Ever since my recent wet dream, featuring Dad as the leading character, I hadn't been able to get him out of my head. How had I grown up living in the same house with such a sexy, bearish man for a dad and not started fantasizing about him before now? I started going through old albums from when I was a kid, ogling my own dad shirtless at the beach, or working on projects at the house in tank tops and short 70's shorts.
I was in this frame of mind when I got a call from my parents that would surely change my life. My dad was taking a sabbatical from teaching at university, and wanted to work on some writing and research at our school, where he had taught for many years. My mom still worked full time, so they were thinking Dad would move out to my area for a few months, maybe a semester and some of the summer.
I had mixed feelings about this development. I had been happily messing around with a number of his old buddies from when he had taught here. How would that work with him coming back and hanging around with them? Would it be weird going from being a free young adult reveling in sexual experimentation to being a grown-up son in my father's shadow?
Over the next few weeks, my parents looked at different housing options for Dad. One evening they called with an idea for me to mull over. There was a flat available for the year that would be big enough for him and me to live in together, at essentially the same price I was paying for my single room on campus. Mom and Dad offered to pay for the whole thing, which would greatly help my savings plan. They didn't want an answer right away, but wanted me to think about it for a few days. They had till the end of the week to decide.
Ultimately, I decided to take the place with Dad and save up some serious money. It would be a bit of a cramp on my sex life, and I would have to start wearing more clothes at home, but maybe I'd be able to catch some glimpses of my old man in more of his bearish glory than I had seen in the past.
I spent the next few weeks moving into our new place. Several people on staff helped me out. Walt spent the most time helping one on one, and he was free with his lewd quips about our state of undress living as two bachelors at home, and what our sleeping arrangements would be. He asked if I wanted him to help move the beds into the same room (I turned him down). Or if I wanted him to set up a hidden camera for the bathroom (I also turned him down, but the thought made me hard). I would prefer to catch my own glimpses of Dad naturally.
The day finally came when Dad flew in, and I picked him up at the airport. I found myself looking at him differently than I ever had before -- as an object of fantasy, not just as my dad. It was an eye opener, realizing he was the quintessential bear that I had always fantasized about. How had I never seen it before? Was I just lucky that he matched my ideal? Or had I grown up with an Oedipus complex, his body shaping my desires into something that reflected him?
Either way, I had a hard time not gaping at his body while we drove the hour back home. The mountains flattened and the road curving around their flanks straightened as we approached the rolling hills. Dad finally dozed off, and I was able to sneak peaks at the chest fur sticking out through the collar of his dress shirt, and take note of the thick hair covering his legs below the dress shorts he wore. I drooled over the thick blond hair covering his fore arms, thinning out over the backs of his hands.
His clothes fit well, his shirt just big enough that his portly stomach didn't pull at the buttons; same with his full chest, filling out the shirt but not straining it. His sleeves were snug around his muscular upper arms. Dad was very active, always helping people out, helping them move, fixing cars, cutting down trees. He was strong and tough for an academic, a real jack of all trades. Eventually he woke up and I had to keep my eyes on the road, but my penis was having a hard time stretched as it was inside my own shorts.
We got Dad's suitcases carried in and he unpacked in his room while I got some supper ready. The flat had an open plan, and you could see most of the house from the front door, which led into the kitchen. There was a half wall separating the kitchen from a small dining room and bigger living room area. The two bedrooms were in the back off the living room. I saw that he had kept his door closed. I had hoped he would loosen up his private ways a little when it was just the two guys living together -- I would have to wait it out and see.
We ate, then made coffee and played a game of Scrabble. Afterward I said I needed a shower. He needed one too, having traveled all day, but insisted I go first. He found some soccer on TV. I grabbed my stuff and headed to the bathroom. I had a hard-on itching for release, but didn't want to keep my dad waiting, so I had to postpone masturbating untill bedtime. Deciding what to wear back to the bedroom had been hard, not wanting to make Dad uncomfortable, but wanting to encourage him to loosen up too. I chose pajama style sweat shorts but no shirt, and left my towel hanging in the bathroom.
