HOT FUN AND SOME OTHER TIMES

(MF, MM, coll, con, interr, rape, real, voy, zoo)
By NiftyBuckWld@gmail.com

Obligatory Opening Disclaimer:
The following is intended for adults that enjoy reading erotic male literature, the contents of which include (but are not limited to) graphic descriptions of sex between men, coercive rape, mild fetishes, and other salacious encounters. If that's not you, please click your browser's <Back button immediately. The persons in this piece might be slightly fictionalized but are alive, well and represented with a name change to `protect the innocent.' How much fiction, hyperbole or poetic license describing the proceeding events is left for you, the reader, to decide. Most importantly: Remember to wrap that rascal, be "Prep"ared, and always practice safer sex when outside the confines of a monogamous relationship. 


Dedication:
To prolific Nifty authors Dick Mann, R. Keith Peck, Succumballs, and LenZelig; Literotica's WhiteAsianLvr; The Writer X from gayauthors.org; Narzil Blade of Satyrborn fame; and all the other writers whose names I haven't committed to memory but nonetheless inspire, enthrall, and arouse their readership with their own unique style and content. Kudos also go out to conventional writer David Sedaris, whose unmatched wit and brutal honesty remind us all what pride means, and what a gift it is to be - as Lady Gaga would say - "born this way."

Acknowledgements:

None of us would be here were it not for the Nifty Archive Alliance, bringing gay erotica to the public for twenty years. Please help support the site any way you can. You can do so anonymously if you're still hiding in the closet. Remember, the site needs donations to survive, and its present day ration of 60,000 stories downloaded for each dollar donated is embarrassingly paltry. If you have a few extra bucks in your pocket, please send a little financial support their way by clicking the donate tab up there on the top right side of the screen. Oh, and if you can write, do it...and submit accordingly.

Preface:

Hi. I'm Jonathan. Jonathan Buck to be more precise. My Mom calls my Johnny, my Dad prefers Champ, my friends go with Jon, and acquaintances have used adjectives that run the gamut from flattering to downright insulting. For 2/3 of the year I live on campus at a SUNY college in upstate New York, majoring in Foreign Languages. I'm an average student and athlete, and enjoy life to the fullest. As an only child who spends who most always felt the love and support of my middle-class parents, I spend summers back home with my parents at our apartment in Suffolk County, Long Island. If you'd like to know a little more, please continue reading a few carnal details of the Summer of 2016.

Unless you stumbled upon this through some bizarre google search, you're probably gay like I am. When did you know? For me personally, I've always been infatuated with the penis, both mine and others. I find it such a fascinating appendage that I'm almost willing to buy into the intelligent design theories hawked by the more religious amongst us. My secularist leanings aside, by 21st Century standards, I was probably a little late to the "coming out" party. Though I was aware of what homosexuality was since kindergarten, I didn't fully understand my skewed sexual attraction for males until the night of my junior prom.

 

From an early age, way before the onset of puberty, I masturbated numerous times per day, experienced multiple dry orgasms during countless self-pleasure sessions, and had erections a lot more often than my friends and classmates would at least admit to. To this day, I have no factual explanation for why I possessed a teenager's libido as a prepubescent boy. The best theory I've heard centers around the fact I was encouraged to sleep naked from the day I was out of diapers. My parents slept that way, I slept that way -- and didn't know pajamas even existed `til I saw them on TV.

 

By fourth grade, my parents' concerns over my boyhood peccadillos were raised with the doctor during my annual exam. I still vividly recall the pediatrician's "don't worry, he's completely normal" retorts to my Mom's comment about me being born with an erection and my Dad's observations about my penis getting fully hard and climaxing each and every time I was near water. Though I obviously don't recollect entering the world with a boner - I can safely assume it subsided before my second day out of the womb - when my parents followed the obstetrician's advice and allowed him to circumcise me. I do however vividly recall the first time my father witnessed my aroused state in the shower...

 

It was the evening before my ninth birthday party, when my parents decided I was getting way too old for a bath and needed to learn how to use the shower. At first, I was disappointed at the change in my daily routine. I always looked forward to playing in the bathwater, rubbing the soap bar or rubber toys against my juvenile erection, and enjoying the spine-tingling sensations as I thrust my hips upward, allowing my little boner to break through the surface of the warm water into the cooler air above.

 

Of course it was Dad's job to teach me how to use the shower, and the minor nuances between cleaning oneself under a nozzle as opposed to a tub full of soapy, graying water. Though I'd seen my father naked more times than I could count, this was the first time we actually undressed in the same room together. Seeing his grossly oversized genitals flop, bounce and sway out in front of him as he walked across the bathroom floor had me mesmerized.

 

This was also the first time I had seen a full-grown adult penis that was so close I could touch it -- but something deep inside me strongly advised against following that impulse, opting instead inquire more about it with Dad. After showing me how to find the right water temperature and how to operate the mixing valve that diverted the water from the tub spout to the shower head, my father and I climbed in under the spraying water. We didn't even have a chance to get our hair wet before I started rattling off a bevy of curiosity-filled queries.

