Date: Sat,  2 Nov 2002 22:46:43 -0500 (EST)
From: Rob Andresen <malricnyc@excite.com>
Subject: Dreaming of Dad

	I remember thinking about what it could have been like while I was
running my hands across my chest, the downy fuzz tickling against my soft
palm.  My other hand was caressing my ball sack, the lime sized orbs
wallowing in the heat of my fingers.
	I had always had a thing for my Dad, from way back when, I could
remember running to meet him as he came in the door at night, his shirt
smelling wonderfully of wood and loam.  Or of those football games where I
would tackle him and we would roll around in the leaves of fall, the
crunching underneath our writhing bodies masked by his deep laughter and my
childish giggles.
	I had always been in love with my Dad but I didn't understand it
until I started going through puberty in high school and realized that my
fantasies were not the same as other boys'.  They would talk in hushed
whispers about the tits on some movie starlet or fashion model while my
mind flashed back on Dad in his flannels and jeans, his cock bulge hinting
at wonders of the male flesh.
	As I rubbed my hand across my nipples they peaked quickly, the
areola encircled with its own peaks of desire as I grasped the base of my
throbbing cock.  I knew I was dreaming of a fantasy that could never be, my
father, his masculinity all too evident in his behavior. He worked as a
lumber harvester, the modern term for a lumberjack, played football with
his buddies on the weekend, and although he didn't go out drinking with the
boys after Mom left us, he was 100% man in all other respects.
	I guess that was the thing that left me a little confused.  You
see, he seemed to take the whole thing lying down, without putting up a
fight, never calling her a bad name and always telling me I needed to
remember she was still my Mom.
	But I knew that she was a bitch and didn't deserve to sleep in the
same town as my Dad.  So she went off to Dallas and we stayed in Denver,
keeping one another in line and running a male household.
	That was partly why I always got a hard-on when I did the dishes
since that was one of the daily rituals we developed after she left that
brought the two of us closer.  I slid my slicked palm across my crown and
shuddered as my mushroom head expanded with the attention.  I rolled the
nipple between my sweat soaked fingertips and groaned softly.
	Dad and I would finish dinner and clean the plates off into the
garbage before setting them onto soapy water to soak for a bit.  Then once
we finished dessert, we'd stand together at the sink, Dad washing the
dishes, handing them off to me to rinse and drip before we switched to my
drying them and him putting them away.
	Standing side by side at the sink, the small kitchen confines
forcing us to rub against one another as we brushed hands passing dishes to
one another.  After a long day of fantasy and then the ritual of washing
dishes, I had gone to my room at the back of the small house to jack off.
	I was still sweaty from raking the yard, the piles of dead leaves
crunching as they rustled in the winds of October.  My thoughts centered on
Dad, his furry chest well defined and yet not an unyielding hardness.  He
had tackled me as I finished the chore, driving me down and into a newly
piled stack of nature's finest, our laughter echoing in the relative
stillness of the Colorado mountains.
	I slugged him in the arm and he winced in fake pain, commenting on
how grown up I was now that I could take on the "old man."  I knew better
than that.  He was twice the man I ever could be, his stomach rippling
under the white henley I had gotten him for his 40th birthday last month.
	He wore his jeans like they were a second skin, revealing a lump of
lusciousness I craved with every fiber of my being but dared not touch for
fear of losing him completely.  Instead, I ran to the sanctuary of my
bedroom to caress my own throbbing hardness to completion, thinking only of
him as I did.
	My steel shaft rod ached for release as I completed my
self-torturous attack on my nipples and ran down my treasure trail to cup
my tingling balls as my other hand massaged blood into even more engorged
tissues.  I could picture him standing in front of me, his fire red nipples
peaking out from behind dark curly hairs that begged to be licked into
submission.
	I had to imagine his throbbing monster since I had never had the
chance to espy the real thing, only catching occasional glimpses of it as
he passed by the partially closed door to his bedroom at night, having come
from the shower and not yet donned his sleeping shorts that always seemed
to hang off his adolescent sized waist without revealing the delights
within.
	Of course, my Dad had nothing but the best and biggest.  I had seen
a porno at a friend's house once that showed this guy with a huge ass
whanger but for Dad I imagined a nine inch cattle prod that would rate a
grade A Prime rating from any connoisseur.  Thick and meaty with a
throbbing vein that snaked its way along from a bulbous mushroom head to a
dense base of black gold.
	I wanted to worship his cock with all my heart and mouth, imagining
the taste as he groaned into my hungry lips.  I had only been with two
other guys and both of them came almost immediately once I slid my mouth
over their fat little lip fuckers.  They tasted like saltwater taffy,
either vanilla or banana cream as their loads slid across my tongue.
	I thought that Dad would taste of nuts and berries, his scent
driving my cock into excited twitches of desire as I tried to control the
amount of pressure I kept on the turgid flesh.  My breath came in shudders
and gasps as I thought of his massive thighs, the curly hairs crushing
against my torso as he leaned into me, his member straining to pierce my
throat with its velvet iron will.  I whispered his name out loud, "Dad!
Dad!"
	My balls began to rise slowly so I moved a finger down slightly to
slide into the sweaty opening below.  I popped my fingertip into my ass and
almost cried out, wishing for Dad's cock instead as I began flogging my
slicked shaft.  It didn't take long once my thoughts came to rest on Dad's
tenderloin in my pouting pucker.  I grunted and began shooting ropy pearls
across my down covered chest, the white cum draping across my nipple,
causing another shot to stream upwards and onto my eager mouth.  I licked
at it, as I had done so often before, the taste of honey with a hint of
orange zest.
	Sighing I relaxed into the comforter, my eyes sparkling with the
effort of climaxing.  I lay there for a short while, trying to recover my
breath when I heard a rustle and my eyes shot open in fear!  I thought I
saw a shadow moving across my window but couldn't be sure.  I suddenly
seized in fear!  What if it had been Dad?


hmmm....what do you think?  Was it Dad?  Let me know what you think!

Rob (malricnyc@excite.com)