Date: Sat, 21 Jan 2012 23:38:12 -0500 (EST) From: Milford Slabaugh Subject: "Am I Doing It Right, Daddy?" "AM I DOING IT RIGHT, DADDY?" By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM "Am I doing it right, Daddy?" Rory's glee was beaming from his face, teeth sparkling as much as the water under the dock. He was pulling in a fish, one that was barely the size of my finger, but I smiled and nodded my agreement. "You're doing fine, Rory." I said. "Haul him in and we'll see how long he is." "I'll bet he's four inches long!" Rory bragged. "Maybe." I allowed. The fish looked only about half that long, but I was damned if I was going to ruin Rory's first fish. The fish were active all right, unexpectedly so for a February, but the entire season had been extra warm, and when the weather hit the eighties during the day on Thursday and Friday, I'd seized the chance to take Rory with me on a fishing trip. I'd always loved going fishing with my Dad, and I knew Rory wouldn't care if we caught any fish or not. In fact, our fishing trip had been pretty good so far, I'd caught four fish and Rory was reeling in his first dinky fish. Rory got the fish on the dock and I let him be the one take it off the hook. I worried that he'd catch his finger on the hook doing that, but he didn't. He did it just the way I'd shown him to handle the fish, holding the fish's body in his entire hand while holding the hook by the top firmly in the fingers. He brought the hook back out of the fish's mouth as smoothly as if he'd done it all his life. "Did I do it right, Daddy?" Rory asked me again. He was always asking me that, needing my constant affirmation of approval of his every action, when we were together. "You did it just right." I said easily. That always made Rory grin, turning his face into a delight to look on. His dark brown hair was cut short so that it stood straight out over his forehead nearly horizontally, like a row of spears aimed at the world. Below that, his skin was the delicate pale tone he'd gotten from his mother. His eyes, too, were the clear, nearly transparent blue of his mother's. His nose carried my genes, though, short, small, straight and downright perky on him. Below that was the smile of my father I remembered from my youth, big, generous, and glorious. All this was perched upon a slender but active body, still in good proportions, not for Rory was the gangly mishmash of growth gone awry. Of course, he was still only young, he might yet be stuck with too-big hands or too-big ears. Not yet, though. Not yet. We laid Rory's fish out on the dock and I put my measuring tape down next to it and measured it. "Two and a half inches." I told him. "That's mighty big fish for this kind of fish." I lied through my teeth on that. "What kind of fish is it, Daddy?" "It's a...a finger-trout." I temporized quickly. "They swim in next to the dock where you were fishing." I'd caught bigger and better fish because I had thrown my bait out to where they lived. Rory was here to be with me and to enjoy the day and to catch little fish. His first time fishing, tomorrow I'd start showing him how to cast the lines out to where I was fishing, let him catch a big fish like I did. Little steps, let him learn it right, no mistakes, no big mix-ups, just a little at a time. The way my father had taught me to fish and I had loved it all the time he'd been teaching me. So I'd teach Rory the same way. "Can we keep it, Daddy?" "It's too small to fry." I said. "I don't want to eat it. I want to keep it." "Alive? Or mounted on a plaque." "Alive!" Rory said. "Put him in a fish tank and raise him and take care of him." "You want to make him a pet." I said. "Yeah!" Rory grinned at me. "Can we, Daddy? Can we keep him?" "Sure." I said. "Why not? You can keep your little finger-trout and we'll see how big he gets." "Yeah!" That ended the fishing for the day, because we now had a live fish to carry back to the cabin just up the hill from the dock, and get it set up in a home of its own. I had some doubts about keeping a wild freshwater fish as a pet. But it was Rory's first fish, and the only other choice was for Rory to have it mounted on a wall plaque. Maybe it would thrive after all. We got the fish in a large bucket and I put it on the kitchen counter. "Tomorrow, we'll go into town and buy him an aquarium and air pump and fish food. Now, let's fix these other fish of ours and have fish for supper!" "Yeah!" Rory insisted on helping me clean and gut the fish. Scaling the fish, it was "Am I doing it right now, Daddy?" and "What do I do next, Daddy?" and "Is this how I do it, Daddy?" Rory always liked hearing me respond to him, every answer, even when it was "No, Son, you have to scrape the scales off the other direction." All that got was "This way, Daddy? Do I do it like this? Am I doing it right now, Daddy?" And beaming at me when I answered that yes, he had it exactly right. Rory's fish jumped out of the bucket while we were having supper. Rory ran over and caught him flopping about on the floor and got him back in the bucket. "Now you stay in there, fish!" Rory shook his finger at it. "Isn't that right, Daddy?" "That's right, little fish. We'll get you a brand new home in the morning." "He's swimming around with his mouth open." Rory demonstrated opening and closing his mouth. "Should he be doing that?" "Sure, Son." I assured him. "He's getting air, is all. He needs the air pump, but we'll get him one in the morning." "Okay." "Now let's get in bed." I told him. Rory got into his bed and I got into mine. It was in the cabin, the same room, but we had a corner between us, formed by the bathroom which took up