Sick & Tragic Bastard Son

by Rowan Massey

  Zander cocked his head and lowered the beer to hang against his leg. He blinked for possibly the first time since he’d walked in the door. It was a fluttering blink. His shoulders seemed to relax, but the look in his eyes was no less intense. He seemed to have determined something. The corner of his mouth lifted into a mischievous smile. His shoes slid over the hardwood floor in a step towards me, body moving in a flirtatious twist. My own feet automatically matched the distance. We were an inch apart.

  “Just making sure we’re alone,” he said.

  I didn’t know what to think of him. He seemed quiet and hesitant one second, bold and seductive the next. What did it matter? His behavior was titillating. It was sending an electric charge over my skin.

  He put a hand on my chest and kissed me. It was a powerful kiss. I put one arm around him, fumbling to blindly put my beer on a bookshelf. He did the same, and we embraced. I pulled him tight, but confusingly, he resisted a little.

  His warm lips and tongue moved with a passion I couldn’t match. Each time his mouth opened to mine, the quickness of it took more of my breath away. His hand grabbed at my chest in a desperate way that told me he was in the grip of the kiss. Had anyone ever kissed me so beautifully? No. Never.

  I didn’t know why he was so primed for me, and I couldn’t have cared less. The mystery called to my sense of romance. I hadn’t known I had it in me, and I needed much more.

  My hands made slow strokes up and down his back, pressing his body to mine. His spine gave way in a little arch after some resistance, and he stood on his toes to rub against me. When the bulges of our growing erections met, his reaction was almost a shock. He gasped and pulled his face away from mine. His expression contorted into something impossible to interpret.

  He was exquisite.

  The tension in his muscles left him with a sigh, and he buried his nose against my neck. Whatever I’d just seen, I wanted it back so that I could examine it. It had passed quickly like an orgasm. We paused, both of us panting. I slowly ran my fingers over the short hair on the back of his head.

  “Where’s your bed?” he asked. His voice was quiet and muffled against my shirt so that I barely understood.

  “Downstairs.” I took his hand from my chest, held it, and turned to lead him to the steps.

  “In the basement?”

  He made the slightest pause in his step, and I slowed, turning to look at him. His jaw and eyelids were slackened, eyes a little unfocused. I couldn’t believe he was reacting to me so strongly. It was the look of someone who had just reached his climax, not someone who was still working up to it. Was he so easily bewitched by all the men he hooked up with?

  “It’s a finished basement I renovated myself. I use it for a bedroom and den,” I explained. “Only my daughter’s room is here on the first floor.”

  “Okay. It’s cool.” He nodded and allowed me to continue leading him.

  I took him through the doorway at the top of the narrow stairs and down into the open space that made up most of the basement. There were more bookshelves, but they were less over-crowded, and none of it was for work. They were books I’d had my whole life; my favorites. An old sofa and some underused workout equipment filled the rest of the space. A small desk sat in the corner. To the right, I’d had a bathroom and my bedroom built.

  As we got closer to the bed, my insides tightened, and so did his grip on my hand. We stopped at the edge of the mattress, and he let go to unbutton his shirt. I pulled my clothes off while watching him. His brows lowered in concentration, as if getting undressed correctly were terribly important. He bit his lip, and I was reminded again of his age. Maybe something concerning was going on under that messy hair of his. I remembered how fragile I’d been two decades ago, and wondered if I should slow things down, or even stop.

  But he was becoming more naked by the second. His shirt came off. There was a small patch of hair on his chest, and I reached out to run my hand over the smooth skin of his pecs. I got down to my underwear, but my own nudity was taking a backseat to my focus on him. I had enough attention for him and nothing else. He slowed down before we got on the bed and regarded me with a vulnerable expression that hit me in just the right spot. It broke my heart just a crack. I had to be sure he was alright—that all the passion wasn’t a sign of instability.

  I placed my palm against his cheek, and he pressed it firmly against his face with his own hand. How could I ask him why? Words escaped me.

  He kissed me again, this time slowly. When he pulled away to take off the rest of his clothes, I did the same, stripping down to nothing. We laid sideways across the bed. In another second, he was pressed against my skin, frantic with craving.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Zander Age 18

  I’D MADE IT through a small ordeal in my car outside Clay’s house. The fit had been as short-lived as usual. I’d managed to make it a controlled chaos. I hadn’t hurt myself or anything in the car. I hadn’t even accidentally honked the horn. Mostly, I’d screamed and kicked. My feet had hit the petals, but it was fine. Nothing had gotten broken. When I’d calmed, the colored lights had lost their speed and they didn’t cover everything in sight anymore.

  I didn’t know if it happened similarly for other people, but I often experienced the strange phenomenon of checking my perceptions to see if the drugs had started kicking in, and a split second later, a warmth would signal that it was definitely starting to work its magic. That was when I’d been glad I’d chosen to take the pills. I took another one. After asking myself if I still felt gross about Clay, I knew the yucky stuff was there but I didn’t think much about it. The facts hadn’t changed but I could deal. I wasn’t sick or scared over what I was trying to do.

