Date: Wed, 23 Aug 2006 17:22:30 -0700 (PDT) From: James Spaulding <fathercandy@yahoo.com> Subject: Dad's Dirty Talk, Part 3 The phone was ringing. Please. Please. Let Dad pick up. Please "Hello?" "Ahmm,...uhhh...Hey, Mom. How are you?" I can't do this. "Fine, Jimmy. It's been a little too hot the past couple of days. I'm about to melt. But, other than that, I'm just fine. Your dad told me the two of you had a nice time Wednesday night. From what I gathered, you both had enough to drink. I just hope neither of you drove drunk. That's the last thing I would need -to come and bail both of you out of the Tulsa County Jail." "Mom, is Dad there?" "Don't I get a moment of your time, Sweetie?" "It's kinda important. I need to talk to Dad." Mom turned her mouth from the phone. "Steve...It's Jimmy; he wants to talks to you. Says it's important." A moment passed. As I waited for Dad, my already intense emotions got that much more intense. Lust. Still. Always. Lust -- I'd had a fucking boner for the past week. And anxiety. What's going to happen now that Dad's back in the real world -- the world he shares with Mom? We hadn't really talked since our "first date," and I needed to know what was going on. And what would go on in the future. "Jimmy. How are you? I've been meaning to call you. Just never found the right moment. If you know what I mean." Pause. "You do know what I mean? Right?" "Look, Dad, I know you can't talk right now..." "Why not?" "Mom's right there." "No, I'm out back. Just me, the trees, and you on the other end of the phone. I'm glad you called, you hot little fuck." This is why I had called. I needed to gauge things. "OK. So I am still a hot fuck. I hadn't heard from you all week. I worried that -- you know -- that you were freaking out about last week." "James. I am not freaking out. I am still incredibly turned on. Believe me, Little Boy, your daddy's gotta boner right now, just listening to your voice. But, as you know, practicalities and obligations must be met. We are treading some pretty dangerous territory here, and until both of us has an idea of what it's all about, I think control is absolutely essential. Right?" "Fuck, Dad. I haven't jacked off this much in my entire life. I had to leave a meeting twice yesterday, just so I could take care of my own business." "I hope it was a long meeting, or you're going to get a reputation for a little bladder." "Nothing little about it." "I don't know about your bladder. But I do know there is nothing little about your cock, Big Boy." "Damn, when you say the word cock, I..." "You what?" "I just want to cum." "Why don't you? Take it out and stroke it." "I can't I'm at work." "Is anyone around?" "It's Saturday, it's pretty much just me, I guess." "Then take out your prick, Boy. Take out your pretty cock and put some spit on it. Jack it. Jack it for you old man." "If I do, I'm going to shoot a load all over the computer." "And while you do that, I'm going to shoot a load all over the woodpile." "Are you fucking with me? You're jacking off in the backyard." "No one can see. And I gotta take care of my business or your mom is going to wonder what's what. An erection in these shorts is a dead give away." I could hear him spit into his hand. I followed suit. "Dad...I want to see you....That's why I called...When can we get together again?" I had so much to say to him, but once again, most of my attention was given over to my cock and the thought of Dad stroking his. "Yeah, as I recall, we have some unfinished business. I haven't even put this here cock in your mouth yet, have I Jimmy?" "No, Sir." "And you want to, don't you, Son? You want to put your lips around Daddy's meat. Milk his fucking tool. Don't you? Don't you, Jimmy?" Dad's voice had taken on an urgency I had begun to recognize. He was close to cumming.'' "Dad... will you suck my cock, too? " "Jimmy...you can fuck my face as much as you want...just....just promise...I get a full load...of yourfuckingcum..." And Dad started to cum. I could hear him. I could hear his grunts, the grunts of pleasure. I could also hear a litany of "fuck" -- over and over -- "fuck...fuck, Jimmy...fuck..." And my cock shot its load. The first jet hit the computer screen. So did the second. And the last few shots covered my desk. "James, lick your fingers. Eat your cum, boy." "Yes, Sir." And I put my fingers to my mouth, making sure Dad heard me suck them clean, tasting my seed with relish, tasting my cum the way Dad had tasted it Wednesday night. "Are you fingers clean?" "Yeah." "Good. I just wish you were here to clean off the woodpile. I got a log here that could use a good cleaning." Dad laughed. "No pun intended." How normal he was through all of this. He made it seem so simple. Father. Son. Incest. And it was just fine. Mom didn't seem to enter the equation. "I'm glad you called, James. And I'm glad we had this opportunity for some father/son bonding -- can you hear me winking?" Dad laughed again. "Now, on to your question. When are we going to see each other again?" "I'm on the road this week." "Where?" "I'm going to be in Shawnee on Monday and Tuesday. I'm in Enid the rest of the week." "Good. Come stay with your mother and me Tuesday night. It's on the way." "Umm... Dad? I think spending a night in your house -- with Mom -- is probably not going to get either of us what both of us wants." "Hey. James. Leave it up to me. We'll have our second date. Tuesday night." There was a pause. I heard Mom's voice in the background" "What's Tuesday night?" Dad's voice, muffled: "Jimmy's going to visit". "Nice talking to you, Son. Here's your mother. She said you haven't talked with her in over a week; you haven't returned her calls. She wants some time with you. I'll talk to you later. And see you Tuesday" Dad left the phone. And once again I was talking to Mom. "Jimmy. Tuesday's not a good night. I got Bible study. I won't be home. And you know your dad can't cook to save his life." "Mom. Dad and I can take care of ourselves." Could we