Daddy Knows Best, page 1
CONTENTS
Introduction: Making Room For Daddy · Winston Gieseke
My First Summer Back · Jeffrey Hartinger
The Tattoo Shop · Mark Wildyr
Ring My Bells, Big Daddy · Ryan Field
May-December Blues · Mike Hicks
As Luck Would Have It · Adam L. Stuart
Roles · Joe Thompson
Cruising the Caribbean · Matt Wiley
Golden Gate Studio · Kit Christopher
Mulled Wine and More · P.A. Friday
Waylaid · Natty Soltesz
Eat at Joe’s · Rob Rosen
Learning Curve · Michael Bracken
Lowdown · Landon Dixon
The King and Me · Gregory L. Norris
About the Editor and Authors
About the Book
Imprint
INTRODUCTION: MAKING ROOM FOR DADDY
What is it about older men that some gay boys find irresistible? Is it the silver hair? The years of experience? The presumption of a fatter wallet? Or is it a deeper connection—say, a need for a father figure? Or a desire to be nurtured by someone older, wiser, more stable, and more protective? The answer, thankfully, varies from person to person, providing us with enough sizzling examples of intergenerational lust to fill an entire volume like Daddy Knows Best.
Some say young men in search of a “daddy” to partner up with—sometimes for life, sometimes just for the night—are looking for someone to teach them. A daddy-boy relationship can provide a unique mentoring opportunity not found anywhere else. Because despite having a father who teaches you to throw a ball or explains how babies are made, there are certain things a young gay male can only learn from someone of his own sexual species. Which is precisely what eighteen-year-old Dylan finds out while whoring his way across the ocean in Matt Wiley’s “Cruising the Caribbean.” Ditto for the nameless narrator in Joe Thompson’s “Roles,” whose foray into the world of bondage provides some unexpected discoveries about his own sexual identity.
For others, the search for a daddy may be about finding someone to provide for them financially, like the two “opportunists” who flirt their way into the home of a wealthy Florida man but end up with more than they bargained for. Such is the case with Adam L. Stuart’s “As Luck Would Have It.” Others find themselves going against their grain with an older man for the sake of art, as do young Matthew and Steven in Mark Wildyr’s “The Tattoo Shop.”
But “daddy” relationships don’t have to be so calculated. Sometimes it’s purely about sex. There will always be young studs with dirty minds who simply think men get better with age. Older men are hotter. More confident. And more experienced than those in their age group. They know what they’re doing in bed, whether it’s Aaron’s best friend’s father in Jeffrey Hartinger’s “My First Summer Back,” Kevin’s father’s best friend in Natty Soltesz’s “Waylaid,” or the sexy alarm repairman in Ryan Field’s “Ring My Bells, Big Daddy.” For these horny guys, it’s all about getting off with the one who turns you on.
Of course, the intergenerational highway is a two-way street. It’s just as hot when a mature gentleman seeks out the affections of a handsome young buck—unless it’s in the name of crime, as a horned up but downtrodden sap discovers in Landon Dixon’s “Lowdown.” But when everything clicks, as it does for the older couple who teach their young lodger a thing or two about passion in P.A. Friday’s “Mulled Wine and More,” the results can be truly magical.
Unfortunately, it isn’t always wine and roses, regardless of your age bracket. Sometimes, despite the passion, love, and mutual admiration, the fragile connection created by the generation gap can prove to be too big a hurdle for some pairings, as evidenced in Mike Hicks’ “May-December Blues.”
These are but a sample of the various couplings explored in this collection. Some are romantic. Others are raunchy. All probe the younger man-older man dynamic in sensual, graphic detail. Whether you’re in the market for a sugar daddy, a silver fox, or trying to heal your “Father Was Never Around” complex, you just might find what you’re looking for in Daddy Knows Best.
Winston Gieseke
Berlin
MY FIRST SUMMER BACK
Jeffrey Hartinger
“Why aren’t you out there with the other guys?”
