Date: Sat, 15 Sep 2012 23:24:27 -0400 (EDT)
From: Milford Slabaugh <tommyhawk1@aol.com>
Subject: The Father-Son Sack Race

			 THE FATHER-SON SACK RACE
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
			WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM

     We were all playing a father-son softball game when the call came, the
sort of a game where the sun is too hot and the movements are slow, easy
and fun, nobody's keeping real careful score and everyone gets a chance to
bat and the pitcher serves up a meatball pitch to all us boys when we
batted. All of us boys were between the ages of six to twelve, the Daddies
were all in their late twenties to early thirties. A whistle blowing, the
owner of the company was calling all his employees to listen up. We kids
stopped playing perforce, we were two teams of fathers-and-sons playing
against each other, with half your players stopped and moving away, what
else can you do?
     I watched my Daddy as he joined the other fathers with the owner. The
owner had this Father-Son picnic every year, I'd been told, but this was my
first time. Daddy looked at home among them, though, all of the daddies
were big, buffed, muscled men who worked with Daddy at the construction
jobsite. Daddy was wearing a tanktop that was strained over his shoulders
and chest, but dangled free at the bottom, where it failed to meet his
waist by about five inches, showing his narrow, slim, taut waist. Below
that was a pair of loose sweatshorts, tied by a large bow of oversized
white shoestring just below his navel. Sneakers and sweatsocks completed
the clothing, his hair was a messed-up tangle of sandy-colored hair (same
color as mine) and green eyes (mine were blue-green and darker), Daddy
looked like I hoped I did when I grew up. I looked at my own scrawny arms
and flexed them and sighed. It'd be a long time before I looked like Daddy!
     The owner was leading Daddy and the other daddies over to behind a
shed of supplies this park held. I went over to where Mommy and my two
sisters were sitting, watching us play ball. This company picnic was for
the whole family, but it was really a Father-Son event, the women were
allowed to come and eat and play their own games, but a lot of the events
were for fathers and their sons. I think my Mom and sisters were bored,
they looked it.
     As I got closer, another man came around the end of the bleachers and
said, "Okay, now the men are gone, all you boys listen up!"
     I was puzzled, but Mitch, a kid I knew from school last year, said,
"He's going to tell us the rules for the contest."
     "Contest?"
     "Every year, there's a contest of the fathers and sons. Winner gets a
special prize. But there's always a trick to it. Last year, it was a
rotten-egg tossing contest, we tossed it back and forth and the one who
kept the egg safe longest won...or so my daddy thought. Trick was, they'd
told us that if we could hit our Daddies with the eggs and break it on
them, we'd get a prize for ourselves. I hope they do something like that
this year, last year, the winners all got iPods."
     "Wow!" I agreed.
     So when the guy started talking, I listened up. The man was telling
us, "Now, this year the prize contest is a sack race. The owner is over
there telling all the men that whoever wins the sack race gets a $1,000.00
bonus or a week's vacation at his mountain cabin. But here's the trick, and
you boys all remember that there's always a trick, is that you boys are
going to be in your Daddy's sack, and you boys are to be dead-weight, no
helping your Dad jump the sack. But the real secret is that we want you
boys to do whatever it takes to keep your Daddy from crossing the finish
line, other than actually hurting him, that is, no blood or broken bones
here, okay? We'll reward the winner like we said...but whichever daddy
finishes the race dead last will get both the money and the week's
vacation, and you, his son, will get a $500.00 spending spree at the store
of your choice. And plenty of other prizes for any daddy that never
finishes at all and just gives up!"
     That got a rise out of all of us, as you can imagine!
     "But you can't say a word to your Daddy until the race is over, or you
lose the prize and so does he." the man concluded. "No cheating here, I
mean, none other than keeping your Daddy from crossing that finish line."
The man looked around. "Looks like they're still talking, the race is going
to be on the east ground, so you ladies get over there and pick out a spot
to cheer and jeer as your husband or father races...and falls down a lot."
     The women laughed, and so did we boys.
     "This is going to be great!" Mitch said. "My daddy is ticklish, I'll
tickle him until he can't stand it!"
     "I'm going to trip mine!" another boy, Timmy, said. "Over and over
again."
     "But he'll crawl." cautioned Eric. "You need to keep him constantly
out of it."
