Date: Fri, 16 Sep 2005 12:56:02 -0700 (PDT)
From: David <deej3464@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dad On The Hideaway

I moved out of my father's house when I was 18. He had just married his
4th wife, and I had a good paying job. Well, good enough for me to get my
own apartment. Besides, this wife, Brenda, and I didn't get along. My
moving out was best for everyone. I knew I was gay at the time, but I had
only told a couple of friends about it. I thought my dad would probably
be cool about it, but. . . You know how that goes.

Two years later, I was still making about the same money, and my budget
was tight. One night my Dad called and told me that Brenda and he were
getting a divorce, and she had gotten the house. He said he should have
listened to me when I told him not to marry the bitch. Sometimes, he was
as soft-headed as he was charming, which only caused him trouble. Except
for my mother, who died when I was young, Dad was always getting suckered
by one floozy after another.

He wanted to know if he could crash at my place for a few weeks until he
could get back on his feet. I told him he could stay as long as he liked,
but I was a little apprehensive about it. I still hadn't told him I was
gay. I didn't have any steady boyfriends, but, because of my age, I
couldn't go to bars and pick up guys, either. I usually hung out in the
`gay' part of town, hoping to find guys around my own age, and bring
them back to my place. If that didn't work, I would go to a park near my
apartment that had a pretty active gloryhole, which wasn't as good, but
it did the job. I guessed I wouldn't be doing any more of that for a
while, because Dad asked if he could move in the next day, and of course
I said yes. He didn't have much, just a couple of suitcases. He said he
had rented a storage unit across town for all of the rest.

I should introduce myself. My name is John, I'm 20 years old, with dark
hair that I wear very short. I'm just under 6 foot, and weigh about 160
lbs. Average height, average weight, and I guess average looks. I'm not
bad looking, but I'm no Ashton Kutcher either.

My Dad's name is Mark, he's 48, with longish dark hair that's just
starting to go salt-and-pepper. He's about 5'8", and a little on the
heavy side. Not a lot of fat, just husky with a little bit of a beer
belly. He's sort of handsome, I guess, but no Mel Gibson. He is,
however, very charismatic. He sells cars for a living, and does it very
well. Men and women both fall under his spell when he's on the showroom
floor. The men want to be just like him, the women want to be with him.
Which is how he manages to always find a woman to marry. It's how he met
all of them, including my mother.

The next day was a Friday, and Dad said he's be over after work. When he
arrived, it was about 9:00 ( he sold three new Mustangs that day, and all
the paperwork involved had him working overtime ). He brought his two
suitcases in, along with a case of beer. I told him he could hang his
stuff in my closet, and that the living room couch was a hideaway bed,
and he could use that. He said that was great, and handed me the case of
beer, to put in the fridge. Then he asked where the bathroom was. He
wanted to wash up a little, and change his clothes. When he came out,
face washed and wearing jeans and a t-shirt, I asked him about the case
of beer.

"Are you planning on drinking all that tonight, Dad?" I asked.

"Maybe with your help!" he said, with a grin on his face.

"Really?" I asked. I had been drinking beer since I was sixteen, but I
never let on to my dad about that. I thought he'd have a fit about
under-age drinking and all.

"Yeah, John," he said, "You're 20 years old, for God's sake ! You
must've drunk a few beers before now."

"Yeah, Dad, I've had a few beers before!" I laughed, a little
embarrassed about admitting it "Just never with you."

"Well, there's a first time for everything, and I don't know about
you, but I could definitely use one. . .or ten! It's been a bitch of a
day." He reached into the fridge and took out two cans, and handed one
to me. "I tell ya John, if I wasn't such a horny son of a bitch, I'd
swear off women altogether!" He opened his beer and took a long swig. I
tried to copy him, but I couldn't get that much beer down my throat. I
was a little nervous, drinking in front of my dad for the first time.

"I'm going to hang my stuff up in the closet before it all gets too
wrinkled. I'll be done in a minute."

"Take your time, Dad." I went into the living room and sat on the
coach. My dad came back out with three more cans of beer in his hands.

"I figured you'd be about ready for another," he said.

