Date: Sun, 31 Aug 1997 17:36:10 -0700
From: jake7@electriciti.com
Subject: first time with dad # 9

This disparity in our ability to create the role playing tension in our sex
began to 
hold my thoughts...and fantasies. He was so much better at this than me. I
was working from new found fantasy and imagination. He was working from
something 
deeper. Experience... The needs of an older man... A more refined
appreciation of dominance..??

But he was so good! When he would take charge.....make me suck him, lick
him...there was such an added pleasure from the foreplay, the position. A
new position each time, a new twist, a new location in our house. A new look
on his face.

I felt like it was all beginning to move toward something.

I would think about this most often in the mornings. After he had come to my
bedroom. After he had sucked me, cum on me, cum in my half asleep mouth.
After he had used me... in what had become our morning ritual.

I would awake fully usually an hour after he had showered and left for work.
I'd lick my lips, or pull the  sticky sheet off my chest. Then I'd lay there
thinking and loving the smell of him. And the easy, sensual, luxurious
feeling of being so passive. Of getting so much attention and pleasure
simply by being his son.   

In our early evening sex, usually downstairs, I would always try to be the
dominant one. It was as if,  I realized later, I was trying to make up for
being so passive each morning....as if I needed to keep the imaginary
equation equal.  He almost always went along with this and enjoyed it. I
sensed that after a hard day's work of being the boss, making all the
decisions, he liked being told what to do. Having someone else be in
charge...if only for a brief 30 minutes of passionate sex on the 
living room floor or couch. Or sometimes the cool vinyl of the kitchen floor
while dinner cooked. I loved pushing him to his knees and trying to get my
cock in his mouth before it would get hard. So he could take it all easily
into his mouth, and I could feel his chin on my balls and his nose in my
pubic hair. 

I began to learn that once a basic sense of ease had been established
between two people about sex, it opened up a new universe of possibilities.
One that went beyond the frantic lust of each encounter. I found I had come
to assume that joy, and noticed that slowly I had become aware of other
small things that never would have caught my attention....let alone
increased my pleasure. But now they did. And I let them capture me as they
arose. Always a surprise...like the feel of that  single rain drop that hits
you just before the storm.

My first awareness was when I had him on his knees in front of me one night
in the kitchen. He had just come home, we had laughed and joked a bit, and now
I was going to have him suck me. After awhile, I would do the same to him.
He had undone his tie and quickly opened his shirt while taking me into his
mouth, and I had reached to hold his head roughly in both of my hands. After
he sucked me and licked me and had me ready to cum, I pulled out of his
mouth and started to jerk those last few strokes. He knew what I liked and
opened his mouth wide,
tongue out, and looked up at me. As I started to cum the first stream hit
his cheek.
The rest of my cum, as I so much loved to see, covered his tongue and
gathered..dripping inside his mouth..still open. Then I nodded, and he
swallowed, with our eyes intent on each other's.

But the streak of cum on his cheek held my attention as my spasms began to
subside. I reached out and touched it......and got that strange feeling of
time slowing down. He was still looking up at me while my cock was softening
in his mouth, and he sucked me slowly while running his tongue around the
head of my cock. As my two fingers touched the cum on his cheek I was also
aware of the rough 5 o'clock shadow of his beard. It was dark and rough, and
my cum lay against it like a piece of sheer silk thrown on short, freshly
cut grass. Something nice to look at, then look through....to see something
else that was nice. All those levels! Then there was the feel of it, the
touch, and the smell!

It just took a moment to slowly drag my fingers across his cheek toward his
mouth.
But it seemed longer. The wet journey through that stubble sent shivers
through my fingers to my spine. It made my mouth dry and twitched my tongue.
I was sure I could hear the sound of my fingers rake across his beard. It
was all slow motion. Slow sound.  White cum on that dark rough
cheek...fading as I smeared it slowly toward his lips. That simple act was
just SO sensual. And all my senses tingled, and were focused on nothing else. 

