This is a true story. I changed certain details to protect the "innocent." The actual events themselves spanned a longer period of time than what I allude to in the story, but everything I mention truly did happen. I am now 41, and when I look back on the events that unfolded in my life twenty years ago, I'm surprised myself that they actually happened. It seems that they happened to another person, and that the memories I have in my mind are of someone else's. Writing this was difficult for me, for it made the details of my life stand out for me perhaps for the first time. I am not ashamed or saddened by what happened to me. I'm glad that I was able to reach out to those who loved me, and love them back as only I felt I could then. I'm much older now, and I am more self-assured, but when I look back on my young adulthood and the events that unraveled twenty years ago, I can only smile. Here is my story:


by MS

I was visiting home from college when my parents told me they had something "grave" to tell me. They sat me down in the living room where they sat opposite me, their shoulders side by side, facing me somberly. They told me they had important information for me, and that it was time I knew the truth. My mother did most the speaking. My father held her hand and stared at the carpet.

Twenty-two years ago, shortly after the birth of my older brother Peter, my mother went through what she called her "dark" period. She explained that after Peter was born, she went through some sort of post-partum depression. She described it as feeling dead, or feeling nothing at all, as if she were conscious of being unconscious. My father knew something was wrong with her. He pleaded with her to seek help, but in her state of severe depression, she only lashed out at him and sunk deeper into her abyss. She left my brother almost entirely in the hands of my father. She told me she was on the verge of suicide and didn't even know why.

How she managed to hold down her job teaching the sixth grade, she couldn't explain. It was as if she were in cruise control, like a machine, going about the motions without any feelings at all. Her job, at least, gave her a means of escape from the house, which to her felt like a torture chamber. She was supposed to have taken an entire semester off for maternity leave, but to the surprise of her colleagues, she returned to work only a few weeks after Pete's birth. She emphasized just how badly she had to get out of the house. She felt the walls were going to crush her. She even admitted that the sight of my dad and brother made her sick. She hated them both.

She spent all her time at school. She would stay until 8, even 9, o'clock at night. She would grade papers, make lesson plans, use any excuse she could to avoid going home and facing her husband and baby son. My father said he felt as if he were a single parent. He made Pete's formula, changed his diapers, everything. Since he had a job, too, he used whatever resources he could for babysitting: neighbors, friends, relatives. My father's mother watched Pete the most often. She cursed my mother, calling her an unfit mother. Based on how this story sounded, she was right. My mother said as time passed things got even worse. She completely went over the edge. Nothing mattered anymore. Not even her baby. She felt her life was near its end.

"One day I was trying to figure out an excuse to stay late at school again," she explained. "So I decided to keep one of the boys after school. He was always causing disruptions. I had kept him after school in the past, but it did little good. I didn't care. All I wanted was an excuse to keep from going home. He was a beautiful boy. Like an angel. But he acted like a demon. I used to think, why is this angelic-looking boy so devilish?" She shook her head. My father held her hand tighter. "I was so sick then. So sick. I didn't even remember who I was half the time. How the school never noticed my mental state, I don't know to this day." She looked up at the ceiling. "I don't even remember how it started. Maybe he started it. He was such a demon. But maybe I did. I don't remember any of it. I just remember feeling more like death. Each time it was like I was killing myself over and over. Oh, David, my sweet son, David!" The tears came in heavy rivulets now. I listened transfixed, unmoved by her obvious mental anguish in reliving the story. My father moved closer to her, trying to comfort her. "We had an affair, David. Me and that boy. A 12-year-old boy. I would keep him after school nearly every day after that first time, and we'd make love in the classroom! I can't tell you anything much about it. I don't remember. I really don't. I just know we had an affair. Me and that beautiful boy. Oh, David!"

I wanted to rush from the house and vomit. But I couldn't move. It was as if my legs were strapped to the chair. My mother. My own mother! I couldn't believe that my mother--an old-fashioned elementary school teacher--would even think of sex, much less cheat on her husband, and with an under-age boy. But why on earth were they telling me this? I sat transfixed with shock as they continued the story.

"On top of my depression, I was chronically paranoid," my mother went on. "I thought everyone knew about the affair. I fell deeper and deeper into mental illness. Oddly, it was the affair itself that started bringing me back to reality. I had sunk so low as a human, I had shocked even myself into facing the horror of my situation. I finally allowed your father to convince me to seek help. Your poor father still didn't know anything about the boy, and I wanted to do anything I could to protect him. I thought I could end the affair and keep it all a secret while seeking help."

But that was when all hell broke loose, she said. She had stopped everything with the boy. But as it turned out, he had told a few of his friends about the affair. Soon, word spread. Eventually his parents found out. My mother was brought into the principal's office for a confrontation with the boy's parents. She admitted to everything. She was immediately discharged as a teacher. Once charges were brought against her by the boy's parents and the school board, she had no choice but to tell my father. The court took little time in finding a verdict. Expert testimony labeled my mother severely mentally ill, suffering from chronic post-partum depression. The judge found her not guilty due to insanity and she was placed in a mental institution for intensive observation where she stayed for five months.

"Your father, such a decent man, took care of your brother all on his own," my mother said, gazing up at my father with adoring eyes. "He would visit me at the hospital with the baby. Funny, it was in the mental hospital where I first began to bond with Peter. I was starting to feel happy. I was getting the help I needed, putting my life together again, knowing that I still had a wonderful husband and child there for me. I thought everything bad was behind us. But then we found out something shocking...."

My mind began to whirl. What could possibly be worse than being sentenced to a mental institution for having an illicit affair with a 12-year-old boy? Then I began to wonder again. Why are they telling me this story?

"My dear son, David," my mother said, looking soulfully into my eyes. "At the hospital during a routine exam, they discovered I was pregnant. I knew it couldn't be your father's, because we hadn't been intimate in nearly a year. I knew without a doubt I was pregnant with that boy's baby. Oh, David, the anguish I felt!" I still wasn't sure what all this meant. My mind kept racing. My innocent mother. Pregnant with a 12-year-old boy's baby! I listened to the rest of the story in a daze.

My mother, after discovering she was pregnant with her boy lover's bastard child, decided she had to tell my father. Although in shock, he was as understanding as before.

"It was your father's idea to keep everything quiet," my mother said. "He felt there had been enough heartache for everyone, and I had to agree. Your father being a forgiving Christian insisted we keep the baby. He didn't think it was fare to punish the baby for our own actions by aborting it. And after discussing things with the psychiatrists, we decided I could emotionally handle another pregnancy. We decided to tell everyone that the baby was your father's. No one seemed to think otherwise. Even the hospital staff was clueless. Maybe people talked, but no one could ever know for sure. Your father, being the kind, reasonable man that he is, raised the child as his own."

