Date: Tue, 2 Jul 2019 15:55:33 +0200
From: wise owl <wiseoldowl@gmx.com>
Subject: Watching Daddy (part four) for gay/incest

Reader Note: This is a love story pure and simple. A loving tribute to a
dad from his son. If this offends you- and by that I mean male sexuality in
all its fullness, if you are not of legal age, then please do not read
this.  If you have comments, please email me at wiseoldowl@gmx.com

Please give to Nifty, your support keeps it going!


**Please read all earlier parts before this section**



Watching Daddy



Part Four:



I shall start off with a wholehearted thank you to all who have taken time
to write and ask questions of me. Sharing a life story is no easy task and
having copiously kept a journal for most of my life, sharing parts from
time to time...but this is the first time I have tried to write it all and
communicate the whole picture.

The fetish elements as well as the other features are all here to create an
accurate picture of my dad and the life we lived all those years back.

And as I have said earlier and been asked by many readers, was dad
bisexual?

Yes, he was. And I used to edit that all out, but not anymore. The whole
story is part of his life and thus it must be told. I hope that the folks
reading will not be upset but this is about sharing and exploring and its
all part of the fabric of his wonderfully complex and highly erotic
life. So I shall not hold back. I selected "gay" because it suits me and my
way of telling the events. Relax and just let the labelling be a guide, not
a rule. I hope that helps.

Another fine reader asked for a full picture of dad's underwear drawer. And
I must give you an aside; I loved probing and searching in dad's underwear
drawer as well as his sock drawer. I was never told "no" that is private,
dad and mum believed in the nature of curiosity and learning thru
exploration. I looked, rooted, dug around and discovered freely as I grew
and no place in our home was "off limits" and I looked where I wanted.

Was I spoiled? Damn right! But hell, I nearly was not born. That is a tale
in and of its very self. So both mum and dad saw me as a gift, a
miracle...corny, maybe, but very true! But that brought freedom and boy, I
loved it!

Next I shall share the underwear dad wore for most of his life; I shall
share what I wrote to that lovely reader:

"As I said in my intro to part one, dad has been gone over 30 years
now. His generation did not trim ones pubic hair unless medically
needed. His full, lush bush was a rusty golden colour as were his chest,
under arms and legs, etc. Not super hairy, gently furry is the way I saw
it. His ass crack was rusty ringlet lined and very pretty to see. His
tight, round ass cheeks had a light fuzz as did his ample ball sac. He
wore, as were the styles of his time, briefs (waist 32) mainly and they
were tight fitting (so snug and held him so he had a well defined pouch)
and of various colours. He wore boxers from time to time as well but not as
much as bikini style briefs, no fly slit. A work best mate, Harrison,
shopped for dad's underwear and sent abroad for many. Harrison was not a
typical office PA, he and dad were very close- more on that in time. A few
did have the slit but not all. He was an early wearer of Speedo type
swimwear. Nobody wore the Speedo style in the US commonly until the 1970's
and dad did from the 50's forward. Again, they were found in Europe and
sent for. He did own a few pairs of sports jock-straps (white) worn for
cycling, tennis, jogging and a weekend games of football (soccer) he
enjoyed with his various male buddies. He looked a sexy picture in tight
gym shorts and a tight T-shirt in long football (soccer) socks that crept
right up his leg to the knee. He played off and on until he died. He stayed
very fit in a not overbuilt way-just toned and tight, slim and firm."

So, as you can see, dad loved to dress sexy and been seen sexy. He was the
personification of the sexually divine male, eye candy for the masses! Am I
biased, sure, BUT oh so many who knew him would have agreed...he was hotter
than blazes!


We left off my memoirs at dad's nightly bath, a ritual that was like manna
from heaven for me. A time to just take in dad, all of him, all six
delicious feet of Adonis.

The very real images of my dad are as crystal clear today as they were back
in the 1960's. Having the choice between TV or being with dad...well, dad
normally won in that contest hands down.

Our evening routine did not change for years and remained part of who I was
and most definitely who dad was. Comfort comes with routines as does a way
of life and my desire to be a hungry voyeur and willing active participant
in the world of all things daddy took root here as I followed daddy up
those stairs each evening after dinner. Having left mother behind to her
chores, we had the next hour before my bedtime to ourselves. Just us, dad
and me and his glorious body!

