24th March 2006: My first ever father-son story, a theme which would feature heavily in the later ‘Butt Monkey’ series and the subsequent stories.
Dr Wallace’s Casebook
Case 5: Helping Out Dad
A middle-aged guy called Frank came to see me a couple of weeks ago to ask for something to help him sleep following his separation from his wife.
He looked exhausted; downbeat and dishevelled. His experiences during the last few months had clearly really knocked the stuffing out of him.
Scanning my screen to find the course of barbiturates that would most suit him, I asked him if he was losing much time at work.
He shook his head. “People know what’s going on. I mean, I could hardly hide it from them. But I only took a couple of days off when things were… you know… at their worst.”
I nodded. “Do you think a few more days would help? I can easily sign you off.”
He shrugged. “I doubt it. I’d only mope around in the flat I’m renting. And the state that’s in… I don’t really want to be in it for longer than I have to be, you know…”
“Are there people you can talk to? Friends, perhaps…?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got a good set of mates. But they’ve got wives… their own families…”
“And there’s my oldest son David,” he went on, brightening up a little. “He’s been a star… you know… I couldn’t have asked for more help from him… he’s been great…”
I smiled sympathetically. His story reminded me a lot of what my own father had been through a few years earlier when my mother had, almost inexplicably, decided that there was no future for the two of them.
I said, “It makes a big difference, doesn’t it?”
“There haven’t been many good things to come out of this,” he agreed, “but the way it’s brought David and I together… well… I suppose I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”
I thought back to my own father’s separation and the way that circumstances had similarly brought the two of us together. I knew that he, like Frank sitting in front of me, sang my praises about the way I’d helped him out whenever he had the opportunity. And I knew that I didn’t – still don’t – regret anything that happened between us.
I thought about telling Frank some of what my father had been through, how he’d managed to get himself back on his feet and now seemed far happier with his second wife than he had been with my mother. But in the end I just handed him the prescription I’d printed out and encouraged him to come back and see me if he had any further problems sleeping or indeed anything he wanted to talk to me about.
As he left the room I thought again of that week when I’d moved in with my dad in the rooms he’d rented to let my mum ‘find her own space’ as she’d put it. The way our relationship had altered so radically over those few days.
When I’d arrived at the address my dad had read out to me on the phone, I couldn’t believe I’d come to the right place. It was a door halfway down a litter-strewn alleyway midway along a poky little North Finchley terrace.
Tentatively, I pressed the bell and then, being unconvinced that it had produced any sound on the interior, I knocked at the heavily graffitied windowless wooden door.
There was no response so I knocked a little harder.
And then, after another minute or so, a little harder still, bruising my knuckles against the hardwood of the door.
Eventually the door opened and my dad’s bleary, unshaven face appeared in the crack.
He looked at me uncomprehendingly for a second and then his face brightened in recognition. “Sebastian! What the hell are you doing here! I told you I’d pick you up from the station!”
I smiled. “I know, dad. I just thought it’d be easier if I got a bus. And anyway, I wanted to surprise you.”
He chuckled and opened the door to let me in.
As we climbed the cold, damp-smelling staircase up to the flat he was renting, he said, “I heard the noise but I thought it must be kids messing around.”
I didn’t say anything. I was pretty shocked at how bad this place was: paint was crumbling from the walls leaving large continent-shaped expanses of plaster bare; the carpet on the stairs was cheap and insubstantial and, where it wasn’t worn away to threads, it was mottled with stains
When we got to the top landing, he showed me into his rooms, his face apologetic. “Don’t expect much.”
I shrugged. “After mum’s bizarre behaviour over the last couple of months, I’ve given up expecting anything.”
He smiled sadly. “It was all I could get at short notice. And I don’t share a kitchen or bathroom, which was pretty much what sold it to me.”
I walked in. The short hallway led into four rooms: a small, crowded kitchen with a microwave and a two-ring electric hob; a slightly bigger bathroom opposite it with a shower, a sink and a toilet; a medium sized room with a seventies sofa and a television in it; and an almost closed door which I assumed led into his bedroom.
I noticed one or two familiar items he’d brought with him from home, but it seemed like most of the stuff – dreary and jaded – had come with the flat.
I said, “I suppose it’s only temporary.”
“Yeah. I’ve got the estate agent on the look out for something else. Something with a bit more space and in a better area, but these things take time.”
I turned to face him in the dimly-lit hallway. “Aren’t you going back to mum once she’s… you know… sorted things out for herself?”
He shook his head forlornly. “To be honest, I don’t think so. My moving out seems to have made her even more determined to end things. I had a letter from her solicitor yesterday telling me that… well… we can talk about all this later, Seb…”
I nodded sadly. So it had come to this.
I dumped my rucksack down in his living room and he apologised about the discarded clothes, empty whiskey bottles and takeaway cartons that littered the floor.
I said, “Looks like you’re gonna need some help tidying this place up.”
He nodded. “Yeah… sorry… I’d been meaning to… you know, with you coming and stuff… but, to be honest, I try not to spend a lot of time here…”
“Yeah… I can imagine.”
I noticed that the jeans he was wearing looked like they hadn’t been washed in the weeks since he’d left mum. I’d also noticed a whiff of body odour from him when we’d been up close in the hallway. I felt sad to see him in this state; he’d always been quite fastidious about his appearance and his surroundings.
He made us some tea and we sat and chatted about how he’d been over the last couple weeks since he’d left mum.
Then, feeling a little claustrophobic inside the small flat, we went out to watch a movie in the evening and picked up a Chinese takeaway on the way back to his place.
As we ate it in his living room, helped with a couple of glasses of scotch, he asked me about my life up in Leeds. I’d recently moved there from Southampton to become a newly-qualified GP and was planning to find somewhere to live with my girlfriend, Melissa.
“Things are going well… yeah… the practice is pretty nice… I’ve made a few friends. Yeah, it’s okay…”
He nodded. “And Melissa? Are things serious between the two of you?”
I smiled. “I don’t know if she’s… you know… ‘the one’, but we get on pretty well and it makes financial sense to move in together.”
He smiled back, reaching for a prawn cracker from the bag on the small table between us. “And you’re sure it wasn’t a problem for you to take a week off?”
I shook my head. “Of course not, dad. I just wish I could have come down sooner… you know when things were starting to get… well… messed up.”
He shrugged. “It wouldn’t have helped. Your mother says she hasn’t been happy for years. Since the three of you went off to University, actually.”
I nodded, feeling a little guilty even though I knew it was totally irrational of me. Kids have to grow up and leave the nest at some point; there was no use in regretting that.
I changed the conversation back to more mundane matters: “Anyway, part of my time is compassionate leave. I said there were family problems…”
“I only wish I could get some time off too. I feel kind of bad… you know… you coming down here to be with me and me having to piss off to work every day.”
“It doesn’t matter… honestly. Like I told you, I’ve got loads of things I can be doing. There are a few friends I’d like to catch up on as well…”
“Well, the alarm’s set for seven o’clock tomorrow morning. I’ll try not to wake you up when I leave.”
I asked if I could turn the archaic gas fire on. It was October and there was distinct chill in the air.
“Sorry, Seb,” he said, “but it takes some kind of weird plastic keys to get it going and I haven’t worked out how to buy them. Like I said, I’m not here much…”
“Looks like I’m gonna need a few extra blankets for tonight, then.”
He shrugged, downing a mouthful of chicken chow mein with a large gulp from his drink. “To be honest, I assumed you’d be sleeping with me. It’s a double bed.”
I took a swig from my own drink. “It’s okay. I brought my sleeping bag. I’ll be fine on the couch.”
He played with his food, trying to get some noodles onto his fork. “Well, whatever. But it gets pretty cold in here and your mum was… er… ‘kind enough’ to let me have the electric blanket.”
I smiled. “I’ll be fine. Honestly.”
I wasn’t particularly bothered by the idea of sleeping in the same bed as my dad – we’d done it occasionally over the years when necessity had called for it – but I was being hesitant because of the state of his clothes and the flat. I’m not exactly super-clean myself, but I really didn’t like the thought of getting into his bed with him if, as it seemed, he hadn’t managed to find his way to a laundrette in the weeks he’d been here.
So I slept on the sofa that first night. Or, at least, I tried to. The temperature seemed to plunge to sub-zero in the hours after midnight and the flimsy blanket my dad had managed to find for me to supplement my sleeping bag was little help. The couch, too, was extremely uncomfortable: the arms were oddly shaped and didn’t allow me to stretch out at all, and the springs felt like they’d given up trying to offer any kind of support about twenty years ago.
