Randy's Dad































 Illustrations by Michael Kirwan 

 Story by Jonathan Asche  

originally published in Playguy Magazine - April, 2004 issue



Your best bud's old man is the next best thing.



"So, Wylie, you found a girlfriend at State yet?"

That's how Randy's dad opened the conversation when he got out of the shower and came into the den wrapped in a white terry cloth robe. He'd been swimming earlier when Wyler came by to visit Randy. Randy's flight from Boston got canceled--"Goddamn airline strike," his father explained--so Wyler was stuck visiting his friend's father, Mr. McClinney. Not that Wyler wanted to stay, but Mr. McClinney insisted. Only on this day he'd asked Wyler to call him Chuck. He'd even offered Wyler a beer. "You're old enough, right?" he said, getting them each a bottle of some obscure import. Wyler nodded--and at nineteen he was old enough to drink legally in 1978. Then Chuck left his son's friend alone while he went to rinse the chlorine off.

*If we're going to be friends, you could at least get my fucking name right*, Wyler thought. That thought was immediately followed by suspicion about the true motive behind the girlfriend question. "Uh, no, not yet," Wyler stammered, shrinking in his chair slightly.

Chuck apparently downed his first beer in the shower. Now he got a second one and sat down in an easy chair across from him. His robe split open as he sat, exposing most of Chuck's thigh, but stopped short of revealing anything else. "That's a surprise," Mr. McClinney said after taking a pull of his beer. "A good-looking kid like you."

Wyler felt his face grow warm. He'd heard this observation before, from his hick relatives. They all thought you should be married off before you finished high school. That Wyler--with his dark, curly hair, boyishly cute face and sturdy, athletic build-should reach age nineteen without having a serious relationship with a girl prompted a lot of uncomfortable questions. "Um, guess I haven't met the right girl yet," he answered mechanically. Randy's dad took another gulp of his beer and moved his legs wider apart. The robe opened a little more, and some pubic hair crept into view. Wyler tried to keep his focus on Mr. McClinney's face. He didn't want to get caught staring ... again.

- - -

"Why don't you take a picture. It'll last longer," he remembered Mr. McClinney saying snidely.

It was spring break, nearly a year ago, when he and Randy were seniors in high school. Randy had invited Wyler over to a pool party his family was having. Wyler usually didn't like to visit his best friend at his homeat the time his parents were on the verge of a divorce and weren't shy about fighting in front of their son and his friends; plus Randy's dad was kind of an asshole. But the McClinneys did have a pool, and there was the promise Wyler could spend the night. Maybe Randy would let him touch his dick again. Maybe, Wyler thought, I'll get up the nerve to suggest we do something more.

The afternoon was surprisingly fun. The McClinneys managed to control their mutual hostility, and other than pointedly asking Wyler--or "Wylie"--what junior college he planned to attend, Mr. McClinney was fairly pleasant. He even joined the two boys in the pool. That was when Wyler saw just how awesome Mr. McClinney's physique was. Taut muscles bulged off his six-foot-two frame, the V of his torso accentuated by a cover of rust-colored fur. He wore a skimpy, racing-style swimsuit, the waist of which scooped down in the front, pulled down by the weighty package stuffed in the crotch. Even then, Wyler knew he shouldn't be staring at his friend's dad. But he enjoyed the quick peeks he allowed himself.

They all splashed around the pool until sundown, getting out reluctantly only after Mrs. McClinney told them, for the third time, they all needed to come inside. Mr. McClinney went inside first. Randy and Wyler followed, but Randy got snagged by his mother to help her clear off the patio table. She turned down Wyler's offer to help. "No, you're our guest," she said. She insisted he go change into some dry clothes.

Wyler headed down the hall toward Randy's room where his clothes were. At the end of the hall was the master bedroom, the door wide open. Randy's father had just stepped out of the shower and was busy toweling his hair when he stepped into view. Wyler stopped in his tracks, his eyes glued to his best friend's dad.

Mr. McClinney had one of the largest dicks Wyler had ever seen. It hung lankly over his dark, fuzzy balls, swinging slightly as he moved. At the time, Wyler would've guessed Mr. McClinney's cock was ten inches long, though in reality it was closer to seven (though far from erect yet). His cock was thick, too. Wyler was sure if he were to circle it with his thumb and forefinger, the fingers would not touch. What Wyler wouldn't give to see it erect.

