Breakfast

You enjoyed your morning bang with the young stud, but you decided to hurry him on his way. After he blew his load in you, he wanted to snuggle and get all mushy and emotional, and it was just too early in the morning for that kind of crap. You made some excuse about having something to do and hurried him along.

You put on a robe and opened the door to your room and walked him to the exit. Along the way, you see your son, Bryan, sitting at a stool in the kitchen, drinking a glass of orange juice. He is wearing navy blue boxer briefs and nothing else. You can't help but admire how sexy he is. You've never known him to do much by way of exercise, but he has a nicely-defined six pack for abs and pretty much has a swimmer's build. Of course, you know he gets more exercise than most Olympic athletes, when you consider the trials he puts his body through in pursuit of his sexual escapades.

Bryan looks up when he hears the two of you approach and greets your guest. "Hey, Trevor. Good to see you!"

Trevor! Of course that's his name. You met him a couple of days ago when he walked in on you and his father in the midst of a heated fuck session on the waterbed. You couldn't blame him for not knocking first, since you were going at it in Trevor's room.

He apparently liked what he saw, because yesterday evening he came by your house, trying to make some excuse about why he was there, but you grew impatient with his stammering and awkward lines, so you just grabbed him by the shirt front, pulled him through the door, and started doing him in the entry way.

You didn't realize he was a friend of Bryan's. Not that it would have mattered. It would be a rare friend of any of your kids who hasn't been seduced by you.

After a brief and awkward exchange between the two boys, Trevor said goodbye, and you turn to return to your room, only to collide with a freakish punk rocker emerging from your daughter's room. He is tall, heavily tattooed, and has green spiked hair. He collides with you and mutters something that was probably an apology, but it got cut off when he looked down and saw your robe was wide open. His eyes grow big, and so does his bulge.

You have a thing for punk rockers. You remember fondly the afternoon you spent getting drilled by the lead guitarist of a pretty famous heavy metal band. The two of you went at it non-stop for about four hours. You would have had a chance to do the whole band, but you were already running late to get to your wedding, so you had to pass on that opportunity.

Your daughter is looking at you from behind the tattooed freak, and you hear activity in the room of your other son. The household is getting ready for the day.