This story is copyrighted to the author and is a work of fiction. If you are under the age of 18 this material is not intended for you and might be illegal for you to view. Keep it clean, boys.
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MY SWEET DRUNK FATHER
My father was a social drinker. Drunk, actually. Oh, don't get the wrong idea. He wasn't really a drunk. He worked very hard all week at a crummy, back-braking job, but on the weekend he drank himself into a stupor. In that way I suppose he had it pretty much in check. But sometimes I wished he would have drank more often.
You see most of the time my father was a real prick. Just a mean, angry sonofabitch. He wasn't throwing stuff around or slapping my mother, but if walked behind you the hair on the back of your neck was likely to stand. He was a miserably unhappy man. And the idea of actually pissing him off was just unthinkable. He always seemed a pot bubbling on the stove, always in danger of boiling over. But when he was drinking he was different.
My father was one of the rare species of drunks known as the happy drunk. After a few bottles of beer you'd think my father was a different person. He be smiling and laughing and speaking loudly and cheerfully in a voice very different from his work-a-day voice. He'd hug you close to him when he spoke to you and kiss you on the cheek.
Of course my mother just thought he was the most embarrassing thing when he was drinking and tried to avoid being pulled into his drunken bear hugs and sloppy kisses. I thought she should have enjoyed his transformation but then again nothing made my mother happy. She could be miserable in her own way.
And it happened so often that you think my mother would have gotten wise to the pattern. But it happened as it always happened most weekends. Saturdays we would go to my grandparents and have a barbecue. Their sons and daughters would go and their husbands and wives and their kids(us). The men would usually stay outside huddled around the grill, sucking back long-necks of Lonestar beer(my grandfathers choice). The women would stay inside making the side dishes like potato salad and deserts. We kids all brothers or cousins would generally run in and out and just about everywhere we weren't wanted. Or we'd play ball in the empty school yard a few blocks down the street. Or we'd hang out in the corner store buying pickles and plunking quarters into the two or three arcades they had.
That's how it usually went, eating, playing, having a really good time. When it got to be around 10 or 11 at night we'd usually leave. My mother usually had early bingo session to go to early the next morning.
"Tell your father we have to go," she pulled me aside from my cousins and told me. I walked outside into the backyard where my father and a group of about seven men(mostly my uncles and their friends) were sitting around a table playing cards and drinking beer. My father had his guitar in his lap and was singing some old song I didn't recognize. He didn't notice me as I stood next to him. I gave several tugs on the belt loop of his jeans.
"Mom says we have to go."
He looked down at me and smiled. "Hey, look at you. You're so tall. Come here. Give your old man a hug."
He curled his arm around my butt and squeezed me to his body. I felt embarrassed that the other men were watching us. I felt all their eyes on me as they went quiet.
"Dad, we have to go," I whined.
"No, I'm going to stay a little while longer. I'll get a ride with Joe or one of the other guys. Tell your mom i'll be home later, ok? Give your daddy a kiss." I pulled away red.
"Come on. I'm not letting you go till you give your dad a kiss." I twisted in his arms to avoid his lips. He was always friendly when he drank.
Finally I gave in and pecked him on the lips. I tasted the beer on his breath. Some of the other men laughed. My father swatted my behind playfully.
"What do you think your to old to kiss your old man? My father never kissed me when I was a kid. Never! I love you son and I'm not embarrassed to show it."
He let me go and as I left I could see him wiping his eyes. As I stepped back inside to tell my mother he started to play the guitar.
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A couple of hour later it was around 12:30 when my father knocked on the front door. This was strange, I thought. I hadn't expected to see him again until the next morning, hung over and twice as miserable as usual. I got up from watching the TV and opened the door.
My father staggered in. He propped himself up on my shoulder to keep steady.
"Hey, Bobby." He slurred the words loudly.
He began undoing his belt as the weaved toward my parents bedroom door. He twisted the door knob. It wouldn't open. He knocked loudly, "BABY! Open the door."
He looked around and noticed me watching him and started knocking softly and whispering into the door, "Baby...open the door, please."
He turned back and said to me, "Go watch TV ok, baby?...bobby." He continued to whine and knock softly as I walked back to the living room floor where I had been watching some black and white horror fest from the fifties. A girl in heavy looking bikini was running from the fakest looking rubber monster I had ever seen.
