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To be honest, I’m not too certain how much more of this I’ll be able to tell, or recall, but I’ll try for another. This event occurred not too long after the last, I think a week, or two. It was a Wednesday afternoon, and all seemed normal. I had gotten home from school, usually depressed as I had slowly begun to become a bit of a loner. I could always connect with others, but I never truly fit in anywhere, nor with anyone. The friends I may have had all phased out, it’s really actually quite depressing, but I was young and when your parents split, it’s hard to adjust. In the long run, I know it was for the better of myself and my father, as well as the rest of the family, but still at that age there was still a lot of inner turmoil I simply couldn’t comprehend. I was ten, how could I?

My father was usually home around four, which means I would be alone in the apartment for a couple of hours. Just enough time to work on homework, if I chose to that night. Homework was never really the issue, just the desire to not waste time, that, and I always enjoyed when he would help me with it. He would set a small coffee table up by the couch, or sometimes by my bed and we’d sit together and work through it. Math was always the harder of the bunch, but looking back, I can’t see why. However, we all wish we knew what we do now then, things would be different, of course. I think the outcome of my life would have been different had I known a few things then that I do now, but that’s neither here, nor there.

For this day, I had really only any need to read a few chapters of a book for school. There was a lot of interest in reading and my father even let me read some of the books he enjoyed, both as a child and adult, but the adult ones I found harder to get into. None of them were sexual in nature, as I’d like to always stress that my father wasn’t a pervert. The things we did, I think they were done merely out of some sort of connection, need to connect, or just some mutual expression love. I was learning, and to learn from the man I looked up to was at the time almost awe inspiring. He knew things, and did things I simply couldn’t fathom until grew older and thus much more world wise. Still, there was never any sense of perversion in the few times anything did happen, just a father and his son.

When he got home, I guess I didn’t really notice it had been later than usual. The book I was reading, well, let’s say I got through it pretty quickly. The door shut loudly and I remember being jolted by that, he had never been loud. He called to me and set me at the table to talk to me. Mom wanted back in, not so much in the family, but my life. I was her son, but that was saying about as much as someone that collects porcelain dolls saying that they were one of their children, only I’m pretty sure she’d love dolls more than she did me. She wanted to spend weekends. Every weekend. He was against it, and so was I. There was something inside me that wanted to try, because at that age I couldn’t learn that all some people wanted to do was to damage others.

In any case, we had talked about it and decided not to, but knew she would persist. It was something that worried him and after that brief talk, he did what he could to whip up a quick dinner for me then seemed to disappear into his room. It wasn’t a normal evening for us, I was worried too. Around seven, when I should have been readying for bed, I knocked on the door, which just opened as I touched it. I found him in the shower, or well, I could hear the shower going and figured he was in there.

I was in a large shirt, which covered me to my knees, beneath just white little undies all boys my age should have worn. I went across the room to the bathroom door, which was left slight ajar. I’m guessing in his state of dealing with the ex trying to come back into his son’s life after having cast him aside so eagerly that certain details just kind of escaped him. One of them being me entering the bathroom, I wanted to know what was up, because he was supposed to bring me to bed and he would some times read to me, or just tuck me in, I enjoyed it and maybe, I thought, doing that would take his mind off of mom.

The door was fogged, like a shroud of mist had fallen upon it. I’m not sure how he knew, maybe he I made a noise, or probably from opening the door, but he knew I was there. Watching, not for any sexual pleasure, but just there. He said I could join him, that I would need a shower anyway so we may as well share one. It wasn’t like what I had was anything he hadn’t seen before, after all I was part of him. That and when you’ve had your father’s hard cock inside your mouth, even just the few inches I managed to get in, modesty and that little shyness about nudity sort of has no place being an excuse. So I slid out of that large shirt, leaving just my small boyish frame in my little white undies that soon were removed as well. The door opened and I slipped into the moist, warm fog of the shower with my father. I think that’s the first time it ever happened, and not the last, but it was more special the first time. Something new to share with him.

I gazed up at him, though he was turned. His ass to me and his balls between his cheeks, I remember that image being burned into my young mind. Since then I’ve always had a thing for spread thighs with that soft pouch of flesh snug between. I guess this is where that came from, sort of like how my phobia of orcas came from watching Free Willy. Terrifying movie, but that’s beside the point. Water dripped down his flesh, hot and yet still smooth. He was so young then, not to me at that age, but looking back his age really wasn’t what I’d today consider old, especially considering I’ll be reaching that age in time and i’d like to be half as youthful as he was then.

