Things continued the way they would on any other Saturday night. It got to about 10:30 when I felt my mother's cold hand on my shoulder. I'd just been watching a horror movie with my cousins, in my uncle's bedroom when she came in.

     "Bobby, go tell your father it's late, and it's time to go," she said.

     "I was just watching this-"

     "Now," she said speaking through teeth. Her way of saying that she had already lost her patience, and that if I made her raise her voice in front of other people I was going to be very sorry when she got me alone. My mother never hit me but her pinches were legendarily painful.

     Of course my father wanted to stay and hang out with his buddies, playing cards and drinking. He'd be home later, catch a ride with one of the guys. Ten minutes later we were driving home. My mother gripped the steering wheel tight enough to make her knuckles flash white. I wanted to tell her what did she expect? He did this almost every weekend and definitely when we got together for Saturday barbecues. Was she really shocked that he wanted to stay and drink some more? Of course I didn't say anything, because I was just 13 years old. As we drove home I stared out of the passenger side window at the passing street lights that looked to me like frozen fireworks, just before they exploded into mushroom clouds of light. Beautiful, really.

     When we got home my mother walked into the bathroom, first thing. A few minutes later the toilet flushed and she walked into her bedroom, her face covered in cold cream, and locked the door behind her.

     I hurried into the empty bathroom, shedding my clothes, and proceeded to take the quickest, most thorough shower i'd ever taken. I soaped my entire body, scrubbing hard from my ears to my toes; really working in the lather and wash cloth into every nook and cranny. I shampooed and rinsed my hair - three times before jumping out of the shower.

     I grabbed a towel and dried my body quickly, nervously hopping from one foot to the next. Hurry, hurry, faster, faster, the words repeated in my head. I slipped a clean white pair of jockey shorts on and then pulled them back down, letting them slip to my ankles. I grabbed my mother's Vaseline jar and buried a large wad of it into my asshole, twirling my finger to coat my insides well.

     I waited on the living room couch. On the tv moldy colored aliens with hands bearing three long fingers, chased a pretty young co-ed in the woods. I must have fallen asleep after three cokes (and a quick to the bathroom). Finally, at about two in the morning, I woke to a sound coming from the front door. It sounded like a thumping, as if someone was trying break in. I sat up straight, prepared to run to my room and lock the door, when the door knob finally twisted open and my father stumbled in, his keys in his hand and the zipper of his pants undone, I felt strangely relieved. He steadied himself on the arm of the sofa, looking like he was about to fall over.

     "Hi-ya Bobbbeeee!" he said at full volume.

     "Shhhh! Mom's asleep. You don't want to get her any madder than she already is."

     "Oh, yeah that's right, shhhh. What time it is? Is it? Huh?" he asked, not seeing the bright silver watch on his wrist.

     "Its late, Dad. A little past 2 am."

     "If it's late, then why are you up?"

     "I was just going to," I said. I stood up and took his arm to steady him. "Mom locked her door, so you can't sleep in there. You'll have to sleep with me. In my room, I mean."

     He didn't argue with me and let me lead him down the hall until we passed the bathroom door.

     "Have to pee," he said, his hand sliding into his open zipper.

     "O.k. that's fine."

     We walked him into the bathroom, and I tried very hard not to have him knock himself unconscious on anything. I'd never seen him this drunk before. He was just tilting, walking uncertainly, like a zombie.

     He stepped up to the toilet and I raised the lid for him. He hung his arm around my shoulder and brought me close to his side, kissing the top of my head. "That's my number one son. Always thinking of his dad."

     " Your only son," I corrected him. He laughed hard, choking on his spit.

     He held his dick out and pissed. I had to give him credit. Almost 20% of his piss was actually getting into the bowl. The rest was splashing off the seat, making yellow puddles on the floor. He was really making a mess. "Hold On!" I said, grabbing his dick, correcting his drunken aim. "There. Now mom won't completely have a fit when she wakes up in the morning."

     He smiled and gave me another kiss on the head. "You know I love you son? Right?"

     "Yeah, I know." Especially when your drunk.

     When he was done, I flushed the toilet and found a used towel in the hamper to wipe up the piss. He stood leaning on the sink.