My mother stopped speaking and both my parents looked at me. I waited for them to continue the story. Why did they stop? Why were they staring at me? Where was this story leading? I started placing the pieces together in my mind. My mother pregnant. A mere four months after my brother Peter was born my mother had another baby. Pete was only a year and four months older than me! And my father. He raised the baby as his own? But Peter was already born so who else... Then, the understanding of it all slowly covered my mind like a tarp. That bastard child, that baby conceived from an affair between my mother and one of her 12-year-old students--that was me! Now I truly was going to get sick. I stood up as if in a rage, and with tears filling my eyes, I stared at my parents. "What are you telling me?" I demanded.

"David," my father spoke. "Through it all I always thought of you as my own son. I never thought of you as anything less. I love you, David. I love you as if your were my real son--"

"You're liars!" I shouted, tears spraying from my eyes. "You're both sick liars! Why would you lie to me like this?" And I stormed from the house and drove off in my car in a fury.

Although I accused my parents of lying, I knew they were telling me the truth. There I was, a 21-year-old man who had just been told that my mother's boy lover was my father. And what's even worse, the man I had called "pop" for nearly two decades wasn't my real father! The discovery put me in a state of shock so deep, I dropped out of college, took a leave of absence from my job and stayed in my apartment for weeks refusing to see anyone. I completely shunned my mother and "father." I refused their calls. I ignored their letters. If they made a surprise visit to my apartment, I'd pretend no one was home. I even stopped speaking to my older brother, who, as it turned out, was my half brother. I felt as if I were living in a world full of strangers. To say the least, I was in a state of deep confusion and depression.

I spent my days viewing porno movies on the wall of my bedroom with my old soundless projector. Porn was my sanctuary. I wanted to avoid reality any way I could. The more I masturbated looking at men having sex with each other, the less I felt. I must have beat off ten, fifteen times a day to forget my problems. I craved every naked man I saw in those films. I rubbed my penis raw, until I felt one day I had sprained it. But it didn't stop me. I wanted more porn. I racked up a credit card bill of over $400 just for porn movies and magazines. The more the reality of my parent's words came back to humiliate me, the more furiously I masturbated. I wanted to drown in my own cum. My world had become a sticky mess in more ways than one.

My brother had found out about the story when he insisted my parents tell him why I had estranged myself from the family. He was as shocked as I. He literally broke into my apartment one day and forced me to confront him. He had caught me masturbating while watching a gay flick, but he acted as if he didn't notice my eight inch cock in my hand and the interracial fuck fest taking place on my bedroom wall. He had known I was gay ever since I had told him when I was fourteen, so seeing me watch gay porn didn't come as a shock to him. He stood over me where I was watching the porno telling me he loved me and that no matter what my mother had done in the past we would work things out. I stood up and he hugged me. I never felt more loved. His love for me proved overpowering and, being so close in age, I couldn't deny the intimacy we had always shared. But still I worried that his knowing we were half brothers would lessen his love for me, the way my love for my pop had lessened, at least temporarily.

"Do you feel any different about me?" I asked him timidly, looking into his brown eyes, my arms still locked around his waist, my naked body pressed against his rough jeans and soft t-shirt.

"No. Of course not," he said, looking away bashfully. "You are the same guy who I stuffed in the hamper when you were five. You are the same guy I cheered when you played football. You're always going to be my little brother, Davie. Always. Now get dressed," he said, grinning, releasing his hold on me, "and let's get your life back on track."

"Do you really want me to get dressed?" I asked him, staring at him. I was almost drunk with sex. For weeks I had done nothing but view porn, sometimes from sun up to sun down without so much as getting up to eat. Reality and porn merged into some strange new world where testosterone was the air everyone breathed. I eyed my half-brother solicitously. "Do you remember that time I told you I was gay? Do you?"

Peter turned deep red. "Yeah," he said, looking down at his shoes. "I remember. We were silly kids."

"It was great, Peter." I said to him, looking directly toward him. Still he avoided my eyes.

"I guess it was okay," he finally said.

"Okay?" I exclaimed, laughing. "Dude! You got the best blow job of your life that night."

Peter blurted out a laugh. "Yea, well, maybe... I guess I did." For the first time he looked right at me. "You really knew what you were doing, you little ho."

"Ho?" I laughed. "If I recall correctly you were the one asking for it. Damn! You straight guys. All you have to do is mention you're gay, and you straight guys expect us to give you expert blow jobs at the drop of a hat."

"Yea, well..."

Absentmindedly, I took my dick in my hand. It had grown hard again, and swelled to its full eight inches. Thinking of that first time I sucked off my straight brother fully aroused me. After that initial suck session, I blew my brother maybe three times over the next few months. But he had put an end to it shortly after I had first come out to him. I knew he still thought about having his cock sucked by me, but I never pressured him because I didn't want him to feel uncomfortable. Looking at him now with his handsome, dark features, firm body, and large bulge growing in his jeans, I realized how much I missed sucking him off. With my mind in a porno-ignited sexual whirl, there was nothing to stop me this time.

"Do you want me to do it again?" I asked, moving closer to him. I could see Pete stare at the raging hard on in my hand. Then he gulped and rearranged the bulge in his pants. "For old time's sake?" I said, brushing up against the tent poking through his jeans.

"I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "We're kinda older now. And with everything going on, I don't know if it's right to--"

I didn't let him finish his sentence. I reached over and undid his zipper and pulled down his pants. I knew men. Gay or straight, they all wanted sex, especially if they knew it was going to be good. His ten inches pressed against his tight whites. I kneeled before him and started licking the cotton fabric over his cock. He let out a slight moan as I soaked his briefs in my saliva, my lips feeling the full length of his ten inch manhood. I gently nibbled on the outline of his helmet head. I could taste the pre-cum through the fabric. Next I reached for his elastic band and yanked his underwear down to his ankles without his giving any protest. I looked down between his legs and noticed a faint skid mark on his underwear. Straight guys, I thought, laughing to myself. When I looked up, his hard ten inches waved before my eyes. I stared at it a moment, mesmerized as usual by it's beauty. What a perfect cock! So solid and full of veins. It had grown a few inches since I had last sucked it. And I thought it was big when we were kids! Impatient, Peter put his large, strong tanned hands behind my head and slowly pulled me toward his waiting cock until my mouth had completely engulfed it.

"Suck that dick," he whispered. "Suck it like you used to. I can't stop it. You suck it so good."

I didn't waste any time doing what my brother asked. I sucked on that pole as if it were the very essence of life. There was nothing more gratifying than pleasing a brother sexually, even a half brother. I played with his low hanging balls as I gobbled up his cock, my saliva falling in long streams onto the carpet. I could feel his helmet head striking the back of my throat. I eagerly pumped my dick as I kneeled before my brother, sucking on his raw meat.

"Oh, yeah," Pete moaned. "Suck that dick, bro." He threw his head back and, keeping a firm grip on the back of my head, began thrusting steadily in and out my mouth. "Yeah! Hot damn! Suck that cock! Fuck! Shit dude, we shouldn't be doing this. But damn..."

