I was folding laundry on the couch when the bathroom door creaked open upstairs. Dad had just finished his Saturday jog and shower; the hallway smelled like Irish Spring and steam. The door was cracked a few inches; he always leaves it that way when he thinks the house is empty. I glanced up without thinking.
He was at the sink, his towel low, back to me. Dad was in his upper fifties, still solid; broad shoulders, a little softness around the middle, thick chest hair going gray. He turned for his deodorant and his towel shifted, just enough. I saw it: dense, wiry salt-and-pepper bush, cut cock hanging heavy, soft but thick, the head flared and pink. He didn’t see me. Just retied the towel and walked to his room to get dressed.
I kept folding, but my mind wouldn’t let it go. The image of my dad’s cock. I couldn’t help but think about how it compared to mine.
Dad came down ten minutes later wearing his typically attire of blue jeans and a tee. He walked to the kitchen and poured himself some coffee. I grabbed a water and sat.
He glanced over at me. “You eat?”
“Not yet.” My voice sounded off.
He leaned on the counter, sipping. “What’s up?”
I rubbed my neck. “Bathroom door was cracked.”
He snorted. “Towel slipped. Sorry.”
“No big deal.” I paused, then blurted “You’re… pretty thick.” Halfway letting out a giggle.
He raised an eyebrow, half-smirk. “Thanks. Runs in the family I guess.”
I laughed, awkward. “You sure? I mean… I’m not small, but…”
He set his mug down. “You fishing for a ruler?”
I shrugged, face hot. “Kinda.”
He huffed a laugh, not offended. “Alright. Let’s settle it.”
He unzipped his zipper and let loose the button from his jeans. Pulling them down just enough to expose his underwear; hooking his fingers around the waist band and pulling them down. His cock flopped out; heavy, soft, nestled in that thick, untamed bush of gray-black pubes. He gave his cock a lazy shake. “There.”
I swallowed hard at the sight of his cock; something I had only imagined previously.
I stood up and pulled my shorts down. My dick was already half-hard, springing free from my underwear as I expose myself. I’m also cut, long, but thinner than his.
He looked. Nodded. “Not bad. You’ve got a good length. You’ll fill out.”
We both just stood there, dicks out, the room quiet except for the fridge hum.
I didn’t want to tuck my cock back in; I wanted this moment to last a bit longer. I noticed his dick starting to thicken, just from the air, the comparison.
I took a breath. “They look different soft. What about hard?”
He stared at me a second, then shrugged. “Fair point. Sit.”
We moved to the living room. He dropped into the recliner, legs spread. I sat on the couch, facing him, maybe five feet apart. He wrapped a fist around his cock; slow, deliberate strokes. It grew fast in his hand, thickening, veins popping, the head swelling. That bush framed it like a crown.
I gripped mine, matching his pace. Long pulls from base to tip, thumb swiping the head. Pre-cum beaded quick, slicking my palm.
He glanced over. “You jerk off very often?”
“Yeah, usually at least once a day.” I pumped steady, eyes on his fist moving through that thick bush. His cock was fully hard now, thick, a solid seven inches, girth like a beer can. Bigger than mine by a lot.
“Damn,” I muttered. “Yours is a monster, dad.”
“Yours ain’t small,” he grunted.
I stood, stepped closer. “Can we… compare hard? Like, dick to dick?”
He paused, fist still. Looked at me a long second. Then nodded. “Alright.”
I moved closer to him and he stood. Our cocks were inches apart, both rock-hard, throbbing. I reached out, hesitant. He didn’t stop me.
I pressed mine against his, hot skin on hot skin, the contrast stark. His was so much thicker, heavier, I could tell his balls were full from the way they hung there; my cock was the same length as his but slimmer.
I slid our cocks together, base to tip, feeling the weight, the heat, the pulse of his rock hard cock. Pre-cum smeared between us, slick and warm. “Jesus,” I whispered. “Feel that?”
He grunted, hips shifting slightly. “Yeah. You sure we should be doing this?”
We stayed like that; cocks pressed together, sliding slow, the friction electric. My hand wrapped around both of them, stroking us as one. His breath hitched. Mine too. I could tell that he wanted me to keep going.
I dropped to my knees and dad stepped back away from me, not wanting to admit what he was thinking already. “Just the head,” I whispered. “Please.”
He sat back down in his chair as I moved forward; watching him lean back and slightly tug on his balls.
I slowly took his flared head in my mouth; it tasted hot, salty, I could feel his smooth skin gently rub against my tongue. I sucked gentle, tongue swirling under the ridge of his head. Was this actually happening, do I really have my dad’s cock in my mouth.
He groaned, low and rough, hand settling on my head; not pushing, just there.
I kept sucking; licking my way from the base of his balls all the way up his shaft. I was struggling to fit his thick cock in my mouth; it was so thick.
He tensed as I continued to swallow his dick; feeling the tip of his member push against the back of my throat. “Fuck, son—gonna—”
I didn’t pull off, I pushed his dick further into my throat.
I gagged as he came hard, thick, heavy pulses of cum; my mouth was completely flooded. The taste hit strong: salty, slightly bitter, thick, coating my tongue and my throat. I attempted to swallow but there was so much cum that it began leaking down my chin.
I kept sucking softly until he softened, the last drops of his load oozing out.
He pulled out slow, breathing hard. Grabbed tissues from the side table and handed me a wad. “Clean up,” he said, voice gruff but steady.
I wiped my face. Nodded. Still tasting his load on my tongue.
He stood, pulled his pants up, and walked upstairs like it was just another Saturday.
