Cucked By My Dad Ch. 07

Note: This chapter contains scenes of incest content. Enjoy!

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I need to move out.

After what happened at my cousin's wedding, living with my father is no longer an option. Community college starts next week, and I just can't imagine four more years of awkward family dinners, glimpses of him in his tighty whities, wet dreams where he climbs on top of me, spreads me open, and...

I REALLY need to move out.

The issue, of course, is that I have no money and no job. Also, no skills, and no real work ethic. Working at Dad's construction company is not an option, obviously, and I already tried and failed at being a prostitute. If worse came to worst, I could live with a friend, but my only real friend is Gibby, and her parents live on a houseboat (who am I, Popeye's twink nephew?)

Whatever the case, I have to get away from my father. This relationship isn't good for me, for either of us. Things were good between us once. For a long time, actually. But now...

The only way to save things between us is to run as far away from him as I possibly can.

_______________

"There you are, sleepy-bones!" my mom said cheerily.

I had just walked into the kitchen for breakfast, at what I thought was an incredibly early 10 am. Mom was standing over the stove in her floor-length Victorian nightgown, her sleeves covered with the splatter of pancake batter.

"Have a seat, I made you some pancakes." She gestured to the table where my father was currently sitting, newspaper in hand. He had his robe on, and I tried my best to avert my gaze from the sight of his hairy thighs peeking out from underneath.

"I'm not super hungry," I said in protest, but she waved me away.

"Don't be silly. I wanted to do something special for your last breakfast before school, so I made my mother's recipe--two cups of flour, a tablespoon of sugar, one cup of mayonnaise, and one cup of rendered lard. Oh, you used to love them when you were little."

She pinched my cheek, then set a plate down in front of me.

My stomach roared in protest. "What do you mean, my last breakfast? Classes don't start till Monday."

She laughed lightly. "I know that, honey. But you'll be away at that retreat all weekend with your father."

My blood ran cold. "What retreat?"

She tut-tutted. "I swear, it's like I'm talking to myself sometimes. The father-son retreat in the Blue Ridge Mountains!"

I pushed my plate back. "I'm sorry, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"Language, Leo," my father said sternly.

I shot him a look that I hope said, "Don't even think about lecturing me, you adulterous, cucking, incestuous prick."

Or something like that.

Mom sighed. "You two signed up for it ages ago. We paid a deposit and everything!"

"Well, you better ask for it back, because I'm not going."

Mom looked over at Dad, as if expecting him to talk some sense into me, but he just kept reading his paper.

She folded her arms and huffed. "Leo, I don't know what has gotten into you lately, but I have had enough of it. Now, you two better make nice, because you're leaving first thing tomorrow morning."

"Why doesn't Dad just go, and I can stay here with you?" I protested. "We could have a mother-son bonding weekend or something."

She shook her head. "That's sweet, honey, but I have a whole spa weekend planned. Besides, what would your father do without you? Trust me--you two will have a blast."

And that was that. I vaguely debated running away, hitching a ride with some beefy trucker and paying my way to a big city with nothing but my pink and my stink. Sanity won out, though (I do NOT have the temperament for a life on the road), and before I knew it, I was strapped into the passenger seat of my Dad's Chevy Astro, the peril of a four-hour car ride ahead of me.

Dad was in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel while the other fiddled with the CD player. Soon, the sound of "Life Is a Highway" started blaring through the speakers.

God, give me back the sound of awkward silence.

I stared out the window, watching the freeway recede as we traveled deeper into the mountains. Part of me hoped the entire weekend could go like this: Dad drumming on the steering wheel and mouthing the words to the song, me staring off into space, neither of us interacting with the other.

My hopes were dashed when Dad turned the volume down on the dial and looked over at me.

"I'm glad you're coming," he said. "I think this could be good for us."

Us. Like we were a team. Like we were a normal father and son, not... whatever it is we were.

God, give me back the sound of "Life Is a Highway."

I stared straight ahead, watching the lines on the road whiz by. "Mhm."

Dad nodded like I'd said something meaningful. "I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. About the last few months. About how things have been between us."

Great. Here it comes. Were we really going to dredge this all up now, with Tom Cochrane of all things playing in the background?

"I've made a lot of mistakes. I tried so hard not to be like my old man, but..." He sighed. "I don't know. Somehow, I feel like I'm even worse."

He thumbed his nose, then cleared his throat. "Things are gonna change, Leo. I mean it. I'm gonna be a better father."

I blinked, watching the trees blur by. "Okay."

He glanced over at me, trying to catch my eye. "Did you hear me?"

"I did. I just don't know what that means."

He frowned. I almost felt bad for him, but how could I when I felt so much worse for myself? I didn't want to be here, stuck in this car with him, forced to listen to his mea culpa when all I wanted was to get as far away from him as I possibly could.

Or did I want the opposite? Did I really want what I couldn't possibly have?

"I'm trying, son. That's gotta count for something."

I nodded. "Sure."

I wasn't trying to punish him. That was truly all I felt capable of at the moment.

We lapsed back into silence. It wasn't the kind he wanted--warm and comfortable--but the other kind. The kind where you don't know whether you want to rip the other person's clothes off and sit on their cock or to grab the wheel and send you both hurtling into the nearest tree.

"You ever been to the mountains this time of year?" he asked after a beat.

"No."

"It's beautiful. The air is so clear, and at night, you can see all the stars in the sky." He smiled at me. "The guys running this retreat are great. I've been reading the pamphlet. They've got all these cool activities--bonding exercises, nature walks, even trust falls."

Trust falls. Great. I couldn't wait to throw myself backward and see if the man who couldn't keep his dick in his pants could suddenly catch me now.

"Sounds great," I said flatly.

He nodded again, like we were actually making progress. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I think this is gonna be good."

I looked at him then, just for a second, and saw how tightly he was gripping the wheel. How hard he was trying not to screw this up before we even got there.

Maybe it was the guilt, or the hum of the open road, or the fading echo of Tom Cochrane screaming about highways and life. But for the first time in a while, I didn't feel like fighting.

So I leaned my head against the window, closed my eyes, and said, "Wake me up if we crash."

He nodded. "Deal."

We drove on.

When I woke up, my mouth was dry, my neck was sore, and we were surrounded by trees.

A lot of trees.

I blinked against the sunlight streaming through the windshield. We were parked on a dirt patch, angled slightly downhill. Outside the window, I could see a few people milling around a fold-out table under a tarp.

Above it hung a wooden sign that read:

Fathers Fighting Fractured Families and Dads & Lads United present: The 2025 MENtorship Retreat

I looked over and saw my father standing outside the car, stretching out his shoulder.

I stepped out of the car and took a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare myself for the weekend ahead. It smelled like pine trees, charcoal, and something vague that I couldn't identify. A lack of pollution, perhaps. Somewhere in the distance, a harmonica played the faint tune of "Cat's in the Cradle".

When I looked around, I noticed something strange.

There were dads everywhere.

Tall dads. Short dads. Bald dads. Bearded dads. One dad was giving his fully-grown son a piggyback ride while another father-son duo was currently having a full-on argument about who forgot to pack their tent.

"Can you give me a hand with the bags?"

My father stood behind our car holding a heavy duffel bag. I walked over to the trunk and pulled out my own small pink suitcase. "Where are we staying, exactly?"

Dad lifted his bag. "I packed the tent and our sleeping bags in here."

I grimaced. "Camping? Again? Haven't I suffered enough this summer?"

He ruffled my hair, making my body tingle. "Come on. Let's get checked in."

We walked over to the check-in table, where two hugely muscular men in tank tops sat holding clipboards. One had silver hair and was incredibly tan, almost to the point where it seemed racially offensive. The other was just as muscular but about thirty years younger, maybe a few years older than me. He had dirty blonde hair that peeked out from under a cap that said "DICKY" in rhinestones.

"Welcome to the MENtorship retreat!" the older man bellowed as we approached. He reached out his hand to my father and shook it rather aggressively. "I'm Ricky, and this is my boy Dicky."

Dicky winked at me. "I hope you're ready for some man-on-man bonding."

It seemed to me like he flexed his pecs after that, or maybe he was just so muscular that they did that naturally. I wondered if steroids ran in the family.

"I'm Jud, and this is my boy, Leo," my dad said, putting his hand on my upper back.

Ricky shot me a look as if sizing me up. "Well, you're a little scrawny, but that's nothing we can't fix. Trust me, before this weekend is through, we'll put some hair on your chest. Ah-ha-ha!"

"Dad, this sun is killing me," Dicky whined. He pulled off his tank top, revealing a perfectly waxed body. "Would you?"

Ricky pulled out a bottle of suntan lotion and squirted it into his hands, then started rubbing it all over his son's meaty tits like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Dad and I watched together in stunned silence.

"Can't let my pride and joy get sun damage," Ricky said, kneading lotion into Dicky's shoulders while his son closed his eyes in bliss.

