Date: Sun, 07 Sep 2003 23:36:08 -0400
From: Steve Griffin <knack6@hotmail.com>
Subject: Me and my Deadbeat Dad 2

See part 1 for disclaimers. I did want to add that I don't mean to
trivialize any serious issues in this story. It's just fiction, for your and
my entertainment purposes. I hope you aren't offended.

Thank you for the feedback on chapter 1. This one ends on a
quasi-cliffhanger, but I'd love to hear your thoughts for what you want in
chapter 3.

-----

The bright sunshine filtering from the thinly-curtained window woke me up at
a late morning hour. As I rolled over, I realized I was hugging an empty
spot. An empty, soaking wet spot. How many loads had we blown last night
anyway?

Ugghh...the throb in my temple hit when I thought about last night. I
couldn't remember every detail, but the flashes of forbidden flesh, wet
heat, and orgasmic screams told me enough to seriously worry about the
consequences. I had become intimate - literally - with the father I had
once, and maybe still, despised. Beyond the psychodramas, there was also his
raging homophobia. For all I knew, he was out getting a shotgun.

My head really kicked in when I tried to pick up my tattered shirt. Screw
that. As a matter of fact, screw all my clothes. Every time I even
considered bending over, my entire body lurched in protest. The most
important thing was to take a few aspirin and then get the big confrontation
out of the way.

I padded into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Only then did I realize
my father wasn't loading and locking after all. He was cooking breakfast.
Bacon. While wearing nothing but off-white, well-worn briefs. And while I
was completely bare-assed. I quickly tried to get out of his sight, and
cringed as my piss hardon slapped against my abs.

"Nothin' I ain't seen before, kid. Siddown."

After a trip to the bathroom, I half-sprinted half-strolled to the kitchen
table, and crossed my legs in a faint attempt at modesty. Occasional glances
at my father left me impressed at how well he packed those underpants. He
wasn't exactly an old geezer, but I had seen very few men his age with such
a broad back or tight, firm ass. As he walked to the fridge, my attention
drifted from his beefy, hairy pecs and small belly to the chain of purple
symbols running down his right bicep. The tattoo, in some language I'd never
be able to decipher, was expertly etched, trailing down every curve and
muscle in his upper arm as if he were born with the ink stain.

He joined me at the table, shoving a plate of bacon and eggs my way. When I
stood up to get a fork and spoon, he inadvertently got a glimpse of my
crotch area, and I swear the fabric around his bulge suddenly became much
smaller.

As we munched through brunch, neither of us had much to say. The tension was
hidden inside every tap of the finger or swerve of the silverware. Finally,
I had to say something.

"Dad, about last night..."

Dad's chest puffed up to full barrel size before I could finish. His bleary
eyes blazed with flickers of rage.

"Nothing happened last night. NOTHING. Got that?"

With that, he shoveled the rest of the grub into his mouth and fled the
table. This was obviously a very touchy subject. For me as well as him.
Fine, let it be, as the old song goes.

I stepped into the shower. Soaped up my smooth, sore body. When the
washcloth neared my ass I moaned, as a sudden flash of Dad on top of me last
night, pounding away, hit me. Why wasn't I more upset about what he had done
to me? This man was a pig of the first order. He took advantage of
me...didn't he? Why did I remember asking, even begging him, to fuck me? Why
would I want to be fucked my own father? Why would I want his burly, dirty
hands and his hot, stinky breath on my clean skin while he ravaged my virgin
hole?

The answer to my question arrived when my fleshy shaft rose to full
hardness. I soaped off my cock and tenderly, awkwardly, poked two fingers
inside my rectum. As I explored my slightly sore pucker, I was rewarded with
a violent wave of cum spurting from my one-eyed beast into the drain.

The towel felt rough against my glistening, nude form. My form was in top
form, because I had always used exercise to get away from sorrows and pain.
The external package was what people noticed first, what kept the assholes
at bay. If I had been skinny, puny, had shown my weakness, like Paul or like
so many other guys I knew in junior high and high school, I would have been
a walking target. I'd always felt like a part of me owed those guys my
protection, and part of that protection was keeping my own muscles in the
best shape. A workout was just what I needed now.

As I slipped into my gym clothes, Dad stepped into my room.

"John...where are you going?"

He was in shorts now, and no shirt. I managed to not ogle his bare chest as
I answered his question.

"The gym."

Dad slapped his hands together and whistled.

"Exactly what I need! Nothing gets my juices flowing like a workout."

I grabbed my car keys and tried to move past him, but he blocked the path
with his strong arm.

