I've always been big. I was over nine pounds at birth, and always the tallest in my class. I knew the reason for this for my whole life, but it was a secret I kept from most people.
My parents were a very mismatched pair. They never married or even involved with each other for any length of time; they were always clear that it was a brief fling, and when I came along they both agreed to do the adult thing and share custody of me. I spent most of my summers and many weekends with my father, who always treated his time with me as special. Getting to him, though, was a strange journey.
Today I hiked, as I had many times, through the national park and up into the hills. There was a path worn there now, not easy to find, but it was so entrenched in my memory that I dreamt about it frequently. It led to the mouth of a cave, which required a bit of climbing to get into. Inside was a level, easy-to-traverse path into the mountain. You only needed a flashlight for the first little bit; then you would find yourself surrounded by an eerie glow, and could shut the flashlight off. I picked at some of the glowing lichen on the wet walls of the passage, rubbed it between my fingertips, enjoyed the spark of glowing green light that came up.
As a child, I understood all of this as magical. But as a teenager I started to become fascinated with science. No scientist had ever studied this place, but I had, with my limited abilities and tools. I'd seen this lichen under my microscope at home; it was closely related to a lichen that lived natively in my world, in the area around the cave. I suspected that the glow came from some sort of symbiotic bacteria. While I had long ago traded the sense of magical wonder for scientific curiosity, I found it no less inspiring or beautiful. And there were many things I still didn't understand, such as how this cave worked.
New light came up ahead; after about twenty minutes through the cave, I emerged from the other side. This realm looked a lot like my mother's world, but the sky seemed a little further toward the purple. The trees spread out beyond the cave entrance were the same as the other side. Many species were the same, or very similar; there were a few that were unique to either ecosystem.
My father was waiting not far down the path. I ran up to him and threw my arms around his waist. He leaned down, put his big hairy arms around my shoulders and give me a kiss on top of my head.
I may have inherited some of my father's extraordinary height at 6'7, but he still loomed over me at 10'2. I still felt like a little kid when I hugged him. To most people he would seem impossibly huge, but I was used to him. I'd been familiar with him my entire life; I'd been held in those long, thick arms many times. Even as a teenager he could still pick me up and swing me around, and I loved it.
"Happy birthday, my boy. How was the trip?" he asked in his deep, smooth voice. He had a strange accent, a little like Russian. His big vocal chords and thick tongue gave his speech a deep, heavy sound. Most of his English he'd learned from me, while he'd taught me the language of his people when I was young.
"The trip was easy. It's nice weather on the other side. Nice weather here too."
"It sure is. I was thinking of going for a swim in the lake before supper, if you'd like to join me."
"I'd love that." We walked off together, down the path to his hut. He walked with practiced casualness; his usual pace would easily leave me behind with his long strides.
"I'm making your favorite for supper. There's cake, too."
"You didn't have to do that," I said sheepishly. I knew he must have gone into town for it; he wasn't much of a baker.
"Of course I didn't have to," he said with a smirk, and patted me gently on the back with his huge hand, bigger than a dinner plate. I felt my cheeks flush warmly.
I call my Dad's place a hut, but maybe cabin would be a better description. Like most of the huge people of this realm he lives very simply. When I was a teenager obsessed with technology I insisted on attaching a solar panel to the roof, which was all the electricity he had. I would usually bring my laptop, so I could amuse myself with games or watch some movies. My Dad would curl up with me and watch, bewildered. He didn't know much about my mother's world, and understood less of it. But he was so patient. He didn't care what was going on in that tiny screen, he would just wrap an arm around me and cuddle, and he was happy that I was happy.
Lately I'd grown to appreciate my Dad's way of life more. I learned to love cooking on his cast iron stove. I would read books with him by the light of his oil lantern. I even brought him some, which he would read with his huge magnifying glass, turning the pages with his thick but deft sausage-sized fingers. He enjoyed books about my mother's world more than movies.
I should note, my father's world wasn't backwards or primitive or anything like that. In the bigger cities they had atomic energy. There were vaccines, submarines, scientists, explorers. They never went to the moon, not because they lacked the technology, but because they were so practical-minded that they hadn't really figured out a reason to go yet. Despite all of their science and technology, they lived very simple, minimalist lives.
And mostly, I'd learned to love the pace of his life. The people on this side of the tunnel were never in a hurry. They worked, and took their work seriously, but spent about ten to twenty hours a week on it, when they felt like it.
Most of the time they just enjoyed themselves. This world was abundant in resources; nobody had to toil for food. Their days were spent in very simple luxury.
When we got to his porch he stripped off his simple clothing- wool pants and a worn cloth shirt. As he waded out into the lake that his cabin overlooked, I took the opportunity to admire his thick, broad, muscular back. I had a theory that the people on my father's side were descended from the same ancestry as my mother's side, but with much more intermingling with Neanderthals or maybe Denisovans. They were certainly strong and beefy like Neanderthals, and their proportions similar. They had thicker brows, thicker bones, bigger muscles. They tended to be very hirsute. And as my mother and father had proven, they were the same species, capable of interbreeding. I don't know where the height comes from, though. My Dad is fairly average for a man on this side; I had met men who towered even over him, outliers in the eleven to twelve foot range.
