Date: Wed, 15 Jul 2009 02:54:11 +0000 From: Neil N. Blow Subject: Daddy Went Bathroom in my Mouth (M/b Incest) Thanks for all the kind comments on "Time for Church". Here is another story along the same lines, that involves Father/Son incest, so if you don't like stories like that or they are illegal in your area, then read no further. Despite the title (taken from text in a 1985 Newsweek article) this is not a watersports story. Yet. * * * * * Daddy Went Bathroom in My Mouth. I was the youngest of three boys, born nearly 12 years to the date from my next oldest brother. My Mother was over 40 when I was born, and the labor nearly killed her - and me. By the time I was in grade school, my brothers had graduated from High School and went away to college. So it was just me, Mom, and Dad, together in the old house. I pretty much grew up alone. I guess I knew I was different than the other boys early on. I would go out into the woods with my playmates and play "pull down our pants" with the others. Unlike the others, though, the novelty never wore off for me, and I wanted to play the game again and again, even after the other boys realized that it was a kiddie game, and that real men didn't do that sort of thing - or so we thought. My Mother sent me off to a podiatrist, convinced there was something wrong with my feet, because I "ran funny". And in grade school, I spend an hour every week with the speech therapist, trying to correct my syllabant "s" and faggy lisping speech. Worst of all, I enjoyed sucking my thumb, long into my grade school years. I would spend hours with my hand balled into a fist, with my thumb in my mouth, enjoying the feeling of running my tongue over my thumb. To my parent's horror, I would slide my thumb in and out of my mouth, performing a primitive fellatio on my thumb, much to the amusement of some onlookers, and the disgust of others. My Mother would resort to putting iodine on my thumb to try to make me stop. It didn't work. I just learned to enjoy the taste of iodine. I guess you could say I was a faggot. I wish I could tell you how I got that way, but from my earliest memories, I remember being fascinated by naked men. One time, Dad took me to the YMCA to go swimming. In the locker room, I was like a kid in the candy store. Before then, I had always changed with Mom in the ladies locker room, and that was no fun at all. But I was considered "grown up" enough now to go with Daddy. I was in heaven. Naked men were everywhere, and my eyes locked onto the men's genitals like a laser. They were big and small and long and short and - a first for me - uncut. My Father was appalled (well, more appalled than usual) at my open mouthed gaping. Yes, open mouthed, as my mouth hung open instinctively in a small "o" as I ogled the various cocks in the locker room. Not trying to draw further attention to me, my Father muttered under his breath, "It's not polite to stare, boy" and nudged me to put on my bathing suit. After we had gone swimming, he rushed me through the locker room on the way out, putting my street clothes over my still wet suit. (Fast forward 40 years, and I'm in the locker room at the local rec center. A young Father is there with his son, who is clearly a faggot like me, and doing the same thing I was at his age - checking out all the dicks. Again, the Father is embarassed and tries to get the son to stop. The boy looks up and me and I just smile and walk away. Poor little faggot! Well, at least he'll have an easier time of it than I had.) It was clear to my Dad that I was a little pansy boy. A Nancy. Fruit, Fairy, Faggot, you name it. To top it all off, I was a stunningly beautiful little boy (yes, I know what you are going to say, "what happened?"). I was thin and soft and completely without any muscle definition - weak as a kitten. My oversized head had a mop of soft brown hair, and my brown eyes were frames with long delicate lashes. What was disturbing to my Father was not that I were merely a pansy boy. That, he could handle. But increasingly, he found himself sexually attracted to me - his own son. These were feelings he couldn't handle and struggled with. Topping it off was the fact that my Mother had entered menopause, and not easily. She had never been very sexual to begin with (a victim of her era, perhaps, where sex was viewed as bad) and once reaching menopause, she lost what little interest she had - and presumed my Father would just "shut down" as well. My Father, like most men, needed to get off, at least once a day, if not every other day. Let him go two to three days without ejaculating, and he would get angry and grumpy, until he found a quiet place to jerk off. But such places were few and far between. He tried jerking off in the shower, but Mother would constantly barge in while showered - there is little privacy in a marraige. Once she caught him at it and scolded him for doing "dirty things" like that. And after that she made it a habit to police him while he was in the shower, finding that the only time to clean the bathroom or