The kid was a bit of a mess - but a hot mess, to be sure. He was having the time of his life, and looked it. Like a lot of the brothers, he’d lost his shirt awhile back, when the sun was still up. Then his turn to do a kegstand came around again, and he shucked his cargo shorts with a wicked grin and took it on, his body long and lean and defined, white briefs barely clinging to the fine-honed muscles of his ass. Arms uplifted in triumph, to the cheers of the small crowd gathered in the backyard of the SigEp house, a bumping tune came on the speakers and he immediately hopped up on the picnic table to start dancing, bringing the cheers and hoots up a notch.
“Colby tells me he’s the life of the party,” Izzo said, as we stood back, red Solo cups of beer in hand, and watched the ongoing debauchery as the night got deeper.
“You don’t know the half of it,” I chuckled.
It was good to be back here. Sure, we were older now, but there was something about being back at the old frat house, your buds around you, bullshitting and telling dirty jokes into the small hours of the night, letting the buzz and the vibe really seep into you. I couldn’t always make it for Alumni Weekend, but I always had a great time when I did. Even more so now, especially with my best bud from back in the day by my side. We were sinking beers like we weren’t in our early 40s, like we didn’t have big-boy jobs and mortgages and wives and families. Like we were still 19, and the warm, beer-soaked nights like these still stretched out ahead of us for years to come.
This was starting to feel a little like one of those nights. Something in the air. I’d felt this vibe before, on Alumni Weekends in years past, and god knows, I’d gotten my cock sucked and fucked some damn fine, tight, muscled fratboy tail at several of these events over the years, as if I’d never graduated and moved on with my life. As if I hadn’t been one of those tight, muscled young fratboys myself, back in the day. Sometimes, it was almost enough to make you wish you were still in the life, still young and mostly carefree, all about the next beer, the next joint, the next party, the next piece of ass. And then you woke up in some fucked-out 20-year-old dude’s musky bed, rubbing your head and wondering why it had ever seemed like a good idea to do Jager bombs again after all these years, remembering you had to call home and check in, had to find your car keys, had to somehow make yourself look presentable for the daytime functions, had to reconcile the fact that you’d dumped two loads up some hot young dude’s ass when you had a wife and kids and a semi-respectable life to go home to.
And then sometimes, the kid woke up with a cute, sleepy-eyed smile and leaned down to suck your cock back to hardness, and you forgot all about that shit and surfed the memory wave, back to those good ol’ days.
“Reminds me of you a little, Bill,” Izzo said with a knowing chuckle.
“Shut the fuck up, bud,” I laughed. “I didn’t table-dance all that much. And half the time, you were up there with me.”
These parties could get a little wild, it’s true. And after enough shots, enough beers, with the right tunes on the stereo, things could get a little… frisky. There’s something about that feeling, being young, built, single and free, being desired. Feeling friendly hands giving you a playful grope, getting you even more in the spirit of things. Dollar bills jokingly tossed at your feet, or into the waistband of your shorts. A few bold hands tucking those bills way deep down, and getting a good feel of your goods into the bargain. Knowing one of your bros, and maybe more, would probably get naked with you in your room upstairs.
One of the last great parties we threw before we graduated, me and Izzo got convinced - and there wasn’t much arm-twisting involved - to get up and dance a little, and somehow that wound up as us down to our underwear, bumping and grinding, before Izzo pulled my face in close to his, all sweaty and grinning and hazy-eyed, and laid some serious tongue on me. Hearing the cheers of our bros go up even louder just made us go with it even more, and we wound up just short of fucking each other right there on the table. It was a hell of a charge, and when he grabbed my hand and yanked me upstairs to his room to take it further, like we’d been doing on the semi-sly for two semesters by that point, somehow it turned into a five- or six-brother thing. Quite a night. I still jacked off thinking about it, and every so often, when me and Izzo would have one of our Sunday-evening catch-up calls, one or the other of us would start to mention it, and the call would end up with us jacking off and reliving it blow-by-blow, hiding away from our families as we relived some of the best times of our lives together.
Seems like some things never changed, because the current generation of SigEps were just as crazy as us, just as randy, and even the presence of a good dozen of us old alums hadn’t made them any more circumspect. If anything, tonight seemed a little wilder. Off in the darker corners of the yard, some of the alums and the younger brothers were deep in conversation. Hands casually groped asses, stroked pecs. Heads tilted in to connect. Newly formed pairs wandered casually into the house and upstairs, and I’d most definitely heard the grunting, growling sounds of male sex coming from behind closed doors on my last trip inside to use the bathroom.
