Date: Sat, 17 Oct 2020 23:28:10 +0000 (UTC) From: - - Subject: Growing "Dad! What are these notches?" I was yelling. I was excited about everything. This was the first year that I got to go to the cabin. The door to the bathroom had all these lines cut on it and initials and numbers next to each one. Dad pointed and said "That's me when I was your age, and this one is your uncle from his first year up here, and this one is his friend from camp who came up with us one year." They went back a long time. Now it was my turn. Dad turned me around so the back of my head was against the hard wood, and he pulled out a knife and cut a slit behind me. Then he handed me the knife, and I sliced in 2 letters and 2 numbers. I looked at my mark proudly among all the others up and down the door, and I held out the knife for my Dad to take it back. He said, "You hold onto that, son." I clipped it onto my waist and felt like I just grew even taller than I was a second ago. This time was just me and Dad, but I knew that I'd spend a lot of time up here whenever I could with whatever other guys were gonna be up here, now that I was allowed. I was the youngest. I was always too young. I never knew what anything meant. I was always just watching and listening. I never got to go do anything. But now I was finally part of it. I looked at the notch that was my dad's when he was my age, and it was just like mine. I looked at how tall he was now and how he grew since then. I thought about myself growing bigger like him. "Can I do yours?" I asked. He didn't bother telling me that he was grown now and didn't need to or that he was too old for that. He just said okay. I pulled a chair over so I could get up high enough, held myself in place with one hand against his shoulder, and sliced in behind his head. It was the tallest one on the door but there were a few other high ones too. I went to hand him the knife but he told me to do it. I carved "DAD" in pointy letters, and clipped the knife back into my waistband. I looked him in the eye and thought about eventually being as tall as him. We walked a bit over to this dam and did some fishing and cooked some burgers and then put on jackets to roast marshmallows and make s'mores over a campfire when it got dark and cold. Then he opened a beer and told me I should go in and get ready for bed. I took my pajamas out of my bag and went into the cold little bathroom and changed and washed my face and brushed my teeth and came out and zipped myself into my sleeping bag on my squeaky little bed with fold-up legs. Dad had set it up earlier, across the room from his identical squeaky little bed, and he was still cleaning everything up and putting out the campfire as I got into bed. I was tired and fell asleep quickly. I was dreaming about something when I heard the door bang open. I looked at the time in bright numbers on this old alarm clock. It was so dark out there in the woods that the little light let you see a bit of everything in the room. I peeked my eyes open and watched Dad come in and stand next to his bed, facing away from me. He craned down to pull the laces in his boots and then kicked them off as he unzipped his jacket, let it fall to the floor, pulled his shirt off inside out and flipped it onto the floor, and then opened his jeans and slid them and his underwear down and stepped out of them. I only saw his butt and only barely as he got into bed, but it was strange to see him like that. He fell asleep quickly. I stayed still and just watched and listened. Suddenly it was bright and morning. Dad had gotten up early and cleaned up everything. I walked to the bathroom in my pajamas, and he was in there shaving, jeans and no shirt, shaving cream on his face, wet hair. I had to piss. I walked past him, behind him, and stood at the toilet and pissed. We would never do that at home. He couldn't see me anyway, because of how the room was set up with kind of a half wall between us, but still it was strange. As the noise filled the silence, I wondered if this was how the guys who were up there pissed usually, not caring if another guy was there. I've pissed at urinals before, but that's different because everybody's staring straight ahead or down and also pissing. "Come over here," he said. I finished and stood in front of him. "Come here, closer," he said. I looked at him, waiting, inches away from his mid-shave face. I didn't know what was up, and I was still half asleep. He said, "I think you're ready... You want me to show you how to shave?" Some of my friends said that they already shaved, even though they didn't seem to need to, and one time I asked one guy how often he did it, and he said, "Every week!" I thought he was just going to demonstrate, but Dad told me to take my shirt off, and I did. My pajamas were a little baggy and saggy, with nothing underneath, so I made sure they didn't hang down too low. He had