one quarter of the room. The kitchen was along the opposite wall from these. Rory had the bed against the far wall, mine was over next to the fireplace. It had grown a lot cooler over the evening, I was wondering if we'd have to cut our fishing trip short. It's a real gamble, trusting weather this time of year. I was just drifting off to sleep when there was a loud splashing sound and a "splat" after. "My fish!" Rory was instantly awake. We had plenty of light in the cabin, what with the fire going full-out. "Daddy, my fish, I can't find my fish!" I staggered up out of bed and helped search for the fish. The little bugger had managed to lodge himself up against and partially under a stone of the fireplace that he nearly blended into, color-wise. "Here he is!" I told Rory. Rory yelped with glee and ran over. "Let's get him back into the bucket, Daddy!" "Easy, Son, easy!" I told him. "He's gotten himself stuck in there but good. We'll have to lift him out easily, carefully." "I can do it, Daddy!" Rory said. "Scoot your finger in behind his tail." I coached him. "Gently wiggle him out a little at a time." "Like this, Daddy?" "That's it, Son." I said. "Scoot him entirely out from under the stone before you try to pick him up." Rory worked the fish out of the spot it was in like a master. "Am I doing it right, Daddy?" "Yes, just like that, Rory. Now, pick him up easily and just stay where you are; I'll get the bucket." Now, understand that the hour was late, and I was tired. I picked up the bucket but when I lifted it over and tried to lower it, I caught the edge of the bottom on the counter top and the bucket tilted over and dumped water on me. I got more than half the bucket of it on me, drenched me from the bottom of my rib cage on down. "God damned son of a bitch!" I yelled before I remembered my son was in the room with. "Good grief!" I settled on for a follow-up. "Are you all right, Daddy?" "I'm soaking wet." I grumped. "Never mind, your fish could use some fresh water anyhow." I took the bucket over to the sink and filled it and took it to Rory. "Got to mop this water up." The floor was wood, and the water was making a huge puddle over it. Rory put his fish in the bucket while I got towels from the bathroom, and Rory and I mopped at the water. I used the last one to mop at myself. My t-shirt and shorts were soaking wet. "God, that water's cold!" I groused when I gave up, threw my towel into the pile on the floor. "I'm still wet." "Here, Daddy, let me help!" Rory said and he had a smaller hand-towel and he reached up and began mopping at my body. His hands landed on my crotch and rubbed and I jumped away. "Did I hurt you, Daddy?" Rory asked me. "No, Son, no." I said. I had an erection, just from that brief touch. Rory saw it, too. "Is something wrong, Daddy?" he asked, staring at it. "No, no, Son, it's all right." I turned away. "I should get out of these wet things. Hang them up to dry and they'll be all right by morning." A part of the tradition was that we each only had the one change of clothes, intended to wear these no matter how skanky they got, all weekend long. "Sure, Dad." Rory said. "I'll get the chair." We'd done this before, hung clothes over a chair in front of the fire. He took one of the chairs from the small bar that served as a table in the cabin, and hitched it over in front of the fire. I shucked out of my clothes, thankful my cock had gone down again, figuring it for a fluke, hung them over the chair so the fire could heat them, evaporate the water out of them. "You're still wet, Daddy." Rory said as I turned about. "Here, let me dry you." And his hand with that small towel went back at my crotch, only this time, his hand fastened upon my dong quite firmly and deliberately. And again I threw an immediate hard-on, Rory's fingers around it and he rubbed at my prick, looked up at me and his grin was sparkling like it had in the sunlight earlier. And something inside me quietly died, the part that had made me yank away from Rory's touch earlier. Instead, I grinned back at him. "That's nice, Son, real nice." "Am I doing it right, Daddy?" Rory's hand moved on my cock, a full-out grip and stroke motion now. "You certainly are, Son." I agreed. "Only why don't you try it without the towel now. It's dry now." "Okay." Rory quickly dropped the towel and grabbed my dick again. "Like this, Daddy?" "Yeah, Son." I sighed and raised my head, closed my eyes and sighed, then opened them again and looked back down. Feasting my eyes on my son kneeling at my feet, his hand busily pumping on my prick. "You're doing it exactly right." He grinned and watched his hand moving up and down on my shaft. Those eyes of his were glowing warmly, red-lit by the fire, his skin now a ruddy tone, an intimate bronze color. His smile never wavered, pleased at my pleasure, enjoying my attention focused upon him. I was emboldened by this to say, "You know, Son, there are other ways to do this." "Yeah?" Rory looked up at me eagerly. "How else is there to do it, Daddy? Will you show me?" "Sure, Son, sure." I said. "Let me lay down on the bed and you crawl in with me, and I'll show you everything." I was glad the fire had the room extra warm right then. We'd need that extra warmth before morning after the fire had gone out. But for now, this was good because we didn't shiver as I lay naked on the bed, as Rory crawled in with me, wearing only his little red briefs. "In between my legs, Son." I instructed him. "That way, you can get to it easier." "Like this, Daddy?" Rory asked as he obeyed. "Yeah, Son, like that." Rory's hand came up and caught my cock again. "Show me the other ways to do it for