I grabbed his tight ass cheeks and buried his cock deeper into my mouth until my lips pressed against his wet pubes plastered over his sinewy pelvis. I couldn't get enough of that monster cock of his. "Oh yeah! Fuck! Shit, bro!" Pete screamed, thrusting harder and deeper. "Damn, dude, you suck cock fucking good. Damn! Shit! Dude, I'm gonna cum. Fuck, man! This is so wrong--" The next thing I knew, my brother's hot cum was filling my mouth until it oozed down my chin and onto the carpet. "Yeah," I said, looking up at him, gurgling with his hot cream. "Yeah, brother. Shoot that load." I masturbated him until he unleashed another shot of jizm. I caught it with my mouth. "Ugggh!" Peter moaned, falling supine onto my bed after being drained of so much love juice.

"Damn," Pete said, looking up at the ceiling with his cock still hard and pressed against his 6-pack abs. "Damn, you're good at that."

"Yeah, I know," I said, smiling at him, admiring his tight body. "You make me really want to suck your cock."

"Well," he said, sitting up and pulling up his underwear and pants. "That was silly. We should think of more important things. We can't do that anymore. Right now you need to think about talking with mom and dad and getting your shit together."

I looked down at my feet and began pulling on the small blond hairs on my toes. I knew he was right. Pete was always right. As reluctant as I was, at some point I had to make amends with my parents.

Soon after that hot suck session with my brother, I started on the path of healing the wounds with my parents. My brother Peter was instrumental in convincing me I needed to keep the channels of communication open. It was not an easy time. At least I was able to face them. There was little of the humor and warmth that I once felt when in their presence, but that was because I still kept my emotional distance from them. They seemed to understand that, and gave me the room I needed until I could figure things out and learn to respect and love them as I had before. I even got to the point where I could ask my mother direct questions about her boy lover--my father. Thinking about it still made my head swoon, but I had many questions that I needed answered. She had little to offer me about him. Much of that period was blurry to her. She was deeply mentally ill when she had begun her affair with him, and she remembered few details. She did remember his name. Andrew Albright. She even reluctantly showed me a picture of him from the elementary school year book she kept stowed in the garage. My mother was right. He was angelic. He had dirty blond curly hair, bright blue eyes, a perfectly squared face--he looked just like me. He was stunning. For a moment I could almost understand my mother's attraction to him. It almost made me laugh the absurdity of it all.

As far as my relationship with my father, that was a different matter all together. I had to get over the fact that he wasn't my biological father. I loved him greatly, and had always looked up to him. He was over 6 feet, lean, taught muscles, brown eyes, always parted his dark hair conservatively to the side, large hands that made me feel so safe whenever he'd take his hand in mine. He aged very little over the years, too, unlike my mother. As a boy, he was my superman. How could all that change just by learning that he wasn't my biological father? Although I hate to admit it, it did. I know he was hurt by my distance, but there was little I could do to change my demeanor. I was civil with him whenever home, but I would cringe whenever he hugged me or tried to kiss me. I hated hurting his feelings, but I just needed more time. I thought the best thing for us all was to get away for a while. I was only making my father feel hurt whenever I was around. We all needed more time to heal the wounds.

My mother had told me that she and my father had moved before I was born from the state where the affair took place. Once my mother was released from the hospital, my parents decided to move to the Midwest. There was too much humiliation to keep them where they were. Everyone knew about my mother's affair. And of course, being pregnant would only make things more precarious for them. She could never teach again, although she missed her profession a great deal.

I persuaded my mother to tell me the state and town in which the affair took place. It was a sparsely populated state out west. It was difficult picturing my parents living in such a rugged area. I almost wish they never had moved, for I loved the outdoors: camping, hiking, mountain climbing. I felt drawn to where they had lived. I had still yet to re-enroll in college and I had permanently quit my job, so I had all the time in the world to travel. I decided I needed to visit where my parents lived. I needed to see where my history began. I needed to visit the "scene of the crime," so to speak.

My parents had no idea of my travel plans, but I had confided in my brother about my intentions. He tried to talk me out of it, but knowing my stubbornness, he didn't invest too much time trying to convince me. With Pete's reluctant blessing, I set off on my journey. Before I knew it, I was stepping off a plane in the largest city in the state where my parents had lived. I had brought with me all my backpacking gear. I was resolved to not only learn more of my history, but to take advantage of the natural surroundings this particular state had to offer. Anxious about what I was to find, I set off in my rental pick-up truck and headed toward the town where my parents had lived, about 80 miles northwest of the main city.

I reached town by nightfall. The town was situated in the foothills before a massive mountain range. I found a small motel on the shopping strip near the interstate. The sounds of cars buzzing by filled my head as I lay in my bed contemplating my next plan of action. Where would I go? Who would I see? What would I do with any information I find, anyway? These questions filled my head as I dozed.

The next morning I was anxious to go exploring. I was amazed by the mountain scenery acting as a backdrop to the quaint town. I couldn't wait to head out in the mountains and backpack. But the first line of business was to learn some more of my history. The first place I went was the obvious--the old elementary school where my mother had worked as a teacher and the very site where she had carried on an affair with one of her 12-year-old students, the place where I was conceived. It was a bright and chipper building, lying squat on the hilly terrain, with the mountains soaring in the background. Classes were still in session, so I couldn't wander the halls. Instead, I wandered the school grounds peeking into the classrooms from the windows. I had been there about ten minutes when someone grabbed my arm by surprise and swung me around. "What is your name? Where are you from? And what are you doing here?" the man holding my arm demanded in a deep baritone. From his uniform I could tell he was the school's security guard.

"Oh, I...uh...I...My name is David Copinski..." I didn't know what to tell him why I was here. I was a grown man peeking into a school building. It didn't look good.

"Come with me," the security guard ordered, and he yanked me by the arm and away.

I sat in his small office inside the school where he had left me before going off somewhere. I supposed he was retrieving the principal. I wasn't too alarmed. Since my mission was to gain knowledge of my father, I figured this would be the perfect opportunity to ask questions. I could easily explain my situation. Surely they'd understand.

A few minutes later the security guard entered. He shut the door and stood facing me resolutely. I was surprised to find him alone. He was a tall man, about my height, maybe a few inches taller. I guessed him to be 6'3". His weight was proportionate to his height and he had a firm stature. Through his clothes I could tell he was well-built. His pants rose up just enough to highlight his package. I was almost embarrassed that I was checking out his crotch when here I was being held for possible peeping tom charges at an elementary school. His face was strong and oval, with a square jaw, deep bright blue eyes and curly dark blond hair. He looked to be in his early to mid thirties. His face was tanned with a few masculine-looking sun lines.

"All right," he said, after a short pause. "What were you doing out there peeping into the windows?"

"Well," I began. "This may sound odd, but my mother is originally from here and I was just checking out the old school where she used to work. I was curious."

