Note: I’m in love with the trope of an alpha male spurring physical changes in the guys around him. I’m also a sucker for curses, especially humiliating ones. This story explores these themes in several fun ways.

Themes: Cock growth, big cock, ball growth, big balls, butt growth, big butt, curse, cock shrinking, foreskins, clueless, pheromones, self-lubrication, humiliation, straight-to-gay, transformation, huge cock, weight gain, feminization, gainer-encourager, tg tf

***

Quick links:

• Chapter 1 – Scroll down!
• Chapter 2
• Chapter 3 – Posted 21 December 2025
• Chapter 4 – Coming soon!

***

Chapter 1

Bridge McMullen sat uncomfortably in the chair in the principal’s office. He was a big guy and the chair was designed for tweens because, this being the middle school, that was who normally sat here.

“We need to talk about Rowan’s behavior,” Principal Mendoza was saying. “We’re concerned about his…well, his insistence on wearing girl’s clothing. We think he should see the school therapist.”

Ah, that’s what this meeting is about, Bridge thought. I was wondering how long it would take before Mendoza had the balls to call me in about this. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to remain calm and kept his tone even, ”Rowan’s behavior is normal. So what if he likes to dress up? I don’t see a problem with it.”

Mendoza’s eyes widened slightly, “Wearing girl’s clothing at certain times may be normal for young boys but Rowan is fourteen years old, Mr. McMullen! His insistence on crossdressing can hardly be called normal any longer!” He paused, clearing his throat, “Mr. McMullen, aren’t you worried about him? He has made himself a target for bullying. We feel he would do better if you set some boundaries and sent him to school in boy’s clothing.”

“If he is getting bullied,” Bridge countered, raising his voice slightly and pointing across the desk at Mendoza, “that is your problem. You and his teachers need to make sure he is cared for and discipline any child who harasses him.” 

Mendoza wasn’t going to give up without a fight. “Are you aware that Rowan wore clothing appropriate for his gender until two months ago, on September 15th, to be precise?” he pressed. “Why do you think he suddenly decided to wear dresses when prior to that he was a perfectly normal fourteen-year-old?”

Yes! He really is gonna go there! Bridge thought, schooling his features to stifle the wolfish grin that wanted to spread across his face. I finally get to use the speech I’ve been rehearsing! He was almost giddy because, even since Rowan started wearing dresses to school, Bridge knew this day would come and he was prepared for it.

Mentally rubbing his hands together in eager expectation, he answered calmly, “I’ll answer your second question first. I disagree. I think Rowan is a perfectly normal fourteen-year-old regardless of whether he wears girl’s or boy’s clothing. What difference does it make? And, as to your first question, are you aware that Rowan’s mother walked out on us a year ago on September 15th?” 

Mendoza’s eyes widened and he stammered, “I, uh, no–”

Bridge held up his hand, continuing, “Don’t you think that’s a little too coincidental that he started to wear girl’s clothes on the anniversary of the day she left?” He could tell by Mendoza’s expression that this had never occurred to him. 

Taking advantage of the man’s startled silence, he explained, “Rowan already has a therapist and so do I, as does his older brother, Connor. We have been doing everything we can to recover from the hole in our lives that Madelyn left behind. I don’t need to tell you that children are more sensitive than adults, Mr. Mendoza, it only makes sense that Rowan is having a hard time with the absence of his mother and that he expresses it differently than an adult might.”

“Th-th-that, I mean–”

Bridged smoothly talked over him, “Even Connor is struggling, despite his efforts to cover it up by being the high school’s star football player. Did you know he hasn’t said a word to me since the night Madelyn left? It sucks, let me tell you. And what about me? Do you know how hard it is to run my own business and try to be a good father all while feeling like my heart is a dead lump of flesh in my chest? Have you ever lost a wife, Mr. Mendoza? Are you even married?”

“I, uh–”

Bridge kept right on going, “Sometimes I wish Madelyn had died instead of walking out on us. Death is awful but at least you have a body there to grieve over. Right now, the boys have no mother and no one to grieve. And me? I have two boys who are completely broken and I have no way to console them because they still blame me for her leaving. Oh, and I’m trying to grieve her loss, too.” He took a breath before concluding, “Now, do you have more you wish to discuss or can I leave?”

After being the recipient of this impressively-rehearsed soliloquy, Mr. Mendoza looked like a deer in the headlights. If Bridge hadn’t been so worked up, he might have found the man’s ashamed expression amusing. As it was, even though he’d rehearsed this speech many times over the last two months, delivering it left him feeling hollowed out inside. There was no sense of victory, only loss. A wave of grief washed over him and he only barely managed to keep tears from spilling out of his eyes.

When Mendoza remained mute, Bridget stood up stiffly, nodding once before stalking towards the door. Before he walked out, though, he turned and fixed Mendoza with his stern gaze, “I expect you and your staff members to do everything in your power to help Rowan, just as I am doing. If he chooses to dress as a girl, that’s his business. Make sure anyone who bullies him is disciplined properly.”

He slammed the door behind him.

***

He got Rowan out of class after that, making up some excuse. In contrast to Bridge who was tall and muscular if more than a bit on the heavy side, Rowan was short and slight, almost waifish. Rowan took after his mother and had inherited her rich, dark skin and soft, doe-like eyes. His hair was slightly long but also thick and wavy, a beautiful ebony color. That day, Rowan was wearing a Disney princess outfit like he normally did. Bridge couldn’t keep track of which one because he loathed everything Disney, although he was at pains to hide this fact from Rowan. The truth was that the only time Rowan talked to him was when the topic of conversation was princesses. If Bridge didn’t engage with him on that, there was little else they would share.

The boy was only too happy to get out of school early. Bridge lay his hand on his son’s shoulder, shepherding him down the hallway and out into the snowy parking lot. It was only mid November but winter had come early that year and there was already snow outside. The wind was bitterly cold, blowing down from the north. He opened the passenger side door to his big truck and took Rowan’s backpack while the boy clambered into the seat.

“Why did the principal want to talk with you, Dad?” Rowan asked after Bridge had started the engine.

Bridge looked over at him, replying honestly, “He’s concerned about you coming to school wearing a dress every day.”

Rowan swallowed and nodded, looking straight ahead.

“Listen, Rowan,” Bridge continued, “You know I don’t care what you wear, right? I want you to wear what you want, when you want. That’s what I told him. I also told him that they had better take care of anyone who bullies you. I want you to feel safe at school.”

“Oh.”

That was it. Bridge hadn’t expected anything more. Ever since Madelyn left, he was essentially persona non grata in his family because both of his boys blamed him for her decision to abandon the family. What could he do but smother his resentment and keep on trying his best to be a father to two teenagers who despised him?

“Dad, do you think the deer will be Ok? It’s awfully cold out.”

Bridge looked over, surprised that Rowan was actually talking to him about something non-Disney for once and also confused about where the question had come from. Uncertain how to respond, he chose to interpret the question broadly and replied, “Deer are hearty, they’re adapted to cold weather.”

“No,” Rowan clarified, “I mean our deer. Will he be Ok?”

“Our deer?” Bridge repeated, confused. “What do–Oh, you mean Stumpy?” ‘Stumpy’ was a young buck who had been hanging around their backyard for the past few weeks. Rowan had given him that name because he’d lost one horn and the other one was gnarled, evidence of damage the buck had endured while his antlers were still in velvet. Bridge explained, “Stumpy’ll be fine as long as he stays on our property. It’s not the cold he needs to worry about, firearm deer season starts in a couple of days.”

“It does?” When Bridge nodded, Rowan asked, “Is there anything we can do to keep him from leaving our property?”

Bridge smiled back at him, touched that the boy was so worried about the deer. “He’ll be fine. Trust me.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that, Dad.”

“Sure, you do that.” He was confident the deer would be Ok because they had over eighty acres and none of it was open to hunting. So far, at least, Stumpy had shown no inclination to wander far, largely because Bridge was illicitly feeding him.

He turned onto their road, passing by the little turnaround at the mouth of Dancer Road. The road had been closed after the bridge further down gave out and now the entrance was permanently blocked off. The township board was controlled by conservatives who perennially skimped on finances and they’d decided it wasn’t worth the million dollars it would cost to repair a bridge on a seldom-used dirt road. The roads might be shit, Bridge thought sardonically, but at least we have low property taxes!

“Dad, he’s still there.” Rowan pointed to the beat-up old Toyota Celica parked in the turnaround. “Isn’t he cold?”

Bridge glanced at the car. It had appeared at the turnaround a few days ago, something that wasn’t unusual. With home prices so high, the township was home to a fairly large housing-insecure population, many of whom lived out of their cars. In fact, there had been other cars parked there earlier in the summer but these had disappeared once the weather turned cold. Bridge couldn’t imagine living in a car, especially in the winter. The very thought made him shiver.

As he drove past the car, he saw there were several inches of snow on the hood and wondered if it had broken down. He’d never seen anyone in it but Rowan swore that he’d seen a man behind the wheel one day when the school bus drove past. 