     "Tickling." Mitch said confidently. "That'll do it."
     "But my Daddy isn't that ticklish." I said.
     "Well, you'll have to come up with something." Mitch said. "Me, I'm
tickling!"
     I thought as best I could over the next few minutes, while we walked
over to the race's starting line, and our daddies collected the sacks and
mine came over and said, "Okay, sport, crawl in and get ready to
ride. You'd better sit in the middle and hang onto my legs while I'm
jumping, okay?"
     "Okay." I said. Something to stop Daddy from jumping.
     I looked at my Daddy and that big, visible bow of shoestring tying it
up on his slender hips and how the legs were bagged way out on his
thighs. All I had to do was untie it and it'd slide right down to his
ankles and...trip Daddy.
     So I climbed into the sack and sat down facing Daddy like a good boy
and Daddy pulled the bag up to above his waist, and when he did, I reached
up and quietly untied the bow at his waist. Just untied it, I don't think
Daddy even felt it loosen on his body.
     "On your marks!" I heard. "Get set! And.... Go!"
     And Daddy squatted down, his crotch nearly hitting my face, and he
jumped, real hard. And when he did, the shorts bagged down on him and I
grinned. This wouldn't take long, the bottoms of the legs were already
pushing against my hand. When we landed again, I grabbed the shorts and
yanked. As I anticipated, they slid right down.
     "What the hell, Son?" Daddy yelped.
     I giggled. "You're not wearing any underwear!" I said. And he
wasn't. I was looking right at Daddy's dong.
     Daddy started to let go of the sack to pull back up his pants, but
when the sack sagged, he realized that he was about to expose his naked
butt to everyone (lots of women were watching) and yanked it back up
again. "Son! Son!" he hissed at me. "You pull my shorts back up right this
danged minute!"
     "Fred's son yanked his shorts down!" one of the women blew the secret
to everyone. "I think he's naked under there!"
     "Ah, hell!" Daddy said. "Randy, you pull my shorts back up right now!"
     "Nu-uh!" I said. "No way!"
     Daddy tried to move, but the shorts around his ankle hampered him and
down he went on the ground, nearly hitting me. His knees pinched my
shoulders some when he landed on them. And his prick now hit me right in my
face!
     "Daddy, your wiener's in my face!" I called out.
     "You did it to yourself, you yanked down my drawers!" Daddy
protested. More female laughter. Other sounds, too, fathers falling down,
women laughing and making fun of their husbands and sons, shouts, yelps,
some cries of pain (not very loud, it hurts when you fall down after all),
and in the middle of this, my father was on his hands and knees, me in a
sack at his waist, sitting leaned back with my daddy's dick at my cheek.
     "Well, I can't jump or stand, but I can damned sure crawl!" my Daddy
said in response to someone, I guess. And he began to crawl, his dick
slapping against my face at every movement.
     He was going to get ahead. Not win the race, I felt sure, but sure not
dead last! He had to be stopped somehow!
     I couldn't tickle. I wasn't able to trip him more than I already
have. Nothing else left but...distraction.
     So I grabbed my Daddy's dick. It stopped Daddy dead in his
crawl. "Stop that, Randy!" He hissed at me. "People are staring at us."
     "Got you stopped, didn't I?"
     "Shit!" Daddy said and began to crawl again. I held onto his cock, and
it began to fatten in my hand.
     "Wow!" I sighed. "It's getting big, Daddy!"
     "It's cause you're hanging onto it!" he hissed. "Let go and it'll go
down."
     Daddy's dick was huge now and hard and warm. "Nu-uh!" I said. "It
feels good." And I began to pump it back and forth like I'd done with my
friends in bed sometimes.
     Daddy didn't say anything. He stopped and just sort of moaned. I began
to jerk it faster.
     "Looks like your boy has you stopped dead, Fred." somebody called to
him.
     "Oh, man, oh!" And Daddy began to crawl again.
     I didn't stop playing with his wiener, I just kept on jerking
him. Daddy moaned like crazy as I kept it up, and he stopped again and
again, caught his breath, groaned, and started in again.
     "Hey, Fred, you're dead last!" someone called at him. "Whatever your
boy is doing, he's got you all tied up in knots!"
     And I heard my mother's voice. "Whatever you're doing, Randy, keep it
up!"