     "Come on. Lets get to bed. It's real late." I hid the towel at the bottom the hamper. It felt funny speaking to my father like a child. But I kind of liked it. I led him to my room, pulling him after me by his soft dick which I held like a leash. He didn't seem to notice or even care.

     In the bedroom he stripped down to his undershorts. I had to watch him undress the whole time, he was swaying so bad. I was sure he was going to split his skull open on the hard wood floor. It didn't help that the only light in the room came from a street light, bleeding soft orange light through the curtain. But he managed all right, falling just once, landing on the edge of the bed, as he slipped off his jeans.

     He sank into bed next to me. With one pillow, we had to share it, so I lay close to him, resting my arm on his chest. I kissed his shoulder and he moved his arm under my head, so that I could lay on it. My nose drifted to his arm pit. He smelled incredible, his natural body odor cutting through the faded scent of this mornings deodorant. The few dark, curly hairs tickled my nose.

     My hand wandered down my father's body, stroking his soft-soft skin. Slowly passing over the rough nubs of his dark nipples, down his stomach, over his belly button, and down that nearly invisible trickle of hair that marked the start of bush. My hand came to the waistband of his boxers.

     "These look tight. Do you want me to take them off? You'll sleep better."

     "Uhmmm..." he muttered. I took it for a yes and drew down his shorts past his ankles, tossing them on the floor. While I was at it I removed my own underware. I lay down next to my him, pressing my naked body into his. My cock tickled at the feeling of his leg hairs. He felt incredible that way, our naked skin touching. Just perfect. I hugged my arm around him. He was breathing slow and regular, his eyes were closed as his head lay back on the pillow. His scuffed ankles hung off the edge of my bed.

     I licked his nipple and then sucked it. He didn't make a sound. I kissed him all over; his chest, his stomach, under his arms. I stuck my tongue in his belly button. No place was dirty. I watched for any sign that he wanted me to stop. But he kept still.

     Finally I was at his cock, face to face with it for the second time this night. He was soft and flopped backwards, nesting in his dark, musky bush. His balls hung loosely in their dark, wrinkled skin like two chicken eggs. They hung heavy between his legs, touching my bed sheets. I lay down between his legs, my arms wrapped around his muscular thighs.

     I lapped the loose wattle of flesh that hung under his cock, where that tight sensitive skin of his dick, became that loose wrinkled sac of his balls. I caught the cool skin between my teeth and sucked it in. I opened my mouth wide and sucked his right testicle, slurping it gently. It seemed to throb in my mouth.

     All this was pretense: I wanted to have that dick in my mouth again. And I went straight to it, lapping the underside of his cock, tasting the salt of sweat, piss, and dried cum. I sucked up his head and then drew in the rest, all 41/2 inches of soft meat. He slid down my tongue, touching the back of my throat as I buried my nose in his wiry black hairs.

     I stayed that way for a long time, and then I really started sucking, moving up and down the length of his dick, savoring the indescribable flavor. I don't know how many minutes passed, but he never made a sound, or moved, save the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

     I pulled away, studying his cock. It was still soft and small, dripping with saliva. The head still looked full and bloated, but the shaft seemed thin and shrunken.

     "Hey, Dad. Dad?"

     He didn't answer, but soon enough I heard him snoring. Fuck! He had actually fallen asleep with his cock in my mouth.

     I shook him.

     "Dad," a little louder. He snored louder, shifting a little in his sleep, and a squeaky fart escaped his ass. Jesus, you have got to be kidding me.

     I'd been so close. Now I might have to wait a whole week to get anything started. I actually felt a little pissed, but then an idea struck me and I smiled in the darkness of my bedroom. Even though he was asleep, there were lots of things I could to do with him - to him.

     I slid up my father's body, until our faces met. His mouth hung open, and his breath, hot and humid, beat on my face. I smelled cigarettes and beer and maybe the barbecued beef he had ate. I kissed him as gently as I could, closing my eyes and slipping my arms around his neck. His stubble felt like sandpaper on my face.

     "I love you, Dad," I whispered, "I love you so much."

     He didn't react at all, sleeping so deeply in his drunken state, lapsing in and out of a loud buzzing snore. I slipped my tongue into is mouth.

     "I want you so bad! Do you know that?"

