Say the Wrong Thing

I was in a situation I’d been in far more times than I care to count. My ex-wife, my daughter and her 19-year-old, Marine recruit boyfriend were all looking at me like I was an idiot. My big mouth, of course.

“Daddy!” moaned Annette first.

“Good grief, Harold!” Marsha said right after that.

“Uh, thank you, sir.” Private First Class Victor Tolliver said, and flushed.

“Daddy, how could you?” Annette continued and fled the room. Victor followed her, a puzzled look on his earnest blond-cropped hair above the field-green uniform.

“Harold, you really have to learn to watch your mouth!” my ex-wife launched into me.

“I was just trying to be friendly.” I said. “You know, make a joke in an awkward situation.”

“So you took one look at our daughter’s new boyfriend, then another look up and down and you whistle like a 40's cartoon wolf at a pretty girl and say, ‘Whoo-hoo! Scrumptious!’” My ex-wife repeated my words with relish.

“I’m sure he already knew I was gay.” I said.

“Well if he didn’t, he certainly doesn’t have any questions now, does he? And what is he going to think of our daughter with a father like you?”

“He’s going to think she has good taste to pick him?” I ventured.

“Oh, God!” was her sole comment and she left to go help console her daughter.

So I’d stuck my foot in my mouth again. Shit! I was trying to be gay and a father to a now-adult daughter. Everyone says, when they grow up, you have to stop being their parent and start being their friend. Well, I’d just tried that with her new boyfriend, express my appreciation at how he was six foot two inches tall, with a wide set of shoulders and slim hips and a basket that filled out even those slouchy green fatigues he was wearing so...oh, my God, that boy must have a ten-inch dong in there! And his face, wide and honest and innocent and kind, I just wanted to kiss him and never let him go.

Make a joke? Hell, I’d just said the first thing on my lips was all.

My daughter deserved an apology all right. I’d better go find her and Victor and apologize to both of them.

I turned to see a blond muscular hunk in the doorway. He cleared his throat. “Mr. Sawyer?”

“Call me Hal.” I said. “My friends all do. When I hear the name ‘Harold,’ it means I’m in trouble for my big mouth again.”

“Yes, sir.” Victor cleared his throat, said, “Can we speak somewhere private, sir?”

“About what I said?” I asked and he nodded. “Look, I owe you a big apology, I was just mouthing off, I was nervous and....”

“It’s not that, sir.” Victor said. “I know you were just being yourself, sir.”

“Yes, I was.” I said. “My daughter says that my mouth just keeps flapping long after everyone else is getting tired of hearing it, and I say things without thinking and end up making everything worse the longer I talk and....” I trailed off, sheepishly. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

“I guess so, sir.”

“Look, let me go apologize to my daughter and then I’ll meet you, say...upstairs, the second bedroom on the right.” I said. “It’s where I’m sleeping tonight, assuming I don’t get kicked out the door before I can finish apologizing.”

“I’ll be up there, sir.” Victor said. I followed that so-tight, high-up, rectangular instead of rounded set of buttocks as they began to wobble left-up, right-up, left-up, right-up as he went upstairs. Oh, God, if I could stick my tongue between those buttocks, I’d turn those things back into globes before I stopped digging! Shaking my head, I went to apologize to Annette.

Fifteen minutes of saying, “I’m sorry, honey” and “I’m an idiot” over and over did it like it always did. She was wiping her face dry and looked in her mirror.

“Oh, God, I’ve ruined my makeup.” she moaned. “Mom, do you have any Citrus Sunset color lipstick?”

“No, dear, but I have “Orange Blush.” my ex-wife offered,

“That won’t do!” Annette moaned.

“What’s the difference?” I asked. “An orange blushing and an orange playing the sun going down behind the hills. Sound the same to me.”

“Haven’t you chewed on your boot sole enough today?” My ex-wife chimed in, her favorite way of pointing out I was about to stick my foot in it again.

“Okay, I’ll shut up.”