"Curious about what?" He demanded, pressing his thick fists into his sides.

"About how things look. You see, my mother used to teach here and well, I never really... It's such a long story. The thing is, well, I'm not a peeping Tom."

"From my viewpoint, you are."

"It's just a misunderstanding." I tried to be as pleasant as possible. The last thing I wanted was to upset this dude. I kept focused on his blue eyes, smiling softly so that he would know that I wasn't sinister in my goals. Yet my eyes kept falling to his crotch. I wasn't sure, but it looked as if the security guard's package had grown somewhat since he first returned to his office.

"Hey!" He shouted. "Keep attention. I'm talking to you now!"

"Yes, sir," I stammered, growing increasingly weary of my situation. My mind raced with ways to get out of this.

"Now what is it that you really want here?"

I thought a moment, then decided to spare telling him the full story. I told him that I was conceived in the town twenty-two years ago and that my mother had moved before I was born, leaving behind my natural father. I was curious about the town I was conceived in and wanted to learn more about my father who never knew about my birth. I told him that I believed he had once been a student at this school. I needed more information to find him. The security guard listened attentively to my story, never once changing his stern facial expression as he stared at me. The way his stare penetrated me left me feeling uneasy, but yet I was aroused by his oozing masculinity. Now and then during my story my eyes fell to his crotch, but I quickly lifted them to his eyes, or elsewhere in the tiny office, to avoid his wrath should he notice what I was doing. Finally, he stepped closer to me, looking down at me in my chair.

"You expect me to believe that bullshit story?" he said, still keeping his severe expression.

"Yes," I said, surprised that he found me insincere. "Of course, it's all true. Why would I lie?" He demanded I sit up straight. I did and he seemed satisfied. Then he studied me a minute without speaking. The silence in the small room grew oppressive.

"Are you a fag?" He asked out of no where. I was shocked by the question. My mouth dropped open and all I could do was stare at him in disbelief.

"Well?" He bellowed. "Are you a fag?"

I wasn't sure if this was one of those small-minded types who hated homosexuals, and I didn't want to stick around to find out. Besides, what if he would use my homosexuality as an excuse to arrest me on some morals charge. After all, I was sneaking around an elementary school, and so many still believe that homosexuals are on some level child molesters. Hell, my own mother dismisses that stereotype! But regardless, the idea of sex with children repulsed me. I was hot only for masculine men, just like this stunning piece of beef standing before me in his tight security guard uniform.

"Are you a fag!?" He demanded once more. This time, I decided to be resolute, and stand up for myself. What else had I to lose? Already it appeared that this man was going to do whatever he wished with me. Most likely he was going to arrest me no matter what I said.

"Yes," I said, firmly, staring him directly in his eyes. "Yes, I'm a homosexual."

The security guard said nothing at first. Then a small, barely detectible smile crept over his face. He stepped closer to me, until he stood barely a foot away, his crotch at my eye level. His package seemed larger than ever.

"I thought maybe you were a fag," he said, smiling fully for the first time. "We don't get too many pretty boys up these parts. Most move just after high school. I wish they wouldn't always leave. I get lonely."

I looked up at him in amazement. Was this stunning piece of meat coming on to me? Wow! I was so overwhelmed. Why was he telling me this? Then I looked down at his crotch and I knew why. His crotch was stretched fully from what appeared to be an enormous cock. My own cock immediately grew to its full eight inches. I looked at him again. "Why are you telling me this?" I asked, quietly.

"Just among brothers under the skin," he said, grinning. I smiled back. Yes. Just between brothers under the skin. And, as a good brother, I was always ready to give a hand. I reached for his belt and undid the strap.

"Do you want a little help from a brother?" I asked, smiling seductively at him. His widening grin was all the answer I needed. Quickly, I pulled down his pants and underwear and revealed his full, massive twelve inch cock, with a width easily near eight inches. It was one of the biggest cocks I had ever seen. I wasted no time putting as much of it as I could down my throat. My mouth drooled with hunger.

"Suck that meat," the security guard demanded, placing his hands on his hips and letting me do all the work. He stood with his muscular legs askew, his head thrown back, obviously enjoying the working over I was giving to his massive manhood. His cock tasted pungent, as if he hadn't showered in a day or so, but it meant all the more man smell was able to reach my nostrils buried deep in his pubic hair. I undid my own pants and unleashed my throbbing cock. I stroked myself as I deep throated the security guard's monster cock.

"Oh, yeah! Suck that cock, you fucking cock sucker! Suck that cock!" he shouted.

I wasn't too worried that some of the faculty or students would hear us, for the security guard's office was on the basement level near the mechanic's room, and with no windows, it was a perfect place for a quick workplace suck off.

"Suck it, bitch. Suck it!" the security guard shouted, thrusting his dick now deeper down my throat. "Yeah! Nothing like fucking in a school." I gagged only a bit, for I was a master cock sucker with years of practice sucking off my straight friends' and brother's large penises. I began rubbing my full lips up and down the length of the large tool, holding it firmly in my hand at its base near his ball sack. His balls were low hangers, and they smelled even more ripe than his pubes. I licked and bit on his balls expertly, knowing just how much pressure to put on them before the very moment of pain. My security guard buckled a bit, as if the pleasure was too intense. He lifted my face by my chin and guided my mouth back to his thick cock. "Suck it, fucker, suck it!" I sucked more and more of his girthy pole. I started to taste the first salty signs of pre-cum. It only made me suck harder and faster and deeper. With one hand I reached for his ass. It was as firm and smooth as marble. I buried my face between his legs and began lapping up at his ass, searching with my tongue his hot hole. He moaned even more, throwing his head back and gyrating his ass down into my face, wanting more and more of my hot tongue in his hairy crack. It smelled and tasted like pure masculinity. His ass was so tight and muscular I couldn't begin to pry open his cheeks with just my tongue. I worked my mouth back to his cock, throbbing thicker and bigger than ever. I impaled my face onto that rod with everything I had. I couldn't get enough of that dick down my throat.

"Aggh! Uggh! FUCK! Shit! I'm cumming--" A shot of super hot cum hit the back of my throat. I gobbled it up as if it were the nectar of the gods. More cum shots hit my throat and I beat my own meat until I shot cum all over the guard's shoes. Spent, the guard finally wilted like a dehydrated dandelion and fell back on a chair. His cock, still hard, but down now to about nine inches, poked out toward the wall. I crawled over to him and began sucking on that meat rod some more. He was such a stud, I couldn't get enough. He pushed my head away and giggled. "It's sensitive, be careful." I squeezed his thick dick until I drunk the last bits of cum. When I was done, I sat by his feet and gazed at him. "That was awesome," I said, breathless.

"You're telling me," said the security guard, breathing heavy as well. "That was some awesome blow job. The best I ever had. Thanks."

"You're welcome," I said proudly. I was always happy to have pleasured a man the way only another man could.

"So what did you say your name is?" He asked.

