Date: Sat, 07 Jul 2007 16:35:53 -0400 From: niftyreadersclub@aol.com Subject: Being Dad's Hands Hello. This story involves situations between a father/son that are of a sexually shared nature. All usual applications apply. If you do not like this sort of reading, move on to other stories. If you enjoy reading this story, you can email comments to niftyreadersclub@aol.com. Enjoy... At the age of fourteen, something unusual and unexpected happened in my life. Due to an accident that happened to my father at work, my world was sort of turned around as I became the one person he solely depended on. In all actuality, dad could have come and stayed with me, my sisters and our mom during his recovery time because mom extended the invitation, but he flat out said no. Our parents' divorce was an ugly one a couple years before, and I don't believe dad would ever forget it. Mom was the more forgiving, I guess. So anyway, mom pulled me aside and asked if I wanted to stay with dad for the duration of dad's recovery to help him out with things he couldn't do. I had to finish the last two weeks of school before summer vacation, but I said yes. What had happened to my dad on a city construction sight left him with both arms broken. The straps of a lumber truck snapped while dad was walking along side it, and the wood crashed down on him. I was told he was lucky not much worse happened to him other then two broken arms and a badly bruised body. Apparently he'd tried to shield himself as much as possible during the crash and was buried in two by fours and badly wounded. When the last day of school was over, mom drove me the six cities over where my dad lived in an apartment and dropped me off for the ten or so weeks left of dad's recovery period. When I saw him, the majority of bruises and sprains to the rest of his body had pretty much healed. His arms, however, were cast in plaster up to his shoulders. His right thumb was broken also, but otherwise what was visible at the end of his casts were his fingertips. It was weird trying to hug him, but he was glad to see me. Mom left and I looked around the apartment. It wasn't very messy because mom had made a trip each day to see to a few of his needs until now, and picked up around the place. She'd explained during the drive over that I'd need to do a little cooking, perhaps a lot of cleaning, doing laundry down in the basement, things I saw her do around our house all my life. I wasn't too keen to this, but it turned out to not be so bad. The two of us sat down in the living room and dad asked all the `dad' questions he always did. In the two years after the divorce, I saw him maybe twelve or thirteen times each year. Now I had the chance to be around him for an entire summer and that was the best news for me. I always cared about my dad and was a tantrum child at his not being around for the first six months or so after the divorce. Looking at him, I thought he must be miserable at being helpless. Dad was a tall, big guy, six foot two, muscular, hairy, good looking at the age of thirty-four. He had a muscle shirt on, a dark yellow pair of sweats with the leggings cut off above the knees, and white socks. Being a construction worker, his build has always been very muscular and he stayed pretty fit from the heavy labor he did. I always had admiration for him. He was a great dad, and I was still bitter that he couldn't be in my life on a daily basis, but that was something I couldn't do anything about. Finally I asked him, "How are you doing, dad?" I glanced over the heavy looking casts. "I'm as good as I can be," He answered, nodding his head, looking at his casts also. "Some what helpless in a lot of ways, so I'm glad you're here. I can't even get food to my mouth alone. He chuckled, but I didn't dare. Instead, I asked, "Are you hungry? I can make something." "Well, let's stick to sandwiches, chips, hot dogs and easy stuff. Your mom says you've not learned much about cooking." I did laugh at that. "Okay. Mom said she stocked up the fridge with your credit card and she'll take me shopping when it's necessary." He nodded. "I'll go see what we have." "Sure. I'm gonna use the bathroom." He got up the same time as me, and I was going to ask him about helping him and he must have seen the question coming. "It's okay, it's one thing I can do alone as long as I wear sweats like this. I can pull them down with my thumbs." I acknowledged that and we went out different ways in the apartment. Later that first evening, we were on the couch watching meaningless television and chatting here and there. I started noticing a musky smell being so close to him, and thought it was from the casts making his arms sweat. I wasn't sure what all of my chores would entail in the coming weeks, so I asked him, "Dad, when was the last