My legs wrapped around the sweaty trunk of his body as he continued to grind against me, his magnificent hard pole gliding sensuously in and out of my butt hole. I was in heaven as his thick muscle massaged and poked my insides. He covered my mouth with his and moaned into my throat. I ran my fingers through his hair as I felt his tongue in my mouth. I was feeling so good. My abs were all slimy with my precum. I digged my fingers into his back as his pelvic movements got faster and lewder. He was really socking it to me. I could feel his lust and his power in every butt slapping thrust. I never knew getting fucked could feel this good. And I never knew pleasure could be so unbearable. I was feeling so good that I could hardly bear it. I wished I'd just die then and be released from the sweet torture. But the hard fuck continued, his gorgeous fuck stick was incredibly engorged, stretching me to the limit and slamming at all the right spots. He put my ankles on his shoulders and plugged me like there was no tomorrow, sweat rolling down his face. I was moaning and whimpering with very stroke. "Daddy's gonna cum, baby!" "Ahhhh, yes, gimme your sperm!" Then I felt blast after blast of white hot juice pumping from his hard pole and coating my insides. And almost right away my own cock exploded...

When I woke up, there was no one next to me. As soon as I pulled back the sheets, I saw the mess that I'd made. My underpants were wet and sticky with my own load. "Aw, shit..."

I haven't had many wet dreams that I can remember. Maybe three or four. But somehow all the ones I've had, they've been about the same man -- my father. Hey, I can't control them, can I? (Actually if I could, I might choose to have them more often.)

I can't pinpoint exactly when I fell in love/lust with my own father. It happened gradually. But I think I know how it happened. Ever since I started thinking about sex, I'd thought about him in sexual ways. When I was young, I'd often come across men that I found sexy and attractive, and I started to fantasize about them. But I never imagined myself having sex with them. My body was puny and undeveloped, and I had no confidence whatsoever in my physical attractiveness. So I fantasized about grown men getting it on together, their manly, developed bodies grinding and sweating together. And my father, being the nearest grown man around, was a natural choice for my fantasies. These fantasies started off being of naked men wrestling or rolling around the bed kissing etc. But they became more and more explicit and X-rated as I learned more about sex and about what two men could do together. My father featured more frequently in my fantasies than any other man. Actually, he was like my stand-in, having sex with all these gorgeous men in my place because I thought my boyish body was unworthy of them. Dad was a stud. Over the years, in my mind I played out countless scenes of him making love in every style and position I could imagine. Sometimes it was steamy and gentle, sometimes just plain sweaty hard fucking. In my fantasies, Dad had man to man sex with his male friends; sixty-nined with two of my uncles; got steamy and sweaty with my math, geography and PE teachers; plugged our neighbour; fucked and got fucked by countless TV and movie stars; made wild love with my friends' dads, or even just men that I'd seen on the street. Sometimes I even imagined him planting his seeds in some older boys from school. I suppose you could say he was quite a st allion! And he always put in heroic performances.

So over the years, my father became for me quite literally a sex symbol. Thankfully, as I grew older, my body developed quite nicely into that of a man, and eventually I felt comfortable enough with my body to cast myself in my sexual fantasies. You'd think that Dad could retire now. But strangely enough, instead of substituting myself in his place when I fantasize, he stayed. And he became my partner. I mean, I still fantasize about all these different men, but Dad is my most regular partner. My favourite partner. Nothing c an turn me on more than the thought of being naked with Dad, nursing on his hard cock, getting fucked by him. Nothing , no one c an make me harder. And no one c an make me cum as much.

Have you ever had nights when you're really tired but just can't fall asleep? And sometimes if you jack off and have a cum, you can sleep after. Well, I've had a few nights like that. But sometimes I'd be so tired that I couldn't even get a decent hard on to play with. In those times, the only sure thing is Dad. I close my eyes, think about us making love, and my dick would just snap into an instant hard on. So whereas I few moments before I couldn't even get hard, now I'd be burning with lust, stroking my pole, and eventually blasting a big load all over myself.

I remember that a while back, Dad was telling us about something that happened in his business. He'd been troubled by an unreasonable and obnoxious client for some time. He'd tried very hard to accommodate the client, but that day, he was pushed too far and he lost it, telling the client off to his face. "I don't regret it," he said. "Actually it made me realise that it's something I've wanted to do for a long time. My only regret is that I hadn't done it sooner."

That was a déjà vu moment for me. I was sure that I'd heard him, or rather imagined him, saying the same thing in one of my fantasies or wet dreams. That after a passionate night of incestuous coupling, after fucking me all night long, I asked him if he regretted having sex with his eldest son. And that was his answer to me.

I sometimes wonder, if he wasn't such an attractive man, whether I'd have developed this unusual obsession anyway. And I also wonder, if he wasn't my father but just another man in the street, would I still be so crazy about him?... But I suppose none of those questions changes the reality that I'm in now.

Why am I telling you all this? Well, it's hardly something that I can talk to my friends about now, is it? Nor my brother. And certainly not my parents! Sometimes when I think about it calmly, I realise how fucked up I must be. Am I the only young man in the world who's burning with lust for his own flesh and blood father? And, if there are other sons like me, I wonder if any of them is lucky enough to look in his father's eyes and see the same burning lust...

The other night at dinner, I sat in my usual place, across the table from Dad. And, as often happens, I was secretly admiring and studying him. That night I was particularly taken by his strong, beautiful forearms, revealed by the rolled up sleeves of his shirt. So powerful looking, so thick, so beautifully shaped. The muscles flexed as he moved casually. His skin looked so soft, a wonderful golden colour... I was lost in myadmiration. I imagined myself, sitting, naked, in his lap, licking and kissing his manly forearms, while he watched, smiling, his hard pole of a dick poking me through his pants. I wanted to know what it tastes like... My cock was so hard in my pants that it was aching, just from looking at the man. I was sure I was leaking precum. I just hoped it wasn't making a wet spot on my trousers.

"... alright? Seem to be in a bit of a daze today."

I suddenly realised that he was talking to me. "Eh?" I snapped back to reality. "No, I... I'm fine..."

Everyone else at the table made fun of my zoning out, making inane wise cracks. Dad looked at me and winked. That made my face turn red, if it wasn't already from my arousal. For a few seconds our eyes met and lingered. It made my heart skip a beat. I wondered if he could see the hunger and desire in my eyes, see my lust for him. I was terrified that he'd see it. But on the other hand, a part of me was hoping that he'd see it...

The truth is, I don't know if he did. But that night, as I laid in my bed stroking my cock, I imagined that he saw it, and that he liked what he saw. That he was happy and relieved, that his son wanted him. That he'd come into my room, climb into my bed naked and make wild hungry love to me. I'd worship his body, and he'd ravish mine...

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