you, Daddy." he said as he began to work my prick again. "Another way is for you to use your mouth." I told him. "You take it in your mouth and suck on it like it was a Frosty Pop." Those long frozen flavored water treats that came in plastic wrappers and you kept in your refrigerator were a summertime favorite of Rory's. Rory dove onto my dong like it was a hot dog he was intent on gulping down in one bite. He got over half my rather thick nine inches into his mouth and gripped it with his lips and pulled up, sucking on it just like it was that frozen treat. I groaned as his lips milked up my pud, and a gush of my precome poured out. Rory pulled all the way up and off my cock, smacked his lips. "Tastes funny." he said. "Kind of salty." "Yeah, it does that when you do it right." I assured Rory. "Am I doing it right, Daddy?" "You're doing it exactly right, Rory." I told him. "Only you need to do it again and again, only faster. Just like your hand, up and down as fast as you can. And remember to suck as you do it, just like before." Rory went to it, bravely, eagerly, happily. His tender young lips nursed my prick and more of my precome gushed out. Me, I was moaning and writhing underneath him, and he watched my pleasure and his lips grinned out around my cockshaft as he moved, his eyes winking merrily as he slid his mouth up and down with the speed only a child can generate easily and effortlessly. But Rory tired after a time and he groaned and stopped. "I'm sorry, Daddy. Was I doing it right?" "You were doing it exactly right, Baby." I crooned. "And I'm nearly done. You milk me long enough, you'll get a whole mouthful of hot salty flavor. Would you like that, Rory? Would you like to have my hot Daddy seed spurt into your mouth?" "Yeah, Daddy!" Rory sighed. "I want you to shoot it for me." "I'm real close, Son." I pantingly assured him. "Think you can manage it just a little while longer?" Rory grinned. "Yeah, Daddy, I can do it for you a little longer." And he went back to work, and my cock sang in joy as he plied his lips over it. I was so close, about to erupt, even his more uneven movements brought me unfettered joy. "I'm coming now, Son." I panted. "Keep it up, just a little longer, Baby, I'm going to shoot it, I'm going to shoot it!" Rory gallantly sped up and that was all it took, his lips were a symphony of delight urging my body to join in and I urged it, too. My cock shrieked upwards into the skies of joy and I gasped, "I'm coming, Son, I'm coming, here it comes, AH, AH, AHH, AHH, AHH, AHH, AH-AH-AH-AH-HAH, UHHHH-KUNNNNNHHHH!" And I blew a load like I hadn't had sex for a year or more. Like I had shot when I was an eager young kid myself with a newly active cock, pumping out heavy loads of hot cream, only this time, I was shooting my hot wads into my son's warm, warm mouth and Rory held on tight and drank it down like it was a rapidly melting Frosty Pop, and he wasn't going to lose a drop of that fruit-flavored deliciousness. He got his load of hot Daddy seed, all right, I pumped wad after wad into his mouth and he drank it all down time and again and then it was done and I was weak, panting, moaning softly on the bed. Rory could tell I was finished, I guess, for he let go of me and crawled up to lie under my right armpit. I felt him snuggle in and I wrapped my hand around him and forced my eyes open and I looked into that happy, smiling, eager-to-please-his-Daddy face looking into my own. "Did I do it right, Daddy?" "You sure did, Rory." I said to him. "You did it exactly right." "Can I sleep with you tonight, Daddy?" "You sure can, Son." I agreed. And Rory helped me pull the covers up over both of us, and with Rory ensconced under my right arm, we both went to sleep. I got up at dawn to rebuild the fire, the weather had turned decidedly unfriendly. It's that way in these lower United States, you have summerlike weather for a while, then it's right back into full-blown winter forty-eight hours later. We wouldn't be doing any more fishing this weekend. Guess we should just go back home, a shame, I had wanted to finish teaching Rory how to fish, instead of just bobbing a baited hook off the dock like he had the day before. Rory's fish had gotten out of the bucket a third time during the night and now lay unmoving on the floor. I picked it up, intending to flush it down the toilet, but it wriggled feebly and I chucked it back into the bucket of water. Rory would have to put this fish back into the river, I decided, it was being adamant about not living as a pet. Later, right now, the cabin was too cold to do anything but get back in bed and wait for the fire to make it liveable. I got in and my cold flesh woke Rory. "Brrr, Daddy, you're cold!" he said to me. "I built us a fire." I explained. "We'll get warm in a little while. For now, you can warm me up." All I meant was for him to snuggle up against me, but Rory smiled at me and slid under the covers and I felt his little hand grip my prick. His lips found purchase a bit later and I felt that long, slow draw on my pud that he had done so wonderfully the night before. I forgot about going home early; Rory wouldn't learn how to fish this weekend, but I still had plenty to teach him! "Mmmuh-muhmuhmuh-muh-muh?" came the sound under the covers. "What was that?" I lifted up the covers. Rory took his mouth off my cock. "Am I doing it right, Daddy?" And he returned to swallow a major portion of my prick with his mouth again. "Yeah, Son." I sighed as I lowered the covers. "You're doing it exactly right." THE END Comments, complaints or suggestions? E-mail the Author at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM