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Preview from chapter one
Turning My Son Gay - Book 1
Sebastian Brock
Vince had stopped pretending he didn’t notice Tyler’s body somewhere around the end of summer, when the heat turned the house lazy and reckless and his son started treating clothing like an optional courtesy. At forty-one, Vince was still in the kind of shape other men lied about maintaining, broad through the shoulders, lean at the waist, with the hard, veined forearms of a man who actually used the home gym instead of photographing it. Divorce had left him with a cleaner house, a quieter bed, and too many evenings where Tyler filled the silence with music from upstairs, the thud of weights in the garage, and the careless confidence of a nineteen-year-old athlete who knew every inch of himself was worth looking at.
Tyler made noticing impossible.
He’d wander through the kitchen after workouts with no shirt on, skin damp, abs carved tight enough that Vince’s eyes found every ridge before he could stop them. He wore compression shorts so snug they seemed poured over his hips and thighs, the dark fabric clinging around the thick heft between his legs whenever he reached into the fridge or leaned against the counter drinking straight from a carton. His pecs were heavy and firm, nipples small and tight, biceps swelling whenever he flexed as a joke, which he did often because he was obnoxious, charming, and fully aware of how people reacted.
“Quit staring at the genetics, old man,” Tyler had said once, grinning while he hit a double biceps pose in front of the hallway mirror.
Vince had snorted into his coffee and said, “Quit blocking the thermostat, Hercules.”
Tyler laughed, turned sideways, and tightened his core until his obliques cut into shadow. “You wish you still had this.”
Vince did have something close enough to make him dangerous. That was the problem. Their bodies shared echoes, the same shoulder width, the same narrow waist, the same stubborn muscle that came easily and invited arrogance. Tyler had youth over him, and that youth made every flex crueler. It made the dark dusting of hair below his navel look indecent. It made his low-slung shorts feel like a provocation. It made the casual brush of Tyler’s hip against Vince’s thigh in a narrow doorway stay with him for hours.
The first time Tyler worked out shirtless in the home gym while Vince was on the incline bench, Vince nearly dropped a dumbbell on his ribs.