I snapped out of my daydream and turned my head towards the voice.
Mr. McAllister stood in the doorway bare chested, his sweaty gym shirt tossed over his left shoulder. His 6’4” frame looked even bulkier in the narrow door that connected his family room to the garage, which his four kids used as a hangout during the warm and healthy summer months.
At forty-five years old he maintained his boyish charm, which was coupled with a burly manliness. He’d been my crush growing up, and while away at college, he’d become one of my main jerk-off fantasies.
“Ah, I don’t know,” I replied. “I’m just thinking about stuff. Thinking about high school. And, well—going back to Brown.”
He tossed his shirt into the hamper across the room then made his way to the other side of the garage, where he opened the running dryer and pulled out a fresh one. He pulled it over his head and let out a sigh. Then he came and sat next to me.
“You know,” he said, “Bradley told me about your announcement last semester. I’m proud of you.”
“Bradley told you? Or you heard it at some cocktail party?”
“You’re right—a cocktail party,” he said with a laugh.
At eighteen, I was pretty familiar with how things worked in my hometown of Warwick, even though I’d been out of Pennsylvania for the majority of the past year. The announcement was my coming out during the first few weeks of freshman year. I let my parents know first, then my friends, and the news quickly swept through the town.
“They say you can tell when someone is gay, but I didn’t know with you,” he added after a moment’s silence. He adjusted his position, putting his right arm on the back of the couch we were sharing. He wasn’t that close, but I felt my heart race.
“You didn’t? I mentioned it in my graduation speech,” I joked. “I suppose I was right when I believed no one was listening.”
Mr. McAllister left out a hearty laugh as he tossed his sandy blond hair out of his eyes and put his arm on my shoulder.
“Just have fun with it, buddy. That’s what college is all about …” His voice trailed off, as if he’d wanted to say something else but had stopped himself.
I felt uneasy. His hand gripping my shoulder was making me uncomfortable—mostly because my cock was starting to grow and I was wearing gym shorts. I thought about that night a week before I left for college when I walked in on Mr. McAllister stroking his cock in front of the TV in the basement.
It was around 2:00 a.m. Bradley was blackout drunk and slumped over in his room. I was merely tipsy as I crept down to the third or fourth stair and glanced around the corner. There was Mr. McAllister with his navy dress pants around his ankles and his white oxford unbuttoned all the way. His tie was on the sofa next to him and his eyes were fixed on the screen. I wasn’t sure where Mrs. McAllister was, but I didn’t care.
His legs were arched and his hairy chest dripped with sweat as, for whatever reason, there was no air conditioner in the basement. The TV’s volume was so low I could hear every moan and whimper he made as his left hand vigorously jerked his nine-inch cock that was thick and full of veins.
“Aaron? Bud?”
“Huh?” Mr. McAllister’s voice snapped me back to the present. “Sorry. I guess the heat is making me spacey …”
“Well, that’s one thing I remember from your high school days,” he said with a laugh, “you were always daydreaming!”
“Aaron, what the fuck are you doing?” Bradley was yelling from the backyard.
I got up, walked to the opposite side of the room, and screamed back through the open window. “I’ll be right out!”
“Dude, we’re all going to Amelia’s. Call your mom and see if you can stay over. No homo, though!”
While Bradley knew I wasn’t attracted to him, he found it hilarious to throw me a “no homo” whenever inviting me to crash at his place. Of course, he had no idea who I was attracted to. Or that I had a thing for older guys.
“Yeah, ask your mom if you can stay over,” Mr. McAllister said. “Tell her it’s fine by me.”
I smiled. “Thanks.”
“It’ll be a guys night. Mrs. McAllister is at her sister’s in Philly …”
With that, he grabbed a can of beer from the mini fridge and walked out the door.