My first question was the most obvious: Why was my father's penis so much larger than mine, with a follow-up about the size and shape of his testicles before he could get the answer out. Dad handled it tactfully, holding his hand up to mine as a visual aid while explaining everything grows in rough proportion as we mature. While on the topic of size, my next question was nearly as apparent. Though I never gave it a second thought before, I pointed down at my hard-on and asked why my penis grew like an inflated balloon and stood-up straight when it got wet, while his continued resting.

 

My father's reply was the first basic lesson I'd been given about the birds and bees, referring to my hard penis as an "erection". I really didn't like that new word much, and years later completely understand why there are more slang terms for a stiff dick than there are for any other thing in the universe. Dad told me that much like our thoughts, boys only have limited control over their erections. That made sense to me a lot more so than his explanation that without erections, people, fish, birds and other animals wouldn't be able to make babies - a concept that confused me beyond description.

 

I had always assumed those wonderfully inexplicable sensations I felt each and every time my penis got hard was for my own benefit and pleasure - but now I was told it had another purpose. Dad elaborated a bit more, saying one of the reasons why married people were referred to as "couples" was because they linked their naked bodies together and coupled like the cars on the Lionel train set we put around the tree each Christmas. I wasn't at all certain how an erection worked its way into that trainset analogy, but with marriage years out on the horizon, I brought the topic of discussion away from birds and bees, and back to my own penis in relation to his.

Questions were racing through me faster than I could put them into words. I wanted to know when the skin that extended about of the way over the top of my Dad's cockhead was going to grow on mine. He informed me it wouldn't, teaching me a several other new words like "glans" and "foreskin" before explaining doctors had "circumcised" my penis for "hygienic" reasons when I was born. Using the topic of cleanliness as an opportunity to change the subject from male physiology to the importance of cleanliness and how to shower correctly, Dad got on to the business at hand: My lesson in correct washing techniques.

 

I was riveted watching my father soap up each egg shaped testicle, rolling them around in their giant sack, then working his way up to his penis, rubbing lather into his pubic hair and soaping up his veiny shaft. I aped his procedure stroke for stroke on my own aroused flesh, making believe I had a neatly trimmed bush of hair like his at the root of my penis. As he retracted his foreskin and thoroughly cleaned his exposed glans, that aforementioned warning from the voice deep down inside me was fading from memory. Knowing full well I had far less to wash, and didn't even have a "foreskin" to maintain, I rinsed the lather off my strained, twitching cock before my father was finished with his, consciously unaware of the fact that erection of mine had an increasing influence on my thought patterns.

With my senses so sharply focused on penises, and a powerful urge to touch the big, thick soapy one dangling right in front of my face, I reached out and grabbed my father's flesh. He smacked my hand away before I could encircle my fingers around it, looking down at me with an obvious expression of scorn that almost eclipsed the sensation I had touching something so alluring and beautiful. "Whoa," he said loudly, his deep voice bouncing of the tiles.

 

"Though your Mom and I are raising you to be comfortable with your body and erase the taboos around nudity, that doesn't give you the right to touch my penis."

 

He could see the confusion in my eyes, and then mellowed his tone substantially. "It's called a private area for a reason, Champ. Though I understand the curiosity of a boy your age, you are not allowed to touch me, or anyone else in that area of their body. More importantly, no one, I repeat, no one, has the right to touch your privates either."

 

As confused, aroused, and frightened as I felt that moment, my father's caveat about other people touching my penis opened a floodgate of proto-sexual thoughts and fantasies I hadn't pondered before. When adding these new mental images of friends touching an area only I had previously known with the physical sensation of hot streaming water spraying against my boyhood erection, the effect was overpowering. As that familiar, hollowed-out feeling surged in the pit of my stomach, my breath deepened, my legs wobbled, and my penis began to throb, sputter and spasm in vain - attempting to spew forth ropes of fluid that wouldn't be on tap for years to come. I fell forward into my father, my face and forehead bouncing off his cock as I fell to my knees, grabbing his thigh to steady myself as I reflexively ground my pulsating erection into his calf muscle.

 

"Did you just," he paused, attempting to come up with a word I might understand, "pop off?" As I caught my breath, my spine still tingling in post-orgasmic intensity, Dad took me by the hand and helped me to my feet.

 

The look of confusion on his face was as evident as it was undeniable. "Has that ever happened to you before?" he inquired, in a concerned tone.

"Sure, a few times a day," I replied between heaving breaths, "but never like that before," still too immature to use "deep" as a qualifier or have "intense" as part of my vocabulary.

 

With my erection still kicking and convulsing, the tone of disbelief and alarm in my father's voice brought a new, pressing question to the front of the list. Just as I was about to wonder aloud if something was "wrong" with me or my penis, my fears quickly evaporated as I observed a considerable distraction stirring in the corner of my eye.

Whether it was the general topic of sex, my enthusiastic questions about the size of his penis, the stimulus of me falling face first into his groin, or something far more nefarious is still a mystery to me to this day but nothing could be clearer than the fact that aforementioned stirring was coming from Dad's crotch. Any concerns of my prepubescent penis and orgasms being abnormal dissipated as each beat of my father's heart pumped more blood into his growing manhood.

