Follow-up to:

Mature Content

You stay out of the house on the weekends when dad needs femoil applied. That stuff is poison. It turns frogs gay at 50 yards. After your dog lapped up a spillage, he now presents himself to every male dog. He’s become the first pitbull to fit in a handbag.

Plus there’s been a weird atmosphere between dad and your brother recently, sort of tense, like they don’t like being around each other, or like they really like being around each other. Whatever went on there, you sense your brother getting ready to offload the chore of femoil-application onto somebody else. You slip out early and hit the gym.

It’s a great session. Avoiding dad’s feminised body getting slathered in pharmaceutical grease is enough incentive to keep you pumping weights for hours, and your muscles burn when you get home, biceps tight. You run a hot bath to relieve the ache.

You don’t notice the high tide mark of femoil encrusted on the side of the bathtub as you lower yourself into the steaming water. It feels wonderful. The heat penetrates deep, loosening tight, knotted muscles. You lie back, fatigue and the strange fumes that fill your nostrils plunging you into a deep sleep disturbed by intense dreams.

When you wake, the room is dark. The water is cold. How long were you asleep? Your body feels… wrong. You scramble around to light one of mom’s scented candles.

A greasy film of body hair and femoil floats on the top of the water. Two shapely mounds crest above it, rising and falling with your breath. You’re strangely calm, for now disbelieving this is truly your body as you take the breasts in your hands. The nipples are hard in the cold water, and undeniable yours.

Dad must have forgotten to rinse the tub after washing the femoil off. Your hand searches between your thighs, the water sloshing in the increasingly frantic hunt for your cock.

“DAAAAAAAD!”