But I managed to doze on and off throughout the night and woke up properly at about half past six when I heard muffled rhythmic sounds of coming from dad’s room.
It gradually dawned on me that I was hearing him discretely masturbating.
I lay listening to him in the semi-darkness of the cold, stark living room, staring up at the swirls in the plaster on the ceiling. Over the next five minutes or so, the gentle beating sounds steadily increased in speed and volume; it seemed that, as his pleasure gradually strenthened, dad was becoming less and less concerned about concealing what he was doing from me.
I wondered if he was fingering his backside as I like to when I wank. I wondered if he was concentrating on stimulating the head of his cock or was instead jerking his foreskin from the shaft.
I realised I’d become hard myself.
I quietly joined in, making a tent in my sleeping bag above my crotch with my left hand and pulling my cock out from my underwear with my right to gently tug it inside the space I’d made.
It felt good to be enjoying a few moments of solitary pleasure while dad was enjoying his.
I’d known for many years that my dad masturbated from time to time, just like most adult guys do. When I lived at home, mum had sometimes joked that he had a high sex drive and I’d had occasionally heard tell-tale thumping sounds from their bedroom when mum had gone away for a few nights. My older brother Gareth had once even claimed that he’d walked in on dad in the middle of a hand-induced orgasm in the shower, but I’d never been completely convinced that it had really happened.
I knew, too, that dad was aware that my own fist enjoyed pretty regular contact with my cock. He’d walked in on me in mid-wank on many embarrassing occasions: mostly in my bedroom, but also when I was in the shower and once, to my perpetual mortification, while I was sitting on the toilet.
So it was nice to feel that we were, in a way, enjoying the activity together. I suppose that’s why, after a few minutes of stimulating myself in silence, I decided to let dad know that I was following his paternal lead and lowered the tent I’d made so that my fist beat more noisily against the material of my sleeping bag.
He stopped almost immediately and was obviously listening to me, surprised.
I kept up my rhythm, letting him know that I’d awoken from the noises he was making and had been aroused enough, as I usually am first thing, to want to have a little fun of my own. And that I wasn’t freaked out either about hearing him masturbate or allowing him to hear me.
After half a minute or so, dad’s rhythm started up again and we were soon jerking ourselves to the same rapid and unashamed beat.
I almost knew he was smiling; I certainly was.
His alarm went off for seven o’clock and he stopped momentarily to switch it off. My own hand kept pumping regardless, now thudding against the thick material of the sleeping bag like a drum beat.
Dad soon rejoined me and we masturbated furiously, both aware that we were hurtling towards our separate climaxes as though on the home straight of a race.
Dad came first. The beating noises stopped abruptly – I assume he pulled the sheets back from his cock to stop them getting messed up – and were followed by barely-discernable slapping noises of his hand against his cock. Then he grunted as his cock spewed it’s load.
I was about twenty seconds behind him and managed to catch all but a couple of splashes of my semen inside one of my discarded socks.
I heard dad get up and head into the bathroom. I made him coffee while he was showering, and wiped one of the stray strings of semen from my teeshirt. I felt cold standing around in my underwear and wished I’d brought more clothes with me.
When dad emerged from the shower, drying himself, he grinned at me and said, “Seems to have been a good morning so far, eh, Sebastian?”
I smiled. “You started it.”
He shrugged. “When nature calls…”
I was pleased to find him so casual about the fact we’d implicitly agreed to masturbate together.
On the occasion when he’d walked in on me in the toilet, my school trousers around my ankles and my fist a blur on my cock, he hadn’t been able to look at me for several days. I suppose I’d been fifteen back then and so he’d had plenty of time to accustom himself to the idea that his youngest son enjoyed playing with himself.
We chatted, sipping our coffees, as he wandered from the bathroom to the bedroom, drying himself. When I followed him into his bedroom, I saw that I’d been right to avoid sleeping in his bed: the sheets clearly hadn’t been washed in weeks.
As he was drying his hair, naked, I noticed that he’d lost some of his weight and had bulked up on muscle since I’d last seen him in this state.
I asked, “Have you been going to the gym or something?”
He nodded, throwing down his towel and reaching for a can of deodorant. “I have to do something to pass the time…”
I smiled. “Well, it’s done you good.”
He smiled back, looking down at his body which, for a guy in his forties, was quite attractive. “Pity no-one wants it…”
“Someone will. If not mum, then someone else.”
I was going to make a joke about the fact his cock, which hung between his legs looking much larger than mine, would be likely to attract someone regardless of how good the rest of him looked, but I wasn’t sure how he’d react. Gareth and I had often made jokes about his cock in the past and he’d never known how to take them.
After spraying himself with deodorant, he fumbled around the floor for discarded briefs and socks that were wearable, muttering apologetically, “Looks like I’ve run out of laundry, Seb…”
I shrugged, trying to look indifferent. “Yeah… I know how it gets sometimes.”
He pulled on a pair of white briefs that had clearly been worn several times before judging by the stain where the tip of his cock must normally be, and he blushed a little at how obviously dirty they were.
He said, trying awkwardly to be light-hearted, “I remember telling you and Gareth off about doing this sort of thing when you were in your teens. And now I’m just as bad as you guys were.”
I realised I ought not to have been watching him like this in his state of embarrassment. But dad and I had never been uncomfortable about nudity so it hadn’t occurred to me until then that I should have given him a bit of space. I said I’d go and put some toast on and hurried back into the kitchen.
When dad emerged from his room fully dressed, I noticed how unkempt his suit looked and how creased his shirt was. In addition, the smell of body odour was subtle but obvious. The company he worked for must have realised he was finding it difficult to cope on his own and be making allowances for his current circumstances, but their patience wouldn’t last indefinitely.
He said, smiling and reaching for a slice of toast which I’d buttered for him, “What are you going to do today, then?”
I shrugged. “I’ll find something to keep me busy, I dare say.”
When dad had gone off to work, I spent most of that first day gathering together his laundry and carrying it in black bin-bags to the laundrette I’d noticed next door to the Chinese takeaway the previous evening.
I stripped his bed first, feeling slightly disappointed in his tastes when I found a tattered copy of a cheap girlie magazine pushed between the mattress and the headboard, and then got to work picking up his underwear that littered his bedroom floor.
I was amazed at how filthy it was: even if dad couldn’t find the time to get to a laundrette, surely he could have asked one of his friends if they’d mind letting him use their washing machine until he’d got something more permanent sorted out. He’d let his briefs get worse than I’d ever let mine get, even during my shoddiest days at university, and I was surprised at how many of them had obviously been used to wipe up semen. Of the dozen or so pairs I found, I happened to notice that eight or nine of them were caked hard with dried white patches. Some of his teeshirts, vests and socks were similarly encrusted.
Again, I felt a little sad to find all this. I wasn’t bothered by the quantity of it – if dad’s sex drive was anything like my own then I could understand why he’d need to regularly relieve himself – but I was upset that he cared so little about the place he was living in, and perhaps his life generally, to be so unconcerned about maintaining his former standards.
I bundled together his shirts and carried those down to the laundrette and then took some of his suits to the dry cleaners.
By six o’clock, when dad got back to the flat, most of his clothes had been cleaned and I’d remade his bed. I’d even managed to iron a couple of his shirts using an old iron, perhaps part of the flat’s furnishings or otherwise left behind by a former occupant, I found in the cupboard beneath the sink.
He was awe-struck. “You shouldn’t have! I can’t believe you did that…”
I shrugged, smiling. “It’s okay… it didn’t take too long.” It had taken all day, but I wanted to make it sound like it was the sort of thing that he could do quite easily for himself when I’d returned to Leeds.
“How did you wash them?”
“There’s a laundrette near the takeaway. If you take a bag of washing in before work, they can have it ready for you when you get back in.”
He looked genuinely surprised. “Yeah? It’s that easy?”
I chuckled. “How d’you think I did my washing when I was a student?”
“I dunno. Your mother always made it seem so involved… so complicated. I suppose I was just putting off doing something about it because it seemed like it was going to be such a big job.”
We walked through to the bedroom, dad pulling off his tie. When he saw the bed, he looked at me a little reprovingly. “You really shouldn’t have done that. It’s too much to ask of you…”
I laughed. “Come on, dad. I’m your son. Who else is gonna help you out if I can’t?”
His disapproval melted into a smile. Then the smile became tinged with pain as he perhaps realised how unused to hearing caring words he’d become over the past few weeks.
He slapped my shoulder and said, “You’re not just my son, Sebastian. What you’ve done today… well, you’re a mate too.”
And then I left him to change his clothes while I poured us both a scotch.
We went out to the pub that night and talked about my sister Adrianne and her first child, and how Gareth was doing in his new job in Birmingham.
When we got back in after eleven, and while we were both undressing, I decided, since dad’s bed was now in a much better state than it had been on the previous night, to forego another night in the frozen living room on that hideous couch.
Dad grinned at me when I suggested it. “I knew you wouldn’t last another night on that bloody thing!” The change in the state of his bed didn’t seem to occur to him; I suppose he just figured we were close enough, as family, for me to be unconcerned about such things.
As is traditional when two guys who are friends or relatives sleep together, we stripped to our underwear and got into bed like that. I knew I sounded a little like mum, but I told him to put his dirty clothes into a pile so that I could sort them out in the morning.
He smiled at me. “Yes, dear…”
I added, grinning to let him know that I was aware of how maternal I sounded, “And leave your suit – I’ll get it dry-cleaned. There’s loads of others in the wardrobe for you to wear tomorrow.”
He got into bed next to me, still smiling but leaning over to ruffle my hair like he used to when I was a kid. “Thanks, Seb. I was really going to pieces. This is so good of you.”
I smiled. “Like I said, that’s what I’m here for.”
He said, “I don’t want you to feel like I’m using you to do all my cleaning and stuff…”
“Come on, dad. I’m just getting you back on your feet… you know… helping you pick up the pieces.”
He nodded slowly. “Well, you’re a credit it to me, Sebastian. And to your mum. Probably more to her, because I can’t see me doing this for my father if he’d ever been in this state…”
Dad had never got on with his own father. He’d once told me that he’d even seriously considered changing his name from Wallace to my mother’s maiden name, Godtfredsen, to sever all ties with a man he so despised.
He switched off the light and we turned to face away from each other, another tradition when men are forced to share a bed, to get some sleep.
And I slept quite deeply, enjoying the relative luxury of lying on a mattress and having the space to stretch out after the rigours of the sofa on the previous evening.
Until about four o’clock, when I was awoken by dad behind me wrapping one arm firmly around my chest and grinding his crotch into my right buttock.
I grunted, still half asleep, “Dad… come on…”
But he just snored tersely and kept pressing himself into my bum. His cock was erect: that much was obvious. If you have a cock the size of dad’s, erections can never be anything other than obvious.
I thought, “Oh my god, he’s dreaming that I’m mum.”
As if in response, he moaned and his cock slipped into the cleft between my buttocks.
He started gently rubbing his cock up and down the groove it had found itself in, moaning quietly as he did so. His hand groped down my chest and stomach, no doubt wanting to find a pussy that wasn’t there. When it settled upon my cock and balls, still limp inside my briefs, his disappointment showed itself as a brief guttural growl in the back of his throat.
I wasn’t sure what I should do. Should I wake him and compound the humiliation he’d felt in having to leave mum by telling him that he’d been nocturnally relieving himself against his youngest son? Or should I let him continue, in the hope that he’d drift into deeper sleep and his grip on my chest and his thrusts against me would subside?
Well, you can probably guess what I opted to do.
Unfortunately, his thrusts showed no sign of abating and soon the bed was creaking to the rhythm of his cock sliding up and down my arsecrack.
I tried to pull myself away, but dad’s grip was so strong that to try and detach him from me risked waking him up. And every time I tried to roll away from him, he pressed himself closer to my back and his cock prodded more urgently against my buttocks.
Soon he was on top of me, pinning me down with his chest against my back, grunting as he rapidly fucked my arsecrack through our underwear.
Then, with an exclamatory snort, he woke himself up.
His thrusts ceased and he just hugged me, pressing his large erection against my arse.
He said, “Sebastian?”
Without pausing to think of how much easier it would be if I were to feign sleep, I replied, “Yeah?”
Motionless, he said, “I’m really sorry… I am so sorry…”
I forced a laugh into the pillow beneath my face. “Hey… don’t worry about it…”
He pulled his hips away from me, removing his cock from it’s insistent position against my backside. “You should have woke me up.”
I shrugged. “I thought you’d be embarrassed. I hoped you were just having a dream that would pass…”
He unwrapped his arms from around my chest. “How are you ever going to be able to forgive me for this?”
I made that forced laugh again, feeling a little pain in my back from the way he was disengaging himself from me. “It’s really no big deal. I’ve done it myself while I was sharing a bed with a guy. It’s embarrassing, but… you know… it’s nothing, really.”
He pulled away from me, returned to his own side of the bed and, as I sat up on my side, he switched on the light. We squinted and hid our eyes from the glare.
He said, looking tired and away from me, “I was just dreaming… I dunno… I suppose it’s like wanking, isn’t it… just fantasising…”
I’d never heard him refer to masturbation as ‘wanking’ before. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’d ever heard him refer to masturbation at all.
I concealed my surprise and nodded. “Exactly. I wasn’t that bothered…”
He looked at me. “If you want me to sleep on the couch, it’d be only fair.”
I laughed, more genuinely this time. “Of course I don’t! Don’t be daft, dad.”
He looked upset.
I went on, smiling, “You were thinking of something… well… ‘nice’… and you grabbed the nearest thing to you and rubbed yourself against it. Where’s the harm?”
He nodded slowly. “You’re really not bothered?”
I slapped his shoulder. “Come on, dad. Even if you’d have… you know… cum on me…” I felt a little embarrassed to say that word to him but I acted like I wasn’t. “Well, I wouldn’t have been bothered. It would have been no worse than what we did this morning.”
He stared at me. “No?”
I smiled. “No! You’d have been wanking, that’s all. But using me to help you. And it’s not exactly too much to ask of me, is it? Jesus Christ, dad, after what you’ve been through, I don’t mind doing anything to help you out…”
He smiled cautiously and nodded. “You’re a good lad, Seb. I know I keep saying it, but you are.”
I shrugged. “If using my body like that helps you out… I mean, helps you to cope… well, you know I’d let you…”
He smiled more warmly. “Okay. Thanks. I really appreciate it.” He reached back over to the bedside table and I assumed he was going to switch off the light so we could go back to sleep.
Instead, he reached into the drawer and pulled out a tube of lubricant. Without hesitating, he pushed the covers down to expose his briefs and pulled out his still semi-erect cock. It looked larger than I’d ever seen it and the stem of it was coursed with veins. He squirted a gob of the lube onto his fingers and smeared it around it’s half-exposed dry-looking head.
He looked up at me, with an expression of mild discomfort, “It gets a bit dry these days… I’m probably playing with it too much or something.”
I tried to smile casually but I probably looked a little stunned.
Without seeming to notice, he said, “It’s probably best if you turn over again. I don’t think I’d be happy face-to-face but… well… it’s gonna feel a bit weird whichever way, but I think it’d be easier on us both if you’re facing the bed.”
I nodded like I understood.
He pulled off his briefs and threw them to the floor, then he got up and knelt on the mattress. His cock stood half-erect, rising upwards from his large hairy balls, and it’s broad purple helmet looked wet with the lubricant he’d smeared onto it.
He said, “Probably best to pull your own underwear off, Sebastian…” He chuckled uncomfortably.
I had begun to realise that he’d taken my assent to having him hug me in his sleep as meaning that I’d be happy to have him… well… what?
I asked him, “What are you going to do?”
He grabbed his cock and squeezed its shaft between his fingers and thumb. His bell-end swelled and hardened. “The same as I was doing a minute ago. I just think your underwear might be a bit painful for me… I don’t want any friction burns, you know!”
I said, perhaps a little incredulously, “You want to hump my bum?”
His stared at me uncertainly and then his face flushed. “I’m sorry, Seb, did I get the wrong end of the stick?” He looked mortified. “I thought you said you wouldn’t mind if I – ”
I quickly interjected, “I don’t mind, dad, honestly.” I smiled like it was no big deal, aware of how devastated he’d be if he realised that he’d misunderstood me. “I just wasn’t sure how you wanted me.”
I pulled my briefs off and tossed them onto the floor next to the bed. My cock was small and thin and almost hidden away in my pubic bush; it was a pathetic imitation of dad’s distended organ.
He said, “If you don’t want to, it doesn’t matter…”
I smiled again, turning over onto my stomach to show him my arse. “Of course I want to! Anything to help you out right now…”
“You said it’d be just like wanking. You said that…”
I nodded, looking up at him over my shoulder. “And it is. It’s really no big deal.”
I noticed dad had a few wispy hairs between his pecs just like I have. With his hair being darker than mine, his was more obvious.
He looked at my backside, possibly admiring it because most people say it’s my best feature, and said, “If you want me to stop, just say. I mean, if it feels weird…”
I nodded, turning back to look at the pillow as he climbed on top of me. “I’ll be fine.”