Me and Izzo leaned back and watched the kid dance, swiveling his trim hips like a stripper, his skin glowing with sweat, starting to throw a solid rod in those half-bagged shorts of his. One of his brothers, a big, good-looking kid in his own right, stepped up beside him, handed him a funnel and upended a tallboy into it. We both chuckled as the kid swallowed it, Adam’s apple working overtime, before he dropped the funnel, raised his arms up in the air, and belched triumphantly. And then he grabbed hold of the beer-pouring brother and laid a pretty serious kiss on the dude.
“Fuck,” Izzo murmured, reaching down to grope the big bulge in his khaki shorts. “Definitely reminds me of you.”
“Well, maybe the apple doesn’t fall so far from the tree after all,” I chuckled, as the kid released his brother from the kiss, grinning, and then looked around in triumph. His eyes found mine, and he blushed briefly, then grinned some more. The kiss had left him throwing a serious bone in his beer-soaked briefs. I just nodded at him, lifted my Solo cup and gave him a wink.
No question about it - Brady was my son, alright.
The big kid stepped down off the table, tenting his own shorts, and came over our way, grinning but looking a little guilty.
“Colby, buddy, you act like you’re the first Izzo to ever party,” Izzo said, slipping his arm around the big kid’s neck. “Me and Bill here could tell you a few stories…”
“You already have,” Colby said with a joking eyeroll. “And I’m sure you’re gonna tell me even more…”
I watched Brady continue to dance on the table with something like paternal pride, and then one of the alums passed me a joint and I took a hit. Fuck yeah. I was definitely proud of my kid. Smart, funny, hell of a baseball player, and he’d had no issues integrating into college life. His grades were good, and he still knew how to party with the best of them. My fucking kid, alright. And going on the attention he was getting, and loving getting, he was just as popular with his brothers as I’d been back in the day.I wondered how many other chapters fostered such tight bonds between alums and their sons. Maybe it was just us, maybe something in the water at this old, storied house, running through the ancient pipes, flowing down our throats, over our bodies as we bathed in it, drank it in, fucked in and beneath it. Just like our sons did.
I was standing there, half-lost in my weed-clouded reverie, when I noticed Brady being offered a shot from his admirers below. Another of the alums - Spencer, maybe? He leaned in to take it, then leaned down further, that tight, muscular young ass of his rising up out of his damp Boss briefs like a sweat-shining sculpture, listening intently to what the guy was saying into his ear. Then he grinned, slowly rose, looked directly at me and took the shot, tossing the glass over his shoulder to cheers from the guys as he resumed grinding his hips. Only now, it was like he was dancing for me, and when he lifted his hands up towards me and started motioning me in, I got that gut-tingle again.
“Go on, get your ass up there, Drake!” I heard somebody yell, to laughter and applause. I just laughed, shook my head.
“C’mon, Dad!” Brady called, and I heard the cheers go up a notch. Eyes on me now. Hands clapping my shoulders, my back, my ass. Pushing me forward. So fuck it. I dumped the last of my beer down my throat - just in time for some asshole to hand me another one - fixed my eyes on my boy’s, and made my way over.
“Fuck yeah, big guy,” he grinned, grabbing my forearm and helping pull me up with him. I could smell the beer on him, the weed smoke fogging the yard, and beneath all that, his young sweat, cutting through everything else as he locked his excited gaze and grin on me and started to dance.
Took me a minute to find my rhythm - I guess I’m turning into an old guy, because I have no idea what the fuck it is these kids are listening to nowadays - but eventually it found me, and me and my boy were dancing together. The kid had moves - I guess I’d always had pretty good rhythm, and he definitely got his from me and not his mother. The guys seemed to be enjoying it, especially when Brady started dancing closer in on me. I could see their grinning faces, their eager eyes, but mainly I was focused on my son, on his scent and the sheen of sweat and beer glowing on his tight-muscled young frame, the sway of his hips, the impressive half-bone pushing across his trim hip.
And then some wiseass - probably Izzo, that asshole - put Prince’s “Kiss” on the speakers, Brady’s eyes lit up, and I guess mine did too, because I’d done more than a few turns on this table to that particular song. Brady was doing a slow grind, and when he turned his shiny bare back around and pushed that fine young ass of his back at me, half exposed to the warm night air, I gave it a solid smack on instinct. The crowd cheered some more, and then he pushed his rump further back, up against my crotch, and I know he could feel the hardon steadily growing, pulsing there. Made it real easy to slide my hands round his sides, over the slightly beer-swollen expanse of his normally tight abdomen, and sink my fingers down through his treasure trail, into the sweaty tangle of his half-exposed bush.
