Chapter 1: A Father's Unique Way of Keeping Young Men Away
The anticipation was a live wire under Eddie’s skin. He parked his beat-up Civic a few houses down, wiping his palms on his jeans. This was it. Meeting the stepdad. He knew the drill—be polite, be sincere, nod a lot. Get the blessing. All just a formality, a gate to pass through to get what he wanted - into Mary-Jane’s shirt and her pants.
He leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. Steady breaths. He needed to calm the fuck down. But his mind, treacherous and eager, flashed an image: Mary-Jane topless, those imagined perfect tits he’d barely seen under loose shirts now bare, nipples pebbled and pink. His tongue circling one, then taking it deep into his mouth. His cock thickened instantly, a heavy, insistent pull against his zipper.
Then another image, sharper: her on her back, knees wide. That sweet, shaved pussy he’d dreamed of, glistening, spread open just for him. His own cock, thick and veined, nudging against her entrance. His cock twitched violently in his pants, a hot spill of precum seeping into his clean boxers. Shit. Not now.
“Think of something not sexy,” he muttered to the empty car. Engine oil. Rusty exhausts. The bracket fungus on Mr. Henderson’s fence. It barely took the edge off. He adjusted himself, tucking his erection up along his waistband to lessen the obvious outline, grabbed the bottle of his favourite, middle priced whiskey from the passenger seat, and headed up the path to the well-kept, decent-sized house. He wanted to make a good impression, but it was all he could afford.
The Victorian loomed, all bright white gingerbread trim and cosily-lit porch. He caught his reflection in the glass of the front door. He liked how he looked - his dark curly hair tousled into a seemingly effortless style which framed a strong face, but with cute pink lips that were full and expressive, his deep brown eyes adding a dark intensity. He rang the bell. The chime echoed inside, followed by the solid thump of approaching footsteps.
The door creaked open, and there he was. Mary-Jane’s stepfather, Robert. He was broader than Eddie had imagined, a lumberjack frame filling the doorway. He wore a tight grey henley stretched over a thick chest, and jeans that looked painted on. His face was all strong lines and a carefully trimmed beard, eyes a cool, assessing blue. His salt-and-pepper hair was crew cut, with a square jaw that gave him an almost militaristic look. Clearly not someone to fuck with, Eddie thought.
“You’d be Eddie,” Robert said, his voice a low, gruff rumble. Not unfriendly, but not warm either.
“Yes, sir. This is for you.” Eddie offered the whiskey.
Robert took it, glanced at the label, gave a slight nod. “Come on in. She’s running late upstairs. Gives us a chance to talk.” He stepped back, allowing Eddie into the dim hallway. The air smelled of old wood, polish, and something else—a clean, masculine musk.
“She mentioned you’d want to chat,” Eddie said, following Robert’s broad back. “Totally understand. Take all the time you need.”
Robert led him past a staircase, down a hall, and into a study. It was all dark wood and leather. Two deep armchairs were angled toward each other in front of a cold fireplace. Bookshelves lined the walls.
“Take a seat,” Robert said, nodding to one chair. As Eddie sat, Robert closed the heavy study door, a slight whoosh of air and suddenly all of the gentle sounds from the house vanished, a real, sound-proofed sanctuary. There was a soft, decisive click of a catch being flicked. “Best we aren’t disturbed,” Robert said, without turning around. He moved to a small cabinet, retrieving two crystal tumblers.
He opened the whiskey Eddie had brought him, ignoring the decanter on the drinks cabinet. “Did Mary-Jane tell you this was my favourite?” He poured two fingers of amber liquid into a glass for himself.
“Oh. No. No, sir. It’s what I drink, but… also it’s all I can afford,” Eddie blushed, unsure why he was saying so much.
“Like what you like, I say. And enjoy what’s available to you,” Robert said with conviction, his demeanour softening. “Drink?”
“Same, if that’s okay,” Eddie said, trying to sound easy.
“It isn’t a test,” Robert said, but when he turned, there was a faint smirk on his lips. He handed Eddie the glass.