re-stock the towels. Jerking off in the stall at work was his only release, and even that was sporadic and risky. So the stage was set. A horny middle-aged man with no sexual outlets in the same house as a pretty fairy boy who could never get enough of looking at Daddy's dick. And that's how it started, innocently enough. Daddy would let me watch him pee, or I would try to see him getting dressed. If Mother was around, he would tell me he needed privacy. But if Mother was off to her Bridge Club or shopping at the IGA, well, he never asked me to leave then. He also enjoyed playing with me, when we were alone, usually in the basement. We had a "rumpus room" down there, and on the floor were cushions from our old couch we had thrown out. They were rectangular and there were four of them, and they formed an primitive wrestling mat on the floor. There were only tiny basement windows down there with curtains on them, so we could play for hours, outside the range of prying eyes. Playing "wrestle" was one of our favorite games. No sooner than Mom's car would pull out of the driveway, I would jump into my Father's lap in his easy chair and ask hm - beg him, to play "wrestle" in the basement. He would be reading the paper and he would make a big deal of acting like he didn't want to play. But he always did. Once Mom caught us playing, and she expressed her disapproval. "A grown man shouldn't be grappling with a young boy like that," she would say, "It's just not appropriate." That's when I knew that I would only ask when she was gone. It was our secret game. It was completely innocent, of course. We would go down to the basement and push the old couch cushions to the center of the floor and I would assume the wrestling stance on all fours. Dad would be above me and say "Ready? Wrestle!" And of course, it was a completely lopsided match. My thin tiny body was no match for his fully grown one. Yet I loved it, feeling his hands and arms all over me, and feeling him push and pull and turn me every which-way before finally pinning me to the mat. Although he clearly could have pinned me in seconds, he would hold back, let me think I was winning, and then, at the end, only gently push me down on my back. In the meantime, I would use the opportunity to touch him all over, usually making at least one grab for his crotch. Dad would say "no fair below the belt!" because those were the Rules of Wrestle. But he always said that, but I did it anyway, and I think he liked it. When he finally would pin me down, he would always tell me what a good boy I was and kiss me - on the lips. I loved that part and would always say "Let's play again!" and usually we would, until Dad couldn't take it anymore and he would excuse himself to go jerk off in the restroom. When he came back, he wouldn't be interested in playing Wrestle, and I never understood why - at least at the time. But one day, and it must have been a Saturday morning, we went down to play Wrestle, early in the morning. I don't remember what got Mom out of the house so early, but we had the morning to ourselves, and we both were still in our pajamas. This was the best Wrestle yet, as I could put my hands places and feel things without the encumbrances of stiff jeans, belts and underwear. More than once, I was able to put my hand on my Father's soft genitals and squeeze them through the soft cotton flannel of his pajamas. And on this day, he never said "no fair below the belt!" He pinned me to the mat, and kissed me. I still had my hand on his crotch. "You like playing with my dick?" he asked. I giggled and said "yea, you have a big one!". I was an imp. "You like to look at men's dicks?" he asked, "I remember you looking when we went to the Y" "Yea," I replied softly, getting that faraway look in my eyes and feeling my tiny cock start to stiffen. He made no move to pull my hands away from his crotch, and I continued to kneed his manhood. He sat up, straddling me, and said, "Well, why don't you have a look." He unbuttoned the three buttons on his pajama bottoms and let his hairy manhood out for me to see. "You can still play with it," he said. I took his cock in my hand. I couldn't believe this was happening. I was in heaven, not only being able to look at, but touch a man's cock. My hand ran up and down his cock and Daddy sighed. "Oh, yea, that feels good" He got up suddenly and said, "I want you do to that some more, come sit in this chair here". He pulled over a folding chair and lifted me onto it. Standing in front of me with his cock out, he instructed me, "keep doing what you were doing, it feels great. Do you like it?" Hypnotized by that big cock, I replied "Yea". "Do you want to kiss it?" he asked. This took me by surprise and I had always fantasized about men's cocks, stoking my hairless pecker late into the night. But I had always done just that - thought about men's cocks. I never thought about doing anything with them, as I never knew there was something I could do. "Go ahead, kiss it. For Daddy." He shuffled closer, his pajamas around his ankles