m/m Sometimes, I Check Out My Son...

[Iminnyhere1]

On 5/7/2020 at 2:47 AM, vertical said:

Sometimes, I Check Out My Son...

 

by vertical

A sister piece to the previous son-comes-home-from-college story I wrote a couple years ago. Only this time, the tables are turned!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I was going to come out to my son.

I practiced the words in my head over and over, my nerves fraying as I recited the speech I was going to give my son when I picked him up at the airport. As a parent, I was about to check off one more item on my list of milestones – getting my boy back after he’d left my nest empty. Last September, I’d managed to cross off the ‘sending your kid to a good college’ one, and unfortunately, the September before that, I’d crossed off ‘saying goodbye to my wife.’ Sure, the milestones weren’t in the ideal order, but it was a lesson I’d often given to my boy: sometimes life doesn’t work out the way you thought it would.

Take my personal growth for example. Last September, I’d driven the kid cross-country for his move-in, dragging on the minutes, the seconds, that I got to stay with him. I prolonged every last drop of time that I could feel like 'the dad' for him. I remember puffing up my chest when I would tell him how proud I was of him. How he’d finally be a man. Was I trying to reassure him or myself? I recalled how he smirked and just rolled his eyes, turning his slight body to face the window and peered out into the expanse as we drove – perhaps he knew more than I did.

And to think, it’d foreshadow his actual move-in. I did everything I could to delay our inevitable separation. I’d taken the boy out to lunch, halfway across the big city. I ordered more food for him than he could possibly eat. He sat there disgruntled, obviously eager to get to his dorm, and here I was, taking my sweet time to eat over three-quarters of his meal for him. When it came time to finally relinquish stewardship over my son, I could see that look on his face.

It had been the same one he’d flashed at me in the car, the half-lidded glare of his eyes as he looked at my corded arms on the steering wheel. It was the same as the one he’d shoot from time to time in the restaurant, watching my thick chest rise and fall as I laboriously ate almost two meals’ worth of food. He’d looked around, seeing all the kids his age, each on the cusp of real adulthood and wonder if they were all thinking the same thing – there was no way this virile specimen of a man could possibly sire such a feeble little boy.

“Hey, I heard they’ve got a great gym on campus, Tristan,” I had said, trying to make small talk. I tensed my arms, built over years of going to the gym on and off and long summer days of gardening with, and long winter nights of fucking my late wife. “Get yourself some puppies like these,” I added, bringing a bicep down. There were definitely some college girls checking me out. And I have to say proudly, some of their moms too. My son could only stare at me with daggers.

“Yeah, I guess,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand attached to a rail-thin arm. “And maybe you’ll find yourself a girlfriend to keep you company while I’m gone.” I was a little taken aback – it seemed we both knew each others’ insecurities in that moment. With a final hug, he bade me farewell. “Don’t miss me too much,” he chuckled. I didn’t listen, for I missed him dearly.

We communicated via text, and I was surprised to find out he’d taken to my sagely advice and gotten himself into the gym! When I’d read that, I was in the middle of a rather pathetic wank session and after blasting onto my softened abs, I couldn’t help but smirk. Well, if he was going to take my advice, I might as well take his.

I had signed up for a gym myself, eager to get back into the meat-market – it’s rather quite the miracle what losing just 20 pounds and putting on a solid 5 in what was hopefully all muscle, could do. I daresay, it was a bit scandalous, and a whole lot dangerous, but it was a thrill matching up on Tinder with local girls just a couple years older than my son and railing them hard. And it was a whole lot more scandalous and a hell of a lot more dangerous texting my son about it!

By Christmas, I was eager for him to come home and see all the progress he’d made. But in the phone call we had, he had stated he was going to spend winter break at the college. I was understandably devastated. Had my boasting gone too far? Or maybe it was because he sounded rather off. I wished him good health, telling him to stay safe and get his throat checked out, he sounded hoarse and that I’d send him a care package with a Christmas gift: a tub of protein powder, a little cheeky nod to him starting out in the gym.

