Date: Sat, 22 Jun 2019 21:39:59 +0930
From: Larry Ryder <larry.ryder@mail.com>
Subject: Daddy Chapter 1a

Hope you enjoy this story. All copyright is reserved to me Larry Ryder
larry.ryder@mail.com [always happy to receive your comments with any
suggestions!  I'd like that too!  Tell me how you like the story so far ] I
am sure that you understand that such stories are legally managed in many
jurisdictions.

If you are too young (under 18 or 21), or forbidden by law, then go to
(https://www.artsy.net/artist/jackson-pollock) and enjoy other artistic
pursuits.

Everyone suggests, and I do as well , that you should support Nifty
financially [http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html]


My Dad, I think, was a Puritan. I don't quite know where he got it.  His
own father was something of a gigolo we suspect, and although we don't
quite know it we suspect our grandfather took his own life after he knocked
up a seventeen year old.  We never really spoke of him, and my Dad would
scowl if he ever came up in conversation.

It was only many years later that I realised I had been deprived of a
grandfather who I did not know. Dad was able to reject him, but I never
even had the chance to know him.

He, my Dad, was only thirteen when his father decided to exit this
world. While he avoided the consequences, the truth is that he burdened his
children; three sons and a daughter with his death. I have come to think of
him as a coward, if I was being more brittle I would call him an absolute
cunt. Though I do not want to denigrate the precious feminine 'c word', by
linking it with the coward who was my grandfather.

What it did mean was that Tom, my Dad, as the eldest son found he had to
leave school or else his mother, sister and two brothers would
starve. Molly his sister the brightest of them all, too, left school and
went to America to be the `companion' of an ancient uncle in New York. What
happened over there we do not know, she never spoke of it. Only
occasionally hinting after her return that it had not been good.

These days after I have done lots of training in child-protection and
abusive relationships I can only assume that she most likely would have
been sexually abused and had no one to turn to, and was thousands of miles
away from home.

My Dad was cut free, and became an active farm boy.  He didn't earn
overmuch but got his keep and a few pennies more. His mother would have
just taken those pennies with little thanks and no plan. Dad was just happy
to be free.

I guess he wanted himself to be silly in the barns and sheds of his youth,
and came to think that sex was about pleasuring himself and had little to
do with anyone else.

Unbeknowns to him he was paying a huge cost. That was, his education. A
bright boy, with a flair for mathematics; and a voracious reader. That
didn't stop. In the barns and sheds where he often spent his nights, he
still had Dickens and Graham Green, and the spy and cop books which he just
devoured.

What he didn't get was solid science; physics and chemistry or critical
history; political theory and, sadly, no serious language study.

It didn't bother him, he didn't know what he was missing. All this his
father stole from him.

How he came across another broken person, my mother, I do not know.

She, too, had been brutalised by a father who took his own life. We spoke
more about him, indeed he was idealised. A policeman who slit his
throat. Fortunately by the time he died the world had realised that suicide
was not a crime or a weakness. It was most likely to be an illness,
psychological, emotional disturbance....more a source of sadness and grief
than a crime against humanity.

I don't think either of my parents had a clue about how deeply they were
scarred!

They married and I was their second child, the first son.

My mother told me, many years later, that my father adored me.

I don't think she knew how carefully he loved me.

As a very young boy we would go for walks . I remember him taking me at
about seven or so, along the rough seafronts. It was always exciting. I
have gradually uncovered , too, that we also used to go and piss in public
toilets.  He would hold my hand, and occasionally stoop down and open my
fly to take out my boy penis and point it so that I could `wee' as we
called it

I also realise that very often more was going on, there were other men, and
sometimes boys, we all had our cocks out.

Sometimes the men were attentive to each other, and quite often the older
men would reach over and touch the cocklets of the little boys. I liked
that, when a big man would hold my balls and dick in their hand and smile
at me.

I remember my Dad with a hard cock, stroking it up and down, still holding
my hand. I liked to see my Dad's hard cock.

I remember that one man stroked my Dad and then leant down and put it in
his mouth.

Dad groaned and squeezed my hand, as I looked up at him he seemed to be
having a great time.  On that day, another man came up behind me and
slipped his hand down my shorts, his finger pushed inside my arse.

I was not sure what was happening but Dad was still holding my hand, I
looked up at him and smiled, he looked back with that amazing look. He just
seemed so happy, and I could see how much he loved me. He leant in and
whispered,

" Just roll with it, let them do it, you will love it."

I squeezed his hand back, and relaxed a bit as I felt the finger in my
arse.

"Let me fuck you little boy," a voice whispered in my ear as a random guy
pushed two fingers deep into my arse.

I screamed, not with pain but with anticipation,

My intruder screwed my head around and kissed me deep,

"I love you,"he tried to say, but his full mouth and his own lust seemed to
get the better of him. My Dad smacked the guy on his cheek, and laughed

"Don't fuck with my boy," he said, " just be thankful for the cock you have
got."

They both laughed.

"Are you OK Ed?" he asked, " do you want to finish?"

"I like it Dad, but I want to do it with you!"

The Puritan seemed to cut in.

"I don't know about that," he said.

I became quiet.

It was more than five minutes, maybe more.

"I want to do it with you!" I don't know how I got the perception or the
courage to say that to my Dad. I wasn't even sure what I wanted `to do'
with him.

"We will see" he grunted

That night we went to bed and I wondered what was going to happen. I just
knew that my Dad was the guy I loved.

I knew he had not had the chance to love his own father, I do not mean
`sexually', but I did know that I loved my Dad as a man, as a sexual guy. I
wanted him to fuck me.....and more than this I wanted to fuck him