“Fuck yeah,” he grunted, grinding his ass back into me harder, and I was just about to lean in even closer to him, slide my thick fingers along that hard tube of sophomore cock, when he turned suddenly, faced me, wrapped his arms round my neck and ground even closer against me.
There was definitely something in his eyes, but I bet they were just reflecting what was in mine, because it felt like the rest of the world fell away. We were locked in on each other, and nothing else existed beyond my kid’s eyes, the scent of beer and sweat rolling off him, the feel of his sweaty, smooth skin and the muscles beneath it moving beneath my hands. The graze of his big young cock tenting his shorts, brushing against mine. The feel of his muscular ass flexing as my hands slipped down over the top of it and squeezed.
Fuck yeah. Me and my boy had a connection alright, but we’d never been this connected this publicly. Alumni Weekend could have that effect on you, especially this part of it, informally known as Parents Night. I broke the gaze, eyes roving over the avid, grinning faces of my old brothers and the fresh crop of younger men filling their shoes. They were enjoying the show, no question. And then I found my old partner-in-crime, John Izzo, his dark-haired forearm slung round his son Colby’s neck, big hand lazily teasing the kid’s nip through his T-shirt. Colby had a faraway look in his eyes that made him the spitting image of his father - I remember seeing that same expression twenty-some years ago as Izzo sank his tight soccer-jock ass down the length of my cock up in our shared attic room many a time. Or when he returned the favor and sank his seven-inch cock up my ass, usually not long after. I wondered if his boy and mine were carrying on our traditions.
Izzo looked at me, that proud paternal smile of his matched with that definite look in his eyes, the one he often shot me from across a room when he wanted to go have some fun. A question and an invitation. One that even now, in my 40s, married and a father of three, I couldn’t resist. Only this time, well… it was different. Bigger.
I nodded, and he smiled, nodded back, then curled his forearm round Colby’s neck and guided his boy inside. The kid was throwing a serious rod in his cargo shorts, and he looked to be every inch his father’s son. I turned back to Brady, back into the horny tractor beam of his half-drunk, sexed-up gaze, and gave those hard mounds of muscle that by now were almost totally out of his shorts in back a good, deep squeeze. Felt him throb and grunt against me. I wanted to lay some serious tongue on him, right there in front of everybody, but I still had my wits about me. Everyone’s got a phone these days, and despite the strict no-pics rule once it got dark, you never knew when some asshole might take the wrong kind of shot at the wrong time. Besides, everybody knew where this was probably going. Most of them had been there themselves, with their own boys, if they weren’t already going there in one of the bedrooms upstairs right now.
The song wrapped up, another round of cheers went up, and I pulled my kid in for a proud hug, rubbing his ballcapped head in pride. Then I took his hand and stepped down off the table, ignoring the calls for another dance, and led him into the house.
Music and laughter and loud conversation pounded through the walls, from the basement on up, but it got progressively quieter as we climbed the stairs to the third floor and the two attic rooms. I knew exactly where the Izzos would be, and hearing the grunts and slapping bodies coming through the closed bedroom doors as we ascended, still holding my boy’s hand, just added to the mounting heat in me. We passed a couple of brothers, young and old, and they nodded and grinned in passing. We all knew what was up tonight. We were all down for it.
The door to me and Izzo’s old room was half-open, the third floor almost quiet in comparison to the floors below. Quiet enough to hear the smack of lips, of men grunting, murmuring. I pushed the door open, feeling Brady’s squeeze almost nervously in mine, and grinned at the sight. Colby Izzo was shirtless, the same thatch of dark hair on his big, defined chest I remembered well from his father. John was running his long, skilled fingers through it slowly as he murmured something inaudible to his boy, who looked almost hypnotized as he undid the button’s on John’s polo shirt. They looked deep in each other’s eyes and leaned in to kiss, long and slow and deep, flashes of pink tongue slipping into one another’s mouths, and I felt my cock go fully erect at the sight, even more so when Brady interlaced his fingers in mine and squeezed.
“About fuckin’ time, bro,” Izzo said warmly when they separated, smiling at me as he raised his arms for his son to strip his shirt off him.