Describing myself as awestruck would be an understatement, and recounting what I was witnessing nearly indescribable. Fixated beyond words, I instinctively backed up against the cool, wet tiled wall uncertain as to how much space my father's growing cock required. Time seemed to slow down as his shaft thickened and lengthened. I felt a pounding in my chest and a muffled thumping between my ears as the network of crisscrossing veins on the top and sides of his shaft swelled and throbbed. As Dad's cock jutted outward and upward, already more than double its length and girth, it looked as hard as stone, both glorious and angry at the same time. With his foreskin retracting, his maroon-colored glans were now exposed to the warm, humid air. His powerful, throbbing erection hoisted his heavy testicles upward as I reflexively glanced down at my own heard penis to make a visual comparison between man and boy, father and son. Amazed, and completely unable to speak, I felt the familiar waves of another orgasm building deep inside the pit of stomach. My spine tingled with the same intensity I'd experienced moments before. My knees began to weaken again as I saw the deep slit on my father's glans widen, and a sting of clear juice slowly leak out from the opening.

Dad's privacy warnings were still fresh in my mind, but if that glorious slab of meat could talk, I knew it would demand otherwise. As that long rope of precum reached his knees, the urge to reach out and feel both it and the magnificent erection it flowed from was overpowering me. As I raised my hand toward that forbidden direction, my father's deep voice echoed throughout the shower stall. "Honey, come help get our son ready for bed, he's clean now."

Dad opened the door and ushered me out of the shower stall. Mimicking an old-style tollgate, he turned his hips toward the wall, either to make room for me to exit - or mistakenly think he could hide that aroused beast from further view. After handing me my Sponge Bob towel from the hook, he closed the shower door and told me to dry off while I waited on the bath mat for Mom. As I toweled off my slim body and yearning little boner, I asked my father about that gooey slime dribbling out of his erection just as my mother reached the bathroom of our small apartment.

"Dribbling slime?" she mimicked, playfully adding a proviso about her boys' being prohibited from sword fighting in the house. I had no idea what she was joking about, but didn't bother asking for elaboration while she combed my damp hair and prepared my toothbrush. As I climbed atop my step stool in front of the vanity, I was still entranced by the mirror's reflection of my Dad's erect penis through the glass door of the shower stall.

My father's voice echoed once again throughout our small bathroom. "We all have an early day and a lot to do before your birthday party tomorrow. It's Mom's turn to shower, so as soon as you're done rinsing your toothpaste, off to bed."

Whereas I would usually lobby to stay up past my Friday night bedtime to watch TV, I was in no mood for cartoons. In fact, bed sounded like a great idea. As I was brushing my teeth, my parents began speaking a foreign language I didn't quite understand. Though it had a faint hint of familiarity, it wasn't English and all the words rhymed with "play." I had no idea what they were saying to each other, but if memory serves, Dad used words like "our-shay", "owned-bay" and "eed-nay", Mom said things like "owblay-objay", "ussy-pay" and "orny-hay", and I know I heard them both use the word "uck-fay".

As I rinsed the last bit of Gleem from my mouth, Dad reverted back to English to wish me a goodnight. Mom accompanied me out of the bathroom, gave me a kiss goodnight, patted me on the ass, and made sure I entered my bedroom from the connecting hallway. As I climbed into bed, sliding my summer sheet over my still hard cock, I heard the bathroom door click close and muffled giggles coming from the shower stall.


In my mind's eye, the flood of images of my father's big cock growing erect was nearly eclipsed by as many new and unanswered questions as I'd had in the shower. With my Mom now in there with Dad, how exactly did they "link their naked bodies"? By my father's vague description of "coupling," it was more than implied an erection was a key element of that act but the "where" and "how" were still very much a mystery to me.

Were my parents "coupling" in the shower right now? There was no conceivable place that huge, hard cock I had just seen would click into Mom like a train car - but it must have, given Dad's elementary lesson on the birds and bees. After all, I was born and they were my parents -- I wasn't flown in by a stork. My own erection twitched and throbbed as I pondered how this vague notion of linking actually occurred. It might even feel as nice, perhaps better, than the masturbatory strokes I was providing myself as I speculated over the possibilities.

The need to know the answers to the flood of questions inside me were a more powerful and primal desire than the yearning that radiated from my aroused groin. I pulled off my sheet, climbed out of bed, and quietly tip-toed down the hallway toward the bathroom. As I inched closer, I could hear voices, but not words. I laid down in front of the bathroom, pressed my left ear against the creaky wood floor, closed my right eye, and peered between the cold stone saddle and bathroom door. As I craned my neck for the best possible view, I saw my parents in the shower together through the moist, steamy air.

My father's head was titled backwards, his body motionless and stiff as the shower sprayed hot water just inches above his forehead. I followed the path of the water cascading down his lean, slippery body. Though my jaw was a mere inch from the hallway floor, it would have ended up there anyway had I seen the same image while standing. My Mom was on her knees in front of him, much like I had been 15 minutes earlier -- but she wasn't keeping her distance. Her nose was touching his cropped pubic hair while her mouth appeared to be sucking on his right pelvic bone. At first, I thought Dad was pressing his erection alongside my mother's opposite ear, under her long hair and out of my view. "How odd," I thought, frustrated at the fact I couldn't see what exactly they were doing before being snapped into reality.