     I kissed the rough, red, stubbled skin under his jaw, sliding down his throat, lapping the rough, shaven skin, feeling his pulse beat under my tongue. My cock jabbed into my father's stomach, painting pre-cum over his stomach in slimey snail trails. I knew what I wanted to do with my father but that seemed impossible in his current state. Maybe -

     I climbed out of the bed and stood by my father's side looking down at him. He slept peacefully, stretched out on his back. Nothing short of an atomic bomb seemed likely to wake him. So I slipped my hands under him and started to roll him over. He was heavier than he looked, and lifting him even an inch was hard, slow work. But he was moving. When he was high enough I wedged my knees under him to stop him from rolling back. It was easier to lift him with my legs and my arms, and soon he on his side. But then he was rolling over onto his stomach. Jesus!

     I grabbed his arm, pulling him back, struggling to keep him up on his side. He helped a little by adjusting his position in his sleep, sliding his knees up, which kept him from rolling over so easily. I was actually breathing hard and sweating from moving my 6'5" father. I wiped my brow with my underware and slipped into bed.

     I lay on my side next to him and scooted backwards until his stomach pressed into my back, our humid skins sticking together. I slid his arm over me, like he was hugging me from behind. I moved his sleeping hand over my chest and stomach, soft caresses. Feeling his rough fingers graze my penis and balls was incredible. His head rolled onto my shoulder; his lips touched my skin. This felt so comfortable and hot to me; like we were two lovers, cuddling in bed. That was how I felt.

     I reached behind, feeling for his cock. It hung soft and cool on his thigh, sticky from my spit. I rubbed it, warming it. I backed my ass as close to his cock as I could, pulling his cock to me. I rubbed his his meaty head along my crack, and when it touched my butthole I jumped. The shivers of electricity were instant, running all over my body.

     I rubbed the soft tip back and forth, up and down, swiping the tight bundled crease, and when I felt it hit dead center I tucked him into me, pushing in the head with a finger tip. It slid in easily, until the head was trapped inside of me, like bear with its head in a honey pot.

     I rocked back and forth, grinding my ass into his crotch, clenching around the neck of is cock. His hand ran up and down my body, rubbing my chest, stroking my sensitive nipples. His breath was regular and hot over my shoulder, behind my ear.

     "Fuck me Dad. I fuckin' love you. Stick your cock up my ass."

     I wrapped his fingers around my cock and began a clumsy stroking motion, my fingers behind his fingers, my hand guiding his. I was completely hard, and the feel of his rough, work-hardened hands around my sensitive dick was incredible, sending flutters through my gut, tingles through my tightening balls.

     And then I felt my father tilt. His thick muscular legs rose over mine, and his arm came around my stomach, and then he was rolling over. Nearly 205 pounds of my father came to rest on my 13 year-old back, pressing me into the bed.

     As heavy as he was, and as difficult as it was to breathe, I loved feeling my dad's body on top of mine. It wasn't what I planned, but it was what I wanted. His masculine weight bore down on me, pinning me to the bed. His hand was pinned beneath me. I thrashed beneath him, grinding my stiff cock into his dry hand, slipping past his fingers into the bed sheets.

     I kissed my father's arm. His balls fell into sweaty groove of my ass, sinking down between my legs, touching my own balls. "Fuck me Dad, fuck me, fuck me!" I screamed into the mattress, bouncing under my father. The bedsprings shook rythmically, the springs boing-ed. My cock was burning as it ground into the bed sheets, over and over, thrust after thrust, rubbing raw. I could have been bleeding for all I cared. I was heaven.

     I squeezed tight, sucking him in to me, deeper, in the manner in which a hungry mouth devours food. Everything shook and throbbed within me, and beneath me my cock shot thick, white liquid, soaking the linen in one large spot where my cock tangled in the blue sheets. I bit down on the pillow, snuffing out my sound. I felt like I had cum fire, it so burned with intensity.

     When i'd caught my breath and my cock had softened, drooling it last thick drops beneath me, I drug myself out from beneath my father. He snored now more deeply, his breathing steady and deep. I was overcome with love for my father and climbed on his back, my nipples pricking at the feel of his hot skin. He lay beneath me his head turned sideways, mouth slightly agape.

     "I love you, sooo much."

     I reached down and squeezed out the last drops from the tip of my penis, scraping them up on my finger tip. I painted his lips, coating them with my sperm like lipstick and then leaned down and kissed him, tasting my cum. And then I lay quietly across his back, rising and falling with each breath.