Eddie brought it to his nose, then took a small sip. It really was good. Caramel and smoke with a hint of smoke. “Mmm. It’s the smoothness for me. Has a real peaty finish. But that velvet mouthfeel is what does it for me.”
Robert’s eyebrows lifted slightly. He settled into the opposite chair, his movements deliberate, powerful. “Impressive. Most kids your age would drink battery acid and call it whisky.” He took a slow drink, his eyes never leaving Eddie. “But this isn’t just about impressing me with your palate. Tell me about yourself. What do you do?”
“I’m a trainee mechanic. Over at Garry’s Auto on Fifth.”
“Honest work. And your future? You see a wife? Kids? The whole picket fence deal?”
Eddie gave the expected response. It felt like reciting lines. “Yeah, sure. One day. Stable job, nice home, family. The dream, right?”
Robert nodded slowly, as if he’d heard it all before. “And your plans for my stepdaughter? For Mary-Jane?”
“Just… to get to know her, sir. Make her happy. Treat her right.” The words felt hollow even as he said them. His real plans involved a lot less talking and a lot more of the images that had haunted him in the car.
Robert swirled his whisky. “I remember being your age. Christ, do I remember. The blood just boiling in your veins. All you can think about. All day, every day.” He took another sip, his gaze turning distant, then sharpening back on Eddie. “Just wet, dripping pussy. Isn’t that right?”
Eddie’s face flushed hot. He wanted to agree, to laugh, to bond over it. But he just smiled awkwardly and nodded, looking down into his glass. His eyes, however, drifted lower. To Robert’s lap. The man’s jeans were tight. Seriously tight. And there was a substantial bulge there, straining the faded denim. As Eddie watched, subtly he thought, he saw the outline of Robert’s cock, snaking over one thick thigh. It was massive. As big as his own, at least. Maybe bigger. A flicker of pure, unadulterated respect shot through him.
Robert cleared his throat.
Eddie’s eyes snapped up. Robert had seen him looking. But the man didn’t look angry. The smirk was back, wider now, knowing.
“I don’t blame you for going after her,” Robert said, his voice dropping, becoming more confidential. “I’ve only known her three years, since she was nineteen. But I’ve gotten to know her… very well. She is an excellent choice.” There was a weight to the words, a hint of something that made Eddie’s brow furrow slightly. “But to let all the boys just take her and use her… that isn’t good for her. She needs… protection. Guidance.”
Robert shifted in his chair, making the leather creak. The movement accentuated the bulge in his jeans. Eddie couldn’t look away.
“But equally,” Robert continued, “men have needs. Right? Real, physical needs. I’m pushing fifty, and I can still crack stick three times a day, easy. The hunger doesn’t just vanish.”
Eddie, loosened slightly by the whisky and the strange, intimate direction of the talk, found himself nodding in earnest agreement. “Tell me about it. I’m the same. Some days, if the mood hits right… five isn’t out of the question.”
Robert’s eyes gleamed. He let his hand fall casually into his own lap, adjusting himself through the jeans. “Five? You must be packing quite the hog to sustain that kind of output, son.”
The challenge was there, hanging in the smoky air between them. Eddie felt a reckless grin tug at his lips. The nerves were melting, replaced by a different kind of heat. “I think I could give you a run for your money.”
Robert’s laugh was a soft, deep chuckle. “That sounds like a challenge.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice a low, conspiratorial rumble. “I want to offer you a deal, Eddie. A little… test. Man to man. If you can make yourself cum before I do, right here, right now… then you can touch Mary-Jane’s tits at the end of your date tonight. A little reward for when you get some alone time later.” Robert winked at him.
The proposal was so absurd, so electrifying, that it short-circuited Eddie’s higher thinking. It was pure id, pure competition. The throbbing in his own jeans became a demanding pulse. He looked at Robert’s confident smile, at the powerful hand still resting on that impressive cock. And he could do with draining the pot again before seeing Mary-Jane. He’d blown a load in the shower an hour earlier, but it was never enough.
A wild, hungry grin spread across Eddie’s face. All thoughts of Mary-Jane, of the pretense, evaporated. This was something else. Something raw and real.
“You’re on, old man.”
