Date: Mon, 13 Aug 2012 06:24:04 -0800 From: Ennis Elias <e.elias@inbox.com> Subject: All My Love - Part 1 This story is a work of fiction, intended to be enjoyed as such for those over 18 years of age. ============================================================================ I glanced from the glass of whiskey in my hand, to the picture of my dead wife on the wall. She died when my only son was born, fourteen years ago. I sighed, and knocked back the alcohol. I had made my peace with what had happened, and I was no longer in love with a dead woman. But I'd never been able to find another. I had tried dating, but it just felt wrong. How could I give my all to another? She had given all for our son. I poured all of my love into him, and I just didn't have the room for another woman. I pulled the picture off my wall. It had been there, in my study, for too long. I wasn't sure why I kept it, to be honest; it might have been that I didn't want my son to think his mother was a forgettable person. Maybe I wanted to make sure he knew her face, know that she was still important to his life... But that was the past. I put it in my desk draw. Time for the future. I exited the study in time to see my son dart past. As made to bolt down the stairs he blurted out, "See ya later, dad!" "Hold it!" I called. "Where is it you're going tonight?" He sighed, and rolled his eyes. "I told you about three times. Au-di-tions. For Fame. School is holding them this Saturday because so many people signed up? Any of this ring a bell?" "Oh, that's right." I smiled. The boy had fantastic voice, just like his mother. "Break an arm, champ." I tousled his short brown hair, to which he wrinkled his nose. "It's 'break a leg'." He said it mock-exasperatedly, with a cheeky half-grin, before bounding out the door. *** "I wanna breathe fire on a stage! I wanna make every single liiine... No wait. I did that wrong. Every single li-ine..." He'd got the part, one of the male leads. I was thrilled for him, of course - but he'd been practicing that same song since he'd came prancing in, three hours ago. I checked my reflection once more, I'd been trimming my short, brown beard. It was back down to stubble. It, and my hair, had one or two flecks of grey. "You're forty, Matt." I stared into my own hazel eyes. Time seemed to pass more quickly every day. I pushed my glasses back up my nose, and checked my phone before I exited the bathroom. Half-six. Andrew would need to eat. I made my way downstairs, and cooked him a meal. When I called him to come eat, I didn't get a response or hear any movement. I assumed that he had headphones in, so I made my way upstairs. My entrance into his room caused both of us to turn a bright shade of scarlet, and for my son to hide himself under his covers. When I entered, my son was furiously masturbating. And I mean furious, he looked like he might've torn the thing off. I was somewhat concerned. "Dad I--" he began to awkwardly explain. "Hey, no worries, I saw nothing.... Dinner's ready." I turned to leave, but then said over my shoulder, "Take it slower, eh son? Wouldn't want you to... Get hurt." As I walked back downstairs, I wasn't quite sure what to make of what I'd just seen. I mean, I wasn't naive, I knew he was a teenager. I just hadn't thought of him as a sexual being, particularly. He was so wholesome; the boy could've lived in a musical. *** Being a Saturday, I didn't have work the next day - so I'd decided to let myself have a few drinks. And now that I'm older, it didn't take much to start me feeling drunk. Which is why, when Andrew came downstairs to the living room at ten o'clock I was already feeling light-headed. The boy sat on the armchair to my right, I was stretched across the couch, and pulled his feet up under him. He tilted his head, as he observed me with those big blue eyes. "Dad?" He queried. "Mm?" I answered, my head swaying slightly as I turned to him. He gave me a little half-grin. He realised I had been drinking. "I wanted to talk about before--" "When I caught you wanking?" My abruptness caused him to blush. "Sorry son... Didn't mean to... I mean. I do it too. I am a man." He looked at me thoughtfully, as if he was considering something. "You said I was... Going too fast? A-and that I might hurt myself. How should I be... Doing it?" I chuckled a little. "Slowly, build up." I took another sip of my drink. "And don't go s-s-so fast. No damage that way. You'll enjoy it more, too." I smiled at him. I was glad we had a good enough relationship that he could come to ask me. He was looking down now, fiddling with his nails - thinking again. His face was red once more as he looked at me. "Dad... I would like... I mean. Would you show me? How I should, I mean." He watched me warily, probably expecting reproach. And if I'd had a clear mind that's probably exactly what I would've done. But my head was foggy from the alcohol. I allowed myself to consider it. I allowed myself to reason, that I could prevent him from picking up anything dangerous from the internet, or his friends. "There still tissues under the coffee table?" He nodded, pulling them out to show me. "Good, set them down." I moved around, putting my feet on the floor. "Come sit next to me." He did as I said. I pulled off the white vest I'd been wearing, revealing my chest, which had a fine coating of hair all over. I wasn't quite as toned as in my younger days, but I managed to keep a fairly flat stomach, with only a touch of fat, and my arms were still quite muscular. My son watched me quite intently. My breathing was beginning to quicken. Slowly, I pulled off the loose jogging pants I'd been wearing. My son began to follow suit, and was soon in a similar state of undress. My heart pounded in my chest, his expression indicated he might be feeling similar. The alcohol was still fogging my brain, or else alarm bells might've begun to ring now, I might've questioned why I was doing this. But they didn't, and so I continued. I unbuttoned my boxers and pulled my penis out of the hole. I allowed it to lie there flaccid. Andrew chose to remove his boxers completely. I lay my head back, and closed my eyes. I took my dick in my hand, and began to slowly move the foreskin back and forth. I could feel it beginning to harden in my grasp. I opened my eyes, Andrew was mimicking me, his eyes didn't tear away from my hardening member. I closed my eyes again. Before long, I'd worked myself to full hardness, which measured in at about seven and a half inches, and quite thick. The only sounds were my breathing, and Andrew's. I pictured the last woman I'd slept with. I gradually increased my pace. Glancing at my son briefly, I could see he was trying to match my pace, and not get ahead. Maybe I'd really scared him, earlier. The thought amused me. It had actually been a while since I'd masturbated, so I found myself really getting into it - I was rock hard, almost painfully so. Closing my eyes, I almost forgot my son was there. The pace of our breathing quickened in time with each other, as we both came closer. Every so often a little moan escaped both of us. I felt it building, I was close. Precum drooled from the tip of my pulsing cock, lubricating my hand movement. I was going to cum. My hand was working my hard dick at a pace now; fingers moving over the bulbous purple head, caressing it, and then coming back down into my soft, thick bed of pubic hairs. Then I felt it, the ejaculation that exploded out of me. But I didn't feel warm cum hit my chest. I opened my eyes in time to see the last of three sticky ropes of cum hit my son's face, who had evidently been leaning over, to get a better look at what I was doing. It was then that those alarm bells rang. ============================================================================ To be continued! I wrote this because of an interest in exploring sexual- romantic father-son relationships. That's probably why this chapter isn't a huge smutfest. Sorry if I disappointed! Feel free to drop me an email at e.elias@inbox.com if you want to know more or fancy a chat.