One summer night, I was lounging on my bed watching muted porn when there was a knock at my bedroom door.
"Can I come in?" I heard my dad's deep voice quietly ask from the hallway.
For some reason, ever since the divorce, I noticed that he'd become somewhat timid with me. I figured it was because he was worried if he made a wrong move, I'd go live with my mom the way my brother did.
Instinctively, I shut my laptop as quick as I could then tucked my erection up into the waistband of my shorts. "Yeah, sure."
The door creaked open and he came in, his heavy footsteps accompanying a bulky build. It was apparent he just came home from work. He hadn't taken off his caulk-covered tee and Levis. He sat on the corner of my bed. "What are you up to tonight?" he asked.
Something about the way he talked seemed off. His stare wasn't angry, but it was firm. His eyes met mine directly as if he knew I'd just been watching two college guys sucking each other off. My heart pumped harder in my chest.
I shrugged. All my friends were busy, I told him. For once, I planned on spending a Friday night in.
By the time I answered his question, enough of his breath had come out to reveal he'd gone drinking with his work buddies before coming home.
"What about you, Dad?" I asked.
"Just hangin' out," he said.
Then his eyes traveled down to my legs. I realized I was commando under my basketball shorts. Although my dick had been fastened up into my waistband, I could tell he'd caught a glimpse of my balls.
He quickly moved his eyes away from my crotch, and I shifted to sit up, but it was too late. "I was thinking we could have a talk tonight, you and me" he added.
"A talk about what?"
"Just a talk. Man to man. That okay with you?"
Man to man? What did that even mean? Suddenly I felt uneasy. I looked down at my laptop and realized it was probably about the porn. Last I knew, my dad barely knew how to turn on a computer -- how did he know what I'd been watching?
"Is everything okay?" I asked.
Dad unfolded his arms and put his hand down onto my leg. He moved it down my shin, feeling my leg hair under his palm. By this point, I could identify the scents of both whisky and beer coming from his mouth. "I'm gonna take a shower," he said. "Then we need to have a talk, Boy. Sound good?"
Dad only called me Boy when I was in trouble. When I hit a baseball through the neighbor's window: "You got somethin' to tell me, Boy?" When he noticed I stole sixty bucks out of his wallet last year: "Where's my money, Boy?"
"Yes, sir." I said back.
And when he got up and left my room, I caught my breath, opening my laptop as I heard water spanking the shower floor. I quickly closed every open tab. I cleared every history, cookie, and trace of what I'd been looking at. Ever since I'd gotten my own laptop, Dad's one rule was not to use it to look up anything nasty. Once everything was cleared, I shut down the computer and set it on my desk.
I was still antsy. Maybe a glass of water would help?
I opened my bedroom door to see Dad's clothes were left in the hall, and the bathroom door was wide open. I froze in my doorway. If I walked to the kitchen, I'd have to pass the bathroom. If I passed the bathroom, I knew I'd look in.
This was so unlike Dad. My whole life, he'd been so strict about keeping our privates private. When I was a little kid, I remember asking if I could see his big boy penis, and he told me to never ask that again because it was inappropriate.
I'd never seen Dad naked. He didn't believe in walking around the house in the nude, and was even hesitant to change in front of us in the locker room. That was probably why I was shy, too, and why curiosity plagued my mind. As I listened to the water hitting the tub, I felt myself harden in my shorts again.
I decided to go for it. Just a quick glimpse. After all, he'd gotten a peak at me.
I walked by the bathroom as nonchalantly as possible, turning my head as if only to notice the door was open. There, behind the see-through plastic curtain, Dad's husky body stood under a hot stream of water, one arm lifted and the other scrubbing his pit with a bar of soap. Suds washed down his scruffy tum and slid off his thick cock underneath.
By the time the complete image registered in my mind, I was in the kitchen, holding a glass under the faucet. I sipped, willing my boner to go away as the shower squeaked off in the bathroom. I could see Dad's shadow in the hallway as he dried off then wrapped the towel around his waist. He turned off the light then emerged from the bathroom, peering down the hallway.
Water still dripped off his chest and down his legs as he gently kicked his clothes into the laundry room, but he didn't care. "Why don't you come in here, Boy?" he said.
"Right now?"
"Yeah." Then he disappeared into his dark room and I put my hard dick back under the elastic of my waistband, covering it with my sweatshirt.
When I reached Dad's room, I found him standing there, waiting. The hallway light cast my shadow onto his bare chest and the cotton towel loosely wrapped around his waist. I waited for him to say something, but instead, Dad reached forward and firmly tugged on my wrist, pulling me inside the room. He shut his door behind me.
"What's going on?" I asked, still detecting liquor in the air. But he didn't answer. He just sat me down on his bed then reached for a small lamp next to me and turned it on. In the dim light, he looked down at me. I realized my boner had become untucked. My shorts were tenting. I looked away from him.
"Look at me, Boy," he said. So I did. His blue eyes were a bit calmer than earlier, when he saw inside my shorts. But they still gripped onto mine like a clenched hand on my throat. "You're eighteen now. Time to have a man talk. Man time."
"Man time?"
"Take that shirt off, Boy."
"What?"
"Take off your shirt."
My face was warm instantly. I didn't like being shirtless in front of people. Dad spent so much time mandating us to wear clothes unless we were showering or changing, it even felt weird going swimming half naked. I thought about telling him no, and that he was drunk, and that I was going back to my room. But for some reason, my hands moved to the bottom of my sweatshirt and tugged the whole thing over my head.
Dad took my shirt from me and tossed it onto the ground. His breathing became heavier. When I looked down at his crotch, I noticed the bulge was bigger than a few seconds ago. He took my forearm and lifted it up, peering at the patch of hair in my armpit. Then he lifted his own arm to show his hair. "Like father like son," he said. I was confused, but also, so turned on I could feel my heartbeat in my dick.
Then Dad squatted down in front of me. We were face-to-face. He penetrated my stare again, then told me to stand up. I hesitated. If I stood up, he'd be at eye level with my erection.
