Uncle Grunge and Love

When I finally got out of the shower I was alone. I decided to stay naked for some reason - well, hell, I know the reason: I was often naked in my own place and I decided I didn't need to make changes for Uncle Jay, now that things had taken this personal turn.

I looked around and realized that we'd pretty much trashed the place. I frankly didn't know where to begin but if Jay was going to make us a nice dinner, the mess wouldn't do. Eventually I figured I'd better start in the kitchen, and that's what I did. I filled the dishwasher, got it going, washed the bigger pots, filled three trash bags with take-out containers and rotten food in the fridge, wiped down the two small counters, and even swept the floor by the time I heard the door close. I was actually working up a sweat, which kind of defeated the purpose of the shower, but the kitchen looked pretty good - better than it looked before he got here - so that seemed like a small success.

He strode into the kitchen and then stopped, looking at my naked frame. I forgot I was naked, given that it was such a natural state for me in my own place, and then I felt myself blushing, but he just cracked this big-assed goofy smile, combined with a bigger smirk, and said, "Naked and barefoot in the kitchen - just the way I like it." Then he clunked down the groceries and strode up to me - some kind of decision had been made in his time away, because he grabbed me and held me tight, kissing my forehead.

"This how you like to hang out when you're alone?"

"Kinda," I said, leaning into his frame. I could still smell him, through the clothes. It was a powerful musk that I equated with desire.

"Cool," he said, breaking away, just giving a shrug. "I like it - but - it's gonna be a sit-down dinner, so you got to wear clothes for that."

I just smiled -

"Duh," I said, wishing I hadn't, and feeling young and stupid because of it.

"Oh - and kid," he said, as I exited the kitchen -

"Yeah?"

"You don't smell half bad when you clean up."

I was blushing now, naked, about to throw wood. He seemed caught by my cuteness. "Glad you didn't put on any of fucking cologne, either."

"And you better not put on deodorant after your shower," I said.

"No way - soap only - I left that shit at the bitch's place. She can fucking choke on it."

That made me laugh and I left him alone, intent on cleaning the rest of the apartment.

"Thanks for cleaning the kitchen, Stew," he called out to me and I called back, "No problem."

But as I cast around the room, really feeling my nakedness, I suddenly got the urge to split. Being alone in the small apartment had been a gift to me the last hour or so and I felt like it was a gift I could give to Jay, too. So, I hit my closet, pulled on a tight tee that accentuated the work I'd been putting in at the gym, threw on some jeans and Timberlands and headed out.

"Hey Unc," I said, peaking into the kitchen. He was back at it again - kind of staring out into space - the counter strewn with steaks and garlic and a bunch of other shit.

"Yeah?"

"You get wine for tonight?"

"Fuck - no. Thought beer was okay?"

"Naw - not if you're making something special. See ya soon."

And then I headed out.

Mostly I just walked, trying to get my head together, trying to put myself in his (relatively) straight shoes, but also trying to understand my own needs and - more importantly - my own fantasy structures that, until now, had been a closely guarded secret. Most guys just weren't into the kind of deeply kinky stuff I was and I'd been trying to figure out how to explore it when along came Uncle Jay and suddenly ... well, opportunity knocks, you know?

Anyway, I was still pretty much a jumble but the walk and fresh air helped. Then my phone buzzed and I checked the text from Jay.

"You ain't dumping me, are you, kid?"

I checked my watch and it had been over an hour since I'd split - it was getting late. I'd been lost in my thoughts.

"Hell no!" I replied. "Just got tied up - I'm not much of a wine fag."

"LOL" he replied. "Iz cool - but cum home - gettin' hungry."

I swung by the local liquor store, grabbed some expensive reds - fuck did I know? - and headed back, looking at my phone.

There was something sweetly desperate in his text - which had been an echo of his question earlier in the day. Both tugged at my heart. But they also told something about him. Beneath the muscle and the hair and the gruff and the thick, strident stink, was a lonely man, scared of being left alone. What more was there to discover about my uncle? I didn't know - but this vulnerability overwhelmed me with care and concern, and made him even more attractive.

"Fuck no," I thought to myself. I wasn't going to leave him. The only question, in my mind, was whether he was going to stay with me.

I thought about all of this as I approached the bottom of the stairwell in the apartment complex - then, took a few breathes before bounding up the stairs. At the end of the day, what the fuck did I have to lose? He was my fucking uncle after all - this wasn't supposed to be happening and now that it was, I might as well has some fun.

When I entered the apartment it glowed in a way I had never seen - fucker had put out candles in the small living room/dinning room area, and even set the damn table. I looked around and had to stifle a laugh: he'd made a poor attempt (but an attempt nonetheless) of cleaning the rest of the place, which mostly meant he'd shoved shit under chairs and in corners, but the affect was charming. He emerged from the kitchen, wearing the same outfit I was, but fucker had thrown on a jacket, believe it or not, and now he stood, handsome as fuck, smiling like some straight stereotype of 'dude-tryin'-to-get-pussy' and pretty much nailing it. His teeth shown, as did his skin, and I could smell his maleness, which seemed amplified by his cleanliness.

"Damn," I said, catching my breath. I was actually speechless.

"Hey," he said.

We just stood there.

"That the wine?" he said, stupidly, to the two bottles I held in my hands.

"Uh huh," I said, as he approached, taking them from me. "I didn't know we were going formal."

He actually blushed, kind of stammering - then he said, "You be comfortable," turning his back to me, heading into the kitchen. Suddenly I was kicking myself, and so I said, "Hey - Jayson."

He turned. "Yeah?"

"You look really good man."

"Thanks," he said, blushing some more.

"Thanks for cleaning up, too."

He just shrugged.

"Gonna open this - let it breathe - I kind of need a drink."

"Me too," I said, forcefully, trying to let him know I was just as wound up as he was.

He headed to the kitchen, which smelled great, and I snuck into the bedroom. Fucker had made the bed and even attempted to fold his clothes neatly in a corner and on the only chair in the cramped space. It made me smile, and I hopped over the bed and rummaged into my closet, pulling out the only real suit jacket I had, which I'd used out of college for interviews. It didn't smell too musty - so I closed my eyes, shook the fucker out, then tossed it on. From there I headed into the bathroom to check it - and damn if I didn't look good, too.

Suddenly I was nervous like a fucking teenager going on his first date, and I broke into a sweat - but then I realized we liked sweat and we liked smelling the way we did, so fuck the mouthwash - just try to have fun.

I headed out of the bathroom. I heard him at work in the kitchen so peaked around the corner. There were two glasses of wine glistening in the candlelight, right at the edge of the counter.

"Both these for me?" I asked.

"Greedy pig," he said, turning. Then he saw me and stopped - smiled. Big.

"Yeah - I am," I said, lifting up one glass. "Thought we already established that."

"Not sure we have," he said, lifting his own glass.

"Really?"

"I mean - not sure we know how greedy you are and how much of a pig you are."

"All you got to do is ask, Daddy," I said, meaning it.

"I intend to."

We clinked the glasses. I drank - then drank some more. Then drank some more.

"Take it easy."

"Fuck that - I'm nervous," I said, speaking my truth.

"Me, too," he said. Then he dropped the knife and approached. "You okay with this, Stewart," he said, motioning around him to the production.

"Yeah - I am. Makes me feel special."

"You are special, kid," he said, then he kissed me. Fucker was all into kissing which really had me off balance AND wound up - it was completely unexpected.

"You okay, Jayson?" I said, meaning more than our immediate surroundings.

"Think I am - gonna talk about that I hope. Tonight."

"That's the point," I said, encouraging him. "But damn you look good, Daddy."

"Don't make me lose track of my intention."

I just smiled.

"You really like calling me that, Stew?"

"Yeah - kind of. I mean - it's a thing for me anyway, in - you know - fantasies and shit. But you're more than a fantasy, Jay - you're like a real live ... you know ... well, fuck - you're a hot Daddy."

"Ain't got no kids," he said - then corrected himself - "that I know of. Not sure I want 'em actually. Not sure of a lot of things."

"Well," I said, moving away from this topic for now. "I'm sure I'm hungry."

"Me too," he said, taking his own swig of wine, then putting it down. "This is gonna come up quick."

"You need help?"

"Naw - I got this - like to cook - but open that second bottle - and keep my glass filled."

I loved getting orders and showed it, snapping to it, then watching him move gracefully around the kitchen, which was quite a sight, given his size. His hands seemed huge, but worked with lightning speed.

He passed me the salad and a jar of dressing he'd made. "Dress this - not too much, though." I did, then set it on the small table. Then I sat, watching, as he brought the steaks up, sauteeing shrimp in another pan, and tossing some oven fries in a bowl of seasoning. He was sweating now, which I found sexy, and I wondered if he would take off the jacket - but he continued and then, in a magician's moment, he plated and presented it.

"Fuck," I said, kind of in awe.

"I got moves," he said, raising his arms up, trying to look all swole, but he just looked stupid in that suit-coat. Still, the pose let me see the pit-stains under his arms and I caught my breath.