     I'd fallen asleep for a few minutes, when I woke panicked that I'd almost fallen asleep the whole night. The idea of a sober father waking to find himself naked, in bed with his naked son. I couldn't imagine what he would do.

     I shot out of bed looking over the floor for my fathers boxers. After 4 sweaty panicked minutes of tracing the floor over and over again I found them hiding behind my bureau, coated in dust bunnies. I shook them off, and then it was another small labor slipping them over his ankles and dragging them up his sleeping body. I stopped when I had just gotten to his butt. I reached down between his legs, past his balls and pulled his cock back from behind, stretching the shaft. I licked the head clean of any traces of me, sucking it clean of my greasy insides. I then drew his shorts to his waist.

     I sank into bed next to him, leaning over to kiss him softly on the cheek.

     "Good night. I love you, Dad."

     Almost everything about the days that followed that Saturday night were normal. Sunday I woke to find my father sleeping in his own bed, not to wake until noon. He didn't remember a thing or at least he was very good at hiding it. I knew he was pretty well tanked when we had our fun, but you think he would have remembered something, at least subconsciously. But if he did, he didn't show it all.

     Monday, Tuesday, even the beginning of Wednesday, all normal, one day pretty much the same as the next. Each morning before the sun rose, my mother rose and then showered. She then sat at the kitchen table, applying her makeup and curling her hair. Two hours after she'd gotten up she was out the door, pointed at the hospital where she worked as an administrative assistant. I'd asked her several times to explain to me what exactly that was but she never quite explained it so that I completely understood.

     An hour after my mother was up, my father woke to the buzzing of his alarm. He showered quickly, and dressed, in a clean pair of jean, usually with thick denim patches ironed on the knees, and a fresh work shirt that he ironed himself, every morning without fail. He packed his lunch, and was out the door ten minutes before my mother. I don't think a word passed between them unless it involved paying bills or something to with my school.

     But on Wednesday afternoon when I walked home from school, I found my fathers work truck parked in the driveway. My mother's car was gone. A strange feeling passed through me. Something was up. My father usually didn't get home till after I did. The front door was open behind the screen door.

     The screen door squealed on it's hinges as the I pulled it open and I walked into the house. My father sat on the sofa, watching a television that wasn't on. He wore his work clothes and a litter of spent beer cans lay at his feet. He cradled an open case under his arm, reaching in for a new one when he saw me. His eyes looked wet and red.

     "She's gone. She's gooone . . . I knew she was going to . . . she said that she couldn't take . . ." he sobbed into his hand. "Here, she left this." He held out a wrinkled slip of paper.

     It was from my mother, written in her freakishly perfect cursive, addressed to Robert, my father, saying that she couldn't stay with him. She was leaving because she couldn't deal with him anymore, and she needed something more. She didn't love him anymore and hadn't for a long time. She had tried and tried for the sake of keeping the family together, but ultimately she had found someone else, and even though she had never cheated on my father, she wanted something else. Something better.

     It felt incredibly weird, reading that note, something that was clearly personal and never meant for me to see. My father tipped back the can swallowing the last drops, and then dropped the can to his feet, along with 11 others. He opened a fresh can and swallowed half immediately, wiping tears from his face with the back of his hand.

     I felt bad for him. And bad for my mother. The end of the note said something about probably sending for me when she was settled where ever she was going. That was nice. I rated a `probably' in my mother's life. Something clicked in my mind, in that opportunistic place that seems to speak up when it senses a possible advantage. It sounds cold, but I definitely saw my entrance.

     "It's all right," I said sitting down next to my father. I wrapped my arm around his shoulder. He leaned into me, hugging me close to him, burying his head in my small shoulder.

     "It's ok," he said looking into my eyes, "Everything is goin' be ok, Bobby. I'll take care of you." His hand touched my cheek, and tears sparkled from his eyes. "I promise, I will be mother and father to you. You'll never miss . . . anything." He hugged me to his chest, quietly crying, his breath catching in gasps.

     I pulled away taking a fresh beer from the box between us. I folded back the tab, enjoying the fizzy SSHHHH and the sweet, yeasty smell. I took a sip, my first ever. "You shouldn't be drinking that," he said, trying to take back the can. I pushed his hand away.

     "Yeah," I said and holding the can to his lips, "You need this way more than me."

