Date: Sun, 14 Aug 2011 17:48:32 -0700 (PDT) From: Luke Hairyson Subject: My Dad's Hands -- Ch.08 Standard disclaimers apply to this story. All rights reserved by the Author. All events that happen are completely consensual between people involved in the story. If you are not of legal age, reside in an area where viewing such material is illegal, or are offended by homosexuality and/or homosexual themes, leave this site now. The Author retains all rights to this story. No reproductions or links to other sites are allowed without the permission of the author. My Dad's Hands -- Ch. 08 When I opened the front door, my father lifted his face to look at me. He was still pacing back and forth, and his body language screamed anxiety and worry. His right hand played with the wedding band on his left ring finger. I had managed to gather myself together enough to stop crying before leaving the forest, and I made it all the way home without losing it, although my breath was still ragged and erratic. When he looked at me everything came right back to the surface: My attraction and desire for my father, the need to be held in his arms and have him love me. As I focused on the wedding band my father was fidgeting with, I knew that I wouldn't ever be able to sustain a relationship with him. Simultaneously hammering into my consciousness was the epiphany that my first love felt something for me in return but I had probably ruined everything. "Luke, I..." my father began, "I'm so sorry." I didn't respond and was tired of crying. I felt emotionally numb. Looking back, I was probably in shock. My father moved to take me in his arms. "I can't," I whispered and raised an arm across my body, delineating the space I needed so that I wouldn't have a full breakdown. My father stepped back, resuming his fidgeting and pacing. I stood there, looking at the floor, and felt utterly broken, like something inside of me could no longer communicate, no longer had the strength to bridge the physical gap. "Did you find Chris?" my father asked from across the room. I nodded silently. "Is he..." my father was trying to form a question, but I already knew where he was leading. "He won't tell anyone," I said and then turned toward the stairs. The house embodied the shattering inside myself, every place I looked like another shard of mirror reflecting the things I had done. Setting my foot on the stairs, I could still smell the scent of sweat and sex emanating from the workout room. Taking the first step I felt the tightness in my glutes, zinging all the way to my asshole which was still recovering from my father's assault merely an hour before. I tried to block it out but the vision of my father's body on top of me, his cock sliding inside me, the feeling he evoked as he plunged inside my ass came back and with it came the vision of Chris appearing in the doorway. As I crossed the threshold of my room, I knew that I would never be able to separate this space from the time that I first had sex, from the time that I took my first cock in my ass. I laid down on the rumpled and messy sheets, buried my head in the pillow and tried to block everything out. I wanted to sleep, to leave this mortal coil behind for a while and simply float in the comfort of the void. I didn't leave my room for dinner, didn't respond when my father tried to coax me down later that evening, and finally I slept. I awoke to the feeling of fingertips running through my hair, stroking my head softly. My mother used to do that when I was sick and could barely be consoled. My eyes felt crusty and dry as I opened them, and I looked to see my father's worried face above me. "Honey, you need to shower and come down and eat something. It's almost 3," he whispered. "Huh?" I replied dazedly. "You slept all night and all morning, but you need to eat something and you need to get some new clothes on." He kept rubbing my head and looking at me. "I'm so sorry, Luke. I can't express to you how horrible I feel about all of this. About screwing everything up for you." "Dad, I..." "I realize we shouldn't have done what we did, but the only thing I regret is seeing you hurting like this. I love you, honey, and will always love you." He leaned down and kissed me on the forehead, the warm smell of his aftershave like sandalwood and trees and comfort. "Now get your ass out of bed before you really start to worry me." I smiled at him, and he got up and left the room. The shower felt good, and my favorite shorts and threadbare t-shirt made me feel a little bit human again. Dad had called for takeout from my favorite Chinese place that had the best spring rolls and garlic chicken around. The realization of hunger came surprisingly, my head not allowing me to think of much else except my problems. I dug into that paper container with a vengeance. My father laughed at my voracity. Hearing him chuckle and looking into his kind face, I knew that we'd be all right, that it would just take time. "We need to talk about all this," he started and I began to say something, but he cut me off with a raised chopstick. "But, you need to figure out this whole thing," and he gestured a circle with the chopsticks in his hand, "with Chris." I grabbed a spring roll and took a bite, replying through partially chewed vegetables, "I know." "You loved him didn't you?" my father asked guardedly. I could tell that he didn't want to provoke me or upset me any further. "Love. Not love-d. He's the first guy I ever loved, and I dreamed about being with him even more than I fantasized about you." "Gee, thanks..." he responded, and dropped his head down to his chicken and broccoli, looking like a sullen puppy dog. "Oh, stop it." I laughed. "I can't say that I'm not slightly jealous of him, and I am still horribly protective of you. I don't want to see you hurt, though, and I'm sorry if what we did caused you any pain," he said