now. The head of his cock was right in my face. I leaned forward and lightly kissed the head, and he sighed. "You don't know how pretty that looks." he said. "Kiss it some more," he said, becoming more insistent, "open your mouth this time." I did, and he pushed the head of his cock inside. It felt wonderful and natural. This was what I had been missing, jerking off late at night, thinking about men. This was what I wanted, sucking my thumb all the time. Only this was better than my hard and bony thumb. This was so soft and yet so rigid. "No teeth!" daddy hissed, "use your lips!" I complied. I suckled on the head for just a few minutes. Daddy must not have jerked off for days, in order for him to be bold enough to do this - to be horny and desperate enough. He came almost right away, right in my pretty little mouth. "Good boy, swallow it!" he nearly cried, and I complied, not knowing entirely what was going on. It all ended quite quickly after that. Daddy was clearly embarrassed and scared. He pulled up his pajama bottoms after that and said "You know not to tell Mommy about us playing Wrestle, right?" I nodded. "Well, this will be our secret, too, right?" I nodded again. Dad went upstairs and turned on the TV. I stayed in the basement and played with my dick through my flannel pajamas and wondered what had just happened. About a week went by, and Daddy was acting strangely. He didn't want to play "Wrestle" anymore, no matter how hard I begged. Had I done something wrong? I thought it might have something to do with the stuff he squirted in my mouth. I finally asked Mommy one day while we were on the way to the IGA and Daddy was at work. I asked her why Daddy was mad at me. Was it because he went bathroom in my mouth? Mother jammed on the brakes and nearly hit a parked car. "What did you say?" she turned and glared at me angrily. I knew I said something wrong, but I was not sure what. Adults were so confusing. Daddy liked to play wrestle and he liked to play our new game, but after playing it once, he didn't want to play anymore. What had I done wrong? Backpedaling, I replied "Nothing. I was just making stuff up." She looked at me in a queer way, tilting her head, as if trying to figure something out. Her son was a pansy, that was no doubt. But her husband? Shaking her head as if to knock those thought out, she put the car in gear and drove off, saying to me offhand, "Well, you shouldn't make up stories like that!" That night, I heard my parents arguing loudly. I could not make out what it was about, but I presumed it was me. I crept out of my bedroom and listened at the top of the stairs. I heard my Father saying "For God's sake, Helen, he's just a kid, making up nonsense - he even told you so!" I crept back into bed and cried. I had done something bad, for sure. But the argument died down and I heard Mom and Dad climb up the stairs to bed and I nodded off. The next morning was Saturday, and Mother again went off to run errands. I was downstairs watching cartoons. I stayed away from Dad, thinking he was mad at me. I was a bit surprised when, he sat down next to me on the floor and put his arm around me and whispered in my ear, "Wanna play Wrestle?" My heart leapt, but I was uncertain. Was this a trap? "Well, sure" I said, cautiously. "Great!" he replied, picking me up in his arms and carrying me down the basement stairs, tickling me along the way. He laid me down on the floor and without saying "Ready? Wrestle!" he stared grappling me, pinning me down in no time. He planted a big kiss, right on my lips, just as before - his reward for winning. I tried to get up, but he held me down. "You told Mommy about our little game," he said. I was nervous. Was he mad at me? "I'm sorry Daddy, I didn't mean to!" "That's OK, son" he said, this time planting a big kiss on my lips. "I should have explained to you better," he added. "Are you mad at me? Why did we stop playing Wrestle?" I asked. "I thought what we did was wrong," he said, "and some people -most people - would say it was. But I realize now that it wasn't. We can still play, if you want to, and if you can promise never, ever to tell anyone." "I promise!" I quickly said. "Good. Then let me explain. When we played our special game, I didn't 'go bathroom' in your mouth like you told Mommy. I made love to your mouth." "Like in the movies?" I asked, "Like when the man makes love to the woman?" "Yes," he replied, "Only a man can do it with a boy - in his mouth, but it has to be a secret. Do you understand?" "Yes, Daddy, a secret. I'll never tell again!" "Good." Daddy said, "Do you want to play 'making love' then? In your mouth?" "Yes, Daddy!" I cried, feeling my little hairless pecker get hard. "That's swell," Daddy sighed, "and maybe when you are older, I might even 'go bathroom' in your mouth, only for real!" He sat up on the mat and released my wrists. Pulling me up, he sat me in the chair and unzipped his fly - a ritual I would soon be quite familiar with. I leaned forward and opened my mouth, making it into a perfect "O" for Daddy.