"Get the delts too, Daddy."

"I've got the delts, son. Daddy always gets the delts." Ricky turned back to us. "You'd be surprised how many dads neglect their sons' SPF needs. Criminal, really."

"Uh, is there a sign-in sheet, or...?" my dad asked awkwardly.

"Already checked you in!" Ricky said, slapping a glistening hand against a clipboard. "You're in Tent Zone C, right next to the shower pavilion."

He handed us a schedule stained with coconut-scented suntan lotion. "Orientation starts in thirty, so drop off your bags, set up your tent, and head to the campfire circle. This weekend's theme is 'Letting Go of Shame Through Shared Physical Labor.' Now get out there and bond, you beautiful bastards!"

Tent Zone C was a mostly empty patch of grass located beside a large concrete building that seemed somewhat out of place in the remote wilderness of the mountains. Taking a peek inside, I could see a row of shower stalls and a few toilets that I supposed made up for the general lack of comfort associated with roughing it outside.

A few dads and sons were setting up tents already. I watched with a surprising knot in my chest as several of them balanced poles and tied knots like they'd been doing it for years.

Dad dumped the duffel bag on the ground. "Alright," he said, slapping his hands together. "Let's do this."

He'd picked a spot closer to the edge of the woods. As he started pulling out supplies, I stared at the pile: poles, canvas, rope, metal pieces that looked vaguely like BDSM devices.

"Can't you just set it up?" I asked.

He frowned at me. "Didn't you set up your tent on the mission trip? Come on, you can do this."

I shook my head. "That was all Pastor Carl. You know I'm helpless with this stuff."

Dad sighed. "Come on, Leo. You're not helpless. You just... You just don't like trying sometimes. Now grab the end of that tarp and help me lay it out."

My face burned with anger. "What do you mean 'I don't like trying?'"

Dad unfurled the tarp and shrugged. "I think you're a lot better at this stuff than you think. You just don't like feeling stupid, so you don't try to learn new things."

I scoffed. "Wow, I sound like a real asshole."

"Son, that's not what I'm trying to--"

"Leo? Mr. Wyte?"

I turned to see a short, beefy redhead boy grinning at me. He was wearing shorts and a linen tank top, which showed off a deep summer tan, a cross necklace, and his crimson freckles. His hair had also grown out a little bit--he had it held back with a bandanna, but his bangs still fell almost to his eyes.

"Elijah? What are you doing here?"

Elijah threw his arms around me, pinning me to his chest in a surprisingly earnest hug. The last time I'd seen him, he was butt-naked and fucking our family pastor, a huge departure from the meek, overly-religious boy I'd known the last few years.

"It's so good to see you, man," he said warmly. "I had no idea you were gonna be here."

I raised an eyebrow. "I had no idea I was gonna be here, either. To be honest, I don't even really know what the fuck this is."

Elijah laughed. "Oh, it's loads of fun. My dad and I have been part of Dads & Lads United for years. They always do fun retreats and stuff."

He spotted my dad standing a few feet away and grinned shyly, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. "Oh... hey, Mr. Wyte."

Dad grinned, clasped his hand, and pulled him in for a hug and a pat on the back. "Please, it's Jud. You're almost outta college, we don't need all that formality."

I felt my fingers curl at the sight of my dad with his hands on Elijah. Sure, he hadn't fucked him (to my knowledge), just shared Pastor Carl with him. But I wouldn't put it past him to forget his "being a better father" bullshit and go after the nearest available pussy.

Then I saw the man standing behind Elijah, and the breath went out of me.

"You must be Leo," he said, his voice low and dripping with sex (or maybe that was just my imagination). "Elijah's told me a lot about you."

He reached his hand out and gripped mine tightly. He was tall, so tall that I felt like I had to look straight up just to see into his eyes. He had Elijah's same red hair, only lighter and cut short. A bushy red beard covered his jaw, which was stretched wide in a cocky grin. Like Elijah, he was buff and barrel-chested, but whereas Elijah had a young man's softness, he had a more solid, chiseled bulk.

"I'm Russell Turnbright, Elijah's dad," he said, still flashing that same cocky grin. I felt like my hand was having the life choked out of it, and I found myself wishing it was my clitoris instead.

"I-I've never seen you at our church before," I said stupidly.

He gave me a casual shrug. "It's not really my thing. Sandra and I are divorced, so Elijah usually spends the summers with me. Truth be told, I'm more into nature as my Higher Power."

"I know exactly what you mean." My dad stuck his hand out. "Jud Wyte. Nice to finally meet you."

Elijah's dad shook my father's hand and smiled warmly. "You as well. You boys all set up?"

"Just about to start," said my father.

"Good luck!" said Elijah, then turned to me and said, "I'll save you a spot at Orientation, yeah?"

I nodded. Elijah clapped me on the shoulder, then walked off with his dad, his father's arm casually slung over his shoulder.

Something about the sight of them made me want to cry.

Dad grunted, pulling a tent pole from the bag. "Alright. You hold this. No, not like that--vertically, Leo."

I tried to follow his directions, but the tent kept collapsing in on itself every time we tried to stand it upright.

"Hold it straight," my dad said, his voice tinged with annoyance.

"I'm trying," I snapped.

"You just gotta listen to me--"

"Have you even read the instructions?"

He rolled his eyes. "It's a tent, not a rocket ship."

"Why don't we just ask Elijah's dad to help us--"

"I don't need help," my father snapped. "I just need you to follow my directions and listen to me."

"Well, if this thing collapses on us in the middle of the night, I'm blaming you," I grumbled.

"That's nothing new," he said under his breath. He jammed two poles together with a little too much force.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.

"It means I'm trying, all right?" he said gruffly. He sighed, then rubbed his face with his hands. "Look, just... I'll hold this part up and you hook--"

"Maybe you should just do it."

He looked at me, face slack with disappointment. "You don't even want to try?"

"I guess I just don't like feeling stupid," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. I dropped the canvas on the ground and left Dad by the tent, walking back over to the shower pavilion so he couldn't see me cry.

God, what was wrong with me? I knew I was being a little brat, but it was like he brought it out of me or something. Every time I was around him, it was like my emotions went haywire.

I looked across the clearing to see Elijah and his father lounging in folding chairs in front of their tent, passing a bag of trail mix back and forth. I watched them for a moment, wiping angry tears out of my eyes. What did they have that we didn't? A lack of sexual tension, for starters.

The sound of a bell ringing throughout the camp caught my attention. From across the campground, Ricky stood on top of a picnic table, megaphone in hand while Dicky stood beside him ringing an old brass bell.

"ALRIGHT, MEN!" Ricky shouted through the megaphone. "ORIENTATION TIME! DROP YOUR TENT POLES AND GRAB YOUR BALLS--WE'RE ABOUT TO GET INTIMATE!"

I headed over to the gathering area, catching up with my father in the crowd of dads and sons. We didn't say anything to each other as we walked, following the crowd to a circle of picnic benches arranged around a large stone fire pit that hadn't been lit yet.

Ricky raised his arms. "Welcome, fathers and sons, to a weekend of manhood, physical breakthroughs, and emotional bravery."

"We're kicking things off with a little icebreaker, a little get-to-know-you sesh," said Dicky. "Starting on my left, you'll say your name, then share one fun fact. Now here's the kicker--don't tell us about you, tell us something about your dad! And dads, tell us about your son. Something silly or sweet. The more embarrassing, the better!"

He laughed hysterically. The men in the crowd laughed along, like any of this was actually funny.

I was already dreading being called on. Do I talk about the pool boy being railed in the elevator or the football player being fucked in the infirmary?

The first pair--some suburban duo from San Luis Obispo--went. The son shared that his dad made him the best cinnamon toast in the world when he was a kid, and that he used to cut them into smiley faces. The dad looked like he might cry.

I sat there half-listening, half wondering what the hell I would say when it was my turn. What would I say about my dad? What would he say about me?

Soon it was Elijah's turn. He sat a little straighter, tucking his long red hair behind his ear. "I'm Elijah, and this is my dad, Russell. He loves listening to pop music while he works out and, although he'll never admit it, his favorite artist is Lady Gaga."

Russell pulled Elijah in and ruffled his hair, making him laugh. "Oh, you bastard. Alright, let's see. Okay, I've got a good one. My son used to write these little plays as a kid and force the whole family to be in them. I've played a dancing penguin at least three times."

Elijah's fair skin turned bright red. He rolled his eyes, pretending to be annoyed, but his dad put his arm around him, and it was clear there was no bad blood between the two of them.

Well, there's no fucking way we could follow that.

My dad looked around and gave a curt nod. "Hey, everybody. I'm Jud, this is my son Leo. If I had to share one thing about him... well, damn." He laughed. "It's tough, cause there are so many things I love about him. He's bright, confident, fearless. He's never afraid to go after what he wants. But I think my favorite thing is his sense of humor. He's the funniest person I've ever met. He's got such a sharp wit, and even when it's directed at you, you can't help but laugh. I laugh more in five minutes with him than I do all week."