"David Copinski."

"Nice to meet you, David."

"You, too. What's your name?"

He took in a deep gulp of air, still trying to catch his breath. "Andrew." He breathed heavy. "Andrew Albright."

My mouth fell open. Andrew Albright! That was the name of the boy my mother had the affair with. Oh my God! Could it be? What were the odds that they had the same name and that he just happened to work at the very same elementary school. It was too much of a coincidence. I sat on the floor, staring at the wall as if I had just seen a space ship land, realizing that I had found in such quick time my biological father--and that I had just given him one of the best blow jobs he had ever had.

I spent the next two days in my motel room afraid to leave. I didn't know what to do. How could so much happen so soon after arriving. I wish I had more discretion when it came to sucking off hot guys. Now what a predicament I had gotten myself into!

The truth is I still wasn't one hundred percent positive that the security guard was my biological father. Sure, he had the same name and would be about the same age as the boy my mother had the affair with and lived in the same town, but could it really be him? I had to be certain. So, after showering and dressing, I looked up Andrew Albright's name in the local phone book and telephoned him.

"Hello?" It was the security guard's deep baritone voice I remembered.

"Ummm..." I didn't know what to say.

"Hello?" he said louder, a slight annoyance in his voice. "Who is this?

"'s me...ummm...from the other day. David. David Copinski."

"David who?"

"I'm the guy that you...ummmm...picked up at school the other day." There was silence. Then: "Oh!" he said, his voice more jovial now. "Yea, I remember you. How could I forget? You gave me one of the best blow jobs I ever got." He laughed.

"Yea, well...ummm..." I was embarrassed. The man who was most likely my father was telling me what a great a cock sucker I was. "Yea, well..ummmm...."

"So how are you?" he said. "Are you still in town?"

"Yes. Yes, I am. In fact, I was wondering if we could get together tonight."

"That would be great," Andrew said. "I'd like that a lot. Do you know where the Buffalo Stampede Bar & Grill is?

"No, but I'll find it."

"Great. See you there at 7:00."

"Okay. See you..."

I was half an hour early at the Buffalo Stampede Bar & Grill. As it turned out, it was in the shopping center next to my motel. I sat at a booth working on my third Bud Lite, anxiously watching the door, jumping every time someone walked in. The juke box in the corner played contemporary music: Michael Jackson, Madonna, Laura Branigan. At quarter after 7, I started to think Andrew wasn't going to show. Then, a tall, strong figure filled the doorframe to the restaurant. He looked around, and seeing me sitting at the booth, smiled and walked over to join me.

"Hi, David," he said, sliding into the booth on the opposite side from where I sat.

"Hey, Andrew," I said, gulping. "You look good."

"Thanks. I just had to brush off two young chickies in the parking lot. This town is full of horny high school girls. They are always looking for any older man to get them outta this town. I'm just not into the young chickies. Older chicks, sure. I'll fuck an older chick. They're kind of hot in their own way. I have a thing for them. But the young chicks? Nah."

I gulped hard again. Oh my God, I thought. He's into older women. It was becoming more likely that this stud was my biological father. After pathetic attempts at small talk, I finally started to ask Andrew about his past. He was very forthcoming and open. He proved to be a very pleasant and kind man.

"I grew up in this dust bowl," he said, after ordering his second Sam Adams on tap from the waitress. "It's an okay town, but like all small towns, not a lot going on. I don't mind though. I'm not into any wild and crazy scenes anyway. Small towns suit me."

"What about sex with guys?" I asked him. "Isn't that hard to come by in a small town?"

Andrew laughed. "It wasn't too hard to get you to suck me off."

I blushed. "Sure. But are you gay?"

"I'm not into labels," Andrew said, sitting back in his seat. "I like older women and younger dudes. Both seem to be horny enough to get anytime I want them."

"Have you had much experience with older women?" I asked, hesitantly.

"A few," he answered nonchalantly. "Some of the kids' moms from school have put the moves on me. Sometimes I respond, sometimes I don't."

"When was the first time you had sex?" I dared to ask him, fearful of what the answer might be. Fearful and excited.

Andrew seemed to contemplate a moment. Then the waitress came and placed his beer in front of him. After she left, he answered: "I was pretty young. About...hmmmm...twelve or so."

I took a swig of my beer and gulped. "Really? That young?"

"Yea. It was pretty hot. I usually don't talk about it much though. I was kind of a dumb kid."

I settled back in my seat and composed myself. I had to know the truth. With my hand gripping the beer bottle, I prodded him on. "Why don't you tell me the story," I said, trying to keep a steady voice.

Andrew shrugged. "Well, if you really want to hear about it. I had a thing for this chick. She was older, WAY older. Maybe in her mid twenties. She would stare at me a lot, like a lot of people did. I usually ignored it. But this chick was hot. I don't remember much about her, just that I was horny for her. I'd get wood whenever she was near me. She had big breasts, I remember that. All I could do was think about sucking on them. I was kind of a punk, so one day I put the moves on her. She loved it. Didn't resist at all. Banged her good and hard."

Listening to Andrew's story, I began to grow enraged. This was my mother he was talking about! I didn't like that he referred to her as a "chick" who was horny for him and who he banged "good and hard." But I bit my lower lip and let him continue his story.

"It was pretty cool. I fucked her a few times after that. I was young so I didn't really know what I wanted or what I was doing. But after that first time, I wanted it as often as I could get it. I loved pounding pussy. I was pretty damn good at it, too, for a kid not even in his teens."

"Do you remember who the woman was?"

"Yea, some bitch who lived next door to me. She was a friend of my mom's sister who came by and visited a lot. Never in a million years thought I'd fuck her, but like I said, I knew when someone was hot for me and I was ready to, well, you know, respond..."

"You mean it wasn't your teacher?" I blurted out.

"My what? What made you ask that?" Andrew's eyebrows furrowed and he grew vexed. "Huh? Why did you ask that?" I thought that Andrew might leap across the table and choke me. I looked at him with wide eyes, trying to figure a way out of this.

"I...I don't know," I stammered. "I just thought...I mean if you're so young, the only older women you'd have contact with...I mean, I just thought, it would be a teacher..."

"Who the fuck have you been talking to? Who are you? Where are you from?" All I did was stare. I had hit a raw button with this towering figure of a man, and I had turned on a furry. I didn't know how to turn it off. "You fucking punk," he swore at me. "Are you some kind of freak?"

"Me? No. Listen, Andrew, I didn't mean to..."

