

"What is wrong with you?" Elijah's father stood beside him, shaking his head. "How can you live with yourself?"

"D-dad?" I looked to my father, but his face was turned away from me. I could hear him crying as he continued fucking me, his thrusts relentless.

"Leo?"

My blood ran cold at the sound of her voice.

My mother stood just by the door, her hand covering her mouth in shock. She was as pale as a ghost, and the sight of her made me scream.

"No! No, please! I... I didn't... Mom!"

I awoke to the feeling of my father's hands holding me by the shoulders.

"Leo! Leo, what's wrong?"

I opened my eyes to see him kneeling beside my bed. I could see the sheets were disturbed on the other bed-he must have moved there after I'd fallen asleep.

"Son, you're okay. You just had a nightmare."

I blinked, the visions from my dream rapidly disappearing. The tightness in my chest remained.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes. "What... what time is it?"

"It's not dawn yet. We've still got a few more hours. Go back to sleep."

I grabbed his arm. "No. Don't leave me. Please."

He took a deep breath, then nodded.

I rolled over, making room for him on the bed. It was a tight fit, but he managed to squeeze in behind me. His body was incredibly warm, like a furnace. But the nightmare had left me cold and shaking, so I welcomed it.

He pulled the sheets over us, then slid his arm around me until his hand was resting in the middle of my chest. I put my hand on his, feeling the coarse hairs on the back of his hand.

My heart rate was still elevated from the nightmare, so I took a few shaky breaths to try to calm myself. Dad softly rubbed my chest in a way that wasn't sexual, just tender.

In fact, if it weren't for the stirring between his legs, I probably would have fallen back asleep within minutes.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I can roll over-"

I rolled to face him, taking his scruffy face in my hand. I could just barely make out his mustache from the light outside the blinds. I rubbed my thumb across it, then down his lips to his chin. I softly pried open his mouth until his lips were just parted, then I was on him.

I could tell why people called it "making love." There was almost nothing lustful in the way I felt about my father that night. Taking him in me felt as natural as breathing. One minute, we were kissing, our cocks grinding against each other through our underwear; the next, we were wrapped around each other, his cock sliding into me like it belonged there.

I'd never made love to my father in a bed before. In fact, I'd never made love to anyone in a bed. My only experience had been in a sleeping bag or outside in the woods, like some sort of Maenad. With my father holding me by the back of the head and gently jabbing inside me, the 90-thread count sheets felt like silk.

Somehow, we went from being on our sides to me rolling onto my back with Dad on top of me. My arms and legs were still wrapped tightly around his broad back as I endured his thrusts. I squeezed him tightly, desperate to be as close to him as possible. I could tell from the urgency of his lovemaking that he was thinking the same thing I was-this might very well be the last time we would ever be together like this.

However Mom reacted to our news, I was sure she wouldn't just give us the green light to do as we pleased. Who knew what ultimatum she might bring? What if she wanted us never to do it again? That seemed entirely likely. What if she wanted Dad to leave and never come back? That seemed even more likely. I wasn't so sure that, if it came down to it, I could defy her wishes. But I also couldn't see a world in which I didn't get to experience my father's love in this way.

Not for the first time, I wondered if telling her was the right thing to do. Would it be better to live in ignorance or know the truth? Perhaps it was a kindness, keeping this from her. But even as my father fucked me, his massive girth rubbing up against parts of me I didn't even know existed, I knew that she needed to know.

I felt his tears on my cheek just as he was about to cum.

"Leo..." His voice was shaky. He looked at me with red eyes, sore and tired.

"It's okay," I whispered.

He let out a small gasp, and then I felt him throb in me. My dad's last load. His body trembled on top of mine, his legs shaking as he released inside of me. I just held him, held him as he came and cried.

I didn't cum myself that night. I didn't want to. I think some part of me believed that as long as I didn't, it wouldn't...

Well, never mind.

Now the sun had finally risen, and we were back on the road, growing closer and closer to our destination. Before I knew it, we were turning off the highway, passing the familiar strip of homes and businesses that lined our neighborhood.

Dad was still holding my hand.

"Here we are," he said as we pulled into the driveway.

I checked the dashboard. The clock read a little after 9 am. Mom didn't expect us until the late afternoon, so she could still be out having her little spa vacation. The thought of waiting another 6 hours for her to get home was unbearable. Thankfully, I could see her car in the garage, so I knew she was home.

"Kathy? We're home," Dad called when we walked through the door.

"Mom? We need to talk to you." My heart was racing so fast I could hardly wait to get it over with.

Dad gave me a look. "Let's ease into it, son."

I winced. "Sorry. I just... Mom? Where are you?"

I looked in the living room, but it was empty. Her coffee cup was sitting next to the couch, so she wasn't still in bed. I glanced through the kitchen to the back patio, but the place seemed deserted.

"Kathy?"

Dad started up the stairs, so I followed him. I was about to call out again when I heard a muffled sound, high and distant. Dad and I exchanged a look, then continued onward.

"Mom? Are you there?"

No response. But as we stood at the top of the stairs, I could hear what sounded like voices coming from within my parents' bedroom.

That was strange. What would she-

"Leo, wait!"

My dad reached out to stop me from grabbing the handle, but I'd already turned the knob. As the door swung open, we were greeted by a loud, guttural moan.

"Oh, good heavens, Kathy. Don't stop!"

My eyes refused to believe the scene in front of me. At first glance, my mother looked like she'd been strapped into some amusement park ride, with black straps crisscrossing her waist. As I looked closer, I could see she was wearing a black negligee with some sort of contraption jutting from her pelvis.