"That's what I'm talking about!" Ricky clapped his hands. "Honest. Masculine. Vulnerable. Boom!"

Dicky made an explosion sound, then flexed his giant biceps like he was at a bodybuilding competition.

There was a smattering of polite applause, but I didn't hear it.

I stared at my dad. He wasn't looking at me--just staring ahead, like what he said wasn't a big deal.

It wasn't, really. Except it was. I'd never thought I was particularly funny or witty. Sarcastic, sure. But that was more of a defense mechanism than anything else. The way Dad said it, though, like it was something he admired in me...

I felt my throat tighten.

All eyes were on me now, so I cleared my throat and tried to keep my voice steady. "Uh... I'm Leo. This is my dad, obviously." A few people chuckled. "I guess if I had to say something about him... he's really charismatic."

There was a flicker of something in my dad's eyes, but otherwise he didn't react.

I continued, unsure if I was being honest or passive-aggressive. "Like, insanely charismatic. He could make pretty much anyone fall in love with him. Which is kind of annoying when you feel like you're competing with half the neighborhood for his attention."

The men laughed, but Dad's eyes were trained on me.

"But when it's just you and him... he makes you feel like the only person in the world."

My voice caught on the last word, but I pushed through it with a tight smile.

This time, the applause felt a little closer.

Dad didn't say anything. He just swallowed and gave me a small nod.

Dicky's voice rang out over the crowd. "Wow! If that didn't make your man-tears well up, you might be dehydrated. Drink plenty of water, bros. We've got a full weekend ahead of us!"

"Speaking of which," added Ricky, "now that we've all gotten to know each other a little better, it's time to get your heart pumping and your emotions flowing. Sons, you'll pair up in twos for a hike along one of our pre-designated trails. You'll each be given a prompt to discuss with each other to help you reflect on your relationship with your dad. Dads, you'll do the same. Our hope is that you'll start to see what makes your father/son relationship unique."

I felt my stomach drop at the thought of spilling my guts out about dad to a total stranger, but luckily Elijah grabbed my arm and asked me to pair with him right away. I still wasn't eager to open up, but at least he seemed like a safe walking buddy.

Dicky handed us all an envelope with a written prompt tucked away inside as well as a map of the area, reminding us to pack extra water and some electrolytes and creatine if we had any (I didn't even know what that was). I looked at the map to try and find the easiest possible trail, but everything looked to involve some level of vertical hiking. Finally, I just let Elijah pick a trail at random, and we headed there together--he with his knapsack, me with my little pink fanny pack. I'd changed into a pair of khaki booty shorts and a black string tank top that exposed my light pink nipples, inspired by Elijah's tan and hopeful that I could pick up a little color myself this weekend.

The trees arched overhead, filtering sunlight into speckled patches across the dirt path. A cool mountain breeze rustled through the branches, making me wish I wasn't so committed to dressing like a slut at all times.

I walked along, trying to appreciate nature, but deeply aware that I didn't give much of a shit about trees. I kept waiting to feel something--peace, awe, whatever it was you were supposed to get from the woods--but all I felt was itchy and a little bit lost. It made me feel like I was doing something wrong, like I missed the memo on how to enjoy nature walks. Just like I missed the memo on how to be a son who understood his dad, or even wanted to.

It seemed so easy for everyone else. Why did I have to be so broken?

Elijah walked slightly ahead of me on the path, a gnarled walking stick in one hand and his water bottle in the other, which he was currently swigging. His forehead was covered in a layer of sweat, which had turned his damp hair an even darker shade of red.

"Trying to outrun me?" I called out.

He laughed, slowing his pace enough that I could catch up. "Sorry. I figured with those long legs of yours, you'd be a bit faster."

I blushed. "You were looking at my legs, huh?"

He grinned. "Maybe. They are pretty nice, after all."

"Thanks. I grew them myself."

He laughed. We walked along in silence for a moment.

"So... you wanna talk about the prompt?" I asked, pulling the sealed envelope out of my fanny pack.

He shrugged. "Not really. I'd rather catch up, to be honest. A lot's changed since I last saw you."

I smiled, my chest flooding with relief as I tucked the envelope away. "Okay."

We walked along the path, which curved deeper into the forest. Dry leaves crunched under our feet as the sound of cicadas hummed all around us. "So," I said, navigating a pile of rocks and wishing I hadn't worn flip-flops. "You and your dad seem close."

"Yeah," he said, shrugging. "It took work. Things were kinda tough after he and my mom split up. I was pretty angry for a while, but he never stopped trying with me. Now we're good."

He paused for a moment, squatting to tie his shoe. "We actually went to Guatemala this summer. Habitat for Humanity."

I raised my eyebrows. I couldn't imagine anything less appealing. "Seriously?"

He nodded, straightening up and brushing dirt from his knee. "Yeah. I wanted to do something that felt... I don't know. Bigger than me. And he was down. We built houses for two weeks, stayed with a host family. Got eaten alive by mosquitoes, but it was worth it."

"Sometimes I feel like you were engineered in a lab to make me feel like shit about myself," I said dryly, ducking under a low branch.

He frowned, slowing his steps again to match my pace. "It's not a competition, Leo. I don't think I'm better than you or anything."

"I know," I said. I adjusted the strap of my backpack, which was starting to dig into my shoulder. "I just mean... I don't know. You're always doing shit for other people and you don't even get anything from it. I've just been focused on getting dick all summer."

A slight smile crept across his face. "Well... those things aren't mutually exclusive, you know."

I rolled my eyes, swatting a mosquito from my arm. "Yeah, I know. I saw you in the tent with Pastor Carl."

He blushed, his ears turning red. "No, I meant... I didn't just build houses in Guatemala."

My jaw dropped. I stopped walking. "You slut! Oh my God, I want every detail."

He grinned sheepishly. "There was this guy, Raúl. He was one of the local volunteer liaisons--"

"What did he look like? Was he hung? No, don't tell me--I want to be surprised."

Elijah laughed, brushing a sweat-soaked curl out of his face. "Um, he was really cute. In his mid-20s, he had this cute little curl in his hair that would bounce when he walked. Anyway, he did a lot of translating when we talked to the locals, and he was telling me all about the local culture. Apparently, there's a pretty big gay scene in the city we were in. At first, I didn't know if he was telling me about it because he knew I was... you know."

His cheeks turned red. He looked at the ground, using his stick to idly trace circles in the dirt. "Or if maybe he just told everyone, y'know? But, I guess I was asking a lot of questions, because he invited me out one night and... well..."

"Christ, just spill already!" I said, giving him a playful shove. "You guys got it on, right? You punched his ticket? Or did he punch yours? Or--"

"I thought you wanted to be surprised?" he said with a smirk.

"Sorry, you're right. Go on."

He resumed walking, and I followed close behind, eager to hear more.

"We went out to this gay club in the city. It was like, tucked away behind this unmarked door, but he told me it was the place to be. When we went in, there were all these guys dancing, and it was really humid out, so most of them were, um, shirtless."

I nodded. "Sounds fucking hot."

He bobbed his head excitedly, like a golden retriever. "We started dancing, and he was, like, really close to me. I was so nervous. I mean, I'd only ever... you know... but he was really handsome, and he was just so confident. I think it helped, being in a different country. Not knowing anybody. I could just... let go."

"Please tell me you at least fucked," I said. "Because if this story ends with nothing more than a dance, I'm going to kill myself and then you."

He laughed, pushing a bramble out of the way so I could pass. "Yeah, we hooked up. He took me back to his place after, and I was really nervous, but he was like, patient with me. He said we didn't have to do anything I didn't want, but I did want to, y'know? So we kissed for a while, and then the next thing I knew, we... well. You know."

"I don't know!" I said impatiently. "You topped him? You bottomed for him? You played Scrabble?"

"We... did both, I guess," he admitted.

"Vers, huh? I hadn't pegged that," I said.

He shrugged. "I don't really know all the terminology."

I sighed, swatting another mosquito from my ankle. "Figures. You're gay all of five minutes, and you've already done more than I've done my whole life."

He cocked his head, watching me as we walked. "Really? I thought... I mean, you just seem so... experienced."

I frowned. "I'm not. I mean, I've done some stuff. But I've never... you know. Actually fucked."

He nodded. "I used to think I wanted to wait for marriage. I didn't even think I'd have sex with a man at all. But your dad... he helped me."

I furrowed my brow. "How?"

"I don't know. I never really had anybody to talk to about this stuff," said Elijah. "My mom was pretty shut down whenever it came to sex stuff, and all we heard about in church and school was abstinence."

"Why didn't you talk to your dad about it? If you guys are so close?"

He laughed. "Who wants to talk to their old man about sex?"

I tried to hide the look of embarrassment on my face as I watched a lizard scurry across the path.