     My father smiled a little and parted his lips. I tipped the can and poured the beer down his throat. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, until the can was empty, and a few amber drops rolled down his chin. That's it, Pop, drink down your medicine. He chuckled and smiled at me weakly, and his head rested back, his eyes drawing shut. "I really shouldn't be drinking now," he said.

     "Go ahead. You really deserve it. I can't believe mom left you. After all the stuff you did for her." I opened another beer and passed it to him. He sipped this slowly. Outside the sun was almost set and the sky was pink and orange, rapidly turning indigo. A few of the brightest stars had all ready appeared high in the sky. "Yeah," he replied quietly.

     I looked at him as exaggeratedly as I could, eyeing him from head to toe, like i'd just noticed that he was still in his work clothes. "Look, your still in your work things, Dad. We have to get those off," I said kneeling at his feet, "They can't be very comfortable."

     "Yeah, they're hotter than hell," he giggled, "I just noticed that. Funny, Huh?"

     I smiled up at him, nodding. I unlaced his dark, oily looking boots and slipped them off his feet. His feet didn't smell too bad. Sweaty, though. I rolled down his socks and slid them off, slipping them into one of his boots.

     He curled his toes and rolled his ankles. "Ah, that feels real good."

     I reached up and undid the buttons of his navy blue shirt. He giggled as I moved lower passing his belly button, pulling the shirt tails out of his pants. I rubbed my elbows and forearms into his groin, often and accidently. He switched the beer can from hand to hand as I slipped each of his arms out of the shirt.

     I stood between his bare feet, pulling his white undershirt out of his pants. He held up his hands (still holding a beer) as I pulled it over his head. I sat across his spread knees and massaged his neck muscles, down to the thick slabs of his shoulders. "You have cool muscles, Dad." He sat back enjoying the attention. He must have been well drunk. I ran my over his chest, soft, smooth skin over what felt like stone. My thumbs stroked his dark nipples. He giggled loudly at that, choking a little on his beer. I hugged him, pressing my ear to his chest. His heart beat was racing.

     "Come on," I said snapping out of it, "Lets get those pants off, and get you into the shower."

     "I can do that," he said gently pushing my hand away from his belt, grumbling like a child.

     "O.k. you get out of the rest of your clothes and I'll go start the shower. Get it real nice and hot for you. I know the way you like it."

     He stood up, shakily, finding his sense of balance, and then began to unbuckle his belt. He eyed me nervously as I watched him for a second. He was damn handsome.

     I jogged to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I had about as much time as it took for a drunk to unbuckle his belt and take off his jeans and underware. I started the shower on hot and took off most of my clothes, leaving on my jockey shorts. I pulled them down to my knees and found the familiar tub of Vaseline. Thankfully she had left that. As I looked around the room, I noticed many of her things gone: her lotions and cremes, her personal deodorant, her toothbrush, the makeup case she kept in one of the drawers below the vanity. Several towels were gone as well. It almost made me sad, just the two toothbrushes, there in the holder, leaning together.

     No time for that now. I lubed up my bum-hole with the greasy stuff. Once, twice, three times. Judging by the size of my father's manhood, I would need all the lube I could get. I hiked up my underware, just as my father entered the door. He wasn't naked, but his cock had slipped out of the fly hole of his boxers. "Your snake has gotten out of it's box," I told him, pointing at his dark colored cock."

     He looked down, smiling, "Well it doesn't matter now. Its just us guys right?" He slapped himself with open palm and his fat, hanging organ swung like a pendulum.

     "Exactly." I said, moving before him and slipping my fingers into the waist of his shorts. I pulled them down to his ankles, leaning in close so that the top of my head rubbed against his balls. He jerked up, cupping his balls. "Jesus, that tickled."

     I stood up openly admiring his cock. It might have grown a little. I reached out, taking it in my hand, turning it and twisting it, admiring it from every angle. It was a working man's cock, dark and dingy colored, a stark contrast from the white coloring of his thighs and stomach. Veins ran up and down a moderately thick shaft, like lightening bolts, frozen in mid-strike. He was maybe 8 inches long, ending in fat, bulbous head, that gleamed moistly. "Your real big, Dad. Did you know that?"

     "I don't think you should really be doing that, Bobby."