As Mom ever so slowly moved her head away from Dad's crotch, the root of his erection came into view. They groaned in unison as inch after inch of his hard shaft was exposed. I reflexively squinted as I realized Dad's huge, hard cock wasn't pressed against her ear -- but was actually lodged in her throat. With her face contorted and her jaw stretched open, she continued backing off his straining cock. I heard an audible popping sound as his flared glans slipped out from her sucking lips. Though I probably didn't recognize it then, the look on my mother's face appeared to be one of sheer admiration. Her right hand, obscured by her opposite leg, moved at a furious pace over her vagina as her left hand grabbed by father's penis at the base. Squinting even harder, I noticed her encircled fingers weren't long enough to reach her thumb, and she would require at least two more hands to adequately grasp the entire length of his turgid, veiny shaft.

My parent's guttural sounds were broken with Dad's pronouncement they were just about out of hot water. As he reached behind his back to turn off the shower, he used his other hand to help Mom lovingly stroke his proud flesh. They fondled that big cock in unison for a while, coaxing a continuous stream of that dribbling slime from the glans before she moved her hand away to squeeze his ass. With the water turned off, everything they said to each other was clearly audible through the door -- though most of it was as indecipherable as the Pig Latin language they used in front of me earlier.

 

"You like that ass, or this cock better?" he asked, while waving his engorged erection in her face.

"Mmm, I love them both, or I wouldn't have married you," she said, adding, "but I couldn't live without that big fat prick filling my pussy the way it does."

Dad was grinning ear to ear, still slowly stroking his cock with a look of intensity I don't recall ever seeing before. "You love him, huh?" he rhetorically asked, calling her his dirty girl as he started playfully whacking her face, head and neck with the inflexible spear.

"Ooh yeah, I love everything about you" she replied, "Just please don't ask me to choose whether I like this battering ram better in my throat or overfilling my hot wet cunt."

"No need to, my hot little minx," he said, "You know you get him wherever you like as often as you want," this time bouncing hard cock back and forth over her jiggling breasts.

I continued spying on my parents, grinding my erection into the hallway floor, completely fascinated by what I was witnessing while trying to make sense of it all. As Mom watched Dad's cock bouncing off her tits, she leaned back and licked her lips, apparently signaling her desire to suck the hard, drooling flesh in front of her again. My father was all too happy to comply, pulling back on each side of his glans as she inserted the tip of her tongue into his piss slit, then down along the deep groove to the sensitive underside of his penis.

When she reached his swollen testicles, she carefully sucked each one into her mouth, alternating between the left and right because both would never fit into her mouth at the same time. The unforgettable groans each of them made conveyed nothing but pure pleasure, my mother's voice even louder than father's as she opened her mouth wide to wrap her lips completely around his cock head.

From under the door, I intently studied my Mom's technique and reactions as my Dad slowly shoved inch after inch of his amazing cock into her mouth. Her blissful gaze gradually transformed into a look of passion and determination. As his swollen head reached her tonsils, her eyes widened and I saw her throat bulge outward, as if trying to swallow a whole plum.

"Just a little bit more, baby," Dad encouraged her, "you're almost there." With a circular motion of his hips and a nudge forward, he fed her the last few inches of his remarkable manhood.

 

That huge cock buried to the hilt was just too much to handle for both mother and her peeping son. The physical stimuli of deep-throating Dad's impressive phallus left her jaw straining, throat contorted, and eyes watering. The visual excitement I experienced in witnessing my first blowjob was overwhelming. My little ass and thighs tensed up tightly as the initial waves of my third climax overtook me. I ground my heaving erection into the floor as hard as I could without fracturing my hipbones, fighting to keep my left eye open and my face from moving away from the door sweep.

My little testicles were beyond the point of tender. As my boyhood erection finally began to shrinking, the hollowed-out pain emanating from my groin slowly throbbed in rhythm that matched my pulse. As I watched my father continue to fuck my mother's face with long steady strokes, an all too familiar tension began welling up inside again. For me, this was, for lack of a better term, my first erotically-based experience -- an odd new sensation of mixed pleasure, pain, yearning and amelioration. Before that night of spying on my parent's lovemaking, every erection and each dry orgasm I had experienced was mere child's play.

What I was observing some 6 feet beyond the gap between the bathroom door and saddle had filled me with wonderment, lust and enthusiasm. Just when I thought I had this entire "coupling" concept figured out, my father's groans began to echo off the tiled walls. His face became flushed, his chest heaved outward, and the tempo of his thrusts into Mom's mouth increased to a violent pace as his big ballsack bounced off her chin.

"Baby, I'm close, baby," he repeated over and over again, his hips and testicles now a blur in thrusting motion. His groaning became louder before changing to guttural noises I'd never heard anyone make before. I wasn't entirely certain what I was hearing was human until he spoke again. "I'm cumming, oh my god, I'm cumming."