quietly, his face serious again. "What did he say when you found him?" "Well, he wasn't happy, obviously, but he did reveal that I was the first guy he ever liked." "Well that's something." "Yeah, since I never thought he'd ever like me like that." "Wait, I thought you guys messed around?" Dad asked. "Yeah. Once, and then he never mentioned it again, and I didn't want to bring it up and make it weird." "Ah," he breathed and nodded sagely, like a wise old man schooled in the art of lovelorn doting. "Luke, I really hope you can work everything out, and, buddy, you know I'm here for you however I can help." The return in his demeanor to the platonic, responsible father both comforted and hurt me, feeling the distance that seemed to be firmly back in place. The distance that is normally between a father and a son. Part of me hated that distance, wanted us to be back to how we were when he held me in his arms while his hard dick slowly deflated and slid out of my well-fucked ass, but another part tried to rationalize that the distance was good. My father squeezed my shoulder when he got up from the table, his hand still able to send warmth throughout my body. "Good luck, buddy." I looked down at the cell phone, figuring that I'd just get Chris's voicemail again, but I dialed him again anyway. The space between rings seemed to stretch on and on, and then I realized he picked up. "Hey," I said tentatively into the electric distance. "Hey," he replied noncommittally. "Can we meet and talk?" I asked. "Yeah, I think we should." I breathed a sigh of relief. "Where?" I asked before he could change his mind. "Coffee and the park?" "`Kay, meet you in half an hour?" "Yep." * * * * There's a small knoll in the town park that looks out on the pond in the center but is still rather secluded. Chris and I would always lounge there during late afternoons in the summer, and it became our spot. Long, comfortable summer days spent in relatively innocent bliss were far from the tension that was snapping between our bodies as we sat rigidly on our spot, the sun setting slowly on the other side of the pond. I sipped at my coffee. Neither of us had said much since meeting, and the walk to the park was equally quiet. There was so much I wanted to say, but I was waiting for Chris to speak. His brown eyes peeked at me from beneath his thick lashes, his face tilted as he licked at the lid on his coffee. "So," he said, looking off toward the pond. "I'm so sorry, Chris," I said, my voice pleading for forgiveness. "I know, you said that yesterday. I'm sorry too, in a way. I didn't know how to react. I couldn't process..." his voice trailed off and he took another sip of his coffee. I waited, unspeaking. "I...I guess I was angry, I felt betrayed, felt territorial of you, like you were mine and he was taking me from you, but you never knew, and I had no claim...but I just..." his voice trailed off again the sound of a question lingering at the end. "Ask me anything. I want to explain." "How long?" "Friday. It happened for the first time on Friday, but I don't think it's going to happen ever again." "You can't even imagine how pissed I was when I walked in on the two of you. You know how people say they are so filled with rage that they can't see straight? Yeah, that was how I felt." "When I saw you standing there in that doorway I felt like I was going to be sick." "Because I caught you?" "No, because you are the first guy I ever liked, and I thought you'd hate me when you saw me there." "I didn't hate you. I don't think I could ever hate you. I hated your father, though." "Wh--?" I started to ask. "I hated him because he was fucking you. Jealousy and anger are understatements." I never thought that such bizarre words would come from Chris's mouth, and even though they expressed such anger toward my father, I felt incredibly hot knowing how much passion Chris feels for me. "Why didn't you ever say anything?" I asked, thinking about how much time we had wasted hiding from each other. "You never brought it up after that night!" he blurted out, almost spitting out coffee in disbelief of my question. "I figured that you'd bring it up again if you were interested, but you never did, so I didn't want to push anything." "I was waiting for you to say something." "If you remember, I initiated it the first time, and I left the ball in your court. No pun intended." "You were gone in the morning. When I rolled over, hoping to wake up next to your warm body in my bed, you weren't there. I figured you were freaked out or ashamed of what we did and didn't want to talk about it." "Fuck...we're stupid." We looked at each other and laughed sadly. "I'm still pissed about you fucking with your father," he said mid-laugh. "I'm sorry you had to see that, dude." "Can I tell you something?" "Uh...?" I said and gave him a ridiculous look like, "Really? You have to ask that?" "I was ticked at first and didn't want to think about it again, but I couldn't get that image out of my head. It was all I could see as I was going to sleep." "Oh god, you totally beat off thinking about my father fucking me, didn't you, you sick perve?" I joked and punched him lightly in the arm, slightly sloshing his coffee. "Watch it! And who are you calling a sick perve? You were the one with your legs thrown back and moaning to get fucked harder." I blushed at Chris's words, but my cock was suddenly quite hard in my shorts. "And no, I didn't jerk off to the image of you and your father. I couldn't get the image of your arms and legs wrapped around him, your hair plastered to your sweaty forehead, the way the muscles in your neck were so tense they were bulging, the way your toes were curled in ecstasy..." he paused before continuing, adjusting his collar with one finger as a slight blush rose in his face, "and I couldn't stop wishing that I was in his place." Chris looked down at his