As fucked up as this all is, I couldn’t live with myself knowing I’d coerced him into something so twisted. If I groomed him in any type of way, I’ll chop my own balls off and let myself bleed out.

Rolling out of bed, I pull my sweatpants on and head downstairs. Fuck showering for right now.

I need to see him. I need to get a read on him, and make sure he’s okay.

I half expect to find him cowering in a corner somewhere, hugging his knees to his chest and rocking like the victim of an assault.

But that’s not what’s happening.

When I turn the corner to the kitchen, I’m hit with multiple surprising sensations. Christmas music playing on a speaker across the room. The smell of even more baked goods, which isn’t out of the ordinary in this house. But still, I hadn’t expected it at six in the morning.

And then there’s him.

My kid, whom I’m now appraising as gorgeous and sexy, standing by the counter, mixing something in a bowl. He’s wearing the apron I got him, and some fitted yellow boxer briefs with bananas on them.

That’s it.

Biting my lip, I can’t even comprehend the sight of how those ridiculous things hug the curve of his perfect ass. Or why I’m suddenly lusting after the ass of a man… A much younger one. One who also happens to be my son.

Wanna kill an erection quick? Remember changing the diapers of the person you’re ogling when he was a baby.

Yea, that’ll do it.

But even so, when he turns to face me, wearing a beaming smile and a stupid apron I bought him with the cartoon illustration of a muscular torso, honey-colored eyes shimmering and light hair all tousled about, it brings the throb back to my balls post-haste. And my chest.

I guess I’m more fixated on who he is now than what I remember of him as a child, which is a very fucking good thing for my sanity.

“Hey,” he chirps, chomping down on his lower lip to stifle his eager grin, though I can read the excitement on his face.

He’s not depressed or tortured over what we did.

He’s happy.

“Hey,” I mumble, shifting my weight back and forth.

I’m so out of my element right now. All I want is to go to him, touch him some more, kiss those plush lips and hold his firm body against mine until he melts right into me.

I’m awestruck at this craving I have for him now. Where did it come from? Did it just pop up out of nowhere, or was it always there, and it only just made itself known?

Glancing at his newest creation, I note a couple familiar ingredients. “Pumpkin pie?”

“Yes, honey bunch?” He smirks, then cackles out loud at the look on my face. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. No, it’s your favorite.”

“Ah,” I sigh, waltzing closer to observe. “Blueberry.”