With Dad's thrusting now slowed to its earlier pace, he ran his fingers through Mom's wet hair as every muscle in his body tensed up. Mom removed her right hand from between her legs and her left hand away from my father's ass, reached up over her head and started squeezing his nipples. Her hard pinches on those pink nubs elicited another animalistic groan before she released them and ran her long fingers down the contours of his stomach muscles. Just as she reached his navel, her cheeks puffed out, and my father's staccato grunts seemed to reverberate through the hardwood floor.

What I witnessed and experienced next will be forever etched into my memory. Unlike the withdrawal of Dad's cock from my mother's mouth while the shower was on, this time it was much quicker and clearer. As he pulled his swollen glans from her sucking lips, his deep burgundy colored erection spasmed and jerked forward, spewing a big glob of white fluid over Mom's head and splashing against the opposite wall of the shower stall with an audible spatter. Several more shots followed a similar trajectory. The mere sight of this ethereal eruption quickly and unexpectedly sent me over the edge, my own intense orgasm accentuated by dry heaves that mimicked the next several wet blasts of my father. He grabbed his heaving flesh at the root, pointed it downward toward my mother's breasts, and squeezed out a few more globs in the sternal notch behind her collarbone. As she looked downward at the pool that had collected, she spit a mouthful of the same white fluid there, more than doubling its volume.

"Always thought it was funny how one little `I do' on the altar translates into I don't swallow anymore," Dad joked.

Mom chuckled along with him. "Yeah, but look at all the money we're saving on Nivea," she added, raising her elbow in an unnatural position that allowed my father's white essence to flow over her clavicle and onto her breasts. As she massaged his semen into her skin, she stood to face him, rubbing her vagina against his shaft in the same circular motions as her gooey palms. Dad pulled her close and kissed her, much like he does around the house, licking her neck and telling her how much he loved her. He then whispered something in her ear I couldn't make out, took her by the hand and led her out of the shower stall.

As Mom stepped toward the bathroom door, I froze in fear. Her polished toenails were literally and figuratively a foot away from my spying eye. As I turned my head to look up at the doorknob, a fight or flight instinct kicked into high gear. I realized I could not get up and run to my bedroom, the sound of the creaky old floors in our apartment would be a dead giveaway. I also knew the moment I saw that bathroom door knob start to turn, I had mere seconds to disappear. My options were severely limited. I could either stand up, stick my arms out like a zombie and fake a sleepwalking episode - or attempt to snake my way backwards and make the 15 second trip to the safety of my bedroom. I got up on my toes and hands, and scurried back down the hallway in a prone crabwalk like we do in gym class. My heart pounded harder with each squeak I made on the old floorboards. I was halfway to my room when the bathroom door creaked open and light shimmered into the hallway. I kicked into a noisier and higher gear as I saw the shadow of my parents projected on the wall opposite the bathroom door.


As one bare foot crossed the threshold into the hallway, I still had at least ten yards to cover and less than one second left on the clock. My Hail Mary came in the form of my parents' open bedroom door. I crawled backwards through it, seeing my parents naked bodies step into view a millisecond before the top of my head cleared the jamb. I spun my head quickly in each direction searching for the best hiding spot, recalling the fact their only closet was filled to capacity last time my friends and I played indoor hide `n seek on a rainy weekend. I scooted backwards under their bed just as I saw my parents entered their bedroom, my heart pounding against the old wool rug that our neighbor, Mrs. O'Reilly, had given them.

From my limited view under the foot of the bed, I saw Dad carrying Mom through the doorway. They were kissing, like they'd been doing in the shower, only this time she was cradled in his arms. With each surefooted step, my father's hard erection swung and swayed like a big, fat windshield wiper. After placing my mother on the bed, he turned back to their door to close it, greatly overestimating the privacy he assumed it afforded them. .

My father was now standing mere inches from my face. Though the bed obstructed most all my view of what was going on above, I could see the sinewy tendons on his feet retract, and his long narrow toes clutch the floor as he gently laid Mom on their bed. The box spring creaked above me as she apparently scooted herself toward the headboard.

"I really don't care how early a day we have tomorrow," Dad proclaimed, "Tonight I am going to fuck the living shit out of you." Unlike me, she knew exactly what he was talking about, purring at his pronouncement.

"That's our pussy telling you to do it like only you can," her tone encouraging and playful, adding, "And you know she needs a lickin' before you start a kickin."

The box spring creaked again as my father seemed to be pulling Mom closer toward him at the foot of the bed. He turned his right foot outward and got down on his left knee. Nearly as close as his foot was moments ago, what now stood directly above me was his strained erection replacing my fears of being caught with that same sense wonderment I'd been experiencing all night.

Though I could not see - or even imagine - what was going on atop the mattress, I was reveling once again at the sight of Dad's drooling cock. It was closer to me than an hour ago while he and I showered together, but didn't smell anything like the Zest soap we had used. I'd never inhaled a scent exactly like that before - both clean and dirty, fresh but musty almost like the seashore at Jones Beach. My own tender erection literally screamed to be stroked. I lifted my hips off the floor, pressing my little ass against the bottom of the box spring to make room for my left hand and forearm. In my grip, I could better feel the pulsating pressure inside me the sensations surging up and down my spine with great speed and intensity.

