I thought it was a secret; it was certainly supposed to be! The way I’d just happen to catch my father pissing when I was a kid, wandering into the bathroom unannounced while he was standing in front of the bowl taking a leak, pretending that I hadn’t known he was in there. Or furtively watching him through the venetian-blinds while he pissed underneath his favourite lemon tree out the back, a torrent of yellow water gushing from what appeared (to my youthful eyes) to be his massive dick.
Or watching him take a shower through the crack in the bathroom door, which he always seemed to leave slightly ajar, particularly enjoying the way his fingers probed that special place between his hairy buttocks, or peeled back his voluptuous foreskin to reveal his beautiful purple knob which he would take some time soaping and rubbing with his fingers. Occasionally it would grow and stiffen and I’d feel a hot tightness in my own cock as I watched him handle himself until his body spasmed in the steam and he seemed to collapse as if exhausted, the warm fog enveloping him and hiding him from my prying eyes.
These were the foundations of my youthful masturbation fantasies before I even knew what I was doing, they just made me feel good when I rubbed my unaccountably hard cock against the mattress or found it sticking out of my pyjamas in the early hours of the morning.
They are with me now as I find myself (a grown man) moving my stiff cock against the mattress in the middle of the night, back in my old bedroom with my dad sleeping just the other side of the wall, so close I can almost hear him breathing. I move a pillow under my hips and enjoy the softness against my erection as I drowsily move it up and down in slow rhythmic time with my breathing, imagining it to be made of firmer stuff.
“Mind if I join you?” His familiar voice from the door, catching me by surprise as I hurriedly stop my slow exertions, not sure if he knows what I’ve been up to. “Don’t stop, I like watching you.”
I sense him come into the room and stand by the bed, a movement and the small bedside lamp clicks on, its soft radiance revealing all. He’s wearing an old pair of pyjamas (can they really be the same ones I remember from my youth?), his semi-hard cock sticking out of the open fly, his hand inside fondling his balls which he brings out as if knowing how much I want to see them.
“I used to watch you masturbating like that when you were a kid.” He looks down at me and chuckles, his cock fully erect now. He’s pulling on his foreskin casually, as if unaware he’s doing it, and I begin moving my hips up and down again, resuming the pleasant activity that had brought him to me. He watches with the sweetest smile on his face, and I know that he’s remembering old times, and thinking about how far we’ve both come.
“Your bum’s almost as hairy as mine now” he observed, leaning down to stroke the ginger fur that covered both cheeks and spilled down into the valley between. The feel of his work-hardened fingers against my skin felt so good, and I opened my legs slightly in silent invitation to go further, all the while continuing to move against the pillow.
His fingers drifted down into my crack, the very tips ever so lightly playing through the jumble of hair like the softest zephyr through grass. I sighed and held myself still, hips raised in the hope that he would continue his exploration.
His fingertips brushed over the pink tightness of my ring, sending a jolt of pleasure through my body, eliciting a gasp that surprised even me. He massaged the puckered mound, moist with sweat from the warm night, teasing it with the touch of a single fingertip, chuckling as it pouted and reacted to the attention. I watched as he raised the finger to his nose, smelling my musky scent before putting it into his mouth and tasting whatever essence it had caught.
His cock twitched and hardened even more as he pushed his slick finger gently into my hole, watching intensely as it slowly disappeared into my warm passage, the tightness of my sphincter gripping it like a vice, or a lover determined not to let go. I pushed back against it and felt it slide all the way in, the palm of his hand hard against my butt cheek. He withdrew it slowly and then pushed in again, this time with two fingers, stretching the tight ring of my anus and making me grunt with the effort.
“Sorry Dad” I muttered, “I haven’t been fucked for a while. Feels good though.” I didn’t want him to stop, and neither did he. Reaching down with his free hand he tenderly cupped my balls, heavy like his but smooth, and held them lovingly in his palm, pulling on my sack to stretch them down even further.
“I love seeing a beautiful pair of balls from behind,” he observed, “and yours are as beautiful as they come.” He let them go and watched as they swung free before caressing them gently again and rubbing the velvet skin of my scrotum between his fingers.
Meanwhile he was massaging my passage with those two fingers, reaching further in to caress the nub of my prostate, sending shivers through my body and mind. My balls and arsehole belonged to him in that moment, and I wondered if my father was thinking of fucking me; something I’d fantasised about for years but had never imagined possible. I really wanted to fuck him as well, more than ever since I’d come back home after a few years working interstate; and if not now, when?
