Fetish: Daddy - Good-looking, nineteen-year-old twink, Vincent, can’t get laid—at least by the men he fancies—daddies. What’s he to do when he meets and falls for his best friend’s father, especially when he doesn’t even know if he’s gay?
Vincent seemingly has it all: he’s nineteen, slim, good-looking, and much sought after by men. Problem is, he doesn’t go for boys his own age; he prefers mature, daddy-types, and not only that, he likes to top them in bed. When Ned, his best friend’s dad turns up, Vince pursues him unashamedly even though he doesn’t know if Ned is gay or straight. It complicates matters even further when Ned mistakes Vince for a call boy. When a frustrated Vince finally makes a move on the older man, it threatens to ruin not only his friendship with Ned, but also with his best mate Robbie.
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-60054-490-3
lyd Category: His and His Kisses
Length: 14 pdf Pages / 4480 words
Formats Available: pdf, prc, lit, zipped html, lrf, epub,
Cover Price: 2.50
“Rob, be a good boy and duck down to the mall and get some milk and maybe some croissants for breakfast.” He took some banknotes from a jar on the breakfast counter.
“Okay, dad. Coming Vince?”
“No. I think I’ll stay here and keep your dad company. I’m not really dressed for the mall.”
Mr. Wardrop looked me over and nodded. Then he tossed Robbie the car keys and said, “Drive carefully, son.”
That assuaged Robbie’s temper a little, and he raced upstairs to grab his jeans. Once dressed, he was quickly out the door shouting a departing, “I won’t be long.”
“Any orange juice while we’re waiting,” I said as I wrenched the fridge door open. Mr. Wardrop had jumped up to stop me, but was too late. Yes, there was orange juice. On the top shelf. Just behind the milk.
I closed the fridge door slowly and turned toward him. As I pushed him back in his chair, I buried my tongue in his smile. Then I had his robe open and was running my hands through the fur on his chest. His nipples were already hard as I sat on his knee facing him, feeling something else hard, as well.
He held me at bay for a moment. “Vincent, we really shouldn’t,” he said, but his cock said otherwise.
Barry Lowe’s dreams of winning the Nobel Prize for Literature faded about thirty years ago when he realised what he wrote best was about the wild, wacky, wonderful world of sex and that his vocabulary would never rival Patrick White’s or even Evelyn Waugh’s. Since then he’s been happily churning out the odd gay sex comedy for stage as well as a mountain of newspaper columns and an avalanche of erotica for print and eBooks. He is also the author of Atomic Blonde, a biography of 1950s sex goddess, Mamie Van Doren. He lives in Sydney, Australia, with his long-term partner, Wally.
Check out his website at www.barrylowe.net.