A few minutes later my father lay down next to me on the floor, on his back. He had stripped down to his white boxers and I thought I saw something as the fly hole gaped open for a second.
"I guess your moms asleep. I don't want to wake her." I nodded agreeingly.
"What are you watching," he asked stretching his head back to see the screen upside down.
"Just some stupid old movie. It's horrible."
"Why are you watching it then?"
I shrugged my shoulders. If I had been a little bit hipper I might have said that it was so bad that it was good, in a strange way. But I was only 13.
He smiled at me and I didn't recognize my father. He was a different person. Happy.
"Why?" he repeated.
"Why?" he grabbed my leg and shook it."Why?"
I started laughing."Why?" he shook me and I felt like jelly."Why?"
"Because!" I spasmed.
"Ohhh," he stopped shaking my leg, "that's why. Climb on top of me."
We must have made quite a suggestive picture me in my jockeys laying across my fathers stomach with him in his boxers but it really was innocent. Or it usually was. I put my mouth to his chest and blew a loud, wet raspberry. My father giggled and then spanked my bottom. Then he just left his hands there cupping my cheeks. Our groins were lined up and I thought I could feel him.
I was so turned on that I was sure he could feel me: my hard-on pressing into his stomach. I actually ground into him once. He must have been to drunk to notice. I flicked my tongue out to lick his left nipple. And then I bit it, gently. He shook under me.
"Hey. What do you think your doing?" he pretended to sound angry."Why I ought to..."
He placed his arms around me. "Now I have to give you the bear-hug and squeeze the breathe out of you!"
He squeezed harder than he probably meant to. He was very drunk after all. I twisted in his grip, struggling to get free. My father let me go and rolled away cupping his groin. He groaned in pain. I had accidently kneed him in the balls.
"Oh my god, Dad! I'm sorry. It was an accident!"
And I was sorry. I thought for sure, drunk or not, he was going to put me through the nearest wall.
"it's ok Bobby. I'm fine. Just a little sore. Son, you got to be more careful. You could have broke your old man's balls." He smiled and rolled over on his back. He massaged his privates.
"Here, Dad. Let me." I said, pulling away his hand and massaging him gently with my own. He understandably flinched at first.
"You know it was my fault anyway. How does that feel?" I cupped his bulge through his shorts.
"Good. Doesn't hurt so much anymore. You've got the magic touch Bobby."
I could feel his cock and balls though the worn fabric of his old, well washed shorts and sometimes I could feel his warm skin through his pee hole. My father lay back with his hands behind his head sighing contentedly. I was hard in my own jockeys: harder than I had ever felt before.
"You can stop now if you want," dad said looking at me with a weird expression on his face,"It doesn't hurt anymore. You don't have to stop if you don't want."
I slipped my hand in through his gaping fly hole. He hissed and I thought he shook a little. His fat balls felt warm and gummy in my hand, like eggs wrapped in melting rubber. I could feel the rare hair that sprouted on them.
"I like touching you, Dad. Can I see?"
"Sure," he answered nonchalantly. He pushed his shorts down his legs to his ankles and then kicked them into the corner. "It's like sex education, right. They can't teach you this kind of stuff in the schools."
I was stunned. He was big. A lot bigger than he looked when he stepped out of the shower. He was at least half hard and bowed backwards like a drunken rainbow."Wow, Dad. Your huge!"
"Not that big really. Just average. I can make it bigger, though, see?."
My mouth gaped. He gripped his dark colored meat that was so in contrast to the milky shade of skin that covered most of his smooth body. He was jerking off in front of me. Jesus! This had to be a dream. This couldn't be happening. Wow!
"See." he said as he pulled away his hand. His rigid cock swung backwards smacking his muscled stomach below the navel, nestling in the dark patch of his bush. "What I was just doing? That's called masturbating. Or jerking off you might have heard from some of your friends calling it. It's the same thing. It makes you feel really good. You're probably too young to be doing it, but some day when your older..."
I nodded. playing dumb. I was 13 years old and had been jerking off for almost six months. I'd first cum sitting bare ass in that sofa right next to us while my parents had been out.
But I played dumb for dad.
"Can I try it? On you?" I asked as innocently as I could.
My dad thought about it for a second, "Ok. I guess you could. Sex education right? They teach that in school. And I am your father. If someone has to teach you... It should be me."