I experienced the same thing two nights later on the hammock swing on the
back porch. As usual we had joked and talked  when he arrived home from work.
Then after sitting on the porch swing, I had playfully wrestled him down on
his back.
I had jerked off into his mouth, but not before shooting some of my cum on
his lips and chest. When I was done, he stood up and started to undress. As
he stood, I saw the streams of my cum laid against the thick hair on his
chest. His standing caused the cum to drip down across his pecs and swing
slowly, like a short pendulum till it touched the dark stretch of hair that
led down his chest to his crotch. The thin white strand swung for a second,
then hit that streak of hair, and attached itself.  I couldn't take my eyes
off that delicate white string as it stretched across
his chest. I loved it. And kept staring at it while he pushed me to my knees
and made me suck him.
                                       ------------------------------------

Over the next few days our routine continued. But there was a slight tension
building. His dominance increased. Our morning sex was more forcefull, more
explicit, and often brought me to full awakening. Before, I had been able to
stay half asleep. Morning sex also began to include him tonguing and
fingering my ass. While I liked it, and while it was most often brief....a
prelude to his cumming on me, I knew things had changed.

He was getting ready to take me, to fuck me. I knew this was inevitable, but
the way it was building, without discussion, began to worry me. After the
shift in our
relationship, after he had offered himself to me and I had fucked him, there
really hadn't been any real discussions about sex. We talked and laughed a
lot as always, we had sex a lot, but we had stopped talking about sex. We
just did it,and thoroughly enjoyed it. I started to wonder if I should bring
up what I knew was coming. But I was uneasy about it. I felt I could handle
it when the time was right.
And if I wasn't ready, he would wait. But this wasn't the case.