His hands felt cold as he wrapped his arms around me, and his cock felt hot as it slapped against my buttocks. He pressed his chest into my back and whispered in my ear, “Thanks so much for this. You don’t know how it’s been… these last few weeks…”
He had clearly been used to enjoying fairly frequent relations with my mum, even right up until the very end.
He started sliding his cock up and down my arsecrack as he had been doing in his sleep. He went on, his breath hot against my ear, “Women just don’t want to know…”
I said, “They will… once you’re back on your feet.”
His breath began to quicken. “This feels good.”
His hips began to work more quickly against my buttocks, making quiet slapping noises. His cock felt like it was growing much harder as it rubbed against me and I could feel his balls walloping against the tops of my thighs.
The bed was starting to creak again.
He muttered, his breathing now quite fast, “Thanks… thanks for this…”
I smiled into the pillow. “You’re welcome to it, dad…”
I pushed my hips up from the bed and got on all fours with dad pausing for breath behind me. I said, “It might feel better like this. You can press your cock into my arsecrack.”
We must have both been aware that we were getting ourselves into a blatantly homosexual position, a father simulating buttfucking with his son, but we both chose to ignore the implications of that.
He fumbled with his cock, pressing the shaft into my cleft so that it was gripped between my cheeks. Working up and down and feeling how my arsecrack was effectively acting like his hand, pulling his foreskin back and forth, he muttered, “Yeah… I see what you mean…”
He grabbed my hips and started thrusting himself up and down inside my cleft. My buttocks squeezed the shaft of it as firmly as I could and I could hear his foreskin making soft clicking noises as it slid back and forth across his large bell-end.
He started grunting, his rhythm increasing rapidly and the headboard of his bed starting to thump against the wall.
I wasn’t sure why, but I was beginning to enjoy what we were doing. Not necessarily the feel of his cock working itself inside my arsecrack, but the sensation of allowing myself to be used by my own father like that. My cock was beginning to respond and, while nowhere near to being hard, it was a lot larger than it had been when I’d pulled off my underwear just a few minutes earlier.
He pulled his cock out of my arsecrack and stabbed it between my thighs. It thrust through my legs, impatiently shoving my balls out of the way, and was long enough to arch upwards against my own cock, making it look a mere child alongside its hefty parent.
His bell-end was as large as a good-sized plum and it gleamed like a polished red stone. The slit of it was puckered outwards and a dribble of precum oozed from its opening.
He said, urgently, “Close your legs. Give me something to work against…”
I did as he said and he began fucking my thighs. His cock jabbed in and out between my legs, stabbing against my own cock until its movements against me had made mine fully aroused. Now it looked as if I had two cocks: a thicker stubbier one poking in and out through my thighs; and a thinner but longer-looking one which stood above it.
He grabbed me tightly to him, pressing himself against my back again, as he fucked my thighs as fast as he could. He was panting like a dog against my neck.
He groped at my chest, as though searching for a pair of tits, and, on finding none, contented himself with holding me around the shoulders.
I realised he was whispering a name through his rapid, uncontrolled breathing. “Gillian… Gillian…” My mother’s name.
Abruptly, his cum splashed up against my stomach, soaking my skin and the bed beneath me.
I couldn’t help but think, as I watched his cock spew its white gushers as it jabbed through my legs, “Jesus – I came from that stuff! Twenty seven years ago, part of me came out of that cock!”
He kept fucking me through my legs for nearly a minute after he’d first started cumming. His pace slowed and his breathing recovered, but semen still oozed from his slit with regular, though lessening, spurts.
Eventually he stopped and pulled back from me.
I turned around, being careful not to get even more of his cum from the bed onto me, and grinned at him. “It looks like you needed that!”
He looked shattered; both physically and emotionally. He muttered, “I can’t believe I just did that to you… what the hell was I thinking of?”
I reached for my discarded teeshirt and started wiping up some of the mess from my stomach and from the bed. I said, “You did nothing wrong, dad. I told you that before we started.”
“I know, but… it was wrong to use you like that.”
He looked over at me and saw, for the first time, that my cock was fully erect. I made no attempt to hide it from him; to have done so would have seemed a little ridiculous after what we’d just done.
I looked down at my cock and then back at him, grinning. “Did you think it was unpleasant for me?”
He looked surprised. “You enjoyed it?”
I shrugged. “Come on, dad. It’s not as if you’re hideously repulsive or anything. And the feel of you enjoying yourself… well, it’s like when you hear another guy having sex and you end up getting off on it… maybe I’m not explaining it to well…”
“I know what you mean. A bit like this morning, actually…”
I smiled. “Exactly. Well, it was pretty natural that I’d get aroused.”
He smiled back at me, his expression warm and intense. “After so long of having your mum tell me… well… all the stuff she said, I’d kind of assumed that I wasn’t exactly an attractive commodity these days.”
I finished mopping up what I could of the mess. “I told you this morning that you’re looking good. I meant that.”
“I know, but – ”
“And if you’ve got such a good technique that you can actually get your straight son’s pecker up,” I cut in, “I don’t see you’ve anything serious to worry about!”
He chuckled. “Thanks, Seb. I think my self-esteem has been at an all-time low these past few weeks. It’s good to hear something nice about myself.”
I fished a clean pair of briefs out of my rucksack and pulled them on, managing to get my erection into them.
He said, looking at the large ridge my cock was making inside my underwear, “And what are you going to do about that?”
I grinned salaciously. “Are you offering?”
He shook his head looking a little shocked. “No. I can’t. I’m sorry – I’d never be able to let you do anything like that to me…”
“Hey, steady on, dad. I was just joking, you know. Of course I don’t want to do anything like that.”
“I mean, maybe if you’d have been married a few years and then something had happened and –”
“Dad! It was a joke!”
He nodded. “Okay. It’s just… well… I really needed what we did tonight and I don’t want you to make it sound cheap or smutty.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it.”
He nodded and threw me a conciliatory smile. “Well, I was just asking if you were going to go and… you know… sort it out in the bathroom or something? I really need to get some sleep.”
“No… I think I’ll turn in as well.”
My cock had pretty much lost its stiffness by then, anyway.
Dad pulled on a clean pair of underwear, clearly enjoying the feel of a freshly washed pair after so many weeks of recycling his used ones, and we both got back into bed.
We turned away from each other, like guys do, and he switched off the light.
It was almost as if nothing had happened when we awoke next morning. Dad got up and made us some coffee and I put the toast on while he was busying himself in the bathroom.
The only thing that struck me as a little odd occurred as I got dressed. Dad was doing up the knot of his tie in the mirror in the bedroom and I’d just come into the room from having a shower. I was naked and I bent over to get my deodorant out of my rucksack.
When I stood back up, I saw that dad had been watching me through the mirror, getting a good look at my arse as I’d been bending over.
He smiled and said, “Sometimes you remind me so much of your mum.”
I laughed. “From that angle?”
He kept smiling, perhaps remembering something from many years ago. “Your posture. The way you move.”
I smiled back, spraying myself. “I suppose it helps that I’m blond like her.”
He nodded. “You’ve got her Scandinavian good looks, I’ll grant you that. But you’re similar to her in so many ways.” He glanced down at my cock which hung, spent from having been given a little discreet attention in the shower, heavily over my balls. “There are, of course, one or two little differences.”
I chuckled. “Not so little, if you don’t mind.”
He grinned, pulling on his jacket. “Yeah… you definitely seem to take after me on that score, Sebastian.”
After I’d seen him off to work, I got to work on ironing the rest of his clothes that I’d washed the previous day, and on cleaning the flat.
In the middle of the afternoon, I went out and bought ingredients to cook what I knew was one of dad’s favourite meals: toad in the hole. It was rather difficult with the meagre cooking equipment and appliances in his small kitchen, but I gave it my best shot.
When dad got in at about six, he was once again overwhelmed by what I’d done with his clothes and to clean up his flat and thanked me repeatedly for making us a meal.
He handed me a box of gift-wrapped chocolates to, as he put it, “say thank you for last night.”
I shrugged and grinned. “You don’t need to say thanks. You know that.”
“Well, I wanted to. I couldn’t think what to buy a guy as a gift so I settled for those. Your mum liked them.”
I remembered that he’d occasionally bring a box of chocolates or flowers for my mother when he got home from work. Now, perhaps, I knew what she’d done to earn it.
It felt a little odd to be receiving the same gift for having carried out what was, essentially, an equivalent service, but I swallowed any misgivings and thanked him for being so thoughtful.
He said, “I couldn’t exactly buy you a bunch of flowers, could I?”
I grinned. “I think I’d have been comfortable enough with my feminine side to receive them graciously.”