"Fuck, kid - you really like this shit, don't you?" he asked, keeping his arm up, noticing me noticing the circle of stain under his arm.

"Totally," I nodded, as he held the pose, looking down on me. I tried to be who I was - not completely subservient, but a submissive freak.

"Let's eat," he growled, pulling a couple of bottles of Pellegrino from the fridge to complete the setting. Then he sat, hard, and dove in.

"Guess we ain't sayin' grace, huh Unc?"

"This Thanksgiving?"

"Nope - though, I'm thankful for you."

That stopped him.

"And I'm thankful for you, kid." He raised his wine glass and I raised mine. "Thank you for letting me crash here, Stewart." We toasted, and drank. Then he raised his glass again -

"And, for the other stuff."

I just smiled, then the food smells overcame me and I realized I was hungry as shit. Pretty soon we were eating like wolves. No matter the moment and the candles and the wine, it was men at the table - men who liked being men -relished it. And so, we ate like men - with abandon and pleasure and more than a few deep belches. It was a great fucking meal, few words were said, but so much was shared.

((((()))))

As we slowed, I got up and pulled the second bottle of wine. I figured a buzz would help if we were gonna talk - and I knew I needed one to get the ball rolling. I refilled Jay's glass and mine - lifted another toast -

"Fucking great meal," I said.

He nodded.

"Wish I could cook like this."

"Ain't that hard," he said, drinking a big mouthful. "It's less about recipes and more about - you now - process. I could teach you."

"Cool."

There was a pause.

"So," he said.

"So - " I replied.

Another pause. Then, I went there.

"I kinda thought you were straight."

"So did I. I mean - I still think I am."

"Really?" I said, doubtfully, and he smiled at that.

"Probably not - but - like - I don't know."

"Tell me."

"Seriously - I don't know. I mean - like, all my life it's been about pussy."

"There are different kinds of pussy," I said.

"I'm learning that," he said, winking at me.

Another pause. I was wondering whether to nail him on his bullshit or let him figure it out himself, and then he spoke: "I mean - I guess, technically, I'm bi - right?"

"Looks like it - at least."

"What does that mean, though? Do I have to make a declaration? Is that the rules - you guys gonna come for me if I don't blast out of the closet?"

He was half-joking, half-serious. So, I went with the joke.

"Well - I'll talk to the committee. I can probably get you a special dispensation since you're hot and hung."

He blushed red at that - but he also puffed up a bit. I was beginning to see that for whatever reason, the ladies in his life had done a number on him. Maybe he had a special affinity for cunts - I don't know - but every time I gave him a compliment it was like the first time he ever heard it, except what was sitting in front of me was a world class, grade A hunk of man-flesh, so I couldn't understand his fragile self-esteem. It softened my heart, which was already a big pile of mush, so I winked at him and said, "Look, Uncle Jay - you don't gotta do anything for anyone except yourself - and you don't gotta tell anyone anything. That's your business. I'm just trying to figure it out so - you know -"

"So you don't get hurt?"

That surprised me.

"Yeah - I guess. Yeah, absolutely," I said, nodding, then went on. "But also because - you know - I'm just trying to figure things out. Like is this just a fling on the rebound, because you're horny and Lorrie dumped you?"

"Her name is 'That Bitch'."

"Sorry, That Bitch."

Again, a pause. He looked away. "I mean - I thought it was just getting off at first but now it's not even close to that - I hope you understand that."

"I feel it."

"I feel it, too - dude, I wasn't lying to you - this afternoon - I mean the last few days but especially this afternoon - that's the best sex I EVER had."

Another pause.

"And, I want more."

"I want more, too," I said, declaring my own needs, but then circling back to him. "Look, Uncle Jay - I'm not sure how important it is that you declare yourself one thing or another. I'm not sure if you like sex with men or just sex with me - but I do care that it's kind of fucking you up a bit - I can tell that - so I want to help if ..."

He looked at me, kind of puppy dog-ish. It was like I had nailed the problem and now he wanted me to help him piece it together, so I went there.

"Can I ask you some questions?"

"You can ask me any question you want, Stewart. Seriously - I never felt more ready to answer questions than I do with you - and I got my own for you - lots of 'em."

"You want to go first?"

"No fucking way."

"Pussy."

"That's what this is about, kid," he said, and I laughed at that. We both did. That helped. So, I dove in.

"When did you get your first wet dream?"

"Early - like ten or eleven. Been a horndog ever since."

"Was it about a lady or a man."

"It was about my mom."

"That is fucking twisted."

"I know."

"And, kind of hot."

"I know!"

"Did you fuck around with guys at all - in school, or -"

"I mean - fuck around as in actually fuck? No. But early on we did all the things guys do - circle-jerk, shit like that. The girls thought we were gross and I was hard all the time - so, you know..."

"I do," I said, getting hard, and deciding not to hide it. I adjusted mine and that allowed him to adjust his. "So - did you do anything more with the guys?"

"Just Tim - he'd always want to do more. Pee games and sucking and stuff. I was kind of fucked up about that - you know young guys - plus I was into sports and all that bullshit, so..."

I nodded.

"Thinking about it, I kind of wished I had."

"I was that kid, Unc. Tim. That was me. I always wanted more."

He just smiled at that - face reddening a bit.

"But, once you started getting girls?" I asked.

"Then it was over."

"Any group sex?"

"Um - wow - what is this the first degree?"

"You said I could ask, stud - you said I could ask anything."

"Okay - you're right. Sorry."

"So?"

"Yeah - I mean - at the frat we would have these Saturday night parties and it was well known that down in the basement - in the back room - that just about anything could happen - and it did."

"Play with guys down there?"

"Naw - but a couple of times me and a bro would nail a chick." He looked away. He was rock hard now, and even in the candle-light I could tell he was leaking. "I mean - now that I think about it, those were my hottest memories." He looked at me. "You know - making eye contact with the dude, watching his sweat shine on his chest - egging each other one."

"You ever make a move on a dude then?"

"No - I mean - no. Stew I was fucked up, okay? Like a total jock. Kind of an asshole. Not proud of it. So I never would have done that."

"Did you want to?"

"Thinking about it now, fuck yeah - just wasn't an option for me, though."

"But - Jayson - those were your hottest memories of college, right?"

"Yeah -" he said, almost quietly. "They were."

"And since then? Ever hook up with dudes?"

"Not at all -"

"Really?"

"Hang on - there was this one time - fuck, haven't thought about this in years. On my first job - I was in the bathroom, down the hall from the offices. Taking a damn shit, you know? And this foot kind of starts tapping and I can't figure out what's going on and then I stand up and wipe and flush, and this hand comes under the stall and motions to me, and my cock just got hard as a rock."

"It's called Tea Room sex."

"What's a fucking Tea Room?"

"It's a bathroom - but the queens used to call them tea rooms so no one would know what they were talking about."

"He sucked me off. Older guy. Damn good blow job - fuck that, it was a GREAT blow job."

"Hot."

"It was - it was more about the location though - it was seedy. Could smell my own stank, you know?"

"I do," I said, perhaps too eagerly, and he caught that, so I went there. "And trust me, Unc - we're gonna get there, too. But let me finish my questions."

"This is turning me on - so bad."

"Me too - but let's let it burn."

"Just what I was thinking," he said, adjusting himself and drinking more wine. "Wish I had a blunt."

I smiled, getting up, showing my own obvious tent which made his eyes gleam. I went to my bedroom and came back with a box of blunts. Then I moved the chair around the table, closer to him.

"Dude - sweet," he said, smiling. "Stewie - you are a really cool dude, kid."

"I know," I said, smiling that smile I give to tops and this time it worked. Even though his stank had been halted by the shower, he gave off this new smell - maybe it was pheromones - I don't know. But it was cleaner, a heavier musk that just settled around his frame. The sweat in the kitchen was mingling with the sweat of our conversation and there was this aura...

"Jay," I said, lighting the blunt - "There is something about the way you smell, stud - so fucking mannish. Can't even describe it. Just makes me so hot -"

"Bitches have been complaining about it for years - I spent so much money on cologne and shit - fuck I hate that crap."

"Fuck cologne," I said, passing him the joint. This was going well. At the least, we were gonna go at it again, no matter where the conversation went, and even though I wanted ground rules, I was also a cock-hound so the longer the night wore on, the more that hound wanted to be fed. Then he surprised me again.

"I mean - that's one of the hottest things about this, Stew," he said, intensely, as he held the blunt. "Every relationship I ever been in I've been worried about my stink - covering it up and washing all the time and cologne and shit - listening to the ladies complain - it's a fucking pain in the ass and anyway, I like my funk -"

At that he lifted his arm, smelling the sweet smell of his fresher, sweaty pit.

"And it's hot as fuck to me that you don't care - that you fucking jive on it, kid, like I do - and not having to think about that bullshit - actually ENJOY it - is almost life-changing for me."

He was high - smiling like a big happy dog. He passed me the smoke.

"Last questions," I said, toking in a puff. "So - there were no other guys, other than the dude in the bathroom, right?"