Robert nods and grins at Eddie, “Excellent, just some friendly competition.”
“Ok,” Eddie says, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “But what are the rules?”
Robert nods again. A slow, predatory bob of his head. “Game recognizes game. We unzip and haul them out. I say 3, 2, 1, and we go on ‘go’. Understood?”
Eddie nods, starting to warm to the challenge. He masturbated so often and he had so much cum to spew he felt confident this was an easy win and a quick way to those beautiful tits. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic counter-rhythm to the slow, thick pulse in his groin.
Both men unzip, not breaking eye contact. The rasp of metal teeth was deafening in the quiet room. They pulled their cocks and balls out through the fly and left them resting there, exposed on the dark fabric of their jeans. The air in the study felt cooler against Eddie’s heated skin.
Eddie raises one eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. Robert breaks the gaze first, his eyes moving down to Eddie’s crotch.
Eddie’s cock was young, cut, and fat, a thick, flushed pillar of flesh already half hard and leaning against his thigh. The head was a dark, plum-coloured dome, beading with a clear pearl of precum. His balls were tight and high, a dense, hairy sack drawn up close to his body.
Robert’s small smile was answer enough. A glimmer in his eyes. A slight lick of his lips. Eddie’s cock twitched, jumping against his thigh at the obvious appreciation.
Feeling safe to look now, Eddie let his eyes drop. They were not disappointed.
Robert’s cock was different. More engorged than Eddie’s, darker, with a weight to it that spoke of age and constant use. It was uncut, the fleshy hood giving his cock more heft, a loose collar of skin that partly sheathed the broad, blunt head. His balls hung lower, a heavy, full sack that brushed the leather of the chair.
As Eddie stared, Robert made it jerk, a subtle flex that made the thick shaft bounce. Eddie’s eyes snapped back up to Robert’s. Robert now returned the one eyebrow raise, a silent question hanging between them.
Eddie smirks, trying to reclaim some swagger. “We should get started,” he says, his voice a bit tighter than he intended. “Wouldn’t want to keep Mary-Jane waiting. Or those tits.”
Robert’s eyes narrow, just a fraction. The playful glint hardens into something more focused. “Three,” he says, his voice flat. “Two. One. Go.”
Eddie grabs his cock and starts pounding it, using his whole arm and squeezing hard. It was his go-to move, fast and brutal, a race to the finish line. His fist was a blur, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room.
In comparison, Robert was only focusing on the head, the foreskin now pulled back to reveal the slick, dark crown. He was gently twisting and stroking in small, specific ways, his thumb circling the slit, his fingers applying teasing pressure to the frenulum. His breathing was deep and measured, his gaze locked on Eddie’s frantic movements.
After only a minute, Robert’s balls tighten noticeably, drawing up. His breathing intensifies, a sharp inhale through his nose.
“Fuck,” Eddie growls, panicking. He works his hand even faster, now perched at the very edge of the armchair, his hips pistoning into his own grip. He was close, so close, the familiar coil tightening in his gut.
Robert stays sitting back, perfectly composed except for the fierce concentration on his face. With one last, expert twist, his cock erupts.
It’s not a torrent, but a slow, thick leak. Thick white cum pulses out in steady waves, oozing over his knuckles and down onto his own heavy balls. A low groan rattles from his chest.
“Fuck,” Eddie says, the word laced with theatrical frustration. Robert looks at his messy hand, then at Eddie, who has frozen mid-stroke, devastated. “Sorry, bud. I’m a real expert with my hand.”
Eddie sits there, annoyed at himself. The coil inside him has dissolved into a leaden knot of defeat. He’s still painfully hard, throbbing.
Then Robert clears his throat. Eddie looks up, dazed.
“I didn’t tell you to stop,” Robert says, his voice soft but inflexible.
Eddie freezes for a moment. The logic was absurd, but the desperate ache in his balls was very real. He thinks he may as well. Since he isn’t getting any from Mary-Jane. Get rid of the blue balls.
He starts stroking again, a little slower this time, thinking about what he’d seen Robert do. The specific, deliberate twist. He mimics it, focusing on the head of his own cock.