That wasn't the strangest part, however. No, the weirdest part was the woman lying underneath her, completely naked and being penetrated by what I now realized was the strap-on my mother was wearing. The woman's long gray hair was fanned out on the pillow behind her, and, since it wasn't in a tight gray bun, it took me a moment to recognize her.

"Mrs. Turnbright?" I said stupidly.

Her eyes locked onto me and Dad, standing frozen in the doorway. Then her face twisted into a snarl of fear and anger, and she screamed so loud that Dad and I slammed the door and ran all the way back downstairs without a second thought.

"Well," Dad said as we sat at the kitchen table. "That was unexpected."

"What?" I said dryly. "That Mom's into women, or that she's into Elijah's mother?"

"I was gonna say that Elijah's mother had sex at all."

Despite everything, that managed to get a laugh out of me. In fact, the two of us were laughing so hard that we didn't hear Mrs. Turnbright come downstairs at all.

She stood at the entrance to the kitchen, now clad in her typical floor-length denim skirt and bland, colorless cardigan. She cleared her throat, causing the two of us to turn and see her.

"Leo. Jud," she said tersely.

Dad nodded. "Sandra."

She made a face as if Dad saying her name might cheapen it. "I trust you had a good weekend away?"

"Not as good as yours," said Dad. I nudged him.

She wrinkled her nose. "Crude man."

I was about to jump in and say those were big words coming from a woman who was just caught getting pegged by my mother, but I figured I ought to sit this one out.

Mrs. Turnbright seemed to have nothing left to say to us. She took one last disdainful look at the two of us before turning on her heels. The sound of the door slamming shut let me know that she had gone.

"How do we follow that?" I said to Dad.

"Maybe we should wait."

I felt the dread rising in my throat. "If I don't tell her now, Dad..."

We were interrupted by my mother strolling into the kitchen. She'd changed out of her negligee and was now wearing a blouse and khakis, which seemed oddly formal considering the circumstances.

"Good morning, boys," she said cheerily. She opened the fridge and pulled out a pitcher of orange juice, then poured herself a glass. "I wasn't expecting you so early, or else I'd have made breakfast. But if you want, I could make us some eggs, or whip you up another batch of those pancakes. I think I still have the batter-"

"Mom," I said quickly. "Can we talk to you?"

She whipped around, so fast her hair was a blur. Her face was stretched in a too-wide smile. "Of course! I want to hear all about your trip. Did you have so much fun?"

I shot a glance at Dad. "Uh, yeah. I guess. That's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about."

She clapped her hands to her chest and sighed. "I just love the mountains, especially at this time of the year. You'll have to tell me everything you did, and then maybe next summer we can all plan a trip. Oh, wouldn't that be fun?" She turned around and started rummaging through the cabinets. "We could go camping like we used to when you were little, you loved it so much. Well, you hated it, actually, but you loved s'mores. In fact, why don't we make s'mores tonight? It'll be-"

"Kathy," said Dad. "We really need to talk to you."

She turned to Dad, her smile wavering. She beamed wider and shook her head, making her curls bounce. "All right. What's up?"

"Something happened on the trip," I said slowly. I looked at Dad, who nodded encouragingly. "Something unexpected... but something that I think has been brewing for a while."

I suddenly realized how stupid I had been, not discussing what we were going to say to my mother beforehand. We should have planned out this whole conversation, including what to do if things went sideways. I knew I could just turn it over to my dad and let him be the one to break the news, but I had to be the one to do this.

I took a deep breath and continued. "As you know, Dad and I had some issues before the trip."

She shook her head dismissively. "What father and son doesn't? You should see the Hendersons; they fight like cats and dogs. Still love each other, though."

I frowned. Somehow, I didn't think Mr. Henderson and his son were boning. Though the thought did intrigue me.

"Right, well, we worked out some things on the trip." My lips were starting to feel dry, and I could feel my palms getting sweaty. I pushed forward. "And in doing so, we realized something-"

"Are you sure you don't want me to cook you something?" Her cheer was almost aggressive at this point. "You know, I have some leftovers from last night in the fridge. Blue cheese burgers, your favorite. Why don't I just pop them in the microwave and-"

"Mom, please shut up!" I said a little too loudly.

Anger flashed across her face.

"I'm sorry, I just... I need you to listen. I know... I know that you and Dad have a... an open marriage-"

"Jud." Her voice was low and threatening. The smile had left her face completely. "What have you been telling him?"

Dad looked at the ground like a chastised little boy. "I had to tell him, Kathy. There was no other choice."

She didn't look like she agreed with that statement. She opened her mouth to say something when I got there first.

"It's fine, Mom," I said quickly. "I know that you and Dad have an arrangement. It's okay. I mean, it's weird, sure. But I get it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said icily.

She opened the fridge and started rummaging through it, pulling out a loaf of bread and a head of lettuce.

I raised my eyebrows. "Um... Mom, in case you forgot, I did just walk in on you fucking Mrs. Turnbright."

She slammed a jar of mayonnaise on the counter. "Leo Wyte, you watch your language!"

I watched in stunned silence as she lathered mayo onto a slice of bread. "Would you prefer I said you were making love to Mrs. Turnbright?" I said finally.

She slapped a slice of turkey onto the bread and frowned. "I would prefer not to discuss my sex life with you at all, sweetheart. Frankly, it's none of your business. No matter what you may or may not have seen."