Some One Shot Gay Fantasy

9: My son's hung friend

Staring into the mirror, I see a reflection that speaks volumes of dedication and strength. Chiseled features - angular jawline, intense blue eyes, and a mane of thick, dark hair - paint a picture of rugged handsomeness. Broad shoulders lead down to a torso sculpted by countless hours at the gym, each muscle defined like fine art. With a deliberate flex, the rippling abs come alive, a testament to disciplined training—six feet three inches tall, I tower over most men, my imposing stature drawing attention effortlessly. Women find themselves drawn to the raw power exuded, their gazes fixated on the physique they know is irresistible.

On the surface, we're the perfect family - the handsome, successful council member, the stunning, bossy wife, and our bright, smart son. But behind closed doors, it's a different story. My marriage has long since lost its spark, reduced to little more than a business arrangement. We barely share a bed these days, let alone any real intimacy. She's off gallivanting with her latest young stud, while I'm busy building my empire and maintaining this façade of domestic bliss.

That's why I throw myself into my workouts with such fervor. At the gym, I can forget about the emptiness at home, and lose myself in the burn of muscles pushed to their limits. The admiring glances and flirtatious smiles from the women around me are a balm to my ego, a reminder that I'm still desirable, still a catch.

But, seemed like, everything had changed since that night! The memory of that fateful encounter still haunts me. It was like a scene from a twisted nightmare – being taken advantage of by my son's best friend, an 18-year-old kid. I could still feel the painful stretch of my hole, the brutal invasion of his thick cock. Each thrust deeper, harder, more insistent than the last until I was gasping and whimpering beneath him, utterly dominated and humiliated. In retrospect, it was almost poetic justice. For years, I'd been the one calling the shots, always in control. But that night, I was powerless, my body writhing and moaning under his relentless assault. It was a bitter pill to swallow, realizing how easily I could be brought to my knees, even by someone like Dave.

I couldn't deny the impact it had on me, though. There was a new intensity to my workouts, a singular focus that bordered on obsession. Every rep, every set, was an attempt to reclaim some semblance of control, to rebuild the strength and dominance I felt slipping away.

I wanted to wreak havoc on Dave, to make him pay for what he did. In my mind, I saw myself pummeling him, smashing his face against hard surfaces, breaking his bones, crushing his ego. But I knew better. Not only would it destroy Mark to learn the truth about his best friend, but it would shatter the carefully crafted facade of our seemingly perfect life.

Still, it didn't sit right with me, knowing that Dave had gotten away scot-free. And then there was the way he treated Mark, his best friend, like a king. The affection, the respect...it was clear that Dave genuinely cared for him. I hated that fact and resented Dave for it, but I couldn't ignore it either.

The worst part was seeing the effect it had on Mark. He was happy, really fucking happy. And that happiness came from Dave. I couldn't bring myself to ruin that for him.

So I biter to keep it silent, and choose to hide from it.

It became a routine, a daily ritual. I'd stay late at the office, burying myself in paperwork and reports until it was well past midnight. Then, I'd hit the bars downtown, drinking away the loneliness and frustration. Some nights, I'd end up hooking up with some random woman, taking solace in meaningless sex. All the while, avoiding Dave at my house, making sure I got home late enough to miss him.

The cycle continued like this for weeks, and months. A steady rhythm of avoidance, booze, and casual encounters. Home at 3-4 AM, stumbling through the door, trying to be quiet so I wouldn't wake anyone up. I'd collapse onto my bed, exhausted and numb, replaying the events of that fateful night in my head.