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, looking over at Rowan, “let’s go home and grab a few blankets. We can leave them for him in case he doesn’t have enough to stay warm. How’s that sound?”

Rowan’s grin in response was all the answer he needed.

They parked at the house and Rowan ran inside to find blankets. Bridge followed behind and was surprised when Rowan went into his older brother Connor’s bedroom and started pulling blankets off the bed. Connor was very protective of his space and would flip out if Rowan or Bridge even set foot in the room, let alone tried to remove a blanket from the bed. He held his tongue, though, deciding that Connor and Rowan were old enough to work out their disagreements without his intervention.

Blankets in hand, Rowan returned to the truck and they drove back to the turnaround. Bridge stopped him, though, when he started to get out of the truck, warning, “Wait, we don’t know who might be in there. He could have a gun for all we know. How ‘bout if you let me check it out first? If everything looks Ok, I’ll wave you over.” Rowan set his jaw, preparing to argue but then thought better of it and nodded. Bridge accepted the load of Connor’s blankets and got out of the truck, the snow crunching under his feet.

It was a particularly cold day with the north wind whipping across the stubbly cornfield next to the turnoff. Bridge adjusted the collar on his coat and stalked over to the car. At first glance, it looked abandoned. It was rusty and barely roadworthy with bald tires and holes corroded in the fenders. The backseat was filled with boxes of junk. As he neared the driver’s side window, though, his eyes widened in shock. Slumped down in the driver’s seat was a young guy who was completely passed out. He looked to be no older than his late teens but it was hard to tell. His eyes were closed and his mouth was open, his lips blue. Strangely, despite the frigid cold, he was completely naked.

Bridge threw open the door and immediately covered the boy’s body with blankets. Terrified that he might be dead, he lowered his ear to the kid’s mouth, sighing with relief when he felt a soft puff of air on his earlobe. He was alive!

When Rowan saw his panicked reaction, he bolted from the truck and tore over to them. Seeing the unconscious boy’s face, he shouted, “Dad! It’s Connor!”

Bridge froze, doing a double take. Could it…? But, no. He shook his head. He knew for a fact that Connor was at school. Plus, Connor might be buff but he was nowhere near as lean as this boy. It was true, however, that the unconscious boy looked so much like him that he could have passed for Connor’s older brother. He had the same handsome features and sandy blond hair. There was a little trace of stubble on his cheeks like Connor’s, too. Properly fed and cleaned up, Bridge wondered if he’d be able to tell the two boys apart.

“It’s not Connor,” he reassured, placing his hand on Rowan’s back. “He just looks like him. C’mon, we need to get him to the hospital before he freezes to death.”

He leaned down to pick up the youth and had just succeeded in hefting his body into his arms when the kid woke up and started struggling.

“No!” he protested weakly. “Put me down! I won’t go! I don’t wanna go!”

“You have hypothermia,” Bridge soothed. “You need to get warm or you’ll die. I need to take you to the hospital.”

“NO!” The boy wrestled fiercely, showing surprising strength for one in such a weakened condition, but Bridge was stronger and easily subdued him. When the boy realized he wasn’t going to get free, he pleaded in a surprisingly deep voice, “Please! I can’t go to the hospital. I’m fine! I’m really fine!”

“Then why were you naked in your car without heat in the middle of winter?” Bridge countered.

The boy had no answer to that. 

Bridge was debating whether to call 9-1-1 or try to take the kid to the hospital himself when Rowan suggested, “Dad, can’t we bring him home with us? Our house is warm and we have lots of food, right? He can warm up there.”

He looked over at his son in shock. Rowan was a very private person who never even invited friends over, let alone complete strangers. Staring at him with surprise, he stammered, “I-I, uh, I mean–”

The young man interrupted, murmuring weakly, “Yes, that’s Ok. I’ll do that. I just don’t wanna go to the hospital. I ain’t got no insurance anyways.”

Bridge looked from his son to the stranger, stuck in a difficult position. Was he prepared to take in a homeless youth? One he didn’t know and who could suffer from God-knows-what physical or emotional maladies? He already had his hands full with two recalcitrant teenagers. Could he handle a third? And what if the kid was wanted by the police?

So many questions!

Unfortunately, he didn’t have the luxury of time to ponder the answers and was forced to make a snap decision. Looking at Rowan’s determined face, he sighed and wrapped the young guy carefully in the blankets and carried him to the truck.

***

When they returned home, he carried the boy into the bathroom and had Rowan run the bathwater, instructing him to fill the tub with lukewarm water, “We’ll add hotter water once he’s not so cold.” He knew that with hypothermia you didn’t want to warm up the person too quickly. 

The young man faded in and out of consciousness, something that Bridge knew was dangerous. He’d always heard that the person could die if they fell asleep. He gently slapped the boy’s cheeks, urging him to stay awake. When the tub was finally full, he lowered him into the water.

Rowan let out an audible gasp just then and he looked back questioningly at his son, discovering that Rowan was staring fixedly at the boy’s crotch. Bridge could hardly blame him! Even shriveled up from the cold, the boy’s equipment that was nothing short of super-sized. Bridge cleared his throat, “Lemme take it from here, Ok? If you wanna do something go get him a couple glasses of water? He’s probably dehydrated. Make sure they’re warm but not hot.”

Still staring at the boy’s nakedness, Rowan nodded and departed for the kitchen.

Bridge got up and closed the bathroom door behind his son, sagging against it for a moment before returning to the tub. He knelt down, angling his body so he only had a view of the boy’s upper body. He debated getting a pair of Connor’s underwear for the poor guy but decided against it. The kid was so out of it that he was probably unaware even that he was naked.

The boy watched him through heavily lidded eyes before sinking into the lightly steaming water and murmuring, “Thank you for saving me.” Then he closed his eyes.

Rowan returned with the glasses of water, holding one to the boy’s chapped lips until he swallowed. “Leave that other glass here,” Bridge instructed when the first glass was empty. “I’ll give it to him later.” When Rowan continued to hover, he asked, “Would you mind making dinner tonight? He’ll need something hearty and warm.”

Rowan hesitated, clearly wanting to stay with the boy but finally relented. A while later, Bridge could hear the clatter of dishes and knew his son was preparing supper. The sad truth was that Rowan was a far better cook than he was!

For the next three hours, Bridge did his best to keep the boy from falling asleep. The kid faded in and out of consciousness and was delirious at times. At one point, he even grabbed Bridge’s hand, muttering, “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean it! I tried to stop it but I couldn’t!” Bridge was about to pat the boy’s hand when he noticed something: There were patches of swollen, red sores covering his fingers. Glancing down at his feet, he realized the same was true of his toes.

“Great,” he murmured to himself. “He’s got chilblains.”

As the owner of a construction company, he was very familiar with the malady of chilblains. Several of his workers each winter would develop the condition after working outside and failing to keep their hands and feet properly warmed. Usually, the cases were mild but this youth’s was particularly bad. Bridge knew with certainty that, once the lad warmed up enough, his extremities would be in excruciating pain for the next several days.

He added more hot water to the tub, just enough to increase the boy’s body temperature a bit. The kid relaxed, letting go of Bridge’s hand and lying back against the back of the bathtub. When he closed his eyes, though, Bridge woke him again, earning a moan of protest in response.

After a while, Bridge noticed that his face was flushed. While this was an improvement, it was also a bit worrisome. He placed his hand on the lad’s forehead, withdrawing it when he realized he was burning up with fever. Just like that, the boy went from being too cold to being too hot!

Bridge knew what to do. He got up and rummaged through his clothes closet, pulling out the warmest clothing he could find. He reasoned that his clothes would probably fit the kid the best, even if they would be extra baggy on him. Bringing them back to the bathroom, he gently urged the boy to stand up in the tub so he could dry him off. The kid cried out in pain when he put weight on his feet so Bridge offered his shoulder for support. With the boy leaning on him, Bridge dutifully toweled him off and helped him into his clothes. Then he found some gauze bandages and wrapped them loosely over the boy’s hands and feet.

“Can you walk?” he asked. The youth nodded, face bright red and eyes feverish. “Good, I’ll help you into bed. Here, let me pick you up.”

He knelt down and once again lifted the boy in his arms. When he opened the door to the bathroom, Rowan was waiting outside, his eyes bright and eager. “I’ll help, Dad!” he offered. “Where’s he gonna sleep?”

“I think I’ll put him in the master bedroom,” Bridge replied. Since Madelyn moved out, he’d abandoned the room and had been sleeping on an air mattress in the study. Somehow, he just couldn’t make himself sleep in his old bedroom. Just going in there filled his heart with grief.

They struggled down the hallway and helped the kid into bed, heaping blankets on top of him. Rowan disappeared to get some food. Returning a minute later with a plate of savory lasagna, he took charge and spoonfed the boy while Bridge sat on the other side of the bed. The kid ended up eating three heaping plates before he was finally full.

When Bridge had cleared the last plate away and returned to the room, Rowan informed him, “I’ll sleep in here tonight, Dad.”

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, Dad. I got this,” Rowan said determinedly.