     "But it's just us guys, you said, and Mom's not here, right?"

     "Even so, I don't think she'd like it if she was."

     "Well, she's not here, and she's probably never coming home again. So fuck her! Right? What did she ever do for you? Except to dump you. And me!"

     I knew I had gone to far before the words left my mouth. I'd pushed to hard. My father started crying, again. I had to rescue this.

     I hugged him, tightly. "I'm sorry, Dad. I shouldn't have said that." I reached up and took his head in my hands. I pulled him down to my level and kissed him, softly. "Your the best dad in the whole world, I just love you so much. Do you know?" He nodded his head slowly. Around us a cloud of steam was building, taking the sharp edges out of everything in the bathroom, fogging the mirror.

     I kissed him again, opening my mouth. His lips parted in response, and his tongue pushed past my lips. A low groan passed through me, and I felt as if I were melting inside. He ran his hands up and down my back, squeezing boy's ass, leaving red finger marks. His cock poked at me, over belly button, leaving slimy trails on my stomach where his cock had begun to drool. I pulled away, turning, his erection tight in my hand, leading him to the shower.

     Before I could even pull the curtain open his hands were on my slender hips, his large clumsy fingers slipping into the waist band of my jockeys pulling them down in one smooth movement. He kneeled down behind me and kissed each of my cheeks, smoothing them over with his open palms, so rough on my young skin.

     I turned around. He was face to face with my stiff 4 1/2 inches. It pointed up, straight at his face. Unlike my father, my cock was lite colored like the rest of me, the circumcised head, red and pointed, like the nose cone of rocket. He looked up at me and smiled a little uncomfortably. Drunk or not,my father was no fag, at least not naturally. He reached out slowly, almost cautiously and stroked my cock, gently, like he was petting a puppy's head. He reached up with his other hand and his fingers grazed my tight balls, sending shivers up my spine. And then he did something that in all my planning I had not anticipated. While holding me in his hand, he leaned in slowly and kissed my red, stiff head. OH-MY-GOD!!!

     Seeing a dick from this angle must have been something completely new for him. As he studied it he didn't noticed how my cock twitched, stiffened, fattening sideways. He didn't see the way the pee-hole flared open at the very last moment, like a mouth yawning. "Watch ou-," I started to say, but by then it was too late. I was cumming!

     Thick white streams of semen exploded out of my cock, aimed for his face. Several splashes landed on his cheek and forehead. A few drops caught in his hair like pearls. It was incredible! Here I was cumming in my dad's face. He grimaced, wiping his face with my jockeys. I thought he would be angry but he just shook his head, smiling weakly. "Well, my boys a man, I guess."

     "I couldn't stand it. You were so hot, and then you kissed it. It was crazy. It just went off." He stood up and hugged me to him. He smoothed down my hair, whispering that he loved me. And that he didn't care if I was a fag. "Come on," I said pulling away, "Its your turn."

     I pulled him into the shower. And then it was just us, in the shower, facing one another, the hot water beating down on us, drowning us in a cloud of steam. We kissed like lovers, slow and hot, and wet. My tongue found it's way into my father's mouth, and he moaned something low that vibrated in my mouth. Our hands were all over each other, out legs crossing in and out of each other, our dicks crushed between our frantic bodies.

     He lifted me, crushing me against his chest, until our mouths were level. I circled my legs around his tight waist, and wrapped my arms around his neck. We kissed and we kissed, deeply, passionately. His hands cradled my ass to support me. I rocked up and down his body, my fresh red erection grating on his chiseled abdominal muscles; his stiff, upturned cock poked at my ass and balls. I waited to feel it's head pressing at my hole, so that I could sink down on it, fulfilling both our pleasure, but it would hit and then before I could move, it was gone, only to poke at my balls, or somewhere along my crack.

     I untwined my legs from his body and pushed away from him, my feet sinking to the porcelain floor. I took his steely erection in my hand. It glared angry red and water droplets ran down the thick shaft, dripping from his fat balls, catching in his curly hairs like diamonds. "I want you to fuck me, Dad." He seemed to freeze at the words I'd finally spoken.

     I turned around, pressing into the tiled wall, thrusting my ass out. I looked over my shoulder at him. He was standing holding his erection, staring at me.