He would flick the bedroom lamp on that sat on his bedside table in the
comfortable and spacious master bedroom. I followed and loomed
nearby...waiting. His next act was to pull free of his casual pullover top
he'd sported for the evening and laid it on the nearby chair. The sight of
his naked torso always impressed me with its genteelly built up musculature
and artistic coating of rusty shaded man-fur all around his pert
man-nipples and swooping down the chest centrally to his bare tummy. The
hairs continued on his treasure-trial from his bellybutton downward.  That
reddish gold head of hair of his gave him a wonderful shade of body hair
and creamy skin tones. I gazed up at him as he stood looking down at me,
the bedroom lamp lighting him theatrically and searing him into my mind
forever.  Dad's twinkling blue eyes caught my attention as he sat down on
the foot of the bed and he gave me that mock serious tone of voice.

"Now Tony, no more tickling!" He'd warn with that sexy moustache twitching
as if he meant it, but I knew better.  "Yes, daddy. I'll be good." I
lied. I was such a rascal! The little devil was now ready to act!  Dad's
lean six foot form lay back on the mattress and he lifted up one leg off
the floor; his elegantly sweaty dress sock clad foot presenting itself for
me. My job was supposed to be sock removal, but I was such a little devil
and had other ideas.

With dad in this position up on the bed and my height being half his in
those days, I found myself face to face with his lovely warm socked
foot. Bliss! My lightheaded, heart pounding began again as I faced my
beloved passion full on. Looking at his socked foot from toe to heel,
seeing his perfect arch curve elegantly accented by the expensive thin sock
material as it clung to his size 11's was truly an awesome moment. I nearly
passed out but held my ground, I had to!

The sheer-like dark sock material again looking slightly transparent to me
in the lamp lit bedroom and allowing me a glimpse of my dad's supple foot
flesh within due to that lovely moist sweaty sheen of a day of life at his
office was pure magic! His socks always seemed to take on a glow of
perspiration and radiance; at least in my eyes. Others may have just seen a
very sweaty, whiffy dark sock, and yet I saw treasure! But isn't that was
separates us from them, the foot lovers from all other humans? I think so.

I attacked his foot, pushing my face forward as if it were a person I
wanted to kiss. I treated that big delicious man-foot as if it were a face,
a face I adored. Dad would giggle and squeal. I'd wrap my hands around his
whole socked foot and push my face against the whole length of it, my nose
crashing into the ball of his foot at the base of his twitching toes. The
aromatic scent rocketed up my nostrils and I breathed in deeply as many
times as I could to capture the daily scents that lingered there and
intoxicated me like nothing else. My dad's feet smelled like nothing else!

I found my mouth inside the curve of his arch and would playfully kiss that
space and mock bite the edge of his foot, the strong tang of foot sweat
caught in the fabric now dancing on my tongue. My own giggles and elated
whoops joining dads as carried on.

"OK, OK, enough tickling, I have a tub to take." Daddy would gasp out as he
lay rolling side to side on the bed.  I knew my job and I had to move on,
pulling the long sleek OTC length sock down his muscular calf and yanking
it free over his pink bare fleshed foot. I'd often, as the sock flew over
the toes, give dad's big toe one quick nip of a bite which made him quickly
drop his foot away onto the carpet below. So salty and sweet was the taste
of that big toe! I was daring, I was!

The second foot followed on with my face to face routine and the yanking
off of the moist sock.  The trousers and underwear came next as dad stood
up. He'd stand fully nude and fold the trousers and place them on the chair
by the bed for mum to sort out later while I grabbed the socks and
underwear and held them tightly. I needed to get them in the laundry hamper
in the bathroom and that was a job I loved as well.

As noted above, dad's underwear was a mix of tight briefs and some boxers
in various styles and colours. He seemed to have a selection of both in his
wardrobe. He did have loads of very tight bikini-style ones as well as a
few jock straps for sporting needs. The jock straps always made me laugh on
a weekend when he sported one. Seeing his manly ass cheeks framed fully on
display was a great source of enjoyment and fascination, I could not fathom
why the genital area was covered so nicely and yet the ass globes were all
open...very strange to me back then but a visual delight none the less!
Dad's ass was art, perfectly rounded, firm, fuzzy...pink!

