Making My Friend's Dad Hard Part 1 (Patreon)

I'm 23 now, and for the past five years, I've called my best friend Mike's Dad's place home. Mike's Brock, Brock took me in when things went south with my own family. Back when I came out as gay at 18, my parents kicked me out cold. Mike, who's openly gay himself and living with his boyfriend in Seattle these days, along with his Dad, Brock welcomed me and let me crash indefinitely. 

Brock was always supportive to me. I had come out to him and Mike even before I came out to my own family. When I turned up to their place, he just handed me a key and said the spare room was mine for as long as I needed it. We became like roommates, splitting chores, like I’d cook dinner sometimes or go grocery shopping and pay some bills, though he always insisted on covering more than his share since I was "starting out."

Brock's no model, but damn, he's attractive and very masculine. Late 40s, solid build with a bit of a belly due to less time at the gym these days, he’s covered in dark, coarse hair that trails from his chest down over his abs and disappears into his waistband. He wears those glasses that make him look thoughtful and sexy, especially when he's reading or tinkering with something in the garage. I've caught glimpses of him shirtless plenty of times, we're both casual about it, no pajamas in this house, just boxers or nothing when it's hot. 

And yeah, I've heard him in the bathroom a few times over the years, those muffled moans and rhythmic sounds that got me hard thinking about walking in on him mid-stroke. But nothing ever happened.  I'd imagine coming home from a long shift at work, to catch him on the couch, caught in the act. But fantasies stayed fantasies. Reality kept us firmly in our roles: me dating guys my age, him occasionally mentioning women from work or social circles, though nothing ever stuck since his divorce.

That changed a few months ago, or at least it started to shift in ways I hadn't anticipated. Brock's buddy from the office, Mike, announced his retirement on the job, and the crew decided to celebrate with drinks at their usual spot downtown. Brock left around 7 PM, promising he'd be back before midnight. I spent the evening alone. By 11, I'd moved to the kitchen.

Around 11:30, Brock stumbled in. He looked flushed, his hair a bit disheveled, glasses slightly askew on his nose. He wasn't falling-down drunk, but this marked a departure from his usual routine. Normally, after a work outing, he'd nurse one or two pints, chat with the guys, and head home clear-headed. That night, though, the celebration must have ramped up because his steps wavered slightly.

"Hey, kiddo," he said, leaning against the doorframe for a second before kicking off his shoes. He peeled off his jacket next. 

"How was the send-off for Mike? You guys tear up the town?"

He chuckled and stepped into the kitchen. "Oh, you know, the usual, a few rounds more than I planned." He grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water from the sink, gulping half before setting it down. 

As we talked, he leaned against the counter opposite me but then it veered personal. "So, you met anybody new lately?" he asked. "Yeah, actually. Nothing serious, just hooking up with this guy every now and then. Keeps things light."

He nodded, taking another sip of water, but a smirk tugged at his lips. "Lucky you. I swear, it's gotta be easier for gay guys to find action. No games, no waiting around." 

I laughed it off. "Maybe, but it's not all smooth sailing. Drama finds a way."

He pushed off the counter then, heading toward the hallway that led to our bedrooms, and I followed. As we walked, he started unbuttoning his shirt. "Met this woman at a conference last month," he continued, shrugging the shirt off his shoulders and letting it drop to his arm. "Nice enough, smart, but I'm not sure. Feels forced, you know?" he folded the shirt and tossed it into the laundry basket by his door.

I turned toward my own door. 

“Hey, wait a sec.”

I paused, glancing back. He had pushed his door open wider, now standing there in nothing but gray boxers, one hand resting on the frame. “You ever been with a woman before? Just to know for sure you don’t like it?”

“Yeah, I have. A couple times back. It didn’t do anything for me. I mean, literally, nothing. I didn’t even get hard.”

He laughed. “Fair enough. That’s pretty clear-cut.”

I shrugged. “Guess so.”

He shifted his weight, and I noticed the fabric had tightened across his groin. He didn’t seem aware of it yet, or maybe he didn’t care. “So how does it work with guys then? I mean, the mechanics of it.”

I raised an eyebrow, curious where this was going. “Pretty much the same as with anyone else. Kissing, touching, oral, anal. Just the parts are different.”

He nodded, processing that, then took a step closer. “I knew that. I meant… what do you like? Specifically.”

This wasn’t casual talk anymore. “I like both,” I said. “Penetrating and being penetrated. It depends on the mood, the guy, the chemistry.”

He didn’t blink. “Which one do you prefer, though? If you had to pick.”

I knew exactly what answer would land hardest. I could see it in the way he stood, the subtle shift of his hips, the growing outline pressing against the cotton. “I’d rather bottom,” I said. “I like being the one who takes it. Feeling someone inside me, letting them set the pace, letting go and just… taking it.”