His appreciation of Mr. McClinney's body ended abruptly when Randy's dad looked in his direction. Stunned at being caught, Wyler couldn't look away fast enough. A smirk came to Mr. McClinney's handsome face. "Why don't you take a picture? It'll last longer."

Randy's dad chuckled, then muttered something as he pulled open the top dresser drawer. Mortified, Wyler ducked into Randy's bedroom and shut the door. Great, he thought, now Mr. McClinney thinks I'm a faggot as well as an idiot. His evening was ruined. Even when Randy made overtures about maybe jerking off together, Wyler was too depressed to be interested. He said he didn't feel well and used that as his excuse to leave early the next day, not even bothering to sit down for breakfast with his best friend's family.



Wyler avoided going to his friend's house since that time, insisting that Randy come over to his house or they go to some neutral territory, like the mall. He only saw Randy's dad one other time since that humiliating evening, and that was at the high school graduation ceremony. But he thought of Mr. McClinney often, with conflicting feelings of arousal and hatred.

"Randy has a girlfriend," Mr. McClinney--Chuck--was saying. "She's supposed to fly back with him."

The news was like a fist slammed into Wyler's gut. "Oh. Um, he mentioned he had a surprise. Guess ... that was it."

Mr. McClinney toyed absent-mindedly with the sash of his robe. His right leg bounced, as if it was seized by some rogue neural impulse. Part of his nut sack got exposed. Look at the face, Wyler reminded himself, taking a huge swallow of his beer.

"Yeah, he's known this girl about four months or so. Sounds pretty serious. Just hope he's not rushing into anything. You're smart not to get yourself tied down."

Randy's dad had taken on a different tone. His voice had softened, and there was some other quality Wyler couldn't define, one that made him apprehensive all the same.

"I guess I never really had much use for women myself," Chuck said off-hand, finishing off his beer and still fiddling with the sash of his robe. "There was Randy's mother, of course, but ... well, other than giving us Randy, that was a mistake." Mrs. McClinney had left her husband a week after Randy started college. "She seems happier now. Maybe I can ..." His voice trailed off. Wyler didn't know what to say. He was unprepared for dealing with this thoughtful, introspective version of his friend's dad.

The sash of Chuck's robe came untied and the robe came apart, though Mr. McClinney's dick remained hidden. Randy's dad remedied that by pulling the robe open, exposing his massive dick--his massive, growing dick. Wyler nearly dropped his beer. He looked away quickly, fixating on titles in the bookcase on the far wall. He was sure the pounding of his heart could be heard across the room.

"Look over here," Chuck said. Cautiously, Wyler looked back at Randy's dad. He'd made no effort to cover himself. His cock was semi-hard now. "It's OK. You can look." Wyler felt his own dick squirming in his shorts. Was this moment going where he thought it was going? And did he want it to go there? "Come over here." Wyler was halfway across the den before he realized he was aiding and abetting Mr. McClinney's seduction.

"Closer," he urged. Wyler stood directly in front of him, his shins touching the upholstery of the chair. The hair of Chuck's legs brushed against his calves, causing goose bumps to erupt on Wyler's limbs. Wyler looked at the solid planes and angles of Mr. McClinney's handsome face. Beneath his mustache was a slight smile; in his gray eyes, anticipation and fear.

Wyler was afraid, too, and shivered when Chuck (*might as well be on a first-name basis now*, Wyler thought dryly) touched his thigh. "Remember the last time you were over?" Chuck asked softly. Wyler gulped and nodded. His hands began to move up his thighs, beneath the hem of his shorts. "When I caught you staring. I know now I wasn't very nice then."

One hand crawled up further, finding its way underneath Wyler's boxers and gliding along the curve of his butt cheek. Wyler's lower lip trembled and his eyelids fluttered. His cock was rock-hard.

"I wasn't mad at you, really," Chuck said, his voice a dry whisper. "More mad at myself, and confused, even at my age. Guess we were both confused." Obviously Mrs. McClinney left her husband for reasons beyond his being an arrogant prick. "Can we be ... friends?" he asked, squeezing Wyler's ass.

Wyler couldn't answer. So many thoughts raced in his mind he couldn't express any of them. Chuck withdrew his hands from under his shorts and brought them to Wyler's waist. Gently, he pulled his son's friend down to where he sat. Wyler's knees buckled and he collapsed on top of him.

