1. This Is What You Do To Me - Blake & Ben (Part 12)


    Date: 12/21/2014, Categories: Fiction, Author: StudioXPS, Rating: 88.2, Source: sexstories.com

    Blake Abel Foster Two days after the amazing dinner, I wake up and am, for once, truly happy. Everything is back on track. My father apologized, and wants to make up for lost time. He showed he still truly loves me by inviting Ben over for dinner and turns around and apologizes to Ben, as well. I’m in complete bliss - the two men I love most in this world love me back. What could make a boy happier? Still resting my head on the pillow, I look over to the empty spot in my bed. How I would love it if I could wake up to Ben every morning. That , right there, would make this boy happier. But, what can I do? I mean, yeah, I’m eighteen. I’m a legal adult, in the eyes of the state of Missouri and the United States. But, I am still living under the same roof as my parents. Oh, well! The future holds so many possibilities for Ben and I. Graduation, college - or in my case, the police academy, marriage, etcetera. Thank God I live in the state of Missouri - at least it’s a state that recognized same-sex marriage. I force all of that out of my head. The future can wait. It’ll come when it comes. Right now, in the present, I’m content. No need to get ahead of myself. I release a heavy, but happy, sigh and roll out of bed. Today’s Sunday, which means no school. I walk over to my dresser drawers, still in my black Under Armor boxer-briefs, and pull out a pair of black Under Armor basketball shorts and slip them on. I close the drawer and open the drawer above that one and pull out a white ...
    Nike football shirt with a red Nike “swoosh” on it. I pull it over my head and make my way towards my bedroom door, only stopping to remove my iPhone from its charger on my bedside table. I make my way down the stairs to the kitchen, the smell of breakfast hitting my nostrils halfway down. My bare feet hit the hard wood of the kitchen floor. “Morning, sweetie,” my mother says. “Morning, champ,” says my father. I make my way over to the kitchen table and take a seat. Dad is reading the Sunday paper, while mom fries bacon at the stove. “Morning, guys,” I say. “So, bud…” my father says, folding up the paper and slapping it down onto the table, “You ready for the game next week?” “Really, dad,” I ask, lifting up the black protective boot on my foot. Yesterday, at my doctor appointment, the doctor said my leg was healing nicely and we switched out my hard cast for a black protective boot. “Oh, yeah… Small talk was never my strong suit,” he says with an apologetic smile. “It’s fine, dad,” I say, smiling. “How do you want your eggs, honey,” my mother asks, walking over a plate of freshly cooked bacon. Shit smells delicious! I’ve always loved bacon - it’s like the candy of meats. “Over easy, I guess,” I say, smiling at my mother. She walks over to the fridge, grabs the carton of eggs out of the refrigerator and returns to the stove. I look back over at dad, hearing the crack of the egg against the frying pan, then the sound of egg contents sizzling as it makes contact with the hot ...
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