"Shut up!" he demanded. He kept quite a moment, his large hand grasped firmly on the handle of his mug of beer. I thought he might hurl the beer at me. I didn't know what he'd do next. All I could do was keep still, frightened to make any sudden moves should he lash out at me. His eyes were beat red, saliva formed in the corner of his mouth. "So you brought all this up because you know all about me, huh? You know all about my past and that bitch I fucked in school, huh? You want to hear about it? Okay, I'll tell you, since you are so nosey, you little cock sucker. I did fuck a teacher in school. I fucked her a few months after I fucked that other bitch for the first time. She wanted it just like my aunt's friend. I gave them what they wanted. They loved it. So I fucked my teacher and it ruined a few lives. I didn't care. All I did was give that bitch what she wanted! I fucked her good. I fucked her maybe ten times. I fucked her on her own desk. I fucked her in the coat closet. I fucked her on the floor near the reading station. One time I fucked her four times in one afternoon. She loved it. She was some whacked out bitch, too, if I remember it. She was a real slut. Always staring at me. I gave that bitch the fucking of her life. We both loved it. I once even fucked her doggy style..."

I couldn't bear to hear anymore. It was I who ended up throwing his beer. Without even thinking, the hand in which I held my beer raised off the table and the next thing I knew Andrew's face was covered in my beer. Blinded with rage and shame, I rushed from the restaurant and took off in my rental pick-up toward the motel.

"That was some performance," Andrew said on the phone the next morning. He had caller I.D. on his phone and had stored my number from the time when I had called him. I was lying on the motel bed, still woozy from the previous night's events when he had called. I was embarrassed and still a bit angry, but on some level relieved when I answered the phone and heard Andrew's--my father's--voice. "I didn't know you were such a drama queen," he snickered.

"Sorry," I mumbled. "I suppose I did overreact."

"Well," said Andrew, "my question is, what were you overreacting to? Were you mad because I had accused you of targeting me for some weird reason I have yet to understand?"

I realized then that Andrew was no small town hick with a pea brain. He was very astute and intelligent. He had an understanding of the world that can only come from having so many experiences and being so close to nature. In fact, I realized that most of the locals were intelligent and savvy in ways I could never be. I suddenly felt like a fool. A stupid, moronic fool lost in a world full of people far more intelligent and insightful than me.

"I suppose I owe you an apology," I said. "First, I'm sorry I made you tell me that story. It was obvious it was painful for you to relive on some level, and I'm sorry. But, you see, I needed to hear it from your own mouth so that I would know for sure."

"Know what?" Andrew demanded.

"Remember that time in your office at school when you asked my why I was in town? Well...I told you that I was conceived in town and that my mother moved away before I was born and that my father never knew about my birth. Remember? I came to town to look for my father."

"Yeah? So?"

"Andrew, you're my father." There was silence. Then the line on the other end went dead, and soon a dial tone followed. I hung up the phone none too surprised. If I were Andrew, I would've hung up on me, too. Who was I? Some punk from the city who waltzed into his life and turned things upside down, the way they must've been when he was 12-years-old and carrying on an affair with my mother. I looked out the small window in my motel room and glanced up at the mountains. It was time I checked out of this dive and checked into the woods.

I left my rental pick-up at the trail head about 20 miles outside of town. I had found this trail on the topographical map I bought back home when I first planned the trip. Secluded and nestled by towering pines high in the mountains, I knew this would be the best backpacking in the area.

With my seventy-pound pack sturdy on my back, I eagerly made my way along the trail from the foothills into the high mountains. The sound of the earth crushing under the weight of my boots gave me a sense of power and invincibility I had longed for. I inhaled deeply all the aromas of the woods. I felt at home here. I could leave all my troubles behind.

I reached tree-line around 4 o'clock. Daylight would last another three hours at least, especially in the higher elevations, but I didn't want to take any chances of getting stuck on the trail in darkness without having set up camp. I found a flat part of earth covered in soft pine needles about 200 yards from the trail near a creek. I knew that this place would be what I would call home for the night.

After setting up camp and pitching the tent, I walked down to the nearby creek to fill my water bottle for dinner. I had a state-of-the-art micro filter to pump the water clean of any containments. I squatted down low and pumped for about 15 minutes. I watched the muscles in my forearms work as I pumped. I became aroused by the sight of my own masculine muscles. My penis grew erect. Looking around (as if anyone would be this far into the woods) I undid my hiking shorts and released my hard eight inch dick. I set aside my pump and began pumping my cock. It felt so natural to be masturbating in the woods. I let my hand move up and down the entire length of my prick with ease. Still squatting, I put my free hand into my shorts and began feeling my widened manhole. With my index finger I circled around the perimeter of my sphincter, feeling the hole pucker at my own touch. As I pumped my rod and fingered my hole, I thought how badly I would love to get fucked. I threw my head back as I released my first jet of jism which fell onto the earth and was absorbed by the soil. When I was finished, I fastened my shorts, grabbed my pump and full bottle of water and headed back to camp.

After dinner, I decided to collect wood for a fire before nightfall. It would be a chilly night up in the mountains so I put in the extra effort to find the highest quality wood for burning. Dry, white pine wood littered the wood's floor. I gathered up several bushels in my arms and formed a fire tee-pee that would have made the most ardent Boy Scout master proud. I stuffed the inside of the wood tee-pee full of dry leaves and pine needles and lit it with a match. Soon, I had a roaring fire. As night fell, it was the perfect fire to keep me warm. Oddly, however, the warmth from the fire failed to comfort me. In fact, staring at the flames leaping from the hissing wood only made me feel more alone. Dejected, I spread the fire so that it would burn out and retreated to my tent for sleep.

The next morning I awoke to the sound of birds singing and distant elk mooing. I eagerly ate breakfast and quickly cleaned my eating utensils so that I could get an early start on the trail. After packing my gear, I was soon on the trail hiking farther up the mountain with the sun warm on the back of my calves.

By late afternoon I was tired and worn. The hike up the mountain and then back down on the other side into a green valley surrounding a glistening river was far more strenuous than the previous day's hike. I was more eager than ever to set up camp and rest. I consulted with my topo map and found a spot perfect for a campsite. But when I reached the spot, I noticed someone had beat me to it. I grew numb with disappointment. I was too tired to continue, but I had no choice. I tried to be quiet as I hiked around the occupant's camp site, but when he emerged from out of the trees holding two large bottles of water, I froze.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, setting down the bottles and staring at me as if in disgust. The setting sun sliced through the trees and created a haze that made it difficult to focus clearly. Strained and fatigued, my eyes were in poor shape as it was. But the baritone voice, the stalwart figure, it all became clear and my eyes soon focused. "Andrew?" I asked, in disbelief.

"Why did you follow me here?" he asked, looking at me almost with revulsion.

"I...I didn't follow you. I swear. I had no idea anyone would be here. I can't believe it's you."

"Am I supposed to believe that?"

"Why do you keep saying you don't believe me when I tell you things. Andrew, I don't lie. And I wouldn't lie to you. See this backpack on my back? Is all that a lie, too? I've been planning this backpack trip for weeks." He didn't say anything, but stared at me under his brow, his curly blond hair disheveled and tossed over his steely blue eyes.