  After playing with my hair a little in the mirror and wiping the slight damp of sweat from my face with a fast food napkin, I gave myself a few seconds to double check my mental readiness, and got out of the car.

  At the door, the light overhead had a red tinge to it, then blue, so I hesitated one more time, but still knocked. In a few moments, he appeared in front of me. Clay was just like in his pictures, and that was a small relief. All my thoughts were a little dulled, but looking him in the eye was still intense. The drugs would later make the whole memory somewhat blurred, but he smelled like soap when I walked past. I stared at him openly for a few long moments. Even in my drugged state, I asked myself if I wanted to do it. Did I want to have sex with my father? Maybe I didn’t and maybe I did. It didn’t even seem to matter that much.

  I’d come so far. He was already looking at me like he wanted to lick me, therefore I’d already done some of the deed. I was simply moving forward in time—letting the plan take me.

  My attention wandered down his face. His hair was fine and a little longer than expected. The soft curve of his ears somehow made me a little more relaxed. After examining his nose, mouth, and closely-shaved cheeks, I observed his eyes and they observed me. He was anxious and trying to hide it. Despite the drugs, I was aware of the tension.

  He offered me a drink and I nodded. While he was gone, I took in my surroundings. He wasn’t a hoarder. At least, not the kind I’d seen on TV. There were a lot of books, but none on the floor, tables, or chairs. When he came back, he said something to me, but I wouldn’t later remember what.

  I saw the picture. It was unexpected. I didn’t know what I was recognizing until I stepped closer and found myself looking at my own image. It was me as a little kid, still young enough to be smiling for all I was worth. The picture was damaged and the frame was an ugly, wooden thing. All along the mantel were similar pictures of Lottie at various ages, all perfectly displayed, colors crisp and bright.

  Clay had the fucking gall to display a picture of me in his living room. This was the lie he was presenting to people—that he knew me and cared about me enough to know what I looked like. It resurrected my deadened emotions. There was fury in my gut, but outwardly, I kept calm.

  If I’d had any doubts about following th
rough, I was officially over it. While I’d been barely surviving, he’d been telling people what? That he missed me? That he’d fought for me? I was right in front of him, inches from his face, and he didn’t know me. In fact, he seemed good to go. I’d seen that look in men’s eyes often enough to know it was lust.

  I was ready for my revenge.

  I kissed him, but with one arm between us, to keep his body from making full contact with mine. All the pain and hatred I’d accumulated over a lifetime was channeled into the kiss. He couldn’t tell the difference between passionate hate and passionate sexuality. He responded eagerly. I stopped trying to keep our crotches from meeting, and I felt his bulge like an electric jolt.

  But the blur of the drug came back to me, and we made our way downstairs. It was generic like a porn set—maybe one with a teacher storyline. The bed was in a separate room. Clothes came off and I was laying next to him on cool sheets. His arms went around me, and he pulled me close. Our bodies were hot. He was already starting to sweat. The only light was coming in from the open door. It was enough to show me his pale, pinkish skin. Chilled air contrasted with the way he was heating the room and gave me that distinctly nude feeling that I’d always loved about sex. I was getting an erection. I’d worried about that, but apparently it wasn’t going to be a problem. Even if I couldn’t come, if I got hard, it should be good enough to make him think things were mutual.

  He kissed along my neck and shoulder, breathing hard and squeezing the left cheek of my ass. His hand moved between us and frotted our dicks together in his fist. I thought about Mr. Intimate. To copy the way we’d faced each other and looked into each other’s eyes, I pulled back a little, so that I was nose to nose with Clay. He didn’t have a problem looking right back at me with vivid brightness in his eyes. His lids half-closed every few seconds while he worked at our cocks.

  “Does that feel good?” he murmured in that way people do during sex just to be saying something. But it was also similar to the way Mr. Intimacy had checked in on me constantly, and I liked it. “Hmm? Do you like this?” he continued.

  “Yeah, daddy. Just like that.” I’d considered calling him daddy to make it more disturbing for him when I made the big reveal, but I hadn’t thought I could take it that far. I’d thought it would be too much of a turn off for me and cause problems, but it wasn’t, and it didn’t. I liked the queasy pulse it sent down to where he touched me. God, I was such a sick person. I wished I’d never discovered how much I loved being a pervert. Minutes went by, and I called him daddy a few more times.

  He was getting close to orgasm, so I stopped him and sat up. I was going to get the supplies from my pants pockets, but saw he had things set out by the bed, so I grabbed the lube, laid on my back, and pulled one leg back to start working lube into my asshole. He got up to his knees in front of me and took over. I put an arm behind my head and watched. We both had our eyes on his fingers, but I kept glancing up at him, and he was glancing at me. His probing and massaging made me moan for him a little and it didn’t sound fake. It wasn’t.

  I told him when to start pushing deeper, when to scissor his fingers, and every other word I said to him was daddy.