I took off my clothes too. One of the things I love about my father's culture is the very relaxed attitude to nudity; I never had to suffer with clothing in the heat, though my Dad always fretted over my lighter skin, which burned so much easier than his. I sometimes hated being on my mother's side of the tunnel, where I had to wear clothing and act modest.
I splashed into the water after my father, who turned back to smile at me. I couldn't help my eyes wandering down his round, furry belly to his crotch. Because of the relaxed attitudes about nudity, I knew that the average man on this side was more well endowed than on the other side, even accounting for scale. I had inherited some of those genes too; I knew I had a big penis for a man in my mother's realm, but even for this realm my father's cock was enormous. He was better endowed than my uncles, or most of the other men I had seen. It hung from his crotch, swaying like the trunk of an elephant. I found it breathtaking, not just for its size, but it seemed so masculine and beautiful.
He saw me stare, and smiled. The sexual mores here were far different; culturally, my father's people were like bonobos. They had sex frequently, with no barriers on gender or social role. It was considered polite, friendly behaviour, like shaking hands or hugging. Even among family members. It was normal for siblings to enjoy each other, for adult parents to bond with their adult children. It was particularly common for men to enjoy themselves with their sons. The only real mores were against family procreation, and underage participation.
"You like it?" he asked, grabbing his flaccid cock in his meaty hand and swinging it around with a laugh. "You're of age now. Go ahead and touch it, if you like."
I stood there, knee deep in the lake, and reached out. I felt some of the shame and guilt from spending so much time in the other realm; but I knew this day was coming. I'd looked forward to it. He towered over me, his cock hanging at about my chest level, though his foreskin ended somewhere around my belly button.
I held it in both hands, lifted it gently, enjoyed the weight of it. It was surprisingly heavy. I looked up at him. He was smiling proudly.
"I know that things are different where your Mom lives. I know this might seem strange for you. Take your time; I would never demand anything from you."
"It's okay, Dad." I lifted his cock to my mouth, kissed it gently, rubbed it against my beard. I could feel it starting to get hard in my hands, twitching and getting stiffer.
He gently held the side of my head in his hand, as he often did. He was so sweet and tender.
He was about half hard now, his cock starting to point towards me it's own strength., but I still held it and caressed it gently. Veins and sinews began to show and bulge.
I stared at it wide-eyed now. His cock was bigger than my forearm; thick and long. I felt a surge of inadequacy; there was no way I could ever wrap my lips around it, let alone take it inside me. It was what was expected of me, but more importantly I wanted it so badly. I wanted to pleasure him- even to serve him, to offer him my body to use, to belong to him. That was an urge I'd understood from the other realm; here, power dynamics in sexual play were far less common. I didn't know if he'd ever understand how badly I wanted to submit to him.
He gently took my arms away from his throbbing flesh, and smiled down at me. He seemed to understand my trepidation about his size, even if he probably didn't guess about my unusual desires.
"Don't worry about that now. We'll figure out something, we'll have some fun later. I'm looking forward to exploring that. For now, let's have a swim."
I nodded, relieved, and followed him further into the lake, where we dove in and splashed around. I loved my Dad's childlike sense of fun. He splashed at me, dove in and swam around, poking me from underwater. At one point where my feet couldn't reach the bottom, his could, and he picked me up in his strong arms and laughed that deep hearty laugh, and tossed me back in with a big splash.
Once we'd had our fun, we floated for a while, and waded back out of the water. We rinsed in the cool water he pumped up from the well, and checked each other over for leeches. Dad put on a pair of loose pants, and I pulled on a pair of cut-off jeans. People here rarely wore shirts unless it was cold, so I got to admire his big strong arms, thickly furred chest, and round belly.
Growing up in two different cultures, I had two favorites of just about everything. Here in my father's world, there were far fewer birds, so nobody had ever bred a chicken or knew the ecstasy of having it deep-fried and battered. In the world that loved to boil things in oil, nobody knew how good trilobite tasted roasted with goat butter over an open fire. My Dad knew how to cook it perfectly, and we both smiled at each other through beards coated in grease. It was an important part of the culture here to show genuine enjoyment of sensual delights, from messy eating, to gasps and smiles at art, to orgasming with a loud roar- it didn't matter if the whole village heard you, in fact, they would smile and nod and appreciate that you didn't hold back. There was never any showboating or exaggeration, though. Because they were so genuine with their enjoyment of pleasure, the idea of pretending it seemed alien.
Cake here was very different, too. Here it was made with yeast instead of sodium bicarbonate, and liberally sweetened with caramelized sugar. It was delicious.
After we were done, Dad smiled at me. I knew what was on his mind. He wasn't pressuring me, wasn't expecting it. Just offering it, and knowing how badly I wanted to take him up on him.
He sat on his bed- a simple mattress on the floor, and gestured me over. We were always comfortable with each other, always cuddled when I came to visit. There was no awkwardness there, but I did feel the uncertainty of opening up new activities with him.
I came as he asked, and sat beside him. He stroked my cheek with the backs of his fingers, looked lovingly in my eyes.