He smiled back. “You’re much more a modern man than I am, in that case.”
“D’you remember my ex-girlfriend from Southampton, Helen? Well, she insisted that flower-buying was a two-way thing. Something to do with gender equality, I think.”
He raised his eyes. “She was… well… a little eccentric… a little… er… different…”
I said, “She was a nutter! She was absolutely bonkers!”
He laughed. “Well, I didn’t like to tell you at the time.”
“I think that’s why I liked her. She was nuts.”
He nodded. “Maybe we have the same taste in women.”
We smiled at each other and left it there.
After we’d eaten, we went out to pick up some packs of cans and rent a couple of videos.
As we watched the films, dad sat alongside me on the small sofa, rather than sitting on the armchair as he had a couple of nights earlier when we’d brought back a takeaway. I assumed it was to get a better view of the screen but, partway through the first film, I realised that he had his arm around the back of the sofa behind my head. As the film progressed, I noticed dad’s thigh keep rubbing against mine and that he was touching me, albeit casually, a lot more than he usually would.
Even then, I think I just put his need to be close to me and affectionate towards me down to it being a way of him displaying his appreciation for the obvious boost I’d given his self-confidence the night before.
When it was time to turn in for the night, and we were undressing in his room, dad surprised me by asking, cautiously, “Sebastian… you know what we… er… did last night?”
I shrugged, pulling my jeans off, “I told you, dad. It doesn’t matter.”
He was unbuttoning his shirt, revealing that surprisingly well-toned chest he’d been working on. “Yeah, I know. I just… well…”
I got into my side of the bed, wearing my vest and briefs, and looked over at him.
He went on, “I wondered if… you know…”
He unbuttoned his belt and unzipped his fly.
I let him continue: “Well, I wondered if you’d be up for it again…?”
He hitched down his work trousers to reveal that his cock was fully erect – quite dramatically so – inside his tight-fitting grey ribbed briefs.
He threw me an apologetic grin. “I’ve been horny most of the day, to be honest. What you did for me last night… it really meant a lot to me.”
I was quite surprised but I didn’t show it.
He pulled off his trousers. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine. But I really enjoyed it.” He folded his trousers and laid them over the chair at the side of the bed.
He went on, “I’ve felt so much more positive all day, knowing that you’d be here when I got in and hoping that you might want to… you know… let me do it again.”
I smiled. I couldn’t exactly refuse after that, could I?
I said, “Of course I don’t mind, dad. It’s really no big deal.”
He pulled his briefs down, revealing his large, throbbing cock. The bloated head of it was a sore-looking red colour from being confined in his underwear in its erect state for too long and his foreskin was almost fully retracted back. A couple of veins made prominent bulges along the long, thick shaft.
He said, “You don’t think there’s anything wrong in it?”
I got out of bed and pulled off my vest. “I told you last night that I don’t. I think it’s natural that you’d want a bit of… well.. affection while you’re recovering from what’s happened. And I think it’s natural, since we’ve known each other all my life, that I’d be the one to give you it.”
He nodded, watching me pull down my briefs. My limp cock flopped out and jiggled around with my balls as I pulled the underwear over my feet.
He got his lubricant out from his drawer and smeared a little of it around the head of his cock. He said, “Well it seems a bit weird to say it, but I’ve been really looking forward to it.”
I smiled. “I’m glad I’m so much fun to be with!”
“It’s not you that I’m with, though, Seb – not in my mind. You know that, don’t you? I mean, it’s just nice to have another body to hold and be with but I’m not thinking of it as being yours.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
I back on the bed. “How d’you want me?”
He climbed on the mattress next to me, his large cock looking expectant and demanding. “From behind again, if you don’t mind.”
Somehow I’d known he was going to say that. Although I was expected to have no qualms about looking at his cock and having it rubbing against me, he wasn’t at all comfortable about having anything but the minimum contact with mine.
I got on all fours on the bed, sticking my arse in the air, and he moved behind me on his knees. He grabbed his cock and thrust it between the tops of my thighs as he had on the previous night. Its fat head emerged through them and painfully whacked into my balls which were hanging down between my legs.
I called out, “Hey, careful with my balls!”
He said, “Sorry. I’m just not used to taking those into account.”
“Well go easy on them. You might want grandkids one day!”
He pushed my legs together saying, “Grip my cock with your thighs. Like you did last night.”
I complied and he gently slid his cock out through my legs. I saw his foreskin slide across his bell-end as though consuming it and it puckered up like a mouth when it had fully covered it. Then he pushed back towards me and his foreskin retracted back again; the large red head re-emerged looking slick and wet, and his broad piss slit seemed to stare at me.
He repeated the action again and again, and I watched with fascination as his foreskin slid back and forth across his helmet-shaped bell-end, like the tide sweeping in and out in quick succession.
He moaned, his thrusts beginning to grow faster and faster, “That’s good… that’s good… just hold it there, Gillian.”
I chose not to point out his mistake.
He fucked my thighs for a good few minutes and my own cock responded by lengthening and rising up as it had the previous night. He’d either be upright, holding me by the hips, or would bend over me, grabbing my shoulders. Occasionally, he’d fall against my back and grip me around the chest, but the disappointment of finding that I had no breasts to fondle would quickly move him on to find a preferable position.
Towards the end, nearing his climax, he pulled out from me and pulled my body upright with his, so that my back was alongside his chest.
Masturbating himself rapidly, he groped down my spine, seeming to enjoy the curve of my back. Once he’d reached my arse, he eagerly kneaded and caressed my buttocks, as if they were acting as substitute breasts.
By now he was panting.
Then he surprised me by pressing his fingers between my thighs and groping around that hairy area between my balls and my arsehole. If he was unconsciously searching for a pussy, his efforts, clearly, were to be unrewarded. But, as his fingers hunted up my cleft as far as my arsehole, he seemed to accept that as a viable alternative and plunged a couple of fingers into me.
I gasped but he pressed them in regardless.
He kept masturbating, his hand now beating so hard on his cock that the bed was pounding like a drum against the wall.
Once my anus and rectum had accepted the unexpected invasion, I began to enjoy the sensation of him finger-fucking me. I squatted down against his hand and met every thrust of his fingers by pushing my arse onto them.
He grunted, “Yeah… fuck me back, love… fuck me back…”
My own cock was now throbbing between my legs, but I resisted the urge to touch it. It arched upwards demandingly, the head exposed and pulsating, and the slit was weeping a steady stream of precum as if shedding tears at the lack of attention it was receiving.
With a few low grunts, dad sprayed his cum against my hip and my back. As he had the night before, he kept masturbating himself until the last few drops of his semen had oozed from his piss slit. His fingers, too, kept sliding in and out of my arsehole though his pace grew rapidly more sluggish as his orgasm subsided.
At length, he pulled them out of me and thanked me.
I climbed off the bed and cleaned my back and side with my vest.
Dad got off his side of the bed.
He looked at my cock, still throbbing with excitement between my legs, and said, wiping his own, “You obviously didn’t mind me doing that to you.”
I shrugged. “It felt quite nice, actually.”
“Yeah, it’s not too bad when you get into it, isn’t it?”
I looked over at him. “You’ve done it to yourself?”
He shrugged. “Occasionally. I think most guys have at some time or other…”
I nodded. “I was just a bit surprised that you did it to me.”
He threw down the briefs he’d been using to wipe his semen from his cock. His cock stood outwards at a right angle, the head looking smaller and the veins on its shaft looking less prominent.
He said, “To be honest, I just got a bit carried away. I wasn’t really thinking of it being your backside.”
“Well, I sort of realised that. But it’s a lot different from… you know… playing with a woman, isn’t it?”
He surprised me by sniffing the fingers he’d used to penetrate me. He looked unmoved by the smell on them and muttered, “Not really… actually, there are a lot of similarities.”
He got back into bed without putting a clean pair of underwear on and so I thought I ought to do the same. We lay naked alongside one another.
Before turning off the light, he said, “Thanks again.”
I smiled. “No worries.”
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“Naah… like you, I’ve done it a few times before.”
He smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I assumed as much.”
Then he turned off the light.
We turned away from one another and, within a minute or so, I heard dad’s breathing become deep and slow as he drifted into sleep. I lay awake for what seemed like half an hour, my erection still throbbing insistently, until sleep eventually overtook me.
In the night, I was half-awoken by dad turning towards me and flopping an unconscious arm over my body. I felt his cock, still limp but large enough to be unmistakable, touching my buttocks.
I tried to pull away from him, concerned that this may be the prelude to another sexual encounter, but he moaned and hugged me more tightly when I did and so I decided to stay put.