"Right."

"And no group sex with your ladies?"

"They were all too uptight."

"Weird - I would peg you for having access to true sluts -"

"I know, right?" he said, grabbing back the joint, laughing. "But each one was more uptight than the last."

"Maybe you're shopping in the wrong store."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't fucking know - I don't know nothing about picking up chicks. I've only had sex with a girl once, and that was after a play rehearsal and pretty much sealed the deal for me."

"Must be nice - to know exactly what you want."

"Not always."

"What does that mean?"

"You'll see - I'm a - " I started to blush and then looked away. Now it was my time to get quiet and distant. "I'm a pretty twisted guy, Jayson. I mean - "

He reached over and touched my knee. "It's cool, kid," he said, softly. "Those are my questions for you and I'm family - and now I'm more than that."

I looked back at him. I nearly started to cry. I'd carried a lot of shame about my fantasy life and his support was meaningful.

"Seriously, Stewart," he said, quietly. "After this afternoon I don't think much is gonna shock me - I mean," he pulled back, suddenly, worried - "You're not into kids, are you?"

"Naw, fucker. Only men. Only men and the things men do."

"Cool. Here - shotgun," he said, putting the burning end of the joint in his mouth and blowing out. He held my neck as I sucked in the smoke. His touch relaxed me.

I pulled back, held it in, then blew it right into his face. He smiled at me.

"But, everything else is fair game," I said.

"Everything?"

"Yeah - everything."

"Hot," he said, considering that, then clearly getting even more turned on.

"Last question, Jay," I said. He nodded. "In the gym - do you check out the guys?"

"Duh - of course. What guy doesn't?"

"Actually, stud, LOTS of guys don't."

"I mean - come on, Stewie - don't you?"

"Yeah, but I'm gay, asshole!" I said, pulling the chair back to the other side of the table. I was getting way too horny and I wanted the conversation to continue - to come to some kind of resolution, at least. And now, more than ever, I wanted to answer his questions.

"So?" he said, trying to defend himself, poorly. "Kid - guys like to compare."

"Do they, Unc? What are you comparing? Cocks? Muscles? Ass?"

He blushed now. He seemed a little trapped so I thew a napkin at him - which made him jump. "Stop being that jock that was an asshole in college - you don't like that dude, do you?"

"Naw - I don't," he said, sheepishly.

"So - tell me."

"I mean -" haltingly. "I thought it was about competition - you know - who's bigger and shit, but now that you ask - I mean - I guess I do."

"Like - every time you're there?"

"Yeah - I mean - like I said, I thought all guys do."

"Tell ya what, Jayson," I said, getting to the end of my questions. "You said you'd take me to work out with you and I'd like that - seriously I would. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing and I want to put on more muscle. I was never a jock like you, so I bet you could teach me a lot. I want to get bigger - I could use your help. But the next time I'm there - the next few times - let's you and me keep an eye on who we think are the straight guys and see how much they actually look at the other dudes, 'kay?"

"Deal."

"And here's what I think. I think you're at least bisexual. I think you're as in to men as you are into women but probably haven't allowed yourself to be because - you know - because of the stupid jock shit - and now that you've had a real taste of what sex with men is all about, that part of you is coming out - like really coming out. With a vengeance. Maybe you repressed that part of you - it kind of sounds like you did - only you can answer that, though, not me. But, whether you're gay or not - not sure it matters. If you like pussy you're not technically gay in my book - but everything you describe tells me you have a thing for dudes, and now that you've got a freaky dude to play with, you're having the time of your life and finally getting something you want."

"I am."

"I am, what?"

"Having the time of my life. And, getting what I want. I mean - I know I'm getting what I want."

Then the look came again, but my questions were over. This was his journey to go on and he needed to be the one that made it. And at least 'the look' seemed less cloudy - less obscured. Now it looked intense and questioning - seeking and searching.

"Look, kid," he said, opening his hands. "Cards on the table. Here's my deal - but only time will tell - I mean - here's what I'm thinking, anyway, and have been thinking - and I'm not gonna lie - I been doing a LOT of thinking since you and I started fucking around." He leaned in, and the candlelight caught his face in the most amazing way. Sweat was forming on his brow, just a light sheen - and it was so damn sexy.

"From the minute I got my nut, I've been a dog - a horn-dog. When I was a teenager I came like four or five times a day." I raised my eyebrows and he nodded, aggressively. "Seriously. Like, once when I woke up, once in the shower, usually in the bathroom at school and at least once or twice at night - and that didn't include circle jerks and shit. Then when I got to college I was crazy horny - that's why my grades sucked - always chasing pussy. But the ladies never put out the way I wanted to - needed to. For a while I thought there was something wrong with me. I'd fuck this chick - maybe two or three times - then later that night I'd wake up and head down the hall and beat off in the bathroom - and then again the next morning if she didn't put out and she usually didn't. And then, once I graduated, it didn't abate - it got worse - but I was working so hard that whatever sex I had was never enough - fuck, it seemed like there was never enough time for the kind of sex and the amount of sex I wanted to have. I went to a doctor and my testosterone is off the charts, so that answered some questions, but he recommended therapy for sex addiction, but that seemed like bullshit to me because I didn't feel addicted - I just felt horny. Being a sex addict didn't make sense 'cuz the problem wasn't that I was getting too much. The problem was I wasn't getting enough."

To me, this felt like the great unburdening. He was fully vulnerable and sharing in a way he never had - not with a friend or anyone. At least that's what I imagined, but I'm pretty sure I was right. His face shown with this kind of free openness - like he was saying shit he'd always wanted to say but had never found the person who would listen.

"Most of the time my relationships ended because I kept pushing for sex and they just couldn't keep up. And in relationships ... you know ... that's when the fantasies kicked in - hard. But I've had fantasies all my life. Really dark shit. Which we can talk about - fuck, Stewart, I WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT - so bad. And the more I fantasized when I had a regular partner, the hornier I got and the hornier I got, the more the fantasies compounded and got twisted and anyway..."

He trailed off. He was looking at his hands.

"She dumped me because she said I was a freak. I don't think I'm a freak - I mean, who knows? Maybe I am? But I don't think being a freak is wrong, Stew - I think it's just something you are and for the longest time I thought I'd never find anyone I could freak with ... like truly and honestly freak - you know? No limits, is what I mean."

He looked up at me, slowly.

"No limits," I said, repeating his words.

"So - you know - I think you're right. I think I'm bi-sexual and the more I think about it - this week - the more I'm kicking myself for lost opportunities, but you know what else, kid?"

"What's that, Unc?"

"I'm not gonna miss THIS opportunity - no way - because what I REALLY think is that I'm a freak. What you've helped me to see is that basically I'd fuck any gender, as long as they wanted me to fuck them -"

"Kids, excluded."

"Kids excluded. But who I really want to fuck around with is someone else who is as sick and twisted as I am and then I landed here and I gotta say - and this is something I've wanted to say all week - needed to say - "

He looked at me again, sincerely.

"I'm sorry I looked at your phone. I really am. That was fucked up of me and I won't get in your shit again - I promise."

I think he was expecting me to accept his apology but I didn't want to because -

"But you know what, Stewart? I'm not that sorry, really. And I kind of wonder if you left your phone and passwords there for a reason or - I don't know - if you wanted me to know some shit about you and I'm gonna be honest, kid - the reason I looked at your phone is because I always sensed you were a twisted little fuck and being in proximity with you reminded me of all the times I'd feel your eyes on me but - whatever - I don't think even that matters, because I'm gonna say this straight to you, kid, when I saw those pics on your phone it was like a bomb went off. Like I'd met a fellow traveler or something, and suddenly all the shit in my brain that I'd kept under wraps exploded and - you know - this week has just been . . . fuck, kid." He paused. "You know?"

"I know," I said. It was a whisper. I wanted him to hear my desire in it and he did. "And I'm sorry/not sorry you checked my phone, too. It was a fucked up thing to do, but you're right - I always thought you were hot, Uncle Jayson. Never really allowed myself to fantasize too hard but I've been grooving on incest porn for years now -"

"Fuck - that's hot -"

"- so maybe you're right. Maybe I wanted you to know .... "

"Know what?"

"About me."

"So, is it time for me to ask the questions? Now that I've come out as bi?"

"Say it."

"I'm bisexual, Stewart. But you know that. Mostly, though, I'm a freak, and you know that, too. What are you?"

"A fag."

He nodded. "Is that what you want me to call you?"

"Sometimes."

His nostrils flared.

"What else?"

"I'm a freak, too."

((((()))))

I sat there, looking down at my hands. Suddenly, even after his disclosures, I felt vulnerable and scared. On line I'd had plenty of chats with anonymous dudes - but this was family and face-to- face.

And for all of his weirdness about his own shit - his own battles he was waging within himself - he had this way with me that had to do with his age and his size and his power that was just so intense. When he was within himself, and owned his space, he felt like this looming figure to me.

He was that, now, in the candlelight, thick arms crossed on his chest, staring at me like I was a specimen in a lab or something.