He had been particularly rough with me in the morning a few days later. I
had liked it, but knew it meant something was brewing. That night, instead
of our usual early evening sex downstairs he had spent time on the phone
upstairs. We had dinner,
talked a lot as usual, then I went to the gym to play basketball and he went
back to the upstairs office. When I returned a few hours later, he was
downstairs on the couch. He had been out running and must have arrived home
only a few minutes
before me because he was still in his shorts and his bare chest was damp
with sweat.
"Hi" I said.
"Hey jocko, how was B-ball?" He replied in an animated tone, sitting up as
he spoke.
"Great, I'm starting to think about the NBA as my next career move.....want
to be my agent?"
"Sure, I'll start by asking for 2 million a year for you to carry Michael
Jordan's jockstrap, and another 2 million for you to lick it clean after
each game"
" Thanks a lot, I'm so fortunate to have supportive parents...have you ever
thought about divorcing Mom and marrying Martha Stewart?"  I  replied,
heading for the kitchen and some Gatorade. I could hear him chuckle in the
background.
When I returned to the living room he had turned off the lights as if in
preparation to head upstairs. I expected we would shower, and maybe have sex
before going to bed. The thought started to get me hard, and I said " I'm
going to take a shower".
"Don't bother" he said with a slight edge in his voice "I want to talk to you".
"OK" I answered after a pause. He had that husky tone in his voice. The
husky sound of sex, and my heart quickened.
"Lets go upstairs" he said as he got up from the couch. He slapped me
playfully on my butt, and put his arm (a bit roughly) around my shoulder.
"So, you want to talk about my NBA contract negotiations?" I said..trying to
keep the conversation light. There was no response. He just led me upstairs
with his arm around me. Both flushed and sweating as we ascended.  
When we finished climbing the stairs, he steered me to my parents' bedroom.
"Get undressed" he said, gently shoving me toward the center of the large room.
"I'll be right back"
"Oh boy, this sounds serious.....did my teacher call about that missed homework"
I said, trying once again to lighten the mood.
"Yeah right.....don't be a smartass...just get undressed" he replied. It was
clear he was in a good mood, but serious. He left the room and headed for
the bathroom
down the hall. I could feel the butterflys starting to twitch in my stomach,
but pulled off my shirt, untied my Reeboks, and was taking off my socks when
he walked back into the room. He was naked except for his running shorts. It
took me a moment to notice that the large right hand that hung by his side
held a tube of Vaseline. 
"Oh shit! this is it" I thought.
"Err...what exactly are we going to talk about?" I said. The words sounded a
bit weak as they left my mouth.
"Just a few things I've been meaning to tell you....for a long time" he
said, smiling.
Not a happy smile.....not a dangerous smile......it was a resolute smile.
The smile of a man who had work to do. Work that he was looking forward to
doing.
He just stared at my socks, my shorts. He didn't need to tell me to finish
undressing....his look said it all. I finished undressing in front of him,
and he watched closely. Then he slowly pulled down his running shorts and
stepped out of them as they hit the floor. He was starting to get hard. I
wasn't. My cock was soft and laying against my balls with damp crotch hair
wrapped against its base. 
He stared at me for a long moment, and I saw that look in his eyes. The same
look I had seen that night when we had arm wrestled...when he had me
stretched out on the living room floor, and taken my mouth for the first time. 
"Sooo, Columbo...this is where you tell me who was holding the smoking gun?"
I joked weakly....hoping to change the mood...or at least get a better sense
of what he was thinking. He laughed softly, and reached down to grab his
cock.   
"Smoke this, kiddo" he said. Laughing at my attempt, but not changing the
tone. His eyes hadn't changed. I wondered why that look scared me. I
thought, given all that we had done since then, that I was past that.
"Guess not" I thought.
He was so good at setting these scenes. But I realized it had as much to do
with my willingness....my compliance as it did with his intensity.
Then the mood changed for an instant. 
"Need to use the head" he said tossing his head sideways toward the bathroom.
The question was so flat, so offhand, that it caught me off guard at first.
"Ah, no..." I said without realizing that what I said was true. I hadn't
eaten for hours.
I thought later about what a crazy but considerate question this was. I also
found myself turned on by the presumptuous, inevitability it implied.
"Good" he said smiling. Then he walked backwards to the doorway and turned
off the light switch. In the dim light from the hall, I saw him walk across
the room and open the dresser drawer. He took out a book of matches and lit
the two candles on the dresser. They were long tapers, and the light
flickered for a moment before filling the room. The flames seemed like a
stern Butler entering the room, clearing his throat, and announcing that he
was in charge of lighting for the evening. I began to sweat, and I could
feel my cock begin to stretch and move away from the damp pubic nest that
held its base.
"Let me guess, you're going to start singing ' Moon River' "
He glanced over his shoulder and smiled as he dropped the match into
an ashtray. Dismissing my last attempt at humor with his curled lips and the
spark in his eyes.... that seemed brighter than the candles.
"I want to tell you a story".....this was said as he crossed the room, took
me by the shoulder and turned me away from him. Next, his two hands gripped
my collar bones and the light pressure caused me to fall to my knees by the
bedside.
"Relax, lean forward".
The voice was his, but seemed like a chorus of male voices.
I leaned forward, my head on the soft purple comforter that covered my
parents' bed. I turned my head to the right and saw our shadows on the wall.
They were flickering, still not in focus.
"Dad, lets talk about this...I know what you want to do but....."
I didn't finish the sentence because his large hands had reached down under
my waist and pulled me up. Rearranging my hips, spreading my legs as I
knelt, and positioning me.
"Listen to the story" he said.
I couldn't help but smile. Here I was kneeling in front of him, my ass in
the air, and he was going to "tell me a story"...so much for face to face,
father/son discussions. 
I felt him move slightly, shuffling his knees on the rug as he shifted to a
more comfortable position behind me..on his haunches. Then he started
talking. And after the first few sentences I found myself starting to drift
into an eerie state of
detached listening as he stroked my legs and back. The rythym of his voice
matched the long strokes of his hands....from my shoulders, down my back,
across my ass cheeks, down the back of my legs, then down my calves to my feet.
His first words caught me, and I could almost feel my ears jerk back to catch
everything that followed.
He began "When I was 19 years old, and in the Marines, there was an officer
that 
was a real hard-ass, but he seemed to take a particular interest in me...."
The story continued in brief, rythmic, slow sentences, his voice low.
The officer had been a stern, tall, handsome man in his 40's. My father was
only 19 at the time. My father, and a few others had been singled out for
"special" duty on a frequent basis. This duty most often meant doing grunt
work around the barracks and base. It often meant losing time on weekend
evenings and having to stay on the grounds while everyone else had passes to
leave. My father was intrigued by the officer's power...his manner, and the
carefully veiled feeling of appreciation for the few young men he seemed to
be "disciplining" more than the others.
The repeated proximity during those hours when everyone else was away from
the base had led to conversations between the older man and the young soldier. 
They began as short, one sided affairs with the officer lecturing the young
man, but changed to more equal conversations. The officer began to speak about
loyalty...among men..and respect for authority. My young father was caught up in
the intensity of the discussions, and the attention he was getting. Then the
conversations shifted to "what a man needs"...and how military men have to
"help" each other....be loyal....perform....no matter what the circumstances.

