Go to bed, sleep in briefs(reddit)
From Create Your Own Story
In a brief sliver of lucidity, Don thinks that sleeping is the fastest, easiest to see Michael again. He gets up, leaving his sweaty shirt and shorts in the living room. He has some difficulty in operating the complex mechanisms of the doorknob, but succeeds after a few forceful jerks. His fingers brush against the light switch, but when the switch decides to move around the wall he decides not to bother with it.
He sits on the bed, taking a moment to scratch himself and recollect after the battle with the light switch. He is dimly aware of the folded sheet Michael left for him on the bed, but his drowsiness proves greater than the threat of feeling cold during the few hours remaining before dawn. He falls to the bed. While his dick feels somewhat uncomfortable in his briefs, Don would rather not sleep naked as to not face the tentative situation of Michael seeing his father naked.
For a few seconds Don tries to cover himself with the folded sheet Michael placed on his bed, but the task proves itself too gargantuan for a puny mortal. Don falls asleep uncovered, his briefs still on his hands.
In his youth, the same Michael is so filled with, Don did not consider sleeping a difficult task. But six decades left him with ocasional seasons of insomnia.
It's been one year since Don reconnected with the son he abandoned on birth. While still occasionally difficult, he since has had no night in which sleep was absolutely impossible. And, since then, he is prone to a very special dream, one he cherishes right after waking up.
Don's dream begins with the first time he talked with his, then a 35 year old engineer with too many failed projects and enterprises. It was a small, awkward talk, one filled with sentences cut short and unsaid words. It goes by the weeks of slow rekindling of lost embers until Don saw the sorry apartment his son lived in. Exceptionally well kept, clean with such care and attention, but surrounded by drug addicts and families ruled by screaming drunks. In the night, Don thought, police sirens ought to pierce this neighborhood and busted doors might be a common sound.
Still, Michael was proud of his life. A honored life, won with hard work although stained by many ventures and investments that consumed his finances.
Don sought forgiveness for abandoning his son, such a wonderful boy turned into a respectable man. When Don offered his own house and Michael accepted (after just enough days as not to seem desperate), Don thought it was the greatest mercy on his life.
But the dream changes and goes on. The bliss of forgiveness is substituted by a racing heartbeat. He sees Michael on the sofa, sleeping with just some flimsy, white, old running shorts. Don finds himself unable to look away. The bulge in his son's crotch is evident, and so is his lack of underwear.
Don is painfully aware of his own hard on. His eyes are locked on his son, and he ravishes the sight of his slightly fuzzy belly with such a well defined treasure trail. He wonders how big his son ought to be. But, for just a moment, Don remembers of his son's supple butt, also so evident through the running shorts. And, before doing anything, he looks at his son's face, marveling at his stubble.
Don is marginally aware this is just a dream. There is no right or wrong, he can do whatever he pleases and pleases himself.
What should Don do?