“Can’t you use a different shade of lipstick?” my ex-wife asked my daughter.

“No, Mom, it matches this blouse!”

“Where can we buy it?” my ex-wife said.

“God, put on some Orange Blush!” I moaned. “You two take off shopping, dinner will take another couple of hours, at least.”

“You keep out of this!” Marsha said to me. “Come on, baby, we’ll find you some more lipstick and then we’ll come back and fix these two baboons something to eat.”

“Ook, ook, ook, ook, ook!” I said, scratching myself under my arm.

That got me a laugh and a kiss from my daughter. Now and then, I say something right.

I saw them out the door. What was it I had to do now? Oh, yeah, Victor! He wanted to talk to me privately about something or other. He seemed like an old-fashioned kind of guy, maybe he wanted to ask for my daughter’s hand in marriage. It would explain why my unorthodox but positive response to him was why he wanted to talk to me, but not need an apology for me basically raping him with my eyes.

So I went into my bedroom with a pretty positive outlook here. I find Victor pacing about nervously, I figure for certain that he’s about to ask me the question regarding my daughter’s fingers and the appendage they were attached to, and the ownership thereof being transferred from me to him.

“All right, Victor, what is it you want to talk about?”

“Well, it’s kind of about what you said, sir.” Victor began.

“I thought as much.” I said smiling. “In fact, let me save you the trouble of asking me. I’d be glad to say yes.”

“You will?” Victor’s face lit up and a grin split it right in two, nearly. “God, that’s great! Just great!”

“Happy to give you my blessing, in fact.” I went on. “I hope you’ll let me be the one to let it out.”

“Uh...certainly, sir!” Victor began walking toward me.

“I mean, it’s my moment to be the one on top of everything, you know.” I went on.

“You can be on top if you want to, sir.”

“And I know that it will just thrill my ex-wife to know I’m the one doing it.”

“You think so?” Victor’s eyes showed confusion. Then he shook his head, said, “You know her better than me, but I’d think she’d be the last one who would want to know.”

“Are you kidding?” I said. “Marsha is going to want every last detail from me when I’m done.”

“You’d be the one to know, sir.” Victor said. “Uh, can we take care of it right now, then, while they’re gone?”

“Now?” I said. “But there’s nobody to tell anything!”

“I don’t want to tell anyone until we’re done.” Victor said.

I began to feel that old, familiar feeling. “I’ve done said the wrong thing again, haven’t I?”

“Yes, sir.” Victor said. “It’s all right. Just let me be the one to get us started, and we’ll get things straightened out that way, all right?”

“Fine.” I said to my soon-to-be son-in-law. “You take charge here and I’ll figure out what I said wrong.”

And Victor stepped really close to me, looked me right in my nonplused eyes, and leaned in and I was being kissed by this huge, muscled soldier boy and I was being kissed for real!

“Glmph!” I said and then my lips got under control and I could kiss him back, and I began to cook with gas, making sure this big lug knew I appreciated what he was doing!

His hands went around my body and I raised my captive arms up as much as I could to reciprocate, could only find that narrow waist. I felt cheated, then grinned to myself. I wasn’t cheated. My hands went down again, and I caught those twin pair of tight buns and I pulled him to me. His cock smashed into my navel (his height was about six inches more than mine!) and I squirmed to make that rod wriggle about in his pants (either he was in boxers, or going commando!), and Victor moaned and began to hunch at me, his lips nibbling at my neck.

“God, Victor, I didn’t know you wanted me!” I gasped as he feasted on my shoulder-blade, pushing my shirt apart to get at it. “I thought you wanted to marry my daughter.”

Victor was surprised at that, and he leaned back, “Marry Annette?”

“Yeah.” I said. “I mean, you wanted to talk to me and you were nervous, so I just figured you wanted to ask my permission to marry her.”

“So that’s why you said....” Victor threw his head back and laughed. “Your ex-wife is right, sir!” he got out after a time. “You just always say the wrong thing.”