He asked me if my homework was finished, and I just mumbled yes, something about reading. I guess he expected me to shower with him, and head out when finished, using the run off from the shower head. It was detachable, so when his head dipped out of its radius of warm, moist delight he looked back at his young son, wetted and taking the shower head he handed to me. I soaked my hair, closing my eyes as tight as I could because I hated getting water in my eyes, even when swimming. I probably giggled a bit too, I always found it kind of ticklish using the detachable shower head in some places on my body. I don’t know, maybe. I remember there were no smiles that day from him, or even myself. Just heavy thoughts and detachment from the future. Even at my age I remember playing scenarios in my head of what might happen, or what could happen, both good and bad. I guess he did too, but I just figured adults always knew that answer, you know? Like they could tell the future, or something. That was just youthful ignorance talking though. Shame.

He turned, and my eyes immediately moved from the walls and his face to his cock. It was kind of where my eyes were leveled at anyway so it wasn’t difficult to suddenly lock onto cock. It was semi-hard, or soft, I was never certain really, just that it looked like he was peeing with all the water just running down that smooth curvature of tender, brittle flesh. I was distracted by his hand, reaching out to give me the soap, a little lemon bar of soap we used. This was his though, even though I had my own. I liked the lemon scent better than mine, that and mine was so small. I liked the bigger one, seemed more adult.

“Wash up,” he said. I asked if he had, and if maybe I could help him. It elicited the first real flicker of a grin I saw on him that night, but he said yeah.

Eager, and playful I started with his stomach. soaping it up and he’d even help by spreading his hand across his body a little, and using some of it to soap up my chest and shoulders. He was probably nearly finished with his shower when I had come in so this was just a way to get me done so we could get out. He knew I couldn’t reach to much and thus would leave it to him. There was one thing I could reach, and that was his hefty package, and that I did reach. My smaller hands found his heavy sack and cupped it, gently moistening it with the soap and then letting the water run the lemon scent across his flesh as it cleaned him off. I don’t think he expected this and it seemed like he was even going to move my hand up, not to his penis, but just away from that area, but he let me continue. What was the harm, anyway? His tongue had been buried inside of my little asshole once, so I’m sure cleaning his crotch wouldn’t kill anyone.

Perhaps what he was worried about was the fact his dick began to harden. I remember it growing so quickly, like a wilting flower in reverse blossoming into the manly, adult appendage I had tasted and played with before. Somehow glistening in the warm shower water with all of that wetness running down the curves to his balls was beautiful. An odd feeling I felt, I guess, but I just thought it was a beautiful sight. I liked it, his penis.

My hands continues to gently caress his balls as if cleaning them even though the soap was now gone. I probably dazed off and just kept going, but I remember eventually I ended up close enough as the head of his cock was level with my face that I gave the head of it a kiss.

What he asked sank in, because not until then did I really grasp what I was going through. What I’d become. “You really like that, don’t you?” He asked me as if he was seeking for a specific answer. His eyes sort of went through me, but I could just see eyes. I couldn’t grasp the depth then, not like I do now, but now it’s all just memories. Now, I realize he was starting to understand why these things were happening with me. I was gay and in some strange way he was beginning to accept that, not that he was, but I don’t think he grasped that, not until this moment. That’s why it’s so clear to me, that’s when I knew. At the time however, I was just thinking that i did enjoy it and thus parted my little, wet lips and started to suck on the head of my father’s penis. I know he enjoyed that, and I know it would make him happy, at least I thought so. He had been so down that day, and this would be a way to please him, his ten year old son sucking his hard, wet dick.

My hands held his penis out so I could just focus on the head and suck on it. I never could get much of it in my mouth, but what I could, I enjoyed rolling my tongue around underneath and then sliding out and licking that slit. I knew pee came out of there, but so did something else. Something I had begun to associate with pleasure, or at least happiness. I no now it’s more of a pleasure thing than happiness, but I was young.

I remember he stopped me and I felt hurt. Not physically, just hurt that he had pulled me off of his penis. Hurt, I now recall was such a foolish word for that feeling. I remember not much really being said, but asked me to turn around and I guess he lowered himself as that warm massaging feeling overcame my little thighs and butt, his tongue then finding my hole again. This gave me that feeling of happiness, and pleasure that I wanted to give him by sucking him off. It didn’t last long though, I don’t really know how long though, but I think it wasn’t long, maybe a few minutes. I remember ending up leaning over the door with my hands against the glass and his tongue inside me, but then it wasn’t. Instead, his fingers found that little pink opening of mine, opening mine up. It was a feeling I didn’t quite understand, because his fingers, at least two, I think, were bigger than his tongue and less like a soft spear and more like a prodding sausage. He didn’t have fat fingers, but it just felt like something bigger against my little tender puckering flesh.