me put some foam in my hand and smear it around my chin and cheeks. Then he took one finger and drew a white mustache under my nose. He dragged the razor across his face, revealing the skin under the foam, smiling at me, and telling me what he was doing and what not to do. Then he rinsed it and handed it to me. I slowly looked at myself in the old mirror and at him out of the corner of my eye as he watched me with his arms crossed. "Slowly... hold it flat..." I saw a tiny line of blood but didn't feel a knick. "That's okay." I'm sure there was nothing growing on my face to remove, but I felt fresh and clean and different afterwards. Then he patted my back proudly, and then he leaned down and hugged me. It felt weird and different in that quiet empty place, half dressed, skin and arms wrapping together and chests close. I saw a goofy smile on my face in the mirror, but his matched. I pulled my shirt on but didn't button it up. I went over to my bed and sat on it with a squeak and pulled out some clothes to put on. Dad had put on a shirt and was cleaning up the place and doing stuff around the big room that was living room and kitchen and bedroom together. My next step was to change out of my pajamas and get dressed. Normally, I'd go into the bathroom or somewhere private and close the door, and I guess Dad wouldn't have thought anything bad about me if that's what I did, but I suddenly didn't want to. I didn't want privacy. I didn't want to separate myself or not be seen. I wanted to be seen. I wanted him to see me. I let my shirt slip off my back and stood up and looked at the wall and down at my clothes and at Dad walking around, out of the corner of my eye. I slipped my pajama pants down and felt the air on my butt as I stepped out of them and set them aside. I tried to sense if Dad was looking at the back of me, and it seemed like he wasn't. I stood there and looked down at my naked body and turned around. He was looking out the window, facing away from me, and sipping coffee. I stood there with nothing on and looked at the back of him and then got dressed, feeling unusual. When I was all dressed and had my boots on, I walked over to him and picked up an apple. He said, "Oh, I thought you were going to get in the shower." I said maybe before bed. He told me that was a bad time for it, but that there wasn't really a good time. "There's no hot water, just cold pipes." Then he walked me into the bathroom and turned it on. It was freezing. "You took a shower in that?!" I asked. "I jumped in for about two seconds. I'm surprised you didn't wake up when I yelled." He told me that the rest of the day would get warm, but the water is even colder at night. I asked what guys usually do up there, and he said most of them just skip it and stay dirty. I asked if there was anyplace to swim or take a bath in a creek or something somewhere. He said, "No, you can't swim in the dam, and there's not really anyplace." I joked, "Well, maybe it'll rain and I'll just run outside." I started to picture myself getting kind of uncomfortable for the rest of the trip. We were walking a lot and standing for hours while we were fishing and carrying stuff, so I was kind of sore. I usually liked a long hot shower before bed. Anyway, so then Dad said we should get some more firewood for later, so we walked over to this woodshed behind the cabin where there was a lot of cut stacked logs. I carried a couple, struggling, while Dad took a big armful of heavy logs that clunked when he dropped them. Then we went back to get some more, and I noticed something. "What are these notches here, Dad?" I said. I had found a wide, flat shelf off to the side, and it also had a bunch of notches and initials and years. It was right around hip-high in front of me, and I brushed my hand over all the little notches, not going up like on the door but out in front of me, side to side, all different distances from the edge. Dad said, "What do you think they are?" and he stood beside me. I realized that they were dick markers. Guys for decades must've come back here and flopped their dicks out flat and marked them. Dad pointed to his initials and that same year, his first year out there. I pointed to my uncle's initials and looked at my dad, and he nodded. I wondered who first started the tradition. Then Dad said, "You gonna do it?" I looked up at him. He waited. I wanted to be part of it. I undid my jeans and took out my dick and balls, and I leaned into the shelf and felt my jeans kind of fall a little in the back, showing the ass of my underwear. I looked up at him and he looked down at my face first and then at my dick and then back at me. We had those same goofy smiles. He said to go ahead, and I took the knife off my belt and carefully carved a straight line just after the tip like all the others and then my initials and the year. It looked freshly sliced among all the old weathered