A gay story: Bedtime Stories
Part of the ‘Butt Monkey’ series of stories by Robert Furlong
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Darkness and oppressive heat. Steam hissing up from vents in the floor. Metal and machinery clanking and rumbling unseen. The air heavy with oil and sweat; thick with the stink of hard labour.
Walking forwards, dodging chains and scaffolding, figures coming into view through the gloom. Groups of men standing around in the blistering near-darkness. Shirtless in the heat; sweat trickling onto their jeans and boots. Their faces unwelcoming, eyes hostile.
Walking past them, deeper into the gloom; through the shadow of a doorway. Three or four men working a machine. Bare chests and backs dripping and dirty. Pale and muscular. One of them looking over at me; guarded and wary.
Another doorway, more men standing around, peering at something inside. Tantalising sounds of flesh against flesh from within. Some of the men looking over at me; their faces unfriendly, eyes suspicious.
Walking over to them, joining their audience. Glimpses of the inside of the dark, dilapidated room. A man’s arse exposed, his jeans yanked down. Large, dirty hands pushing another guy’s face into his hairy crack; pulling the furry cheeks further apart. Licking and feeding; gentle groaning.
The men around me watching what was happening, but also watching me. Their crotches bulging with their contained excitement; their expressions still seeping with distrust.
The activity in the gloomy, shabby room becoming more frenetic. Hands splaying buttocks apart and forcing them against the slobbering face. Other hands pushing the guy’s head forwards, egging him on as he drooled and feasted on what was within.
Licking my lips at what I could see. Engrossed by what they were doing.
And then, unzipping myself.
The others looking at my face; then down at my fly. My cock emerging from it, engorged.
Sliding my foreskin back, the fattened head looking shiny and hard. Flaunting myself for them.
The men’s wariness abating; their expressions yielding towards curiosity. Some of their faces betraying arousal at my excited manhood, rubbing their own inside their straining jeans.
One guy leering at me, revealing his own erection from his tattered jeans. Looking so large, flaunting its shiny fattened helmet. Grabbing its thick shaft and wanking it for me, making my own organ swell further.
Another man pulling down his dirty overalls at the back. Bending forwards and exposing his arse; a forest of wiry hair spilling from his cleft. And there, where the dense growth was wetter and more matted, his puckered hole.
Kneeling down behind him. His heavy balls dangling down between his thighs. His erection arching up towards his stomach.
Pressing my mouth towards his gaping buttocks. The smell of him, sleazy and delicious, thick in my nostrils.
Feeling so horny, so hungry to taste him.
His voice calling to me, “Come on… it’s time…”
Sounding somehow familiar.
Somebody shaking me.
Light flooding in.
“Dad… come on! I’m gonna be late!”
My bedroom. Jake.
Oh fuck.
I struggled to speak, barely able to open my eyes. “Wh… what’s the time?”
“After nine,” he said with obvious irritation. “Come on, dad! I’ve got football practice!”
He tugged the edge of my duvet, probably just intending to encourage me to get me out of the bed, but I grabbed it with both hands to keep it covering the rousing effect that the dream had had on me.
“Oh no you don’t, Jake!”
I really didn’t want a repeat of what had happened a few years earlier – the memory of which, even now, was prone to make him smirk as quickly as it made my face blush.
It had been a Sunday morning during the summer and we’d arranged to drive over to the theme park at Lightwater Valley with a couple of his mates. In his enthusiasm to make an early start, he’d rushed into my bedroom to wake me up rather like he had this morning. On that occasion, though, perhaps feeling I wasn’t moving fast enough and not yet knowing what perils can lurk beneath his old man’s bedding, he had jokingly pulled my duvet off my bed. What he hadn’t realised was that I was already awake and enjoying some quiet but very pleasurable me-time in my bed before he had so abruptly disturbed me.
And so, much to my continued embarrassment, Jake had unintentionally revealed the entire length of my very prominent erect penis – with an obvious red handprint on the thick shaft to add to my mortification – arching upward from my pyjama fly through which my large pair of balls was also protruding. Since I’d always been so self-conscious around him as to try and deprive him of a glance even of my flaccid organ, Jakes eyes had nearly popped out at the sight of his dad’s full-on hard-on throbbing right next to his eager face.
He’d let out a gasp of “Whoa!” whether at the size of my organ, the shock of finding it so blatantly exposed or the sudden realisation that his dad had been enjoying a surreptitious wank; I don’t know.
I’d quickly covered as much of my erection as I could with both hands. For some reason I was most concerned about letting my son see my swollen cock-head which was a dark shade of red and pumped up like an obscene-looking plum – a worry which was silly, really, because he had no doubt seen his own in a similar state of arousal countless times. However, covering my organ had just served to divert Jake’s gaze – with another shocked gasp – down to my bloated hairy scrotum straining to contain the massive testicles which had given rise to him; testicles which had been just seconds from issuing forth another outpouring of my seed. I’d ineffectually fumbled to tuck the cumbersome length of my cock and my distended nut-sack back into my pyjamas while Jake’s initial surprise had dissolved into a fit of giggles.
After he’d thrown the duvet back over me, he’d said through laughter that showed he shared none of my acute discomfort, “I’m sure Lightwater Valley can wait until you’ve finished what you were doing, dad!” Then he’d sidled out of my room still chuckling, leaving me feeling that my moment of me-time had probably passed.
There had been no further duvet-snatching during the intervening period and thankfully, on finding me now in a similar predicament, he quickly dropped the edge of my bedding and made no attempt to resurrect the joke. I think he rather liked the fact that his dad was as human as he was when it came to matters of sex, but he appreciated that I had hang-ups about my body and he was, on the whole, very respectful of my need for privacy in spite of us living in such close proximity with one another.
“Football practice starts at ten, dad,” he reminded me with a knowing grin, and then, disappearing from my bedroom, called back, “I’ll get you a coffee. But hurry up! I don’t wanna be late!”
While he was clomping down the stairs, I pushed the duvet from me and swung my feet out of the bed. I realised I must have left the heating on full during the night. My forehead, my pyjamas and the duvet were all wet with sweat.
Getting out of bed, I glanced down at the thick rod lifting the front of my pyjama bottoms from the dream I’d been having. I’d never had such a sexually tense dream before and both the clarity and detail of it had been startling in their intensity. I was especially shocked that such a powerfully erotic dream had been exclusively orientated around men who’d been lurking in such an abrasively masculine environment – a place I assumed to be my mind’s homoerotic representation of Guy’s oil rig. If only the spate of heterosexual dreams I’d had in my pre-masturbatory pubescent past had had that kind of detail and realism – I’d have been a very happy youth indeed!