Then, he spoke: "Hey - you wanna sit on the couch? I need to stretch out - and my cock is hard as a rock and getting painful." Like a lot of things with him - things I found incredibly attractive - it wasn't really a question. It was a command, even though it was couched in suggestion. He rose, ripping off his jacket.

"Gotta get out of this thing, too - making me sweat."

"Is that a bad thing?" I asked, rising.

"Never," he said, snorting his pit and smiling.

He left the jacket on the chair and strode over to the couch, turning to me.

"I got to let his ass free - he needs air - hope ya don't mind." That glint was back in his eyes. He knew I didn't mind. He ripped open his pants and pulled out his cock - drool glistened from the head, dripping down to his knee.

I'd always loved my cock. Depending on how you measured it, I was just over seven and nice and straight - but my Uncle had one of those cocks that put guys like me to shame. It was easily twice as thick as my own and had to be a couple of inches longer - or more. It curved up, just a bit, but not too much - mostly it was straight unless it was hard as a rock, like it was now - now it curved up, like it was reaching for the stars or something - some kind of target that was out of reach. He was uncut and the damn thing was veined all over with a thick tube on the under-side that almost seemed like a deformity - except it wasn't cuz I'd felt the cum and piss spraying out of that tube. His passion seemed endless - his cock, capable of erection even after days of relentless shooting.

At the right angle it was the most beautiful cock I'd ever seen. At the wrong angle the damn thing looked evil - like a weapon that could cause real pain and real destruction. And at any angle, it was attached to a swarthy, just-this-side-of ripped stud that stood around 6' 1", and had just enough body-hair and just enough muscular definition to spring anyone - gay or straight.

I loved the fact that his cock was "both-and" not "either-or" and I loved the fact that it was attached to him - a guy I'd known all my life and that had always treated me with kindness, even if some of that kindness was distant.

But one of his best features were his legs - which were attached to just the most incredible muscled ass. His thighs were haunches - Centaur-like. I was dying to get to the gym to watch him on Leg Day. And of course - down below were the massive feet that got me in trouble in the first place. Standing there - looking at him - I realized that it was Unc's feet that had gotten me going on my foot fetish -

I remember when he used to sprawl out on the deck at his folks' summer place, and hoist his dirty-assed feet up on my knees. It was him being a dick, of course - that jock-ish asshole that he had learned to fight against. Except it was also the kind of thing that older family did to younger family. By then my scent-fetish had cemented itself and the wafting funk from his summer socks had only deepened my deviancy.

It occurred to me in that moment that our flirtation had been going on for a long damn time - and, perhaps (just perhaps) we had been destined to mate for years.

"Stew - STEW!" he said, snapping his fingers. "Eyes up, kid."

"Sorry - I was - "

"You really love cock, don't ya, Stewie," he asked, standing there, pants open.

"Yeah I - I mean -" then I looked him straight in the eye. "I really do, man. So much. I love cock so much it scares me sometimes."

He gripped his, stroking it real slow. Giving me what I needed.

"I want to know more about that, Stewart."

I just nodded.

"Where were you just now?" he asked.

"Thinking about you - your feet - summers when you used to put them up on my lap." I took off my jacket, hanging it on the chair, then moved toward him, but staying on the other side of the couch.

"Huh - hadn't thought about that in a while -"

"I been thinking about that a lot - for years, Unc."

His eyes glistened again.

"Take out your cock, son. I want to see yours, too."

I did - slowly - I bowed my head as mine sprung out, rock-hard. "Not as big as yours, Uncle," I whispered.

"Don't need to be, son. You got a nice cock on you - gonna want to get more familiar with it, if you don't mind."

I shook my head: "I don't."

I grabbed mine and we stood there, slowly jerking. The sweat stains under his pits had gotten larger. It was so hot, just standing there. I had to take my hand away.

"So turned on, Uncle."

"Yeah, kid - I know. So am I. So - perfect time to tell me more about you. I want to know."

He sat, legs spread, his cock just standing straight up from his crotch, jeans bunched around his ankles.

"Everything."

"Well...."

I didn't know where to begin. So, that's what I said.

"Why don't you tell me something that makes you freaky," he suggested.

So, I blurted out, "I'm into piss."

He didn't flinch. Couldn't tell if that was him bein' shrewd or actually unsurprised. He just flipped it immediately, so it was something between us. "You want me to piss on you?"

"On me." I said. Then, more quietly, but with greater intensity. "Or, in me."

"Fuck," he said. It was a statement of lust and I saw his cock twitch, splurting out a spew of lube. But then it turned into something else. He was shaking his head. "Fuck. Fuck."

I was quizzical now.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck," he said, in a litany, ending with a laugh, which only got louder. Then he continued "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck - the universe if a freaky place. "

"What?" I said. I wasn't worried I'd freaked him out - I just couldn't understand what was going on.

"Tell ya a story, kid," he said, smiling. "Get comfortable." I noticed his dick was shrinking, which was a disappointment, but then it wasn't, cuz I loved edging and I'd nearly shot a little while ago. I could use a rest, too.

He went on, kicking back.

"A weekend ago - me and Lorrie -"

"That bitch."

"Her. Well, I been beggin' her to get more kinky and our couple's counselor -"

I stifled a laugh and he shot me a look. It quieted me, but I was still smirking and I kind of think he liked that.

"Suggested we ask for what we wanted and I wanted to get into a piss scene so I been asking her to piss on me for a couple of weeks and I finally got her drunked up and she said yes. Now - like the only reason I wanted her to piss on me is because I really wanted to piss on her, but I knew that wasn't gonna happen unless she got to piss first - and anyway, I thought it would be hot. It wasn't all about me pissing on her - I mean, mostly it was - but not all - so she finally says yes and we go at it and -"

"Don't need details," I said, looking at my softening dick, and he caught on, laughing, but kept going.

"And I shot a nice big wad - really one of the better loads of the month - you know how that goes, and then I offer to eat her pussy cuz I want her to get off, too, cuz that's the whole point of sex, if you ask me, to make each other happy, which usually means helping each other get off, and anyway I don't like just getting off and not taking care of my partner, you know what I mean?"

And he eyes me to make sure and I say, "I do." And, I did. And liked hearing it.

"But she says she's too drunk and needs to lie down and I don't think that's a lie, but I can't tell, and anyway, I tried - tried to do right by her - but she wouldn't have it, and so I put her to bed and tucked her in and then went and watched SNL and jerked off again, but the next morning, I wake up, hard as a rock, thinking of the night before and smelling the piss on my skin and I figure now's my chance, so I nudge into her and try to get her going and she wakes up and then I ask if I can piss on her now, since I got a big old morning-piss hard-on and suddenly there's this silence - like this stillness - and the room gets cold, like a fucking witch had walked in and then she loses it. She fucking loses it. She starts screaming at me that I'm sick and perverted and abnormal and that I disgust her and the next thing ya know, I'm kicked out. Just like that."

I'm just sitting there listening.

He's got this weird look in his eyes - part lust, part hurt, part disgust with himself - part a lot of things. And then he says, "So, it's kind of funny that I get dumped because I wanted to piss on someone and then land in an apartment with a dude who wants to get pissed on."

"Sick, huh?" he says. Then he looks away - and I can tell, somewhere - deep down - he's pissed and hurt and still kind of confused, so I get up, and go over to him and kneel at his feet.

"You're not sick, man. You're normal. I mean - you're perverted - it looks that way, anyway. And fuck her. You can piss on me anytime you want. I want you to."

And then I lean down to take his cock in my mouth but he stops me. He's looking straight at me - full on. "You want to drink my piss, Stewart?"

"Yeah. I do. So fucking bad."

"I'll keep that in mind." His smile was devilish and lewd, and his cock flexed again. "But, we're not finished talking and I ain't got to piss right now."

So, he ruffed me on the head - real loving like, but also nodded for me to get back on the other side of the couch, so I got up and headed in that direction, but then he stopped me with his voice.

"However - if you get me my wine and refill my water, my need to piss will probably change later down the line."

I just nodded, intently. In that moment I knew we were going to the next level. More than that, I knew I liked it when he told me to do things - I liked taking care of him - was turned on because taking care of him meant I got what I wanted and needed. I filled his water glass to full, emptied the second bottle into our glasses, gave him his and then sat down with my own. He took a huge gulp, finishing half the water glass, all the while not taking his eyes off of me.

He belched, then asked, "What else?"

I was wracking my brain, but then realized we'd only scratched the surface, so I went on. "Well - I'm not done about piss," I said.

"Oh?" He was curious now.

"No - so - you know the terms Top and bottom, right?" He nodded. I went on anyway. "A top is a guy more like you - I mean, you still got to figure out what you want and don't want, but my gut is that your more of a Top. You like to fuck."

"I do," is all he said.

