Doing Stifler’s Dad
One Man’s Dad Is Another Boy’s Dream
I’m sharing a collection of micro-erotica—bite-sized stories under 1,000 words. Think of them as fleeting moments, tantalizing glimpses into worlds I’ve started to create but haven’t yet finished.
Your role? Simple. Heart your favorites.
The ones that ignite the most passion, curiosity, or downright obsession will evolve into full-length stories or even sprawling series. Your feedback shapes what comes next… so don’t hold back.
I only went over to Stifler’s place to borrow a video game—Street Slam IV or whatever the hell he’d been bragging about all week. I figured I’d swing by, grab the controller, maybe chill for a bit. I didn’t expect my entire sense of reality to get… split open and rearranged.
The door swung open, and there he was.
Mr. Stifler.
No shirt, just a towel barely clinging to his hips, beads of water trailing down his chest like a goddamn thirst trap. Dude looked like a fitness influencer turned pornstar, except cockier and with that kind of smirk that said he knew the effect he had.
“Oh hey, Cody,” he said, voice dripping with casual sin. “You here for that joystick?”
I blinked. “Uh—the controller?”
“Same difference,” he winked, stepping aside. I followed him in, trying not to stare at the towel or the tight curve of his ass underneath it. Spoiler: I failed.
The house smelled like cologne and chlorine. Expensive cologne, too—the kind you imagine a guy sprays on before he fucks someone’s spouse.
“Stifler’s not home,” he said, tossing a tennis ball in the air like this was just a regular Tuesday. “But you’re welcome to hang out. Unless you’ve got other plans?”
I shrugged. “Nah. I’ve got time.”
“You thirsty?”
“Sure.”
He handed me a beer with a lime wedge on the rim. Not exactly what I expected, but I sipped it anyway. He watched me drink like he was undressing me with his eyes. Hell, maybe he already had.
“You ever fool around with older guys?” he asked, so casually I almost didn’t hear it.