They kissed. The experience was simultaneously awkward and exhilarating as their tongues clumsily pushed into each other's mouths. Chuck's hands pulled at Wyler's T-shirt, and he pushed his hips upward, making sure Wyler felt his now-stiff cock through his shorts. Wyler's touch was more tentative, like he feared being scolded if his hands moved below Chuck's shoulders.

But Chuck was pushing him lower down into the crevice between his pecs, down the ridges of his abdomen, his face grating across the coarse hairs covering his torso. As Wyler slid down to the floor, Chuck pulled off Wyler's T-shirt. By the time Wyler was shirtless, his face was at Chuck's crotch.

Fully erect, Chuck's cock was nearly nine inches. Thick veins curled up the shaft and pulsed, the plump head throbbed. Already, a little bead of pre-cum was forming at the slit. Wyler reached for it, looking up at Chuck as he did so, as if asking permission to touch the man's fat cock. Chuck said nothing. Wyler circled his fingers around the girth of the turgid shaft. As he suspected, his fingers did not meet. The skin of Chuck's dick was smooth and warm. Chuck--his best friend's dad--closed his eyes and slowly exhaled.

Wyler leaned forward and--as he'd done with Chris, the cute sophomore in his English lit class, and as he'd done with that "drunken" frat guy during a homecoming party--took the large, hard cock between his lips and into the warm depths of his mouth. The thick tool filled it, the cock-head pushing against the roof. Though he'd managed to swallow the cocks of both the cute sophomore and the "inebriated" frat guy, that wouldn't be possible with Chuck's massive rod. At best, he managed three-quarters of it. This seemed OK with Mr. McClinney, who moaned softly and stroked Wyler's curly locks as the young man's mouth moved up and down his dick at an even pace.

Wyler's cock pulsated in his shorts. While he slurped on Chuck's prick, his hands pulled at his zipper, desperate to free his own dick. Once it was pulled from his shorts, his left hand moved between his legs, lightly stroking the pole of sensitive flesh jutting out of the fly of his shorts. Each time he touched himself, an electric spark seemed to crackle throughout his body. And each time he felt that spark, he sucked Mr. McClinney's cock with greater fervor.

Chuck rocked his hips gently, pushing his dick against the downward gulp of Wyler's lips. His moans of pleasure seemed to get trapped in his throat, sounding more like deep growls. He brushed his fingers against Wyler's face. "Feels so good," he purred.

Moving his mouth to Chuck's balls, Wyler's tongue prodded the heavy orbs, jostling them in their hairy sac. His scrotum started to draw up, reigning his balls in close to his body. Wyler sucked on them, enjoying the way the fleshy spheres moved beneath the skin as he cradled them in his tongue. Chuck gasped and shifted in his chair. Pre-cum flowed steadily from his huge dick, a puddle collecting in Chuck's navel.

"Stand up," Mr. McClinney whispered hoarsely.

Slowly Wyler got to his feet. "Take the rest of your clothes off," he was told. He shucked his shorts, kicked off his shoes and pulled off his socks. Naked, he stood before Chuck as if it were a military inspection, with his cock saluting--what? His future?

"You're shaking," Randy's dad said. "Are you nervous?"

Wyler supposed he was, though he didn't say so. Chuck motioned for him to step over to the side of the chair. Wyler moved beside him, his thighs touching the arm rest, his dick level with the older man's head. He looked down at Chuck's crotch, at that massive tool doing push-ups off his flat belly, and suddenly felt inadequate with his average-sized dick. Randy's dad, though, fondled Wyler's hard prick admiringly. He looked up at his son's friend and smiled.

Then he took Wyler's throbbing cock in his mouth.

Explosions of ecstasy went off inside him as his dick was engulfed by the hot, wet cavern of Chuck's mouth. His tongue swabbed the underside of Wyler's shaft, and in his sucking he'd created a vacuum-like pressure against his cock-head. Wyler shuddered and reached toward Chuck, clumsily stroking his damp hair.

Mr. McClinney swallowed his dick easily. The entire length of Wyler's prick sank into his mouth, into his gullet. The tip of his nose was in his pubes, and his chin was nudging his balls. Wyler's breath came in fast gulps. He did not moan so much as whimper, though he struggled to be silent as the clandestine nature of his past experiences--with the sophomore, with the frat guy, with Chuck's son--made him fearful of making any noise.