     And then he was on my back, his skin hot on my skin, steaming hot water falling all around us. He kissed the side of my face, and I twisted to receive his wet mouth. His hands circled my ribs, and he kissed my shoulders. I stood between his bent knees as he squatted, trying to bring his cock to the level of my asshole. His burning head slid down my ass crack, searching for my hole. I gasped when he finally touched it. But then he passed it, sinking below my balls. I squeezed my legs together, catching him in my trap, and he moaned loudly. He held me tight and made quick, stabbing thrusts, fucking me between my legs, banging against my balls painfully. I turned again, and he slipped, falling backwards, landing on his ass, with a wet, splashing thud.

     "What was that for?"

     He leaned backwards, resting on his elbows, legs spread, cock pointed at the ceiling. "I said I wanted to be fucked, Dad." I walked over his body until I stood over his dick. My cock bobbed in front of his face, water dripping from its tip onto his chest and stomach. I squatted slowly, aiming his dick with my hand until I felt It directly pressing against my slicked hole. His eyes darted from his dick to my eyes back to his dick, over and over, like he didn't believe what I was doing. And then our eyes locked and I began to sink.

     The Pain! Jesus! I had no idea it would hurt so much. The tip of his cock entered me, and I felt my sphincter dilate around the fat roundness of his head, and then strain at the flared ridge. The pain was excruciating, and no amount of lust for my father could silence it. I thought I was being torn apart down there. I could see in my mind, the delicate skin tearing like tissue paper and then the blood rolling down his shaft. I rushed an alarmed hand between my legs. No blood, yet, thankfully.

     I grit my teeth, and fought to sink lower, despite the brite pain. Finally I sank past his head, sliding down the my father's wide shaft. The pain seemed to shrink a little, now that I had passed his thick knob. For my father, he seemed unaware of my pain as he took me by my shoulders, pushing me down into his lap. I sunk, silently screaming through every inch, until I sat against his body, my balls sinking into his wet, matted pubes. "Your so hot, baby. Burning inside," he said, running a hand over my chest, pinching my tiny nipples.

     I caught my breath and waited for the pain to run down. My hands pressed at my fathers chest, my feet rested flat on the tub. With every breath I could feel him inside me, throbbing. I leaned forward, pulling a couple of burning inches off his cock, our lips almost touched. He leaned in mashing our lips in a kiss. We played tongues, and then I slid back, sinking back on his balls. He moaned, biting his bottom lip, huffing through the dense curtain of steam, sputtering droplets of water.

     The pain wasn't so close now, and I began to enjoy myself. My father sweat beneath me, shifting uncomfortably on the hard enamel tub. I rocking back and forth, pulling off a few inches and then sinking back. With every forward motion, I drew off a little further, making the downwards collision with my Dad's fat balls more intense. He was shaking and groaning beneath me, moaning softly into my mouth when we kissed. His hand started to work on my dick, stroking it hard.

     He suddenly sat up, gripping me tightly around my back. "Oh...I love...you, baby...you feel so...," he moaned in my ear. He pulled me up off his cock until I felt the knob of his head pressing at my squeeze, about to pop out like a cork. He licked my nipples, sucked and bit them, gently, and then I moaned. And then he slammed me down, striking his cock deep into me. I cried out at the pain, different from the first penetration, a deeper, baser tone, battering my tender insides.

     He brought me up once more, higher, his cock barely in me by the tip, and then he brought me down again. "Ughhh . . . " he groaned, bitting down on my shoulder. He shook all over, his folded legs rocked beneath us, and I twisted in his lap, like a wet fish, groaning myself. He was cumming. I thought I could feel the spasms of his ejaculation, like punctuations, as his cock throbbed within the fleshy walls of my ass, spouting thick white sperm. I pictured his semen, the consistency of runny egg yolk, sloshing around my insides, running together with the Vaseline. He lay back, exhausted, and I collapsed on top of him. We were still tethered together by his dick, as it softened to some obscene version of an umbilical cord.

     When things had cooled my father caught my face between his hands. He kissed my forehead. "I love you, baby." He kissed my nose, each cheek, and then my mouth. Slowly at first, and then building to a passion. "We have to get out of here,"he said finally, "or we'll both turn into prunes."