Our relationship had changed after that call. His texts were always chipper as usual, but they were more sparse. I often got the same response of ‘doing well,’ ‘in class right now,’ ‘heading off to the gym,’ the usual stop-annoying-me-dad texts. I stopped going on dating apps altogether. While it had been nice to be called a hot ‘silver fox’ that the young ladies liked to bed with, I didn’t want to test the tumultuousness of my relationship with my only kid any more than I had to. I had gotten a couple matches with some ladies-who-lunch, but each one was set in her ways, and so was I.

So, I threw myself at the gym more, maybe trying to reinvent myself from a silver fox to a gymrat. It was rather refreshing to take a break from the ladies and focus on myself. I got leaner, a little bit bigger. Heck, I was even tempted to try those hormone replacements like my buddy Randy said were working wonders for him.

But I still got lonely. Still thought of getting a booty call from the cute girls I’d picked up over the months. Maybe let them squeal from how much fitter I looked. Let their hands roam over my built chest, feel up the eight pocketed abs of a lean 50-something, let those fingers trace along the vein of an arm that was half an inch larger than it had been when I first picked them up. And I swore, going to the gym worked wonders for my libido, I woke up with a flagpole tenting my sheets each morning.

So, I took to porn. What else could I do? The local matrons didn’t satisfy my needs, and the lasses were off limits. And I had to face it, with all the gyming I’ve been doing, my callused hands provided way more pressure than any gal’s nethers ever could. Just the sight of a cute girl getting railed by a bodybuilt man was good enough for me, the only digits this old man-cum-gymrat needed were his own.

It was then I realized that my eyes were drifting over to the men more and more. I would scrutinize the young bucks, the way their arms tensed with each thrust, their deep grunts overpowering the dainty cries of the girl they were on top of. One day, I promised I’d just try it. Just a little peek and then I’d close my laptop. I promised myself. I loaded up some good ol’ gay porn and immediately got the hardest erection I’ve had in years. My laptop rocked back and forth, balanced precariously on the shelf of my pecs as I double fisted my large meat, groaning as I watched two meatheads going at it. I don’t think I’ve ever roared so loudly when I climaxed as I did then and when I finally did close my laptop, after 5 minutes of basking in a mind-numbing afterglow, the lid of my laptop was sprayed with my seed. Five minutes later and I had my laptop open and was jerking it to a pair of even larger men going it!

I was going harder at the gym, spending most of my free time there. By April, I was in the best shape of my life, gaining another 5 pounds and looking more cut than ever. I even sprung a small fortune upgrading the home gym in my basement for those times I’d gotten back from a killer workout and was itching to lift even more.

But as big and buff as I was getting, my taste in guys was getting even more ridiculous. Soon I graduated from any other big guy, to watching bodybuilders jerking themselves off, bouncing their pecs. I was so obsessed with muscles, on other guys as much as myself. I was working out 6 times a week, not counting the late-night sessions I did when I couldn’t sleep, too busy jerking off like a horny teenager over powerbloated massfreaks that occupied my every waking thought. Hell, my best buddy, Randy, had gone through an ugly, messy divorce in mid-February. Instead of supporting him, I was too busy jerking off to a horse-dicked muscle monster’s blog I had just discovered; the guy even had the most convincing muscle growth video I’d ever seen that hit all my buttons. Watching a man grow like that brought so many new feelings in me.

Feelings that I had to explore. I knew it was too good to be true. That something like that was nothing more than a fantasy. But these feelings were ones I had to get off my chest to my son.

Oh geez. My son.

I whipped my head to look at the clock on the oven in the kitchen. “Shit,” I exclaimed, grabbing my keys. I was late for picking him up at the airport, I should’ve left half an hour ago. I ran out of the house, doubling back to make sure I had locked the door. In my rush, I realized all too late that my phone was dead. I wouldn’t be able to call my son. God, what if he was lost? A little guy like that, all alone in the airport?!