I circled my finger around his meat. He was still hard as a board and hot. My hand barely circled his thickness. He was huge. If I was almost 5 inches on a good day, he was at least 8 or 9 and very thick.
I stroked upwards from his balls to his head, feeling every ridge and bump and zig-zagging vein. When I got to his cocks head he hissed. Drunk or not getting he was getting hand job from his own 13 year old son. It made me hot!
I curled my palm over his head and massaged it slowly like a stick shift. I could feel my palm grow sticky with his pre-cum. I was hit with a burst of inspiration.
"What's this sticky stuff, coming out of your pee hole, Dad?" I held up my palm toward his face.
"What?" He pulled himself out his stupor. "Oh. That's ok. That called pre-cum. It's ok. It won't hurt you."
I sniffed my palm, exaggeratedly. "What does it taste like?"
This one really threw him. He looked flustered as he searched for an answer. "I don't know. I guess it tastes like what it smell like. I never really tasted it. Here give me your hand. "
He sniffed my palm and then licked the stickiness. I thought I was going to die right there feeling his tongue lick my palm.
"It dosen't taste bad," he said licking his lips.
"Can I try it?"
"I don't think that..."
Before he could finish I was licking his leaking piss hole. I tasted my father's pre-cum. He tasted like beer but sweeter.
"Ohhh...you should'nt be doing....ohhhh..." He was harder than ever and throbbing under my tongue.
He tried to pull my hand off of him but I wouldn't let go and jerked him off even faster. He was close. He began to buck his hips up in the air meeting my hand. I squeezed him even tighter.
"You've got to stop, seriously."
But it was all ready to late.
"OOOHHHhhh...JESUS...FUCK!!!" He exploded in my hand.
He came hard, spraying big, clear drops all over his balls and belly. He groaned, arching his back and thick, white streams of sperm rolled down his shaft covering my fingers like a lava flow. His feet jittered. and he covered his face with his hand. He gasped for air like he had just been in a marathon.
Cum was everywhere: running down his dark balls, matting the dark curls of his thick bush, turning his belly button into a swimming pool. I licked my fingers clean, nothing had ever tasted so good.
I called up my father chest till our faces met. I hugged him. He held my head. His eyes looked wet and dreamy. He kissed me on the lips and then I felt his tongue. I was in ecstasy. I met his tongue with my own tasting beer.
He had to have felt my hard dick pressing into his belly. I was rock hard. As we kissed I ground my dick into his body until I had my own explosion, cumming in my jockeys.
I moaned rocking in his arms, burying my face into his hot neck. I could still feel my jockeys growing damp. My father noticed this first. He pressed his hand on the front of my pants. He felt my hard on.
"I made a mess like you. In my shorts." I whispered.
"S'o.k. Happens all the time."
He slipped his hand inside and felt around for a second, feeling my balls, my dick, and the light hair above that.
"Wow, my boys really growing up!" he smiled and gave my dick a little tug and squeezed the wet head.
"Jesus! Dad!" I came again into the palm of his hand.
"Shhhh. That's all right." he stroked my back. I felt weak with the most powerful orgasm I had ever had.I fell asleep on top of my dad.
The next morning I woke up in my bed. My father was sleeping in his own bed. Mom had woken earlier to get herself ready for bingo leaving the empty bed for him to slip into. My father would be sober by noon before my mother came home. Nothing would be said of it by either of them.
I stared as a bleary eyed bear of my father stepped into the kitchen. I was making myself a ham sandwich. He didn't remember anything that happened the night before. I could just tell.
"Leave that stuff out," was all he said waving a hand at the food on the counter before me.
"Sure," I said, and then an idea struck me to test his memory.
"Do you remember yesterday? When you told me that I could borrow 20 dollars from you today and then I would pay you back when I got paid my next allowance?"
"What for?" he looked at me, a red color starting to grow on his face.
"To buy that book on werewolves I saw in the bookstore. Do you remember?"
"Get the fuck out of here with that shit! What? Do you think I'm made out of money? Get out of here."
I hadn't actually asked for the money. But I wasn't sure what that had proved. The only thing I was certain about was that I was going to be with my father again. And he was going to fuck me. He was going to burn inside of me. Burn.
Part 2 to follow.