It turned out that he wanted nothing more than to hug me in his sleep. We lay for ten minutes or so with him content to simply hold me as he slept and press his naked body against mine. Accepting that, I managed to drift back into unconsciousness.
I awoke to dad bringing me a cup of coffee and apologising for wrapping himself around me in his sleep.
I groaned, my voice bass and gravelly, “It doesn’t matter.”
He smiled. He was naked and his cock hung heavily between his legs. “I think I just needed a hug.”
I sat up in the bed and took a sip of the hot coffee. It tasted good. “I really don’t mind, dad. You couldn’t exactly help it.”
He nodded. “I always used to hug your mum. She complained about it first but eventually she just accepted it. It must be habit that’s hard to break.”
I shrugged. “Forget about it. I really don’t mind.”
He smiled. “You’re good to me. I really appreciate it.”
I was pleased he didn’t start thanking me for letting him use me as a masturbatory aid the previous evening, as he had the day before. If he had, I was feeling enough morning-after misgivings about what had happened that I’d have probably expressed them to him.
But he didn’t and so the moment passed.
And once I’d drank my coffee, my spirits had perked up considerably.
Dad was downing a quick slice of toast as I was heading into the shower. I told him to have a good day at work and he told me not to do any housework or to cook him a meal while he was out. We agreed that I would look through his bills and bank statements to see how his finances were doing now that he didn’t have mum to sort that side of things out for him.
Before he left he added, “You know, if I were you were you, I’d grow my hair long, Seb.”
I smiled with surprise. “It’s too long as it is. It needs a cut.”
“No – I mean you should grow it really long. Maybe you could put it in a pony-tail or something. Or just let it hang. That might be nice.”
I stared at him. I thought I could guess what his motives were and I wasn’t comfortable with them. Eventually, I said, “I think I’ll keep it as it is, dad. I like it quite short.”
He shrugged. “Well… whatever you want. But I think longer hair would really suit you. That’s all.”
I went back on my word not to do any housework as I took dad’s bed linen back to the laundrette for a second cleaning. After two loads of dad’s cum had splattered over my side of the bed, as well as some of my own that I’d added after emerging from the shower that morning, I thought it could do with another wash.
I phoned Melissa during the morning and we chatted about how things were going. It was reassuring to talk with her: things weren’t too serious between us back then, but it was good simply to hear her voice and to have her put some of the things that had happened during that strange week into some kind of perspective.
She felt, if anything, that I wasn’t been supportive enough with my dad: “After what he’s been through, I’m not surprised he needs your affection. If you ask me, you really need to show him how much you care right now… it’s your duty to him.”
I hadn’t told her about any of the sexual stuff that had happened between me and my father – she hadn’t been there, she wouldn’t understand how things had developed – but I’d mentioned the fact he’d put his arm around me on the sofa and then again in bed.
“You don’t think it’s a bit odd…?”
She snorted down the receiver. “For God’s sake, Sebastian! He was married to your mother for all those years and then suddenly she threw him out. Of course he wants a shoulder to cry on… the odd hug even… I’m surprised he isn’t being a lot more emotionally demanding than he is.”
I felt a little better. “I just… I dunno… I wasn’t sure if I was handling it very well.”
“You don’t show your feelings, I’ve told you loads of times that’s your problem! Let him get it all out… let him grieve, for God’s sake… he’ll feel so much better for it.”
“You don’t think I’m maybe… you know… making it worse.”
“That’s typical of you!” she snapped. “The slightest suggestion of an emotion and you’re running for the hills. You’ve got to let nature take it’s course on this, Sebastian. Even if it’s not that comfortable for you.”
By the time she’d finished, I was fairly sure that she was right. Even if she didn’t know the full story, her sentiment was probably right: I’d play along with dad in the hope that I was doing him some good.
I spent the afternoon going through his finances, feeling a little odd to be looking at such personal documents addressed to “Mr James E. Wallace” instead of myself, and was surprised to find that, among other things, he was still paying the mortgage on the house mum was now the sole occupier of. I made notes on what he needed to have amended with each of his banks and building societies.
When dad got in at about six, he looked over the notes I’d made, making grateful comments at how thorough I’d been, but said that, while he’d follow most of my suggestions, he wouldn’t be changing the mortgage payments on his and mum’s house.
“But you don’t have to pay her way,” I argued. “I mean, I don’t want to see mum getting turfed out of the house, but it’s not fair that –”
“I can’t treat her badly, Sebastian,” he cut in, shaking his head. “I know you probably think I’m being a bit pathetic, but after so long of being with her… well… I can’t stop loving her just like that.”
I nodded. “I realise that, but –”
He shushed me. “I’ll keep paying it for now. At some point I’ll stop, but only when I’m ready…”
I smiled. “Okay.”
He reached over and squeezed my shoulder, which was a little unlike him, and announced that he’d booked a table for us both at a fairly plush restaurant in town.
I smiled. “That’s very nice of you.”
He smiled back. “I owe you a few favours. You’ve done more for me this week than you could ever know.”
The evening passed quite pleasantly. I hadn’t brought anything to wear for such an occasion and so dad loaned me one of his suits and a particularly lavish silk tie. The two of us looked comically dapper as we emerged from the graffitied doorway into the litter-strewn alleyway outside his flat.
The restaurant was a little on the pricey side, although that didn’t seem to bother dad, but the food was excellent.
We talked mainly about the past and of family, and dad asked me, during the dessert, what I thought of my brother Gareth’s partner: a graphic designer called Rob.
I shrugged. “I dunno. I suppose he seems like a good match for Gareth. The two of them were getting on really well when I stayed over with them during the summer.”
“Yeah… but what do you think of that kind of stuff?” dad asked, dabbing a splash of cream at the side of his mouth with his napkin.
I smiled. “What do you mean, ‘that kind of stuff’?” I knew full well what he meant but I was amused by the way he’d said it.
He chuckled. “You know… the two of them living together like that. Two men.”
I ate another forkful of my cheesecake, pondering the question as I enjoyed its taste. Eventually, I answered, “I say good luck to them. I’m glad Gareth had the guts to accept his sexuality instead of living a lie like a lot of men do. In any case, they’re clearly very happy together.”
Dad nodded, swallowing a mouthful of his own dessert. “Have you ever had any feelings in that direction?”
“You mean, have I ever wondered if I might be gay?”
He nodded again.
I shrugged. “No more than most guys, I guess. I used to wonder what it might be like when I was kid. You know how you do.”
Dad didn’t respond, so I asked him: “Have you ever felt anything sexual towards other men?”
He looked horrified. “Jesus no! Absolutely not. I know it’s trendy these days for men to talk about… you know… exploring their sexualities or whatever, but I’ve never felt anything like that towards other men.”
I smiled. “Are you a little disappointed in Gareth, then?”
He looked down at the remains of his profiteroles on his plate. “I wouldn’t say that. He’s his own man; he makes his own choices –”
“But you’d have preferred it if he’d have settled down with a girl?”
He looked back up at me, considering the question. “No – not really. I suppose I always expected grandchildren, but Adrianne seems more than willing to supply me with those.”
“But a grandchild with your own surname?”
He smiled. “A baby Wallace? I dunno… even that’s not that important to me. If you and Melissa or any other woman decide to have one, then fine. If not… well… that’s equally fine.”
He looked back down at his dessert, took another profiterole on his fork and chewed on it thoughtfully. After he’d swallowed it, he continued, “I suppose I’m just not comfortable with the way Gareth lives because I just don’t relate to it. I can’t understand how he can live with… have sex with… another man. And he’s my son, so I’d like to understand what’s important to him, but I can’t.”
He looked up at me rather sadly. I found myself nodding in sympathy.
When we got back to his flat, as we were stripping off our suits and getting ready for bed, dad was talking about how he was going to visit his brother, my uncle Sean, during the next break he had from work.
“Did you take a few days off after you left mum?” I asked, taking off the shirt dad had loaned me. “You deserved a little time to sort yourself out.”
“After she’d asked me to leave,” he corrected me. “There’s an important difference.” He was pulling off his trousers.
“Yeah, but did you take any time off? Actually, you need to hang those trousers up with your jacket. If you leave them lying on that chair, they’re gonna get creased.”
He looked over at me and grinned. “Yes, dear.”
I smiled back and unbuckled my belt.
Dutifully walking over to his wardrobe to find a coat-hanger, he went on, “I took a day, that’s all. And I took it as leave. I didn’t want anyone to know.”
I sat on the bed and pulled down my own trousers. “But they know now?”
“It was a little bit difficult to hide it for too long… sooner or later things like this become obvious, you know?” He hung his suit on the hanger and replaced it in the wardrobe.