"He was cool, though," he continued. "I didn't realize how many hangups I had around sex. But he told me it wasn't as big a deal as I was making it out to be. Not that it wasn't important--I mean, I know it's like, bonding, or whatever. And it's for procreation, too, at least between men and women. But I was treating it like this be-all end-all thing that would make me or ruin me, and it's not that. It's okay to have sex with someone because I think they're cute, and they like me, and we want to feel good together. As long as we're not hurting anybody, you know?"

I was quiet for a moment. A breeze moved through the trees, and I watched the leaves ripple in the late afternoon light. I had no idea what to say to that. It felt like one of those moments where I should be realizing something important, but I didn't know exactly what.

We walked along for another few minutes in silence, the comfortable kind. When we came up to a particularly treacherous part of the path, Elijah went ahead of me, holding out his hand to guide me over the rocks. I squeezed his hand tightly, leaning on his strong grip to keep from falling. As I put my foot back on solid ground, I felt it slide in the wet mud, almost losing my balance. Elijah reached out his other hand and caught me by the lower back, keeping the two of us from tumbling over.

"Careful," he said, grinning.

I stared at him as he helped me back to my feet. This summer tan looked good on him, making his muscles seem more defined in his tank top. But there was something else that had changed about him, too. This lightness that hadn't been there before. Like he was completely confident in who he was, with nothing to prove to anyone.

We stood there for a second, not saying anything. His right hand was still on my lower back, his left still holding mine. I didn't quite know what was happening, or if I was just imagining things.

"We should probably at least look at the prompt," he said after a moment. "In case they ask us about it."

For a second, I didn't know what he was talking about. Then I remembered the envelope.

"Oh... sure." I pulled it out of my fanny pack and tore it open, my eyes scanning the printed words on the page.

"What's it say?" Elijah asked curiously.

"If your relationship with your dad were an ice-cream flavor, what flavor would it be and why?"

We stared at each other for a moment, then burst into a fit of laughter.

"Okay, glad we skipped that," said Elijah.

"Yeah, I'm not fucking doing that," I said, smiling at him.

I tucked the envelope back into my fanny pack and we started down the trail, our laughter echoing through the trees. The sun was beginning its slow slide behind the mountain, streaking golden light across the path.

Just before we reached the main clearing, we heard the sound of a booming voice call out, "Ah, boys! How goes it?"

Elijah's father came bustling down the path toward us, stepping confidently despite the incline. My father came up behind him, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He caught sight of me and smiled, then his eyes drifted down to see Elijah's hand in mine, and his smile drooped slightly.

While Elijah went over and hugged his dad, my dad walked up to me, his shirt damp underneath the armpits from sweat.

He put his hand on my arm. "You have a good walk, son?"

I looked down at my feet, the toe of my flip-flop half-covered in dirt, not able to meet his gaze. "Yeah. Fine."

Dad's hand lingered on my arm a little longer. I felt the light pressure of his thumb brushing across my skin before he pulled away.

"You look flushed," he said. His eyes flicked down to where Elijah had only just let go of my hand. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," I said quickly. "I almost ate shit on some rocks, but Elijah caught me."

Dad's eyes settled on Elijah with a polite smile, but his voice was cool when he said, "Good reflexes."

"How about that prompt, eh, boys?" asked Russell. He put his arm around Elijah and sighed. "I swear, these guys always know how to get straight to the heart of it all. Jud and I were damn near bawling by the end of it."

"Oh, same," Elijah said, nodding. He shot me a playful wink.

I saw Dad's eyes flit from Elijah to me, then a wave of something I couldn't recognize rippled across his face.

The sound of the bell ringing caught our attention. We followed it to the outdoor mess hall, a series of rough-hewn picnic tables that sat in front of a row of cast-iron grills and steel fire pits. A long, waist-high wooden serving table stained by years of spills ran parallel to the grills, lined with buffet-style trays of burgers and hot dogs, paper plates, and plastic cutlery.

"All righty, campers," Ricky boomed through the megaphone, "I hope you've had a chance to broaden your horizons a bit and commune with nature. I'm sure you've worked up an appetite, and don't you worry--we've got enough buns and wieners to feed an army. But before you and your dad grab a table, we've got another little twist for you."

Dicky cracked his knuckles, wiggling his fingers excitedly. "It's time for the annual Dads & Lads United Dad Swap. That's right--you won't be dining with Dad tonight. At least, not at first. I want every son to dine with the dad of their hiking partner. Why? Because I want you to get the dad's perspective. I want you to hear what it's like from their side. How they see things. How they think and feel. What worries them. What surprises them. What they're proud of. You know--dad stuff.

"And then--don't panic, dads--you'll switch back before dessert. When you're finally reunited with your old man, I want you to talk about what you learned. Maybe it's something small. Maybe it's something big! Maybe it's that other dads are just as dorky as your own. But our goal here is connection, understanding--peeling back the onion a little."

Ricky slapped his son on the back, making his muscles ripple. "Alright, enough sap. Find your dinner partner, grab a plate, and load up!"

Mr. Turnbright shot me a grin. "Looks like it's you and me tonight."

We loaded our plates in silence--grilled burgers, potato salad, some corn still in its husk--and carried them to one of the back tables, close to the edge of the woods. Crickets were already starting up in the woods behind us.

I picked at my burger without taking a bite. Russell settled in across from me, popped open a can of sparkling water, and took a long drink.

"Well," he said, patting his chest after letting out a burp. "I only talked to your dad for about an hour, but I gotta say--he's a cool guy."

I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

Russell took a bite of a hot dog, mustard smearing at the corner of his mouth. He chewed, watching me for a moment, then wiped his chin with the back of his hand.

"You all right, Leo?"

I nodded, eyes fixed on my plate. "Fine."

He laughed. I looked over at him to see his lips twisted in a smirk.

"What's so funny?" I asked, frowning.

He shook his head, still amused. "Nothing. You just remind me so much of Elijah. Same way he gets when something's eating at him. Real quiet. Real proud."

That made me glance up. "Yeah?"

He nodded. "He used to shut down completely when something went wrong. Still does now and then. Took me a while to figure out that the more I pushed, the deeper he went into himself."

"So what did you do?" I asked. "When he shut you out like that?"

"Me?" He chuckled. "I shut down, too. At first. Figured he'd snap out of it. But teenage boys are complicated. They don't always open up about what's going on in their lives. Try to handle it all themselves. Then again, I suppose all men are like that."

I glanced toward the fire pit. Dad and Elijah were sitting near the grills, hunched together over their food, laughing at something. Dad's hand rested on the back of Elijah's bench. Too familiar.

I felt a pit in my stomach. Powerless.

I turned back to him, my voice softening a little. "You don't seem like most men."

He glanced up, eyebrows raised.

"I mean that in a good way. You listen. You notice stuff. It's rare." I smiled at him, doing everything I could to flirt except batting my eyelashes.

"Thanks," he said. "I try."

"Plus, you're a total DILF," I added, batting my eyelashes for good measure.

"I don't know what that means, and I'm not sure I want to," he said, letting out a warm laugh. "I'll admit, I'm a good listener. But at the end of the day, I'm just a divorced guy with a torn rotator cuff and a decent grill."

I leaned forward slightly, letting my knee bump his under the table. "Well, now you HAVE to tell me more."

He smiled, but there was something almost pitying in it. "You're sweet, Leo. But I've been around long enough to know when someone's deflecting."

I sat back, stung. My gaze wandered over to my father and Elijah, who were still chatting casually.

"What if... what if you can't talk about any of it?" I said after a moment. "At least... not with your dad?"

"I get it," said Russell. "When Sandra and I split, Elijah clammed up. Wouldn't talk to me for weeks. Not angry, just... blank. Like I'd vanished." He rubbed a hand over his jaw. "I tried everything. Asked questions. Told jokes. Sat in his room like a damn ghost hoping he'd look up from his phone. I used to spend hours just talking at him, trying to get him to tell me what was going through his head. I figured if he wouldn't talk to me, I'd do the talking for the both of us until he did. That didn't work, obviously."

"What did?"

He gave me a half smile. "Time. And honesty. Eventually, I learned to say something, even if it wasn't perfect. Something true. Not the kind of truth that makes you look good, either--the kind that stings."

"What do you mean?"

He took a sip of his water, then shrugged. "I stopped trying to fix it, stopped pretending I had a script. When he finally talked, he was pissed. Called me selfish. Asked me why I left his mom. Asked if I'd cheated."

"Did you?" I asked, not even sure why I cared.

"No. But that didn't make it easier for him to swallow. He wanted to know how I could make a promise and then break it. I told him the truth: I didn't know who I was when I made that promise. And once I figured it out, I wasn't the guy she needed anymore. Or the one I needed to be, either."

I looked down, pushing a piece of potato salad around my plate with a fork. "Do you think that helped? Telling him that?"