Brady closed the door behind us and clicked the lock, and I stepped in close to my old brother and laid a deep, wet, eager kiss on him as his son bent down to latch his mouth onto his father’s nipple. I felt Brady step up close behind me and run his hands up my sides, tracing over the still-strong muscles, making my skin prickle under my shirt. I caught Colby’s eye as I pulled off his Dad’s lips, and the big kid grinned and eased up to kiss me. He was just as good as his Dad was. I guess it wasn’t just good looks, tight muscles and pure horndog instincts that ran in their family.
John was growling, mashing my head and his son’s together, pushing us deeper into our intense, wet kiss, when I felt Brady’s arms squeeze me, then his hands tugging at my shirt.
“Yo, back off, bro,” he said to Colby, with a good-natured chuckle. “You got your own Dad to play with. I got first dibs on mine.”
I turned around, my eager boy slipping into my arms, and my hands sank deep into his shorts in back, giving his muscular young ass a solid squeeze as his mouth and tongue met mine in the deep, hungry, passionate dad-son kiss we were so close to sharing on that table outside. But here, in private, with my best bud and his boy, we could share all we liked. It’s what I’d been waiting for all weekend.
Our old attic room filled with the sounds of dudes kissing, lips smacking, low, sexy grunts and whispers, murmurs, just like it had back in our day. And now a second generation of Drake and Izzo fraternity men were continuing that deep tradition, showing us how well they’d learned from us, how eager they were to keep the secret ways alive.
I came up off Brady’s mouth, leaning back to give him room to work my shirt off me, catching John’s eye.
“We gonna get naked with our boys, and show them how a SigEp man pleases his buddy?” he asked, low and husky.
“Damn right we are, brother,” I grunted.
“We gonna fuck our own boys, brother? Together? Just like we always said we would?” he said, and his eyes were on fire, remembering all the heated, taboo talk we’d grunted out with each other when we were their age, in this very room, all those years ago. A pact between brothers. Finally about to be realized.
“Fuckin’ A, brother,” I grinned, and we leaned in and met again in a grunting man kiss, as Colby undid his father’s shorts and dropped them to the floor with an eager, husky moan, while my boy pushed my shirt off my shoulders and set to work on my belt.
Soon John and I were proudly displaying our fatherly tents in our boxer briefs to our worshipful boys. John had yanked off his sweaty T-short and his shorts, and seeing him packed into trunks gave me a serious case of deja vu. He looked just like his Dad did at that age, right down to the fraternity tattoo on his tanned right shoulder, and watching him hungrily lick and suckle on his father’s bulge reminded me of more than a few Alumni Weekend evenings, when we’d invited alums up here to our room for some brotherly worship and bonding.
Brady looked less like me, but he was cute as hell as he smiled all eagerly up at me, reaching into my boxer briefs for the cock I’d created him with, looking boyishly cute like he had the first time he’d done this a few years ago. yeah, he’d been destined for this, in much the same way I’d eagerly learned to swallow my own father’s cock at the same age. The same way John and his boy had been destined to connect. It’s why me and Izzo had been destined to be such good, tight buds, even after all these years.
John and I moved almost in sync as we steered our boys to the twin beds. I don’t know how Colby and Brady worked it out that they were sharing this room, the way their own fathers had a generation ago, but I was glad they did, because it made it feel even more like coming home when we laid their now-naked young bodies down on the beds we ourselves used to sleep and play on. Felt like we’d never left, as their eager, athletic bodies curled around us and pulled us down into them, as our lips parted, tongues tangled, as their strong thighs wrapped round us and drew us even closer to the hot, tight, pulsing knots of muscle that led the way inside of them.
Me and Izzo entered our sons almost in unison, watching each other with big, brotherly smiles as we slid into them. This fuck, this night, this amazing thing we were doing was as much about us as it was about them. After all, we both already had this bond with our boys. Doing it together like this for the first time in person, side-by-side, made it more intense, deeper, strengthened our bond to each other and to this house, this brotherhood. It was like an offering to all the men who’d come before us, and all those who would come after. Preferably with each other. And hopefully with their own sons, like we were doing. The thought of John and his son following this special tradition gave my cock an extra thrill, made me drive my cock even deeper up into his ever-tight, welcoming guts, made him moan and sweat and clutch at the big muscles of my upper arms as I bottomed out inside my eldest son.