Other than the manipulation of my left hand, and the instinctual thrusting of my hips into the floor beneath me, I was frozen in awe. The thick ridge which hoisted my father's heavy erection was bulging from the underside of his shaft as the stringy line of clear fluid oozing from the cleft in his glans slowly lengthened, inching closer and closer to that old rug. As it dangled and swung an inch from the wool fibers, I reached out from under the bed, quickly snatching it in the palm of my right hand and pulling it back toward me like a monkey grabbing a peanut at the petting zoo.

The first thing I recall was the warmth and texture of my father's precum. It was much thicker than spit and as slippery as oil. I brought my hand to my nostrils, attempting to detect a scent, running my nose first along my palm, and then along the backside of my hand, up my fingers and across my knuckles, where the gooey strand I'd snapped up had wrapped around and stuck to. As I studied this odorless, slimy fluid dangling off my pinkie in the dim light under the bed, I noticed the glistening string had not yet broken. I tried yanking my hand away, but from under the bed I had limited maneuvering room. I pulled my left hand out from under my thrusting pelvis, making a mock scissor with my pointer and middle finger in an attempt to snip the ever lengthening strand. Instead of breaking, I now had both hands coated with the clear oozing slime. Afraid of being caught I started to panic. What if my father felt me trying to yank free from this unbreakable, web-like strand stuck to my hands, like the way fishing pole quivers when there's a nibble on the end of the line or a spider senses prey as it attempts to break free?

I carefully started winding the silky string around the two fingers I had attempted to use as scissors. I wound and wound in small circular motions, apparently not making much progress. I spun my wrist faster and faster, like threading on a spool. For all I knew, at the source lay an endless supply. Loop after loop encircled my fingers, neither stopping nor breaking. A little voice in the back of my head, the one of Mom warning me to not use my teeth, entered my conscious mind. That's for stuff that could damage chip the enamel I reassured myself, as I brought my left hand to my open mouth, sucked the spool of goo off my fingers and bit myself free of the glistening strand.

The flavor was like nothing I ever tasted before. It had the slightest hint of sweetness, like fruit juice with melted ice cubes, but its mild taste was a perfect match for its watery appearance. Its texture on my tongue was unusual as its piquancy. I wasn't at all repulsed by it like I initially assumed I would be. In fact, I found it quite pleasant and would have reached out for a second serving had I known a safer way to have more.

Whether it was the aural sensation of my mother's groans of pleasure, the visual stimuli of my father's huge erection still in reach as he was crouched in front of me, the oral contact with the nectar still fresh on my tongue, or a combination thereof, my painfully hard penis began twitching and throbbing beneath me delivering the most intense orgasm I'd ever experienced in my young life. The sensations were beyond description, and the feelings so powerful I had to fight to keep from whimpering.

 

Whatever it was my father doing directly over my head sounded like it provided Mom with feelings quite similar to my own. I could clearly hear her panting and feel her body bucking on the mattress above me.

"Right there, right there, right there," she repeated, "Oh yeah, eat that hungry pussy, baby," she added, followed by the same curious phrase my Dad had used in the shower.

 

"That's it, you hit the spot, I'm cumming, oh my god, I'm cumming you stud."

I could feel Mom thrashing around on the mattress above as my father stood from his crouched position at the foot of the bed. Getting more frustrated by my inability to see what was taking place above me, I inched my naked body forward on the rug. As my hard dick urged me forward, my common sense stopped me as the tip of my nose reached the outer wood frame of the box spring. Peering upward, I could see my father's entire body as he wiped glistening juices off his chin and licked his palm clean.

"Jesus, our pussy is still snapping at me," he observed, "I think she wants something a little more substantial than a tongue."

"You know she does, and we both know what you have for her is a lot more substantial," Mom purred, her toes curling off the edge of the mattress directly above the corner of my eye, "Please fuck me like you've never fucked me before."

Dad smirked as he reached toward her, lifting her off their bed. She locked her arms around his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his waist as he supported her weight by holding her backside directly above his throbbing erection. As they kissed, and whispered things into each other's ear, I was struck with indescribable feelings of warmth and admiration. These two people that brought me into the world and loved me unconditionally were enjoying a private aspect of their lives without any of the distractions or burdens of daily life that were figuratively locked out on the other side of their bedroom door. Guilt started washing through me as I thought more about my father's warnings about private areas while we showered - and the fact these intimate moments my parents engaged in were not intended for me, or anyone else, to witness.

 

The nagging by the moral side of my conscious began to silence as my father's biceps flattened and descended. With Mom's legs straddling his narrow hips, he gently lowered her body as their deep kisses became more impassioned. From my worm's eye view, I watched Dad's throbbing erection inch closer to my mother's glistening vagina, like a guided missile in slow motion. As his swollen glans reached the target of her damp opening, his powerful cock pressed forward, pushing the outer lips of her tiny hole inward, forcing it's way forward as more and more of his inflexible maleness gradually entered her body.

 

As her groans intensified, Mom finally broke their kiss at the point my father had crammed about two-thirds of his glorious, veiny shaft inside of her. Her breathing was labored and her back muscles tensed and then relaxed as she attempted to accommodate the invading appendage. There was a part of me that wanted to reach up, cradle Dad's huge ball sack, then grab the exposed root of his shaft and help force the rest of him inside her.

