For once, Mark Antonious Richfield thought everything was going well in his life. His full time job at Parsons and Company was fulfilling and his side career of modeling for a cologne ad was enjoyable. He and the love of his life, ex-LAPD officer, Steve Miller, as well as their best friends Jack Larsen and Adam Lewis, seemed to be getting along perfectly. What could possibly go wrong?
When a young eighteen year old man appears at their door, their whole world turns on its head. Though Mark at first couldn’t see anything unusual about the teenager, the minute Steve set eyes on Alexander Lehman, he knew he was a Richfield clone. Mark had an illegitimate son, one as sensual, gorgeous, and mischievous as himself.
As Steve and Jack struggle to come to terms with the younger version of the hot model they fell madly in love with, Alexander becomes infatuated with the handsome cop, making life unbearably complicated and miserable for Mark. With the new addition to their household, Mark and Steve take a crash course in the lessons of fatherhood, all of them learning right from wrong the hard way.
Can the young sexy ‘Mark junior’ manage to control his voracious appetite for older men? Or will Mark and Steve’s relationship collapse with the struggle for power between sons and lovers? Follow the tale of Generation seX as the youth begin to take over for their fathers.
“Hey, beautiful.” Steve combed Mark’s tresses back from his face affectionately.
“It’s nice sleeping in.” Mark loved when Steve toyed with his hair. Maybe that was why he grew it so long.
“Mm…” Steve wrapped his arms around Mark to hug him close.
Nuzzling into Steve’s neck, Mark closed his eyes and sighed in bliss. His life was perfect at the moment. Perfect. He was madly in love, happy in his full time job at Parsons & Company, where he and Steve both worked, content with his new modeling contract, and on great terms with Jack Larsen and Adam Lewis. All was well with the world.
Just as Steve’s touch became amorous, the doorbell rang.
Blinking in surprise, Mark checked the clock. It was after ten.
“Are we expecting anyone?” Mark asked.
The bell sounded again.
“Jack?” Mark mused out loud.
“I have no clue.”
Sliding off of Steve, Mark dressed in a pair of shorts and tried to tame his wild hair. Once again the bell rang. “Yes! I’m coming!”
Trotting down the stairs, Mark opened the door to a young man. “Yes?”
“Are you Mark Richfield?”
A flash of nerves washed over Mark. The young man was strikingly handsome, long, dark brown hair well passed his shoulders, and brilliant green eyes. “Uh…”
“Well, I know you are,” the young man said.
“If you know who I am, why are you asking?” Mark inspected the young man’s scant attire, tight white shorts and a low cut black tank top.
“Are you going to make me stand out here all day?”
The brashness of this pretty boy instantly got under Mark’s skin. “Do I know you?”
“If you invite me in like you had any manners, you’d find out.”
“Bloody hell, mate!” Mark shook his head in awe. “Talk about manners.”
“Fine!” The young man threw up his hands. “You want all your neighbors to know your business, see if I care.”
Steve appeared behind Mark. “What’s going on?”
“This rude little boy decided to pay us a visit.”
“What?” Steve poked his head over Mark’s shoulder to have a look. “Oh my freakin’ god!”
“What?” Mark jumped in fright.
The young man folded his arms over his chest. “At least I’m only dealing with one idiot.”
“You’ve got nerve!” Mark sneered.
“Mark, let him the fuck in.” Steve opened the door and waved the young man inside.
When the young man stood in the threshold, he stood face to face with Mark, glaring at him.
Mark glared back. “Fine. You’re in. What do you want?”
“I wanted to meet my father. Now I’m not so sure anymore.”
“Father?” Mark gasped and gave the young man another good inspection.
“I’m gonna die.” Steve whimpered.
“How can I be your father?” Mark questioned angrily. “I’m bloody gay.”
“Mark!” Steve said, “He’s your spitting image, you nut.”
That set Mark back. He stared with more scrutiny into this young man’s face.
“Come in.” Steve touched the young man’s arm. “Please. Have a seat.” He led him to the living room sofa, but the young man did not sit down.
Mark’s head began to hurt. As he massaged his temples, he tried to make sense of it. “Fine. You claim to be my offspring. How did I manage it?”
The young man took a photo out of his shorts’ pocket. “Remember her?” he said, his lip curling in annoyance.
His hands shaking, Mark took the small photo. A pretty blonde woman’s smiling face stared back at him. He felt a deep flutter in his midsection and collapsed onto a chair.
“What’s your name?” Steve asked, fidgeting like he was a nervous wreck.
“Alexander Lehman.” He glared at Mark. “At least someone wants to know my name.”
Mark bit down painfully on his knuckle as he stared at the photo. One crazy night. He was nineteen. His father had once again accused him of being a ‘disgusting faggot’ over the phone. All Mark wanted was some cash to help him and Jack buy a few things for their room on campus. But to Milt Richfield nothing was a simple request. The badgering was in full swing. Mark remembered the night well. He was so damaged by the call and the terrible labeling, he left the dorm and headed to the nearest strip club. College Beauties was right off campus. The blonde and he caught eyes. As he slowly drank himself to forgetfulness, she lured him backstage. They fucked in the changing room. He remembered the only way he could get it up was by staring at a photo the woman had on her dressing table. A handsome man in a military uniform. He didn’t even remember her name and wasn’t sure if he she told him.
“Alexander,” Steve spoke softly. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“Call me Alex. And yes. Please.” Alex glared at Mark with hatred.
“I’m Steve,” Steve said, looking back at Mark before he left the room. “I’ll be right back.”
Mark peeked up at Alex meekly. As the shock sank in, Mark could see the resemblance. It was frightening. Alex was him in his youth. “I…”
“Do you even fucking remember her?”
Biting his lip, Mark nodded. “Yes.” It was nearly nineteen years ago. That made Alex eighteen.
Alex reached for the small picture. Mark stretched to hand it to him. After Alex put it into his back pocket, he dropped down on the sofa and stared at Mark. “Aren’t you even going to talk to me?”
“I…what do you want me to say?”
“I’m your fucking son and you have nothing to say?” He snarled. “Mom knew you’d be a conceited SOB.”
A lump formed in his throat. I have a son?