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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
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My Father And I: A True Story
by DMercator (dmercator2003@yahoo.com)
***
This is a true story about what happened between my step
father and I. (Mm, ped, inc, mast, 1st-gay-expr)
***
My parents divorced when I was about 5 years old. Within
a year of their divorce my mother met and married a man
named Bill. He was everything my biological Father
wasn't. He was tall, clean shaven, disciplined, and
kind. He was a pillar of authority and dependability and
knowledge. Being in the Navy, he talked of his ship and
of the sea and of places far away and exotic. I remember
him picking my Mom up for a date; he seemed almost
heroic standing there in his dress white uniform.
Being in the Navy, he was gone a lot. He would leave us
for three or four months at a time, but he would write.
And not just my Mom. He would write me. And when he was
home he'd talk to me and listen to what I had to say. He
was constantly teaching and explaining. He taught me how
to play chess and we'd play for hours on end. He'd talk
to me about books that I was reading and ask my opinions
about things. Even though more often than not I didn't
have an opinion, he'd force me to think and to question
things.
Over the years we moved more times than I can count. And
after a while he wasn't just my Dad, he was my best
friend. There was nothing I couldn't talk to him about.
Then, when I was 12, he sat me down to have the "sex"
talk. At first it was just your classic the birds and
the bees discussion. As hard as it is to believe now,
many of the things he was telling me about were new
news. I didn't really know what sex was. I understood
basic mechanics and I'd had plenty of peeks at women's
anatomy (Playboy was a coffee table magazine in our
house for a while) but of sexuality I knew almost
nothing. I think even he was surprised by my innocence.
He asked, almost incredulously, if I jerked off and I
told him in all honesty that I had no idea what he was
talking about.
So he told me all about masturbation. Now it was my turn
to be incredulous. The idea that there was something
that I could do by myself had never occurred to me.
Humping my mattress at night was the closest I had come
to relieving the urge that, even at 12, were raging
between my legs.
At one point he asked to see my cock. I was embarrassed,
but he opened his robe and took his cock out as well. It
was the first time I'd ever seen another man even in
pictures. He saw how fascinated I was and encouraged me
to touch it to see what it felt like. He was
uncircumcised and it was much larger than mine. I was
VERY innocent and totally believed him when he said this
was normal. That many young boys shared their cocks with
each other and that it wasn't unusual to have circle
jerks where several boys masturbated at once.
He then proceeded to show me how to jerk off. First he
placed my hand on his semi-hard cock and pumped it back
and forth a few times. I remember my hand was trembling,
but his cock felt calm and very warm. It looked and felt
almost supernatural the way his foreskin would cover up
the head of his cock as I slide my hand along his shaft.
There were a few drops of milky white liquid that made a
slick coated over the head of his cock and I could feel
it growing in my hand.
Then he took my other hand in his, intertwined his
fingers with mine and began to pump my small, rock hard
shaft. His hand was so big, he practically enveloped my
whole cock. But I got the idea and didn't need much
encouragement to continue pumping. After a minute we
stopped and he told me if I had any questions that I
could come to him.
Nothing more happened for a long time. Following his
advice, I learned the joys of masturbation. His job kept
him on the road a lot, but I'd update him semi-regularly
on events in that department. You know - the first girl
I felt up, the first time I ejaculated, that kind of
thing.
Then, when I was around 16, we were watching TV late at
night just the two of us. He was sitting in a chair in
his robe and I was sitting on floor in front of the
chair. He was rubbing my shoulders as we watched an old
horror movie and talked. I don't remember what we were
talking about, but it got me very hard. That ready to
burst painful kind of hard only a 16 year old can have.
As we talked he moved his hand across my stomach into my
pajamas.
I didn't think about right or wrong. I just thought
about how wonderful his warm rough hands felt wrapped
around my cock. As he slowly pumped me, he asked me how
it felt. I was shaking so bad I couldn't even answer I
just creamed all over his hand. But he didn't stop
pumping. He just slowly coated my teenage cock with my
own cum. I never knew you could feel so good after you
came.