I'd walk proudly behind dad's pale glowing sport-toned ass cheeks as we
made our way to the main bathroom upstairs. My little bundle of undies and
socks in my arms. Dad had his back to me and I always sniffed at my
treasure bundle. Not in a sexual way at all, but just because the scents of
his body thrilled me and I knew them by heart...call it instinctual. Dad
was mine and I knew all his smells. The socks had their own unique
man-scents, each area of the foot creating and capturing various delightful
aromas. The underwear too held many unique scents depending on where one
placed ones nose. His crotch and ass were different smell traces left in
his underwear, but very manly and my nose found each a delight.

I hated parting with the bundle and placed it reluctantly into the wicker
basket, closing the lid and missing his body smells already. Now readers
here will guess the next line I shall write, YES, I did fetch them out when
nobody was looking. I often wanted to cuddle up to dad's used clothing
items as a bit of a comforting mechanism. This became clear when dad needed
to travel away or was very late home and our little routine got
cancelled. If I knew dad was to be away on business for a few days, I'd
kidnap some undies and socks and stow them away for my own private
reveries. Mother would swear that something was amiss if the laundry day
came while daddy was away and not enough undies and socks were accounted
for.

"Tony, do you know where you daddy put his socks and underwear from the
other day, I seem to be short a few pairs?" She'd quiz me as she held the
washing in a heap destined for the dreaded basement washing machine.

I'd look all innocent and claim complete ignorance of any missing laundry
items. She'd vanish down the stairs and I'd smile. The devil in me was
naughty as hell. I'd race to my bedroom, close the door and look in the
rear of my closet. There sat my little stash of daddy's items, just until
he got back from his trip and then they'd magically be found under my
parent's bed. Naughty me!

Anyway, once the clothes were in the clothes hamper, I was free to just
hang around while dad did his nightly tub. He never questioned my
attendance at his bath; he treated me like I belonged there.

He always visited the loo before he ran the tub. I'd perch on the porcelain
bath edge of the large tub and just watch. Again, nothing sexual back then,
pure admiration of my dad's body and its functions. Dad never worried that
I sat watching and encouraged me to just be myself and never be ashamed of
the human form or its needs.

He stood fully naked-tall, facing the bowl, strong legs splayed gently and
solid bare feet flat on the cool mosaic tiling that covered our bathroom
floor. His entirely nude form seemed to glow with creamy marble-like skin
and his sporting weekends provided his muscles a tone and tightness that I
grew to appreciate as the perfect male physique.  He would grasp his ample
penis and pull back the long foreskin sheath to expose that tender pink
knob that lay hidden within. A flow of golden pee would stream out and hit
the water with a cacophony of waterfall sounds. He never missed and his aim
straight on target. My own aim needed great improvement as mother reminded
me constantly as she cleaned the bathroom!

A good wiggle-waggle shake and dad's pink penis head would vanish back
inside its cosy little home and then he'd move to stand beside me as the
taps began to flow and fill the large bath with swirling warm water and
endless bubbles. Soon dad would step in and lay back; his foreskin
ensconced manhood with its crown of thick rusty gold pubic hair would
vanish into the sudsy froth and occasionally pop into view from time to
time. Dad had certain procedures only he had to undertake since I was "cut"
and I knew he had to do more "intense" penile cleansing than I had to worry
about.

 He always did his "manly" duties quickly and efficiently and I marvelled
at his hygienic finger-work as he soaped and rubbed inside his foreskin and
around the pink knob. The old saying, "know thyself" comes to mind now as I
think back to dad and his body. He knew it well and was unashamed and proud
of who he was...completely. I watched all this and drank in all that my dad
was and felt pride burst forth in my chest every time. Mine, all mine I'd
say in my head. I sat watching, noting, thinking...he was so fascinating!

Dad would lay against the back of the large tub and just enjoy a few
moments of solitude and suds. The proverbial soaking away the day as I sat
there watching and saying little, but thinking loads.

He'd do one last very memorable thing before rising up to dry off; he'd
rest those two large fleshy size 11's on the tub rim near me. The soapy
bubbles clinging all over the pink flesh, toes wiggling just a bit. A last
ditched temptation for Tony. Would Tony tickle?