  Another wave of the drug set over me, and soon, he was sheathing himself with a condom and pressing the tip to my ass. The moment he pushed inside, I got a full-body rush of adrenalin because I’d really done it. The shock and pleasure couldn’t be hidden. I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my face into my bicep. He stopped and pulled out to softly take my jaw in his clean hand and turn my face back to face him. His body lowered and pressed against mine. He kissed my chin and lips.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, honest worry in his frown.

  “You didn’t hurt me,” I assured him. “I just got overwhelmed. Keep going.”

  I pushed at his shoulder to coax him back into his previous position, but he wanted to keep holding me while we fucked. He gave me little kisses on my neck and face while he pushed his dick back inside. He kept thrusting, but it was deliberate and lingering, not mindless.

  “Daddy’s got you,” he said into my ear, sending a tightness into my chest. A small victory. He would never forget saying that. Look what I was doing to him without his even knowing! “Tell me if it’s too much.”

  But it was all transforming into a conflict. I loved being held and taken care of, even by him. It was exactly the way I’d felt with Mr. Intimate; like he cared about me even though he didn’t know me. It was only the second time I’d been embraced by someone that way, and the first time had been a sort of accident. My enjoyment was becoming alarmingly deliberate. I was loving the closeness of his voice and smell. His hand went slowly down my side. I knew just how insane I’d become in that moment, because I was craving more, even while I received what I craved. My back arched for him. I was saying things like thank you, daddy, and asking for more, deeper, faster.

  He came with his groan muffled in my neck, pressing his hips close and working them slowly in a last few thrusts. After pulling out and getting rid of the condom, he got between my legs again and took my cock in his hand, ready to give me a blow job. His mouth closed over my skin. All the air squeezed out of my lungs. God, it was good. I focused on the fact it was my deadbeat father eagerly working his tongue along my dick like a whore, hopefully about to take my load down his throat. The power of my position gave me a new understanding of the expression “power trip”. I hoped he would swallow. I downright needed him to remember things like that. I would let him digest it completely before telling him I was his kid.

  My orgasm was powerful. My mouth opened in a loud sigh. I shuddered while my cock pulsed in his mouth. He sucked it down quickly and only got a little on his face. I bit my lip to keep myself from letting out a manic laugh.

  He collapsed next to me with a pillow under his head. I grinned up at the ceiling but I was already getting a familiar emptiness. Lottie had talked about the depression that sometimes came after a thrill. Why did my satisfaction have to disappear? I tried to cling to the sense of vindication. Not a minute passed before I was a void inside. The only thing I could feel was the messiness up my backside, so I got up and found the bathroom door. My legs were a little weak but didn’t wobble. I told myself the black emptiness was mostly from the drugs and the physically used-up feeling of being fucked.

  The bathroom was a small space with plain, white walls and next to no decor. I was caught off-guard by the mirror and stood looking at my nude reflection. The expression on my face was one I’d never seen there before. I was ready to set myself on fire just to erase what I was seeing. What would I think later when I was back to my usual self? What had I done to myself?

  What had I done to Clay?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Clay Age 38

  ZANDER CAME BACK into the room with a wide-eyed look that made me sit up straight with my back against the headboard. Fear crept up my neck the way it does when you see the terror in someone else before you detect the source of it. He looked like he’d experienced a trauma, like a soldier with a thousand-yard stare. I frantically searched my short-term memory for something that had gone wrong. I even glanced around the room as if in search of a monster.

  He sat against the headboard next to me, drawing his legs up to hug them loosely. There’d been odd behavior from him all along. I should have yielded to several red flags. All I could do was sit next to him, frozen, wondering what exactly was going on in his head.

  His eyes were fixed on the damp spot on the sheets. I slipped my hand over to his and gently touched his fingers. Part of me was afraid of him. He was a volatile stranger, and I knew I should be wary going forward, but I also wanted to comfort him if I could. I felt a responsibility to make sure he went home in a good state of mind.

  The silence was turning into tension. I had to say something.

  “Are you alright?” I asked in a calming tone. “I mean, did I do something…”

  He lifted distracted eyes to mine, and I was enraptur
ed by him all over again, just like that. There was something endearing about how scared he seemed—like a lost angel. I relaxed and scooted closer to him. To avoid the wet spot, I mirrored the way he hugged his legs.

  “No…” he said. “Did you mind me calling you daddy?”

  “Well, it’s a first,” I said, and gave a weak laugh. “I must be getting older. I don’t mind, though.” In reality, it had been weird. I’d gone with it—which had really gotten him going—and I’d enjoyed the novelty. Daddy kink was common enough and didn’t seem like a big deal. I knew it wasn’t about incest or anything.

  “I didn’t grow up with a dad,” Zander said absently.

  Alright, maybe for him it was an incest fantasy after all. I shifted nervously.

  “Why do you keep a picture of your son,” he went on, “if you never even see him?”

  “What?” I became flustered and tried to remember saying anything along those lines. I hadn’t.

  He looked contrite.

  “Sorry. I mean…sorry.” His eyes darted around the room as he struggled to explain himself. “You have a lot of pictures of a girl, but only one of a boy, and you said there’s a room for her, but not for him. So, I just uh…assumed you don’t spend time with him.”