Dad, son and hiker Part 1

By The Lazy Pornographer 
 
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·      This is a work of fiction but I wish it wasn’t – copyright me 2026
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 All characters are 18 and above

Dad, son and hiker Part 1

I’m in my early thirties, single, openly gay, and thoroughly sexually active - versatile enough to take it when the right man presents himself, but usually the one doing the taking. I love the outdoors too, so last summer I packed the truck and headed into the American countryside for a week of proper camping: no mobile signal, just trees, trails, and the smell of pine and woodsmoke.

The campsite had a basic shower block - concrete floor, metal stalls, the usual communal setup. I was rinsing off the day’s sweat when the door to the stall next to mine swung open. Through the gap above the partition I caught a flash of dark hair, smooth shoulders, and then, as he turned under the spray, a tight, pale arse and a decent cock swinging half-hard between his legs.

Eighteen if he was a day. Cute in that still-boyish way - lean, a bit shy-looking even while naked, a dusting of hair trailing down from his navel. I watched him soap up, eyes lingering on the curve of his cheeks and the way his cock thickened under the water. He glanced over once, caught me looking, and gave a small, nervous smile before turning away. Nothing more happened. I finished, toweled off, and left with the image of that arse burned into my mind.

Two days later I took the longer ridge trail. Mid-afternoon heat, insects humming, the path climbing through oak and pine. Rounding a bend I almost walked straight into them: the same kid, now in shorts and a sweaty T-shirt that clung to his thin chest, and beside him a man who could only be his father.

Burly didn’t begin to cover it. Mid-forties, thick through the chest and shoulders, dark hair gone a little grey at the temples, a full beard, and arms that looked like they could hoist a fallen tree. His shirt was damp too, the fabric stretched across a solid gut and heavy pecs. The kid - Jake, I learned later - recognised me immediately. A flush crept up his neck.

“Hey,” he said, a little breathless. “From the showers.”
His dad’s eyes flicked between us, assessing. Name was Mike. Handshake like a vice. We fell into step together for the rest of the loop, conversation easy enough - weather, trails, the best fishing spots. Jake kept glancing at me when he thought no one was looking. Mike noticed. I saw the way his gaze lingered on my mouth, then lower, when Jake was ahead of us on a steeper section.

By the time we dropped back toward the campsite the light was turning gold. Mike suggested a cold beer by their fire. I accepted. Their pitch was further down the loop, quieter, screened by trees. Jake disappeared into the tent to change; Mike cracked bottles and handed me one, our fingers brushing. The air between us thickened.
Jake came back out in nothing but loose shorts, hair still damp from a quick rinse. He sat close enough that his knee brushed mine. Mike watched us both with a slow, deliberate stare.

“So,” Mike said eventually, voice low, “you two already got an eyeful of each other in the showers.”

Jake’s face went scarlet, but he didn’t move away. I met Mike’s eyes and didn’t deny it. The older man set his bottle down, leaned forward, and rested a heavy hand on his son’s thigh - high enough that his thumb stroked the inside seam of the shorts.

“Kid’s been hard ever since,” Mike murmured. “Kept mentioning the guy from the block. Figured we might as well see if you’re interested in more than looking.”

Jake’s cock was already tenting the thin fabric. I reached over and cupped him through the shorts, feeling the heat and the sudden twitch. He made a small sound. Mike’s hand covered mine, guiding the pressure, then slid higher to push the waistband down. Jake’s cock sprang free - cut, average length but thick for his age, the head already slick. I stroked him slowly while Mike watched, then leaned in and took the head into my mouth.

Jake gasped, hips lifting. I sucked him deeper, tasting salt and clean skin, while Mike stood, unbuckled, and freed a heavy, uncut cock that matched the rest of him - thick, veined, already half-hard and filling fast. He stepped behind me, tugged my shorts down, and ran a rough palm over my arse. Two thick fingers pushed between my cheeks, found me already slick from the heat and the situation, and pressed in without ceremony.

I moaned around Jake’s cock. Mike worked me open with those fingers, then spat and replaced them with the blunt head of his prick. He pushed in slow and steady, stretching me wide, until his gut pressed against my back and he was buried to the root. The burn was perfect. He started fucking me in deep, deliberate strokes while I sucked his son, one hand rolling Jake’s balls, the other braced on the ground.

Jake came first - sharp, sudden, flooding my mouth with thin, salty spurts while his thighs shook. I swallowed and kept sucking him through it until he was oversensitive and whimpering. Mike didn’t stop. He hauled me up onto all fours, gripped my hips hard enough to bruise, and pounded into me with the full weight of that solid body. Each thrust drove the air from my lungs.

He reached under and stroked my cock in time with his hips until I came hard across the dirt, clenching around him. That finished him. He buried himself deep, groaned like a bear, and pulsed thick ropes of cum into my arse, filling me until I felt it start to leak down my thighs when he finally pulled out.

We stayed like that for a while - breathing hard, the fire popping, Jake watching with wide, fascinated eyes and a cock that was already twitching back toward hardness. Mike wiped his dick on my discarded shirt, then pulled Jake in for a slow, open-mouthed kiss that left no doubt this wasn’t the first time father and son had shared something intimate. When they broke apart, Mike looked at me and nodded toward the tent.

“Night’s still young,” he said. “And the kid’s got stamina. You staying?”
I stayed.