ever... -------------------------------- But Mom canceled her Bible study. And the three of us had dinner. The most painful, awkward, guilty, dinner of my life. I couldn't look my mom in the eye. I couldn't look at Dad. For the first time since Dad and I had had our phone sex, I was completely unable to get hard I was also completely unable to eat. I sat there. Pecked at my food. Misery hung like a fog over our dinner. Dad didn't make it any better; his carefree attitude had gone the way of Mom's Bible Study. Canceled by my visit. Mom was oblivious. She cooked the meal. Served the meal. And ate with relish. In her self-absorbed way, she perceived nothing. Babbled. Ate. Babbled some more. And Dad and I humored her as best we could. Our best attempts at normalcy were completely and obviously a sham. Nothing was right. Dad and I both felt the "wrongness." Mom just worried about her chocolate cake. Her absence at Bible Study. And the heat. "Jimmy, aren't you hot in all those clothes? Seems to me you should have changed out of those pants and shirt and put on a pair of shorts. It's just soooo hot." "I'm fine Mom." Silence. Another feigned attempt at eating a bite of meatloaf. And then, finally, Dad chimed in. "You know Beth, heat does have an impact on the appetite. How 'bout I take Jimmy here out to the garden. I'll show him the tomatoes -- they have grown beyond our expectations, Son." "Well, I have cake." "We'll eat cake when we get back. A little fresh air will do us both good." "Well..." "Jimmy, go put on some shorts. I'm sweating just watching you sweat." "That's what I've been saying..." Mom. Again. I changed. And met Dad on the back porch. "Don't say anything. We have some tomatoes to look at." We walked to the back of the yard. The sun had set a few minutes earlier. Dusk was still settling on Mom and Dad's yard, but it was getting darker by the moment. "We are going to go all the way to the back. Past the garden. We're going to go out towards the pasture." Dad led me with a determination I had begun to recognize. He wanted something. And damn if he wasn't going to get it. The problem? There was no fucking way that dinner was going to end with any sort of sex. No way. My Dad. Married to my Mom. The phone and the porn. The dinner and the drinks. Each had in its own way helped me to forget that very simple -- and obvious -- fact. The reality that was the cornerstone of my life: Steve is my dad. Beth is my mom. I couldn't forget now. Even as we walked further into the dark, I could still hear Mom's radio. Once in a while I could hear a dish or two as they hit on another in her sink. "Here. Sit down. " Dad pointed at an old park bench, set there years ago when he had imagined he wanted his own piece of garden, removed from Mom's more cultivated flowers. "Dad's Garden" was never much more than a few bushes, a lot of weeds, and this bench. I sat. Looked at Dad. Prepared myself for my words. I knew what needed to be said. Fast. Furious. And definite. "Take out your cock, James. Take it out. Now." "Dad, there is no fucking..." "Do as I say, James. Now." "Listen. Do you hear that? That's Mom singing along with her radio. You want to do this? There is no way. No fucking way." Why was Dad doing this? He was as uncomfortable at dinner as I -- Mom's innocence judged him as much as it had judged me -- but now he seemed nothing more than a sexual being, a being who had forgotten what we had both been taught was right and wrong. I got up. Dad placed his hands on my shoulders. Pushed me down. Back to the bench. "Then I will make you take it out. And I will make you feed it to me." He stood there, as threatening as he had ever been. As tall. As manly. As strong. He was authority. He was my father. Of course, for all of my anger and incredulity, I was hard. Dad new I was hard. And he reached for my cock. Got on his knees. Unzipped my shorts. Pulled down my boxers. And my cock was free. "Don't, Dad. I can't..." "Baby, you can. Look at this fucker. Hard as a rock. Your momma's singing means nothing to it." And with that, my Dad took my cock in his mouth. I've been blown before. Lots. But how do I explain the difference? You can't know what it's like to receive a blow job from your dad unless he has actually blown you. First of all, the initial pleasure is not physical. It is pure psychology. The thoughts that went through my head: this is my dad, this is the man who's sperm made me, this is the man who changed my diaper, held me when I was terrified of the tornadoes, killed the snakes in the backyard, taught me how to throw a football. This is my dad. And my dad is a cocksucker. My dad is a cocksucker sucking my cock. I was overwhelmed by thoughts of his "fatherness." My dad. On his knees. Lips around my cock. And his head was moving. Up and down. I was receiving a blow job that became the best blow job of my life. But before I could feel it, I thought it. I tried to take my cock from his mouth. I tried to get angry. I tried to listen to what I knew was my conscience. And then feeling and thought overwhelmed me. It seemed Dad had just begun sucking my boner, and I was shooting. Shot after shot. Sperm shooting out of my cock. Shooting deep into Dad's throat. Dad gagged. Swallowed more. And still enough drooled out of his mouth that he needed to use his finger to clean off his face and clean up my load. A load he greedily licked off his fingers. Dad stayed on his knees, looking at me. He caught his breath. I struggled to catch mine. All the while he looked at me. I had no choice -- wanted no choice -- but to look in his eyes. And in the silence, Mom's singing was heard. Dad was gasping, still tasting my cum. Still recovering from his urgent blow job. I was gasping. Still catching my breath from the best blow job I had ever received. I had forgotten who I was. I forgot so many things. I fed Dad my cum. I caught my breath. Then I realized what we had just done. And Mom was still singing. I looked at Dad. I'm sure I was crying. "I can't do this. I gotta leave. And I left.