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Some quick smut I banged out today. Give it a like on my Tumblr if you're so inclined. Inspired by a photo Michael Kidd, shot by Rey Rey's Photography. He is not the character, this is fiction, you're an adult so you know the drill. Please, don't sue me. I'm poor. *** Dad wouldn’t tell me what he was up to but he was bigger. The way he filled his shorts in was obscene. He said he was just working out harder. Right. It had only been a month since mom left him and he’d grown. He been growing. He kept growing. My father got visibly larger every day. We’d worked out together before. Lifting weights was our regular father/son bonding since I was twelve. Even when I came out, we didn’t miss a session. But almost imediately after mom left, he insisted on training alone in the basement. He would’t let me down there anymore. Said it wasn’t me, just that he needed space alone. I figured he was crying down there, needed a place where he didn’t have to be “strong” when he felt weak and helpless. Then I heard the grunting through the vent. At first I thought he had a dog down there. A weird ass dog to boot. Maybe one of those mutts from Ghostbusters. Mom was allergic to dogs but dad had grown up with them. He actually got choked up talking them. He always stopped to pet dogs who came across him when he was out. But I never heard those sounds when he wasn’t down there. He’d have told me if he had a dog. None of those dogs made the sounds I heard. They were borderline sexual. That’s why I had to go down there. I needed to know what he was doing, why he had to be alone instead of spending man-time with his only child. He left the door unlocked one day while he was out. I’d been coming over mre often to check on him. Dad had said some stuff that made me worry he might hurt himself. Break-ups will cause that, especially one after thirty years of marriage. But I was glad he was out. I thought he might have found a girlfriend. And it gave me a chance to snoop. But I wasn't ready for what I found. The muscle mags were one thing. Dad was working out hardcore. Okay. Not that I ever knew he had so many. Then I saw that some of those mags had nudes. I didn't even know they still published skin mags with the Internet going strong. So my dad was gay and didn’t even bother to tell his queer as fuck only son. Terrific. And the mags were scattered everywhere. Pages were lying loose on the floor. Some were stapled to the wood paneled walls. Then there were the rags. Torn up t-shirts. Ripped pants. Jockstraps with the jock torn open. All scattered everywhere. So my dad was turning into the Incredible Hulk in the basement? No wonder mom had left. One of the shirts--a nice polo shirt I’d gotten him for his birthday, I might add--was stuck to the wall like he’d thrown it there. I saw splatter marks from the impact. That splatter? It was cum. Cum was fucking everywhere. Some of it was even fresh, scattered all over the mags and the exercise equipment. Pools of it. The smell was overwhelming. And it made me hard as a rock. I’m not even a smells guy but it turned a switch on in my brain and I couldn’t turn it off. I tried. Something about that stench made me feel manlier, like I was getting bigger and stronger just from inhaling my father's crazy-ass super loads. I took deep snorts of the stench. It made my nose buzz. It didn't even smell like cum or sweat as much as it smelled like manhood. And manhood smelled terrific! It felt terrific! I put my finger into some of the cum that he'd shot on the lifting bench and thought "fuck yeah, dad." I had a vision of him in his more powerful body pushing those weights up and down while he was rock hard and... I snapped back, sickened. I was in my childhood basement, holding my crotch in my hand while I was putting a cum coated finger into my mouth while rock hard, thinking about my own father. I got the hell out and thanked my lucky stars that Dad hadn't come home to catch me. But I was still rocking a stronger hard-on of my life for two hours, even though I tried to think about anything other than sex. Then the call came. “Abel,” dad said, “Let's go for a walk.” His voice was cold. Growly in a way that was unfamiliar. I hesitated but said yes. If he wanted to yell at me, so be it. I had some yelling to do too. When I got to the park he walk looking alpha as fuck. That had become standard but the effect never diminished. On that day, he seemed twice as manly as the day before and I hated it. On any other man that would be instant boner fuel. Thick, vascular thighs. Pumped arms. Gray beard. But he was my dad. Even gay boys don’t get hard to their own dads. I never had before. Then I caught a whiff, just a little whiff, of that freak man-smell, It might have been my imagination. Didn’t mater. I felt my dick buzz all over again. And I felt shame. “I’m not mad, Abel. I wish you hadn’t gone down there but, well...” Dad