"And I like to bottom - like to get fucked." I paused, considering my words. "But Top and bottom can be more than just fucking and getting fucked. Some guys like to be in charge - you know? And some ... don't. They, uh -" I felt myself getting red, but then got pissed off at myself, so I took a deep breath, focusing my thoughts. "Some guys, don't. Some guys like for other guys to be in charge." My eyes slowly raised to his, trying to hold his gaze. It was tough. He never blinked. I did, though. Couldn't help it. "And some guys - they - um - they don't see why other guys have to do stuff - like ... "

I was struggling for words.

"Just tell me, Stewart. It's safe, man."

That helped. Hearing that. A lot. But what also helped was the fact that his cock was getting hard again - fast - and it was clear to me why it was getting hard again. He understood - or was catching the drift.

"Like - say, if some weekend, you're sitting there, watching the game, having a few beers, and need to take a piss - some guys would say that a Top - or, maybe, a guy like you - shouldn't have to get up to go to the bathroom. Shouldn't have to go to all that trouble when they have - you know - a guy like me around."

I said it. The last a whisper. I couldn't look at him as I said it - but once I had said it I could, and again he just kept looking at me.

"So - what you're saying," he said, adjusting his nuts, "Is that if I need to take a piss, then -"

"That's why I'm here."

"Uh huh." I could see the arousal shudder through his body - it's like his whole frame exuded a momentary aura that revealed his need.

"Like, just now - when you told me to get your water - that feels good to me, man. And, natural. It feels right that you're in charge, is what I'm saying."

"All the time?" he asked.

"I mean - it's tricky. I haven't done this kind of thing on a 24/7 basis - I mean, I've fantasized about it. But, I've also read about it, you know. It's not easy to stay that structured all the time. Like - tonight - you made me dinner. I fucking loved that, Unc - so much - and would love for that to happen again."

"Me, too."

"And that seemed, right, too - so I think that there's give and take - and you kind of have to be in touch with the moment - I mean - shit, I don't know, Uncle Jayson - I never been in a relationship before -"

I had suddenly gotten self-conscious and maybe a little overwhelmed and showed it -

"Shh - shh - Stewie, take it easy." He smiled at me. "I get it - just asking questions is all. You're doin' good, man. So good. I'm learning so much and I like listening to you. I want your perspective. You're teachin' me shit."

I nodded, trying not to feel dumb. I don't know why I got overwhelmed. Then, he spoke up.

"Like earlier today - when you were just hanging around here, naked. Is that - like - something that feels natural to you, kid - and that kind of reinforces who's in charge?"

"Yeah - like that. Just like that," I said, nodding too much, but also smiling, because he had figured it out and it was easier to talk examples than fantasy.

"So - let me ask you - would you feel more comfortable if you took your pants off."

I just smiled, brightly.

"Take your pants off, Stew," he said. Then, he changed position, leaning forward. "Actually, take off all your clothes, kid. I want to see you naked. I like you naked, okay?"

"Okay."

"I mean - get naked, Stewart. Now." His voice was quiet and firm. He was forceful, coming into his role.

"Yes Sir," I said, and I did - unbuttoning and then pulling off my shirt - shirking my pants, putting them over the back of the couch. I was naked. It helped - so much. And he saw that it did. It immediately relaxed me.

"Leave the socks," he said. They were dirty. I did what he told me to do.

"Get comfortable."

I did. I was rock hard again. He was hard, too, and looking at me with an admiring eye.

"So this way - what I'm getting - is that this makes it easier to fuck you, if I want to fuck you."

"Yes, Sir," I said. There wasn't a lot of submission in my voice - but I was trying to be direct, too.

"Show me your hole, Stew," he said, and I lifted my legs up. "Play with it."

I stuck my fingers in it, played around, then pushed in deep. It made me shudder. Then I pulled them out.

"Show me."

I held them out to him. He quickly reached across the couch and grabbed my wrist, pulling my fingers into his nose. He snorted - there was no response. He let go of my hand, looking at me.

"Let me see your hole again."

I lifted up my legs, compliantly. Then he spit on his fingers - two of them - and pushed them into me. I grunted, responding, which he liked. He pushed in, roughly, but not too roughly, working around, never keeping his eyes off me, learning my insides.

"Oh God. Oh God that feels good."

"You like me playin with you hole, Stewart?"

"Yes. So much."

"Another reason to be naked - just play with it when I want."

"Yes - fuck yes."

Then he pulled out, looking at his clean fingers. He sniffed them. Then tasted them - there was no response.

"Fucking hot," is all he said, and leaned back.

I eventually put my legs down - then righted myself and sat on the couch, cross-legged, rock hard, comfortable - a little dazed.

"I got another question," he said, beginning to see the benefits of being in charge. He didn't wait for me to invite it - he just spoke it. "How come, right now - and every time I fuck you - like every time I fuck you in the ass - you're as clean as a whistle?"

"I've been douching."

"What?"

"Douching - cleaning out. So - you know - I'm ready. And so it doesn't get all gross when you're fucking me."

"Define gross -"

"Sorry - wrong words - that's what most guys think about a shitty deal - that's what it's called."

He moved on. "So when?"

"In the bathroom. It's not that hard - I'm pretty good at it, too. I mean - some guys, they need to clean out a lot - some guys barely need to clean out at all - "

"Which are you?"

"The latter - I mean - the last - I barely need to clean out at all."

"Huh -"

I waited. He was pensive, eyeing me up and down, then grabbing at his cock absentmindedly, it was like a worry-ball for him. He looked at his dick, pawing it in earnest now, then looked out at that distant place of his. Then he turned and looked at me. His cock was rock hard, now. It was like a staff - I couldn't take my eyes off it.

"Stewart," he said, decisively. "I'm thinking that your, uh - cleaning out - the douching - I'm thinking that's the kind of thing that should be done with my involvement. Going forward. Is that understood?"

"Sure Unc - I mean - yes Sir." As this sunk in it became even more exciting - profoundly so. "Yes. Daddy - I think that's - " I couldn't finish the sentence.

"Yes, Sir," I said, whispering my desire. "I think that's how it should be.....Sir?"

"What, kid?"

"I mean - sometimes piss is really good for that. It's almost perfect - because it's the same body temperature and sterile and ..."

"It's hot as fuck, pissing up some twisted guy's ass?"

"Yessir - so hot - so hot getting filled up with a man's piss." I gulped, swallowing - nearly hyperventilating now. I tried to think clearly. I shook my head. Had to keep going. Had to finish this journey.

"But sometimes it's gross, Sir - Jay - I mean - it can be."

"How?"

"Like - when you - you know, evacuate."

"Where do you do that?"

"When I'm alone - in the shower - recently just in the toilet. Anyway - there can be -"

"Stewart," he said, still holding his cock, leaning over the couch. I stopped, and looked at him.

"We're gonna talk about shit by the end of the evening, is that clear?"

"Yessir," I said, nodding, and also completely relieved. I think he saw that relief.

"And, I'll be the judge of gross. It will be hot pissing up your hole and then watching you while you let it all out - or, I could hold you while you let it out - or you could let it out all over me - if I told you to do that. If I told you to do it you'd do it, right?"

I nodded. He was taking ownership. With such ease. What do they say in the movies? Dreams really do come true.

There was a long silence as he looked at me, judging my reaction which, by this time was so aroused my cock felt like it was vibrating.

"And anyway - me being involved in the cleaning of your ass also means I can tell you not to clean your ass. What happens if you don't douche?"

"Nothing - usually - until something does."

"Something?"

"You fuck me dirty."

"Hot," he said, his voice rumbling and raspy. "Fucking hot."

I just nodded. He took the glass, drank it, held it out. I stood up, taking it from him, getting a refill. My hands were shaking - I was vibrating. I handed it to him and he grabbed it, holding my hand.

"You got a pretty cock, kid - really pretty. You are a very pretty boy, Stewie." He grabbed my cock when he said that, squeezing it - feeling it - like he was getting used to it for the first time.

I pretty much whimpered like a second-string cheerleader who just got a compliment from the quarterback. I turned bright red - I know I did - my entire body flushed and my face burned.

"You're cute as fuck, too, little nephew. Cute as fuck and kinky as fuck, which is a rare combo."

He motioned for me to sit - and motioned for me to drink from my glass, too. I did - finishing it and then looking for him at direction.

"You may as well load up, too, kid. Think we're gonna have some fun tonight. He drank half his glass, and I refilled mine. Then I finished my wine, mostly to settle my nerves, but that didn't work, cuz I just got more buzzed and more horny.

"You done a lot of piss scenes?" he asked.

"Not a lot - you?"

"None - the one with That Bitch don't count. You ever drank a man's piss before?"

"Yeah - once - I did okay but then I choked. He went slow at first, but then let loose, and I couldn't take it. He ended up pissing all over me - on my face - he soaked me."

"Hot."

"It was - I mean - mostly." I was searching for words. I looked at him but he refused to step in at this point - I was on my own. "What I mean is - I think I could do better and like it more if it was a guy I liked - you know - and respected - had ... feelings for. I think I would love that," I said, with emphasis. I wanted him to understand I was talking about a guy like him.

"Practice makes perfect."

I nodded.

He changed the subject.

"Would you really let me fuck you anytime I want?"