others from so long ago. "You want to do it too?" The words just came out of my mouth without thinking. I don't know how much of a surprise it was. Dad looked down at me with my dick still out and just said okay. He unbuttoned and unzipped and let his jeans open, and in the back his bare ass showed a little, and I realized he wasn't wearing any underwear, and then he set his dick down flat, and it wasn't some 'Porn Star Monster™' or anything but it looked big and thick to me, and he saw me staring at it and held his hand out flat, and I handed him the knife, and he carved it into history. Then he said, "You see these? Can you guess what these ones are?" He moved a stick out of the way, and the shelf had a bunch more notches and initials and numbers farther back, and he pointed to the ones with little X's carved instead of just lines. We were both still leaning into the shelf with dick on board, jeans drooping down more, and we looked at each other. I looked down at the board and all the little X's, and I saw Dad's finger reach out and point to one with his initials, and then he moved over, towards me, closer, and lined his dick up with that old mark, holding it and positioning it and then letting his hand brush down the length of his dick once and then twice, slowly. I watched him look down at his dick and then look over at me. Mine was a semi-stiffy without me doing anything to it. I looked him in the eye, silently asking permission, and he looked down and waited until I started pawing it and pulling it and at the same time pushing my flexed thighs forward and clenching my legs and my butt and noticing that Dad was doing the same and that his ass was pretty much out and bare, but then he pushed his jeans down below his knees. I looked at his legs and the sides of his clenched cheeks. I looked him in the eye as I grabbed my waistband and slid my jeans and underwear slowly lower, down around my ankles. Dad and I were side by side and maybe 3 inches away from each other. I looked over at him as he took his tip and teased it between his fingertips, and was bouncing back and forth, and I could see his big balls hanging and then he rolled them through his fingers. I was hard as a rock and heavy on this shelf. Dad looked over at me and held up the knife. "Want me to do it for ya?" he asked. I nodded yes, unsure how this ritual usually happened. I watched as he reached over and took a hold of my hard dick with one hand and leaned over and gingerly carved a little x. Then he handed me the knife. I took it and carved my initials and the year. And I looked at it, just past my hard dick and surrounded by other marks, and I looked up at him smiling. I said, "Do you want me to do yours?" He told me to go ahead, I leaned to the side in his direction, still rested on the big shelf, and touched his hard dick. It was covering his younger x. I held it in place and felt his hand rest on my shoulder. I carved a little x and held up the knife for him. He took it with one hand, the other still around my back and on my shoulder, and he carved in his initials and the year, and then he put the knife away. And there we were, measured up, marked down, and pointing at the wall. We just looked at each other, grinning. He held his, and I figured he was going to lean back and put it away and zip up. But he gave it a squeeze. And he waited. And then he slid his grip down to the end and held the tip tight and let his finger tickle under the slit. I was so hard. It was flexing on me, with the blood pumping to it and my heart going hard. He held it in his hand and flexed into the shelf, and he looked over at me and my dick, which had a clear drip down onto the shelf. I looked him in the eye as I dabbed at my slit and swiped it around, coating my tip. We both started tugging, stroking, rattling the shelf as we banged it. I looked over at his body, bare from half down, muscular. He started grunting and breathing heavily, saying "yeah" under his breath. He had removed his hand off of me but I wanted it back on me. I wanted to feel his big hand on my back and down to my bare ass. Our arms were pumping, pressed up against each other side by side. I lost it. It shot out, more than usual and stronger, like a bullet. Then his started spewing and covering his hand as he pulled up. We gathered ourselves, sweaty, and he put his hand back on my shoulder, his other hand I mean. He flicked his messy hand and wiped it on the underside of the shelf, and pulled his jeans up. I did the same, squeezing a bit more out before I put my dick away. I was looking for what to say, but neither of us said anything, and it wasn't awkward at all. We didn't have to say what we both knew and felt, how it was a special thing. We didn't talk about what happened. We took a long hike and ate sandwiches and waited to see the sunset. By the time we got back to the cabin, I was really sore and tired. I