kept his eyes on me and I was the one who looked away. “That’s fucked up, Dad. That’s really... I don’t wanna know.” Sometimes we tell lies thinking they’re the truth. “You have to know now. I can’t keep it secret much longer anyway.” “Secret? What?” Just because dad wasn’t yelling didn't mean I couldn't. “Is this the shit that drove mom away?” “No. But if she hadn't left, this wouldn't have happened. I'm glad it happened too." “God damnit. Just tell me what's going on so you can get it off--" I winced. Bad word choice "--your chest." And, with even better timing, I noticed Dad's chest flaring. He'd always had a good shape to it but, for the first time, I realized my dad had pecs. Big ones. "Are you gay, Dad? Did you let me come out to you and not tell me you were gay too? Because that’s really fucked up. That’s fucking cruel. That’s...” My voice was breaking. “It’s not quite like that. I mean...” I shouted “Then what the fuck is it?” “Shut up.” If he'd slapped me with the back of his hand, it wouldn't have been as effective. “Follow me.” And I did follow, red faced and sniffling. We followed a paved trail deep into the woods, then he went off on a dirt path. I thought it was for bikes but it was too narrow and unkempt. “It happens at home sometimes. I like that. Gives me a chance to explore it on my own. But it's better here.” I screwed my face up in disgust but, before I could complain, I caught that scent again. “It’s better with the others. It’s stronger. Fuller. I dunno. I need to be with the others.” “There’s a group of you? Aw, dad. You were always warning me about internet freaks and now--” “This ain’t on the internet, Abel. And you better not tell anyone. We can’t let outsiders know.” That was when I noticed Dad's voice. It was deeper. Strained. He huffed and puffed. He put his hands on a tree and stretched out. His back... it was wider. "That smell means it's coming, son. It's coming real strong." I heard footsteps. Leaves rustling. “I’m sorry about this. But you won’t be. It’ll bring us closer together, I promise.” He punded his fist against a tree. I heard something snap. Not a branch from the men walking towards us but from his body. There was another snap. Then Iooked down at his ass. How and when my father had gotten a bubble butt, specifically a perfect bubble butt, was beyond me. And all of the sudden, as he arched his back forward, popped that ass out, cried out, and the cloth split open. I saw my father's ass crack for the first time in my life. And I smelled that superhuman man-funk erupting from his skin, stronger than what he'd left in the basement. And as my dad grunted and groaned and swelled and stretched, I saw those others come out. They were not men. Men aren’t that big. Guys spend whole paychecks on drugs and gym hours to look half as powerful. Now I know it’s a waste. They wore tatters that were wrapped around their carved-stone arms and legs. One man tore the remains of a shirt from his chest. Schwarzenegger could only dream of having a chest that big with a waist that small. I didn’t say no. Didn’t say yes either. I might have flinched or pushed a hand away once. But I walked head first into someone's someone’s hard, hairy, inhuman chest and any resistance I had went at that touch. I sank to the ground, surrounded by a set of Tom of Finland super cocks that all had a variation of my father’s freak smell. Then I found the one that wasn’t a variant. “I have to do this, Abel" he said. He pressed my head against his crotch. "I tried to fight it but I don't want to anymore. I wan’t you to be one of--” The moment he said “us.” I clamped my mouth on his cock and he growled. His voice dropped another octave. “I should have done this sooner!” the others laughed. Then they cheered. They cheered because the saw the start of my body swelling up and stretching out. I moaned because I felt stars exploding inside myself. I roared because I felt like a man. More than a man. More than an animal. When people ask me what's going on, I tell them I'm working out harder. It's true. I haven't bought new clothes yet. I don't want to. I'll do so when I'm down to my last set. Then I'll buy a new wardrobe to destroy. I've moved back in with Dad. It's easier that way. More private. More satisfying. When the urge overwhelms one of us, we both go for the ride. The house is a mess now. We fuck too much. Break too much. The neighbors are complaining. They say there's a smell coming from the house. The women don't like it. But the men? They've been poking around. Trying to see what's going on. Needing to smell what's going on. I think they'll come around soon. They might do it without us. I'm already seeing the changes on their bodies. Less fat. Less bone. More muscle. More men. They're looking alpha as fuck these days, but Dad is the real alpha. I'm second in command. We're sitting back. Watching it happen. Waiting. It won't be long. We can wait. Barely.