I was like lightning as I ran into arrivals at the airport terminal, my heavy pecs bouncing like thunder, tugging on my chest with every bound I took. I must’ve looked like a maniac and being larger than most people, I would normally revel in the way people parted for me. But that hadn’t even entered my mind as I tried my hardest to scan the crowds for my son. Even with my vantage point of being at least half a head taller than most people on the floor, I couldn’t locate him, as hard as I tried, scouring the waiting areas row by row.

Panting heavily, I resigned myself to my fate and sat down in the waiting area. I groaned and buried my head in my hands. Oh god, my little boy was out there. My best hope was that he had taken a cab home. I lean back in my seat and groaned. It was then that I saw it.

At the far end of the waiting area I saw a charging station. Breathing a sigh of relief, I made my way over and plugged my phone into an open port. The light on my phone awoke, the picture of a battery charging lit up the once dead screen. Five minutes, that’s all I needed and then my phone should carry enough of a charge for me to call Tristan.

I paced back and forth for a moment, trying to coax the minutes to go by faster. It was then that I saw him in the corner of my eye. He was sitting in the corner, eyes glued to his phone. My eyes bugged as my brain took a little longer to comprehend the sight I was seeing.

Before me was the largest man I’d even laid my eyes on. The seats were arranged in groupings of three. Seated, he took up one and a half of them and spread eagle, he took up all 3. His shorts looked woefully equipped to hold in those huge, beefy and hairy thighs. Even relaxed, I could make out the striations that separated the quads from the sartorius. The band of khaki shorts was distended by a bulge straight out of those websites I’d been visiting. I knew it couldn’t be real, and yet there it was, a dense mass of pubic forest poking through the band of humongous man’s shorts, pushed down by a massive abgut encased in a woefully ill-fitted black t-shirt. The harsh lights from above illuminated the cuts in the brutally thick man’s distended musclegut even through the fabric. A massive cliff of heavy pecs cast a dark shadow over it, a large protrusion on each on pointing out, so large that I could scarcely believe that those were the man’s nipples. His shoulders and traps swells so far out that the hem of the neck of his t-shirt would be permanently warped. Those cannonballs he called delts were so large, so perfectly muscular, I could make out the striations on the lateral head through the damned shirt. And that wasn’t even getting to the brute’s arms. Biceps and triceps that looked twice the size of my head, easily dwarfing my entire torso. The veins that ran down his bis were as thick as Sharpie marker and so prominent they gave the illusion that the long and short heads of the muscle were separated even at rest. Hell, even his forearms made my whole arm look anemic! His neck was bullishly thick and framed by traps that would make said bulls flush with envy. He was staring down at his phone, the artificial light bouncing off his dense facial scruff, his beard in thick and full. The light cascaded off his contours, strong, masculine features in stark relief – strong jaw and even stronger brows; young but not juvenile, just the way I liked ‘em. Fuck, I took one last look down back at that crotch, and yep: still as big as ever. God, how I wanted to get bent over by that huge freak and plowed—

I must’ve been fantasizing and staring because it took me a moment to realize that a lady sitting nearby was glaring at me... and the protuberance in my pants. I whimpered and adjusted it, waving at her in apology, only garnering a stink-eye from her before she buried herself in her newspaper. I regained my composure and grabbed my phone from the charging station.

I had just enough power to turn my device on. I crept closer to the hulk-sized man, admiring the way he filled his shirt and shorts to the brim, discovering new details, like how what I had once thought to be a fold in the fabric was actual a thick vein that ran across his deltoid to his chest. As my phone came to life and chimed a tone, I glanced over, a little hopeful that he’d notice me. I don’t know why, but a guy like that, even just the acknowledgement that I even existed in the same world as him would just have given me the greatest thrill. However much I wanted that, it didn’t seem to work.

I strategically placed myself a few seats over in the row opposite to him. My hope now was that he’d hear me conversing with my son over the phone and look up. I wished myself luck as I pressed the call button and the dial tone started. My heart skipped a beat, eager to hear the voice of my boy, Tristan. And more coyly, I was hoping that the titanic bodybuilder sitting across from me would look up. Gosh, I hope a loving dad was just his type.