Chuck gripped the base of Wyler's cock, holding it in place while he swirled his tongue around the crown. Wyler tilted his head back and moaned, pushing his hips forward--pushing his cock into Chuck's mouth. For a brief moment it struck him: He was being sucked off by his *best friend's dad*! Quickly, he forced the thought out of his mind. This wasn't Mr. McClinney, Randy's dad; it was just a hot older guy--a hot older guy who was licking and sucking his balls, whose bristly mustache was tickling the sensitive skin of his scrotum.

"Oh ... God," Wyler gasped.

One of Chuck's hands moved behind Wyler, tracing the crack of his ass. Wyler felt the older man's fingers slip between his butt cheeks, burrowing into the fuzzy, warm crevice, felt his fingers brush the smooth, rubbery lips of his asshole, felt his skin grow tight, like it was shrinking.

Chuck removed his fingers from between Wyler's ass cheeks. "Make them wet," he said, raising the fingers up to Wyler's lips. Wyler could smell his own musk on Mr. McClinney's fingertips. He thought he should be repulsed, yet, strangely, he was turned on. The younger man grabbed the older man's wrist and guided his fingers into his mouth. Wyler licked Chuck's fingers, covering them with his spit. Then Chuck pulled his fingers from Wyler's mouth. They dripped with Wyler's saliva. "Good," he purred, giving Wyler a sly smile. "Turn around."

Wyler did as he was ordered, wondering what was in store. His butt cheeks were pulled apart, and he heard Chuck sigh, "Ooooh." Chuck's wet fingertips glided over Wyler's ass lips, practically petting his sphincter. The rosy-brown pucker contracted, and Wyler shuddered. Warm air blew across his hole, hairs scratched the inside of his ass crack. Then

"Oh! Fuck, yeah!"



He was unprepared for Chuck's tongue, plunging into his trench, pressing against his asshole. He never did that with anyone else before--not the sophomore, not the frat boy, not Randy. But now that Chuck was shoving his tongue up his chute, Wyler wanted nothing else. The feel of that tongue, forcing its way inside him, wiggling against his sphincter muscles, making his prostate vibrate--Goddamn, it felt so good. His cock was quivering with each stab of Chuck's tongue, pushing out another bead of pre-cum as his friend's dad's tongue twisted inside his asshole.

Chuck's hands gripped Wyler's sturdy legs, holding him steady as he lapped Wyler's winking butthole. Wyler grabbed his dick, stroking it as he rode Chuck's face. The pleasure was mounting, making his balls tingle and his cock throb. His breathing became shallow, his moans urgent.

As Chuck licked Wyler's hole, he worked an index finger inside, easing it in past the second knuckle. Wyler's ass lips gripped the older man's finger, and Chuck slowly wiggled his finger back and forth, testing to see how tight Wyler's hole really was. Wyler shivered as Chuck slid his finger in and out. Chuck added the index finger of his other hand. Using both fingers as hooks, he pried open Wyler's asshole and thrust his tongue inside.

A ragged groan tore out of Wyler's mouth. It was like Chuck had his whole tongue up his ass! And the tension of his hole being stretched by the two index fingers only heightened the pleasure. Wyler tried to keep his hands away from his drooling cock. Every time he touched his rod it became harder to keep control. If he stroked it, he'd shoot all over the carpet in the den.

Chuck withdrew his fingers and his tongue. "Move over in front of me," he rasped.

Wyler stepped in front of Chuck's chair, his movements jerky, like a marionette's. He was apprehensive about what his friend's dad wanted to do next. Did he want to fuck him? Looking at Chuck's monstrous cock--seemingly larger now than when Wyler first saw it hard--Wyler wasn't sure he could take it. He'd only been fucked once, by the sophomore, and he remembered how sore his ass was afterward. And the sophomore had a normal-sized dick. If Wyler let Chuck fuck him, he feared he might not walk again.

Chuck motioned for Wyler to come close, to stand between his spread legs. He was leaning back in his chair, looking intently at his son's high school friend. His fingers lightly traced the vein curving up the shaft of his own massive dong. "Did you like having my tongue up your ass?" he asked, his voice a gravelly whisper.

A pause, and then, "Yes."