"You have an AA meeting today, remember?"

He snorted in derision.

"That can wait. I want to see this gym of yours. This gut of mine is livin'
rent-free, and I'm sick of it. Your gym ain't a fag place or anything is
it?"

The disgust in his voice reminded me of why I had never called him "Dad" or
let myself grow close to him. I shoved his arm out of the way. While I ran
out of the house I was screaming at him, screaming words I could barely
process.

"Yeah, old man. The place is a goddamn queer orgy! I go there and I tear off
all my clothes. I spread my legs on that weight bench and suck down a few
cocks. Then some hot young twink lubes me up with massage oil and rides my
meat raw. Next, some black bodybuilders slip my thighs over their shoulders
and gang-bang me until suppertime. Then I rest until the owner comes down
and sits on my face. Is that what you want to hear? Is that what you think I
am?"

I was out of the house before he could even respond.

The gym did have it's share of gay and bisexual members. I got a free
lifetime membership on my 18th birthday because I'd blown and fucked one of
the owners in the bathrooms a few times when he would drop in and watch my
football practices. He was a big sponsor of the team...I don't think the
town would be as thrilled to have his money if they knew just how many
"perks" the players (and one or two of the coaches) gave him. But he was a
great guy, really funny and cute, flawless body and a very talented tongue
and ass. He certainly never had to force any of us guys to show him our
appreciation.

After some light stuff to get myself prepped, I began bench-pressing. A
trainer waved at me from across the room. I waved back. She was female, big
breasts, big bleached teeth. Friendly. Must be a new girl, because she was
also very flirty. I didn't have the heart to tell her she was barking up the
wrong bulge.

A few minutes later my spotter arrived. As we began the session, my eyes
were fogged by the pools of sweat. I could barely make out his face, or
anything beyond that fat wad in his black spandex shorts. I could sense him
checking me out, studying every vein in my straining biceps and triceps,
licking his lips at the treasure trail peeking out of my increasingly tight
shorts. When we were finished, I was going to ask him who he was, but a
quick wipe of my eyes answered that question. I stared at him intently, a
hunger building. I knew him.

"Hey, I think this is where the porn music starts. Do you think they play
The Rainbow Connection in porn movies?"

"Bobby! You asshole!"

He laughed and slung his arms around me. The hug was much too invasive to
come from a mere friend, but nobody seemed to care just how close his
fingers were to the crack of my shorts.

Bobby and me had been close since junior high. He'd been the second hand to
jerk my developing penis (the first was me, natch). Who knows who Bobby's
first was, because the guy, with his milk-ad smile, naturally chiseled body,
and the shock of blonde hair always in his blue eyes, was a dreamboat. Every
pussy and cock in the nearby vicinity tingled on cue when he walked by. And
Bobby had sampled most of them. Among his legendary conquests, if you could
believe rumors, was the entire cheerleading team, half of their mothers, a
third of their fathers, the vice principal, all of the rival track team,
half of the rival football team, the minister, and the mayor. Oh, and me. A
few of the most frequent samplers of his impossibly thick 8 inches and
creamy bubble butt dubbed him "The Rainbow Connection", because he had
seemingly fucked every gender, race and nationality in the nearby vicinity.
And he was always hungry for more.

That's why the ring glistening on his left hand came as such a surprise.

"What happened?"

Bobby smiled as he licked away a few sweat drops.

"You always said my cock would get me in trouble. And you were right. I got
Mary Kathleen Novotny pregnant. I took a test to make sure it was me. So we
got married. She's due in a few months."

I patted his arm sympathetically.

"Don't worry about me. She's a great girl, very devoted. I'm almost looking
forward to fatherhood, at least during the times when I'm not scared to
death. Her father got me a good job at his company. And her brother has a
piece of Italian salami that makes me want to scream 'Mamma Mia!!'"

I had to laugh. Same old Bobby. Discreetly, I squeezed his bulge, encouraged
by his studying of my erect nipples and sweaty bare chest. I wanted to tell
him about Paul and how much I loved him. I also wanted to show Bobby how
much I'd missed that candy-sweet ass of his. Paul was my lover, my partner,
but Bobby....well, he was special.

"Can we take this somewhere private?" I whispered in his ear, lightly
nipping his dangling lobe. He nodded as if he were a puppy who had just
found his master. Then he glaned a few feet away from me.

"Sure, I wanna hear all about you these days. But...I think we've got
company."

I turned around. There was my father. In short cut-off jeans. And a broad
smirk.

"Son, is Daddy interrupting anything?"

-----

My e-mail is at knack6@hotmail.com