time you showered?" He thought momentarily. "I haven't, really in the last two weeks. Your mother has rubbed me down with wash cloths and soap a few times, but that's about it. Why?" He asked, looking at me with a smirk in his light green eyes. "Do I smell?" "Sorta. Not bad," I added, "but you smell like it reminds me of after gym class in school." He laughed, nodding. "These casts are water proof, so I'm told. I just can't bend my arms for washing myself is the bottom line." Hesitantly, I asked, "Well, I can help you take a shower if you'd like. Or I guess wash you with a wash cloth like mom. Either way's fine. A shower'd probably clean better." "I guess a shower'd feel nice," he agreed. In the bathroom, dad stood in front of me as I removed his muscle shirt, then his socks. That close to him, I was floored at how thickly hairy his torso and legs were, never really having thought of it before. When I hooked my thumbs in the waistline of his sweats, it dawned on me that I was going to see my dad naked for the first time that I remember. It was funny because there was no embarrassment from either of us. I brought his sweats down and he stepped out of them. Naked, I could really smell his muskiness. "Yep, you definitely need a shower." We chuckled. I pulled the shower curtain aside from the tub and turned on the hot and cold faucets, adjusting the temperature level to an acceptable heat level, and let my dad step in. I stood and watched him as he drenched himself under the spray and enjoyed the feel of the clean water. Looking around the tub, I said, "Dad, I don't think I'm gonna be able to wash you up without getting my cloths wet." His eyes closed, he mumbled, "Go ahead and take them off. We can both get a shower in at the same time." As I started to undress, he opened his eyes and looked at me, "Shawn listen, I know you're going to have to wash me down doing this, so since there's no way around it, don't feel uncomfortable if you have to touch my cock. It's okay." Slowly, I nodded, looking right at his crotch. That area was quite hairy also. His balls were somewhat on the big side and tight looking, and his shaft dangled down with water running off the tip of it like he was peeing. I'd never been around naked adult guys before, so I was...awed at the thickness of my dad's cock. He was definitely soft, as I was going to find out in the next few moments of washing him down. When I was fully naked, I stepped in the tub behind dad as he turned around and we were facing each other, his eyes closed again. I sort of nudged him to step aside a little so I could get wet. Dad seemed even bigger in the small area of the tub as I pulled the curtain shut, not wanting to spray water all over the bathroom area that I'd only have to clean up. It was very weird being naked and this close to another boy, or guy, or man, or my dad, however you'd think of the situation if you were in my shoes. He jarred me out of my thoughts by saying, "Whenever you're ready." I reached for the soap and a wash cloth that was hanging above the shower head, let dad move under the spray again, his back to me, wrapped the soap in the cloth and started washing down his neck. I was at that time five foot four, so it was somewhat of a reach. I went to his shoulders and down his back, getting to his buttocks and realizing what a hairy ass he had too. I wondered if I'd get to be so hairy, and thought I probably didn't want to. I sort of just grazed over washing the moons of his ass, bent down and started washing his thick legs, front and back from my position. After getting to his feet, he turned around as I stood back up. His eyes were open now and looking at me with a grin. "Close your eyes," I told him, "I'll wash your hair." He did so, I filled the palm of my hand with shampoo, and he bent down a little as I vigorously washed through his short, dark brown hair. "Done." He turned back around and ducked his head under the spray and shook his head until I told him all the shampoo looked rinsed out, then he turned back my way. Then I washed his chest and stomach. "Okay dad," I started to say, and my voice shook, "I'm gonna touch it now." He nodded. I reached over and grabbed his shaft as he watched me, and I realized for the first time that he wasn't circumsized. A heavy hood covered his penis head. I looked up at him with a puzzled expression. "Just pull it back." He told me. "Okay." This all made me think of three years ago when I first started jacking off. I had been circumsized when I was born. Tentatively, I felt the heaviness of his cock in my hand as made a movement to stroke his skin back, and his cock head appeared, very pinkish. With soaped cloth in other hand, I quickly washed his shaft, almost in a stroking fashion, but I didn't know how else to do it. He watched as