The feverish boy was presently passed out in the bed, covered under a mountain of blankets. After stuffing himself with food, he’d gone into torpor and Bridge had a feeling he wouldn’t wake until morning or when the fever broke, whichever came first.

Bridge lifted his hands. “Alright, he’s all yours. Just be sure to wake me if he gets worse. We might still need to take him to the hospital.” This earned a moan of protest from the seemingly unconscious youth. Bridge smiled and left them alone, going into the kitchen to eat dinner. 

Later, Bridge was dozing in a chair in the living room when Connor returned from football practice.  As usual, his oldest son didn’t acknowledge his presence and went straight into the kitchen where he complained loudly about what there was to eat. Tall and muscular, Connor was incredibly vain and obsessed with his physique, working out constantly and eating only lean protein and vegetables. To him, lasagna was pure poison. After ranting for a few minutes, he set about grilling a chicken breast and broiling a bunch of broccoli. It was his customary meal; he ate it at least six times a week. Bridge couldn’t imagine that having a ripped bod was worth it if you had to adhere to such a rigid and unappealing diet. Much better to have a paunch and enjoy food!

Connor gobbled down his dinner and then disappeared in his room to livestream on Reels.
Even though he was followed by a horde of adoring fans at school, it wasn’t enough; Connor’s vanity required constant stoking. He’d built up a huge following on Instagram and spent every free moment online, preening for the camera. At one point, Bridge had created a fake account to monitor him and promptly wished he hadn’t. He could have lived comfortably for the rest of his life without seeing his son’s provocative antics on the livecam!

That night, Connor had only just slammed shut the door to his bedroom when he came rocketing back out, demanding, “What the FUCK happened to my blankets?!”

Bridge was amazed. These were the first words that Connor had spoken to him in over a year! Up until now, if there was something he needed, he’d have Rowan ask Bridge in his stead. Before he could answer, though, Rowan emerged from the bedroom, chiding, “Connor! Be quiet. Don’t wake our guest! I’ll go get you some more blankets! I borrowed the ones off your bed to keep him warm.”

Connor looked from Rowan to Bridge, brow furrowed, “Guest? What guest?”

“A man we brought home,” Rowan explained. “He’s very sick and needs to rest.”

Connor put his hands on his hips and confronted Bridge, repeating, “‘A man you brought home’? What the fuck? Who is he?”

“He’s a guy who was in the car down at the turnaround,” Bridge explained simply. “He has hypothermia and a fever.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” Connor ranted, getting in Bridge’s face. “You brought a homeless guy into our house? What the fuck were you thinking?”

Bridge was tempted to pull the brim of Connor’s baseball cap down to remind him who was the boss but refrained. “He’s sick. He’s not going to hurt anyone. He can barely stand. Should we have left him out in the cold?”

“No, you should have called the ambulance,” his son pointed out reasonably, “Not taken him into our home!”

“He refused to go to the hospital.” Bridge turned to go back to the living room, saying over his shoulder, “He’s only going to be here for a day or two. Don’t worry, everything’ll be fine.”

Connor opened his mouth to continue his tirade but Rowan cut him off, “Get over it, dude. Dad and I have it under control. Go back in yer bedroom and flex yer biceps and bootycheeks for yer fans.”

With that, he closed the door in his brother’s face, leaving Connor to have a meltdown all by himself. In the end, after emoting for a few minutes without an audience, Connor did exactly what Rowan had suggested and returned to his bedroom. A few minutes later, Bridge could hear him in there talking to his fans on Reels.

***

Bridge found the young guy sitting up in bed the next morning when he went in to check on him. Rowan was asleep next to him, having stayed up most of the night caring for him. Bridge did a double take, convinced for a moment the kid really was Connor’s older brother. He looked so much like his son that it was downright eerie.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, sitting on a corner of the bed. He held his hand to the youth’s forehead, relieved when he didn’t detect any sign of fever. “Your fever is gone.”

Speaking in a husky voice, the young man said, “I-I-I think I’m alright.” He held up his hands, displaying the bandages. “Did you do this, Sir? I can’t remember anything. I don’t even know how I got here. Who are you?”

Bridge smiled. “Yes, I put those bandages on you. You have a bad case of frostbite so your fingers and toes are going to be in a lot of pain for a few days.” He tilted his head to indicate the sleeping Rowan, “My son, Rowan, and I brought you here yesterday after we found you passed out in your car. You’re in our home. My name is Bridge McMullen.”

It took the youth a while to process this information and Bridge watched as his eyebrows slowly lifted in surprise, “You…took me into your home, Sir?”

“Yep,” Bridge said, looking around the bedroom. “That’s where we are alright.”

“But…why?” The expression on the young man’s face was one of utter bewilderment. His voice was extraordinarily deep, Bridge noticed once again; it was resonant and he had a trace of a Southern accent. It was a beautiful voice.

Bridge shrugged, “You needed help. We were in the position to give it.”

The boy shook his head. “Man, there just ain’t many people like you out there! I can’t believe you did that! I’ve been livin’ outta my car for two years now and ain’t nobody never stopped to help me before.”

“That’s too bad.” What else could he say?

The boy looked him over assessingly as Bridge sat there unmoving. The boy’s eyes, he noticed, were the color of golden wheat, the same color as his shaggy blond hair. Staring at him, Bridge was reminded of a photo of a lion he’d seen once; in the photo, the lion had a mane of blondish brown hair like this boy’s and eyes that matched. 

“My name’s Cullen, Sir,” he said finally, reaching out to take Bridge’s hand before he remembered that his fingers were covered in bandages. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

Bridge patted his shoulder, “It’s our pleasure, Cullen. And there’s no reason to call me ‘sir’.”

At that moment, Rowan stirred. Lifting his head off the pillow, his eyes widened when he realized Cullen was awake. Sitting up eagerly, he spouted, “You’re up! How do you feel? Are you hungry? What can I get you?” 

Bridge couldn’t help noticing that, at some point during the night, Rowan had shed his Disney princess dress and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. It was the first time in two months that he’d seen his son in boy’s clothes. First, Connor starts talking to me again and now this? He shook his head. Will wonders never cease? We’ll have to invite homeless people into our house more often.

“You must be Rowan,” Cullen said, chuckling softly. “Thanks for takin’ care of me!” He smiled disarmingly, “My name’s Cullen, by the way.”

“Cullen,” Rowan repeated, testing the name on his tongue. “That’s a cool name.”

Cullen pulled a face, “If you say so. I’m named after my daddy. He’s…let’s juss say we don’t see eye to eye.” He sighed heavily, trying to struggle out from under the mountain of blankets Rowan had heaped on him. “And I’m a bit hungry if you got any breakfast.” He looked around, spotting the bathroom across the room. “First, though, I gotta use that.”

Bridge removed the bandages from Cullen’s hands, examining the chilblains. His fingers were bright red and covered in blue veins. He could tell that even the light gauze touching them was painful for the boy. Cullen was stoic, however, and insisted on using the bathroom on his own. The small effort of getting up left him completely exhausted, though, and he sank back down in the bed afterwards and closed his eyes.

Rowan went into the kitchen to make him some breakfast and returned a while later with a steaming bowl of oatmeal. He helped Cullen to eat, after which Bridge reapplied bandages to his hands. When they were done, Cullen was already asleep, snoring soundly under the blankets.

***

Connor was back to his usual routine of ignoring him when he emerged sleepily from his bedroom. He wrinkled his nose at the closed door of the master bedroom before getting busy making a protein smoothie while Bridge and Rowan ate their breakfast. Fifteen minutes later, Connor shrugged on his letterman’s jacket and slung his backpack over his shoulder, motioning for Rowan to follow him. Together, the boys rode to school in Connor’s old pickup truck. Bridge was a little surprised to see that Rowan decided to wear jeans and a t-shirt to school. He shook his head wonderingly.

It was time for Bridge to go to work. After debating for a few minutes, he tiptoed into the bedroom where Cullen was asleep and found Madelyn’s iPhone. She had left it behind when she departed and he hadn’t been able to bring himself to stop the service on it. He’d continued paying for it for the past fourteen months, hoping against hope that she would reappear in their lives and be a mother and a wife again.

He left the phone on the bed next to Cullen with a note, telling him that he could use it to call him if he needed anything. He wrote down the access code and his cell phone number and said he would be by soon to check on him.

Fortunately, his workplace was just next door in the pole barn he’d renovated to serve as an office for his booming construction business. He arrived to work an hour before his foremen and administrative staff, giving himself enough time to return calls and check in with his customers. His clientele were primarily wealthy people from the nearby city who were looking to build private mansions on the comparatively cheaper land out in the township. His niche was green building and he only accepted jobs for carbon neutral homes. Given this, his customers tended to be a little less obnoxious than most rich people but were still plenty privileged. They paid him well, though.

He’s just gotten off the phone with a customer when his phone buzzed. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the words, ‘THE BOSS,’ limned on the screen along with a photo of Madelyn. It took him a moment to settle his nerves and to stifle the hope in his heart. He’d completely forgotten that he’d given Cullen Madelyn’s phone!

Despite his best efforts to master his emotions, his voice was still a little thick when he answered, “Hello?”