coffee cup, fidgeting with the lid, avoiding eye contact. His nervousness at expressing how he felt speaking loudly through his body language. Those mocha eyes peeked up through his dark lashes again before darting back to the coffee cup. It was like we were back in high school again, crushing for the first time. Our silence was pierced by angry ducks quacking in the pond, and we both watched them, processing everything that was revealed in the last few minutes. I switched my coffee to my left hand and reached my right out tentatively toward Chris's arm. I could feel the electricity between us before I even made contact with his soft skin, my fingers lingering in the soft brown hair on his forearm before wrapping gently around his wrist. "Chris," my voice came out in an anxious croak, breaking like a pubescent boy. His brown eyes locked on mine. "Chris, you were the first guy I ever liked, the first guy I ever did anything with, and the first guy I ever loved." That last word didn't hover in the air like it always does in romance novels and chick flick movies, rather, that last word felt like I hurled my heart into the pond and it bellyflopped. Chris's eyes moved back to his coffee cup. "He said he wanted to be in Dad's place, so he must still want me," I rationalized to myself, waiting for him to speak, hoping that he'd reciprocate my feelings. "Luke, I've loved you for years," Chris started quietly, and then continued even quieter yet, "I still love you." His hand wrapped around mine, which was still wrapped around his wrist, and the heat of his palm on the back of my hand made my stomach flip-flop. I wanted to feel those warm hands all over me. "But, I..." he began again, and his hand moved off of mine, and my heart felt like it hit the bottom of the pond, my entire body tensing with dread anticipation. He continued, "I don't know what's going on with your father, but I'm not one of those guys who just wants to sleep around and party. I want you for as long as I can have you, and I want to be exclusive, especially if you're feelings are as serious as mine." "Chris, I honestly never thought that my fantasies would come true. Fantasies about you and fantasies about my father. Now everything is happening in a few days, and I'm just slightly blown away." I scooted over and sat right in front of Chris, so that we were facing each other, so that I could look fully on his face. "I love my dad, and I always wanted to know that he loved me back, that he cared for me like I know he does now. But, I can honestly say that I wish you were my first. I wish that I knew how you felt just a little earlier, then I wouldn't be begging for your forgiveness, hoping beyond hope that we still have a chance." "Luke, there's nothing to beg forgiveness for. Like I said before, you never knew how I felt. I'm not going to judge you for what you've done, just like I would hope you won't judge me on my past. What I care about is going forward from this point," and his hand reached out and grabbed mine, the heat even more intense as he continued, "together." My eyes began to tear up, overwhelmed by Chris's graciousness, his maturity. My coffee cup fell to the grass as I reached for him, reached for his beautiful tan face. Up on my knees now, I drew his face upward toward mine, I looked into the soul in his deep brown eyes, the same eyes that sparkled and comforted me that first day we met, there on the cafeteria floor, and I knew I could look into those eyes every day for the rest of my life. I leaned in toward him, as I felt the warmth from his hands on the small of my back. I could smell him, so familiar, my best friend, and I closed my eyes as I broached the last few inches between our lips. Closed at first, our kiss quickly became urgent, as his slips parted and his tongue touched mine, his mouth tasting of coffee and vanilla and sugar. He pulled me closer to him, and I moaned into his mouth as his tongue began undulating against my own, his tongue inside my mouth, and it felt right, like this was what I was waiting for. "EhHemm" came a quick, harsh cough from our left. Startled, we broke the kiss and looked blushingly on Mrs. Schumaker who lived a few doors down from me. I wiped Chris's saliva off the corner of my mouth sheepishly as Mrs. Schumaker and her terrier, Mr. Wiggles, stared at the both of us. "Lovely evening for romance, isn't it boys? Hmmm?" she mused, her voice scratchy from old age like an old record with pops and static in its playback. We both just looked at her. Chris finally speaking up, "Yes, Mrs Schumaker, it is," his voice playful and genuine. "Not that I mind, but you might want to remember a bit of propriety, boys. Not everyone is as open minded as this old gal," and Mr. Wiggles barked as if acknowledging the fact. "Yes, Isn't that right Wiggles?" she asked her dog, cooing at him in a saccharine voice. And then she walked away. Chris looked at me, the both of us dumbfounded. "I never knew Mrs. Schumaker was so progressive," laughed Chris. "And I had the older generation pegged as traditionally close-minded and conservative," I replied. "Yeah, and not all of us are deaf either," Mrs. Schumaker's voice called out from around the bend in the path. We both laughed, grabbed our neglected coffee cups, stood, and headed back toward our houses. We went a few feet before Chris's warm hand grabbed mine, his fingers lacing between my own, his palm against my palm, as our shoulders bumped together, and we walked...together. Hey guys, I think that this is the end of "My Dad's Hands." My sincere thanks to all of you who have read this and emailed me with encouragement, praise, suggestions, comments, and helpful ideas. I am contemplating writing another series, although not in the incest category. I hope you enjoyed this one while it lasted, and I'd still love to hear from you. Thanks again, and happy reading, ~Luke ;-)