"Yes," I said. "But it's not about letting you do anything to me, Sir - it's about you doing to me what you want to do - and me not having a say in it - or much of one. There's a difference."

"I know - I'm wrapping my head around that - I've never had that kind of -"

"But you've fantasized about it, haven't you? Tell the truth, Unc - with your sex drive - isn't that something you've fantasized about?"

He just looked at me - he wasn't caught, per se - more marveling at my understanding of his drives and desires.

"Yeah, kid - I have - I've fantasized about that exactly - "

"Just not with a dude -"

"No - not with a dude - "

"But can I ask, Jay, now that you've found a guy that will give you exactly what you want - exactly what you have been fantasizing about it - does it matter that it's a guy?"

"No - fuck no. Actually it's better - because fucking a guy is kind of like fucking me - which sounds weird but what I'm saying is I know how horny I am all the time so ... it's hard for me to explain, but it's just SO hot fucking you, Stewart because I GET you - you're a guy - and because you're a guy you know how to make a guy - I mean, me - feel good."

We sat in silence for a while.

"And I know what you want, Stewie. You want the same things I want. You want to go all the way, just like I do.

"Uh huh -"

"Would you be more comfortable on the floor, Stewart?"

"Yessir," I said, and needed no more suggestion than that. I slid to my knees. I looked at his feet, longingly. Then, I took action, figuring it would be easy enough for him to tell me 'no' if he wanted to.

I crawled the few feet on my hands and knees, and leaned over, nuzzling his feet, sticking my ass up high in the air so he could see it - see me - and see what I was. He was wearing his boots - I kissed them and touched them. I was in a haze.

"Do you want me to take these off, Sir?"

"Yes. I do."

I took one in my hands, putting it between my thighs - placing his heel in my balls, cautiously, but obviously. I began to unlace his boot, slowly, enjoying the moment, and making sure I was giving him one that was unique - memorable, hopefully.

"Do you want to be on your knees because it's closer to my cock?"

"Yessir. Also - it's easier for you to access my mouth."

"In case I want a blow job - or have to take a piss."

"Yessir. But if I can speak freely, Dad?"

"Always -"

I was working his laces off, then grabbed the back of his boot, pulling up. It slipped, and then I pulled it off. My nose was immediately struck by a sharp tang - not nasty at all, just sweaty: the smell of a clean foot in a clean sock that has been getting hot all night. I leaned down, breathing in the aroma, and he toyed with my face and lips, rubbing the underside of his foot on my face. Then I backed off, intent on finishing the task, but riding high on waves of sensuality and fantasy. I pulled up the other booted foot, placed it firmly between my thighs. This time he pushed in just a bit, and I clenched at the testicle discomfort, making sure that he understood I welcomed it, just the same. I wanted him to know I was his to use - I couldn't believe I had found a man that I loved and trusted who would enjoy me in the way I had always wanted to be enjoyed.

"I mean - I'm not always gonna be on my knees - or even naked, I think. It's the kind of thing - I'm guessing here - that shifts, if you know what I mean. Like - right now - I'm so fucking horny, Jay - and your cock is so fucking hot, and you are so fucking hot, and all of this is so fucking hot - I just want to be on my knees all the time - I want to stay here all night, until - "

"Until I take you to bed and fuck your brains out," he said.

I nodded.

I finished the second boot, pulling it off. He pulled his foot back to the floor and leaned forward. Then he did something surprising. He grabbed my head with his entire catcher's mitt of a hand and pushed me gently into his feet. The intention was clear. I fell into my passion, moaning softly, licking and sniffing the socks, whispering a 'thank you' that I'm sure he heard. He kept petting my head - comforting me while also enjoying all of the possibilities that I presented.

"I think I get it, Stewart. What's your describing is some kind of - lifestyle - it's a relationship - and it may not be easy to figure it out - all the time - the difference between when it's just us dudes, hanging, playing video games, and when I need to have your lips wrapped around my cock, drinking my entire load of beer piss on a Super Bowl Sunday."

I just nodded, moaning, pushing my face into his feet while also arching my back, pushing my ass up in the air.

"Fucking pretty, pretty, nasty boy," he growled, quietly, moving his hand off my head and down my back - such a strong, but gentle, gesture. His fingers landed on my hole, which he toyed with, lightly, continuing to explore and understand what I presented to him. Then he slowly rose up, bringing his hand under my chin, and bringing my face to his.

"We'll figure it out - right now, it's new - to both of us. We don't know how long - we don't know anything. Well - we're getting to know more and more, and that's good," he said, kissing me gently on the lips. "And thank you for your honesty - it's new to me, too. But I figure if we keep talking -"

"Talking is important," I whispered, repeating something I'd read somewhere - but not withholding my lust in that moment - not by a bit.

"We'll be fine."

He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. My hands absently touched and massaged his feet. We really just sat there like that for minutes - many minutes. Taking each other in and seeing each other in new roles: him seated, nonchalantly dominant, me on my knees, naked, expectant and happy to be exactly where I was.

"I been thinking," he said, eventually, "about that douching and what happens when I tell you to stop doing it."

I caught the assumptive nature of the statement. My eyes showed him I did.

"And me fucking you dirty," he said.

I just nodded, barely.

"By your - uh - description of how things are gonna be ... when it comes to certain things," he said, whispering now, losing the train of thought, cock literally flexing, almost soaked with pre - it was so appealing - my mouth was open and I'm sure I was drooling. He reached for it again, absently, gripping it. Not stroking it - just holding it. My eyes sparkled as he looked at me and said what I knew he was going to say.

"All I got to do is tell you to clean me off, and you will."

"Yessir," I said, breathlessly. I thought I was gonna cum.

"With your mouth," he said.

"What other way would there be, Uncle Jay?" I asked.

He thought about that - considering his response. There was the obvious response and the not- so-obvious response, and he took the latter.

"Well - lots, of course," he said, jerking his cock, slowly working it. Now it was a carrot to be earned, he'd learned, and as such, his hesitancy had disappeared. "And we may use them - but I'm pretty sure there's only one way that would ... uh ... align with our .. desires."

My eyes were glazed. I was lost. I just nodded.

He leaned forward, lips to my own - eye to eye.

"What you described earlier was a urinal, Stew. Do you want to be my urinal?"

"Yes, Uncle Jay," I said without pause.

"Do you want to be my toilet, too, Stewart?"

I was about to cry now - so much was welling up in me - I whimpered, closing my eyes as his forehead touched my own. "Mmmmnnnnyes, Sir."

Then he touched my face, caressing my cheek - there was so much tenderness that countered the deviance we were opening the door to.

He leaned into my ear, lips touching my lobe.

"Stewart," he whispered.

"Yes, Uncle Jay?"

"Do you want to eat my shit?"

"Yes, Sir," I said, kissing his ear, moaning.

"You want to be my toilet fag?" he grunted, quietly.

"Yes, Sir."

"My shit-pig?"

"Yes - so bad."

"Have you fantasized about this?"

"So much - for so long."

"Since when?"

"Since I got my nut - " I said, pulling back, breathing heavily now, wanting to share.

"Tell me -"

"Remember - I said I was 'that guy'? You had a guy named Tim - and I said, I was 'that guy' - that I couldn't get enough."

"Yeah," he said, eyes bright and electric.

"I would suck him off. He kind of treated me bad - not terrible but just rough - like he hated me because he liked using me so much - but it was hot to me - so hot - to be used that way -" I kissed him, deeply then, trying to make him understand the complexities of my desires: that rough was as hot as tender; that hate was as intense as love.

"Then one day he just told me he was gonna fuck me and he did - it hurt - bad - but I loved it, so much - like I was born to do it. Loved making him cum - feeling his jizz inside of me. From then on I always had grease. Didn't know any better - figured fucking ass was that easy and it was - for like weeks - then one day he bent me over and pushed in. Right away I knew I was full of shit but I liked the feeling and he kept pounding me - he starting cumming immediately, and then you could smell it - and you know how you sometimes LIKE the smell of your own shit, Uncle?"

"I do," he said. He was listening so intently. He was back to pawing his cock - had shifted up so his legs were spread and his balls hung heavily over the cushions.

"So it smelt fine to me but as soon as he came he got pissed - really fucking pissed - shouting at me and calling me names and saying it was gross - and then he grabbed me and just shoved it in my face - shoved his dirty dick in my mouth and told me to clean him up - and I did - I was so turned on I shot my load right then and when he saw that he shoved his cock down my throat - his pubes were covered in my crap - and suddenly what had just been hot became disgusting cuz I'd just cum so I started to gag - like, really bad, and I pulled back and puked it all back up. He freaked out even more - he even hit me, I think - I can't remember - it's like one of those memories you've played out so many times, that you're not sure what's real or not, but then he ripped my shirt off and used it to clean himself and threw it in my face and split - like running - saying all sorts of mean shit."

I was out of breath - telling that story - the one story I'd never told anyone.

He was breathing hard - mouth open, lips ripe and wet.

"Since then - you know -"

"No - I don't know - tell me. Tell me exactly."

