“in case you’d like to see what you’re missing. if you change your mind lmk <3”

Staring at his text felt surreal, anxiety-inducing… confusing. But when that iCloud link came through, well, fuck, breathing began to feel difficult as reality closed in on me. My son’s best friend had texted me, and I knew it was fucked up, I knew it was…

Despite everything, my thumb went for the link, hovered over it.  Shit.

I swallowed hard and rubbed at the back of my neck, taking a moment to look around my bedroom like the guilty motherfucker I was. Guilty because I now secretly had Marcus Anderson’s number, guilty because I’d fucked his throat again… guilty because deep down, I knew that clicking on that link was inevitable, no matter how hard I tried to tell myself otherwise.

Don’t even think about it, Gideon.

“No way I’m falling for your shit,” I mumbled irritably. My brows furrowed as I typed, attempting to convey my disinterest in the little game he was trying to play. “Leave me alone, Marcus.”

My text arrived, and he opened it fucking fast, only to go and leave me on read. I cursed, tossing my phone aside as I went for the television remote instead. Might as well watch a movie, right? That was my new plan tonight, cause the original plan to put a round in my head had been foiled by a certain cock-sucking blonde. Who did he think he was, honestly? Fucking unbelievable.

I scrolled through options, not really in the mood for any kind of television. Maybe I ought to try reading, or go for an evening walk instead? Play computer games? Fuck, I got nothin’.

There was an unsettled feeling in my chest; twisting around, rooting itself in my stomach, and it was like my body knew I would betray my son again; betray the idea that I more self-control than this.

You know you can’t stop yourself—you’re too curious.

That small voice, the devil on my shoulder? Well, he told me to look; urged me just to ‘peek’, see what it was… and then before I knew it, my phone was in my hand again, thumb hovering over that link. I waged a war with my conscience for what felt like hours, every minute more excruciating than the next.

Don’t. Don’t do it.

“Maybe it’s nothing like that,” I mumbled, knowing full well I was lying to myself.

You know damn well what it is—don’t pretend like you don’t. Don’t pretend like you’re strong, either. You know you’re gonna give in, cause you’re hungry. You’re lonely. You want him.

My inner dialogue might as well have been a self-fulfilling prophecy; several strained seconds passed before I finally caved—giving in at the end like the weak bastard I really was.

I shut my eyes after hitting the link, afraid of what I might see. Things not meant for my eyes. My heart rate went soaring as I waited, eyes still shut, while a nervous sweat broke across my brow.

 Stop playing, you know what happens now.

“Fuck…” a low, gravelly voice broke the silence, stealing air from my lungs. My eyes flew open, and just like that, the blood rushed away from my fucking brain and went straight to my cock—hardon betraying me instantly.

You’re a sick fuck, Gideon.

But despite my overwhelming shame, I couldn’t make myself look away, couldn’t make myself close the video. Oh, God, what have I done? What am I getting myself into?

“You’re such slut…” the voice murmured. Strong forearms and hands appeared onscreen; they roamed freely across a naked body I had no business thirsting over. My cock was already hard, and thinking critically with a boner wasn’t a strong suit of mine. My throat went dry the longer I watched, lips parted in sick fascination at the scene unfolding. My right hand drifted to my cock, hand dipping below my waistband as If I were on a kind of nasty of auto-mode.

I can’t stop.

His body, pale, toned and firm, lay draped across a plush, white comforter, belly down. Taut ass exposed and easy to access for the mystery man playing with his hole. The video was clearly amateur, nothing professional about it, but the angles—fuck, the angles—they showed off his body so beautifully that I found myself holding my breath. His creamy, alabaster skin stole the show, the way goosebumps spread across his body as the other man’s fingernails grazed their way down the length of his spine.

Marcus shivered, moaned under his touch, rocked his hips instinctively, rubbing his cock against the comforter—seeking friction, connection, anything. The sounds of his desperation far too pleasing. “Shit,” he mumbled, “just play with me already.”  

The other man hummed and squeezed one of his firm cheeks, dug his nails in until there were marks. “Say ‘please’ again, it’s fun to watch you beg.”

Why… why do I know that voice?

Soft-looking hips rocked more aggressively, cock straining. “… ugh, please.”

“There we go.” The man exhaled a laugh and spit on that hole, the sound of his laughter tore me out of my trance. Fuck, that voice, the laughter… I was too blinded by my lust to recognize it earlier. Sweet Christ.

A wave of nausea hit me as I ripped my hand away from my dick. I exited out of the video, hands shaking, and screwed my eyes shut in horror. He sent you porn; homemade porn that he made with your son! How much more twisted could this possibly get.

My stomach lurched, and I shot up off the bed, hyperventilating the more my brain caught up with current events. My dick was simple—see something hot, get hard, easy. My brain, though, my brain was short-circuiting over the fact Marcus Anderson had made a sex tape with my son and sent it to me like it was nothing.

What the ever-loving fuck?

My hands shook as I fumbled for my phone; I dialed Marcus. This had gone too far. The line rang a handful of times before he picked up, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

“Yello?”

“You’re fucking sick-”

“-ya liked it, huh? Real hot, I know, I was there.”

My grip tightened on my smartphone, and I shut my eyes, took a few deep breaths.

“… stop fucking interrupting me. And no, I didn’t like it, that was fucking disgusting.” Only the part where Drew was involved, to be fair, Marcus looked hot as hell.

Marcus’ laughter softened, trickled away, along with all the confidence in his voice.
“W-what um, wait, what was disgusting?”

“You know what,” I hissed. “You’re a liar, too; said you only slept with Drew once, yeah? Well guess that video makes it twice. Honestly, how sick are you? What would possess you to send that to me, huh?”

“Wait, what? Drew? I didn’t-“

“You did; ‘fucking slut’ is right.”  I hissed.

“H-hold on…” he muttered. “I didn’t… fuck, I didn’t mean that one!”

I groaned and fell back onto my bed, stared at the ceiling in painful silence as Marcus stressed on the other line.

This isn’t happening.

“… I didn’t mean to send that.” he pleaded softly.  “It looks—look, I know how it looks, but I have a type, okay? Tall, dark, hot, I have a type and Drew’s it, you’re it. But, um, so I get with guys that have a certain look or build, okay? Sometimes I get the videos mixed up.”

I shut my eyes and grimaced. “Videos? Bro, how many videos are we talkin’ about?”

Marcus made a noise like he was thinking—some indecipherable mumbling.

“… Look, I make some extra cash online, ‘kay? It’s not a big deal.”

“Sweet Christ,” I snapped, “this? This ends here, this—”

“—just give me a chance, okay? I’m coming over.”

I sat up and gasped. “N-no! Absolutely do not come over! Do you hear me? Don’t even think about it!”

I stared into space, heart racing as I waited to hear his rebuttal, but all I caught was an imperceptible ‘click’ as the line went dead. Fuck. I fell back onto the bed and grabbed a pillow, pulled it over my face and screamed. I can’t do this. This is way more complicated than eating a bullet and I wholly resent everything that’s happened. Like, fuck, at thirty-eight I should’ve learned my lesson; don’t stick your dick in questionable holes. Your son’s best friend? Very questionable hole.

Then, after a while, I heard it. Rapid knocking at the back door. I popped off the bed and grumbled, cursed, a colorful blend of rotten language—rotten like me—spilled from my mouth as I went to my window and peered through the curtains. I could see the backyard from there, and the back door where the patio was, complete with Marcus stood on his tippy toes trying to peek through the windows. I slid mine open and glared at the side of his pretty face.

“Go away!” I hissed loudly.

He turned toward the sound of my voice, eyes wide, face awash with embarrassment and worry. “J-just let me explain!”

“Fuck off!” I flipped him off for good measure and slammed the window shut. I retreated to my bed in defeat, hating myself for ever giving in to the temptation. For tasting the forbidden.

This had turned into a shit-show. Not only did I now know way more about my kid’s sex life than I ever needed or wanted in a lifetime, but also throat-fucked his best friend, and apparently his occasional fuckbuddy, twice. Twice! Not to mention also basically jerked him off. And now said son’s best friend was now standing outside begging for me to let him in, so he could apologize for sending me the wrong fucking sex tape.

I’m going to hell.

I groaned, rolled around a few times on the bed and screamed into that pillow again; screaming felt good. It’s like I had gone crazy, because how could any of this truly be happening, except if not in some wild ass fucking fever dream?

