Date: Sat, 22 Jun 2019 21:39:59 +0930 From: Larry Ryder Subject: Daddy Chapter 1b 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] Tom, my father, was able to reject his own father, but I never even had the chance to know him as a grandfather. How Tom came across another broken person, my mother, I do not know. She, too, had been damaged 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 an illness, psychological, or 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 had been scarred by their fathers! They married and I was their second child, the first son. My mother told me, many years later, that my father adored me when I was a small boy. I had carelessly shared after he died that I felt cut off by him as I got older It did cause me to think after she told me that, because I do have fond memories of my early childhood time with him. 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. I liked being with men and boys. 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 quite liked that when a big man would hold my balls and dick in their hand and smile at me. My Dad didn't like it. He would often knock a man's rough hand away, "Don't touch the kid, you're lucky to be able to look!" I do sometimes remember his penis was hard, stroking it up and down, still holding my hand. I liked to see it, but he didn't let me touch it. And he never touched me inappropriately. Once, at least, man stroked him and then leant down and put it in his mouth, this seemed amazing but he just moaned with a deep sense of fulfilment. He groaned and squeezed my hand, he didn't seem to mind that I was witnessing this. 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. 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 to the intruder with quite definite ferocity, Dad tapped 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. I laughed a little too. "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, maybe one day" he proffered. I didn't really know what that meant. I knew, or came to know, he had not had the chance to love his own father, I do not mean `sexually', but I did know that I loved Dad as a man, as a guy. I wanted him to touch me, I did not yet know the word `fuck', but I knew his touch was the thing I craved. I could smell him, a light touch of tobacco and sometimes beer on his breath. The best thing was when he pushed his face close to me and I could feel the bristles on his face. I always felt safe.....and more than this I wanted to fuck him. I didn't quite know what `fuck' meant but I was sure that this was what needed to happen. As we walked home, he held my hand. I loved that. "Daddy," I asked, " what does fuck mean?" His hand grabbed me firmer. He smiled and stroked my chin, "I'll tell you soon, just roll with it for now" I remembered this was what he told me to do with the guy who pushed my shorts down and stuck his finger into me. Just roll with it. His hand was always firm and totally covered mine. "Will you fuck me Daddy?" I asked him, "What do you mean? What do you think `fuck' is?" He didn't push me off. And I had to try and guess. "Well isn't it when people who like each other, push their bodies together and kiss." He chuckled, "That's pretty close, but maybe there is a bit more." He touched my cheek and I smiled back at him, I knew I could trust him.