When we stripped Luke out of his clothes, I wondered if it was the first time Joel had seen his stepson’s body after his transition. It must’ve been, because Joel practically fell face-first into Luke’s bonus hole, like a starving man in front of a meal. He licked, and sucked, and dug his teeth into that sensitive spot. I watched my son’s face contort as he lost himself in his son’s flavor. Between us, we were three generations of lust, intertwined.
I didn’t want to say too much at that point, lest it interfere with their experience, so I kept silent. I held Luke, as if to support him, while Joel fished his own cock out of his slacks. Joel entered his boy with the ferocity of freedom he neither knew he wanted nor needed. I watched them fuck, both of them dripping with sweat.
They ground against each other, Joel thrusting into Luke, Luke writhing in my lap in throes of forbidden ecstasy. The mania of their sexuality overcame me, too; I stripped out of my underwear and presented my own erection to my grandson’s mouth. Luke took it quickly—lapping just at the head at first, then opening wide and allowing it to enter his face completely. We, Joel and I, spit-roasted Luke between us. Luke held Joel’s hands. I kissed Joel’s mouth while fucking Luke’s face. We were, in some way, a triangle, joined at impossible points of scandal.