"Since then - I think about that all the time. Beat off to it. Change the scenarios."

"Ever done it - since?"

"No," I shook my head, quickly. "Wanted to - it's not easy -"

"You play with your own shit?"

"Yeah - ."

"Beat off with it?"

"Sometimes, yeah. When I'm really wound up. You?"

"Yeah."

"Ever done it - with anyone?"

"No - not once. Today was the first time -"

"Did you like it, Unc?"

"So much - fucking turned me on so much."

"Do you want to feed me, Uncle Jay?"

"Yeah. Fuck yeah, I do. I want to shit in your mouth."

Hearing a man say that kind of stunned me. But it was also my fantasy come true.

"Oh fuck," I said, breathlessly. "That turns me on so much."

He just looked at me like I was a unicorn or something - and I couldn't help myself. In that moment I had to get at his ass to show him - not to tell him, but to show him.

"Can I eat your hole, Sir?"

He stood up - contemplating me, and my position. I think he was thinking about more talk, but his cock was telling him the conversation was over. I enjoyed seeing such a strong and intoxicating man at war with himself. I liked that things weren't coming easy for him - and that he was taking the time to cautiously move forward, into new territory.

Eventually, the cock won, but with a caveat.

"We're gonna keep talking, kid. Tomorrow morning, first thing, after we get our nuts - if we get our nuts. Understood?"

"Yessir."

"But yeah - right now you can lick my hole. Of course you can." He stepped out of his pants, and I pulled them off his feet. He unbuttoned his shirt, but left it on, hanging open. Then he raised up his arms, flexing for me, which just sprung me so bad I nearly lost my balance. He was grooving on how hot I thought he was - and for the record, he was fucking hot.

Then he just turned around and crawled up on the sofa, putting his chest on the back of the thing. He reached back, spread his hairy ass, and said, "Have at it."

Talking was over -

I dove in, groaning, sucking on the lips, all with the new intention of our clearly stated desires. He responded in kind, urging me on, grunting with pure pleasure.

"Eat my shit-hole, son - do it - make Daddy feel good."

We were back into our twisted family roles, which I loved.

"Fuck Dad - can taste your grunge -" I grunted, even though it was barely the truth. He was too clean.

"More for ya in there, kid," he encouraged. "Go deep."

I did.

We were in synch. Him pushing his ass back in my face, cock flopping, me licking, sucking and shoving my tongue into him as deep as I could.

I barely heard what he said next - but I did hear it and it drove me wild. It was a bare whisper.

"Daddy's got a surprise for you, son," he said and I cried out, ecstatic.

"Awwwwfuck - awwfuck," I grunted, then felt him pushing out, so tentatively, with his ass lips. I opened my mouth, beginning to freak out that we were starting this already, but then I realized he was just giving me access to go deeper, which I did. The taste was tart and harsh - but so fucking good. There was no pungency - yet - in the walls of his being. I grabbed at his cock like a handle - suddenly I had the urge to fuck HIM dirty and I wondered if he would allow me, but one buck of his hips answered that question for me and I brought the other hand up to his hole, beginning to toy and play with it. When that happened one of his hands shot around and gripped my wrist - it was almost painful.

"Let go," he grunted, and I did, immediately. Then he let go of my wrist and pushed himself away and up. He was standing, back to me, ass at face level, huffing - catching his breath, and I realized he was willing himself not to cum.

Then he turned, slowly. He was red-faced, sweaty, but gaining composure.

"Don't touch my cock - unless I tell you."

"Yessir."

"Don't want to blow - not yet."

"Understood - Yessir."

"You got me going, Stewart."

"That's my job, Sir."

He nodded. He flicked my cock with his foot and I flinched.

"Same here, Daddy - so close, too. Don't want to cum until you do - "

"Or I tell you to."

"Yes Sir," I gasped, quickly. "Yes, Sir - yes, Sir, exactly," I said urgently, signaling that this was precisely the way it should be.

He sat back down, kicking up his legs, grabbing them and pulling them up.

"Get back to work, Stewart. I like to watch you eat my shit-hole."

I dove back in - going slowly again, licking and probing, trying to loosen him up, but taking my time. I loved his ass - couldn't get enough of it. Used the time down there to imagine more of what could occur. He relaxed, eyes rolled up in his head, mumbling groans of ecstasy. "Found me an ass pig - fucking finally found me an ass pig - a fucking shit pig - a toilet boy -"

I grunted, nodding, then grabbed his ass and spread the cheeks, trying to get even deeper. Then he adjusted, shifting up, pushing my head away. His eyes were slits - reptilian. "Give me your hand."

I did.

He grabbed the wrist again, firmly this time - but with tenderness.

"Now - give me the finger."

I was confused, but did as he was told, flipping him the bird. Then he pushed that finger into my mouth. "Get it wet, son. Dad told you he had a surprise." I shook, knowing what came next - everything was on overload - this was everything I had always wanted.

He pulled it out, and I made sure it was soaked, pushing spit down my digit, covering it.

He turned my hand around and pulled it toward his hole. I stayed focused on the target, the tip right at his hole. I looked up at him. "Go deep," he said, and I pushed. He sucked in air, and I whispered, "Relax, Uncle - it'll feel good - push out -" and he did and I pushed in, my fingers clenched against his hole. He still gripped my wrist. The grip tightened. It was a signal. I looked up. More lizard eye.

"Dig around," he said, and I did - began to, pushing in and feeling. It was hot - wet - and it wasn't empty.

"Fuck, Daddy."

"I know - "

"AwwwwDad -"

"I know, son - don't worry - just us guys -"

"Just us guys," I whispered, my heart pounding.

"No one's got to know," he grunted, eyes conspiratorial.

"No Sir - no one - just you and me."

It was real - this was real - and knowing it was, knowing that there were no excuses - no hesitations, I pushed in harder, more intently, digging in him now, finding his prostate, which made him grunt and made his cock spurt.

"Fuck kid -" he whispered - "You keep pushing that button you can be in there all day -"

"Get my whole hand in there, Unc - bet you could take it - big tough mother fucker like you," I grunted, being the Top that I knew I could be with the right man - in the right circumstances. "Reach all the way in you and pull out your grunge - no need for you to shit at all, Sir - I'll pull it right out of you."

"Awwwwfuck. Awwwwwwjesusfuckingchriststew - so rotten - fucking rotten pig."

"Yeah - I am Unc - your pig - do anything you say."

He grabbed my wrist again, this time stopping me.

"Then pull it out and show me. But nice and easy, Stewie. We're gonna take this nice and slow, got it?"

"Yeah - I know - " and then I pulled as he pushed, and the warmth was more than skin and finger and then, slowly, my finger slipped out. He held my hand, raising it up. My middle finger stuck up, straight, and there was grunge on it. Not a lot - but more than enough to be enough. We both stared at it.

"Son," he said, seriously, lowering his legs, and pulling himself up. "It's time to learn about your Daddy's secrets - his darkest secret."

"Yes Sir - " I whimpered. I was about to cry now - and I showed it. Tears of joy, but tears nonetheless.

"You gotta learn how to make your father happy, do you understand that?"

"Yes, Dad," I groaned.

"It doesn't happen all at once - you got to get used to it -"

"I know," I cried - frustrated. I wanted it all - right then - but that was unrealistic.

He leaned in, eyes burning into my own.

"Sniff it."

I blanched, but only for a moment. I leaned in, sniffing. He pulled my head in closer to my own finger, which he controlled by controlling my hand with his bigger, stronger mitt.

"Again."

I sniffed again. The scent was strong - foreign. Sharp. Even harsh. I pulled back.

"Tell me."

"Harsh - it's harsh."

"Gonna get sick?"

"No Sir," I said, determined - trying to be the boy he needed me to be. I wanted to show him how much I needed this even though it was disgusting. Then he caught me by surprise - he pushed my finger under his nose and took a long snort.

"Smells good to me, kid - I mean - don't know what your problem is - it smells good to me." That made me moan and he liked that. His eyes had an evil sheen. He was embracing this - enjoying it.

"Try again - for me, kid. Do this for me."

I looked at him and saw so much in his eyes: perversion, deviance, tenderness, profound need, tentative control, power waiting to be unleashed. I wanted all of that - and hesitancy dropped away. I closed my eyes. Then I leaned in, putting the tip of his finger under my nose and breathed in. It was a long, slow breathe, done with intention. The smell was harsh, but this was no longer about scent - it was about him. When I was done I looked up at him, letting out my breathe.

"It smells like you, Sir."

He nodded. Then with gentle firmness, he pushed the finger to my lips, and I opened to them. My finger sunk into my mouth. My mouth had been watering and was full of saliva. The taste was actually better than the smell - more manageable. Our nose is connected to such deep and dark memories - the relief of moving away from the scent of his toxicity and ingesting it, instead, felt like a gift.

"There you go, son. Such a good boy - made a mess up Daddy's butt and now your cleaning it up, aren't you."

"Ummmhmmm," I responded, revving up again - so horned up - so turned on.

"And when it's clean, you're gonna wash it down with Dad's piss, right?"