“So they owe you a few days, then? Compassionate leave…”
He walked back over to his side of the bed and I stood back up, hanging the suit he’d loaned me back on its hanger to show him I could practice what I preached.
He said, “I suppose so. I don’t know.”
Walking back over to the bed in my underwear, I glanced over at him as he removed his. His cock sprung upwards when he yanked his briefs down looking, once again, fully erect.
Dad threw me a cheeky grin. “It’s been like that all night.”
I smiled, getting into my side of the bed. “I hope I’m still as horny when I get to your age.”
“Would you mind if we… you know…?”
I did, but I wasn’t sure how to phrase my rebuff. While I was considering how best to put it, dad was smearing lubricant generously onto his bell-end and down the shaft of his cock.
He went on, “I suppose – now you mention it – I could ask for a week off to go and see Sean. It’s not too much to ask.”
I nodded. “I think it’s only fair, to be honest.”
He got on the bed next to me, his cock pointing towards my face demandingly. The large, swollen head of it was just a few inches from me.
I wondered if he might be hinting that he wanted me to suck it.
But he said, “If you could bend over again… like last night.” And then, casually continuing our conversation, “It’ll just be nice to get away for a few days. Have a change of scenery.”
I said, “Dad, I think –”
He interrupted me, “I think I’d become stuck in a rut before your visit. The fact I’m starting to make plans again – even small ones like visiting Sean – well, it’s down to having you here like this…”
I realised there was no way out. It just wasn’t going to be possible to say ‘no’ to dad without it having a negative impact on him; it would be like a second rejection.
I got out of bed and pulled off my own underwear. I got back on the bed next to him on all fours and he moved up behind me, pressing his cock through my legs.
He was saying, “It’ll be nice to do a bit of fishing with him. I only ever fish when I’m with Sean… I suppose it gives us time to chat.”
He held my hips and began to move his cock in and out of my thighs.
He went on, “It’s just nice to be outdoors… talking about old times… you know?”
I nodded, aware of how bizarre it was that he was chatting away with me while he was humping me.
He paused and I felt his hand, slick from the lubricant, groping around my arsehole. He eased a couple of fingers into me and I gasped.
He bent over me and whispered in my ear, “Do you mind if I push it in, tonight?”
At first I thought he wanted to finger-fuck me again, but then I realised he wanted to take things quite a big step further; he was asking if he could fuck my arse with his cock.
He withdrew his fingers and I felt his cockhead, feeling hot and impossibly large, pressing against my hole. He whispered, “Just a little bit… like this…”
He eased the tip of it into me and my anus struggled to accommodate its wide girth.
His breathing quickened; I felt its heat against the back of my neck. He went on, “I’ve been thinking of it all night… hoping you’d let me do it…”
An inch or so of his cock was inside me by now.
Once the widest part of his bell-end had eased itself into me, the rest of it began to slide in more easily.
I could only dimly believe what he was doing to me; perhaps it was because I was a little drunk, or perhaps it was just so unexpected. The situation didn’t seem real.
He grabbed my hips and pushed a few more inches of himself into my arse. He whispered, “It feels so good… so amazing…”
I thought, “He’s actually fucking me! My own dad’s actually fucking my arse!”
The realisation brought me back to reality. This was really happening! I had, by now, six or seven inches of my father’s cock sliding up my bum!
I said, “Dad… I…”
He whispered, starting to pant with the pleasure of having my bowels tightly squeezing his cock, “It won’t take much longer… just a few more seconds…”
I felt his balls pressing against the tops of my thighs: he was fully inside me.
He started gently fucking me, sliding out of me a little and then pushing himself back in.
He was breathing more quickly against my back and muttered, “You even smell like her…”
I wasn’t sure if he was referring to the smell of my hair or my skin or the unmistakeable odour of anal sex that was becoming increasingly apparent.
He pushed himself upright, gripping my waist more firmly, and started fucking me with less trepidation. Soon his hips were cracking against my buttocks and his balls were slapping against my thighs.
He was groaning, “Yeah… yeah… that feels so good, love…”
I felt my own cock reacting to the pressure of dad’s cock inside me; it slowly lengthened and rose upwards to press against my stomach.
I was thinking back to what dad had said about Gareth being gay. Despite expressing his reservations about my brother’s choice of partner, dad had no qualms now about enjoying sex with another male. I supposed that, in his mind, this was totally different: the sex between us was borne of necessity rather than choice; we were closely related and so it was acceptable to express physical affection together; and, in any case, he was thinking of a woman while he was doing it, not a man. So it wasn’t really gay sex at all, was it?
It felt, to me, very much like gay sex, though. My arse was struggling to cope with an intrusion the size of dad’s and his increasingly rapid thrusts were wincingly painful.
I straightened up so that we were kneeling alongside one another, his chest against my back, and he grabbed my waist more firmly, driving his cock in and out of me in long, fast jabs.
His hands found their way to my pubic bush and he held me like that, with his fingers combing through the short curly hair around my cock. He didn’t touch my cock or my balls even once: he just wanted to feel my pubes; perhaps they reminded him of mum’s.
As he neared his orgasm, he pushed my body back down and pressed my shoulders into the mattress beneath me. He opened my legs more widely with his knees and fucked my splayed backside quickly and roughly, grunting and panting.
He screwed me with complete abandon; I heard him fart involuntarily a couple of times and felt spittle from his mouth spatter against my back.
When he came, he sounded like he was growling.
I felt his hot semen squirting into me, filling my bowels and dribbling down the shaft of his frantically thrusting cock.
I thought, “My dad’s cum is inside me! The stuff I came from is up my own arse!”
When he withdrew from me, my arse seemed to signal its displeasure by emitting a fairly disgusting noise.
I blushed and apologised but dad shrugged me off, still panting. “It happens.”
He got off the bed and wiped the unpleasant-looking slime from his cock with his briefs.
I used my own to wipe his semen from around my arse and the backs of my thighs.
He got back into bed and sat up, allowing his still semi-hard cock to flop against his thigh, with his back against the headboard.
He saw that my own cock was still aroused but chose to ignore it.
He said, brightly, “Yeah, I think I’ll ask for that week off tomorrow. I’ll phone Sean to see which week’s best for him.”
I nodded and got back into bed.
He switched off the light and settled down next to me. I turned away from him and he moved across to my side of the bed and lay with his chest against my back. He wrapped one of his arms around me.
He whispered, “You don’t mind, do you?”
I did, but after what we’d just done it would have seemed odd for me to get uptight about body space, so I whispered back, “No.”
I felt his cock, still hard enough to stick outwards from his body, touching my left arsecheek. He was breathing gently against the back of my neck.
He whispered, “‘Night, then.”
I whispered back, “‘Night.”
I half-awoke during the night to feel him gripping me painfully close to him and muttering, as if having a nightmare, “Gillian… Gillian…”
His cock was rock hard and jabbed insistently at my arse.
I wasn’t fully conscious so I don’t know if he entered me again or if my arsehole was just feeling painful from his earlier intrusion.
After a while, his dream receded and I fell back into my own deeper sleep.
The next morning was business-as-usual, with dad getting up to make us some coffee and then me making breakfast while he was in the bathroom.
The only difference was that he didn’t close the bathroom door as he’d always done when we lived at home together and had done during the beginning of my visit.
It seemed fairly natural, at first, that he’d leave the door open. We were talking, while he was shaving, about how he could make new friends and meet new people. Since the kitchen door was opposite the bathroom, we left both doors open so that we could talk while I was getting things ready to make the toast.
But when he sat down on the toilet and, continuing to chat casually, proceeded to take a crap without any embarrassment, it struck me as being distinctly odd.
I stared over at him, wondering if I’d misread the situation and he wasn’t actually using the toilet, just sitting on it.
He was saying, “So you think the internet is better than the personal ads in the paper?” His cock was slapped over the seat of the toilet and his balls hung down into the bowl. From occasional sounds beneath him, it became clear that he was definitely using the toilet.
I heard myself say, my voice sounding surprisingly comfortable with the situation, “Yeah, you’re far more likely to get a response. Loads of people start dating that way these days.”
He went on, talking about the pros and cons, while he openly took a dump in front of me.
I tried to act like this was the most normal thing in the world.
When I got to think about it, though, it occurred to me that it wasn’t so weird that dad would be so comfortable about having me see him use the toilet. After all, the previous night had seen us experiencing what must be one of the most intimate things two men can do together. I’d allowed him to bugger me: you can’t get much more intimate than that.
I remembered that he and mum hadn’t been too concerned about things like closing the bathroom door. On many occasion, I’d heard her call out to him to close it when one of us kids had bounded upstairs unexpectedly.