     "I will, Mom!" I called out.
     "Yeah, Son, keep it up!" my Daddy growled. "Ah, shit!" And he crawled,
slowly, so slowly, toward the finish line.
     "You're losing more ground, Fred!" someone called. "You're a loser,
Fred, a real fucking loser!"
     "Loser, yeah, Dad!" I said. "You're going to lose!"
     "Not me, hell, no!" Daddy said. "If I can't win, I can sure as shit
not be dead last!" And he began to crawl again, moaning every step, but
making headway.
     What to do, what to do? Jerking Daddy's dick wasn't working. A stream
of stickiness from his cockhead splashed on my face, right on my lips, part
of it, and I licked it.
     Nice! Real nice! Kind of heavy and musky and salty, but nice like a
Slim Jim is nice, all meaty and tasty and good!
     I reached up and licked Daddy's cockhead to get more of that sticky
goodness and Daddy moaned. "Ah, hell, you licked it? God!" And he stopped
again.
     I knew then that this would stop Daddy for sure. So I latched onto his
dick with my mouth and sucked all that juicy goo off of his cock and more
of it gushed out when I did that.
     "Oh, shit, Son!" Daddy groaned. "Keep that up," he hissed to me,
softly as he could and still be heard over the noise, sounded like someone
had won the race already, "and I'll give you something you won't soon
forget!"
     "Okay, Daddy!" I agreed and began to suck my Daddy's cock. He thrust
his hips at me and I understood what he wanted, to sort of jerk his prick,
only with my mouth. So I began to bob back and forth and Daddy moaned.
     "You're last again, Fred! Dead last dead, Fred!"
     "I don't care!" Daddy moaned again. But he began to move, slowly, and
I sucked him as he crawled. His dong was so hot and it was gushing liquid a
lot, adding a salty juicy sound to my sucks, and then he stopped, panting
hard.
     "I'm coming, Son, I'm coming!" he whispered down to me. "Suck it
faster, baby, faster!"
     I did as he asked, and he groaned, "Here it comes, take it for me,
baby, take it for me."
     And with that, my Daddy came, and boy, did he! I knew he was going to
give me more of that sticky stuff I liked, but I hadn't expected him to
spray huge clumps of it into my mouth! More than I could swallow, I choked,
gulped, choked again, coughed and more of it flew it only to fly out again
and I was drinking it as best I could, but it dribbled out of my mouth and
down my chin and even got up into my nostrils, burning my sinuses! Oh, man!
I reverse-snorted and got the come out of my nose but more of it sprayed
out around my Daddy's cock and Daddy was still coming and I drank and drank
and it was like it was never going to stop. It only lasted a few seconds,
but it felt like a lot longer.
     And Daddy felt down, panting hard.
     "Hey, don't give up!" came my mother's voice. "You have to cross the
finish line, come on, Fred, do it, move your ass, get on down there!"
     "Oh, oh, oh, oh!" was all Daddy moaned.
     "Time's almost up!" came a call. "Either give up now or crawl on down
and across the finish line." came the owner's call.
     And Daddy stirred himself, and crawled. Over the finish line, the last
man to do so. Three or four others had simply given up.
     That was when the owner revealed to Daddy that he had in fact won the
grand prize. Or I had. One thousand dollars and a week in a mountain cabin
to fish and relax in the cool mountain air, and me with a $500.00 spending
spree!
     Trouble was, the week had to be taken starting the very next
Monday. That put Mom dead against it. "We can't take off like that! School
starts in two weeks, you know! I have too much to do!" Mom was a teacher.
     "I don't want to go either! We have to shop for clothes!" my sisters
chimed in.
     "I want to go!"
     "It's either use it or lose it." Daddy said. "I'd like to do some
fishing, I haven't been all summer."
     "Fine! Go!" Mom gave up. "You alway do whatever you like anyway!"
     "Yay!" I cheered. "Daddy and me are going fishing!"
     "You can't fish all week long." Mom reminded me. "You'll get bored."
     "Oh, don't worry about that." Daddy said. "I think Randy and I will
find something to do when we're not fishing." He looked over at me and
winked.
     I grinned back at Daddy. "Yeah. Plenty for us to do."
     Like practice for next year's sack race!

				  THE END
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