My eyes flew open, and I nodded - expectantly, eagerly sucking on my finger as he released me and stood up. His cock swayed, drooling, in front of my face. My heart raced. I was shaking all over, and I pulled out my finger, showing it was clean, then grabbed this thick thighs and opened my mouth.

"I never done this before," he said, slipping out of Daddy role and into partner role.

I nodded - trying to show encouragement.

"Don't take it too deep - may blow -"

"I know. I'm just gonna hold the head in my mouth. It's hard to piss with a hard on - for some guys - "

"Every morning -" he said, cock swaying.

"Then just push it out - a little bit at a time at first. If you need to unleash tell me - so I know -"

"Shhhhhh - " he said, no longer interested in instruction. "Open," he said, and I did. He put the head in - it nearly filled my whole mouth it felt so big. His pre-cum hit my taste buds, smoothing out the harshness of his anal tang. Then I closed my mouth, gently, around his cock-head and looked up at him with worshipful eyes, slowly stroking his thighs, giving him encouragement. He began to whisper.

"Such a good boy - so beautiful - mouth full of cock - like my cock Stew?

"Love it" I said, mouth full -

"Shhh-shhh - wanted to do this for so long. Hold still, kid - hold still ..."

We held like that - his cock turgid and tough - I felt him concentrating - breathing - then taking a deep breathe and beginning to push out - willing himself to pee when all his cock wanted to do was explode.

"Here it comes - wash out your dirty mouth, baby -"

His eyes were closed. He started shaking. I did, too. I felt his cock spurt, and a thick lube of salty pre-cum came out, followed by a small amount of piss.

"Unnhhhh," he said. I moaned, urging him on.

"MMMMM- MMMMMM- MMMMM-" I groaned, my lower body writhing in passion while my head was completely still.

"More -" he said, and another spurt came out - this time just less than a mouthful - it was hot - still mixed with pre-cum but mostly piss. It tasted so good - I'd never had anything like it. This was nothing like what I'd had before - this was every fantasy come true. This was fucking nectar

"Oh God," I cried, in spite of myself. I lost control. "Oh God - Oh God it tastes so good -" and he shoved into my mouth deeper, gripping my head.

"Shut up - take my piss - now, kid," he grunted, and the cock unleashed. It didn't take me by surprise - it made me become who I was destined to become. I had been able to capture a breath in my outcries and now I was a thirsty man emerging from a life in the desert. A large spurt shot out of his cock, which had lost its rigidity as it took on the other biological task it was meant to fulfill. I swallowed, urgently and then it kept coming as a cry emitted from his depth, unlike any I'd ever heard before.

More than one man met his destiny that night.

"OhhhhhhhhhhFUCKSTEWFUCKyesFUCKyesFUCKyesssssss," he grunted/cried/prayed, and his cock unleashed. I rose off my knees, pushing back my ass in even greater submission, gulping and groaning as he filled me with his hot piss and I loved every ounce of it. My eyes were on him as he bore his gaze into my soul, using me as his personal urinal, and in the process, claiming me as his own.

Then, he cried out, so loud, a high-pitched near scream as he clutched his cock and willed himself to stop. He yanked out of my mouth and I was shocked but obsequiously gracious -

"THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUFUCKING LOVE THAT LOVE THAT SO MUCH WANT YOUR PISS ALL THE TIME UNCLE - oh Fuck Uncle - love that - love you, Uncle - "

"Get up," he barked, yanking me up unexpectedly. He hauled me over the couch and down the hall to the bathroom.

"Get in there," he said, pushing me down on the tile floor. I think he meant to put me in the shower but there was no time.

"Gonna mark you, Stewart -" he grunted, spreading his legs and letting loose again. His cock was soft now, but enlarged, the pain of the sudden stoppage had retracted his passion, but that only made him more aggressive.

"Say thank you," he said, letting loose, pissing in my face and hair with a hard, spraying spew that flew everywhere, up my nose, off my face, and puddling around me. He was merciless in his wetting of me. It moved down my face and over my smooth chest. The heat of it and power of it belittled me and I moaned in worshipful praise -

"Thank you thank you thank you, thank you thank you thank you," I said, crying out now, actual tears.

In later days I would realize that while he DID want to mark me, he was also worried about choking me with so much piss. He was probably right - I had not been prepared for that kind of cascading outpouring, but I would have tried my ass off.

For now, the spray was unabated - he aimed at my penis next and I thrust out to meet it, letting him have full access to my cock and balls. I was soaked, crying, joyful and more turned on than I'd ever been.

And he was taking control now - using me as I had always dreamed of being used. At the end he grabbed my head and pushed his cock in my mouth for the last receding wave of urine. I swallowed heartily - gulping him, making sluttish sounds that reverberated in the small tile bathroom, showing him my gratitude.

And then - suddenly - it was over.

But it wasn't. Because he was breathing hard and holding my head and then he pushed in, and I recalled I had told him to use me and so he was - I opened to him, kneeling in the puddled coolness of his bladder-remains, soaking wet, surrounded by the sharp smell of piss.

"Get me hard," was all he said and I went to work as he thrust and in less than a minute I was gronking on his cock like a pro, taking him as deep as I could, while making sure not to choke up a belly full of piss which - well, fuck, he probably would have liked.

Then he stepped forward and began to fuck my face. Hard. It was rough but I took it and it was wonderful to have him force himself into me. I'd begged for it - and here it was - and it was everything I always wanted.

"Get up," he barked, and I did.

"Turn around - over the toilet."

I bent over, pushing my ass up. His cock pushed against my hole.

"Better be ready for this." My feet slipped in my urine and I shoved back - his cock entered my ass sharply, and I gave a yelp. He'd taken off his shirt, though, and run it under my belly, pulling me into him as he fucked deep.

"Fuck - FUCK," I cried, bucking on the toilet.

"Where you belong," he grunted, pushing in, and I couldn't agree more. For a minute he considered sticking my head in the toilet, I think, but pushed me forward until I was grabbing the tank, my head against the wall.

"Like it?" he grunted, pushing all the way into me now.

"AWWWGAWWWDDDDADDDDY," I cried as he thrust me open. Then he fucked - like a man - but within minutes it was clear this wasn't gonna work and he pulled out, cursing like a sailor -

"Fucking whore," he said. "You're covered in piss."

"Uhhhuhhhhh."

He pulled me back, careful not to slip. Then he shoved me out the bathroom, grabbing my bicep and pushing me down the few steps to the end of the hall.

"Bedroom."

He nearly threw me on the bed and I got on my hands and knees -

"Fucking turn around," he shouted, slapping my ass. I flipped immediately, pulling my legs in the air. My wet body was dried by our sheets - we'd be sleeping in his piss tonight, which only increased my arousal.

"Wanna see you when I fuck you - look you in the eye -" he said, crawling up, grabbing my legs. He horked spit on my hole, giving me time to find the lube, which, by now, we just left on the bed, and then his cock was against my hole and thrusting in, to the root, as I cried out at the aggressive entry and he quickly went about fucking me into the bed. I was rock hard, wet with piss. He had both muscled arms under my legs, and was thrusting.

"You stink of piss," he whispered, breath getting ragged as he built up steam.

"Your piss, Sir."

"Nasty boy -

"Fuck me," I grunted, throwing my wet head back on the pillow. "Fuck me, Uncle Jay," I cried, encouraging my man -

"You've made my balls hurt you little bitch," he said, driving into me, fucking me mercilessly, and then he was pounding me, and I knew, in that instant, that he'd never fucked anyone this hard and had always wanted to. It was so fucking intense but I simply relaxed into it - he filled me up so much - more than any other man - and it felt so right that I was able to pull my legs back farther, exhale, allow his brutality to rape my innocence on my own bed in my own bedroom in my own apartment.

And he did - pounding and pounding and then crying out as his cock enlarged to unexperienced proportions and flooded my guts with thick, hot sperm.

He collapsed on me, rabbit-fucking. He pulled up, still unleashing in me, his face grunched up in erotic release.

"Show me, kid," he shouted, grabbing my cock. I grabbed his hand and squeezed it around my member, fucking into his paw and shot out a huge rope of youthful cream that painted my face even as he kept spewing inside of me, using his cock to bang my prostrate, pushing out more vital seed.

I had been pent up all night and the explosion blew my head off. I literally screamed as my cock sprayed all over my body, pumping out sperm that was replaced by the sperm spurting into me by the massive cock splitting me open. After another minute of this he fell on me, collapsing in spent passion - each of us unleashing years of pent up desire and fantasy in two epic spew- gasms.

"So good so good so good," was all he could say, over and over again, and I just nodded, whimpering, massaging his cock in my guts, wondering how long I would have to wait to have my uncle fuck me dirty.

Just as he was about to fall off to a deep and unremitting sleep, his lips touched my ear, then pulled up to a small kiss.

"You taste like piss," he said.

"So do you."

"I know," he said kissing me, deeply and languorously. "Tastes good."

"Smells good, too," I said, holding him tightly.

And then we fell asleep.

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