Welcome Home. Can Dad Have a Taste

I was proud of all 10 of my creations, but Carvin, the youngest of the crew, was the brightest of them all by joining the U. S. Marines.

Carvin was a struggle from the womb, for his mother and I conceived him by accident, then he in turn came four months prior to his slated arrival. I already hated Myra for we were just a flash in the pan, but showed love when she bore our son, my final, and her third. I being on the road didn't help matters over the years, for Carvin needed a male role model, but I would keep in contact, and ensured my kids never needed for anything. He went through his preteen years as quite the rebel, and I eventually took belt to ass whenever I came in town, to where he'd finally straighten up. High school came, and he was the exceptional athlete and even better student, lettering in football, track and baseball, and carrying a 4.0 grade point average throughout his four years. My boy wanted to be a lawyer, and was accepted to numerous colleges, but something came over him to where he decided he wanted to join the military.

"Ma, daddy, I'm going to the Marines," he told us three weeks before graduation.

It came as a complete surprise as he sat us down at Fuddruckers, his favorite restaurant to break the news he wouldn't attend college. She of course was furious, but I saw it as another window of opportunity for my youngest boy to excel, and she would eventually come around as he was heading to boot camp three weeks after graduation. He'd leave us on a sweltering Sunday, and conquered boot camp to where eight weeks later, we were witnessing our honor graduate receive "flowers." I hugged my boy and noticed a change in him, and not necessarily a bad one, but a change I couldn't put my finger on. He finished training and would swiftly be shuttled to Camp Pendleton to school, and his eventual duty station. Three months later he was on leave, flying from San Diego to Norfolk where his mother and I would meet him, and notice how he packed on pounds of muscle, and was a bit more humble.

"Is this the same mouthy, snot nosed kid I raised," I told him one day when he was home.

"It ain't daddy, but I'm the same boy who still likes to ride in the passenger seat," he said of our old times.

None of my other nine kids liked to ride with me in the truck, but Carvin, the toughest of them all, lived to the chance. He took leave specifically so he could spend time with me and Myra, but more so me for he knew he could ride in the Peterbilt.

"Daddy you two got me for two weeks," he said as Myra and I agreed to split the time.

I got him a safety vest, and he rode with me on a Sunday night to pick up my trailer in Virginia Beach before heading for Memphis, Tennessee. Three hours into the ride, he retreated to my large bunk area, and snored while I traveled across I-64, heading for I-81 South. It was odd hearing another grown man in the truck with me, and more crazy to see that same guy in the passenger seat. It was my son, but his frame was much more intense than before as he claimed to hit the gym six days out of the week. His arm muscles were surely bigger than mine, and his height had me questioning Myra as if someone else fathered him. His constant determination nixed that latter notion, for I, too, would be driven whenever I had a goal in mind. I got the to the Virginia-Tennessee state line on I-81, and pulled over at a Love's as I was about to run out of hours, and needed rest. Carvin didn't budge as I shut off the engine at the fuel pump, then walked inside to use the restroom, and grab snacks for the remainder of the trip. I fueled up, and parked in a good spot before retreating for the night, choosing to take the top bunk to quietly watch porn. I popped open my Hennessey to enhance the moment.

"Hey dad, whatchudoing," he asked as he awoke.

I was in the middle of watching a spit roast of a white girl, tucked between two, muscular black men. I acted as if I was asleep, pretend snoring while turning down the volume of my phone.

"Daddy, you can't be beating your dick," he said.

I warned him to watch his mouth.

"Dad, you're masturbating in the presence of your son," he replied.

He was right, and there was no way I could go against his words for I would've been contradictory. I reexamined what was happening as I was so close, and ended up turning off the video, and pulling my underwear up before I fell asleep. I'd get up hours later in the wee hours of the morning, wondering if I should've hit the road, or rested more. I got up and washed my face while being greeted by the sound of my son snoring yet again. This time he had the curtain closed, and I figured he needed privacy from the lights of the yard, until I opened his curtain to see something else.

I saw one of the guys who was fucking in the video. My boy had his pants and underwear off, and dick in hand while he, too, was watching a video. I saw the lotion nearby, and it appeared he didn't quite finish before falling asleep. It happened to the best of us, and all I wanted to do was see the monster I created at full throttle. He'd turn over to look at me and became startled. I assured him it was okay what he did, and actually wouldn't mind seeing him finish.

"Excuse me," he said.

I repeated what I said with a chuckle, then began rubbing his left, inner thigh to get it erect again. He wouldn't move my hand away for he was confused initially, but then I rubbed his balls, and kept my eyes locked on his to show that I was serious.

"We can't be doing this, daddy," he said as it finally hit me what changed about him.

Carvin had "girl friends" he brought home, but never seemed intimate with. They were just as boisterous as has normal buddies, as I never him give a smooch, or grab an ass when they were in my presence. I looked down at Carvin's pecker to see it harden, and I was a proud papa for he carried a more massive stick than his father. I kept rubbing those balls, and he leaned over to pull down at my pants to see my soft cock flop out.

"You sure," I asked as he put his lips to it.

He showed he came of age as he slowly engulfed my cock in his spit, and squeezed with his lips as if he was experienced. Maybe I was still a little tipsy, or just turned on from seeing my son, whose body mimicked the porn stars. I sucked a little cock on the side from time to time after years of busting down women, and apparently it was a trait passed to my son.

"Damn boy," I whimpered as he gave some mean head, to the point where I was rubbing my own nipples.

Carvin had me weaving my hips back and forth as I fucked his throat like some lot lizard. He moaned in that deep voice, and even put his hands on my ass as he gave his old man the blowjob of a lifetime. Perhaps this was the reason we were so close, but then I got briefly sickened at the thought of either of us having a thing for each other years prior. I loved my kids in a different way, not in this manner of sexual where we'd cross lines heartily. Carvin however wasn't just my son, at least not at the moment as much as he was my trick. I kept fucking that throat, and not once did he indicate he wanted me to stop.

"You gon' get this nut if you let me keep this up," I told him.

Carvin had a no-gag reflex as I annihilated his esophagus, just jamming his mouth while my bush hairs tickled his nose. I rummaged even harder as I got close, and Carvin not once pulled away before I blasted off my load down his throat. I thought to myself "my son is eating my other babies," and got grossed out for a second, while he wiped his lips.

"How long you been sucking dick," I asked.

"Since the first night of boot camp," he told me to put me in shock.

We wiped our minds of this impromptu moment hours later when I was back on the road. We made it to Memphis, and scored a round trip out of nearby Brownsville, for Portsmouth, Virginia. We laughed, giggled, and joked about other things like a son and father do, and once we made it back to Virginia Beach, I let him go with his mother.

Carvin was longer a boy, or my boy, but rather "my boi."