The final "conversation" happened on a scalding hot summer night. The officer
was in his kahki shorts....big, hairy, sweating. They were alone in his
bedroom. 
He had gotten my father to the point of arousal by their frank sexual
talk.....their joking and feeling of comradship. Then he had  moved from his
chair and stood in front of my father, and told him he "needed some
help"...and asked if my father was "going to be the Marine who stepped up
and helped a buddy?"
My father nodded, almost not knowing what the officer meant. 
After that it was quick and explicit. The officer took him by the shoulders
and turned him around. Then he pulled down my fathers pants and bent him
over the bed. He spread his cheeks with two big hands and started to lick my
father's asshole. Then it was a spit covered finger....then a huge cock. It
hurt at first, but my father was so numbed and overwhelmed by the officer's
actions that he didn't realize what had happened until the cock was imbedded
deep in his ass.
When it was over and my father had been fucked long and hard, the officer
had pulled out and lay on him for awhile. Then he turned the young man over,
pulled him to the floor and sucked him off. 
Then the "order" was given in no uncertain terms. My father was to "take it
like a man, do his duty" and forget it....or......"come back in a few days
after he had thought about it"
My father came back.
The image of my father as a young Marine, splayed over a barracks bed
getting fucked by a Marine officer raced through my mind and stiffened my
cock. It snapped to attention like the nervous salute of a Marine
recruit...fearful but hoping to please and be reviewed favorably.
The story of their relationship continued, and I hung on every word. But now
the cadence of his sentences was less flowing. They were interrupted by
pauses during which his two thumbs moved toward each other and plyed my
asshole. And I could hear his breathing increase. Then it was his tongue. In
long slow licks between sentences as the story unfolded. I was being
seduced, long and slow...as much by his words and the story as by his tongue
and hands. Now it was me being bent over the bed....all these years later.
Then he reached up and put both hands on the back of my head and worked his
fingers into my scalp. Then down around the back of my neck, and tight onto
my shoulders. Then back up to my face. Both huge hands wrapped around my cheeks
and fingers pulled my lips  back and entered my mouth. The hands were hot
and pulsing, and I imagined the grease paint streaked on Marines' faces in
the jungle as I moaned and licked them. Then his hands went under my arms
and I could feel the sweat from my armpits coat his palms. He held them
there for a long moment
moving his fingers slowly to explore. He had been there before, it should
have been familiar terrain..... but this time was different. I was being
viewed anew with certain wide eyes. Night Vision. I was as still as a
moonlit landscape.
Then his hands moved slowly under my chest. Each nipple was a new dangerous
hilltop, and he walked them carefully with his fingers. Then down across my
stomach, to my crotch, then back sideways around the cheeks of my ass.
His face decended again, and his tongue deep into my asshole was preceeded
by a long breath. A hot wind over the landscape. I could feel the heat from
him sweep over me and, as he lifted his face, I turned my head to the right
and stared at the wall. The candles had stopped flickering and the shadow
struck me!
There he was. Poised over me. His thick body above my lean frame. It was
like a photograph, an image of something that had happened before. Many
times before me. Evocative, dangerous, sensual to the bottom of a man's
soul. These men on the wall were not just the two of us. I was entranced and
slowly comforted at the sight.
My eyes blinked quickly as I felt his thick, cool, finger enter me. The Vaseline
felt foreign for a moment, and I tightened involuntarily. My mind raced
backward 
to awkward moments years ago. Rectal thermometers and my mother's concerned
look....my giggles and her rolling eyes and surpressed smile at my comments
and chuckling protestations. 
Now I thought it was a chuckle that came from my lips because of the memories.
But it came out as a moan. And the finger continued its work. Then there was
a pause, and a faint wet sound as his hand moved to himself. I could see his
hand on his cock as I looked at the dark image on the wall.