“Sir? What’s wrong? Are you alright?” Cullen’s deep voice was filled with concern.

“I’m fine,” Bridge said, swallowing. “The more important question is how are you?”

“Ha! I’m alright. I juss woke up and realized you were gone. I wanted to be sure you was Ok with me bein’ in yer home when yer not around.”

Bridge chuckled, “Of course, I am! And I’m not very far away. I’m just out in the pole barn. That’s where my office is.”

“Oh.” Cullen took a breath before, saying, “I juss wanted to say thank you again, Sir. I still can’t believe what you done for me.”

“You would have died if we hadn’t found you,” Bridge pointed out. “There’s no way we would have let that happen.”

There was silence on the other end before finally Cullen murmured, “Thank you, Sir,” and hung up.

***

Chapter 2

Bridge spent the morning driving around to his various job sites, monitoring progress and checking in with contractors. In general, things were going smoothly. He was fortunate to have some of the best foremen–Well, forepeople because one of them was a young woman named Christy–in the business. Sometimes owning a green construction business paid off because these days young people preferred sustainability over traditional home construction.

Returning home around noon, he changed Cullen’s bandages before helping him into the bathroom. Then he made a simple lunch of reheated lasagna, smiling as Cullen devoured two plates full. Afterwards, he made sure the boy was comfortably ensconced in bed again before heading back to work.

Throughout the day, Cullen texted him updates, telling him that he was feeling better and thanking him profusely. Even though Bridge still jumped each time his wife’s face appeared on his phone, he appreciated the communication and always replied promptly. By the end of the day, Bridge had gone into his contacts and renamed Madelyn’s to Cullen.

When he got off work and entered the house through the side door, he was surprised to find Cullen and Rowan sitting on the sofa in the living room, watching Frozen. Well, Cullen was trying to watch it but Rowan was too busy regaling him with trivia about the movie. The character, Elsa, was Rowan’s favorite Disney princess and he couldn’t help gushing over her. Cullen listened to him attentively, a small smile on his face. He looked better, Bridge noticed, his color had improved and his face didn’t seem quite as gaunt. He wasn’t out of the woods yet, though. Looking at him, he was obviously still a bit feverish and he could tell the boy’s hands and feet were bothering him whenever he shifted position on the couch.

“Which character is your favorite?” Rowan asked, eyes bright and his face smiling. It was clear he really liked Cullen.

Cullen thought for a moment before answering, “Sven. Definitely Sven. I like reindeer.”

“Sven?” Rowan repeated, incredulous. “Not Kristoff?”

“Kristoff’s Ok,” Cullen replied. “But I like Sven.”

“How about Elsa?” Rowan pressed. “Do you like her, too?”

Cullen laughed, pulling down the brim of Rowan’s baseball cap playfully, “Well, duh! ‘Course I like Elsa. She’s the best character!”

“I know, right?” Rowan giggled, laying down against Cullen. A moment later, the older boy affectionately tucked an arm over Rowan’s narrow shoulders and tugged him in close. 

Bridge had to steady himself on the kitchen counter. His legs felt weak and tears were inexplicably filling his eyes. He hastily blinked them away, wiping the back of his hand across his face. Thus somewhat composed, he cleared his throat, saying, “Hey, what do you guys want for dinner? I’m cooking.”

“No, you’re not!” Rowan shouted, springing up from the couch. “I’ll make dinner, Dad.” He made a face, “You’re a terrible cook.”

“I’m not that bad,” Bridge protested, although he was privately glad that Rowan had offered. “At least let me help.”

And so father and son got busy preparing dinner. After sitting on the couch for a while, Cullen hobbled over and plopped down in a chair at the counter, watching them work. He was, Bridge was forced to admit, a very handsome young man. While it was true that he looked a lot like Connor, he was clearly older and more mature. Whereas Connor possessed a boyish, jock-y sort of face, Cullen’s was more grown up. His jaw was firmer and his features were sharper without being too angular. Reddish-gold whiskers clung to his cheeks and his golden brown hair was shaggy, making him look even more like a lion than Bridge had previously thought.

Rowan did most of the talking, prattling away about Frozen while Cullen and Bridge listened and made periodic interjections. At one point, though, Rowan surprised Bridge by saying, “Dad, we started wrestling in P.E. today. The teacher says I’m really good. He wants me to should join the team when the new season starts. What do you think? Should I try out?”

Bridge was stunned. Rowan? A wrestler? He had to carefully school his features to conceal his puzzlement as he replied, “Wow, that’s great! And, yes, I think you should try out.”

Rowan grinned. “I’ll need to get some gear if I make it on the team. Are you Ok with that?”

Bridge was too amazed by this sudden change in Rowan to disagree, even though wrestling gear wasn’t cheap. If Rowan wanted to wrestle, he’d do anything in his power to help him out. “Yes, of course!” he replied, clapping his hand on Rowan’s back. “We’ll do it.”

“A wrestler, huh?” Cullen said, studying Rowan closely. “I can see it. You got the right build.”

“I do?” It was cute how Rowan puffed himself up at these words.

Cullen nodded. “Yeah, for sure! I’ll bet yer a strong lil’ cuss, too.”

Rowan was glowing, “I am! The teacher couldn’t believe how strong I was! He said he’d never seen anyone as small as me take down someone so easily!”

He was about to say more when the front door opened and then slammed shut again as Connor stomped in. Bridge and Rowan exchanged confused glances. Connor never came home this early!

A moment later, Connor rounded the corner into the kitchen. He stopped and regarded Cullen coldly, his blue eyes flashing with malice. Bridge was bracing inwardly, preparing for the worst, when Cullen got up unsteadily on his feet and tottered around the counter to extend a bandaged hand to Connor. As he did so, Bridge noticed for the first time how tall the youth was. He towered over Connor, something that Connor couldn’t help but notice. At first Connor acted like he was going to pull himself up to his full height in the attempt to challenge Cullen but then he suddenly capitulated. Bridge watched, stunned, as Cullen’s mere presence cowed his normally cocky, aggressive son. Connor ended up accepting the proffered hand and shook it politely.

“I’m Cullen,” Cullen rumbled in his exceedingly deep voice. “Thanks for hosting me.”

Connor lowered his head, mumbling, “No problem. And I’m Connor.” After hesitating briefly, he even added, “Nice to meet you.”

Bridge and Rowan looked at Connor in amazement. Bridge was the first to recover, asking, “Connor, was football practice canceled or something? You’re home early.”

Connor’s cheeks abruptly turned red as he stammered, “Uh, no. I mean, I-I-I wasn’t feeling too good so I skipped it.”

“Oh? What’s wrong?” Bridge asked, already reading between the lines. 

He suspected the truth was that Connor had probably decided to come home early to confront Cullen. Upon meeting him, though, all of the fight had gone out of him because Cullen had unexpectedly owned the space between them. What was more, he’d done so without saying a word beyond an introduction! Bridge shook his head at Cullen’s inexplicable ability to win people over without even trying. Bridge had tried everything he could think of over the past year to get a handle on Connor’s brittle moods and combative behavior…only to fail miserably. And here Cullen had cowed the boy in less than a minute!

“I feel alright now,” Connor admitted, refusing to look in Cullen’s direction. “When’s dinner gonna be ready?”

“In an hour,” Rowan replied, smirking behind Connor’s back. “Are you gonna eat with us or make yer nasty chicken dish again?”

“I’ll eat with you,” Connor replied sullenly. “As long as there’s not too much fat.”

Will wonders never cease? Bridge privately shook his head as he helped Cullen back into his chair.

***

That night, they enjoyed a meal together as a family for the time since Madelyn left. Bridge tried not to show his emotions because he was painfully aware that doing so would embarrass Rowan and inflame Connor. So, he pretended to eat dinner as if there was nothing unusual about him spending time with his sons. It was funny and sad that something as prosaic as eating supper together was such a landmark event for the family. He couldn’t help stealing a glance over at Cullen as they ate, feeling grateful for the domestic peace he’d instilled with his mere presence.

The boys retired to the living room to play Call of Duty: Black Ops after dinner. Bridge watched them as he cleaned up the kitchen, amazed as he looked at the trio of heads–one black-haired and the other two tawny–from the back of the couch. Cullen sat in the middle with Rowan and Connor on either side. They were so close that their shoulders touched. It was nothing short of amazing that both Rowan and Connor had accepted Cullen so quickly. Looking at them, Bridge could have sworn they were all brothers. 

Cullen couldn’t play for very long before his fingers started hurting, plus he was tired. He bade them all a good night as Rowan helped him back to the bedroom. Connor watched him go with an almost wistful look on his face, although Bridge couldn’t be sure because it was gone so quickly.

Connor retreated to his own bedroom soon after and Bridge could hear the murmur of his voice as he started another of his livestreams on Reels. Rowan sat at the kitchen table and did his homework, his head lowered and his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on solving a particularly challenging math problem.

Bridge watched him, feeling his heart expand in his chest. The house finally felt like a home again. All three of the McMullen men were finally living together without fighting or bitter strife. He had no idea how long the current detente would last but he was determined to savor it!

