Date: Thu, 23 Jun 2022 08:32:45 -0400 From: Ed Stiles Subject: Blizzard After playing a round of goony golf (my father, my real father, whom I called by his first name, Karl, won--he had the lower score) Karl stopped at a Dairy Queen to buy me a chocolate Blizzard, my favorite. As we sat in the parking lot, with me eagerly spooning the rich, thick ice cream out, Karl pointed at the grey-blue sky and said, "A storm's moving in." This was nothing new to me, and I shrugged. Where I lived, in the summer, we had storms every afternoon. Karl lived somewhere in the Midwest, I'd been told, and he only visited once a year. What did he know about rain clouds? "We can go back to my room," he suggested. "Your room?" I asked, my mouth nearly frozen. "My hotel room. It's not far from here." "What would we do there?" It was Karl's turn to shrug. "Watch TV. Talk. Get to know each other better." Problem was I didn't want to know Karl any better. I had a loving stepfather now, whom I called dad, and besides: whenever Karl came to visit, and take me out for a day, it became high drama in my household. My mother detested him. Years later, when I asked her about this, she told me she was always afraid Karl was going to steal me from her. Not likely. Karl was a traveling salesman. The last thing he wanted was a kid to take care of. On this particular visit I was ten, going on eleven. I had not reached puberty yet. Anyway, we drove to his nearby Holiday Inn (at least I remember it being a Holiday Inn) after I finished my Blizzard. Light rain was beginning to fall. Light but heavy--the drops were like descending bullets when they hit you. Karl's room was on the second floor. The heavy drapes were open and Karl immediately went over and closed them. He then turned on two lights, one free-standing, the other a lamp on the desk. Karl excused himself and told me he'd be back in a minute. "You can turn on the TV if you like. Just keep the sound down." The sound down? What was the point of watching TV if you couldn't hear what the people on it were saying? I sat on the foot of the bed and stared at the blank screen. The bathroom door opened a couple of minutes later and Karl emerged. He was naked. I was shocked. I stood up, open-mouthed. I'd never seen a naked man before. A naked adult male, that is. He seemed enormous. A full head taller than me, with oversized genitals. His penis long and thick, though limp. One of his balls the size of both of mine. I stared. I swallowed. Karl came forward, smiling. "You can undress too," he told me. "We could be naked together." Naked? What was the point of that? "I haven't seen you in over a year," he went on. "Show me what a fine young man you've become." He reached out. He began unbuttoning my shirt, damp with rain spots. It was thundering outside, distantly now. The storm was moving in. "Good thing we got our game of golf in." Karl was pushing my open shirt back over my shoulders. I let it fall to the floor. "Take off your pants. Let me look at you." Reluctantly, I began undoing my belt. I stopped. "I have to take off my shoes." "So take them off," he said rather imperiously. With my shoes and socks off, and my pants around my ankles, I was now down to my briefs. They were white. My mom did the laundry. She washed the whites separately, with bleach. Karl urged me to pull my briefs down. He referred to them, I recall, as "panties." "Pull your little panties down, son," he said. "Everything?" "I undressed," Karl told me. "Why not you?" It made a certain kind of sense. I stepped out of my pants and then pulled--yanked--my briefs down. I stepped out of them as well. I was embarrassed. Karl came a step closer. He ran his hands down my sides saying, "What a fine young man you've turned out to be." He fondled my balls and said, "So smooth..." I looked down at his penis, which had lengthened, and thickened even more. It was pointing straight out at me. Karl, after giving me a last fondle, backed away and sat down on the foot of the bed. He motioned me forward and told me to get down on my knees. "Why?" "Because I'm your father. I told you to." "What am I going to do?" "I'm going to show you how men love each other. One of the ways, anyway." I came forward. I knelt. Men? I'd never been called a man before. Karl was holding his penis by its base, just forward of a large, thick triangle of dark pubic hair. Someday it would be mine. "Open your mouth," he instructed. "Suck it. Learn to suck it. It's delicious. Better than a Blizzard." Really? A Blizzard was my favorite treat. After little league, if I got a hit (not likely) or made a play in the outfield (also rare), my stepdad would take me to Dairy Queen for a Blizzard. I took Karl's cock in my mouth. It was circumcised, the big head smooth and sculpted, the shaft behind it coarser, veiny. "Suck it," Karl instructed. "Don't just hold it in your mouth. You want a treat, don't you?" I'd already had a treat. It was roiling cold in my stomach at this moment. Karl shifted forward slightly and, after I got something of a clumsy rhythm down, told me to fondle his balls. "You liked it when I fondled yours, right? Well when you suck a guy you always want to give him the ultimate pleasure." I was breathing through my nose, my jaw already beginning to ache. Karl's cock completely filled my mouth--stretched my tender lips. I was sucking only half of it--of him. "Go deeper," he kept saying. I gagged. I wondered what mom or my stepdad would say if they could see me now, down on my knees, sucking another man. Sucking my dad. Karl, I mean. I'd heard a little about homosexuals. This was "homo," right? As some of the tough kids in school called it--called you, if they didn't like you. If you were skinny, like me, and hadn't been left back two grades and weren't the bulky, bullying size of a seventh grader. Or whatever. I came up for air. I gasped. Karl stroked my head, my hair. Which was the same dark color as his. "You're doing a great job. You're learning. Keep it up." I took his cock back in my mouth. I took it deeper. I had a rhythm down now. My lips tightened. I sucked him faster. My hand fondled his big balls. Karl leaned back--on his elbows. He told me, in a somewhat dreamy voice, "You do that so well..." He began to moan. He cried out--his cry muted. Almost as if he were about to weep. He ejaculated. His sperm entered my mouth. I didn't swallow at first. I just kept up my sucking motion. He came again. And again. I swallowed. His sperm was thick--thick like the Blizzard. I swallowed it all down. After he pushed my head away, my eager mouth, I leaned forward and licked the last white drop from the head, the blind eye, of his penis. Which was already shrinking. I stood up as he leaned back--fell back, off his elbows. He looked up at me through eye slits and asked: "Was that...good?" I'd swallowed all his cum. It was good. I'd had two creamy treats in one afternoon. Outside the storm had moved in on us. There was thunder, and lightning. The lights flickered. Bullets of rain were pelting the windows, behind the closed curtains. After Karl dropped me off, back home, the storm having moved on, my pretty mom, wearing a frown and with her arms crossed beneath modest breasts, asked: "What did you do with him?" I replied, reversing the order: "He bought me a Blizzard. We played goony golf. I won."