As the call went through, I hear that the big guy across the aisle’s phone was buzzing. His face lit up, a genuinely happy grin crossing his bearded face. Anticipation crept up on me and yet I still was prepared.

“Dad?”

The voice called over the phone. And from the man sitting across from me. Both were so deep; the one over the phone vibrated the device in my hand, the one coming from the man physically in front of me rattled my bones. My jaw slackened as the two versions of the voice crept into my ears. The voice over the phone was shifted just a split second behind the one in real life, but hearing his voice twice, the impact of the situation had twinned its effect on me.

“Tristan?!” I yelped. The titanic freak, my son, finally looked up, his head going higher and higher, and I couldn’t tell which side of 7’ he sided on. The stunned look on my face was mirrored in his before he hung up and a big smile spread along his handsome visage. The beast of a boy, no, a man, stood and towered above me, his presence looming over me even before he drew near.

“Dad,” he chuckled, his voice still shocking me with its depth. “It’s so good to see you!” I stood up, hoping that he wouldn’t notice the chubby in my slacks that I had pushed down one leg of my pants. I had thought that I had made an impressive print in them, my pride clearly on display for all the smaller guys to gawk at. But even hard, I was ashamed that not only was it significantly smaller than what lay in my son’s basket, but that he wasn’t even close to being as aroused as I was.

I don’t think I needed to worry. He brought me in for a hug, his immensely powerful arms wrapping around my body. I only came up to his collarbone, and my face was stuffed into those humongous pecs of his. I could feel the coarse hairs on his chest through the shirt, scratching against my face as he took in breath. God, even his heartbeat was strong. My hands found purchase along his waist, my spine curve around his bulk, his giant musclegut pushing insistently into my own abdomen, his offseason mass dominating the space. And that bulge. I couldn’t tell if he knew I was hard, because even soft, the firmness of whatever was in his crotch completely pushed what little pride I had left out of the way.

And what little pride I had was shattered when he lifted me clear off the ground. I yelped a little when I felt that massive bulge of his wedge its way between my legs, supporting me in his arms. I held my breath as his Herculean grip crushed at my gym-built torso and I swore I heard a rib crack underneath the immense pressure from his hug. The handsome beast that had blossomed from my once-fragile son noticed how red my face was getting and let go. I stumbled back, coughing slightly as my feet touched the ground.

“Sorry, dad,” he chuckled, a bit of a blush creeping in on his cheeks. He brought an arm back to rub at his neck and by God, the thickness of that arm in action! I couldn’t help but turn away, the sight of those biceps crashing into his forearm as they fought for space. His shoulders and chest were equal in their greed, swallowing up so much fabric that his shirt rode up, exposing more of that expansive musclegut of his.

“Whew, I guess that protein powder I sent you did its work,” I chortled as I tried to compose myself, hoping that the redness from nearly having all the air squeezed out of me would mask the embarrassment and even worse, my unbridled lust after my own son. God, the very creature I had created, brought into this world, and I couldn’t stop thinking of his body, how I wanted it to be mine, in more ways than one.

“Ha!” Tristan boomed, the air growing silent as heads all around the terminal turned to look at a beast of a man pushing 7’, his very presence demanding their attention. “It barely lasted me a couple days back then. Now it’ll last me a couple hours, dad.” The young giant idly rubbed at his muscle-bloated offseason stomach, a low thud echoing in the tense air as he gave it a firm slap. “You made some damned good progress these past months, but uh, as you can see... I’m not the skinny kid you sent off to college anymore, old man.”

“Jeez, I’ll say,” I coughed as he took his luggage in tow; surprisingly it was just one bag, I’d later find out that he’d shredded through the rest of his garments, all of them too tight on his growing frame. I looked down, swearing that I saw him wink at me. I wasn’t paying much attention to him. Actually, I was trying my hardest to avoid looking and thinking about him, lest this half chub in my crotch got any harder. But as we made our way to the exit, I heard a low, thunderous gurgling coming from behind me.

