Date: Wed, 24 Apr 2024 19:00:30 +0000 From: Hank Subject: A Father Redemption - 1 Author Note: This is the first chapter of an incest story between a dad and his son. There will be explicit scenes of incestuous gay sex and if you feel offended by this content, do not read. This first chapter is an introduction to the story that I will continue to write as long as I receive positive feedback, and it will gradually become dirtier, more driven and lustful. I really appreciate comments, feedback, suggestions Write me Daddycumtales@proton.me Finally, if you can, please leave a donation to Nifty to continue reading more stories --- Chapter #1: The Shattered Peace The hum of the engine drowned out my thoughts as I wrestled with the stubborn carburetor. Sweat dripped down my forehead, smudging my face already marked by years. And here he comes, finally. Always late, that boy. "Hey, genius," I grunted without looking up, "give me a hand with this damn carburetor." I saw him approach with hesitant steps, as if afraid to disturb my sanctuary of grease and engines. His blue eyes, always so full of suppressed anger, were fixed on the floor. A heavy silence enveloped us, as always. "What the hell did you do with my car yesterday?" I snapped, lifting the tool as if it were a trophy. I couldn't stand him taking my things without asking. It was a sign of disrespect, of disregard for my role as a father, for my authority. "I just borrowed it to..." he stammered, searching for an excuse that didn't convince me at all. I didn't need to hear his stupid explanations. I threw the wrench to the ground with a deafening thud, making him flinch. He needed to learn to stay in his place, to respect the rules. Alex bent down to pick up the tool, his shoulders hunched as if carrying the weight of the world. I looked at him for a moment, noticing a flash of pain in his eyes. A pain that mirrored me, a pain I didn't know how to express. Once again, I felt inadequate. A failed father, unable to communicate with his son. The words of anger remained trapped in my throat, suffocated by a knot of frustration. Alex straightened up, gripping the wrench tightly. His eyes, once full of admiration for me, were now filled with resentment. In that moment, I saw myself reflected in them: a gruff, authoritarian man, unable to show affection. A deep sigh escaped my lips. I needed to change, I knew it. I had to find a way to overcome the barriers I had erected between us, to build a bridge that would unite us. But how? As Alex walked out of the garage, slamming the door behind him, a sense of loneliness engulfed me. The peace had been shattered once again. I looked at the still disassembled engine, then was distracted by the fogged glass of the car door, where I saw the reflection of my face. The deep wrinkles that lined my face, drawing a map of a life lived. My eyes, once a bright blue, were now stained with gray and melancholy, telling stories of sleepless nights and ghosts that refused to be laid to rest. My beard, once thick and chestnut, was now flecked with white, like the snow that blankets the mountain tops. My hands, calloused and knotty, bore the marks of years of hard work. They were hands that had built and destroyed, loved and fought. I am a 45-year-old man, simple, without too many pretensions. Life has taught me to appreciate the simple things: the warmth of the sun on my skin, the taste of a good meal, the company of a sincere friend. I have also learned the harshness of life, the cruelty of the world, and the bitterness of loss. But despite it all, I still have hope in my heart. I still believe in goodness, in beauty, and in the possibility of redemption. I know that life is a precious gift, and every day I strive to live it to the fullest. I am Hank, an ordinary man with a story to tell. Then, with a renewed sense of determination, I went back to work. I had to fix that carburetor, not just for the car, but for myself. I had to find a way to fix my mistakes, to regain my son's trust. And as I thought of him, the words I had hurled at him like lashes echoed in my mind. "Slacker," "good-for-nothing"... They were my favorite epithets, my poisoned arrows that wounded his heart. I could feel it. Alex was afraid of me, of my booming voice, of my uncontrollable anger. And I'm sure he felt alone, misunderstood. I swallowed hard, holding back the tears that burned my eyes with guilt. My son Alex was a sensitive boy, just 18 years old, the typical attitude of a misunderstood boy searching for his place in the world. Slim build, short light brown hair, and blue eyes like his father's. Fair and smooth skin, unlike mine, a typical bear dad. --- The engine's hum suddenly ceased, replaced by a deafening silence. I had finally tamed that damn carburetor, bringing the old pickup truck back to life. But the quiet of the garage was not reassuring. It was laden with tension, with an anticipation that made me break out in a cold sweat. I knew Alex would be back soon. And I knew we would have to talk. We could no longer avoid the inevitable clash, the reckoning with the ghosts of the past that separated us. I leaned against the workbench, my hands dirty with grease trembling slightly. My thoughts flew back in time, to those dark days when I lost the woman I loved, Alex's mother. The pain of her death was still alive inside us, a deep wound that never healed. I had tried to drown the pain in work, in the bottles of whiskey I kept hidden in the bottom of the cabinet. But alcohol only made things worse, turning me into a monster in my son's eyes. I looked at the framed photo of Karen hanging on the wall, her bright smile contrasting with my darkness. What I wouldn't give to go back, to tell her how much I loved her, to give her the life she deserved? But the past was immutable. Now I had to face the present, to fix my mistakes, if possible. I had to find a way to make Alex understand that I loved him, that all I wanted was to see him happy. A noise at the door made me startle. Alex was there, standing in the doorway, staring at me. His blue eyes, once full of affection, were now filled with anger and resentment. "Let's talk," he said with a cold voice, not even looking me in the eye. I swallowed hard, searching for the right words. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I had to try. I had to tell him the truth, that I'm an alcoholic, confess my weaknesses, ask for his forgiveness. "Alex," I began, my voice trembling, "I know I've messed up. I know I've been a terrible father. But please, believe me when I say that I love you. You're the most important thing in my life." His lips curved into a sarcastic smile. "Just words, Dad," he said with disdain. "Empty words." I approached him, reaching out a trembling hand. "I swear to you, Alex. I'm not lying. I want to change, I want to be a better father to you." He recoiled as if my touch were poisonous. "You can't change the past, Dad," he said, his voice broken with pain. "You can't erase the pain you've caused me." He was right. I couldn't erase the past. But I could try to build a better future, a future based on love and mutual respect. "I know, Alex," I Said softly. "But I can try to make up for my mistakes. I can be the father you deserve." I looked into his eyes, pleading with him to believe in me. I saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes, a glimmer that gave me the strength to move forward. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was still a chance for us. Perhaps one day, we could finally rid ourselves of the ghosts of the past and build a new relationship, based on love and understanding. --- The days that followed the conversation with Alex were among the darkest of my life. His words, full of pain and resentment, still echoed in my ears as a warning of my failure as a father. I felt alone, misunderstood, unable to communicate with my son. The weight of the past crushed me, plunging me into an abyss of despair. One day, as I worked in the garage, frustration and anger erupted in me. I opened a bottle of whiskey I kept hidden at the bottom of the cabinet and took a sip, then another, and another. The alcohol enveloped me like a warm embrace, blurring my pain and making me forget my problems for a moment. But the illusion of relief was short-lived. Soon, the drunkenness gave way to terrible nausea and an even deeper sense of emptiness. The next day, I woke up with a throbbing head and a sense of shame devouring me. I had disappointed Alex once again, I had failed as a father and as a man. I went to work with heavy steps, trying to hide the signs of my previous night. But my colleagues were not blind. They saw my bloodshot eyes, my trembling hands, my smell of alcohol. The workshop manager summoned me to his office. "Hank," he said sternly, "I've received several complaints about your work. You're becoming unreliable, and I can't afford that." He looked at me with disappointment. "I know you have personal problems," he continued, "but there are rules to be followed at work. If you can't get yourself together, I'll have to fire you." His words were like a blow to the heart. I was about to lose my job. I felt like I was about to lose everything, like I was worth nothing anymore. I staggered home, clouded by alcohol and despair. Alex was in the living room, reading a book. He looked up when he saw me enter, and his eyes filled with concern. "Dad," he said with a trembling voice, "what happened?" I couldn't answer. Tears streaked down my face, and my throat tightened with pain. I collapsed on the couch, exhausted and defeated. Alex approached me and sat beside me. "Can I do something to help you?" he asked gently. I looked at him, seeing in him the light of hope that still shone despite everything. In that moment, I understood that I had to change. I had to stop drinking, I had to face my demons and try to be the father Alex deserved. With a renewed sense of determination, I took my son's hand. "Thank you, Alex," I said hoarsely. "I don't know what I would do without you." In that moment, amidst tears and despair, a new bond was forged between us. A bond based on love, respect, and mutual understanding. A bond that would help us overcome the past and build a better future together. It was just the beginning of a long journey, but I was ready to face it hand in hand, father and son. And as the anger and tension began to fade, in the warmth of our home, I drifted off to sleep without even realizing it. I was awakened by the smell coming from the kitchen. Alex had prepared dinner. We sat down at the table, enveloped in a silence full of meaning. There was no need to recall the events that had happened; we both knew them too well. The initial tension gave way to a calm conversation, to a sincere confrontation that allowed us to reconcile. Alex listened patiently as I confided my fears, my uncertainties about the future. He encouraged me with words of hope and support, reassuring me that we would find a solution together. His faith in me was unshakable. The evening passed in an atmosphere of renewed serenity. We talked about the future, our dreams and plans. The threat of dismissal still loomed, but now it didn't seem so insurmountable. (To be continued...)