Robert watches Eddie masturbate, his cum-covered hand resting by his softening cock. He doesn’t look away. Eddie feels like Robert is studying him, his technique, his cock, his body. The intensity of that focused attention is a new sensation. It’s not the fantasy of Mary-Jane that spurs him on now. It’s the raw, approving scrutiny from the older man.
He realizes it’s getting him off.
His breath hitches. His eyes roll back for a second, his hips bucking up into his fist. As his breathing gets shallow, he notices movement—a shadow leaning forward. Then a feeling of weight, a soft, grey material draping over his cock and lap.
He cums with a fierce, punched-out grunt, his orgasm tearing through him. His release spills hot and copious, not into his own hand, but into the soft fabric covering him. He rides it out, shuddering, spent.
After a few moments, he looks down. He sees the grey cotton t-shirt covering his lap, soaked and sticky with his own load. He looks up to see Robert topless, his broad, hairy chest and thick torso on full display. The man’s physique was formidable, a landscape of muscle and dark hair.
Robert leans forward and collects the shirt, wiping up Eddie’s cum as he gently pulls it away. The action is oddly careful, almost tender.
“I didn’t want you to ruin your date outfit,” he says matter-of-factly. He balls up the soiled shirt in one large hand and walks to a nearby cupboard, retrieving a fresh, identical grey Henley. He pulls it on over his head, the fabric stretching tight across his shoulders. He took out his phone and tapped on it briefly, then moved to unlock the door.
Eddie, still dazed, his cock softening and wet, tucked himself slowly back into his jeans. The zipper sounded final. The room smelled of sex, whisky, and sweat. Robert resumed his seat, looking utterly calm, as if they’d just discussed the weather.
“She’ll be down in a few minutes,” Robert said, taking a sip of his forgotten whisky. He eyed Eddie over the rim of the glass. “You seem a bit more relaxed now. That’s good. Tension can ruin a date.”
Eddie could only nod, his mind a chaotic swirl of sensation, defeat, and a strange, lingering heat that had nothing to do with Mary-Jane waiting upstairs. The goalposts had moved. He just didn’t know where they were now.
He drained the last of his whisky, the smokey burn a grounding anchor. The study door swung open, framing Mary-Jane. She beamed, a vision in a cute sundress, her hair down.
“Eddie! Oh my god, I’m so sorry I kept you waiting!”
She rushed in and wrapped him in a hug. She smelled like vanilla and shampoo. Nice, but… simple. He hugged her back, feeling the warm, pliant shape of her. His mind flashed, unbidden, to the dense, muscular solidity of Robert still seated across from them.
“No problem,” Eddie said, his voice thankfully steady. He nodded toward Robert. “Your dad was keeping me entertained.”
Mary-Jane pulled back, grinning. “He’s so good at that!” Her enthusiasm seemed utterly guileless. She grabbed Eddie’s hand, her fingers small and cool in his. “C’mon, let’s go! The lanes are waiting!”
Robert stood, the paternal figure fully reassembled. “You two have fun now. And Eddie?” He waited until Eddie met his eye. “Please make sure you bring my girl back to the door and come see me before you leave. Have a fun night, you two! No funny business!” He winked, a masterpiece of jovial concern.
Eddie nodded, a tight jerk of his chin. “Sure thing.” And he was pulled from the musk and leather of the study into the bland evening air.
Three hours later, they stood on the same porch. The night had been fine. Nice, even. She was sweet, laughed at his jokes, seemed smart. But a wall was there, invisible and high. Every casual touch he aimed for—hand on her lower back, brushing her arm—was subtly, politely deflected.
Now, under the yellow porch light, he knew he had no luck. But he’d be damned if he didn’t try.
“I had a really great time, MJ,” he said, leaning in.
She met him halfway, offering her lips. The kiss was dry, chaste, a firm press of closed mouths that lasted two seconds. It felt like sealing a business deal.
He pulled back an inch, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “C’mon, MJ. A little more, please.”
She giggled, a high, nervous sound, and leaned in again. This one was wetter, her lips parting slightly, but it was just more of the same—no tongue, no hint of hunger. It was a kiss from a manual entitled Appropriate Date Behaviour written by Someone's Dad.