***

He got up early the next morning and made coffee before going out to put birdseed in the feeder. It was a cold morning and an icy mist circled around his legs as he drew his bathrobe closed, shivering. A hesitant movement caught his eye and he turned to see the deer, Stumpy, creeping towards him through the fog. He smiled, pulling a half of an apple out of his pocket and holding it out to the buck. Walking soundlessly on his long legs, the deer approached and extended his head. His lips drew back as he gently reached out to nibble at the apple. Bridge let him have it, watching the steam rising up off the deer’s pelt. Stumpy’s fur had turned dark brown tinged with gray as the russet of his summer coat faded away to his winter coloration.

That morning, the deer was particularly frisky. After eating an apple slice, he nipped and butted Bridge, making him laugh. “Whoa, boy!” he chided, surprised by the deer’s playfulness. Until now, it was all he could do to get Stumpy to eat a slice or two. He’d never had the deer actually touch him. He grinned watching the deer prance around. Who would have guessed?

“He’s awful tame, ain’t he?”

Bridge jumped at Cullen’s voice at his shoulder. The boy was even stealthier than the deer! He turned to find the boy standing beside him, a smile on his face as he stared at the deer. For his part, Stumpy seemed less startled by Cullen’s sudden appearance than Bridge, although he did eye the kid closely.

“What happened to his horns?” Cullen asked, admiring the deer.

“I don’t know exactly.” Bridge examined Stumpy’s gnarled left antler and the stump of his right one. “They were probably damaged in a fight or something back when he was still in velvet.”

“He stays around here?” Cullen’s tawny eyes were full of interest as he observed the deer. “He doesn’t leave?”

“We have eighty acres,” Bridge replied. “I’m pretty sure he stays on our property all the time.” He pulled the other half of the apple out of his pocket and handed it to Cullen. “Wanna try feeding him?”

“Fuck, yeah!” The boy took the apple piece and held it out to the deer but, for some reason, Stumpy backed away from him, eyes rolled back and nostrils flared. Cullen frowned, handing the apple back to Bridge, “He don’t like me, I guess.” He paused then, examining the stag’s hindquarters. His eyebrows went up and his cheeks colored slightly as he observed, “Or maybe he juss likes you better? He’s, uh, kinda turned on right now, I’d say.”

Bridge followed Cullen’s gaze and felt his own cheeks color when he noted the signs of the buck’s obvious arousal, thinking, Well, I guess that explains why he’s so frisky! He cleared his throat, “Yeah, well, it is the rutting season, isn’t it? Bucks are super horny at this time of the year. Anything gets ‘em going.”

“Anything? Or just you?” Cullen teased. “Maybe it’s yer scent, Sir? Maybe he thinks you smell like a doe?”

Bridge’s entire face was red by this point. Rather than answering, he held out the remaining apple slices to Stumpy. Immediately, the buck was all over them…and him. As the stag rounded on him eagerly, he backed away, profoundly embarrassed. The buck was so aggressive that Cullen was forced to intervene, placing himself between them.

Cullen looked back over his shoulder at him, smiling proudly, every inch the knight protecting the damsel in distress. Face red, Bridge mumbled, “Uh, thanks.”

Cullen winked, “That’s what I’m here for, Sir.”

Bridge’s color deepened further and searched for anything to distract himself–and Cullen–from the deer’s embarrassing behavior, finally settling on Cullen’s attire. The boy was wearing just a flimsy pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Worse, he’d crammed his bandaged feet into a pair of Rowan’s slippers and kept shifting from one foot to the other as the frostbite burned the bottoms of his feet.

“You need to get back inside and off your feet,” he admonished, taking the boy by the elbow and steering him back towards the house. “Why’re you out here anyways?”

“I saw you and came out,” Cullen said, wrapping his arms around himself and shivering. He didn’t resist Bridge’s attempt to move him and allowed himself to be guided back along the walkway. “I’m feeling better now, honest.” He undercut this assertion a moment later, though, by shivering violently.

“It’ll be a couple days before you can say that,” Bridge grunted stiffly, still embarrassed. “Trust me. That frostbite is only just starting to hurt.”

Cullen dipped his head, “You know what? Yer right, Sir. My feet really are hurtin’ bad.” He paused before asking hesitantly, “Would you mind, um, carrying me inside?”

“Of course! Here. Lemme help you.”

Bridge had only just started to kneel when Cullen jumped on his back, wrapping his legs around his waist and his arms around his neck. Bridge grunted in surprise as the boy pressed in close, holding on so tightly there was no way to shake him loose even if he wanted to.

“Thank you, Sir.” 

Cullen’s mouth was right beside his ear and his breath was hot upon his cheek. Dazed, Bridge carried him back inside the house.

***

Once inside, Bridge noticed that Rowan had yet to wake up and Connor was in the shower in the bathroom. Carrying Cullen, he staggered down the hallway and into the master bedroom where he helped the boy into the bed, asking, “Are you alright? Do you need anything else?”

Still shivering, Cullen lay with his eyes closed for a moment before murmuring, “I think I overdid it! I shouldn’t’ve pushed myself. Goin’ outside was stupid.”

“That’s right,” Bridge said, feeling vindicated. “Can I get you anything?”

Cullen lifted his hands to display the bandages. “Maybe you could change these?” When Bridge nodded, he added, “But before you put new ones on, though, I really need to wash. I reek!” He sniffed an armpit, making a face.

“I think you should rest a while,” Bridge replied, “and wait until Connor’s done in the bathroom, then I’ll run the water in the tub for you.” 

“Or I could use the shower in here,” Cullen pointed to the little bathroom that adjoined the bedroom.

Bridge was doubtful. “Can you stand up that long?”

Cullen pushed himself up on his elbows and swung his feet over the bed, “I think so.” His head drooped to the side as he said this and he closed his eyes sleepily.

“You sure?” Bridge pressed. “You look awfully tired to me. Why don’t you rest?”

Cullen lifted his head up with difficulty, slurring, “‘M fine. Really. I can’t stand my stink no more. I’ll sleep better if I wash up first.”

When he tried to stand up, Bridge pushed him back down on the bed again, saying, “Alright, I’ll help you but let’s take it slow.” He sat down beside Cullen and gently unwrapped the bandages on his hands and feet, inspecting the damage. Underneath, there were purple patches of frostbitten skin that were already starting to flake off. Overall, though, he looked pretty good, certainly better than he’d expected. At this rate, Cullen would be fully healed in a few days.

Once he’d removed the bandages, he helped Cullen out of bed. The boy winced as he settled his weight on his feet and Bridge urged him to lean on him. Cullen draped an arm over his shoulder and lay his head in the crook of Bridge’s neck, really out of it. He could barely keep his eyes open.

“Are you sure you’re up to this right now?” Bridge asked again. “You could rest a bit and then take a shower.”

“Nah, I’m fine!” Cullen insisted. “Juss real weak an’ tired.”

Inside the small bathroom, Cullen leaned against the wall while Bridge turned on the water in the shower and waited for it to warm. When it was hot enough, he turned to leave but Cullen stopped him, asking, “Can you help me get undressed, Sir?”

Bridge swallowed before nodding and helping Cullen tug the t-shirt over his head. When the boy fumbled with the drawstring of the sweatpants, Bridge moved his hands away and untied them. The sweats were a pair Bridge normally wore and, on Cullen, they were exceedingly baggy and all but fell in a pile around the much skinnier boy’s ankles.

“Thanks, Sir,” Cullen said, waiting for Bridge to help him into the shower. He stumbled, though, as he entered and Bridge had to catch him before he slipped. Cullen clung to him, asking weakly, “Could you maybe, um, help me…in there?” His head was sagging down as if he lacked the strength to lift it. “I know it’s weird but I’m real unsteady on my feet, Sir.”

“You mean…?”

“Yeah, shower with me. Juss this once.”

What, really?! Bridge stood there, debating what to do. On the one hand, Cullen was right; it was supremely weird to shower with another guy. On the other, it was clear the boy was in bad shape and needed all the help he could get. What was wrong with assisting him? Besides, he needed to take a shower, too. What was the harm in killing two birds with one stone?

Squaring his shoulders resolutely, he told himself, Just think of his body like your own body. You wash your body all the time. Why would washing his be any different?

Mind made up, he ensured that Cullen had a secure grip on the handle of the shower door before undressing himself. Hesitating with his hands on the elastic waistband of his boxers, he debated leaving them on but ended up shucking them. Who showered in their underwear? Besides, he reasoned, Cullen was so out of it, he would be completely oblivious to Bridge’s nudity. He was safe.

Stepping in behind the young man, he tried not to think about what he was doing, acting as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world to shower with another guy. The warm spray enveloped their bodies and steam rose up around them. Standing behind Cullen, Bridge soon discovered that the shower stall was smaller than he remembered, especially when you tried to cram two big guys into it. He was chagrined to realize it was hard to maneuver without a certain part of his anatomy making contact with Cullen’s bare butt. His cheeks colored and he wondered fervently why he was doing this. It was too weird!