"Oh God, I'm full," Mom observed, "You're so huge, and feel so good." As she gathered her composure, she lowered her voice to a serious tone, "Just take it easy on my cervix and take it easy until she's fully adapted, honey."

The look in my father's eye was a blend of triumph, focus and tenderness. His biceps flexed and thighs bulged as he hoisted my mother upward, slowly exposing the glistening lingam from the tight confines of her shivering body. As he attempted to fully withdraw from my mother's dripping entrance, her outer labia broke their grip while the pink inner lips clenched his cockhead, greedily refusing to release it.

Every so slowly, Dad carefully lowered Mom's body back down, hitting the same point he'd reached moments earlier before withdrawing once again. With each stroke, there was an undetectable increase in their rhythm, revealed only through the wavering tones of pleasure my mother made with the gentle thrusting of their hips. As fixated as I was, for the next quarter of an hour I reveled in the sensations tingling through my own hard dick, completely unaware of the incremental yet indiscernible accretion to the level at which my father's piercing erection reached inside her. It wasn't until I saw his swinging testicles bouncing off her ass cheeks that I realized he was now buried to the hilt inside what Mom had been referring to as "our pussy."

While Dad pumped in and out of my Mom's now quivering body like a piston, he slid his left hand down along her butt cheek, leaving behind white marks where his fingers had been before bringing his thumb directly below her dripping hole. From my perspective, his hand was completely drenched as he rubbed it back and forth underneath the reddened lips he was now jackhammering into. A slick sheen ran down to his wrist bone, and a small puddle had unknowingly formed on the bare floor directly between my father's feet. Returning my gaze upward, I saw Dad push his extended thumb into the hole in Mom's ass, as she let out a contended sigh.

As awestruck as I was on this unforgettable night -- first by seeing my father's erection and drooling precum, then by the glorious eruption of semen from his orgasming cock as he fed my Mom his huge cock in the shower -- the coupling I was now witnessing brought about an entirely new level of fascination. The sights, sounds, and newness of what I was stealthily witnessing was just too much for my young body and mind to handle. That now painful feeling of having my guts scooped out with a spoon returned, sending a surge of electricity up my spine as I bucked my pelvis into the rug and began climaxing. I have no recollection of how long my orgasm lasted, but somewhere after at least a dozen indescribable spasms, I blacked out.

When I regained consciousness, it was nothing like awaking from a night's sleep. I was lucid, fully aware of my surroundings, and not the least bit hazy. The first thing I noticed was the bed and rug had moved about six feet off the far wall across from my parent's bedroom door into the middle of the room. The ecstatic moans and heavy breathing I'd heard earlier were accompanied by a rhythmic thumping which approximated the sound of clapping the heels of your hands together in rapid succession leading me to believe I'd blacked out for a minute or two. Knowing the alarm clock was on my Dad's nightstand, I scooted my body sideways, popped head out from under the mattress in the direction of where the headboard used to be, and saw the time was 3:18AM. I did some quick math work, subtracting my 9:00PM bed time from and the current hour and wondered when my parents found time to sleep.

My priapic dick aside, the main priority that moment was figuring out a way of getting back into my own bed. With my parent's still going at it, and their bedroom door closed, there was no conceivable way I could sneak out without being detected. With escape impossible, I began focusing on excuses I could create when morning time rolled around and I was discovered. Sleepwalking? Nah, they'd never buy it. Bad dream? Nope, that's not only stupid, it wouldn't work.

Weighing the few options I had, and concluding there was no lie I could convincingly sell nor any way out this mess I put myself in, my focus shifted to the satisfied groans, salacious whispers, wet kisses, and hard thumping noises coming from the mattress above. The metronomic tempo of my father's thrusts, accompanied by Mom's goading him on, had a near narcotic effect on me. My buttocks involuntarily clenched as I ground my erection against the floor in sync with the rhythm of my parent's lovemaking, only to be interrupted by my mother's coital orgasm.

I focused even more intently on the sounds above, feeling the familiar waves of my own orgasm welling up inside me as Mom announced she was "cumming again" through labored breaths. I climaxed quickly, like getting punched in the stomach, and had to fight once again to suppress my own grunts. Before fully gaining my own composure, my mother came again, and then again, with my twitching boyhood sending ecstatic waves of pleasure throughout my entire body in what I sensed had paralleled her own.

Just when I assumed things were winding down, the tempo of my father's thrusts increased, the hard slamming noises almost blurring together as his baritone groans filled the room.

"Oh god, baby, your spasms are pulling me over the edge, you're milking me, I'm gonna cum," Dad called out in a fierce tone, his pelvic assault reaching a frenzied rate.

"Cum with me," Mom encouraged, "Fill me with more of your love."

Their animalistic grunts, Mom's oohing and Dad's aahing, and a whole lot of dirty talk announced their mutual climax. When finally subsiding, their thrusting slowed to a halt, and they took a few minutes to catch their breath.

"I love when you fuck me like that," my mother declared, adding, "I wish we could do it like that every night, instead of just weekends."