It was around 3:00 a.m. when I returned to the McAllister’s. Maybe 4:00. We’d all gotten drunk, and Bradley had decided to stay at Amelia’s. It wasn’t unusual for our high school friends to pass out or randomly sleep at one someone else’s house.
“Well, well, well,” I heard as I walked in.
I hadn’t expected Mr. McAllister to be at the foot of the stairs—but he was, so I went with it.
“Hey. How are you?” I said awkwardly.
“I’m doing good, buddy. I was waiting for you to get home. I mean, you and Bradley …” There was a sly smile on his face. “Where is he?”
At that moment, I realized there was a reason I’d gone back to his place alone.
“He’s a little drunk,” I slurred, “he’s just gonna crash there.”
“My son? Too drunk? No …”
I just stood there, both of us looking at each other.
“Excuse me for a second,” I said.
I made my way to the bathroom on the upper level, where I took a piss. And afterwards when I looked in the mirror, it occurred to me that I was finally maturing into the man I wanted to be. My face was finally becoming more masculine and, although it took a few years, my facial hair was growing at a consistent rate. I splashed some water on my face.
Was Mr. McAllister acting flirty today? Or was it in my head?
Either way, my hard dick was pushing through my shorts—and something needed to happen soon or I was going to cum right through them.
I walked out of the bathroom and made my way into the kitchen. Mrs. McAllister always had some sort of snack or dessert on the table and tonight was no different, even though she was out of town. I dug my hand into some brownies and realized how drunk I was.
“You doing OK up there, bud?” Mr. McAllister’s voice from the living room.
“Uh, yeah … I’m doing well. How are you, sir?”
“Oh, sir, is it?” he asked. Seductively? “Why don’t you come down here? I’ll turn off the TV.”
“OK,” I answered shyly, wondering what was going to happen. I made my way slowly down the steps, just as I had the night I watched him jerk off. He was now standing in the living room.
“You know, I saw you that night,” he said, as if he knew what I was thinking. “That night over the summer—right before you went away to school.”
“What …?” I responded, nervously. “Were you reading my mind or something?” Stupid.
“No, buddy. Your shorts were pretty much giving it away.”
I looked down at my black Adidas mesh shorts: my cock was completely hard. I should have been embarrassed, but I wasn’t.
“You saw me?” I asked.
“Well, technically, you saw me.” He laughed.
I looked Mr. McAllister square in the face. His bushy eyebrows were filled with sweat, and the scar to the left of his eye—although small and practically unnoticeable—was red from the summer heat and from being in the sun.
He had opened his mouth, causing a smirk to sweep across his face.
Was he gay? Was he bi? I knew he wasn’t completely straight. And I knew that regardless of what happened tonight, Mrs. McAllister wasn’t going to be impressed.
I walked over and turned off the television. “Figured I would just do it myself,” I said.
“Wow. Look at you. Already taking care of me, huh?”
“I guess you can say that.”
I walked over to him and, for the first time that night, noticed what he was wearing: a dark blue sweater that read canisius and super baggy sweatpants, which, for whatever reason, made me super turned on.
“What’s ‘Canisius?’” I asked.
“It’s where I went to school. In Buffalo.”
“Buffalo, New York?”
“Yeah, it’s where I’m from.”
He smoothed out his shirt and looked up. Holy shit, he looked hot. So fucking hot. Why didn’t the guys I went to school with look this good?
I tried to play it cool. Tried.
“I like the sweater,” I said. “It’s nice.” He just looked at me. I tend to talk too much when I’m nervous. “What were you watching that night that I saw you?”
“Porn,” he said, nonchalantly.
“What kind of porn?”
“Kink-wise? It was a gangbang flick.” When the tail end of his sentence slurred slightly, I could tell he was drunk, too.
“With girls and guys?” I asked.
“Actually, yeah. Four guys and a girl.”
He put his masculine arm on the ledge of the couch, much like he had done earlier that day. I wanted desperately for him to make a move.