Just ignore him and make this fast! he told himself, studiously ignoring Cullen’s (and his own) nudity.

He squirted shower gel into his hands and rubbed them together until they were soapy. As soon as his hands touched Cullen’s broad, muscular shoulders, though, he realized he’d been dead wrong in assuming that bathing the boy would be the same as bathing himself. Cullen was tall and lean and corded with muscle, almost the complete antithesis of himself. 

At forty two years old, Bridge was approaching middle age and he’s packed on the pounds, especially since Madelyn’s departure. Even though he went out for a jog most mornings and swam laps a couple of days each week at the local YMCA, his waistline had expanded along with his gut. His body, he was forced to admit as he looked down at himself, might still be muscular but, unlike Cullen, that muscle was covered by a liberal amount of fat.

Bridge felt a stab of envy, remembering how he’d once been a total stud like Cullen. Tall, buff and handsome, the women had been smitten by him and he’d dated more than ten girls–and fucked twice as many more–before he and Madelyn finally settled down and got married. Yeah, back in his prime, he’d been considered a catch, handsome enough to attract the very sexy and beautiful Madelyn. For a time, they’d been the perfect couple, raising two adorable sons and being admired by their friends.

But then Bridge’s business had started booming and he’d been forced to give up physical labor and work behind a desk to attend to his customers’ needs. He’d started gaining weight and developed a paunch for the first time in his life. He tried to double down on an exercise regimen but then his relationship had turned sour. As Madelyn’s discontentment grew, she withdrew from mothering the boys and he’d been forced to step up as a father while balancing the demands of the business. 

For a long stretch, he didn’t have any time for exercise. In a few short years, his studly beauty had faded until he was undeniably fat. Now that he was single again, he was frustrated to discover that all of the female attention had disappeared and women pretended like he was invisible. He looked at Cullen’s young, firm frame in contrast to his own saggy, pudgy one and knew first hand just how much of a joke he’d become.

“Can you get my butt, too?”

“Huh?” Bridge jumped. He’d been so lost in his self-recrimination that he’d almost forgotten that he was still naked in the shower with Cullen.

Cullen was gripping the showerhead to take the weight off of his sore feet. He turned his head to the side and widened his stance, thrusting his butt back. Bridge inadvertently noticed for the first time that the boy had substantial buttocks for such a tall guy. No wonder he’d brushed against that ass with his penis when he first got in the shower!

“My butt, Sir,” the boy prompted. “Can you wash it, too?” He flushed, clinging to the showerhead as if for dear life, “I know it’s weird but I can’t do it.”

“Oh, yeah. No prob.”

Bridge lowered his soapy hands, working up the courage for this new, unwelcome chore. What choice did he have, though? He took a deep breath and plunged in, finding himself cupping those surprisingly hefty globes in his hands as he lathered them up. Cullen’s butt was softer than he expected, almost like Madelyn’s but even bigger and heavier and, of course, a lot hairier…he shook his head, forcing himself to abandon that line of thought. 

The question arose: How thorough of a cleaning should he give Cullen’s ass? Just ‘buff the orbs’ or go in deep and actually clean the cleft?

He couldn’t believe he was even debating this! What the fuck was wrong with him?

In the end, Cullen made the decision for him, arching his back so that Bridge’s hands slid into the dense thicket of ass hair that sprouted between his big globes. Bridge jumped a little when his finger grazed the inevitable: Cullen’s little pucker. Well, actually, it wasn’t that little. The boy’s butthole was decidedly large, much bigger than Bridge’s own. (Not that he made a point of feeling himself down there, but, you know, he was familiar with it, having to touch it pretty much every day.) Bridge immediately retracted his hand. That was clean enough!

Finished with the butt, he started to kneel to do Cullen’s legs but found himself staring right into the hairy cleft of the boy’s butt where that large rosebud was winking at him. He straightened abruptly, blushing.

“Thanks for doin’ that, Sir. I really appreciate it,” Cullen mumbled. “Uh, I almost hate to ask but can you, um, clean my foreskin, too?” He was at pains to add, “It’s fine if you don’t wanna. I juss don’t wanna risk an infection is all. I ain’t cleaned it in a while.”

Bridge froze. 

Clean his foreskin, too?! Really? 

Then he remembered that he’d spent the first couple years of Connor and Rowan’s lives helping them clean down there. It had taken both boys awhile to get the hang of it and Madelyn had refused to help, telling Bridge in no uncertain terms that, since it had been his idea not to have the boys circumcised, it was up to him to make sure they knew how to attend to their penile health. He’d been on his own. Changing diapers was bad enough but cleaning foreskins was even worse! At least, he reasoned, Cullen’s penis was bigger than an infant’s which meant it was theoretically easier to clean.

But how should he do it? If Cullen turned around to face him, that would be really uncomfortable. On the other hand, if he stayed with his back to Bridge, that meant he’d have to reach around and risk his penis touching the boy’s bare buttocks again. He sighed, hating this predicament he was in. What the fuck was he supposed to do?

In the end, he steeled himself and, reaching around Cullen’s narrow hips, gripped the boy’s penis in his hands and stoically started cleaning.

His eyes went wide. 

Cullen was big.

Really big.

Almost inhumanly big!

Bridge knew, of course, the lad was hung. He and Rowan had borne witness to Cullen’s masterpiece when they brought him home that first day. But Cullen had been really cold then and his penis and testicles had been shrunken. Now he was warm and they hung down at their full, immense size.

How fucking long was that thing?

And talk about thick!

Jesus.

He didn’t know a guy’s dick could even grow that big. Before Bridge had put on so much weight and the pad of fat over his pubes had swallowed up several inches of his precious size, he’d fancied himself hung. At least that was what his many girlfriends told him.

But this?

It made him feel inadequate!

His resentment only grew as he was forced to clean every fucking inch of that giant tubesteak. How the fuck did Cullen rate getting a cock this big? It wasn’t fair that he was not only tall and muscular and handsome but hung like a horse as well! Only with great effort was he able to remind himself that the kid was essentially destitute. Yeah, that’s right. Bridge might be fat and short-dicked but at least he had a place to live!

It was little comfort.

He gritted his teeth, pulling back Cullen’s voluminous foreskin, and scrubbing his big, firm glans. He might have been a little too forceful because Cullen moaned as he did so. Bridge didn’t give a fuck, he kept right on scrubbing.

As he scrubbed, he was so preoccupied with taking out his resentment on the boy’s big dick that he didn’t notice that it was slowly growing longer and thicker and firmer in his grip. Not until Cullen was sporting a full-on hardon did Bridge wake up to the fact that, while he might be taking out his anger on the boy, Cullen’s experience was the exact opposite: He was responding as if Bridge was jacking him off!

He abruptly dropped that humongous, achingly hard slab of meat. In his haste to get away, he slipped and ended up falling out of the shower. He found himself splayed out on the bat mat, looking up at the bewildered Cullen from the floor. The boy’s face betrayed confusion, surprise and shock. 

“Sir?” the boy called out. “What’s wrong? I thought you were enjoying yourself, too!”

Huh? Bridge thought. Enjoying myself? What does he mean?

And then his gaze dropped down to his own crotch and he beheld the erection that was inexplicably thrusting happily upward. As he stared, his foreskin retracted and the moist head of his glans pushed forth, greeting the day. His erection might only be a fraction of the size of Cullen’s but it was undeniably just as hard.

***

“We will never do that again.”

Cullen was sitting beside him on the bed, a towel over his head. His body was still damp from the shower. “Yes, Sir,” he grunted, voice muffled by the towel. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Stop calling me sir! It makes me feel weird.” Bridge put his face in his hands, shame and guilt warring inside him. What the fuck had gotten into him? He wasn’t gay! He really wasn’t gay!

Then he remembered something that made him feel slightly better: He hadn’t had sex in over two years. Plus, he couldn’t remember the last time he masturbated. Even the straightest of straight guys would’ve done the same thing when presented with the undeniably erotic situation of sharing a shower with a hot, young stud. Well, most straight guys would at least. He consoled himself that it was just his sex-starved body responding to unwanted but forceful stimuli.

“I’ll leave, Sir.”

Bridge swung his head around, demanding, “What?”

Cullen pulled the towel down far enough to expose his tawny gold eyes. “It’s better if I leave. I’m only causin’ you stress. Y’all’ve done enough already! The last thing I want is to be a burden on you.”

“You’re not a burden!” Bridge protested. The thought of turning the boy out into the cold again wrenched his heart. There’s no way he could let that happen! “Please, it’s alright. It’ll be fine as long as we put down some boundaries…like never showering together again.”

Cullen nodded, “I can do that but I still think it’s better if I leave.”

Bridge shook his head, “No and that’s final. You’re staying here with us! This was just an…unfortunate one-off. It’ll never happen again.” He held out his hand for Cullen to shake, “Deal?”

Cullen grinned and reached out to clasp his hand. That hand, Bridge noticed, was extraordinarily large and his fingers were very long. He had all sorts of callouses, too, and not just from frostbite. Clearly, the boy was accustomed to hard work…

“Sir?”

Bridge shook himself. “Yeah?”