Now that he’d treated me like his wife in other respects, wining and dining me and then bringing home to screw me, it was pretty natural that he’d extend the intimacy between us to more mundane matters.
Dad finished off, wiping himself and flushing, as I suggested a couple of dating sites that I knew might produce the right kind of woman for him.
After he’d showered and dressed, he asked me as we ate our toast how my backside was following what had happened last night.
I shrugged, feeling mildly embarrassed by the question. “It’s a bit sore, I suppose, but –”
“I noticed it when you got out of bed. It looked red and swollen. It looked like… well… something else…”
He smiled. “Well, like something blokes don’t usually have between their legs, but women do, if you catch my drift.”
I blushed. “After having your dick up it, is there any wonder?”
I meant it to sound accusatory, but he just laughed and slapped my shoulder. “This thing,” he glanced downwards at the front of his trousers, “does tend to make a big impression wherever it goes!”
I half-smiled and he gulped the last of his toast down and made for the door. “I better get off. I’ll see you later, love…”
Dad had never called me ‘love’ until this week. He’d only ever called mum ‘love’.
Before I could say anything, the door to the flat had slammed behind him and I heard him galumphing cheerily down the stairs.
I spent the day feeling as if I was turning into my mother.
I took the bed linen to the laundrette for a third time to wash out the unpleasant stains from the previous night. While I was there, I took another bag of dad’s laundry to be cleaned and then ironed it when I got back in while I watched some tawdry chat show.
Then I ran the hoover around and tried to make the living room look a little more inviting.
I wondered if this was how mum had felt during the day when dad was at work, busying herself with dreary tasks to pass the hours until he returned. Had she felt the same dissatisfaction that I now felt at the role she played in dad’s life and the empty routine she’d got herself into?
When dad got back in at around six, I had a meal waiting for him.
He burst through the door grinning with an enormous bunch of flowers, singing, “Taadaa!”, and presented me with them.
I asked him why he’d bought me them.
“I dunno,” he smiled. “You said you wouldn’t mind receiving flowers and… well… I thought the place could do with being brightened up.”
“Yeah, I suppose. I’ve made us a spaghetti bolognaise.”
Dad threw the flowers down onto the worktop and said, “I’ve got something more pressing to attend to before we eat… if you don’t mind…”
He grabbed my hand and, to my surprise, pressed my palm to the front of his trousers. It was obvious that his cock was raging inside his briefs.
He grinned. “It’s been like that all day. I couldn’t stop thinking of last night and this morning… how it looked like a woman’s…”
“It’s my arsehole, dad. It’s not a pussy.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I know. But it looked so much like one. I’ve been stiff all day.”
I took my hand away from his crotch. “I don’t know if it’s such a good idea.”
“It’ll just be a quickie,” he insisted. “Just five minutes, I promise. I really need it.”
He reached round and rubbed my arse. His fingers probed between my cheeks, reaching for my arsehole through the material of my jeans.
“I don’t think I want to –”
“I’ve been thinking about it all day. I won’t want anything else tonight, I promise. Just five minutes… come on…”
He pulled me through the hallway into his bedroom.
I muttered, “Dad… the meal –”
“It can wait five minutes… come on… you can help me work up an appetite…”
He pulled down his fly and eased his cock out through it. Hurriedly, he applied some of the lube to it from the drawer of his bedside table.
He went on, “We needn’t even get undressed. We’ll just do it like this.”
He reached forwards for my jeans, undid the belt and yanked down the fly.
He said, “Turn around and squat on the edge of the bed. I used to love it like that…”
“I dunno, dad… maybe this isn’t –”
“Come on, love… I won’t be as rough as last night…”
He grabbed me and turned me around, giving me an indication of how strong he’d become since he’d started going to the gym, and pushed me towards the bed.
“Just squat on the edge of it,” he muttered, clearly growing more excited at the prospect of fucking me in that position, and yanked down the back of my jeans to expose my arse.
I climbed onto the bed and squatted like I was going to take a crap. Dad’s fingers were instantly inside me, rubbing lubricant around my still-swollen anus and up into my rectum.
He was muttering, “Yeah… that’s nice… that’s good…”
Quickly and impatiently, he withdrew his fingers and replaced them with his cock, which slid into me much more easily than it had on the previous night. Within just a few moments, I could feel the material of his trousers pressing against the cheeks of my arse, telling me that most of his cock was inside me.
He started fucking me quite quickly, moaning in pleasure and telling me how nice my ‘pussy’, as he called it, felt.
Like the night before, my cock soon responded to the sensation of dad rubbing against my prostate gland, and I released it from my briefs to give it the space to lengthen and harden.
I realised that he wasn’t facing towards me and glanced over my shoulder to find him looking sideways at the mirror above the dressing table.
I looked over at the mirror and saw the reflection of us both: me squatting on the edge of his bed with him behind me; his thick cock sticking out from his trousers and sliding in and out of my naked arse.
He grinned at me through the mirror.
I just stared back at him, stunned by what was happening.
He said, “Let’s get your shirt off, it’s getting in the way.” I couldn’t see how it was, but I let him unbutton it as he fucked me, and helped him to pull it off.
He pushed the bottom of my vest up so that it was around my chest. I thought he must want me to take that off too, but he stopped me and just held it there, around my chest.
His rhythm started to increase and his thrusts became harder. He used his free hand to ease his balls out from his fly and they slapped against my thighs with every jab his cock made.
He was breathing quite quickly and through the mirror I could see sweat on his forehead.
I changed my position slightly and dad grunted in protest. I looked over at the mirror and saw what the problem was: I’d moved my leg downwards so that he could now see my cock arching upwards in its full eight-inch glory.
He pulled my leg back upwards to conceal it, muttering, “Just like you were, love…”
He began pumping in and out with increasing speed, his breath becoming hoarse as he watched us in the mirror. His right hand had now wrapped itself inside the front of my vest, gripping my chest and stopping my vest from falling back down.
I looked back to the mirror and realised, with horror, that it looked as if I was wearing a bra. Dad’s arm inside the front of my vest looked like a fairly hefty bosom and the white straps of it over my shoulders helped to complete the image.
With that, along with my blond hair needing a cut, my leg concealing my cock and the submissive posture dad had got me into, my reflection could easily have been that of my own mother.
As if to confirm my suspicion, dad abruptly climaxed, staring straight at the mirror, with a few guttural grunts of, “Gillian… oh God… Gillian!”
He pulled out of me quickly, splashing semen onto the front of his trousers and allowing it to trickle down the backs of my legs.
He said, still panting, “There. I said it wouldn’t take long.”
I pulled my briefs back up, using the back of them to absorb some of the wetness around my arse, and then my jeans. I zipped myself back up and sat on the bed.
Dad was wiping his cock using a sock he’d fished out of his laundry bag.
I said, quietly, “I think I’d better head back to Leeds. I don’t think me being here is doing you any good now.”
He looked over at me with surprise.
I went on, “I think you need to move on from mum and I don’t think I’m helping you with that.”
He said, looking shaken, “If it’s about… you know… what we’ve just done…?”
I shook my head. “It’s not just that. It’s the whole thing of me being here. I’ve become a substitute for mum. You need to find someone else and start something new instead of reliving your times with mum through me.”
He tucked his cock back into his fly and zipped himself up. He looked deeply upset.
“I’m sorry, dad. But I think it’s best for you.”
“You’ll stay one more night? You can’t go back this late.”
I shook my head. “There’s a late train. I’ve caught it before. I’ll go straight away.”
“At least you can have something to eat…?”
I pushed my things into my rucksack and grabbed my jacket. “No. I better get going. You can plate up the spare bolognaise and keep it in the fridge for tomorrow night. I bought you some cling-film the other day – it’s in the cupboard under the sink.”
He said, with a half-smile, “Yes, dear.”
But I didn’t smile back.
A few months later, after dad had found a better flat and had met the woman who would ultimately become his second wife, we met up for a beer and chat. The subject of my visit briefly came up.
He said, “I think you were right to leave when you did, Seb. Things weren’t… well… as they should have been.”
I smiled. “Don’t worry about it, dad. I was there for you when you needed it, that’s all that mattered.”
He nodded. “You helped a lot. Your whole visit did. It helped me straighten out my feelings for your mother in my head and to put my time with her behind me. That last day, when you left, was a hell of a shock because it made me realise how dependent on her – on her memory, I suppose – I’d become.”
I nodded. “No regrets?”
He shrugged. “Have you?”
I laughed. “Of course not!”
He smiled. “Well, neither have I, then.”
The subject dropped and neither of us have ever brought it up again with one another.
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