When I masturbated I had always stopped after I shot
off, but he just kept stroking me with those hands of
his and whispering in my ear how good my cock felt, how
smooth and soft it was and how big I was getting as I
got older. It wasn't long before I was hard again, and
he used my own cum as lubrication to bring me off a
second time.
I was hooked. Even now, I get hard thinking about how he
made me feel. I don't know if it's just the intensity of
first sex, or if he was really talented in that
department, but man this guy knew how to make love to a
cock.
On our second time together, he opened his robe and I
saw another man cum for the first time. I didn't touch
him or help in any way... I just watched as he pumped
himself to orgasm.
Along about the third or fourth time together, he took
me in his mouth. God, I was in heaven. His little
licking kisses had me rock hard and shaking. He'd bring
me right to the edge and then pull back only to do it
again and each time he would add a little more to it.
First he brought me to the brink with just the strokes
of his fingers along my shaft. Long slow strokes from
down around my balls all the way up and over the head of
my cock, covering it with the palm of his hand.
Then, after giving me a moment to calm down, he'd start
again, except now it was his fingers and his lips.
Kissing and stroking me. And he'd tell me things as he
did it. He'd talk about what a woman's pussy felt like
and how to perform cunnilingus. And how important it was
to put your partner's pleasure ahead of your own. He was
teaching me about making love and about my body, telling
me what parts of my cock were most sensitive and how to
please myself. Never having seen a real pussy, a lot of
it was lost on me, but it all contributed to making me
very hot.
Then he'd take just the head of my cock into his mouth
and run his tongue along the underside, flicking and
licking, and still pumping me with those wonderful
hands. Eventually my entire cock would be engulfed,
right down to the balls. Perhaps it's because my young
teenage cock wasn't fully developed, but he didn't seem
to have any difficulty taking me completely in. He'd
play with my balls and scrotum and he'd fuck me with his
wet mouth. It was the ultimate juicy pussy with a very
hot and lively tongue in it. I don't know where my
Father learned to do what he did, but he was very good
at it.
I came so hard the first time I thought I was going to
pass out. And still he didn't stop. The after orgasm
sensation of having my softening cock in his mouth was
almost (but not quite) as pleasurable as cumming itself.
To this day, I've had very few orgasms (and no oral sex)
that can compare to the pleasure that he gave me those
first few times together.
Looking back it's obvious that he was hoping that I
would go down on him. I remember any number of times the
positions that he put us in would have his hard cock
inches from my mouth. Towards the end I began to fondle
him some, but I always held back.
I guess some part of me must have felt what we were
doing was wrong, but with every session I came closer to
taking him into my mouth. I never consciously thought
about it in terms of right and wrong. I only thought
about how good it felt and how I couldn't wait to slide
into his mouth again. Besides, how could it be wrong -
he was my Dad. The one person I loved and trusted more
than any other person on Earth. My best friend.
It ended one night about 3 months later. My Father was
straddling me rubbing our two cocks together. We were
both hard and this was something he hadn't done before.
He wrapped his hands around both our cocks and began to
jerk them off together. His pre-cum lightly coating us
both. Then, after he had me good and throbbing, he
scooted a little forward and slowly sat down on my cock.
I had no idea what he was doing and without any
lubrication it hurt. But he was really into it. "You're
fucking me! Do you know that? Your cock is inside of
me."
Like I said, it hurt. In fact it's the only thing we
ever did together that didn't feel great. With time, and
lubrication, I suspect he would have made this as
pleasurable and desirable as everything else we had done
together, but at that moment my Mother walked in.
I may not have thought about it being wrong before, but
there sure wasn't any doubt after that. I ran naked into
my room while my parents (mostly my Mother) yelled into
the night. Eventually my Mother came to talk to me about
what happened. She told me that it wasn't my fault. She
said she had known that my Father was gay for some time,
but had no idea what was going on.
