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The first night when Hunter moved in, things were awkward. Well, that’s an understatement, considering everything that happened earlier that day. I don’t think my ex wife set out to sabotage our relationship; she just can’t help herself. I didn’t help things by trying to sneak off to the alley next to my building for a quickie, either. Hunter and I worked it out in spite of everything, although it didn’t go how I expected. Hunter was a wounded boy who needed love and affirmation for the wonderful young man that he is. Sex between a father and son may not be “natural” to some but when they are both gay, and especially when they have been thrown together because they are gay, sex is the language they speak. I reached out to him and gave him the love he needed in the way that he could understand and accept. Since that night, our love has grown deeper by the day, as has our sexual relationship, and neither of us would change a thing about that night, or anything since. There was one thing I noticed, though, right away, the first time he knelt between my legs and looked up at me with my cockhead resting on his lips. My son is a boy, or at least he’s my “Boy.” The look in his eyes was unmistakable. My primary sexual identity is not really being a “Daddy.” I like all kinds of men of all ages, and I like doing all sorts of things with them, but being a “Daddy” is a game I’m more than willing to play. I do like fucking younger men. With my looks and build, I’m practically a poster model for a DILF, and most of the younger men who are attracted to me are inevitably boys by comparison. There was a time when that look in their eyes intimidated me; almost terrified me, really. It seemed like a bottomless pit of expectation that I was falling into and a pedestal of admiration that I might fall off of, all at once. Over time, my confidence grew, along with my maturity, as well as an understanding of how a boy’s mind worked. I don’t think young men are born to be boys, but it is something deeper and more compelling than just a social label. When a real boy meets a man like me, a “Daddy”, his breath gets shallow, his heart beats faster, his knees get weak. If you know how to recognize it, you can see it in his eyes. That look of not just desire, but submission. If I want him, I meet his eyes with a look of stern control and a slightly amused half smile. I step up close enough for him to smell my musk and, if he doesn’t back off, I reach up slowly to the back of his neck, take him firmly in my hand, and pull him in for a kiss. If he’s wearing leather, I reach up with my other hand, grab his tit with my fingers and pinch, just until I feel his body stiffen. If he melts into my chest, often with a soft vulnerable moan, I know I’ve got him. It's a powerful moment; intimidating as hell if you are not prepared for it, and hot as hellfire itself, if you are ready and willing to take him. That night, with my son kneeling between my legs about to suck his father’s cock for the first time, I saw that look. It shot through me like cupid’s arrow. For the first time in years, I had that feeling of intimidation and vertigo, but also an incredible feeling of love and the fierce need to protect the sweet boy willing to give me that gift. I knew I had to give him space, though. Our relationship had to move on his terms. I was also not sure how much he understood about his own feelings. He has had almost no exposure to gay life beyond loitering in a city park having bush sex with closet cases. Aside from that, maybe what I saw was just the understandable vulnerability of a young man as confused by what was happening between us as I was. As the weeks have gone by, we’ve settled into a routine together. We are still getting to know each other, though. We have a lot of time to make up for, and a lot of history to sort out. I still sometimes see the “boy” in Hunter peak out, or at least I think I do. Last night led to a conversation about sexual fantasies. Hunter very cautiously admitted that he has fantasized about, “being dominated by a stranger.” I suppressed a smile as my cock grew hard in my pants. I knew it. My son was almost ready for a “Daddy.” A stranger! Seriously?! Like I was going to give my son to a stranger? I don’t think so! These things have to be handled gently, though. I took a deep breath, tried to be casual and said, “I could be your stranger.” “Really?” “Will you do what I say?” “Yeah.” “Get on your knees.” I felt like it was too soon for dirty talk, much less anything as intense as spanking, or even really rough sex. I fucked him, though. For the first time, I wasn’t gentle. I didn’t make love to him. I put him face down on the bed and fucked him hard; like he was a stranger. I used his hole for my pleasure, to get me off. It was exhilarating! I hadn’t been with anybody but Hunter, since he caught me with the other guy in the alley. Sex with Hunter has been wonderful, unique, and special, but I’ve held back, let it be about him first. Now it was my turn and I only realized how much I’ve missed real fucking when I started pounding my cock into my son’s hole. For the next ten minutes, he wasn’t my son, he was my fucktoy, and I rode him, squirming and whimpering, until the sweat dripped off of my face. I dumped my load deep in his guts and he took it all. My son Hunter is a very special boy, and I’m a very proud Daddy.

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