     I stood up first, rising out of his lap. His soft dick pulled out of me with a wet `plop' sound, snapping back against his dark colored balls. Looking down his cock looked a little darker, long and loose, kind of stretched out. It hung perfectly between his testicles, shining with grease. Cum trickled down his balls. Wow! My father had just taken my virginity. My father stood up, stretching.

     On the bath mat, he dried me all over. And then he let me dry him. He stood patiently at the sink as I washed his dick, soaping it thoroughly. I rinsed it, and then dried it gently. I gave the head a little kiss. As we walked out of bathroom, my father scooped me up, cradling me in his arms, and carried me into his bedroom.

     Later that night I lay back on my parents bed, so comfortable, so relaxed; my father's head worked between my legs. His tongue lapped at my balls, separating my testicles in their delicate pink skin-pouch. I jittered in shaking fits, my hand over my mouth to stop the giggling. I was so sensitive. He noticed. "Ticklish, huh?" he asked.

     "Yeah, you're driving me crazy!"

     "Well," he said, "let's see how ticklish you really are." He threw up my legs, spreading them wide in the air. He kissed the soles of feet, tenderly. He kissed my ankles, my calves with their new glistening hair, he ran his tongue over the backs of my knees, kissed my thighs, working lower, lower. And then his tongue was back at my balls, gliding over the loose skin, rolling the testicles. He slid down, pushing my knees up against my chest.

     The rough grate of his stubble worked between my legs, as he sank in, pressing his face deeper. Wet electricity, is best way I can describe the feeling of my father's tongue, pink and wet, sliding towards my hole. I felt as if I were shooting down a fast elevator, my stomach floating in belly. He seemed to sense my pleasure and pursued the spot that gave me the most pleasure vigorously, digging at me with his tongue, slathering on his thick spit, daring to sink his pink tip into me.      

     I was at the vivid point of a crisis and felt a familiar, trembling in my balls and squeezed them painfully to avert disaster, focusing on the blunt low pain spreading through my stomach. But it was too late. My hand found my shaft, almost of its own, and squeezed it's fist around my cock head, to choke it off. I came painfully, vicious and sharp, like pissing fish hooks.

     Clear sperm shot everywhere, in large watery drops. A few drops fell in my father's hair. But most flew over his head, landing on my father's back, collecting in clear pools. His head popped up and I pushed my cock forwards, into his mouth. He sucked, a little, just the tip and I squeezed down the length of my cock, surging whatever cum was left in the shaft, into his mouth. He grimaced at the taste, but he didn't spit it out.

     I stroked his head, catching a glimpse of the wall clock behind him and then leapt out of bed. It was almost 12:30 am. "Hold on. I'll be right back."

     Five minutes later I was back, holding a tall glass. My father lay in bed, his head resting on his hands, his ankles crossed. He looked incredible, like a hunk pin-up. His cock, half hard, tilted sideways against his thigh. "What's that?" he asked.

     "Its for you,"I replied, holding out the drink."I made it."

     He took the glass and peered at the dark murky liquid. He brought it under his nose and sniffed. His face made a disgusted expression.

     "It's a cocktail. I made from the stuff in the bar cabinet. I just mixed alot of stuff together. Oh, and a little Coke, too. It's good. Drink it."

     He took a little sip. He choked, coughing up drops of the brown stuff onto his chest, trails of it running down his lips. "This is horrible!"

     "Come on, finish it. It's your drink. I made it special for you." I played with his nipple. He studied the glass for an extra second, and then downed the whole glass. His entire face seemed to clench at the experience.

     He'd left a swallow's worth at the bottom of the glass, but I wasn't going to make him drink it. But apparently he had another idea. His arm slipped around my neck and pulled me close. He smiled, looking at me and then looking at the cup. He poured the last bit into his mouth and then drew me in closer, pressing his mouth to mine. I saw what he meant to do, and opened my mouth. Ewww. . . it was disgusting. I swallowed the stuff that tasted like wet garbage, an insane mixture of harshness, and coolness as it went down. A slow heat built up in my face and ears.

     My father kissed me. I pulled away, climbing onto the bed. I lied on my stomach, arms and legs spread out, looking back at him, smiling. I reached behind me and spread my cheeks. My squint hole stared back at him and blinked, again and again, a strange calling of lust. He held his weapon pointed at me, and then he sank on top of me. He kissed my back, my neck and then he penetrated me, like a magic trick.

Alex Kazimov,

kazimov@operamail.com