“Aw man, speaking of protein shakes, mind we stop by the juice bar before we go? Between the flight and waiting for you to come pick me up, I’m starving,” Tristan grunted. It wasn’t like he needed my permission. The huge teen passed his luggage off to me and sauntered off towards a stall.

The look on the cashier’s face was a mix of that usual apathy afforded by service workers and the terror of realizing that the huge man, around 7’ tall and only God knows how many pounds heavy, was real and not a figment of her imagination. My son ordered two shakes, each at the largest size and added so many scoops of protein to each that the worker just eyed him. “You do realize it’s going to be more like a paste than a shake at that point, sir,” she had warned.

“Yeah, that’s how I take it,” he chuckled with a shrug before paying for his ‘beverages.’ He sauntered back to me, two enormous cups in tow. Holding them up, I could see just how insanely built his arms were, those biceps tensed, those forearms gnarled with veins, feeding the expanse of muscle underneath them.

By the time we had made it halfway to the exit, my son tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to see that had begun to chug one of the shakes and was trying to hand the other off to me. I stood there wordless as I gawked at my huge son, the shake he handed to me taking both of my hands up. He crushed the base of the cup he was still holding onto and he flattened the rest of cup, squeezing its contents into his mouth. The worker at the juice bar wasn’t kidding. That wasn’t a shake at all. It squeezed out of the cup like toothpaste, vaguely pink and the huge beast couldn’t get enough of it. Barely finished one, he tossed it into the nearby garbage before unceremoniously taking the one in my hands and began to do the same with the other one, not even stopping to make a comment. I watched in fascination as Tristan’s chest mashed into his chin with each gulp, the sound of him swallowing low and reverberating. Fuck, I could’ve sworn I saw his dick jolt in its basket when he finally managed to get the last of it all down, the beast letting loose a satisfied sigh. He wiped off the excess in his beard and hungrily lapped what he had managed to catch in his fingers up.

“Hit the spot,” Tristan grunted, patting his musclegut once more, the low boom sounded solid, the flesh almost immovable. “Will probably last me a couple hours,” he said with a grin. Gods, this was the boy who could barely eat a quarter of his plate at a restaurant 8 months prior. Just what had happened to him?! As if to answer my question, he gave that gut of his a good rub. “Gotta hand it to ya, dad. You were right about the gym. Once I stepped in there and lifted my first dumbbell, it was like something was unleashed in me. You always talked about getting a pump and oh man, I think I know what you meant!” He raised an arm up and the seam along the shirt began to fray. “It was like all I could do was get bigger and bigger.” He did the same to the other arm, the seam faring just as well as its sister.

When he got to my car, he was huffing to himself, almost in a trance. He was bouncing his titanic pecs, testing if he’d be able to rip the seams along the shoulders as well. He caught me looking and he relaxed. “Sorry, dad, I get a little carried away sometimes,” he mumbled, looking a little embarrassed. As he opened the passenger side door he chuckled and shook his head. “Been a while since I’ve been in your car, pops. I think I’ll need to sit in the back.” He closed the door and opened the one behind it. But, before going in, he paused, “Ah, I forgot, in your text you said you wanted to tell me something important?” He laughed, “Lemme guess, you’re porking one of the girls I had a crush on in high school. Ah, c’mon, you can tell me! Fuck, dad, that’d make me so proud. My pops gets a rockin’ hot bod and now he’s banging college chicks!”

I gulped. I had completely forgotten about coming out to Tristan. I briefly tried to remember all the talking points I had laid out. But everything, even my best laid plans, were forfeit to the thoughts of worshiping this great beast of muscle. I for one, was glad he would be sitting behind me, because I was going to be sporting this erection all the way home.

“Ahem, yes. I’ll tell you all about on the way back,” I coughed.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hope the dad can come out... and the son can get in that car...

wow amazing story can't wait to hear more about big Tristian 

[DawnFire98]

One of the stories, I wish they got finished

[RockyDragon]

it sucks that you didn't continue this but great effort

[VennWolfe]

Sad to see that this isn't continued, but would love to see more of your writing in general!

[mawkroy]

You are without a doubt, my favorite muscle growth author.