Date: Wed, 6 Jul 2011 18:36:42 -0700 (PDT) From: Luke Hairyson Subject: My Dad's Hands -- Ch.02 Standard disclaimers apply to this story. All rights reserved by the Author. All events that happen are completely consensual between people involved in the story. If you are not of legal age, reside in an area where viewing such material is illegal, or are offended by homosexuality and/or homosexual themes, leave this site now. The author retains all rights to this story. No reproductions or links to other sites are allowed without the permission of the author. My Dad's Hands--02 I hold my breath. The tan flesh of my abdomen stopped rising and falling, the covering of sun-gold hair moving only in the warm summer breeze coming through my window. The only part of my body that is moving is my cock, pulsing in time with my heart that feels like it's going to explode. I hold my breath, waiting to see what Dad will do, how he will respond. I let my eyes trace my father's body as he stands in my doorway. He is almost completely still, as if caught between the barrier between my room and the hallway, a physical border that embodies a mental one as well. A border, which if crossed, might change both of our lives. I stare into his green eyes, which are not looking into my own, but still tracing paths up and down my body, fixated most often on my precum-slick seven inches. I trace my own paths down his body; my eyes lingering on his upper traps, that muscle which curves so delectably from his sturdy neck to his strong shoulders, a muscle I often let my hand linger on when we'd stand in family pictures, side-by-side. Oh the scandal, if my family members taking those pictures knew how much I wish I could kiss and lick that muscle on my Dad instead of only lingering there with my hand. I continue down his body, following the hairy valley between his pecs, briefly flicking to his perfect nipples, perky and begging to be tongued. His abdomen, not ripped into a six-pack but rather a solid sheet of muscle, is covered with brown hair, the line from chest to cock is darker and denser as the hair gathers and runs like an artist's brushstrokes have emphasized the path to pleasure. My eyes linger on the waistband of his cargo shorts, stopped abruptly from reach their prize, yet the bulge presenting itself makes me hope he might take action and cross that threshold. I silently will him to come into my room, my cock twitching like an erotic come-hither finger-gesture. His stillness is broken with a deep sigh and he lifts his right arm to scratch the back of his head and massage the tension in his neck, the tension that has gathered there is as palpable as the sexual tension filling my bedroom. The sight of his exposed armpit, that soft hair, slightly lighter than those covering his abdomen, looks like downy silk fibers. I gasp and close my eyes, wishing that I could feel those silky hairs brush against my face, my nose dipping against the warm, moist skin of his pit, the hairs tickling my lips as my tongue steals out to taste his scent. My gasp has brought my father's eyes from the floor, where he was looking, to my eyes. A questioning look crosses his face like a cloud quickly passing over the sun. His confusion belies his inner turmoil, and I wish that he could know how much and how long I've longed for his touch. He moves his strong hand from his neck down to his side and slightly behind his back, and I start to panic as I feel him closing off from me. "Dad--" "I should let you get on with it," he sort of croaked out, his voice dry with tension, and his eyes returned to the floor, trying to avoid my body. "Dad, I..." "Don't worry, buddy..." he started to turn toward the hallway, "I remember what it was like to be 21." I sat up, like I did when he scared me that day when I was only 15, longing then like I still do now. His muscled back presented itself to me, but he was leaving, and my heart, which was ready to explode earlier, was ready to crack in half, the realization that my father would never act on what I hoped was there. "Dad, I remember, not because I was shocked when you woke me up all those years..." He paused, still hovering on that barrier, the threshold. My hopes fluttered in that threshold, like silk hovering over a knife, ready to be sliced apart forever. He began to turn, the adrenaline pumping through my veins slowing down his motion, making it seem like forever. My throbbing cock started to lose a bit of heft with the anxiety. The adrenaline also made my mouth blurt out what I longed to say for years. "Dad, I overslept so often because I wanted you to see me..." I paused, the words at first pouring out began to trip over the thoughts roiling around my brain. "I wanted..." my voice trailed off, still unable to enunciate my deepest thoughts and desires, the fear of rejection still holding me back, even as vulnerable as I am, naked and dripping in front of the object of my lust. Dad's eyes were lazered onto mine. His mouth opened, his full and slightly pouty lips parting, but no sound came out except a confused breathy sound. The questioning, confused look passed across his face again, staying this time, and the only word he could say was, "What?" His fists clenched, and the veins in his upper arms began to bulge. My body tensed, not with lust, but with fear, dread, and anxiety. Would my finally revealing to him end as I had always feared, was his anger ready to explode out at me, ashamed of his homo son rather than proud of his college-jock kid? "What do you mean, Luke?" he asked, having finally found his voice, which reverberated around my room like my heart against my ribs. He finally crossed that