Cullen’s smile was radiant as he gazed back at him with those lovely, yellow eyes, “I’m glad you took me in.”

Bridge realized he was still holding the boy’s hand and was only just thinking of letting go when there was a knock on the bedroom door. Without even waiting to be invited in, Rowan pushed inside. He started to open his mouth but closed it again when he took in the scene on the bed before him: Cullen and Bridge wearing only towels around their waists, their hair still damp from the shower, clasping hands.

“Wait,” he sputtered, “d-d-did you guys shower together?”

Bridge rocketed up from the bed, dropping Cullen’s hand like it was on fire. “No! No!” he insisted. “I just used the shower in here because Connor was in the bathroom. Cullen needed help and so I–”

“He’s right,” Cullen said, coming to his defense. “Yer dad was juss helpin’ me out.”

Rowan’s eyes narrowed as they slid from Cullen to Bridge, taking note of their rosy cheeks and flustered demeanors. “Yeaaaah, riiiiiiiight,” he drawled, folding his arms.

This was too much for poor Bridge. Without looking back, he made a beeline for his room where he slammed the door and hastily donned some clothes. 

***

Chapter 3

Cullen slept after the boys left for school and Bridge went to work out in the pole barn. His business was busy and there were so many things to attend to that he all but forgot about the incident in the shower. He was sitting in front of his computer, talking to a customer on the phone, when the door to his office pushed open and Cullen entered, holding a steaming cup of coffee.

Placing it down on the desk before Bridge, he whispered, “For you,” and then hobbled away. A moment later, Bridge heard the outside door swing shut as the boy exited the barn and made his way back to the house.

He stared at the cup, inhaling the delicious scent of coffee and something else. It took him a moment to figure out what it was: Cullen’s scent. He’d first noticed when the boy had climbed on his back that morning but it had really hit him when they were in the shower together. Cullen had very potent but pleasing body odor. It was kind of herbal, kind of carnal, kind of metallic and completely unforgettable.

He reached out and took a sip of the coffee, warm affection blooming in his heart. In all the years he’d been married to Madelyn, she’d never once made him coffee.

***

Cullen was back at lunchtime, this time carrying a plate of spaghetti. He knocked on Bridge’s office door, asking, “Are you hungry? I thought you might wanna eat. It’s kinda late.”

By this point, several of Bridge’s employees were present in the office, including the women in charge of accounting and a couple of his foremen. He could almost feel their gazes swiveling curiously toward his office as they wondered who this young man was. Because his decision to take in Cullen was completely unplanned, Bridge hadn’t even thought about how to introduce him to his friends, family and staff members now that it seemed like he was going to be staying on for a while. What could he say? That Cullen was a relative? A friend? He certainly wasn’t going to tell his employees that he’d picked up a homeless kid off the street!

He decided to punt for the moment and not make a big deal over Cullen’s presence. “Thank you,” he said, rising from his chair and taking the plate from the boy. “But we can eat together in the house if you like. Have you had anything yet?” When Cullen shook his head, he placed his hand on his shoulder and guided him back out of the office, mindful that all eyes were on them the entire way.

Inside the house, he waited while Cullen heated up a plate of spaghetti for himself and then they ate together at the kitchen table. Bridge expected that the atmosphere between them would be tense but was surprised when it felt relaxed and easy. Cullen kept sneaking peeks at him when he thought Bridge wasn’t looking, something that struck him as totally cute.

“So, Cullen?” he said finally.

“Yes, Sir?”

Bridge smiled. “You don’t have to call me sir any more.” He cleared his throat, “Especially after what, uh, we did earlier. I’d say that puts us on more familiar terms.”

Cullen flushed slightly and looked down at the table, “Yeah, Ok.”

“If you’re going to stay here,” Bridge continued, “I want to get to know you better. What is your last name, for instance?” Remembering the boy’s calloused hands, he added, “And what sort of work experience do you have?”

Cullen had braced when he first started talking but visibly relaxed when Bridge didn’t ask the questions he’d expected to be asked. “My last name’s Islington, Sir, I mean, Bridge. I can call you by your first name, right?” When Bridge nodded, he continued, “And I’ve mostly done odd jobs since I dropped outta high school. I ain’t got no education and I ain’t never stayed nowhere for very long. I…like to move around, you see. Makes me nervous to stay someplace for very long.”

Islington? Bridge wondered. That’s a blue-blooded surname if I’ve ever heard one. Why would a rich kid drop out of high school? It doesn’t make sense. He did mention trouble with his father, though…

Careful not to betray his private thoughts, he said, “That’s too bad.”

Cullen looked surprised, “What?”

“Too bad you move around so much,” Bridge clarified. He spread his hands, “You see, if you were to, you know, maybe stay with us for a while, I have work that you might enjoy. I’m always looking for strong men who are, um, good with their hands.” He didn’t know why but his cheeks colored beneath his beard as he said this.

This was met with silence. When Bridge looked up, Cullen was brushing tears out of his eyes. He refused to look up as he mumbled, “That’s…I mean, that’s real kind of you, Bridge. I…I’d like that but don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I know it’s sudden,” Bridge added, touched by the boy’s reaction. “And you don’t know us very well yet. But think about it, Ok?”

“It’s not that,” Cullen explained, still talking softly. “I’d trust you with my life, Bridge. In fact, I already have.” He looked up then and fixed him with his tawny gold gaze, “You came when I needed you. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you an’ Rowan.” He paused, his very large Adam’s apple working up and down on his throat as he tried to find the courage to continue, “It’s that you don’t know me very well. I’m…let’s juss say I’m not the kind of guy you want in yer life for very long because I…cause trouble. Big trouble. I can’t help it but I do. It’s juss a fact ‘bout me.” He cast a pleading look at Bridge, “I’m sorry! I really am! I wish I could be a better man, someone you could be proud of, but I can’t. I juss can’t!”

Bridge remembered Cullen’s feverish ramblings on the day they’d rescued him from the car. He’d basically been saying the same thing then. Seeing the agony written so plainly across the boy’s face, he wondered what he could possibly have done that was so terrible? He had an unerring sense about people and he could tell that Cullen was a good person at heart. He’d learned to trust his gut and this was no exception; he simply couldn’t believe that Cullen was capable of doing anything seriously wrong.

“Relax,” he soothed, reaching out and placing his hand over Cullen’s. “You’re Ok. Nothing bad’s going to happen to you while you’re here with us. I’ll make sure of it. I don’t care about your past, Cullen. It’s your future that concerns me and I want to help make it a good one.”

He didn’t expect Cullen to burst into tears with these words but that’s exactly what he did. One moment, his lower lip was quivering and his eyes were screwed shut and the next he’d flung himself into Bridge’s arms and buried his face in his shoulder. The sobs that emerged from deep in his throat were the sobs of a desperate man. Bridge had never heard a man cry like this and it both touched him and made him feel very protective. His heart filled with rugged determination as he held the boy against his chest. He would do whatever it took to help Cullen, he knew, even if it cost him dearly.

Cullen stopped crying almost as quickly as he started and pulled away after a few minutes as if embarrassed. Bridge left his hand resting on the boy’s, though, even when Cullen made a half-hearted attempt to withdraw it.

He waited until the boy had collected himself before asking, “How old are you, Cullen?”

“Twenty four.”

Bridge blinked. “Really?”

“What?” Cullen asked with a watery smile, “Did ya think I was younger? Most people do.”

“Yeah, I was thinking nineteen, tops.” Bridge thought for a moment before continuing, “Do you have a driver’s license?” A nod. “Good. Do you think you’re up to going back to your car this evening after I’m done with work? We can bring it and your stuff here. You’re welcome to move into the bedroom. 

I’d like it if you thought of it as your own.”

“Sir, I mean, Bridge, I, uh, don’t know what to say. You’re bein’ too kind.” Cullen spread his hands to indicate the house around them, “I can’t accept this. It’s too much. I don’t deserve it.”

“This is your home now,” Bridge said with finality. “But I won’t force you to stay if you don’t want to. I’m not telling you, I’m asking you: Will you move in with us?” He held up his hand, forestalling Cullen’s bark of protest, saying, “Hear me out, Ok? I know you say you have a troubled past but you’ve probably already figured out that our past is troubled, too. Connor hates me and Rowan barely tolerates me. And…I’m, well, I’m just a big fuckin’ mess. The only thing going right around here is my business and even I don’t know why because I’ve fucked everything else up.” He ducked his head in shame, “I’m a failure as a father and as a husband. My wife left me a year ago and we haven’t seen her since.”

He hadn’t intended to reveal this much of his personal history but felt like he needed to establish the circumstances that Cullen would find himself in if he decided to stay. The truth was that his family was haunted by the ghost of Madelyn. Everywhere you looked, her absence was palpable.

Cullen was silent for a very long time. Finally, he asked in his deep, rumbling voice, “Is that who’s phone you gave me? Your ex-wife’s?”

Bridge nodded. Now it was his turn to wipe tears from his eyes. Talking about Madelyn always did that to him.