"Yea, well, I guess." He picked up the bottles of water and began working around his camp. It was obvious he was preparing dinner. Suddenly, I realized my own hunger and desperately wished to set up my own camp so that I could eat and rest. But all I could do was stay still and watch Andrew as he expertly made his way around the camp bending over and walking around doing this and that. Even in his boots, he seemed to hover over the earth, easily gliding from spot to spot.

"Well," he finally said, continuing with his toil. "Are you going to just stare at me?"

"I'm just thinking how I can't believe we've run into each other out here. You and I seem to keep breaking the odds."

"Yea," Andrew snickered sarcastically. "Yea, that's for sure." I watched him a moment more, then finally spoke. "I think we should talk, Andrew," I said to him. "I think we need to talk. It will make us both feel better."

Andrew stopped and looked at me hard. He looked at me like a father looking at his foolish child. "You mean it will make you feel better," he said, throwing me a harsh glare. "It's all about you, isn't it? Coming to see me, making me dig up my past, revealing all these deep, dark secrets--it's all about making you feel better."

"No, Andrew--"

"You're a selfish piece of work, you. You come into my town, into my life, and you turn everything upside down for your own selfish needs. Do you ever think about how others feel when you try to purge your soul? Huh? Do you? Why is it you came here? Is your other life so terrible? Were you abused as a child that you need to find another parent to make up for things? Somehow I doubt it. You're just spoiled. Your type always is. You're never satisfied with what you got."

I hung my head low in shame. Perhaps Andrew was right. Perhaps I was being a selfish, spoiled brat. Dejected and tired, I let my backpack slide from my back onto the ground and I dropped to my haunches with my head hanging between my knees. I wanted to cry, but I was too numb and tapped of emotion to shed any tears. But soon I felt Andrew's hand on my shoulder. "Come on," he said, his tone more genial. "Don't just sit there. You might as well make yourself useful and help me with dinner."

We prepared dinner and ate in relative silence. Once we cleaned our utensils, we were free to sit around the camp fire Andrew had made (far more grand than the one I had made the night before) and finally relax. We sat on a log close to each other in silence watching the kneading fire, our bare knees almost touching.

"You're pretty good around a camp," he finally said, staring into the flames. I smiled into the fire. I was somehow proud that I had reached his acceptance. "I've been camping and hiking since I was a boy," I told him. "I love to backpack. If I couldn't backpack, I don't know what I'd do."

"I love it, too," he said, matter-of-factly. "I come up here whenever I need to get away from it all. I've been coming here since I was a boy. This is my sanctuary. When I'm feeling confused, this is my home." I was thinking "Like father, like son," but dared not speak it. "I know this mountain so well I could hike it in the dark," he continued. "I know almost every tree and root and rock." There was a prolonged silence, then I could feel him turn to me. I was afraid to return his gaze. "I have to ask you something," he said, soberly. My continued silence gave him permission to continue. "Did you know I was your father before you came to the school that day?" It was the first time since I saw him that night that Andrew mentioned being my father. A tingle shot through my body for what reason I was unsure. I turned to look at him. His face lit up by the fire in a warm glow.

"No," I said adamantly, shaking my head for emphasis. "No, Andrew. I had no idea. It never crossed my mind."

"I have to admit, when you told me why you were there, I got a strange feeling in my gut. I wasn't sure what it was, but I felt something. Mentioning having been conceived here, and your mom working at the school, it gave me a sense of recognition but I didn't know what it was. Not to mention you look a hell of a lot like me."

I subconsciously placed my hand on his forearm. "I'm sorry, Andrew. I'm sorry it all happened like this."

"Don't be. It's not your fault. We're just horn dogs, that's all. Nothing we can do about that. Guys will be guys." I removed my hand from his arm and turned back toward the fire, my face hot from the heat. I kept thinking about this man, my father, and I had had my mouth on his gigantic dick and my tongue in his ass. I closed my eyes and tried to think other thoughts.

"I thought maybe the old broad got pregnant," Andrew went on after a short pause. "There were a few rumors going around. I heard things. I even think I overheard my parents talking about something about her getting pregnant. I was too young to put two and two together back then. But over the years when I'd think about it, I just shrugged it off. I've learned not to dwell on things I can't control."

"Do you wish I hadn't told you?" I asked him, scared of his answer for he had a pen chance for brutal honesty. "I mean since everything that's happened? Since what we did in your office?"

"No," he said after a thoughtful pause. "It's all cool. Nothing I can do about it. I'm glad you're alive and all that. What we did is what we did." Then he snickered. "What about you? You disappointed in finding out that your old man is nothing but a security guard at an elementary school?"

"No!" I said, insulted that he'd think of me as so shallow. "I'm not disappointed at all."

"Well, it's not like I can do much fathering for you. I'm not rich. Don't have anything to give you."

"I don't want you to give me anything."

"You know, you've got guts to come all the way out here looking for me. I kind of admire that. You're something else."

"Thanks," I said, suddenly feeling bashful and modest. At that moment my father put his arm around me and brought me closer to him. Between him and the fire, I never felt so warm and safe. I gazed up at him and watched the fire play off the chiseled features of his face. He looked at me and smiled. Then, slowly, he kissed me on my lips, a sweet, gentle kiss.

"Thank you," he said, still smiling at me. "I'm glad you came for me. I'm glad chance brought us together in the woods. You're a good kid." I grew so warm I felt I was melting. I placed my head on my dad's strong shoulder and my arm melded around his waist. Nothing could be more perfect. I glanced down at my father's shorts and noticed that he was sporting a rather large tent. I realize I too had a rather prominent bulge in my own hiking shorts and fought the urge to rearrange it inside my tight whites. "Looks like we're both being guys again," my father said, snorting a short laugh as he noticed our bulges.

"Yea," I said, blushing. "I guess there're some things we just can't control." My father and I continued to hold each other in silence. Only the hiss of the fire and snap of the wood was all that was heard. I gently rested my free hand on my father's knee. I felt that I could stay like that forever. I felt that I would never die in my father's arms.

Then, almost subconsciously, I reached for my father's bulge and held onto it tenderly. He did not jump from my touch or try to remove my hand. Instead, he held me closer and tighter. I slowly began to massage his erection over the fabric with my fingertips until I felt we were both being lulled into an almost trance-like soothingness. "That feels nice," he whispered into my ear.

The heat in my chest began to burn my heart and breathing came in short gasps. I licked my lips and realized that I had to have it. I had to go down on my father's massive cock. My rapidly beating heart and my swollen penis told me that much.

I slid from my father's grasp and kneeled before him, as if I were bowing down before him in prayer. I quietly and slowly undid his zipper and, with his careful acquiescence, slid his shorts and underwear down to his boots. The ripe smell of sweat and pheromones filled my nostrils as I began to pay my father oral homage. I kissed his massive manhood between short licks, savoring the man smell and rigid strength of his penis. I worshiped his falace for the life giving force that it was. The more I thought about how much I loved my new found father, the more I took his twelve inches down my throat. My father buckled just a bit under the pleasure of feeling his entire penis slide down my wet, hot throat. I did not bob up and down quickly, but slowly, savoring each and every time his helmet head rubbed against the roof of my mouth. Then I stopped and looked at him.