"I think he hated it." Russell's voice softened. "But he needed it. Kids aren't looking for perfect dads. They're looking for ones who tell the truth--even when it's ugly."

I laughed wryly. "I don't think my dad could tell the truth if his life depended on it."

"I don't know about that," said Russell. "He told me some truths on our walk. About you, about him."

I frowned. Would he really have told this guy about all the shit that had gone down between us these last three months?

"Like what?" I said, probing.

Russell smiled. "You know I can't go and spill all his secrets just like that. Why don't you talk to him? I'm sure he'd tell you if you asked."

I rolled my eyes. "Sounds like wishful thinking from the guy who's spent one hour with him."

He nodded. "Fair enough." He took another sip of his sparkling water, then swished it around in his mouth. "So what if you went first?"

I blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, clearly you've got some feelings about your dad that are less than positive. You can wait for your dad to make the first move, or you can take control of your life and do it yourself. Relationships are a two-way street, Leo."

I didn't say anything for a long moment. The fire crackled in the distance. Russell didn't push things any further, just let us sit there in silence while he finished his plate and I stared off at the sunset.

Finally the sound of the bell rang through the camp as Dicky called out, "Okay, dessert time! Grab a brownie and find your daddy!"

Russell got to his feet, grabbing his plate to carry it to the trash can.

"Hey," I said, standing.

He turned and looked at me.

"Thanks, Mr. Turnbright."

He smiled. "Don't mention it. And hey--he's proud of you, your dad. That much I could tell."

The knot in my stomach pulled tighter, but it was a different kind now. Not nerves. More like something starting to come undone.

By the time I tossed my empty plate into the compost bin, the sun had dipped behind the treetops, leaving us basking in the warm glow of the fire. People were clearing their plates, grabbing brownies and cookies from the dessert table, meandering around the fire pit.

I spotted Dad lingering near the edge of the clearing, a brownie in one hand, his gaze fixed in my direction. His smile faltered when our eyes met, like he wasn't sure if I'd come over.

I crossed the lawn slowly, my hands shoved deep in my pockets.

"Hey," I said when I reached him.

"Hey," he echoed. His voice sounded easy, but I could tell he was nervous.

We stood there in silence for a second too long. Then, trying to be casual, he offered the brownie to me.

"Want half?"

I took it without answering and bit off the edge, chewing slowly. It was dense, still warm.

Dad nodded toward the table where Russell was chatting with Elijah. "He's a good guy, isn't he, Elijah's dad? Funny."

"Yeah, he is." I glanced sideways at him. "Elijah's lucky."

Dad's jaw twitched, like he wasn't sure if that was a dig.

"Sounds like they've got their stuff too, though," he said, giving me a crooked grin. "Not like we're the only fucked up ones around here."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. I looked around to see if anyone was within earshot, but we were far away from the other fathers and sons. My hands were sweaty and shaking, so I wiped them on my shorts.

"I want to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me."

He nodded. "Okay. I promise."

"Why do you keep cucking me?"

He frowned. "I wouldn't call it that, exactly."

I snorted. "Okay, what would you call it?"

He paused, his jaw tensing as he searched for the right word.

"I love you, son, but you don't... You don't have a very good picker."

"Excuse me?"

He gave me a no-nonsense look. "Pastor Carl? Hell, that man was taking advantage of you. So was that football player, the one who used to bully the shit out of you when you were a kid. And don't even get me started about William. Putting yourself on the auction block for some old pervert to take advantage of you? What did you expect me to do?"

I laughed in disbelief. "I'm sorry... are you telling me that you fucking these guys was, what? Some attempt at trying to protect me?"

He held his ground. "You might not agree with my methods, and I'll admit--I've made plenty of mistakes. But the only thing I've ever tried to do was to keep you safe."

I clenched my jaw, trying to breathe through my rising anger. "Can we just cut the shit for one second, please? You said you were going to tell the truth."

"That is the truth," he said, firm but quiet. "You don't know these men, but I do. You think that boy you brought home, the actor, what was his name--"

"His name was Kevin," I said, my eyes blazing in anger.

He snorted. "That one was nothing but trouble. I could tell that the second you brought him into my house. You were out the door all of five seconds before he was begging for it. You think a man like that is good enough for my son?"

"So you fucked him?" I said incredulously. "You couldn't have just told me he was a bad guy?"

"Would you have listened to me?" he shot back. "'Oh, Dad says my boyfriend's a jerk, I better dump him.' Come on, son. I know you. The only way to get you to see was to show you."

I ground my teeth. "Okay, this was a mistake. You talk all this shit about wanting to be a better dad, but you can't even tell me the truth."

"I am telling you the truth, dammit--"

"No, you're not!" I shouted. I looked around, but no one was close enough to hear my outburst. "You're lying," I said, lowering my voice. "You may have been telling yourself you did it to protect me, but we both know that's not the whole truth."

He shook his head. "These men don't care about you, Leo. They just want to use you and throw you away."

"What if I want that?" I said. "What if I want to be used and discarded?"

He sighed. "You don't, son. Trust me."

"I don't trust you," I said angrily. "You know why? Because you don't have any fucking clue what it's like being me."

I was shaking now. I clenched my fists and held them tightly against my sides.

"When did you lose your virginity? Huh, Dad?"

He blushed. "I don't... I don't see what that has to--"

"You were younger than me, right?" I asked. "I've seen photos of you when you were my age. I know what you looked like. I bet you had no problem getting laid. You never even had a moment of feeling unwanted or ugly or unlovable. You just had people fawning all over you your whole life. Men, women, it didn't matter, did it?"

He looked down, saying nothing.

"Well, I didn't get that. I didn't have guys lining up around the block to take me to my prom. I didn't even go at all, because the thought of taking Gibby and pretending that wasn't pathetic made me want to fucking kill myself. I would have killed to have even one guy look my way and tell me I was good enough, but I had nothing. And that's your fault. It's your fault for moving us to this stupid town where there's only, like, five gay people my age. And it's your fault for taking whatever little scraps of affection I did have away from me."

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but I didn't let him.

"Forget Pastor Carl, and Mateo, and Kevin. There's never been a guy I could bring home, because how could they ever want me when you're in the picture? I can't compare to you at all, and that just makes me feel like shit, because I'll never be able to get away from you. I'll always just be here in your shadow, and even if I do get a guy to fuck me, I'll resent him because I'll know that he would rather be with you."

I was crying now, my fists still clenched by my sides.

Dad was staring at me with his mouth agape, his shoulders slumped. "Leo... baby," he said, reaching for me.

I stepped out of his reach.

He froze. His hand dropped to his side. Then he let out a slow, tired breath. "I wish you could see what I see," he said quietly. "You're incredible, son. You're brilliant. I've known that ever since you were young. The way you carry yourself, you're so sure of who you are. Or... you used to be. I don't know, maybe it's my fault. Maybe I made you feel like you weren't good enough. And if I did, I'm sorry."

He put his hand on my cheek, wiping away my tears. "Don't you see how beautiful you are?"

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, am I?"

He kept his hand there, and his other one came up behind my neck. "Of course you are."

I shook my head. "I used to think so. I mean, it's not like I ever thought I was a model or anything. But I always liked the way I looked, and I thought other guys did, too. But then... I don't know... You just spend years feeling alone and invisible, and the more you do to try and get people to like you and want you, the less they do, until you start to think that maybe you were wrong. You aren't beautiful. You're not special. Because if nobody sees it in you, then how could it actually be there?"

I sniffed. His fingers brushed the nape of my neck.

"I see it in you, son," said my father. He had tears in his eyes, but they were locked on me. "I've always seen it."

I stood there, shivering even though the air was warm, his hand still on my cheek. I could feel the heat of it, the weight. The way he looked at me scared me. Like I wasn't his son, but something else.

"Then why did you do it?" I whispered. "If you saw it in me--if you really thought I was beautiful, or special, or worth loving--why did you take every chance to prove otherwise? Why did you sleep with them? All of them? Why did you make me feel like I had to compete with you just to be wanted?"

His face crumpled, his lips trembling like he might speak but couldn't find the words.

"I... I didn't want you to get hurt," he said after a moment.

I pushed his hands away. "Are you kidding me? You actually think that if I fucked some douchebag and got my heart broken it would hurt worse than what you did?"

"No," he said softly. "That's not it."

"Then what?"

He said nothing. He took a step back, and for a moment, I was afraid he would walk away.

But I needed to finish this.

"I need you to tell me, Dad. Say what you've never had the guts to say. I can't keep doing this if you're going to lie about what this is."

He let out a deep, shaky breath. "I didn't want to be the one to hurt you," he said finally.

I frowned. "What does that mean?"

"You told me to be honest," he said. "So I'm being honest. I didn't want you to be with anyone else because I couldn't stand the thought of another man touching you. God damnit, I know it's wrong, but..." He trailed off, his eyes getting glassy.

"Say it," I said.