 No, Tony lovingly grabbed the bar of soap from the sink and massaged the
entire length of each foot in an act of devotion and dare I
say...submission. He was my dad and I was he son. I always submitted to
that love and parental authority. He never steered me wrong and always had
my best interests at heart. So I washed his feet, as an act of respectful
love and awe. My skilled fingers all slippery with soap, working around
every smooth ridge and valley that were my daddy's feet. Every toe and
crevice in between, my fingers swirled thru and lathered completely. My
trembling hands worked each meaty heel and sailed along his high arches.
He'd pull free from my grasp and let the feet fall and soak for a bit. I'd
wash away the soapy residues at the sink and wait with the fluffy bath
towel in my hands. The night was upon us now and my job was done. Dad would
rise like a titan from the soapy froth and his glorious naked body was
nearly shielded with sudsy remnants dotted here and there.  He'd grasp the
towel and begin to dry off.

I would saunter away, strip to my PJ's and await a goodnight time with
him. Mum did a fair number of these but I loved dad's goodnight times best.

Dad, in a few minutes after my light was on low, would tiptoe in on those
big pink bare feet. I would drift in that zone of in and out of
consciousness as he came to me all tucked in bed. He'd give me a kiss on my
forehead and pat the covers up around my shoulders to make sure I was snug.

Dad, his face washed & shaved, smelling like sweet spices. His reddish
golden locks all smoothed back and combed into place and his moustache
tickling my skin as he kissed me goodnight. All these things stay with me
forever.  The way dad stood above me and my vision blurry with sleep, his
eyes bright and knowing.

He wore a rather flimsy robe only; blue shiny material in a plaid print
which covered his nakedness. The silky robe belted loosely around his
slender 32 inch waist, the material ended just above his knees. His
muscular furry legs striding by my bed, those large bare feet leaving
impressions in my plush bedroom carpeting. My prince charming, soldiering
off to lands and tasks unknown to me as was just about to leave.

"Stay, I want to talk to you." I'd say, sleep pushing away and my mind
alive and hungry.

Dad moved back to my bed edge, hovering by me smiling down.

"You want a story, a when daddy was young long ago story? I know that look
in your eyes." His blue eyes looking clear and liquid in the dim light of
my small bedside lamp.

The little devil in me often acted wilfully and without any feeling of
fear.

I hated dad wearing the flimsy robe that covered my fairytale-like bedtime
prince's statuesque nudity, not sexually mind you, I just preferred him
natural and naked. Dad looked so perfect in the flesh, like the David
statue I saw many times in books.

My wilful fingers often toyed with the robe belt as he bent to look me in
the eyes; the knot easily pulling free. I was NOT being anything other than
wilful and I knew the way I loved to see my dad. I was completely relaxed
with him; I did not fear a slap or retribution for being...me! He accepted
me for who I was...quirky, daring, crazy and strong willed...Me!

The robe would gently fell open and I'd smile like a sunbeam.  The softly
fuzzy rusty-gold chest haired torso appeared as did the full pubic nest and
treasure-trail in those vibrant reddish-gold colour tones crowing his
abundantly sheathed manhood just below. I admired with breathless delight
in sheer awe, my eyes taking him in as he should be seen in his fully
natural state. I saw nothing sexual, just beauty as God intended.

The next chapter will pick up here as dad tells me one of his many (and I
do mean many) recollections from his early days in jolly old England as a
bedtime story. He loved to tell his tales of his early life and did not
edit out this or that. He spoke from the heart. I asked questions and got
answers. No shame. I knew his one and only sister like a mother, my BIG
auntie Rosie. She was about five years older than dad and really raised
him. She, like daddy, had no hang-ups and I credit Rosie for helping dad be
so free, open and completely himself. I loved the stories about Rosie and
daddy and all that they got up to years before.  Rosie loved daddy like
nothing on earth and she never married. Mum reckoned that my daddy was her
one and only true love...I do believe mum was right.

The early years of my life were peppered with "gentle and very natural"
tales of Rosie and Reggie. Two free spirits flitting about in the English
countryside and doing as they pleased. I loved these memory stories dearly
and was truly titillated beyond measure since, thanks to crafty & naughty
BIG sister Rosie...my daddy would often end up naked. That fact made me
giggle with joy, roll about like a loon in fits of glee and smile in the
total wonderment that was my dad and the life he lived.



Much more to come in each new chapter of this life saga!

Feel free to write me if you enjoyed this or have read my earlier
works. Thank you!

Tony aka wiseoldowl@gmx.com