I did this, and though his cock was thick and about four inches long and heavy, it remained soft. I thought to myself, man, if someone were doing that to me, I'd go hard in a heartbeat. I finished up with rubbing down his hairy tight balls, and we were through. I turned the shower off, grabbed a towel and rubbed him dry, then dried myself, realizing only afterward that I hadn't soap washed myself, but I had already had a shower that morning anyway, so I didn't care. I helped dad dress again in similar attire in his bedroom, and the event of showering him for the first time was done. It really wasn't so bad, and he thanked me. It seemed to put him in a better mood to feel clean, too. As the days went by in the next few weeks, I would shower him every other day. At the end of the second week I was staying with him, though, dad's mood seemed to stray, not harshly, but...I'd have to describe it as him seeming to be picky more and more, but I didn't know why, nor did I make mention of it. One night early, we were watching a rerun of Baywatch when dad just quietly left the living room and went into his bedroom. After the show was over, I looked over at his half opened bedroom door and wondered if he was alright. I went into his room, finding him laying down with a sheet over him, but he was awake. "Dad, are you alright?" I think I startled him, the way he shot his look at me. "Yeah, Shawn, I'm fine, just tired tonight. I'm gonna go to bed early." I nodded and left his room. Feeling kind of tired myself, I made up my sofa bed, turned the TV off and fell asleep as well. We were getting along great after two years of not seeing each other much. In my free time I ventured out into his neighborhood area, and even hooked up with a few local teenagers to hang out with occasionally. One afternoon, I can in from being at a park to find my dad laying on the couch, seeming half asleep, but he heard me and sat up quickly. I was having one of those particularly horny teenage boy days and all I could think of was getting in the bathroom and jacking off. Dad made a move to go into his bedroom and as he stood, I noticed a wet mark in from of the pair of shorts he was wearing as he got up. When I went into the bathroom, closed the door, and stood in front of the sink to start stroking, it dawned on me. That wet mark on his shorts, his moodiness. I wondered, and didn't really know how to go about finding out. Forgetting myself momentarily, I left the bathroom and walked to the doorway of dad's bedroom. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with his eye closed. He and I never talked about `the birds and the bees,' so to speak, nor what guys do in private whether alone or with someone, but I thought, I'm brave enough to bring this up with my own dad. "D-dad?" He looked at me, and I walked over and sat beside him. "Can I ask you something personal?" I'm sure he didn't see this coming, the way he was so agreeable about my question. "I know you can't do much with your arms the way they are," I started, "but you've been kinda moody the past three, four days. And I-" I hesitated, "well, a few moments ago I noticed a wet spot on your shorts when you got up from the couch." He looked away out of shyness. "I mean, we've never talked about personal stuff like sex and such, but I've learned a lot about things since I was twelve. I just thought I'd ask you if you're...you know...horny?" It took him a moment to look back at me, but he did in a more serious fashion. "Son, I don't think this is a discussable subject. Fathers and sons just don't talk about things like that, or share certain information." "I guess," I replied, "but I started...masturbating back when I was eleven, so I can recognize that...horny mood," I smiled, more to reassure myself that I was okay to be open with my dad like this. "I mean, if you're horny, dad, I understand. It's not something you can really hide from me. I know what it is. It's okay." I think he didn't know how to go about this situation. "Shawn, even if I was, there's really not a whole hell of a lot I can do about it." He was definitely hesitant to talk about this. "You're right though, I'm sure it's making me pretty moody." My bravery took on a whole new meaning when I decided to ask, "When was the last time you got off?" He looked at me like he couldn't believe I asked that, and he didn't motion to answer at all. It's what made me feel the slightest bit regretful that I brought this all up. "I'm sorry, dad. I shouldn't have..." I let whatever I wanted to say trail off to nothingness. I got up and made it to the doorway when I heard him say, "About three weeks ago, I guess. A day or two before the accident." I turned and met his eyes. I thought, I look a lot like him. "Dads don't tell their sons these things, Shawn." "I