My name is Dylan Cooper. I´m nineteen years old and in my second year of college.
I love reading gay erotica. In fact I'm kind of obsessed with it. Maybe that's why I started wondering about my dad. His name is Stephen and he's pretty cool. He's a very successful lawyer, works out every morning, plays video games with me from time to time and, most important in this story, he's a hardcore motorcycle lover, so much that he recently bought himself a Ducati motorbike. (You can guess how pissed my Mom was when he did that.)
This is a story about what happened after my dad had an accident.
My mom is a judge, and always busy. One Saturday she left for a convention of some sort. I wasn´t doing anything and my dad was off as well, so it was supposed to be a pretty chill day. After my mom left he told me he was going to cruise around on his Ducati.
I told him to be careful.
About an hour and a half later I got a phone call from my dad saying he was involved in a "minor" accident. I immediately sat up and asked him what happened and if he was okay. He said that an EMT was holding his phone up to his ear because he thought both of his wrists were broken.
"Oh my god! What hospital are they taking you to?"
"St. Mary's."
"I'll be right there."
A while later I was knocking on a hospital room door. When I went in and saw him with two big bandages on his hands I freaked out.
"Damn, dad, what happened?"
He sighed and said, "I tried to, you know, do a wheelie."
"Are you serious? I thought a car hit you or something. Who do you think you are, fucking Evel Knievel?"
"What can I say? I thought I could do it, but..."
I was going to yell at him some more when we heard another knock. It was the doctor.
"Took a look at your X-rays," he said.
"They´re both broken, right, doctor?" my dad asked, looking gloomy.
"Actually no, only the right one is broken, the left is just a bad sprain." the doctor explained. "You won´t need surgery, but you'll be in a cast for, about three weeks, give or take a few days. Left one should be okay sooner, though."
"Damn. Three weeks. Well, at least I don´t need surgery." My dad turned to me after the doctor left. "Did you call your mother?"
"No, I wanted to find out exactly how serious it was. "
"Good, let's just not call her."
"You don´t want me to call Mom?"
"She's just going to come rushing back. Or she'll stay there, worrying the whole time. She´s already under a lot of stress. I'm not in danger. We'll manage somehow."
I suspected he didn't want to get an earful from Mom about how stupid this whole motor-cycle thing was, but kept my mouth shut. Luckily it was July and I was on vacation so I could stay home to help.
An hour later we went home, my dad with a cast on his right wrist and a bandage on his left. He was sleepy because of the painkillers and went straight to bed, still in his clothes.
I woke up early the next morning. When I checked in on dad he was still sleeping, so I went down to make myself some coffee. After maybe half an hour I heard him coming down the stairs. He looked kind of wrinkled, but okay other than his hands.
"Hey dad, sleep well?"
"Yeah, those were some strong painkillers." He stretched, forgetting about his condition, and winced because of the pain. Suddenly he blushed.
"Dylan. I, um, have to pee."
I stared at him for a few seconds. Honestly I'd forgotten that he was going to need help with everything, and I mean everything.
Then I started getting a little excited. Like I said before, I loved reading gay erotica on Literotica and Nifty. I especially liked the taboo stories about first time gay encounters,
Older men fucking twinks and stuff like that. It was my deep dark secret--nobody knew about it.
"Okay. Let's do it," I said, my heart beating a little faster.
We went in and I asked him about what to do next.
"I´m not sure. Damn, I didn't think about this," he muttered, blushing.
"How about I just pull your zipper down, Dad?" I couldn´t believe I had just said it.