“I’m just going to throw this out there, Mr. McAllister—but that sounds pretty gay to me,” I said, trying to hide a smile.
“Yeah, maybe it is. Maybe I just like watching someone take a huge cock—guy or girl.”
He laughed. As he stood up, he looked at me, and I realized once again how tall, masculine, and strong he was.
My mind started racing again. Was Mr. McAllister into me or not? “Do you have a huge cock?” I asked. I was horny and drunk and feeling bold. I also didn’t know what else to say.
“Are you kidding me?”
Oh, shit. He was mad. He was being friendly, not flirty. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I was just kidding.” I managed a fake laugh. He really looked pissed. But rather than make me fearful, it turned me on even more.
“You know what you saw,” he said, not giving anything away. “What did you think of it?”
“Do you want me to be honest? I thought it was amazing. And I wanted you to cram it down my throat so bad—to gag me with it. Is that what you want to hear, Mr. McAllister?”
“I asked what you thought of the size.”
“It’s fucking huge.”
He grinned at me, got up, and grabbed me by the back of the neck.
“That’s what I wanted to hear.”
He led me across the room to the couch by the window. I glanced out, not really knowing why, and noticed that the sky was filled with stars. How beautiful, I thought.
“Put your legs up,” he demanded, “and relax.”
His forceful nature was really sexy. So much so that for the first time in my life, I let someone take complete control of me. Whatever he wanted I would do.
Next thing I knew I was propped up and, once again, I was looking out the window. Mr. McAllister was rubbing my asshole.
Were we actually going to have sex? Although I’d thought about it for the past year, I wasn’t quite sure if I was ready. And quite honestly, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to take Mr. McAllister’s huge dick.
“Uh … Mr. McAllister …?” I moaned.
“Yes, handsome?”
While I trusted him completely, I was still nervous. “Go slow?” I asked. It sounded more like a statement.
“Yes, beautiful.”
I braced myself against the couch. There was some fumbling around, and within a minute, Mr. McAllister was applying lube to my ass and working in a thick finger. When he tried to put in two, we both realized it was too much.
“Wow,” he said, “you’re even tighter than I thought.”
“I’ve never done this before,” I said timidly.
He stopped fooling around, grabbed the back of my neck again, and spun me again. “You’re a virgin?”
“Yeah … is that an issue?”
He looked around the room for a second and then looked me in the eye.
“No, not really—I just thought you’d sex before. Bradley said you had a boyfriend or something at school.”
“Yeah, but I never said I had sex with him.”
He looked away. Did he not want to take my virginity? Was it better for him if I’d been sleeping around?
His 6’4” body caved in over me and he took me into his arms. I sighed, louder than I should have, and for the first time he put his mouth on mine.
My cock instantly sprang to attention. In some sort of rhythm, I scooted my ass up and he cupped it in his right arm, all the while kissing me more and more passionately.
“You’re beautiful. If only I were twenty years younger …” he said.
“Nah,” I moaned. “I like you just the way you are.”
Then it hit me: This is the father of my friend. He has a wife. He has a life. What are you doing?
I looked back up at Mr. McAllister.
You’re drunk. Who cares?
I sighed, let the thought pass, and continued kissing him. This was all that mattered in the moment.
He spun me back around and put two fingers in my mouth.
“Suck on them,” he demanded.
I sucked on his manly digits for a few minutes and then he spun me around, faster than before. I was now on my back. He scooted himself up, placed his huge cock at the tip of my mouth, and slowly relaxed down into me.
“You’re not a cock sucking virgin, too, are you?” he asked roughly.
With his throbbing cock in my mouth I shook my head no.
His cock was larger than any I’d taken before and it went deep into my throat. But I wanted him. I needed him. As I took it even deeper, I grabbed his meaty ass with my right hand, pulling him deeper still—more so than he probably would have dared to go himself.
He started to moan, and, out of nowhere, he screamed out, “Are you ready? I want to bang that hot, tight ass!”
