Date: Sun, 26 Mar 2000 23:02:04 PST
From: raincam@hotmail.com
Subject: Father's Love

I was thirteen.  Having recently discovered the joys of masturbation, my
daily routine included an after school self-pleasuring session.  The end of
the day would be capped off by a long, slow jerk-off, laying in bed,
surrounded by porn.  After shooting my wad off the edge  of the bed, I would
temporarily tuck my magazines under the mattress, and drift off to sleep.

Mom would never come up to my room to wake me, she would just yell up the
stairs until she heard a response.  Dad, on the other hand, would actually
come into my room to get me out of bed.

It was on one of Dad's visits that my life changed forever.  My previous
night's jack-off had not started until the late hours, so I hadn't bothered
to lock the door.  It must've been an unusually intense session, because I
had fallen asleep without hiding my magazines.  There I was laying naked on
top of my bed, dirty magazines  open on either side of me.

My first clue that something was wrong was the look on Dad's face.  He had a
surprised, almost confused expression.  His gaze turned from my bed to the
surrounding carpet.  His mouth turned into a slight grin as he mentally
solved the mystery of the carpet stains.

He sat on the edge of the bed, as i pulled the covers clumsily, trying to
hide the magazines and my nakedness.  He smiled lovingly at me, pretending
that everything was "business as usual".  "Time to get up.", was the only
thing he said, as he patted my leg.  He left the room quietly, closing the
door behind him.

I released a deep, shaking breath, wondering if my Dad now thought of me as
some sort of pervert.  Nothing was said as we readied for school  and work,
and after a few days, I realized that no mention would probably ever be made
of the incident.

As the weeks went by, I noticed that my hidden stash of porno was being
disturbed while I was out of the house.  Nothing was missing, but I could
tell that someone was going through my little library.  Of course, the main
suspect was my Dad (not that I would ever confront him about it).

Returning home one weekend afternoon, I went to my magazines, only to find
half of them missing.  Knowing that my dad must have taken them, and
thinking that I was home alone, I went to his bedroom.  I had opened the
door, and walked to the middle of the room before realizing that I was not
alone.

Sitting in the adjoining bathroom, one hand between his thighs, and the
other holding a magazine, was my Dad.  Turning quickly, I hurried out of his
bedroom, and returned to mine.  I was unbelievably nervous, almost giggling.
  My eyes widened in fear as I heard his footsteps approaching my door.

He walked in, going straight to the open drawer where I hid my magazines.
After dropping the books into the drawer, he closed it, and turned to me.
"Sorry you had to see that."  I sat there in silence, looking everywhere but
at him.  "You okay?", he continued.

"Yeah, I'm okay.", I replied, wishing he would just leave and end this
awkward moment.  Instead, he sat next to me on the bed, letting his huge arm
fall around my shoulder.  "...at least now you know you're not the only guy
doing this.  I remember when I was your age, and worrying about that."

He went on, "It's a little strange, there's nothing wrong with doing it, but
it's best if your Mom doesn't know.  Understand?"  I nodded my answer.  He
stood up, "Follow me."  We walked back to his bedroom, where he led me into
his walk-in closet.  Taking a box down from the top shelf, he set it on the
floor, and pulled the flaps open.  Removing a couple of old shirts from the
box revealed a stack of magazines.  The titles were mostly the same as mine,
but some of them were almost as old as I was.

"Since I've been borrowing yours, I guess it's only fair that you have
access to mine."  I stood in shock, as he handed me an assortment of books.
I slowly left the closet, staring at the covers of the magazines.  I don't
know why I didn't go back to my own room, but for some reason, I sat on the
edge of my parents' bed, magazines in hand.

My father joined me, and there we sat, side by side, enjoying our porn.  The
silence was only broken by the sound of pages slowly turning.  Eventually,
he moved to prop his head on the pillows as he layed there, magazine still
in hand.  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him rub his crotch from
time to time.

He looked over the magazine and smiled at me.  The strange thing was, it was
the same smile that he would have given me if he had been peering at me from
behind the newspaper at the dinner table.  I smiled back, with a sort of
nervous half smile.  He then repositioned the magazine to one hand, and with
his other hand, unfastened his belt and pants.

I pretended not to notice, but his hand was beneath his underwear, and was
unmistakingly massaging his hard cock.  My heart was pounding hard and could
be felt with every breath.  My thoughts were so loud that I couldn't begin
to sort them out.  Nervously, I undid my jeans, and layed back on my portion
of the bed, my legs dangling off of the side.

I turned to watch as his cock emerged from his briefs.  I had never seen it
hard.  As a matter of fact, I'd never even imagined it erect.  Intently, I
studied him as he slowly stroked it with two fingers and a thumb.  It was
about eight inches long, and thicker than I would ever had imagined.

At one point, I looked up, and saw that he was watching me as well.  He
layed his magazine down, and edged his way over to return to his seat next
to me.  After lifting himself long enough to drop his slacks and briefs to
his ankles, he leaned back on one arm, his torso twisted towards me.