"Are you close? Are you about to cum?"


"Then cum on me," Chuck said. "I want you to cum all over my dick."

Surprise and relief flooded through Wyler. He nodded, then took his cock in his hand. Using his own juices as lubricant, he started to stroke his dick. He felt at the same time self-conscious and sexy, having the older man watch him. As the pleasure increased, he just felt horny.

Once his own pre-cum began to dry, Wyler spit in his palm and returned it to his cock. This simple action seemed to please Chuck, who moaned an "Oh, yeah," when Wyler spit. Wyler kept stroking, getting closer by the second. He almost forgot he was being watched. His eyes were scrunched into little slits, his upper lip had peeled back from his gnashed teeth. Little grunts popped out of his mouth, getting louder the closer he got, until he came.

Wyler's load erupted from his cock in thick, white ropes. His spooge rained down on Chuck's dick, coating his turgid shaft and collecting in the folds of his nut sack. Wyler kept pulling on his cock, his body jerking forward as he milked the last drops of cum out of his balls.

When he was finished, he stood there, trying to catch his breath. His eyes rested on Chuck's huge, stiff cock, now frosted with his jizz. He guessed it was Chuck's turn to jack off now.

He guessed wrong.

"You made a pretty good mess," Chuck said, his voice low. "Now clean me off."

"Uh, OK. Just let me get some paper towels."

"With your tongue."

Of course. Wyler felt himself blushing at his own stupidity. He got down on his knees in front of Chuck. His hand went for his friend's dad's cum-coated dong. Wyler tried not to think about what he was about to do, about licking his own cum off Chuck's dick. He'd already gotten off and wasn't feeling all that horny anymore. He carried out Chuck's request like he was fulfilling a dare.

Wyler started with the balls, his tongue lapping up the thick gobs of jism that coated Chuck's scrotum. A vaguely sour, vaguely salty flavor stung his taste buds, and Wyler swallowed without savoring. His tongue moved up the shaft, licking off his cooling load. Wyler could feel Chuck's eyes on him, watching intently. "Lick it all up," he whispered. His cock pulsed as his son's friend licked it.

Wyler's lips closed over the thick head of Chuck's dick. The older man sucked in his breath. "Suck me off," he said, one of his hands pressing on top of Wyler's head. "Suck it till I cum."

He did as he was commanded, taking that impressive dick into his mouth. Chuck gently thrust his hips upward to meet the downward dive of Wyler's mouth. It didn't take long for Chuck to start gasping and groaning, announcing he was about to shoot.

Chuck's load erupted in Wyler's mouth, and he swallowed it right away, barely noting that Chuck's cum had a more acidic taste to it. He could feel Chuck's cock pumping against his lower lip, emptying its jizz into his mouth. Wyler kept sucking the tangy juice down his throat, until there was no more.

He sat back on his haunches and looked at Chuck, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Chuck's head was thrown back, and he was struggling to catch his breath. His torso was shiny with a thin layer of sweat. When Chuck finally looked at Wyler, he said, "I think I need another shower." And he stood up and left the room, leaving Wyler, nude, kneeling on the floor. Wyler was dressed and considering snagging another beer when Chuck returned, freshly showered, now wearing a pair of gym shorts and baggy T-shirt. He started talking to himself about "needing to get some yard work done." He was Mr. McClinney again. Wyler's presence was no longer necessary.

"Guess I'll be going then," Wyler said, heading for the door.

"Sure thing. I'll tell Randy to give you a call when he gets in." Mr. McClinney walked him to the front door. Wyler was reaching for the doorknob when his friend's dad stopped him. "I can count on you to be discreet, can't I, Wylie?" he asked, his voice grave.

Wyler nodded. Who was he going to tell?

He grabbed Wyler and pulled him close. "Good. 'Cause I think we could have a lot more fun." He was whispering, like anyone else could hear them. "With that hot mouth and cute ass of yours, we'd have some really nasty fun. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Wylie?"

Again, Wyler only nodded.

Mr. McClinney pushed him away. "See you later, Wylie," he said, and then shook his hand. Wyler was in his car before the absurdity hit him and he began laughing. "Fucking suck his dick and he shakes my hand," he chuckled to himself, shaking his head. He put the car into gear and drove away, thinking of Mr. McClinney. *What an asshole*, Wyler thought.

But he knew he'd be back.




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