"Well, if we ever hit the lottery, I give you my word as your man that we will," he promised. "That pussy of yours is hungry to the point of being insatiable sometimes."

"It's not my pussy, it's ours," she reminded him. "She's sated past full now, just don't pull our thick juicy cock out of her yet -- she'd feel hollow and empty, not to mention the fact I can feel at least a cupful of your seed plugged up there now."

"The tired part of me wants to fall asleep inside you, but these sheets are wet enough already," my Dad observed. "The male part of me is going to want you straddled over my face tomorrow morning, and have breakfast in bed."

"Whatta ya say I carry you into the shower and we'll get cleaned up?" he suggested, adding "you know I hate the way that shit tastes when it's been baking up inside you while you sleep."

With a creak of the mattress, and his feet now firmly on the floor, Dad carried Mom out of the bedroom exactly the same way they had entered. When I heard the bathroom door click shut and the shower turn on, I crawled out from under their bed, got to my feet, stretched my cramping bones, and peered down the hallway to make sure the coast was clear. The safety of my bedroom was a dozen fast paces to the left, but my body and erection were pointing the other way, prodding me to turn right and peer under the bathroom door again.

Of all the lessons I learned that night -- from biological and anatomical to relational and carnal -- the only arduous one was finding the willpower to put common sense ahead of physical impulse. As I tip-toed my way down the hall to my bed, I started deeply analyzing everything I'd witnessed and experienced. As I entered my room, I was entranced, nearly zombie-like only without the appetite for brains and with a boyhood erection proudly poking northward.

 

Climbing under the sheet, and resting my head on the pillow, vivid images of my parents making love filled me with a sense of warmth and affection. I put together my Dad's elementary lesson about the birds and bees with everything I'd seen and heard, and was overcome by an epiphany: My parents didn't just "have" me, they "made" me -- in much the same way I'd just witnessed. I didn't yet grasp the biochemical realities of life, but I knew full well that a much smaller version of myself once lived somewhere inside my father's body, and was supplanted inside of my mother by way of his life giving erection. Even with my mind racing in all different directions, I knew the sun would start peering through my window blinds in a few hours' time, eventually dozing contently off to sleep.

As I look back on that unforgettable summer night, it's still so vivid some dozen years later. Truth be told, I recall almost nothing of my party the following day. I have no problem remembering details of my previous and subsequent birthdays, but number nine is nothing but a hazy blur. Due in part to the fact I was sleep-deprived and on autopilot that day, plus the fact whatever happened was naturally eclipsed by the previous night's events, I can safely assume the only recollections of my ninth birthday are stored in the family album between photos the 4th of July barbeque and Labor Day party.

 

What I vividly recall is subsequently speaking to a few friends about sex and inquiring as to whether or not they'd ever witnessed their parents "doing it." Other than Amy, a friend a few houses down the block who had heard, but not seen, her parents in action, the answer was always the same: "yuck." With each friend I asked garnering that identical response, I started questioning my own reactions and experiences.

It wasn't `til a couple years later that I realized I too would likely feel the repulsion my friends did if I had the same parents they did. Donny's mom and dad next door were older than my Nana; Amy's were kind of weird looking; Stevie's parents were older than Donny's; Brett's stepdad was fat; and Ralphie's mom was a grieving widow since the summer between first and second grade. The difference, as I still see it, is my parents look as good or better undressed than they do in their Sunday best.

Hindsight is always 20/20. Had I been caught spying on my parents' lovemaking session, I might very well have a different opinion on the matter.
I am fully aware I broke the covenant of privacy between my parents and their son, but truth be told, to this day regrets are few and far between. The events I witnessed that night nearly a dozen years back helped shape who I am today, teaching me more about intimacy and the mechanics of lovemaking than any of the sex-education classes the school began offering in fourth grade. What I experienced felt indescribably beautiful, the physical stimuli of the new and the forbidden provided so many intense orgasms that I'd have to be a quadriplegic or full-blown a masochist to wish I hadn't peeped that night.

 

Warm memories aside, I've since concluded I was a few years too young a boy to witness my parents sexual forays. It's a little difficult to put into words, but when looking back now, common sense tells me my curiosity ended up robbing some of my boyhood from me. In one night's time, I went from a child who played with his erection too often in the bathtub to a boy who had a crash course in just what a stiff dick was used for. Unlike most all other children who learn about the `facts of life' and start clicking together the pieces of how it's done at their own pace, my crash course in human sexuality shifted my focus away from typical nine-year old endeavors like Pokeman, schoolwork, video games and ring-a-leave-e-o toward genitals, sex, lust, and orgasms.

As I matured, any tinges of guilt I felt about breaking my parents' expectation of privacy became faded memories. As my body grew in height and strength, wisps of hair began sprouting from my armpits, and my penis began increasing in size, I started counting the days `til I'd start having wet orgasms like my father. I tried accelerating the process by convincing friends to get me off with their hand or inexperienced mouth, still ignorant of the fact biology trumps mechanics. Whether it was a swim team member, a friend on the block, or even Amy from next door who gave me her cherry, my first volcanic eruption proved to be elusive. Puns aside, when that day finally came, it was by way of a wet dream, and proved to be almost anticlimactic.