A weird little piece that fluttered out of my head this morning. Enjoy. -B.
We bought a house out on the shore of a lake with no name. We called it ‘Our Lake,’ my wife and I.We lived in the city with our adopted son, Troy, and threw ourselves completely into family. We had game night and picnics. We were a part of the neighborhood watch. Then every summer we’d get out to the lake where there was nobody around for miles. I don’t blame Shauna for the divorce. It’s what she wanted and that’s that. She got the house in the city, on the safe street, but she also got the neighbors, and my favorite bar, and the smell of lavender and sandalwood. Even our son. I kept the lake house. It became my lake.
Troy was a teenager and thankfully he was even-tempered and honest. A good person to be around, but there was nothing for him at the lake. His life was in the city and visiting me bored him to tears (though he was too kind to say so). There were only so many times we could fish or swim. So I started making something.
I didn’t think it would work, but the idea gave me something to wrap the hours around. It started out as a shell, but I crafted it lovingly to be the kind of companion I thought my son would enjoy having: handsome but with a kind of cunning in its features, tall but not so tall as to dwarf him, a strong body made for rugged play. It took me most of the summer, but it was perfect. Down to the anatomy it was perfect. I was amazed with my own handiwork. It would be a friend to my son. It would help him pass the time and make being on the lake bearable. It would bring him back. So I waited and reined in my excitement. Troy cancelled his visit at the end summer. His visit in the fall was pushed back and Shauna reminded me that his visits weren’t court ordered, that I had no right to push. By late fall, they both decided that I should visit instead, get away from the lonely lake. I felt as if they had planned it together, my son and his scheming mother. They had planned to take away the rest of everything. I spent three days in bed after that. On the fourth day in bed it came to me. It walked into the room and stood beside the bed and watched me. I stared back at it with the sheets drawn up as if I could hide myself. But there was no hiding. I had made the thing and there was a part of me in it. There could be no hiding. It knew me. Finally I moved the sheet aside and it climbed under them. It came close and opened its arms and wrapped them around me. Its arms, I thought would be cold, were warm. It smelled like vanilla and sandalwood. Familiar, but not so familiar. I fell asleep quickly.
The next day I got a surprise. Troy showed up at my front door. He felt bad about things and he had come apologize. I shook off the haze of depression I’d been in and helped him get his things from his car. Once he was settled, I introduced it to him. When he first saw it, there was confusion writ plainly on his face. He clearly didn’t understand what it was. I explained it to him slowly, waiting for him to admonish me, to call me a crazy person. But his eyes lit up instead and he responded with a dozen questions that spilled out so quickly I could barely give them answers.
In the following few days, Troy’s childish joy ran away with him. He played football with it in the yard, ran races with it out in the woods, swam with it in the freezing cold lake. It was the way I thought it would be and I guess that was enough.
I couldn’t sleep that night so I went down to Troy’s room to ask if he wanted to split some hot cocoa with me, but I never made it past his door. I could hear the sounds of heavy, low breathing. The muffled moans. The door was cracked and I debated with myself for a moment that lasted forever before I looked in.
They were stroking each other, exploring their bodies together with a mirrored curiosity. Even in the dim light I could see how similar I had made the thing to my son. The light made their hair the same shade and treated their skin like one color. They were like twins rolling around, both erect and tentative and driven. Standing by the door watching them engrossed in each other, I reached down and against my better judgment, felt the extent of my own erection and knew that I had started something mad.
It put its mouth on Troy’s cock and Troy returned the favor. They formed a perfect circuit. I groped myself lightly through my pajamas and kept quiet. Eventually they disengaged and without communication they both rose up to their knees and came toward each other. Their hard cocks pressed between, them they ground into and onto each other. Both their hips pumped and their dicks slid together. They just stared into each other’s eyes. I watched this strange, electric moment unfold and then almost as if by some mutual code the thing drew Troy into a deep kiss and my son came. He filled the space between their bodies with his jizz.
I shot my own load, soaking the front of my pajamas. It ran down my legs and the length of the cotton pants. I left after that and went straight up to my room. I laid in my bed thinking guilty thoughts, running through the memory of what I’d just seen and hoping, grotesquely, that my son would stay a while.