would've loved to relax in a long hot shower, but instead I just splashed some cold water on my face. Dad told me that it was time for me to get in bed, but I didn't bother getting my pajamas. I just pulled my shirt off as Dad watched me and then shucked my jeans and underwear down in one quick move, and stood totally naked in front of him before opening up my sleeping bag and getting in. "You gonna be up for a while?" I asked. Dad looked around. He stretched and yawned. "No, I guess I'll get in bed too." I nodded and went to close my eyes, but then I heard him standing there, doing nothing. I opened my eyes. He was standing on the other side of the room, next to his bed, facing me, and he peeled his shirt up and off and then slid his jeans off and stood back up, totally naked, as I stared at his body. He turned around, and I kept staring. His ass was really muscular. Then he got into bed. It was dark and quiet and chilly. I rolled over to the other side, and the bed made a squeak. I froze. I didn't want to wake him up. A while passed, as I thought about everything that had happened. I pictured it all in my mind and saw everything again clearly, relived it, felt like I was back at those moments again. More time passed, as my mind wandered and kept me awake. I was getting excited and hot and hard, worked up. I couldn't tell if Dad was asleep. I held my hard dick in my hand and remembered jerking off and seeing my Dad jerk off, and I rolled onto my back and started slowly fucking my hand, squeezing my butt as I pushed forward and stretched back, and the bed squeaked. Eeep. Ah-eep. It was quiet, but so was everything else. The sharp noises cracked the air. I stopped, just holding my dick. I tried just pulling, stroking, but eee-eh eeek-eep, the bed still squeaked with every movement, any action. I let go and felt the sleeping bag drape over my hard dick. I stared silently at the ceiling. About 30 seconds passed of me breathing deeply, and then I heard a squeak. One slow eeek, another, and then a slow steady rhythm like a cricket chirping. I sensed him moving. Dad's bed was squeaking. He was slowly slightly moving in his bed. In the dark, I could see his shape moving, and the light hit the top of his sleeping bag. I could see it moving, in time with the squeaking. After a steady rhythm of squeaking, it all slowed down and then paused. I looked over and could see the outline but not his face. I didn't want to say anything. Eeeep-eep, eeek. And then he paused again. I rolled to my side a little, and my bed squeaked. I wondered how much he could see me in the dark and if he was looking. And my hand went back onto my hard dick, and my body pulled away from it, pushing my naked butt into that soft warm fabric feeling inside a sleeping bag. My bed squeaked, and then his started up again. We were both pounding and stretching the old springs with a eeep-eep-eeep-ep squeak filling the night. What happened that morning felt like a one-time special thing, but this felt different and everyday and closer even though we were on opposite sides of the room with feet of empty space between us. Hearing him, hearing how fast or slow he was going, and knowing that he was over there stroking that big dick that I saw was making me hot and hard. I flipped open the top of the sleeping bag and saw the dim light hit my chest, barely painting an outline. I kept jerking under and squeaking and feeling the bed stretch below my butt and feet. Then I saw his chest. He was pulling the sleeping bag off. I stared. He kept going. I saw his belly. Then it flipped off, and I saw his whole naked body and legs and his fist wrapped around his cock and pounding. I watched him, staring, slowing. I couldn't see his face, but just the outline of the top of his head, and it swiveled to me. I slid my sleeping bag open and uncovered myself and saw the light hit my body, my whole naked body, my hard cock, me jacking off and letting him see and watch while he jacked off too. I got so hot and horny. The bed sounded like it was going to break. I watched my cock shoot a rocket up in the dim light that splashed down onto me, and I heard "mmmghh, ohhhh, yeahhhh" and saw him do the same. We both relaxed, still breathing heavy and squeaking the beds with any movement. After a while, I decided to say "Goodnight Dad" and he said "Goodnight boy." He never called me boy before. I woke up the next morning, naked and crusty, with the sunlight shining in diagonally onto my body. Dad had already gotten up and hopped into a freezing shower and gotten dressed. I walked naked past him to the bathroom, turned on the shower, felt how cold it was, turned it off, scrubbed up in the sink, and put some clothes on. Dad poured me a cup of coffee, which I had never tried before, and I took a sip and made a face. Then Dad poured some milk and sugar into it and stirred it up. It tasted okay and woke me up. The