"Are you sure you want me to do this?" I asked him. "I mean you seemed so upset before."

"No, buddy. It's all good. I can't be your father the way your real father is to you. I can only love you and hold you when I see you. I don't think we can go back now. This is how you and I should be close to each other." Nothing else was needed said. I impaled my father's penis so deep down my throat, he trembled with a massive shot of pure pleasure.

"Ahh, Dude," my father moaned quietly, placing his large hands on top my head. "Yea, buddy, yea. You suck so good. Oh, I love you."

I continued to suck my father's cock for another several minutes as he gently caressed my head, then I pulled his penis from my mouth and looked up at him. "Dad," I whispered.

"Yes?" he asked, looking at me softly, his strong hands on my shoulders.

"I want you inside me."

He continued to stare at me. His soft smile faded and his eyes turned as fiery as the flames leaping up from the fire. He gripped my shoulders harder, his jaw tightened, as the shadows deepened around his mouth. "You want your father to fuck you, son?" he asked in a course whisper, as if prodding me forward on a dare.

"Yes," I said, resolutely. "I need you, dad. I need to feel you inside me. I need to get as close to you as humanly possible."

The next thing I knew my father was standing up and yanking up his shorts. Then he took me by the hand and gently led me into his tent. Inside, we completely stripped. The sight of my father's hard, muscular naked body lit up by the fire that filtered through the green sheer of the tent made my breath stab at my throat. But it was he who made the first comment. "You're beautiful," he whispered to me. "I never thought you would look so stunning. You're positively beautiful."

We embraced and kissed each other fully on the lips. We wiped our tongues along each other's teeth and lips, dropping our saliva into our wanting mouths. Slowly my father, still kissing me longingly, moved me onto my back so that he could lie on top of me. Our naked bodies melded into one as we continued to pry each other's mouths open with our hot tongues. My father gyrated his thick dick against my erection. I spread my legs wide and wrapped them around his waist and placed my feet on his firm butt cheeks. The tip of his penis rubbed against my pucker hole. "Fuck me, dad," I whispered into his ear as he slid his tongue up and down my neck. "Fuck me."

"Dude, I'm going to fuck you so good," he whispered, tongue-fucking my ear.

"Oh, yeah, fuck me, dad," I moaned, rubbing my legs up and down his thick, tree-like legs. "Give it to me."

"You want it?" he prodded me, pressing harder into me. "You want your old man to fuck you?"

"I want to feel every inch of you in me," I said, feeling as if I were about to pass out from the passion. "I need you in me."

My father said no more. From that moment on, he was a fuck machine. I had never experienced a man take me like my father was taking me. He took complete control of me, tossing me this way and that like a rag doll. I melded with his every move. He wanted to fuck me in every position imaginable, and he did. But as he came close to cumming, he retuned me to my back and spread my legs with his thighs and quickly reentered my wanting ass. "I want to look into your eyes when I cum," he said between light kisses on my lips. I reached for his taught ass and pushed him deeper inside me. "I want to feel your hot cum inside me," I whispered back. My dad began pumping slowly and gently, staring at me with the kind of loving expression that I had never known. The feel of his massive twelve inches deep inside my rectum filled me with a warmth and ecstasy that one comes across once in a lifetime. It seemed unreal to me this kind of love making could exist. It was so unreal, yet it was more than real. I began to push Andrew's ass faster and faster until he was pumping wildly on top of me. I spread my legs as wide as they would go so that he could get all his manhood into my tight bubble butt. "Fuck me!" I shouted. "Fuck me hard! Fuck me hard!"

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard, boy. I'm gonna fuck you good. You likin' that? You like getting' fucked hard?"

"Yeah! I love it! Fuck me!"

My dad was holding himself up with his palms flat on the tent floor pounding me harder and harder, using every ounce of masculine thrust behind his firm butt. With each thrust, his face contorted into an expression of pure rapture. "Oh, God! I'm cumming! I'm cumming!" he screamed, looking directly into my eyes. "I'm going to shoot in your tight ass! Ugggh!!"

At the same time I felt my dad's hot man liquid fill my rectum to the brim and his eyes roll behind his head, I shot load after load of my own, shellacking my chest and stomach with my cum. My father collapsed on top of me, gluing us together with my cum. I could feel his shrinking cock begin to slide from my rectum. I held onto his marble-like ass to prevent his dick from leaving my butt. I wanted to feel his manness inside me for as long as possible. "Stay where you are," I whispered into his ear. "I want to feel you in me forever."

After that first fuck session, my father and I made love several more times. Each experience was as awesome as the one before. Once, he even allowed my to enter his ass, but only for a short time and I wasn't allowed to fuck him with reckless abandon as he would fuck me. Still, I was almost a total bottom, so I didn't mind at all being the one who got fucked. The feel of my dad's massive cock penetrating my hole was what I lived for when in his company. His lovemaking technique could only come from a man full of passion and understanding like him. After a few weeks, I knew it was time to go home. I was sad to leave. But I knew that I would be back soon. And that no matter where I was, I had a man out west who would always care for me and love me for who I was. I never really thought of it much, but the few times that it would shoot across my mind that I was fucking the same man who fucked my mother when he was twelve would leave me staggered for a short moment. But I rarely let those moments overwhelm me. I knew that the love my new found father and I felt for each other was real, and that it had nothing to do with his past or the affair he had with my mother. Yes, he was the boy my mother slept with, but the man was all mine.

I returned home feeling complete and satisfied. I never did tell my parents that I had sought and found my biological father. Little did it matter even if I had. Six months after I first met Andrew, he died in a car accident. His truck broadsided an 18-wheeler when he made a turn coming home from camping in the mountains. His truck spun across the road like a top until it careened over a rock face. He lived in a coma for several days until finally expiring. I never got a chance to say good-bye to my father. I learned of his death a week after its happening. For you see, Andrew had named me his sole beneficiary in his life insurance policy. He even left me his small cabin that he lived in on the outskirts of his hometown. I was so deeply touched I cried for days and refused to speak to anyone.

Over time I conquered my sadness and was able to face my family and friends. I decided with the money Andrew left me, I could re-enroll in college and save enough for the future. On vacations, I traveled back to Andrew's hometown and stayed at the cabin. He had taken me there after our first meeting in the woods but it seemed so different knowing that he would never again walk through the front door or make love to me on his feather bed. But I could feel Andrew's spirit all around me. My mourning gave way to a general feeling of contentedness knowing that I had met my biological father and experienced the kind of love he was capable of giving. I'm no longer upset with my parents for the lie they kept for so long. I am in fact grateful that they told me their "dark" secret. If they never had told me, I never would have met Andrew.