Silence soon overtook me, and the sound of Marcus knocking had dissipated. I held tight to my phone, expecting a slew of texts to pour in, more begging, more explanations I didn’t care to entertain, but to my surprise, there was nothing. I eyed the lock screen with suspicion for a few more seconds before I finally felt my heartrate decline a bit; felt my body begin to relax back onto the mattress.

He left, thank God.

I shut my eyes and exhaled long and heavy. “Kill me, someone kill me, anyone…” I whispered softly. “Just anyone—”

But then I heard the distinct sound of a door inside our home shutting downstairs. The alarm would have typically gone off, except I hadn’t set it, anticipating Drew might show up in the wee hours of the morning depending on how his ‘hookup’ went with ‘Rayleigh’.

What a fucking terrible name; her parents must suck.

I bolted upright, and my attention darted to the side table where I kept my forty-five at night; in case of home invasion or whatever, but something told me this was a home invasion of the pretty-blonde-femboy-sort, and the only weapon said femboy was concerned about was the one in my pants. I slipped out of my bedroom and made my way quietly down the darkened hallway, then stopped short of the top of the staircase.

“Marcus, if that’s you, I swear to god you better announce yourself.”

There was a silence that followed—awkward and loaded in everything unsaid between us.

“… look, I’m sorry,” he responded shyly, “but Drew gave me a key, the alarm code, ya know…”

“For fucks’ sake.” I let out a defeated grumble, raked my hand through my hair. A key. The alarm code. Great. Of course!

I descended the stairs just in time to see him coming into the dining room; he’d seemingly entered in through the garage man-door. Great, now I’d have to have a chat with Drew about just handing out a fucking key to our home to whomever he saw fit.

“A fucking key?”

He shifted on his feet and hugged himself, brown eyes darting around nervously. “… well, yeah. So that I could let myself in if he wasn’t home yet or something. And he showed me where the spare was, um, in case… of like, an emergency?”

I shut my eyes and pressed on my right temple—migraine arriving right on schedule.

“Key, hand it over.” I held my hand out.

“… no…”

“Give. It.” I opened my eyes, gaze locking with his annoyingly beautiful brown ones. “I’m not fucking around Marcus, the goddamn key. Now.”

His face fell, shoulders slumped, but he trudged over, closing the gap between us and gingerly placed the key in the palm of my hand. He stared at the floor. “… please just let me explain before you kick me out forever.”

Fuck me. I huffed, deciding it was time for a goddamn drink; maybe it’d soothe my raw, exposed nerves. Maybe it’d cool me down, cause right now I wanted to scream. Drew and Marcus, Marcus and Drew! My chest began to ache as I mentally admitted the truth to myself.

… me and Marcus.

This entire debacle had left me in the worst position possible. I couldn’t boot Marcus from this home—that’d only push Drew away further.

“Gideon…” he murmured, “please just hear me out?”

I cursed, stormed past to get the whiskey, and tossed a few ice cubes in the glass tumbler in my hand. His eyes followed my form, which I resented. There was nothing worthwhile to see here, just a pathetic man running to alcohol again over an impossible situation. I’m such a fucking joke.

My hands shook as I slammed the tumbler down on the counter and filled it with one of my worst vices—the one I really shouldn’t mix with my benzodiazepines, but it’s not like I was trying to stay alive anyway, right?

“You know why I can’t fucking kick you out, ‘forever’, Marcus?” I shot him a brief glare over my shoulder and gave my drink a little swirl before going in for a taste-test. Perfect.

“… uh…” his eyes darted around again as he thought, considered. Fidgeted and chewed on his lower lip. I hated how pretty he looked just fucking existing. Asshole.

“-let me finish that thought for you, hm?” I paused, tossed back a hefty amount of whiskey, the warmth spreading my chest fueling my confidence and distaste for this whole debacle. “…see, I can’t fucking ‘kick you out forever’ because Drew apparently likes you—correction, my bad. He really likes you. Likes you so much in fact, that he fucked you twice, and on camera!”

My heartrate was through the roof, and I felt shame, anger, embarrassment, every fucking emotion, and with every sip contributing to my inebriation further.