morning air was foggy and cold but starting to burn off in the sunlight. Birds chirped all around us. This was our last day up at the cabin, so we were straightening things up and packing things into boxes and bags and coolers. I walked outside to get something and made my way back to the woodshed to look again at all the marks, and back inside I looked again at the marks on the bathroom door. Then I heard a noise. It was raining. It was one of those sunshowers where there's water sprinkling down but it's bright and sunny and warm. I stepped out and saw Dad at the open door looking outside. When I got next to him, he was holding a bar of soap in his flat hand, holding it out to me, and he said, "There's your shower." It seemed like a great idea. I grinned. I pulled my shirt off and undid my jeans and pushed them down and stepped out of them, and I guess my Dad saw that I wasn't wearing underwear, and I stood naked an inch in front of him and took the soap. I stepped outside in that naked way, knowing that there was nobody around for miles back to the gate but still feeling extra exciting and dangerous, like I was streaking through the mall or something. The water dripped down gently and refreshingly. It felt like running through a sprinkler, but naked. I hopped past the gravel walkway and onto a patch of grass, and I started showering, rubbing the soap in my hands to make a lather. It felt really good. It felt cool but still warm in the sun, and the open air felt weird and good, rather than showering in a little box. I scrubbed my face and hair, covering my eyes, and when I opened them, Dad was standing in front of me, getting wet, naked, smiling. I remember wishing that I had seen him strip before coming out. I realized that I liked seeing him naked but I really liked seeing him get naked. I handed him the soap, and we started goofing around a little, making funny faces, but also washing up and enjoying getting cleaned up and the cool water. I watched him scrub under his hairy armpits, lifting his elbow up high, and I did the same and he poked his fingers in and down my side, tickling me, and I squirmed away, and he swatted my soapy butt. Then he put his arms around me from behind, like a hug, and I felt his body against mine. When he let go, I turned back around, and he was kind of hard, and that started getting me kind of hard. He handed me back the soap but kind of held it against my chest to pass it back to me, and scrubbed my chest and shoulders, and then he rubbed my hair. He stepped behind me and washed my back, and it felt good on my sore muscles, and his hand went down and brushed my butt cheek when he got to the bottom of my back. Then I felt his hand kind of slide lower and go between my legs from the back. I felt his fingertips hit the back of my balls. I was really hard after all that. I turned around, facing him, real close, and my hand was slipping up and down my slick dick, soapy and wet, and it all felt out in display in a new exciting way. I watched him slide both hands down his front side and land on his hard cock and grip it with both fists. He started pumping too, pointing his dick at mine until we were bumping into each other. He put an arm around my neck in a sideways hug, and a lot of our wet bodies pressed against each other, and my hand rested on his chest. I started sliding it down to his leg and then between his legs and holding his balls. He let go of his cock and pointed one finger out and trailed my balls. It felt amazing. I let go of my dick and reached behind him and held his ass, wet and firm. I felt it flex hard. We kept pawing at each other's bodies and our own, every once in a while tugging, and then I saw one finger tap my tip. It felt amazing. I took my hand away and invited him to wash it. He gripped it and slid his grip down to the base and then up and again and then stopped, squeezing my neck with his arm. I reached out my hand and wrapped it around his thick wet cock, and I felt his fingers wrap behind my neck in a grip before sliding down the center of my back and tickling down into my ass, his middle finger curling up and in a bit, pushing. I slid my hand up and down. "Yeahhhh," he grunted really low and quietly. He slapped my butt a bit, and I leaned my head into his firm chest. He tensed up and suddenly shot up as I squeezed in him, getting me in the face and dripping back down onto both our dicks and balls and hands, and down onto the bar of soap in the grass at our feet. I grabbed my dick and started pounding fast, with the feeling of his hot load on my cool skin, feeling his hand cradling under my butt. His knees were flexed, and our dicks were touching, his still oozing that last little white glob, and I showered him, spouting all over his hairy crotch as he smeared it onto himself and moaned. We decided to stay another day or two. 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