“I know better now.” I said humbly.

“Yeah, you know better now.” Victor said. “Now, sir, where were we?”

I remembered. “You had promised to let me be the one on top.”

“Huh?” Victor did a double-take. “Yeah, I did.”

I grabbed those buns again. “So let me take charge here like you promised.”

“Uh...yes, sir.” Victor agreed. “That’s probably for the best.”

I remembered some more. “So what were you going to ask me?”

“Well, I knew that you were gay, so I introduced myself to Annette in order to meet you. I wanted to see if you could introduce me to other gay men, sir. But when you said that you said, I figured, shoot, I might as well do it with you, sir. If you were willing.”

“So I said something right after all!” I marveled. “That’s a first for me!”

“So could you take charge, sir?” Victor said. “Let me find out what it’s like. Do it right and all? If you can.”

“Don’t worry.” I said. “I only talk wrong.” And Victor visibly relaxed.

“Let’s get you naked, and then on the bed.” I said. “We got plenty of time. When my ex-wife and daughter go out for a tube of lipstick, they come back in two or three hours with about a hundred dollars of stuff.”

“Good.” Victor agreed. He reached up and began to undo that green fatigue shirt he had on. Under it was a green t-shirt, but much darker in color. It clung to him like so much spray paint. Then he peeled it off over his head, and I saw the wonderfully sculptured form of him. Nineteen years old, more than two decades my junior, and he was giving me a strip tease, I realized, because when he finished lifting it off over his head, the tee still trapping his lower arms, he grinned at me and I grinned back and stepped up.

“I believe you could use some help here.” I said. “Like with the belt buckle and what’s underneath it.”

“I believe I could, sir.” Victor agreed like a good soldier in the face of his superior.

Hmm, these belts are kind of odd. A solid square brass in the middle. It had to work somehow. A button on top slid. I tried to push it with one finger.

Illustration of Say The Wrong Thing “If I can help you, sir?” Victor offered, and when I pulled my hands back, he reached down and undid the belt easily, slid it off his pants.

“Okay, I can take it from here.” I said. I was confronted by a rather formidable looking zipper. Twice the size of any zipper I’d seen before. Heavy duty, I guess. Still, it was a zipper and I got it down after unfastening the single button at the top. Now it’s time for the real fun. I pulled them down and yep, he had on boxers, also army green. But they were tented out with plain old American dick, I was in familiar territory now. With his pants down, I wasted no time in freeing that marvelous monster and giving him a warm place to hide, inside my mouth!

Victor just moaned and let me chow down on him. I was able to shove that entire ten-incher (I knew it!) into my mouth and throat and just sort of suckle on it, using my tongue to taste it all over, working my lips as I slowly relinquished it, causing Victor to give out wave after wave of pleased grunting. And my fingers got to play with those unclothed buns of his, my God, they were like a pair of solid muscles there, so little give in them, they were practically fatless! I just wanted to palp them, but there was no give in those solid orbs.

Grunting in frustration, I spun my willing teenaged recruit around and bent him over, and those dimpled pads of his turned out to be like a pair of back-to-back and upside-down L’s! The Marines had trained his butt out of being a butt! I dove into the small remaining cleft they had left him and tasted the strong funk of his body there, the concentrated oils of his body as they eked out and were trapped there, the water evaporating, leaving the rest to stay and await my tongue’s attentions.

When my tongue-tip ticking his tuckerhole, Victor moaned, “Oh, God, sir, I never felt nothing like that before!”

Well, let’s give him more of what he hadn’t had before! I caressed and nourished that entire ring, and then I stiffened my tongue into a sharp tipped spear and poked it at the central sphincter. Victor gasped, and then the sphincter gave way for me a bit, and my tip ducked inside for a bit of the bitter juices, bearing them out in triumph.

“Oh, Jesus, sir, I can’t take that!” Victor groaned. “I am so fucking hot, my nuts are about to explode, sir! Can you please hurry and finish me off, sir, please? I don’t care, how, just let me get off!”