Over time I've come to suspect that wasn't entirely
true. I have visions of her masturbating in her bed,
rubbing her clit, while thinking of her husband in the
next room sucking on her son's cock. In reality, I doubt
she was masturbating, but I'm fairly certain she knew
something was up and just chose to ignore it.
Life went on from there, but it didn't go well. My
Mother didn't leave my Father. She didn't even ensure
that we weren't alone together. We went maybe 3 weeks
and then his hands were back in my PJ's again (those
wonderful hands), except now I "knew" it was wrong. I
stopped him and (I think) shamed him in the process.
After that our relationship went downhill. By the time I
left home at age 18, we were barely talking to each
other. And when we did talk, it was usually in anger.
I graduated from high school and moved out. For a while
I lived in my car and later (after the car was
repossessed) on the street for a while. They were hard
years. I was left with a lot of unresolved feelings
about my sexuality - was I gay? Bi? Or what? And what
made it worse was the fact that I didn't have anyone I
could talk to. I'd lost my best and, in many ways, only
friend. And, in a small town in Alabama, I wasn't about
to go talk about my feelings with anyone local. And I
couldn't talk to my Mom - how could I tell her that I
liked what he had done to me and that a part of me ached
to have him do it again.
Sad story? Not really. I've never been big on the guilt
thing. I was smart enough to recognize that I was a
naive 16 year old boy who trusted his Father. If there
was guilt, it belong to him, not me. My graduation year
I met a girl that fucked my brains out, and it pretty
well answered that - "Am I gay" question. I was
certainly curious about being with another man to try
some of the things that I hadn't tried with my Father,
but it was women that got my cock hard and made me
cream.
As for my Father, I was blessed to get to know him as an
adult and, when he passed away in 1991 from AIDS, he was
once again one of my best friends. We never had sex
again (for obvious reasons). But we were able to talk
through what happened and get past it.
What my Father did was wrong. He betrayed a sacred trust
of an innocent boy, but he also taught me about a
million Fatherly things and, to some degree, deserves
credit for helping me be the kind of person that could
come through that kind of upheaval and still be a
reasonably sane, intact person.
My wife deserves a lot of credit too. I told her all of
this before we got married. Contrary to turning away
from me, as I feared, her love and acceptance went a
long ways to helping me find peace within myself.
Today, when I look back at what happened with my Dad, I
don't feel like a victim of molestation or abuse. I was
a victim of seduction. I don't feel anger at those
memories. I feel a throbbing cock that wants to be
fucked, sucked, or otherwise brought out into the light
of day and put to a good creamy use.
I don't have any desire to pass this experience on to my
children. As a new Father I was concerned that as a
victim of childhood sex as a youth I'd me susceptible to
that course of action as an adult. That hasn't proven to
be the case (thank God). If anything I'm probably more
physically standoffish and the "no one is suppose to
touch your privates" talks are probably more strongly
expressed than normal. I have two children and I would
cheerfully kill anyone that tried to mess with them
(including myself).
Having said that, I have to admit that erotica and real-
life stories that feature teenagers getting it on with
their parents is a bit of a turn on for me. Not because
I'm a parent that wants it to happen, but because I was
a teenager that enjoyed it happening. This is a fact
that I've never ever come even close to telling another
person (until now), not even my wife.
It wouldn't take much of a therapist to figure out where
these horny interests come from. I figure as long as I
don't have any desire to act on them they aren't hurting
anything. So I don't spend a lot of time feeling bad
about it.
***
Well, that's my story. It's a mixture of sex,
perversion, and my life history all rolled up into one.
A story probably best left untold, but part of who I am
and how I got here all the same. A part I needed to
clean out of my pen before moving on to the next
chapter. DMercator2003@yahoo.com
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The author does not condone child abuse, this story is
meant as an erotic fantasy not depicting anything in
real life. Anyone acting out such scenarios in "real
life" can look forward to many unproductive years
getting it up the butt by a fellow convict in their
local prison system.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 67