I watched his face change. I added, “In case you didn’t know the term: bottom means the guy who gets fucked. Top is the one doing the fucking. Versatile means you’re good with either.”

He swallowed visibly. “Yeah. I’ve heard the terms. Just never heard them explained quite like that.”

His boxers strained now, the fabric stretched taut over what had become a full erection. The head of his cock pushed against the cotton, outlining its shape clearly, longer than I’d imagined. He didn’t try to hide it; maybe he couldn’t, or maybe he didn’t want to.

He cleared his throat. “You always gotta be careful, you know. Don’t meet up with anybody strange. Use protection. All that.”

I nodded. “I do. Always.”

He gave me a small smile. “Good. Night. Sweet dreams.”

Then he stepped back and closed his door, the latch clicking softly.

I stood frozen in the hallway for a long moment. Sweet dreams? After that conversation? My own cock had hardened during the exchange, pressing uncomfortably against my jeans. I finally moved, slipping into my room and shutting the door behind me.

The walls between our rooms were thin. I sat on the edge of my bed, still fully dressed, listening. At first, nothing. Just the faint creak of his mattress as he got in. Then, a soft rustle of sheets. A sigh. And then the unmistakable sound: the slow, rhythmic slap of skin on skin.

He was jerking off.

I pressed my ear to the wall. The sound grew clearer, wet strokes, his breathing heavier now, occasional low grunts. I pictured him sprawled on his bed, boxers shoved down around his thighs, one hand wrapped around that thick shaft I’d glimpsed through the fabric. He’d be stroking himself firmly, maybe twisting at the head, using the precum that had surely leaked by now to slick his grip.

My own cock throbbed in response. I unzipped my jeans, pushed them down along with my underwear, and took myself in hand. I matched his rhythm, stroking in time with the sounds coming through the wall. Every few strokes he’d pause, then start again faster. I imagined him thinking about what I’d said, about liking to bottom, about taking cock, about letting a man fill me up. Maybe he pictured himself doing it to me, or maybe he pictured me with someone else. Either way, the thought made my balls tighten.

I considered leaving my room. The bathroom door stood right next to his, shared between our two bedrooms. I could walk out there, pretend I needed to piss, crack the door just enough to see if he was doing what I thought. And if he was lying there stroking himself. I could offer to help. Step inside, drop to my knees, wrap my mouth around him, take over the job his hand was doing. The idea made me leak against my palm.

But I stopped myself. Tonight had already crossed lines we’d never touched before. Pushing further felt like risking everything. So I stayed put, ear pressed to the wall, hand working my cock with increasing urgency.

His strokes grew faster, louder. Then a sharp gasp, a few more frantic pumps, and silence, probably cumming over his belly or into his hand.

I came almost immediately after.

After a minute, I wiped myself off with a T-shirt, pulled my underwear back up, and climbed into bed. The apartment had gone quiet again, just the hum of the fridge and the occasional car passing outside.

I lay there staring at the ceiling, replaying every word of the conversation, the way his erection had strained against those boxers. 

I woke up the next morning with the events of last night replaying in my head, every word we exchanged in the hallway, every sound I heard through the wall, and I knew I couldn’t just wait around for something else to happen by accident. Patience had never been my strength when I wanted something this badly, but I also refused to rush it and risk ruining everything. I wanted him to enjoy this as much as I did, to crave it again afterward, not wake up regretting a single moment. 

One wrong move could shatter the whole thing, so I promised myself I would ease into it.

I finally dragged myself out of bed. I pulled on a pair of loose boxer briefs and padded barefoot down the short hallway to his door. It stood slightly ajar, the way he often left it in the mornings. I pushed it open without knocking, telling myself this counted as normal in our casual household.

Brock lay propped against the headboard, phone in hand, scrolling through whatever feed caught his attention. He wore the same gray boxers from last night, the sheet kicked down to his waist, exposing the familiar trail of dark hair across his chest and belly. No morning erection tented the fabric, at least not that I could see.

“Morning,” I said, stepping inside and closing the door behind me. “Any big plans for the day?”

He smiled, and set the phone on the nightstand. “Not really. Thought I might run some errands, maybe hit the gym later. You?”

I shrugged and moved closer, sitting on the edge of his bed near his feet. “Same. Nothing urgent at work until after the holidays.” We chatted about mundane things and I used it as cover while I shifted higher on the mattress, stretching out beside him until I lay on my side facing the window, my back to him.

My heart pounded so hard I worried he might hear it. I stared at the slice of blue sky visible through the curtains and forced myself to keep talking. “Looks nice out there. Sun’s already strong. We could go to the beach if you want. Been forever since I did that.”