So much stud, so little time! I considered this and settled for squirming under and between his legs, the pants tramped down over his boots onto the floor, and me now able to suck his dong while I drove a spit-slicked finger into that tiny hole of his I’d been prospecting in.

With that going for me, Victor didn’t last long at all, the blond stud squirmed, screamed, and creamed, his hot juices pouring into my mouth and throat, the kind of a load only a hot teenager can unleash and which a sex-deprived recruit saves up for weeks at a time! I drank him down and when I scooted to safety when he was finished, he fell onto the bed, his knees hitting the floor. I crawled up onto the bed myself, my clothes wringing wet with sweat (I hadn’t undressed at all during all this) and sighed with delight. “Boy, I’m sure glad I said the wrong things to you.” I said.

Victor turned and his hand rested on my chest. “Now it’s my turn, isn’t it, sir?”

“Your turn? For what?”

He smiled. “There you go saying the wrong thing again. You should have said, it sure is, so get busy.” And he proved his point by beginning to undress me. He was a lot better at it than I had been with him.

He got me naked with only brief pauses to free his fettered feet from boots, socks, pants and boxers. When we were both free for the taking, he climbed on top of me and his tongue began to do things I didn’t think a nineteen-year-old had any ideas about. So much for him being totally naive, this guy may not have done it before, but he had read up on all the tricks and was trying them out on me. He took my own trick of licking my butthole, too, my legs up high in the air, and I found myself moaning like he had been.

“Now I get to finish you off, sir.” he said.

“Yeah, but...if you can.” I said. “Would you finish me off my way?”

“How’s that?”

“Fuck me.” I said. “Get it hard and stick it up me. God, I want that hard young pud of yours buried in me to the hilt.”

He spat liberally on his hand and soon had a greased pillar aimed at my nether tunnel. As it slipped in slowly, his muscled hips thrusting it in, his broad, massive body above me, I groaned and clutched at him, hard. He and I fell into a comfortable rhythm, our bodies matching and meshing. My older body needed more time, and with him having already shot his top load, he could give me the time. For a long, blissful, uncounted time, he fucked my ass, us shifting positions again and again, me on top of him, riding him, him kneeling by the bed with me splayed out on the bed in a T-formation, me curled into a ball with him lying on top of it, his cock and hips nearby it practially our sole point of contact.

At long, long last, my body agreed that it was time for me to release my juices to this magnificent stud. The sparks began to flicker in my brain, the pleasures warmed about me, and I clutched him (we were back to him on top, me with my legs around his waist again), and I said, “I’m about to come, Victor. You ready to get my spunk all over those washboard abs of yours?”

“Yes, sir!” He grinned, and when he shifted his tempo, closed his eyes and began to move more earnestly, I realized that he had been waiting for me all along. And as I built my orgasm, he constructed his own citadel of climax alongside, as I cried out, his face darkened like he was blushing, as I splashed him with my vaunted warning shot of jizz onto his stomach, he gave out a keening cry and I felt another, equally huge load of hot sperm boiling into my body, I moaned and pulled him to me, my cock was trapped between us and squelched my cream into a lather between us, while Victor’s nuts squirted my bowels on and on, him above me, his face scrunched up in climax, and I closed my own eyes and moaned along with him.

“Oh, God, I wish this particular moment would go on forever.” I gasped out at the end of my orgasm, my body still shaking and wracked with aftershocks of passion.

“So do I, sir.” Victor agreed.

“What the hell are you two doing?” came the outraged cry of my ex-wife.

“Oh, Daddy, how could you?” came my daughter’s anguished moan right next to her.

“Ah, Jeez!” Victor moaned and rolled off me.

I did my best, I sat up naked, come-covered, on the edge of the bed, and I confronted my ex-wife and my daughter and I said, “You got it all wrong! Victor never planned to sleep with Annette. He was after me all along!”

I always did say the wrong thing at a time like this!

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