want you to!" I blurted, sitting back beside him. "Both your arms are broke, dad, so I know you can't jack off. If I couldn't do that, I'd go nuts!" Laughing nervously, he told me, "I just have to put up with this until the casts come off, and that's all." Looking down at his crotch, the wet mark was still there and his shorts seemed a little more pouched. "That' precum," I commented. He nodded squirmishly. "You know what?" At this, he looked at me, his left eyebrow arching in question. "If this keeps up, you're gonna have a wet dream, and I'll have to change the sheets." I expected some laughter but there wasn't any. "That's enough, son. I'm not gonna talk about this any more." "But dad, you need to get off!" He started to shake his head and rise, but I bested him to sit back down. "I can help you get off. I've had to touch you there anyway many times already. It wouldn't kill me to help you out with this." "I don't think so. Really, Shawn." "Dad, look," I pointed down to his crotch. He'd already appeared to have hardened to full mass, a thick arch bulging his shorts. "You're as hard as a rock, so let's get it outta your system." He shook his head again, but I boldly reached between his legs and traced my fingertips over his hardness. All I was thinking was to give him a hand. He sort of cringed at my new type of touch and his body tensed. "Let's get you off, dad. I know what it's like, so let's just do this. You'll feel better for a while after, won't you?" He remained frozen. "Dad, so what if other dads and sons don't talk or share this kinda stuff. This isn't an every day situation. You broke your arms. I can help you out." His head went back and he stared at the ceiling in bewilderment. I let him do this for a moment before I placed the palm of my left hand flat on his chest and tried pushing him to lay back. He resisted, but I kept the force of my push there, and little by little, he started allowing himself to lean back, until a couple moments later he was on his back with his eyes firmly closed. Not wanting to lose this leeway I'd gained, I just decided to reach inside his shorts and take a firm grasp of his hardened cock in my hand. He jumped nervously, but remained there. I lay down beside him and began clumsily pulling on his cock in his shorts. His precum was flowing so much I almost thought he was just cumming and cumming, but it lubed up my fingers. The front of his shorts were growing more wet, so I struggled against his will to push them down, past his knees, until they dropped to his ankles. I admired how much more thick he was hard, and a couple inches longer too. "Dad, your balls have been tight since I got here." I was using both hands to stroke him and fondle his balls. "Shawn, a son shouldn't ever see his father horny little lone jack him off. No son sees his father shoot his load." He stated. "You shouldn't know that my damn balls are tight either!" "Let's just get you off, dad. I promise, you'll feel better after. I know I do." So he lay there, and this scenario didn't last long. He hadn't popped a load in weeks, so his horniness was at a high altitude. I made no comments sexually or otherwise, I just beat his beat for him in a steady rythym. Whether he wanted to feel the way he was beginning to feel and express or not, he was feeling the enjoyment of being about to get his load off. His breathing calmed, rushed, calmed, and after only three minutes or so of my stroking, a deep, knowing sigh escaped his lips and a flood of sperm jetted out of his cock as his body spasmed. I thought it wasn't going to end. There was so much sperm it matted his chest hair, hit his neck, hit my shirt and arm, and I just kept stroking him until he was spent and breathing sporatically. After he was done and I slowed down, all I got out of my mouth was a `wow.' "Shawn?" "Yeah, dad?" "Please don't tell anyone about this. Please don't." Before I got up to get a towel, I said to him, "Dad, look at me." Seconds later our green eyes connected. "I don't need to tell anyone about this at all. I just wanted to help you out. Okay?" I'm sure it gave him a lot to think about, but said `okay' too, and I left the room to grab that towel. Returning, he watched me as I wiped him clean of his sperm before it dried in his chest hair. When I was done, I looked back at him, and he had a lopsided grin in his lips. "Thanks," he managed to say, "I did need that. I'm not saying it was okay, Shawn, but I needed that." I just nodded with a happy smile, left him to relax, and locked myself in the bathroom to pop a load off myself. And from what just happened, it prompted my libido to get off one of the hugest loads so far in my life. Helping dad do that taught me the meaning of eroticism, a word I barely knew existed or what it meant until then. It was a high.