threshold, coming into my room, before stopping abruptly a few feet from my bed. I instantly curled into a ball, trying to cover myself, as the tears came flooding out of my eyes and sobs began to curl their fists around my diaphragm. "I..." was all I could get out before I turned away from him, facing the corner of my bedroom wall and my headboard. I couldn't move, and I couldn't speak, my body still tense. I didn't know what would be worse, if he just left my room without speaking, or if he started screaming at me. Caught up in my emotions I barely felt the pressure of my mattress shift under his weight. I jumped at the feel of his large, warm hand coming to a gentle rest in the middle of my back. The warmth flooding my body made me lose it completely, and I turned and curled instinctively into him, my head resting against his shoulder and chest. His warm hand rubbed my back gently, like he did when I was little and sick or upset, and his other hand came up to caress my hair, his fingers tangling in the short curls at the base of my neck. Once my breathing had returned almost to normal, his hand moved from my back to the side of my neck. With one hand on each side of my neck, he gently pulled me back from him, looking into my eyes. His right hand moved to my face, his thumb coming to rest at the crook of my nose, moving across my cheekbone, wiping away my tears. His hands move down to my shoulders, gently massaging the very same muscles I longed to kiss on him. And that's when I realize how close we are to each other and how very naked I still am. I become incredibly self conscious of the precum matting down my treasure trail, the uneven, jerky movement of my still slightly erratic breathing. I become instantly aware of my shin and lower leg pressed against my father's outer thigh, the feel of his breath as it wafts down across my chest and chills the precum on my abs and cock. I shiver and move my arms from my side to my center, covering myself. "No," my father whispers, gently, and I look into his eyes as his slightly rough hands slide down my biceps and grip my elbows, moving my arms back to my side, uncovering my softening cock, my vulnerability. His hands don't move from my biceps, but his eyes leave mine and travel down my body, now only inches from his. His body heat radiates toward me, his eyes expressing what I have longed to see for years, pride, lust, a desire to look at me. I could practically feel his gaze on my body, his intensity betrayed by the rigidity of his body, his own breathing rather erratic. I couldn't speak or move, I was still balanced on that threshold between hope and despair. "You don't know how many times I just stood in your doorway," he whispered. He must have felt my body react, with his firm hands still wrapped around my biceps, but he continued, quietly, his own vulnerability now revealing itself, "There were so many times when I wanted to come into your room. I thought about talking to you about jerking-off, making sure you knew about your body and how to make yourself feel good." His gaze traveled back up my body, as his right arm went back to my neck, gently massaging the muscles there, and his left arm released my bicep and came to rest against the mattress, his hairy forearm pressing against my thigh. His thumb directed my head up, pulling my gaze into his. "I was afraid, I didn't know if I could stop, and it tore me up inside," he gasped out. "Hell," he laughed slightly, "it still tears me up, and I have no idea what I am doing or how this will change us." "I--" I tried to speak, but his thumb came to rest against my lips, stopping me. "I thought you might be oversleeping on purpose, but I chocked your constant hardons up to teenage hormones. But, it wasn't just because you were a teenager," he paused as if making a statement, but then he asked, "was it?" And with that question, his thumb slowly caressed back and forth across my bottom lip, sending electric tingles through every nerve in my body, all hardwired to shoot straight into my 21 year-old cock. "Unh uh" I answered, murmuring against his thumb, his fingers cupping my jaw and caressing my neck. I brought my left hand up to cover his hand, pressing it against my face as I nuzzled it. I turned his hand over and, bringing it to my lips, kissed the center of his palm. "No," I breathed, my hot breath curling down into the hair on his forearms, "I don't know how many times I made sure I was hard and leaking, exposed just for you to find me, hoping that you'd..." I trailed off as he pulled his hand out of my grasp. I looked up into his face, questioning his abrupt distance. He left the bed, and I began to protest, "Dad, wha--" I couldn't even finish my question before he was back at my doorway, standing on the threshold. My heart began to break, I could feel the emotional agony as tangibly as if I had just been stabbed. I could feel the tears welling up behind my eyelids, but then he stopped and turned. He leaned against the doorjam, one hand brought up behind his head, exposing again the armpit I long to dive into, and his other hand rests on the prominent bulge in his shorts. Completely confused, I just looked at him, dumbfounded, "What the--" I blurted. One second he's leaving me brokenhearted the next he's back to being my personal wetdream. "I want to watch you, Luke," he gasped, his voice husky and thick with lust. His hand caressed his manhood. "Jerk that amazing cock, my little fuckstud," he nearly growled. Thanks for reading, guys! For those of you who have emailed me, I have greatly enjoyed all the comments. Please keep them (and any suggestions) coming! Happy jerking, studs. ~Luke :)