My Dad: Growing Up

Growing Up

The older I get, the more interesting it is to me the things we believe are normal.

As a kid, my parents went through a divorce, my dad was often naked around me, and I gradually learned that he was leaving my mom for a guy.  Somehow neither me nor my brother, nor any of our friends or relatives as far as I could tell, ever thought of any of that as anything but normal.  Nobody used words like gay or straight, somehow.  People just kind of lived.

I also grew up in a wealthy area, with probably more diversity than exists almost anywhere else, certainly in my little neighborhood in Amsterdam, and maybe on the whole planet.  I had Chinese friends, African friends, friends from India.  A bit of alcohol was perfectly natural, working hard was so normal that people I knew seemed to have little time to gossip, and staying in shape and being physically active was as normal as getting up in the morning.

Sex was part of life.  I was a guy.  I had a dick.  Sometimes it went hard.  Sometimes for no apparent reason.  Sometimes I could tell what I was thinking of, or seeing, or whatever, that made me that way.  The same was true for my older brother, and my dad.  Sometimes I even saw them shoot cum.  I never really paid that much attention to my mom, but how could something similar have been anything but true for her as well.

In retrospect, I was incredibly spoiled, in almost every way.  Education came easy for me, keeping in shape came easy for me, competitive sports came easy for me.  I didn't really seem to notice, although it seemed to come pretty easy to me to care about others and how they were doing.

And then there was the looks thing.  My parents were very attractive, so it wasn't really all that surprising that I was likely to turn out that way as well.  That was compounded even more by my endowment.  When I was young, I really had no idea how lucky I was, since I had seen both my dad and my brother, as well as a couple of uncles.  I just thought dicks were supposed to be that big. 

I wasn't really aware of how much I was being groomed, I guess.

Was my brother grooming me, somehow?  I'm sure I'll never know.  I loved him.  Damn.  He was my brother.  I hope in every way I would grow up like him.

Was my dad doing something, somehow?  One more unknowable thing.  I loved him like mad.  He was everything I wanted to become.  The way he worked, the way he looked, the way he talked, the way he thought.  And that didn't even touch his physical or sexual sides.

And then my dad started spending more and more time with this black dude.  Damn.  In my mind, he was the only person in the world who bested my dad.  He worked even harder, his opinions were even better informed, he seemed to be even better off economically.  His smile was amazing, his laugh was contagious.  

And then I saw him naked.  Shit.  That was the first time ever I remember thinking about the size of a dick.  Was my family somehow short-changed in that department?  I thought about it later.  That also became the first time I remember my own dick becoming hard because of what I was thinking about, as well as the first time I started wondering about all sorts of things.  And before I knew it, I had cum.  That can't really have been the first time.  But it certainly felt like it.

I talked to my brother about everything.  Really, really everything.  So of course I mentioned this to him.  

And he broke out laughing, even as he gave me a kiss.  "I might have a gay brother!" Hardly the response I expected, even if I didn't really have any expectation, to be honest.  He did grab his crotch though, and looked at me quizzically.  "So maybe I should be trying to get you to suck me off like some of my friends do with their brothers?"

I was a bit annoyed.  A bit hurt.  That may have been the first time in my life I had ever even wondered about guilt.  I didn't really think about guys that way.  Just this one.  Who my dad kept seeing.

Fuck.  I had to be too young to be in love.  I started jerking off every time after I saw him.  I even hoped he might catch me jerking off, instead of my dad or my brother.  But his attitude seemed to be nothing more than "What a cute kid," as he rubbed his hand through my thick blonde hair, and gave me a little kiss.

That was the first time I remember needing to shoot twice.  The first time didn't even help in terms of calming me down.  Damn.

I threw myself into all sorts of activities, my homework, work around the yard, anything. Just trying to distract myself.  

And then he'd stop by to see my dad again.