Would I get to experience this with his younger brothers? Would Mikey and Will Drake be SigEp men like their father and big brother? Time would tell. I know John was wondering about Luke Izzo too, I could read it all over his face as he stared at his eldest son, thrust deeper into him, that still-spectacular ex-soccer-jock ass of his dimpling deep as he thrust. I couldn’t wait to get up inside that tail of his, and give him the same pleasure too, while our boys coupled like we had 25 years ago. But that was for later. We had the rest of the weekend stretching out ahead of us. For now, tonight, this was about a deeper bond. A tradition. A promise we’d made to each other as young men, as fraternity brothers, finally coming to fruition.
“Ah fuck Dad,” Brady moaned as I fucked up into him harder, faster, deeper. From the corner of my eye, I could see John’s fit body doing the same, and I knew he was staring as deeply, intently into his son’s eyes as I was mine.
Colby’s moans mixed with Brady’s, building into a low, deep undercurrent that merged with the noise of the party downstairs and outside, the faint noises of other couplings going on below us, the sounds of our hips slapping against the upturned asses of your sons, our own deep grunts and moans and murmurs. It felt like a wall of sound building up, mixing with the fog of sweat and musk between us, something huge and powerful that had been building up all these years, between me and my brother Izzo, between us and our eldest sons, between the men of our chapter and their fathers and their sons, back and forth in time until it became something even bigger, deeper, more powerful than we could comprehend.
John Izzo and I fucked our sons into the tradition, let it wash over us, the brotherhood and the bond, between men, between fathers and sons. We looked over at each other once more, and I could tell from the hard flex of John’s still-killer bod that he was right there on the verge.
“For the brotherhood, Bill,” he grunted.
“For the brotherhood, John,” I moaned back, and then we nodded at each other, looked down into the handsome, sweating, ecstatic faces of our sons, the next generation of SigEp brothers, and like some signal passed through us all simultaneously, we let the bond of brotherhood and family wash over us and surge down through our bodies, up along the throbbing lengths of our cocks, and explode in hot, thick jets, inside and over and between us all, one after the other, almost in unison.
The peak was intense, and somehow, the afterglow, all curled up with our sons in our old frat beds, was almost as deep and intense. Even though it was already very deep and powerful, I felt even more bonded to my boy in that moment, and from the low murmur of conversation and the sound of kissing from the bed across the way, I could tell the Izzo men were riding that same vibe.
“That was fuckin’ awesome, Dad,” Brady grinned. “I’ve been wanting to do this ever since I pledged. Ever since you told me about you and Mr Izzo.”
“Shit, buddy, me and your Dad have been wanting to do this since before you guys were born,” John chuckled, lazily stroking Colby’s sweaty torso as his boy nuzzled against his neck, playing with the fine strands of silver that had come in through the dark hair on his chest.
“Maybe you and your sons will carry on the tradition too,” I said.
“Fuck yeah,” Colby piped up, and then his and Brady’s eyes met. When they slowly peeled themselves off us and hopped up off the bed, meeting in the space between in a tight hug that inevitably shifted into a friendly, brotherly makeout, I felt my spent cock twinge again.
John just chuckled, hauled his ass out of his old bed and went to the minifridge to retrieve a couple more beers. He made for one hell of a sight, big spent dick swinging between his muscled thighs as he made his way to me, and even though we were both bigger than we’d been back in the day, we still found room to squeeze into the same bed like we used to. I pulled him up against my bigger body as we took in the sight of our handsome sons deepening their bond.
“What if they don’t, you know… settle down like we did, Bill?” he asked. I got what he was saying. I’d always made it clear to Brady that his sexuality was his own. He didn’t have to pursue marriage to a woman, a family, all the things I had, if he didn’t want to. I’d be as proud of him no matter where he went in life. And as he could see - as he had experienced - there was always this kind of fun to be had, no matter what.
“Hell, they’d make a fine couple, don’t you think, brother?” I chuckled, and the idea of that, of our boys partnering up, drawing our families together, gave us both a dick-twitch.
“Besides, we’ve both got other sons,” I said, running my free hand up the firm muscles of my best bud’s stomach. “There’s always the chance they’ll follow in the tradition too. Never can tell.”
“Damn right you can’t,” John grinned, turning his head up to kiss me slow and deep. “But I hope we get to find out.”
I drew my brother in tighter to me as we explored the kiss more deeply, as our eldest sons took to the other bed together to build up to their own second round. Two generations side by side, doing what brothers do best - that’s what Alumni Weekend is all about.
Hell yeah. I was already looking forward to next year.
More stories like this at http://a4f101.tumblr.com/tagged/story+time
So my buddy a4f101 has done me the honor of casting me in one of his stories. And, wow, what a hell of a story. Buds don’t get any better than this in my book.