("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2010. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- 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 *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* 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. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Kristen's collection - Directory 67