Cullen’s big hand was on his. He squeezed, holding it tight and not letting go. “Thank you, Bridge. Thank you for telling me. Thank you for inviting me. And thank you for saving me.”

That evening, they returned to the turnaround where Bridge and Rowan had rescued Cullen and towed his broken-down Celica back home.

***

Connor returned from school early again that night, saying it was the end of the football season and the coach gave them the night off due to the big game on Friday. It was probably true but Bridge couldn’t help noticing that Connor didn’t leave Cullen’s side the entire evening. Normally, he’d get home late and promptly sequester himself in his room. That night, he, Cullen and Rowan were inseparable. 

Rowan’s attachment to Cullen was more understandable. To Rowan, Cullen was the older brother he’d always wanted, one who doted on him, played with him and made him feel special. Rowan had never gotten that from Connor; the two brothers were like oil and water. Plus, Bridge suspected his youngest son had a bit of a crush on the older boy…well, man, actually, since Cullen was well past the age of being a legal adult.

But Connor? That was trickier to figure out. He had expected his oldest son to feel competitive around Cullen like he was with Bridge. Since Madelyn left, everything was a pissing contest between Bridge and Connor with his son at pains to show him that he was the dominant one. He blamed Bridge for Madelyn’s departure and, in Connor’s mind, this meant his father had failed as a man and was therefore relegated to permanent beta status. Connor was a binary thinker, someone who never considered nuance. Everything was either all black or all white.

Hmmm, Bridge thought as he prepared dinner for the trio as they played video games together on the couch, if Connor thinks in black and white, dominant or submissive, then I guess it does make sense after all. It had been clear to Bridge when Connor and Cullen first met that Cullen had ‘won’ the dominance contest. Thus dethroned, Connor had apparently accepted his new, lower status and was Ok with it. Bridge got it. Sometimes he wished he had someone bigger and stronger to rely on, too. It sure would make his life easier in some ways! Ah, but such was the lot of men in this world!

“Bridge?” He looked up to find Cullen craning his neck to look back at him from the sofa. “Wanna play? There’re four controllers.” The young man held up the game pad enticingly. “There’s time before dinner’s ready, right?”

Bridge held up his hands. “It’s been years since I’ve played any video games. I’m old and would only get in the way.”

“Daaaad,” Rowan complained, “that’s not true. C’mon! Play with us!”

Whoa, Bridge thought. This never happened! His sons had never wanted him to play video games with them before. He was doubly stunned when Connor chimed in, “Yeah, Dad! Get yer ass over here and play with us!” 

And so Bridge found himself sitting down on the carpet in front of the sofa and accepting the game controller from Cullen. Thankfully, they took pity on him and started out with a practice round so that he could get the hang of the mechanics of combat. Bridge hadn’t been lying; he really wasn’t accustomed to playing video games and his reflexes were bad. For this reason, Cullen suggested that they split into teams: He and Bridge on one team and Rowan and Connor on the other.

“Are you sure?” he asked, glancing over to gauge Rowan and Connor’s reactions.

Surprisingly, Connor urged, “Yeah, do it. It makes sense ‘cuz Cullen’s the best player. Him playin’ with you’ll be like a handicap. Rowan an’ me might even stand a chance at winnin’!”

They started a new game with the difficulty set to easy. Even so, Bridge was a bit at sea and kept hitting the wrong buttons. He grew more flustered as he continued to mess up, worried about irritating Cullen with his ineptitude. It was a vicious cycle and his performance only continued to worsen. Finally, he gave up, saying, “Ok, I’m out. I told you I suck.”

When he tried to stand up, though, Cullen’s firm hand on his shoulder kept him in place. Then, to Bridge’s undying surprise, the kid slipped off the couch and sat down behind him, spreading his legs so that Bridge was nestled in between his thighs. As he sat there, frozen, Cullen put his chin on his shoulder and took his hands in his own as he picked up the controller.

“Here, hold it like this,” he said, taking control of Bridge’s character in the game. “And fire like this. See?” His fingers were over Bridge’s on the game pad and he pressed over the top of them, helping him steer and manipulate his weapon.

Bridge scarcely heard him. He was too preoccupied by Cullen’s firm, hard torso pressing into his back. His hot breath was on his ear and his big, calloused hands were on top of his own. His arms hugged around him. Worse, he was sandwiched between the young man’s muscular thighs. And–the ultimate capstone!–the boy’s immense bulge was wedged irreconcilably into the deep ravine of his buttocks.

“I can’t do this!” Bridge complained, keenly aware of his sons’ gazes upon them. He didn’t need to look at them to know they were just as shocked as he was by this turn of events. 

“Shhh, relax an’ let me take over,” Cullen soothed, guiding Bridge’s character expertly over the battlefield. “Just relax and let me drive. It’s Ok. I’m a pro at this.”

It was clear that he meant more than just being a pro at gaming by this statement. And, as if to underscore the fact, Cullen pulsed his giant cock, causing it to stiffen significantly against his butt.

Bridge was dazed. Helpless under this potent onslaught, he surrendered completely, letting the boy take charge of both him and the character in the game. He knew what they were doing was supremely weird, especially in front of Connor and Rowan, but what could he do? He was powerless to stop it because Cullen was in charge. All he could do is pretend that their behavior was totally normal…and hope the fallout wasn’t too severe.

Of course, he could have stood up and stalked back into the kitchen, ending the whole thing. But for reasons he didn’t fully understand, he didn’t. Maybe it was because, deep down, he enjoyed it? And maybe he liked Cullen, too? In any case, it felt good to be held by a strong, warm, virile young man. He hadn’t been touched in so long, he’d almost forgotten what it was like. 

He gave in and let himself be held.

***

He expected dinner to be tense but it turned out to be the opposite. Cullen took his place at the head of the table next to Bridge and Connor and Rowan sat side by side on their left. The food turned out to be more palatable than Bridge’s usual disasters and everyone enjoyed it. For once, Connor didn’t complain about all the cheese and dairy in the sauce and ate it with gusto. He and Rowan kept exchanging knowing glances with each other but Bridge ignored them. 

For his part, Cullen did his best to lighten the mood by regaling them with stories from his years on the road. The boy might still be quite young but he’d been living out of his car for the past six years and had seen a lot of the world already. He’d had plenty of both good and bad experiences, the relating of which left Bridge and his boys a little breathless.

Afterwards, they cleaned up the kitchen together before returning to the living room to play more video games. This time, however, Bridge made sure to sit up on the couch with everyone else. Not giving up without a fight, Cullen insisted on sitting next to him, his thigh firmly pressed against Bridge’s own.

When they were done, Rowan went to bed and Connor got up to do his nightly livestream. As he was leaving, though, he shocked Bridge by leaning over and giving him a peck on the cheek, saying, “G’night, Dad! Remember the playoffs are tomorrow night. Are you gonna come watch me?”

“Of course!” Bridge said, unable to believe how endearing Connor was being. “I wouldn’t miss it!”

“Good!” Connor grinned and was turning to leave when he stopped and turned back, saying, “Cullen, you’ll come, too, right? I’d really like it if you did.” He paused briefly, reconsidering, “But only if you feel up to it. I don’t want ya to get sick again bein’ out in the cold!”

“Yessir!” Cullen said cheerfully. “I love watchin’ football. It’s my favorite sport!”

“Really?” Connor was glowing. “Then I hope you come!”

He waved goodnight, leaving Cullen and Bridge sitting on the couch alone together. Bridge was in heaven. Never in his wildest dreams had he expected Connor to come around in this way. And, no matter how he thought about it, one thing was clear: It wouldn’t have happened without Cullen. This realization left him feeling suffused with warmth and tender feelings for the young man.

“Ahem, sorry!” 

Bridge looked over questioningly at Cullen in time to see the boy place his hands over his crotch. His cheeks were red under his light beard. 

When he realized Bridge was staring at him, he nodded at his crotch, sheepishly explaining, “The hazards of being too horny, too hung and sittin’ next to a hot guy.” His hands, Bridge noticed, were lifting ever higher up from his crotch as his sleeping monster roused from its uneasy slumber.

Bridge’s mouth fell open. What could he say?

Cullen was at pains to apologize, spouting, “I really am sorry! This is part of why I told ya I don’t think it’s a good thing for me to stay here.” He hung his head, “I…can’t control myself. I’ve tried but I can’t. If you let me stay, it’s only gonna get worse.”

“I don’t care,” Bridge stated firmly, surprising both himself and Cullen. “I’m not going to kick you out, Cullen. Whether you stay or go is your choice, not mine.”

Cullen stared at him, eyes wide. “Are you sure? Really?” He jerked his chin down at his tumescence. “You don’t care? This ain’t even the worst of it, Mr. MacMullen. I can guarantee this is juss the start.”

Bridge nodded. “I mean it. I don’t care. And, if it gets worse, we’ll just, ahem, cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Cullen received this with solemn trepidation, warning, “I hope you know what yer doin’, Mr. MacMullen.”

Of course, Bridge didn’t know what he was doing. That was the problem. There was so much he didn’t know about Cullen but one thing he did know: He wanted this boy to stay in his–and his son’s–lives.

***