“Do you want to fuck me Dad?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant, just in case the thought had never occurred to him. He didn’t miss a beat or seem taken aback at all by my blunt question, just continued to softly squeeze my balls and probe my arsehole, silently running the thought through his mind, weighing up the situation.
“Would you be shocked if I said yes?”
“I’d be shocked if you said no” I responded, laughing. “Would you be shocked if I said I wanted to fuck you?” The ball squeezing and prostate massaging suddenly went still.
“As a matter of fact, yes” he replied, “shocked and delighted if I’m honest with you.” Another pause. “Would you be shocked if I said I wanted to suck your lovely cock and taste your sweet semen?” I liked this game and felt my cock twitch at the thought of sprogging into his mouth.
“Not shocked at all” I countered, working my hips slightly to encourage his finger-fucking efforts, “but I wonder how you’d feel about bending over and letting me tongue your tight arsehole for an hour or two?”
“You mean like this?” he quickly answered, withdrawing his fingers from my bum and pushing his face in between my cheeks, his tongue flicking over my puckered ring, making me moan with pleasure and surprise.
“Yeeeessss” I sighed, “exactly like that!” He was still pulling on my ballsack and I pushed myself back against him, willing his tongue to probe my loosened hole, revelling in the feel of the rough stubble of his unshaven face as it rubbed against my buttocks.
His hand released my balls and slid along the tight shaft of my cock, holding it in a firm grip, kneading it ever so slowly, his calloused forefinger massaging the taut cord of my frenulum, milking a stream of precum from my gaping piss slit. He brought it up to my lips and I sucked on it like a baby, the taste of my juice mingling with the earthiness of his skin bringing unexpected tears to my eyes.
He withdrew his finger from my mouth and sucked on it himself, sharing spunk, saliva, taste. I rolled over and he stood up, his cock still jutting out of his pants, the foreskin moist and slightly retracted, his balls hanging bigger and heavier than I’d remembered.
Reaching out I took hold of one leg of his pants and tugged them down, his stiff prick bending to make way before springing back to attention. He stepped out of them and unbuttoned the shirt, letting it fall to the floor, standing there naked in front of me, the hair on his chest speckled with silver and white, his hairy belly only slightly betraying his fondness for a few beers at the end of the day.
He was more beautiful to me then than ever before, and I sat on the edge of the bed and slipped his dick into my mouth, catching him by surprise, savouring its fleshiness and musky male flavour. I hadn’t realised he was so worked up, and within seconds of putting him between my lips I could feel my mouth being flooded with his hot, thick cream, his hands gripping my shoulders almost painfully as his entire body jerked and spasmed with the release, my nose buried deep in his thick wiry bush.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he cried as he unloaded his spunk into me, spurt after spurt filling me with his essence and his love and his desire. I swallowed it all, not wanting to lose a drop, and kept his cock in my mouth long after his orgasm had subsided and his hardness had waned.
I could feel his weight leaning against me, and it was only when I heard a sob that I allowed his spent cock to slip from my lips and I looked up to see tears running down his cheeks. I drew him down onto me as I fell back onto the bed. His weight felt comforting and real as I held him tightly in my arms, my hard cock pressing against his furry belly and spent dick.
“I’m sorry” he said again, and I worried that he regretted allowing his adult son to suck him off. “I didn’t want to come so soon” he continued, “I really did want to fuck you!” I laughed out loud, relieved that his only regret was a bit of premature ejaculating. Pushing my stiff cock up against his belly I looked him in the eye and smiled, mischievously.
“Well?” I asked, leaving the actual question in the air between us. I’m sure I felt his exhausted member stir as he caught my drift, and a smile spread across his face.
“It’s been a while” he whispered, rolling off me and positioning himself on his back, parting his legs and hoisting them in the air in a movement that told me it was not an entirely unknown manoeuvre. “If I remember rightly, the last time was with that handsome uncle of yours.” I stared at him in disbelief and he laughed at the look on my face, delighted at my response.
“Are you joking?”
“Do you want to fuck me or not?”
“Uncle Tom, really?” I asked, all the while staring at his dark arsehole ringed by a forest of black fur, his heavy balls hanging down and almost obscuring his beautiful mound.
“Well, we are identical twins after all.”
His anus pouted and winked at me, and the rest is family history.
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