I felt exposed having my shirt off with my dad there, and I got chills walking by the couch where he was sitting on the way to my room - my nipples tingling as I imagined his eyes on my bare back. I dropped my laundry in the room, then headed back out to the living room and sat on the other side of the couch from him. He waited till the next commercial before getting up to shower himself. We chatted comfortably watching the game till then, and my nipples continued to tingle being out in the open air with my fully dressed father so close by. It's not that I had never been bare chested with him before, but my fantasies over the last few weeks were adding to the sexual tension.
I continued to watch the game while he showered, pushing aside the temptation to grab something out of the bathroom while he was in there. He would be here for several months, opportunities would present themselves, and I didn't want to force it or make things awkward early on.
When my dad walked out of the bathroom wearing only his towel, I just about peed myself. He had a toiletry bag in one hand, and held the towel around his waist with the other. His chest and belly fur were still a little damp. My towels were not generous in their dimensions. He held his wrapped around his waist with his stomach poking out over the top. It didn't reach all the way to his knees, leaving about 2 inches of his hairy thighs below it. The length was barely enough to wrap around him at the waist, leaving a widening gap down most of his right leg. I could see skin most of the way up his hip.
He sauntered out looking fully comfortable with the fact that only a thin white towel covered his nakedness. He even stood there beside the couch to watch an unfolding attack finish, watching the replay of a nice shot. I had to adjust my position on the couch to cover up what was growing in my shorts. He moved on to the bedroom, closing the door behind him, and I breathed out -- had I been holding my breath the whole time he had been standing there?
When he came back out to watch the rest of the game he was wearing grey sweat-shorts and a thin undershirt. I must have sat with him like this a hundred times growing up, but now I couldn't help but appreciate the way his thin undershirt pulled and shadowed over his nipples, how the short sleeves allowed a view of his thick hairy arms almost up to his armpits.
After the game we went to bed and I had to relieve myself. I remember masturbating in my room as a kid, hiding under my covers with a box of Kleenex, the door locked and lights off, petrified that my mom or dad would walk in. This time I kept the door closed, but unlocked. I left a bedside lamp on, and splayed myself out openly on top of the covers, completely naked. The perceived danger of having the door unlocked made it all the more arousing.
I gazed over my whole body, comparing myself to the images of my dad that had now been newly refreshed. Our bodies were very similar, including our beards, though his was now almost wholly white, while mine was auburn, only starting to get lighter highlights at the sideburns and under my lower lip. I looked at my erect penis and wondered how similar his was. My imperfect memory from childhood had him at about the same length but thicker, circumcised like my own. I had no memory of his testicles, but imagined them also a little bigger than mine. And his pubic hair in my imagination was thick and mostly white, which matched the chest and belly fur I had gotten a good view of just tonight.
I got myself off that night imagining it was him masturbating, and I was watching through his eyes. I couldn't avoid climax for long, the images were so intense. When I ejaculated and shot up all over my chest, I imagined it was his penis shooting out the semen that had made me. This kept me shooting longer than normal, and I shuddered in pleasure as I came back down from the high. I stayed naked and covered in cum, relishing the feeling of danger, though I was sure there was little to no chance of him walking into my room unannounced as an adult.
When I woke up the next morning, I was wearing my normal boxer briefs that I always wear to bed. I must have woken in the night and put them on, though I didn't remember doing so. Scratching my chest hair, I walked out to relieve myself in the bathroom. Bleary eyed and not yet caffeinated, I didn't realize Dad was in the kitchen until I was a few feet away. When I saw him I jumped - I had quite forgotten that I had a roommate.
"Sorry," I stammered, turning bright red. "I forgot I was sharing the house now." I all but ran the rest of the way to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. Looking down I was mortified to see my morning wood brazenly tenting the fabric of my underwear. Worse, I realized my chest and belly hair were stuck together with dried semen from last night. It wasn't clumps of white or completely obvious at first glance, but if he had gotten a good look....
It took a while to relieve myself, and another while to get up the courage to walk back out again. I fluffed my body hair up with my fingers to make sure it didn't look stuck together anymore. I felt like I was in a nightmare where I was out in public in my underwear, and there was no way to get back to my room but through the kitchen where my dad was lounging against the counter, enjoying his morning coffee, fully clothed.
I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and basically stalled as much as I could, hoping he would be back in his bedroom by the time I came out. He was not. At least my morning wood had settled down.
I came out with my eyes lowered, determined to get back to my room and put some clothes on. But before I could pass him my dad handed me a cup of coffee. I had no choice but to take it.