I know now what he was preparing it for, and soon I felt something softer and wetter slapping my little butt and hole. It was his penis. My father had managed to slip in one finger, which hurt really badly so it took forever for me to adjust to it, and I still don’t think that ever happened. It was like something trying to tear me open, which is partially true, but still, it really hurt at first. Eventually, as his voice soothed me, his words faded with time and I can no longer remember, but I remember becoming numb to it. Just letting myself calm down and begin to adjust, to try and find the joy in it. Probably took forever though, which is saying a lot of about his patience.

If I thought his fingers were a lot to handle, when I looked back, unknowing what it was slapping against my butt, and rubbing it up and down, I saw his penis and it didn’t quite connect with me. I didn’t realize what he was planning, if it was even planned. He asked me if it was all right, to say no when ever I felt it was too much, but I just kept nodding. So his penis then slid into me. Slowly, as if it were a warm, moist snail, only without the mollusk part. Just the speed, or lack thereof. I remember not liking it much, wincing and gasping even. Probably said a few things i shouldn’t have, but I didn’t say no. I was curious. I had never felt this before, nor even thought of it and now here I was with his hard cock sliding into my little asshole, no longer a virgin as of then.

He slid it in about an inch, and left it at that. His cock sticking out, pulsating I bet, cause I could feel it stretching my inner walls even though he hadn’t even begun thrusting. That pulsing pain and yet subliminal pleasure that let you know someone was inside you and you needed them in there, to not only feel that sexual pleasure, or physical connection, but their heart beat too. It was all veins pumping from that vital, yet delicate muscle and it now pumped within me and i could feel it. What made me now inside of me, and that’s when he began to thrust, slow at first, but I remember in time it quickened, but never too fast, nor too deep. He was also so gentle when he was inside me, I remember. I guess I could liken it to that phrase, “making love.”

I cried out for him, his name, which was ‘Daddy’ at the time, I didn’t know his real name, or if I did I never said it much. Most thoughts were gone anyway, that whole thing was just a blur even though I remember his dick inside me so clearly, just not what I was thinking, probably because I wasn’t thinking. He just kept thrusting in and out, even digging another inch, or two inside me until I’d cry out a little harder. His hands found my hips and helped pull me into his lap and away as my hands pressed against the glass door, trying to find something to hold on to beside wet, clear surfaces. I was at his mercy, which fortunately he had some.

I guess he needed that. It probably, looking back, was about ten minutes worth of thrusting and burrowing inside of me when I heard his grunts and moans louder and more muffled and he was saying something. That he was about to do something, but I didn’t really know what it was. I didn’t want him to stop, but I guess if he had to do something then, but then he did it. I could feel the pulsing, that burrowing meat and flesh throbbing within my little channel and even more warmth. He was cumming, spilling his seed into his little boy. He rested there for a while, with me in his lap, the water still over us, or maybe that was just the heat pounding in my chest. Exhaustion and water and the smell of sex, and just everything. I don’t know, but it was a moment I know we shared in unison.

After, he helped clean me up and even took me into bed with him. I remember complaining about still feeling that throbbing ache in by butt until he assured me it was okay, and that he wouldn’t do it again unless I was okay with it. I never replied, only slept. SInce that night, I pretty much slept in his room every night. I’d start in my room and then somehow wake up in the middle of the night and crawl in bed with him. It was nice, and felt safe, like no matter what would happen, everything would still be okay.
3 comments

Jughead1117Report

2013-04-07 23:08:26
SOUNDS AWESOME, I TOOK A SHOWER WITH MY DAD ONCE. I KEPT AN EYE ONE HIS PENIS BUT HE DID NOT TRY ANYTHING
LUCKY YOU

anonymous readerReport

2013-04-07 23:02:10
While I would Never-Ever-Ever do incest, I found your story to be pretty hot. Not just sexy but... as you say, that emotional connection, that sense of trusting surrender. That right there is what I call romantic love. Knowing that it's alright. Knowing that you belong and that is good. I'm glad you enjoyed your experiences with your dad. And thanks for putting it into words here for us.

anonymous readerReport

2013-04-07 08:36:22
Again, you write beautifully. If it becomes too difficult to relate your past, you might try writing fiction. You are a sensitive writer, and I think you would be good at it.

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