He shifted behind me. “Yeah? I’d like that. The last time Mike and I went together feels like years ago. Once he started dating, he would always head down there without me.”

“Well, I’m free. We can spend some real time together.” I said.

The bed moved again. He slid down from the headboard and stretched out behind me, his body aligned with mine until his chest pressed against my back. One arm draped over my waist, pulling me closer in a loose cuddle that started innocent enough but quickly turned anything but. His breath grazed the nape of my neck and the soft weight of his groin nestled against my ass through two thin layers of fabric.

I froze for half a second, then backed into him, erasing whatever small gap remained. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his arm tightened, fingers splaying across my stomach. We kept talking but the words served only as background noise.

His hand moved then, palm sliding upward until it rested over my chest, thumb brushing lazily across my skin. “So,” he said, fingers tracing idle circles, “how did you figure out you liked guys? Was there a moment, or did it just hit you one day?”

I kept my breathing even, though my cock had already stiffened against the mattress. “No big revelation. I just always knew on some level. Then I fooled around with a couple guys in college and it felt right. Girls never did that for me. Tried a few times, but my body just didn’t respond.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, his hand still roamed my chest, he occasionally grazed a nipple. I decided to turn the question around. “What about you? How did you know you liked women? First time story and all.”

He chuckled against my neck. “Pretty typical, I guess. There was this neighbor girl, Sarah. Lived two houses down. We’d hang out after college. One night we ended up in the park near our neighborhood, sitting on a bench under the streetlights. Talking turned into kissing, kissing turned into more. She climbed into my lap, we fumbled with clothes, and suddenly we were doing it right there. Nothing fancy. But I remember how incredible it felt, how much I wanted her.”

“So what about you?” he asked. “Who was your first?”

I took a breath and decided to give him more than the bare outline this time. “Guy I met on an app. Older than me, maybe thirty-five, he was divorced. We messaged for a week, met up for coffee twice, kept it light with just kissing in his car or on his couch. Third time we went shopping together, ended up in a department store changing room. He tried on jeans, I stepped in to help zip him up, and I took him in my mouth right there, sucked him until he finished down my throat while he gripped the mirror to stay quiet.”

Brock’s hand flexed against my chest, fingers spreading wider. “He came in your mouth that first time?”

“Yeah. And every time after.”

He asked more, how many times we met, what else we did, whether I topped him or he topped me. I answered everything as my cock throbbed against the mattress. “I’m versatile, but I bottom more often. Guys give head better than any woman I tried with, no comparison. And taking it in the ass feels tighter, hotter, more intense than anything else I’ve experienced.”

He shifted again, his hips pressed forward. “You swallow every time?”

He caught himself right after, muttering an apology for asking something too personal. I cut him off. “Don’t apologise. I don’t mind. Yeah, I swallow. Always. I like it.”

His groin pushed firmly against my ass now, and I felt the full length of him, straining against the thin cotton of his boxers. The heat of his erection nestled right between my cheeks, separated only by fabric, and the pressure made my own cock leak against the sheet. 

He eased his hips back an inch. I protested immediately. “Don’t move away.”

He exhaled against my neck. “All this talk affected me in a way you probably don’t want to feel.”

I pushed back, closing the gap again until his hardness slotted right against me. “I have the exact same problem. And I liked how close you were. We never get moments this intimate.”

He hesitated only a second before his arm tightened around me. His lips brushed my neck. His hand slid lower, his palm glided over my stomach until his fingers wrapped around my cock through the boxer briefs. He gave one firm squeeze, confirming what he already knew, then guided my hips back so I felt every inch of his hard length grind against my ass.

“Sex conversations with your own son’s friend turn out more enjoyable than I ever imagined,” he said. “They always complain it gets awkward. This doesn’t feel awkward at all.”

We stayed locked together like that for a long while, his hand occasionally stroked over my chest or stomach, my ass rocking subtly against his erection whenever the need built too high. Neither of us crossed the line further.

Eventually the morning advanced too far to ignore. He kissed my neck one last time, gave my hip a gentle pat, and rolled away to get up. “Beach still on?”

I nodded. “Definitely.”

We moved around the apartment getting ready, showering separately, packing towels and sunscreen and a cooler with drinks. I pulled out the new speedo I bought a few weeks ago. I stepped into the living room to grab my sunglasses and caught him looking as I adjusted the waistband.

He tilted his head, eyes traveling down and back up. “That fits you really well.”

I turned halfway, glancing over my shoulder. “How cute does my ass look in it?”

He laughed and stepped closer to flick the elastic lightly. “Very cute. Dangerous, even.”

I grinned but he just ruffled my hair and went to finish packing the car.

And then we enjoyed our beach day like usual.

To be continued....