He looked so scared. More scared than I'd ever seen him. When he looked back at me, his lip was trembling.

"I want to be with you, son."

I let out a deep breath. I felt dizzy, like the ground was tilting underneath my feet.

"But I know I can't," he said quickly. "Because... because I'm your dad. And because I love you too much to put that on you. So I tried to kill it, deny it, shame it out of myself, but it's there. And, God help me, it won't let me let you go. It won't let me watch another man take you, not when I... when I want so badly to..."

His voice broke. He turned his head, blinking away tears.

"I'm sorry, son. I've failed you. I didn't want to lose you, but all I did was push you away."

He took a step toward me, but I couldn't be close to him right now. I turned my back to him, sucking in a deep breath of air.

What the fuck was I going to do now? I already knew all of this deep down. Nothing he'd said had surprised me. But knowing it in my heart and hearing it out loud were two different things.

Everything was different now. We could never go back to the way things were.

"Leo," he said softly. His voice was raw. "Please tell me I didn't ruin this. Please, just forgive me--"

I felt his hand on my shoulder and stepped away.

"I just need a little space," I said, not looking back.

I didn't know where I was heading, I just knew I couldn't be around my father right now.

So many emotions were swirling in my head. Validation that I was right, that I wasn't crazy--my father had been sabotaging me for a reason. And that reason was that he wanted me, not like a father, but as a lover.

Pretty sure none of the other fathers and sons here were dealing with this over dessert.

I passed a group of men sitting around a campfire. Ricky sat at the head of the circle, lazily strumming a guitar, his son's head resting on his shoulder.

Dicky looked up and saw me. "Leo, come join us!" He waved me over and patted the seat next to him. "We were just about to sing 'Lean on Me.'"

I ignored him, walking until I reached the concrete building at the edge of camp. I recognized it as the shower pavilion. I peeked my head inside, and to my relief, it was empty.

I slipped into one of the shower stalls, closing the door behind me and stripping off my grimy clothes. I didn't have a towel or a change of clothes, but I didn't care--I just needed to feel clean.

I turned on the faucet and watched as the pipe shook, then sputtered to life. The water was lukewarm and patchy at first, but soon it sprayed in a steady enough stream for me to step underneath it and wet my hair. I let the water pour over my face, the heat relaxing my tense shoulders. I leaned my face against the tile wall, letting it beat down on my neck, my forehead pressed to the cool ceramic.

I want to be with you, son.

The words sat like a rock in my stomach. Part of me felt disgusted, betrayed, ashamed. This was my father, the man who had raised me, bought me my first Cosmopolitan magazine, tried and failed to teach me to play catch. Now he wanted me as a lover?

Or, I guess he didn't.

I know I can't, because I'm your dad. And because I love you too much to put that on you.

Emotion welled up in my chest, warm and overflowing. I tensed my stomach, trying to stuff it down, but it broke past my defenses in a loud, strangled sob.

I wanted it too.

God help me, I wanted it too.

The sound of flip flops slapping against the ground snapped me out of my little cryfest. I washed the tears off my face and cleared my throat, hoping whoever walked in hadn't heard me sobbing.

I kept my eyes trained on the wall, grabbing some soap from the dispenser as I lathered my arms.

I heard the sound of the stall door next to me open and close.

"Hey, Leo."

Elijah gave me a friendly nod over the stall divider. I could only see his upper torso, but he seemed to be as naked as I was. He still wore his cross necklace, even in the shower.

"I didn't think anyone else would be in here yet," he said, turning on the faucet.

The water sputtered out, hitting him in the face. I laughed despite myself.

"Careful," I said, "I don't think these things have been turned on in the last decade."

He grinned at me, shaking his damp red hair to get the water out of his eyes. After a few seconds, when the water evened out, he reached for the soap and started lathering himself up.

"I take it you weren't into the whole Kumbaya thing?"

I washed the suds off my arms. "Does anything you know about me suggest that I would be?"

He smiled at me, not saying anything. His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but wasn't sure if he should.

"Are you okay, Leo?" he said after a moment.

I felt the wind go out of me. Even though I'd already washed myself, I reached for more soap just to have something to do.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

His face faltered, like maybe he'd made a mistake. "I saw you and your dad fighting."

My heart stopped for a moment.

He must have seen something on my face because he quickly added, "I mean, I didn't hear what you guys were saying. It just looked like you guys were arguing about something."

I didn't say anything, just stared at the wall.

"You don't have to tell me anything," he said, "but... if you need someone to talk to. Or just a distraction. I'm around."

My chest tightened. I turned to face him more fully. "Why are you always so nice to me?"

He blinked. "Because I like you."

"Why?" I asked, honestly confused.

He laughed, surprised. "You're cute. You're interesting. You're--" He stopped, then smiled again, this time a little softer. "I like the way you talk to people. Everyone else just bullshits all the time, or they talk in platitudes like it actually means anything. You're just so honest. You always have been."

I turned off the water. As if I were being guided by something outside of myself, I opened the door to the stall and stepped out.

When I entered Elijah's stall, the look on his face was a mix of surprise and excitement. I slipped inside, closing the door behind me. He was naked, his torso pale from where his shirt had protected him from the sun. He didn't shield himself from me, and I didn't avert my eyes. His cock lay limp against a patch of dark red pubic hair, the water cascading off the tip. We took in the sight of each other, naked and wet.

His eyes roamed over my body, my pale complexion and hairless skin. The shine in his eyes made me feel good, wanted, validated. I took a step closer to him, reaching out to touch the light dusting of hair on his chest. He twitched when I grazed his skin with my fingertips.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "Tickles."

I put my other hand on his chest, rubbing the skin with my thumbs. We were close enough now that I could feel him growing hard against me, his cock pressed against my leg as his arousal became evident.

"That feels nice," he said.

I looked up at him. His lips were parted, full and red. I leaned in to kiss him, but to my surprise, he pulled away.

"Leo... is this what you really want?"

I blinked in surprise. "I... I think so," I said after a moment.

He smiled, and I hated the look of pity in his eyes.

"Don't you?" I asked, trying not to sound accusatory.

"Of course I do," he said, putting his hand on mine. "But something tells me you don't."

"I thought you said sex wasn't a big deal," I said, taking my hands off his body and moving out from under the water. "It doesn't have to mean anything."

He grabbed my hand and held me there. "Leo, I would love to fuck you right now. Trust me, I've had a thing for you since way before this summer."

"Then why not now?" I said, hating how petulant I sounded.

He was quiet for a moment, a thoughtful look on his face. Finally, he said, "Why do you want to have sex with me?"

The question caught me off guard.

"Be honest," he continued. "Why me?"

"Why not you?" I said. "You're hot, you're nice... you make me feel safe."

He smirked. "Come on, Leo. When have you ever wanted something safe?"

He turned the water off and grabbed his towel from the rack. I watched him, my mouth agape in disbelief, but he just smiled at me.

"I thought maybe this summer you were into me," he said, drying his hair. "But... I kind of got the impression that your thoughts were elsewhere. And, as much as I like you, I don't really want to be used."

"That's not fair," I said, my nostrils flaring in anger.

"I'll tell you what," he said, handing me the towel. "If you're really interested in me, why don't you stop by my tent in an hour? My dad'll be there, but we can go for a walk or something. Find someplace private."

He grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head. I stood there holding the towel, not sure what to say. Was he playing mind games with me? What happened to the old stereotype of men just wanting to fuck all the time? Was I somehow immune? It seemed like every time I threw myself at a guy, he always had an excuse.

Elijah finished dressing, then stepped out of the shower. I watched him leave, his words still ringing in my head.

When have you ever wanted something safe?

I dried myself off, then pulled my clothes back on. The shower pavilion was still deserted, the faint sound of cicadas wafting in through the windows. The warmth of the shower still clung to my skin when I stepped outside, but a cool breeze sent a shiver down my spine.

I walked along the edge of the camp, past the patchwork quilt of tents that dotted the clearing and the group of men still merrily singing "Free Fallin'" by Tom Petty around the campfire. I made sure not to stray too far, still wary about getting lost in the woods after the mission trip debacle.

If anything, the conversation with Elijah had left me feeling even more confused. I'd spent so long trying to lose my virginity, and for what? To be someone else, maybe. To feel differently. To feel human.

Elijah sure seemed different after everything. Why couldn't I have that? Why couldn't I know what it felt like to be that intimate with another person? Why did everyone seem to care so much about who I slept with when they got to sleep with whomever they damn well pleased?

"Damnit, son. You have to hit it at an angle."

"I am!"

The sound of voices caught my attention. I saw a flash of light in the distance, a small shower of sparks that exploded and then disappeared. Curious, I took a step closer.

"Why can't we just use matches?"

"It's a learning experience. Could save your life in the wild."

Two men knelt over what looked like a bird's nest, a small pile of sticks and brush. The younger man held a piece of metal in one hand and a stone in the other, and he appeared to be smacking them against each other.