Too nervous to sit up, I stayed on my back, still pretending to look at the
magazine.  I twitched violently as I felt his hand suddenly touch my balls.
"It's alright.", he reassured me.  My fist had been wrapped tightly around
my cock.  I released my grip, put down the magazine, and repositioned my
hands behind my head.

My eyes closed tightly, I tried in vain to control my breathing, as I felt
his fingers fondle my hard little cock.  With my unspoken consent, he sat
up, pushing my jeans and briefs down with his free hand.  Both hands now
worked on my cock and balls.  His strong fingers gently touching all over
me, my balls moving involuntarily as he lightly brushed over them.

His movements became more deliberate, and eventually, he had settled into a
steady stroke.  I looked down, and watched as his two fingers applied
pressure under my cock, his thumb resting on the top of the shaft as he
massaged it.

I let out a moan, which he replied to by saying, "Let me know if you're
about to cum, okay buddy?"  "Okay Dad", I mumbled.  Not half a minute later,
I blurted, "I think I'm gonna' cum.."

He released his hold, and rubbed my belly as he watched my cock intently.
He had stopped in time.  "Good, I don't think we're ready yet.", he
explained.  He layed back, assuming my position.  "Your turn.", he casually
stated.

Sitting up, I leaned towards him, my shaking hand reaching for his hard
member.  The smell and texture of his cock are still burned in my memory.
It was so huge.  A huge muscle, with a prominant vein and a perfect mushroom
head.  The skin felt like velvet, the head felt like a dense sponge.

My fingers touched every inch of his cock and balls.  I combed every pubic
hair, traced every wrinkle in his beautiful ball sack.  Reluctantly, I
stopped my worship and began to stroke him.  I attempted his technique, but
he soon advised me to do it my own way.  I then wrapped my hand around his
shaft, and began to pump it.

Not wanting to make a mistake, I was trying to ask him if he wanted to cum
when he interrupted, "Oh no, I'll let you know."  He lasted longer than I
did, but eventually his meaty hand pulled mine off of him.  "That was
close."

I didn't have long to worry about our next step, as he gently pushed me back
on the bed.  Stroking me with one hand, he was able to kick off his shoes
and pull his slacks off.  "Oh man...", escaped my lips as he got down on his
knees before me.

His tongue sent electric shocks through me as he worked over my cock-head
and balls.  When he took my cock into his mouth, it had to be the warmest
feeling I had ever felt.  Holding my slim hips in his grasp, he pumped his
head up and down, his tongue attacking under my cock-head.

I couldn't verbalize at this point, so I had to stop him by pushing his head
away from me.  I knew he didn't want to take my cum in his mouth, and his
smile affirmed my decision to stop.  Excited beyond belief, I raised myself
up on my elbows, in time to see him standing before me.

Naked except for his shirt and socks, he stood there, wiping his mouth on
his shirt sleeve.  My Dad didn't really exercise much, but his long, strong
legs looked almost heroic.  His cock stood out from under his shirt tail,
twitching with an evident drop of precum on the tip of the head.  My heart
still pounding, and my head still swimming, I leaned forward, taking his
cock back into my hands.

For some reason, I was afraid to taste the precum.  My young mind seemed to
think that smearing it into the spongy cock-head would make it disappear.
Slowly, I snaked my tongue out, letting it feel all around the contours of
the head.  I was cautious not to let my teeth scrape his skin as the head
passed into my mouth.

The smells and tastes were fantastic.  I hungrily sucked as much of his cock
as I could, being careful not to do anything more than he had done for me.
My fingers fumbled around his balls as I focused on pleasuring his cock.
Again, he lasted longer than I, before I felt his hand pulling my head away.

Falling onto the bed next to me, he muttered, "Okay, that's enough, let's go
ahead and finish ourselves off."  We layed side by side, stroking fast and
furiously.  I came first, spraying all over my chest and belly, a few globs
landing on his hand and arm.  His ejaculation was an explosion compared to
mine.  He not only soaked his shirt, but mine as well.

"Wow!", he lovingly slapped me on the thigh as he stood, unbuttoning his
soiled shirt.  "You'd better change your shirt.", he remarked, as he tossed
his shirt into the laundry hamper.  As I stood there, zipping up my jeans,
he put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me into him, telling me, "I
love you."

I had a wonderful feeling of closeness, and an actual smile on my face.  Of
course, I didn't wash that shirt for a few days, as I kept it to stare at in
amazement, just to convince myself that it really happened.

A month or so later, we found ourselves alone in his bedroom, and the same
thing happened.  This was followed by a conversation where I promised him
that I was still attracted to girls, and that he hadn't "warped me for
life".  Every month or so, we'd get together.  This went on until I left for
college.  We only did it twice during my college years, and haven't done it
since then.

In a way, I'm glad it stopped.  It makes for great memories, and a special
bond that we share.  Something that wasn't planned, but just happened
between two people who love and care for each other.