By now, my hands were clutching the bedspread and had pulled it close to my
face on each side. He reached forward with both hands and grabbed my
clenched fists.
Slowly his grip eased mine, and he lifted my hands and pushed them forward
so my arms were spread out in front of me on the bed.  Then he leaned back,
knelt up, and was behind me. 
I looked again at the wall. There were the black figures in that explicit
pose. This time I could see his cock. Sticking out and up from him, huge on
the wall shadow and over me as I lay stretched out over the bed.
"Dad"...... I said, in a last brief attempt to........ 
"Yes" was all he said.
Slow motion set in......and my deep breathing was punctuated by a brief loud
gasp
as I felt his cock touch my ass and move forward. My body became my eyes.
While I couldn't see what he was doing.....I could. Every nerve was so alive.
I was so familiar with his body. I could SEE that huge, dripping cock descend.
I SAW the foreskin slide back from the friction against my ass cheeks as he
entered.
The first pain was immediate and shot up from my asshole through both sides
of my body toward my fingertips. I yelled and he stopped. But not before the
head of his cock was in me. He held it there and waited. No words between
us. He waited.
After a few minutes I groaned . I could feel his foreskin pulsing slightly
back and forth...gripped by the subsiding spasms of my asshole. I feared
what would come next. I knew his cock. I knew that the big head was just a
messenger for the thick shaft.  My fear was suspended when he reached
forward and massaged my shoulders and then my ribs and waist. I felt drops
of his sweat on my back when he leaned forward. 
"Dad!" I said...it was half pleading....half wonderment.
"Take it" he said. His tone was stern.  But mostly resolved, the cautious
laboring of a man who was determined....who had thought for a long time
about  what he was
doing. The weight of that history and his hands on my body pushed my fear to
the sideline. But not the pain. When he pushed the next few inches in, I
yelled again and buried my face in the bed spread. But something accompanied
the pain that shot up through my body...a jolt of pleasure. Never felt
before. Again he waited.
Then eased more of his huge cock into me. Now it was not so much the pain,
but the feeling being filled that held my attention. He was so thick, and I
could feel the skin of his cock moving inside me....and the vibrations that
worked their way to my prostate.......hardening my cock even more. 
Then he was done. Fully inside me. Tears streaked my face, and a pulsing hot
presence took possession of my entire lower body. It was like I was locked
to him
from ankle to waist, and his every move sent shock waves through me. I could
feel the heat from him pass over my body. I could smell him, slowly working
over me. I could feel the sweat from his chest dripping on to my back..each
drop a certain word describing what he was doing to me. Then he started. His
thrusts were very very slow and short at first. I tried to focus and accept
it, but my mind was reeling.
I couldn't imagine that is cock was in me. That huge, veined penis. Inside me!
He took his time, and even though the pain at the rim of my ass continued,
it was accompanied by a feeling so foreign, so exciting that I it seemed to
be erased
by the involuntary whimpers I was mouthing into the bedspread.
I began to realize that it wasn't going to be quick. He was savoring every
second.
But he wasn't talking as he most often did during our sex. Where was he?
Back in the barracks? Or slowly going over all the fantasies he had relished
over the years.
The fantasies of taking me. He took his time. His strokes would increase in
length and speed, then slow, then stop, then start again. His hands were on
my neck, strong and firm, then caressing my shoulders and back, then
squeezing and slapping my ass, then off me altogether. I opened my eyes and
stared at our shadow on the wall. My eyes were blurred with tears, and I
thought I saw a line of men behind him. Future men? Or him again and again?
I had no capacity for thought. It was enough to try and handle the
earthquake of my senses at this point.
The spot on the quilt beneath my head was wet. I didn't know why I was
crying.It wasn't the pain.  It was....the best thing I could do. The best
wordless expression of.....lust, sex, gratitude, comradship, anger,
learning....passage?
(continued)