The door opened.
Robert stood there, a cardigan now over his henley, embodying concerned parent. “Just checking in. Curfew’s not ‘til 11, but I heard voices.”
Mary-Jane turned, her smile bright. “Hey, Dad! We’re just saying goodnight.” She stepped into the doorway and gave Robert a hug. As she did, Robert’s large hand, so casual, so proprietary, slid over the curve of her ass in a smooth, patting squeeze.
She giggled again. The same giggle.
“I’m heading up to bed,” she announced, slipping past him into the house.
“I’ll be up to wish you a goodnight in a bit,” Robert called after her. His eyes then settled on Eddie. They were no longer paternal. They were the eyes from the study. “This won’t take long, son. Follow me.”
The walk back to the study was silent. The house was quiet. Eddie felt like he was returning to the scene of a crime. They took their same seats. The air still held the faint, tangy scent of their earlier exchange.
“So,” Robert began, pouring two fresh fingers of whisky without asking. “How’d it go? And remember, I’ll be asking her the same thing.”
Eddie decided on honesty. What was the point of anything else? “It was a nice time. We bowled. Got some food.”
“Who won?”
“I let her win the first game. She beat me fair in the next two.” He couldn’t keep the slight embarrassment out of his voice.
Robert chuckled, a low, warm sound. “Good. She’s competitive. Likes to earn it.”
Eddie took the whisky Robert offered. “We shared some fries. Had a shake each. I asked her about vet school, her job at the clinic… found out her favourite author is some guy who writes about zombie plagues.”
“Sounds,” Robert said, leaning back, swirling his glass, “like you’re treating my girl real nice.” He let the silence stretch. “And?”
“And nothing,” Eddie said, the frustration leaking through. “She followed your rules to the T. Just the kiss you saw. That was it.”
Robert’s gaze sharpened. He latched onto it. “The kiss. Right.” He took a slow sip. “There’s something you might need to know, Eddie. Man to man. I asked her about you. Just a general ‘is he a good boy for dating’ sort of thing. She said you were sweet. Polite. A little pushy.”
Eddie waited, a cold knot forming in his gut.
“She said your kissing was… okay.”
Okay. The word hung in the air, mediocre and damning.
“Fuck,” Eddie hissed, the sting immediate and personal. “I thought I was pretty good.”
“Most men do,” Robert said, not unkindly. “Until they’re told otherwise. And ideally, shown how to do it.”
The implication unfolded slowly, a dark, shocking bloom. Eddie’s mouth went dry. “So… can Mary-Jane show me? Give me some pointers?”
Robert shook his head, a slight, regretful motion. “No. I think she’d be too embarrassed to critique you like that. She’s not confrontational. She likes her stepdad to sort her problems.” He said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Eddie barked a disbelieving laugh. It was either that or scream. “So, what, you’re going to teach me how to kiss?”
The laughter died in his throat. Robert wasn’t smiling. His blue eyes were steady, utterly serious. “If you’re open to it, yes, son.”
Eddie was stunned. The room seemed to tilt. The man across from him was a mountain of pure, unwavering certainty.
Robert leaned forward, his voice dropping to a confidential rumble. “If you’d prefer to carry on being a not-great kisser, it’s no problem. But I’ll be honest with you—I don’t think Mary-Jane will want anything else from your mouth if you’re not good at that.” He let the words settle. The implication was clear, vivid, and devastating: You will never taste her if you don’t learn this first.
A war raged in Eddie’s head—pride, confusion, a burning curiosity, and that relentless, physical ache that had never really left him since he’d sat in this chair hours before. He looked at Robert’s mouth, the firm line of it, perfectly framed by the well-kept beard. He thought of Mary-Jane’s giggle, her chaste peck, the way Robert’s hand had so easily claimed her ass.
The path forward was insane. It was also the only one on offer.
He met Robert’s gaze. Swallowed. The heat in his gut pooled, heavy and low.
“Okay,” Eddie said, the word leaving him in a rushed exhale. “Let’s do it.”