Tobin

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Tobin

Hair type: Hat

Ethinicity: North American

Cock Type: Cut

Set Type: Pictures

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Pictures: 125 | Added: 04-01-2002

Personally, I'd guess I put most of the responsibility on dad.

I mean, there I was, just seven years ago, a perfectly normal 12 year old kid.

All I was interested in was football, movies, TV and hangin' out with a few of my friends down at the mall after school.

No booze - and definitely no drugs. Just a squeaky clean suburban boy, that was me.

And then it happened.

One day, without any notice at all, my dad walked out on us and my '60s generation right-on-in-your-face mom just had to tell me the true reason why.

"Your dad's left me for someone else, Peter", she said.

"A man."

Well, if that wasn't bad enough on its own, she insisted on telling me more.

In fact, she told me way too much more.

Dad, it turned out, was now living way on the other side of town. And his new partner was a 6'5" black ex-US army master sergeant who combined a torso built like the side of a house with a budding career in local gay bars as a drag act (Stella Stardust - she shines in the black of night).

Now, any mom with an ounce of sense would have moved out of the neighbourhood straight away.

More to the point, she'd have put me in a new school.

After all, how's a 12 year old expected to cope when the other kids keep on reminding him every day that his dad gets off by having a 12" stick of hot black salami shoved up his ass - and probably without any dressing, either?

So I guess, after all, that my stupid mom gets to take part of the responsibility - but, whatever the cause, within a few years of unwillingly familiarising myself with my dad's new lifestyle I'd realised that I was gay too.

For right-on mom, that was no big deal. premium vebsite Download hentai games and enjoy playng

After all, my new Latino boyfriend Tobin wasn't black. (Right-on mom wasn't racist - she got on real well with Tobin - but I guess that a black boy would have been a permanent reminder of her rival Stella Stardust.)

And the fact that Tobin hadn't got the slightest inclination to dress in women's clothes was also a definite plus.

And that was the last we heard from dad until the day late last year when a very large package arrived for me.

Along with it came a letter from dad to say that he and Nigel - Stella Stardust was really a Nigel! - were opening an all-male theatre in San Francisco. He even enclosed a couple of tickets, making me wonder whether he'd heard about my new lifestyle.

"Meanwhile", he'd added, " I'm sending you a few old things we don't have room to take with us. Please look after them until I next see you."

I would have left the box untouched - but Tobin insisted that we opened it that evening. It contained a few odds and ends - a couple of '70s porno videos that made us laugh when we saw the haircuts and cry when we saw how many of the guys rode bareback - and a few sex toys (unwashed - yuck!). But mainly there were just lots of dad's old clothes. Most, I guessed, were from the late '60s when he was about my own age now.

Tobin was in seventh heaven. He loved clothes and considered himself a bit of a fashion expert. But even he had never seen anything like these and insisted, to my annoyance, on taking some of them out of the box.

"Hey, Pete", he asked as he slipped on a particularly (not to say virulently) striking orange top.

"This must be some kinda joke, huh?

"You don't really think that people back then really liked these colours, do you?"

I bit my tongue, even though it was oh-so-tempting to point out that Tobin's own cap-worn-back-to-front was pretty passé in 2002 too.

"And look at the jeans, too, man", he added.

"They look like they've been cut for someone on the WWF circuit - and probably made my them too!"

Much as I'd been pissed with dad for the past few years, I was darned if I was going to let Tobin talk about him that way.

"Take that stuff off and put it back in the box", I told him.

"They're my dad's clothes and I don't want you touching them again."

It's not often I get angry with Tobin and he realised at once that he'd gone too far.

He knew he had to do something to make amends.

And he knew exactly how to do it.

Looking me straight in the eyes, he took off that orange top far more slowly than he needed to and then stretched his body in the sexiest way that he knew I loved.

As he did so, the top of his boxers peeked out from dad's old jeans.

I began to melt. And, tempting though it was, I wouldn't spoil the moment by pointing out that - of all possible colours - Tobin's boxers were the same despised orange as dad's top.

Unclasping its belt, Tobin slipped the jeans down to his ankles and stood facing me.

I knew what he was doing.

And he knew I knew what he was doing.

But we still both kept up the pretence.

Until, that is, we got to the boxers.

They weren't dad's.

There was no need for it when Tobin took them off…

…or when he stretched right out on the floor and began playing with his dick…

…and certainly not when he spread his legs to give me the sneakiest little peek at that ass I loved so much.

There was no need for it either when I stripped off my own clothes to join him on the floor.

Maybe, after all, there wasn't any harm in going through dad's box.

Maybe I'd even let Tobin try on a few more things if this was the result.