My cock stood rigid as I paused to look down on the man lying beneath me before settling between his open legs. For one instant it was the sight of another man beneath me that flashed through my mind, and I could still hear the words I said, "Dad, I'm going to give you a fucking that you'll never forget."
Looking back over my life so far, I can point to the summer after graduating from high school when I went to live with my father as the origin of my free sexual attitudes. What is more likely, however, is that the seeds had already been sown and my environment only supplied the water and fertilizer.
After graduating from high school in an Atlanta suburb, I went to live with my father in Texas. He had agreed to pay all expenses for me to attend a nearby community college during the school year in exchange for my working in his machine shop during the summer. .
My parents were divorced when I was ten. That was when I had gone back East to live with my extremely religious mother. The stark contrast in how my parents viewed life made their marriage irreconcilable. My father had been raised by hippy parents; her father was a minister. "That heathen" was how my mother often referred to my father.
Their agreement at the divorce was that I would spend four weeks every summer with my father. From my perspective, I never saw anything that I thought was "heathen" from my father; I only thought that summers with Dad were fun. Of course I had not yet moved in with him permanently and had no inkling of the surprises in store for me.
To this day I can clearly remember my shock when, on my first night at his house following my move in, he came out of the bathroom wearing only his boxer shorts then proceeded to remain dressed like that for the rest of the evening.
Not that there was anything wrong with him wearing only his underwear, it was his house. It's just that I had never seen an adult lounging around who wasn't either fully clothed or wrapped in a robe. He must have caught the surprised look on my face since his indifferent acknowledgement of his state of dress related to my now living there full-time. He said that this was part of the casual "lifestyle" that he practiced at home when I was away at my mother's, and this was how he intended to continue now that I was there full time.
I wasn't certain of what that meant by "lifestyle," but there was no further discussion. As he sat beside me on the sofa to begin leafing through a magazine, his thighs spread to reveal a large bulge along his left leg and from the fly of his underwear a tangle of dark brown pubic hairs emerged. Though I was attempting to keep my eyes on the television, his open legs seemed to offer an invitation to sneak glances at his crotch.
His boxers were soft cotton and pressing against the fabric was the bulge of his thick cock and balls. He was hanging on the left leg and when he shifted on the couch to bring his right foot to rest on the sofa, the bulge became even more emphasized and the fly opened further letting the mash of tangled hair jut through. Buried in his magazine, he seemed indifferent to me sitting beside him as he lifted his butt and reached down to tug on the fabric bunched against his cock.
Getting another glance at his crotch, my heart accelerated. My own cock was beginning to swell at the sight. Feeling embarrassed and somewhat ashamed of the reaction I was having to my father, I left the sofa and quickly retreated to my room saying that I wanted to go to bed early. I heard him only vaguely mumble, "Good night."
Once alone in my bed, still fraught with quilt that my father might have sensed my interest in his crotch, I took the shaft of my hardening cock and began masturbating rapidly. Images of naked men from magazines that I had snuck peeks between the pages along with memories of handsome students from my school were now joined by a new image of my father sitting in front of the television with his legs wide spread.
In my imagination, his cock grew hard as my fingers slipped over to touch it. My fantasy expanded to include my hiding unnoticed in the kitchen and watching him engage in pleasuring himself. He pulled down his boxers, pushing them down toward his knees and began making circles with his palm around his engorged purple cock head.
Sprawled back in my bed and with my own legs spread, I rubbed my own swollen shaft, just as I imagined him doing to his. Reaching down with my free hand I grasped my balls and squeezed them. In my mind I saw him grasping his ball sack just as his hand stroked the dripping head of his cock; we were jerking off together.
Caught in these thoughts and unable to resist moaning, I said aloud, "Oh Dad, stroke that big cock of yours, stroke it Dad." Lost in my fantasy, suddenly strong ribbons of cream began shooting from my rod as I cried aloud, "Fuck, oh fuck!" ending the fantasy. Large globs of sticky semen landed on my belly, pooling around my navel. With my fingers, I began slowly spreading it over my midsection as I fell asleep.
Dad owned a small machine shop in front of the country house where he lived, about a mile outside a medium-sized East Texas town. His property bordered on state parklands that were heavily forested and included streams, ponds, a medium-sized lake, and even rumors of a ghost.
During summer evenings on earlier visits, when my father would return from work, we'd set out together exploring nature. He was a good instructor and spent great care teaching me about the forest and its inhabitants. These times were a refreshing escape to me as I grew into young manhood. They offered a sharp contrast to the strict environment that existed living with my Mother.
My education over those years of summers included more than the flora and the fauna. Suspecting that my Mother and her new husband were reluctant to even hint about sex, my Dad supplied me with appropriate knowledge of reproduction and my own body. He was always unashamed and matter-of-fact with his information, so as the years went by I became a repository of facts about the subject which I freely conveyed to my school chums. Consequently, even though I was shy and could be withdrawn, I soon had a reputation at school of being "experienced" at sex, which I certainly wasn't. As part of my education, Dad had also emphasized that "self-discovery" for a young man was not only normal but expected, including a few details on what to do. From puberty onward I had practiced a lot.
By the end of that first week of living full-time with him, I had become accustomed to seeing him half-dressed in his boxers. I had even caught an occasional glimpse of his naked body as he moved from our shared bathroom to his bedroom. What I wasn't accustomed to was the growing thrill of my reaction every time I saw his manly form on display. Alarmed by these reactions, I sought to avoid them by spending most of the time hiding away in my room; even while, at the same time, my father's body increasingly became the focus of my fantasies.