"Jesus, son. It's not a blunt instrument. Aim it towards the tinder."

"If you don't back up, I swear to god..."

I watched as he hit the rock again, and this time, the spark caught on the tinder and stayed there, smoldering.

"Hurry!" said the older man, grabbing the stone and metal from him. "You have to blow!"

The young man lay flat on his stomach, cupping his hands and blowing gently on the ember to help it grow. I watched for a minute as he nurtured the flame, then their eyes lit up as it grew into a small blaze.

"You did it!" The older man wrapped his arms around his son and held him close to his chest, his face beaming with pride.

Even though his son was older than I was, the way he smiled and hugged his father made him look like a little boy.

He opened his eyes and caught sight of me, then pulled away from his father's grip, embarrassed. "Yeah, yeah. It's not a big deal, Dad."

His father caught sight of me and grinned. "Hey, would you take a photo of us?" He pulled out his phone, holding it out to me.

The son groaned. "Dad, this is so embarrassing. It's not like it's worth documenting or anything."

The dad handed me the phone and beamed. "Maybe not to you. I'm going to put this on Facebook."

"Nobody uses Facebook anymore," the son said, rolling his eyes. But he put his arm around his father anyway, and they both grinned at the camera.

As I took the photo, making sure to get the growing campfire in the foreground, something the man had said had stirred something in me. A memory.

Maybe not to you.

I was laying in my bed, looking at my phone, giggling like a stupid slut. Kevin had just texted me something, I don't remember what. I was trying to think of something witty to say in response when I heard a knock at my door.

"Leo? You coming down for dinner?"

My dad opened the door, poking his head into my room. I must have been too quick to hide my phone, because his eyes narrowed and he took a step inside.

"Who are you texting?"

"Nobody," I said quickly, hiding my phone behind me.

He walked over to the bed, folding his arms. "Leo, we give you a lot of freedom in this house, but in return, we expect honesty. Now what's going on?"

I sighed. "It's nothing. Just some boy."

Something flashed behind his eyes. Not anger, or disgust. More like fear. "Oh. You... you have a boyfriend?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe."

He stayed quiet a moment, then said, "What's his name?"

"Why do you care?"

He sat down on the bed next to me. "Because if someone's making you smile like that, I want to know who he is."

"Dad, please don't screw this up for me. He doesn't want anyone to know about us, and I don't want to embarrass him. I'm lucky he even gave me a chance, I'm a total fucking zero compared to him."

He frowned. "If anyone's lucky, it's him."

I rolled my eyes. "You don't get it. He's hot and actually likes me. He already says I text too much, I'm just trying not to mess it up by being too clingy."

He said nothing, just stood there staring at me. Then he nodded slowly, as if making a decision. "You should bring him over. I'd like to meet him."

"No way! You'll scare him off."

"If he's scared that easily, he's not worth your time. Now come on. Tell him we'll have him over for dinner this weekend. I'll cook."

I groaned and threw myself back on the bed. "Ugh, fine. But can you not make it a whole thing? It's not serious."

He just stood there for a second. "Maybe not to you," he'd said quietly.

Then he left.

I hadn't thought about that moment in months. It hadn't felt important at the time. But now, in the midst of all the trees with the scent of pine and wood smoke in the air, it hit me differently.

I handed the phone back, and the dad thanked me, already tapping through the shots to pick his favorite.

"This your first time here?" he asked casually.

I nodded.

"It's brilliant, isn't it? Really shows you the strength of your bond, being away from all that stuff out there in the real world."

"Don't be weird, Dad," said the son, shooting me an apologetic wince.

I smiled. "Yeah. It does."

He lifted the camera in thanks. "Have a good weekend."

I thanked them and kept walking, but slower now. I could hear the crackle of their fire behind me and faint laughter. I looked at my phone to see I'd been walking for almost an hour.

For the first time in months, I knew what I needed to do.

When I opened the door to the tent, he was lying in his sleeping bag, reading. He looked up at me as I zipped it shut behind me, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

"I wasn't sure if you'd come."

I walked over and lay down next to him. "I wasn't either."

We looked at each other for a moment, neither of us saying anything. Then I reached out and touched his face, his strong jaw warm underneath my fingertips. His eyes were wide, like he was too afraid to move. Afraid it wasn't real.

I reached for the zipper to the sleeping bag, slowly unfurling it. He wasn't wearing any pants underneath, his hairy legs poking out from underneath a pair of blue checkered boxer shorts.

"Are you sure?" he said, his voice a silent whisper.

"I want this," I said, more sure in that moment than I'd ever felt before.

I slid into the sleeping bag with him, wrapping my arms around his warm body.

He held me close, burying his nose in my hair and breathing in deeply. I closed my eyes, putting my ear against his chest and listening to the sound of his heartbeat.

"I love you, son," he whispered.

I looked up at him, his eyes full and wide.

"I love you, too, Dad."

Then I kissed him.

His scruff was scratchy on my smooth chin, his mustache tickling my nose as we kissed. But his lips were warm, and I felt my chest swell as he held me close to him. Gently, I felt his tongue brush my lips, and I opened my mouth to let him in. A shiver rippled across my skin as his tongue slipped inside my mouth, his hands squeezing my shoulders to hold me close.

I half expected one of us to pull away, for shame or disgust to overwhelm us. But neither of us did--he rubbed his thumb across my arm, softly stroking my skin as our kisses became stronger. It was like a wave cresting through me as I cupped the back of his head and pulled him in closer, our tongues meeting in a clash of raw passion.

We rocked back and forth, hands sliding across each other's bodies in a writhing embrace. Fuck these clothes, I wanted all of him. I tugged on his shirt, and he lifted his arms to let me pull it over his head. Soon, he was in nothing but his underwear, his hairy chest pressed against my skin like a furry blanket.

He pulled me in again, his hand sliding beneath my shorts and resting gently on top of my ass. I waited for him to go lower, to slip between my cheeks and rub my pink. But he hesitated, as if scared of pushing things too far.

I was tired of waiting.

I rolled on top of him, my fingers running through my dad's chest hair. His belly was warm and firm underneath me, a soft cushion above the dense muscle that lay underneath. He ran his fingertips across the side of my torso, sliding in the gap of my tank top and gently pinching my nipples.

I let out a moan. "Daddy... that feels good."

He looked up at me, mouth agape, eyes wide with excitement. Then he sat up and kissed me again, his strong hands pulling my tank top over my head until we were both shirtless, our sweaty bodies pressed together.

His hardness throbbed underneath me, warm and pulsing. I unbuttoned my shorts, then gasped as he leaned in and took one of my nipples into his mouth. I held his head, eyes closed as I enjoyed the feeling of my dad licking and sucking my nipples. He squeezed me tightly, holding me so close it was like he was afraid I might melt away.

Then, with a sudden movement, he leaned forward, thrusting me onto my back. He was on top of me now, his face inches away from mine. His bulky, hairy body shone in the light of the lantern, his chest rising and falling with every breath. He had a crazed look in his eyes, like he didn't know if he wanted to make love to me or to devour me.

I glanced down at my shorts, desperate to be naked, to have my father inside me. He took my meaning immediately. He grabbed my shorts and briefs and pulled them down together, finally releasing my cock. He yanked them off my ankles and tossed them to the side, resting on his heels as he took in the sight of my naked body.

I felt strangely vulnerable like this, lying on my back with my cock at full mast while my father knelt over me, his cock obscenely stretching out his boxer shorts. The look in his eyes was like nothing I'd seen before. Hungry. Wild. Desperate for me. I'd never felt this exposed. Desire radiated off of him like steam. I could barely stand to be seen, the way he devoured my body with his eyes.

Dad reached out with a tentative hand, cupping my lower back and pulling me in closer to him. Our lips met like magnets, drawn together in a force greater than us. I hadn't kissed a lot of guys, but I knew right away my father was an incredible kisser. The way his tongue moved left me breathless, fighting for air, desperate for more. If I could only kiss him tonight, nothing more, it would have been enough.

After a minute, he broke the kiss, resting his forehead against my own. He squeezed his eyes shut, a pained look on his face.

"Son..." he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Before he could say anything, I cupped his cheek, rubbing the unshaven skin with my thumb.

"It's okay, Dad. I'm sure."

He looked at me, his eyes suddenly sad. "Why? You could have anyone. You deserve better than an old man like me."

He looked so sad, so remorseful, that in that moment, every last lingering bit of resentment washed away from me.

"You're the one that I want," I said firmly.

To my surprise, he smiled, a childish grin spreading slowly across his face.

"Ooh, ooh, ooh, honey," he sang softly.

It took me a moment to place it, but when I did, I groaned and smacked him on the chest.

"You're so fucking stupid, Dad," I said, then pulled him back in for a kiss.

We fell back onto the floor of the tent, his hefty frame crushing me into the ground. I wrapped my legs around him, grinding my erection into the soft flesh of his belly. He thrust his hips against me, his cock slipping through the hole in his boxers and rubbing up against my taint.