We sat and talked for a few hours. We hadn't seen each other in a while,
so we caught each other up on what was going on. Him telling me about all
the problems he and Brenda had, how she was an alcoholic, and how he
found her one day passed out in bed with her ex-husband; I told him about
my job, how I was looking for another one, and looking at going back to
school, if I could afford it. He told me about what was going on in the
old neighborhood; I told him about some of my neighbors. I could tell he
was upset, but it was good talking with him - we'd always been close,
and now we were becoming like friends.

My dad and I polished off the case ( he drank most of it, but I figured
he needed it ), and we were both pretty wasted. I told him I was going to
bed, and showed him how to open the hideaway. Once the bed was made, I
went into my bedroom to get undressed, and my dad went to the bathroom.
We were both a little drunk, and, since I'd never had guests stay over
before, I didn't think to close my bedroom door while I got undressed. I
had taken my shirt and pants off, leaving just my boxers on, when I
realized that my dad had come into my room. He had taken his shirt off,
and the top of his pants weren't buttoned. It didn't look like he was
wearing any underwear, because I could see some outline of his cock and
balls.

"Hey son," he said, his speech a little slurred. He bowed his head and
quickly came across the room to gave me a big bear hug. "I just want you
to know how real proud I am of you, and to thank you for everything
you're doing for me." I said "Not to worry, Dad. You'd have done the
same for me," and that made him hug me even tighter. I hugged him back,
and automatically pressed my crotch into his. I had gotten so used to
doing that with guys I`d brought home, the action just came naturally to
me. I don't think he noticed anything, but I wanted to get him to bed
before he started to notice the bulge that was swelling in my boxers. I
patted him a couple of times on the back, pulled back a little and said
it was time to hit the sack

"Yeah, you're right. I think I had a few too many tonight. Good
night," As he went towards the bedroom doorway, he reached down and
started to unzip his pants. I didn't get to see anything, because he
pulled the door closed behind him. I could hear the squeak of the
hideaway bed as he sat down on it, followed by the sound of his jeans
being pulled off and hitting the floor. Then I heard him pull the covers
down.

My dick was now almost at full mast, and was going to need some
attention, but, because the walls of the apartment were so thin, I
wasn't sure if I could beat off without my Dad hearing it. I took off my
boxers, and climbed into bed. I figured I'd squeeze my dick a few times,
then take care of it in the morning, when I took my shower.

After about a minute of just squeezing the head of my cock a few times,
the image of my shirtless Dad kept coming into my head. He looked very
sexy with his pants undone the way they were, and I wished he had
unzipped them while facing me, so I could get a look at what was inside
those pants. The package looked pretty good. . . But what was I
thinking?! This was my Dad! I tried to think of something else, to make
my hard on go away . . .

Then I heard the noise. It was a quiet squeak, with a regular rhythm to
it. It was coming from the living room. At first I wasn't sure if it was
what I thought it was, but, soon, I could hear my Dad start to moan, and
I knew what it was. My Dad was beating off! I couldn't stand it anymore,
and pulled down the covers, exposing my raging hard six inch cock.

I started to beat my meat, trying to keep my pace with my Dad, so he
wouldn't notice I was joining him. When he picked up the pace, I was
right there with him. He stopped his beating , and I almost didn't stop
in time because I was getting ready to pop a really big load. I didn't
know what he was doing to make him stop, but he started pumping again,
and I got back into his rhythm.

Then my Dad started grunting louder, and I knew he was getting ready to
shoot his load. I was glad that he was making a bit of noise, because I
was ready to cum, and needed something to cover my noises. My Dad let out
a low groan, and I knew he was cumming. I started gasping, trying not to
pant too loud, and my own dick erupted. The first creamy shot hit me on
the chin; the next one hit my chest; the third and last spurt rolled out
of my piss slit and ran onto my furiously pumping fist. God! That was a
fantastic orgasm! I'd never felt one so intense before. My dick was more
sensitive than usual as I wiped myself off with the rag I kept under my
bed.

I heard my Dad get off the hideaway and head towards the bathroom. I
heard him turn on the taps, I'm sure so he could clean himself off. The
toilet flushed, and I heard him climb back into bed.

Having my Dad stay here for a while might be interesting . . .

***

I hope this makes the grade.

Thanks,

David