I wanted him inside me, more desperately than I'd ever wanted anything in my life. But I didn't want this moment to end, didn't want to rush the experience of being with my father for the very first time. I held his head as he kissed down my neck, sending shockwaves down my spine. His rough fingers gripped my waist, squeezing and kneading my skin as he continued to thrust against me.

I slid my hand down his back and along his side until I reached the band of his underwear. Unable to wait any longer, I slipped my fingers through his jungle of pubic hair until I gripped my father's cock for the very first time.

Fuck, this thing was thick. I'd seen it plenty of times, witnessed it in action, but nothing compared to feeling it in the palm of my hand, the bare flesh soft and spongy against my fingertips. I had to lean down a bit to reach the base, eager to stroke the whole shaft. I squeezed it softly and heard a low moan in my ear as my dad continued his assault on my neck.

This was my father's penis, the thing that had made me, had brought me into being. By touching it, I was violating one of the biggest rules of society, of humanity. There were laws against this sort of thing--more than that, there was a revulsion baked so deeply into us that the mere thought of incest inspired literal nausea in most men. Yet here I was, one arm wrapped around my father's back, the other stroking his manhood to ready it for my deflowering. I wanted it in me, wanted him to take me the way I'd always dreamed of being taken by a man. Only this time, there wasn't a nameless, faceless man on top of me, eager to slip his cock in me and relieve me of my virginity. There was only my father--imperfect, impulsive, yet mine.

I ran my thumb along the edge of his foreskin, gathering up the sticky drop of precum that had gathered there. He growled into my neck, thrusting his cock back and forth into my hand. With my other hand, I cupped his chin, turning him to face me.

"I want to make you feel good," I said softly. "Let me blow you."

He shook his head. "It's not about me, son."

He took my hand off his cock and grabbed my legs, lifting the lower half of my body off the ground.

"Tonight is for you."

He buried his jaw in my taint, his nose crushed against my balls as his tongue attacked my hole.

Against my will, I let out a loud cry. I quickly cupped my mouth as I realized there were about 50 fathers and sons within hearing distance who were probably not expecting to hear the sounds of a boy getting his ass eaten by his dad. But in all my years of jerking off, fingering myself, and dildo play, I'd never experienced the kind of pleasure my father was giving my hole. Even William hadn't come close to this level of stimulation, so white-hot I thought I might actually cum.

He held me there, one hand supporting my lower back, the other rubbing up and down my torso and giving me goosebumps. The sounds of him munching on my pussy pervaded the air, wet slurps punctuated only by the low hum of his moaning. Fuck, did my dad know how to eat ass. He kept his eyes locked on mine throughout it all, watching me, making sure I was enjoying every bit of the attention he paid my little pink purse.

"Da-Daddy," I moaned, my legs shaking as he stabbed me with his tongue. "I need it... please..."

He ate me out a little while longer, as if savoring one more taste of me before finally lowering me gently back to the ground. His jaw was wet with saliva, his lips red and shiny. He crawled back on top of me until his face was over mine again. Resting on his forearm, he pushed a curl of hair out of my eyes, then cupped my cheek and kissed me on the nose.

"You ready?"

I nodded slowly, the last of my breath trailing out in a slow exhale. He reached down and shucked off his boxers, his thick cock landing with a thud on my leg. I shivered, my body trembling with a mix of fear and anticipation. This was it--the moment I'd been waiting so long for. He wet his fingers, spreading the saliva on my hole, then his cock.

"How do you want it?" he asked, his voice gentle and nurturing. I'd seen the way he liked to take guys before, but there was none of that cocky arrogance in him right now. Only a fatherly concern, a desire to make it as pleasant as possible for me. "You could ride me if you want. That's usually the easiest, or on your stomach--"

"No," I said, grabbing the back of his head and leaning our foreheads together. "I want to look at you, Dad."

He nodded, then kissed me gently on the lips. He kept kissing me as he lined up his cock, the wet tip brushing up against my hole. His tongue fought mine as he slowly pushed inside, as if testing the waters.

I had hoped all the dildo play would make losing my virginity a breeze, but it seemed nothing compared to the real thing (or perhaps my father really was just that big). He pulled back a bit, breaking the kiss long enough to wet his fingers some more, and soon his cock was pressing into me again, slipping a bit further now. He kissed me even harder this time, I'm sure to distract me from the pain of being fucked, but I felt every nerve ending on fire, every second of excitement and discomfort as he entered me.

I pressed my fingernails into his skin, trying to breathe through the ache. I knew it would pass, and even if it didn't, I didn't care--I needed to be closer to him, to be joined the way a father and son were never meant to be. Inch by inch, he spread me open, stretching the muscle wider than I even thought possible. Through it all, he kissed me, making me dizzy and weak. It hurt, but it felt natural. I was made for this, for him. Taking him inside me was thrilling and scary, but it was also right. I kept expecting him to stop, to reach the end, but it just kept going, inch by inch. Then, just as I thought I might need to tap out after all, he stopped.

"Is it all the way in?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He kissed my forehead. "It's in, baby. You did so well."

I stared at him, my eyes fixed in determination. "Make love to me, Dad."

The feeling of his cock slowly withdrawing was almost as painful as it had felt going in. But I gritted my teeth, determined to power through the discomfort. He planted little kisses on my cheeks, once again distracting me from the pain. He withdrew about halfway before slowly reentering me, the pain this time receding from a sharp throb to a dull ache.

"Breathe, son," he said, his hand on my chest.

I nodded, taking a deep breath in through my nose and out through my mouth. When he pushed back inside me for the second time, I felt my body relax, the muscle down there loosening its grip on my father's cock.

He let out a soft moan, his forehead creasing as he sank into me again. I loved watching him, seeing every little emotion flit across his face as he enjoyed my insides.

"Do I feel good, Dad?"

He broke out into a smile and nodded, retracting his cock and sinking it back in another time.

"So good, son. So good."

He was fucking me now, slowly but steadily. I was starting to feel a warm tingling inside me as my body opened up to receive him. It was like riding a wave, managing my breathing and focusing on staying relaxed. I focused on my other senses--the smell of his sweat, the taste of his mouth, the sound of his grunting and my moaning, the feeling of his heavy frame plowing into me. I had never felt so alive, so complete as I did in this moment. I didn't care that I was no longer a virgin, that I was crossing so many boundaries with my father. I just cared about him, the man in front of me.

Jud.

The sweat dripped off his forehead and onto mine as he made love to me. When he wasn't kissing me, he was looking at my face, his eyes roaming around my lips, my cheeks, finally meeting my gaze with an almost disbelieving smile.

The pleasure was overwhelming now, as something deep inside me became awakened by his cock. That need I'd felt, so strong and overwhelming, the need to feel wanted, desired, beautiful... It was like he was replacing that emptiness inside me, literally filling it with love and warmth and tenderness. I could feel his love, feel the desire pulsing through him and into me.

"Fuck, son," he said, his voice breaking. "You make me so happy."

He heaved into me, his breathing growing ragged. I wrapped my legs around his thick, hairy ass, pulling him as deep into me as he could go.

"I love you, Dad."

"I love you so fucking much, Leo."

I rocked back and forth, gently fucking myself against his cock. "I want you to cum in me. Make me yours, daddy."

He grabbed me by the waist and started fucking me again, burying himself in me again and again.

"You're gonna make me cum, son... Jesus, I can't hold back..."

"Do it," I said, my voice breathless. "Whose am I?"

"Oh fuck... you're... you're mine!"

He pulled me down onto his cock and held me there, his hands gripping my waist so tightly I could barely breathe. I could feel the incredible sensation of his cock expanding inside me, pulsing as his seed filled my insides. A comforting feeling of warmth spread through my body, sending ripples across my skin and making my vision go hazy.

I leaned back, letting the wave run through me and carry me away. It rolled over every inch of my skin, quieting the noise inside me--the self-doubt, the hunger, the ache I never knew how to name. I wasn't Leo anymore, the sad, lonely boy desperate for love and attention. I wasn't the one always chasing, always trying to prove he was enough. I wasn't in the tent in the Blue Ridge Mountains, wasn't in a sleeping bag on the cold ground, wasn't part of the world at all. I was weightless, unmoored, high in the clouds where no one could touch me. Above judgment. Above shame. Just floating above it all, finally free.

Then I felt my father's hand on my cock, gently stroking me. I looked down to see him pumping away, his other hand running across my smooth torso.

"Let it out, baby," he said softly. "Cum for me."

The feeling was too much for me to handle. He was still hard inside me, and I felt more full than I ever had, full of cum and my father's dick. He stroked me better than I'd ever stroked myself, his hand flying and tugging my orgasm out of me like he'd been doing it for years.

I looked up at the tent ceiling, felt my body tense as I began to shoot, and then everything went white.