Date: Thu, 25 May 2006 18:08:45 -0400
From: JVH <jayeh2@cogeco.ca>
Subject: Loving Father

DISCLAIMER: The following account is true. However, the names, portions
of details and locations have been changed or modified to protect privacy
and to prevent the discovery of pertinent information harmful to the
subjects of this writing.

=========================================

My father was quite muscular and very good-looking. At the age of 14 I
found him to be overwhelmingly attractive, not just in the physical
sense. There was an inexplicable eternal bond between my father and me.
And I don't want to marginalize the sanctity of the relationship by
focusing only on the physical, because there was far more to it, more
beautiful than what's visible on the surface.

Dad worked for the local hospital as an electrical engineer. He was the
kind of person who wanted to maintain his health and well-sculptured
physique. Related to this life-long emphasis on health, he spoke
regularly to various health professionals about diets and the benefit of
practical exercise, including jogging and workouts as a consistent
regiment. Dad religiously worked out in the basement of our home using
his own small personal gym equipment. He was the picture of health which
others followed. I idolized him, not only for the example he set for
others outside the immediate family, but how he raised me.

I realize others may not have been so lucky to have such a loving, caring
father, and I understand the wide-spread tug-of-war found in many, if not
most, father-son relationships. Many fathers feel threatened by the mere
existence of a son or sons for whatever reason -- whether jealousy of the
spouse's attention or conflict stemming from male dominance. Fortunately,
mine was one of friendship rather than hostility. For that I am most
grateful.

My parents migrated from South Africa to Canada when I was young. Yes, I
was born in Africa, thus I am Afrikaan, as they call those of Dutch
descent. My parents spoke an Afrikaner dialect, since they originated
from Cape Town. Therefore, their accents and mannerisms stood out
somewhat in their new Canadian surroundings. Yet Dad's distinctive
personality coupled with this Afrikaan culture (Dutch colonial mixed with
Portuguese) made him more intriguing to most, including me. I loved the
way his mannerism and ways of putting things into words.

Mom and Dad were not racist. To the contrar, they cared for all others
around them, including the subjugated peoples of Africa. I was proud of
my parents for refusing to conform to the racist majority around them.

Nevertheless, my parents had servants, though they were treated with
utmost dignity and respect.

Coming from South Africa at the time I was growing up it was legal to
employ servants. So, this relieved Mother from most chores around the
house and allowed her to do social work among the needy. She was a
fund-raiser for several charities. On many occasions after returning home
from a fund-raiser, Mother would be exhausted. The servants had set the
table; we would all sit down together as one family around the table --
not in separate quarters as was custom.

After dinner the servants would then clear the table and on Mom's
directive, containerize food to be taken to their respective families.
Point is, my parents made sure that all had an abundance. The servants
were told always to cook enough food for our family as well as theirs.
Dad and Mom were compassionate in contrast to many other whites of that
dark apartheid era.

As I was growing up I saw Mom give our servants many gifts for the extra
work they had performed. She bought clothes for their families and
provided pocket-money on the side for all their children. Mom and Dad
went the extra mile, and for that great example I will always be grateful
and mindful to continue the legacy of compassion for all peoples. My
parents were people of integrity.

Father was nearly 6 foot tall, chest size around 48", well-defined pecs;
and a decent 6" pack. He had golden blonde hair, deep blue eyes, and long
eyelashes; clean shaven and pearly white teeth; very strong hands;
well-developed thighs and calf muscles which confirmed his jogging and
bike-riding regiment.

His cock was quite thick -- even without a hardon -- and topped by with
soft whitish pubic hair, he was cut and had a huge bluish head that I
loved to sneak-a-peek at.

Dad thoroughly enjoyed strolling around the house totally naked. (Don't
most men?)
Oh yes, for sure, especially when Mother was away on her numerous
fundraising week-ends. Evidently, he enjoyed casually walking around nude
especially when I was home so I could appreciate his body. He obviously
knew he got my attention.

But his practice of nudity was not restricted to the house. Weather
permitting, he took me skinnydipping to lakes, streams and rock quarries.
We used to go to a private nudist campsite where my father was
well-acquainted with the owners. The camp rules forbade the entrance of
the underaged, but the owners made an exception in my case because of my
father. I remember getting quite excited seeing all the male bodies
walking around, chatting nonchalantly with each other while completely
nude in what seemed to be a natural condition. We felt no shame.

How did my father and my relationship develop? On many occasions I would
make the excuse that I had to urgently use the bathroom, and on those
occasions my father would have just finished showering. After drying off
would, he threw the towel over his shoulder which left him naked while
shaving.

At the time, I found this situation so exciting -- to be able to
unobstructively observe father completely nude and admire his thick penis
with a very large head. My thought was how could I possibly get his
equipment in my mouth if the occasion should arise.

Not realizing it, my father must have been able to see me looking at his
body and penis by observing me in the mirror. He knew what he was doing.

On several occasions similar to this, I noticed that my father's became
aroused where the penis head was much larger.

The routine availed itself once more on one of my daily bathroom vigils;
it was urgent to the level I had to piss in a hurry. My father turned
towards me and his penis was much longer and thicker.

After noticing my focus, he blurted out, "Jaye do you like looking at
your father's cock?"

I was taken aback and so embarrassed I could hardly speak. Hesitating, I
stumbled through this answer: "Uh... Uh, ah... All I was thinking was
'Will I ever get as big as you are, father?' " Dad smiled. He
definitely didn't buy my explanation.

While we were engaged in this conversation, I noticed his penis was
growing larger and was starting to stand up all thick and very hard.

"So you want a large penis like your father's, eh?"

"Yes, I do, father!"

"Well, you'd better drop your pants and show me how big you are now and
then I can compare and tell you how much more you'll grow down there!"

"I.... I.... I can't really do that, father," I stuttered.

"Why?" he asked. "After all, we're both men and both have the same
`equipment,' don't we?"

With that, I managed to stammer out, " My penis is getting a little
swollen."

"Come here, Jaye. Put your hand on my penis and tell me how it feels,"
he commanded.

I did that and found it was the most exciting thing for me to
experience...all my fantasies and dreams of touching my father's penis
had come true.

As I held his penis, I could barely get my hand around the strong,
pulsating shaft. Holding it caused my own cock to become hard, standing
straight up, actually bouncing against my stomach.

My father took my wrist and moved it up and down on his penis shaft, his
head was bent backwards and he was making sounds of pleasure. He stopped
and looked down. Taking my penis in his hand, he duplicated the movements
used on his penis. I experienced `strange and more intense feelings'
than when I jerked my own cock solo.

My father asked me if I was enjoying it and I said..."Oh, yes, father.
This is a wonderful feeling and something I have dreamed of for some
time."

He asked me to sit back on the toilet, and as I did he came forward. His
enormous penis, strong and hard, was in alignment with my mouth. I did
not object as he let the piss slit of his throbbing cock touch my lips.

It seemed he did not need to give me any directions; it just seemed
natural for me to part my lips and lick the piss slit of his huge cock
head.

My father was breathing much differently and commanded, "Jaye just open
up your mouth a little wider and let me put the head of my penis in your
mouth." I did this and as I started to suck on the head of his cock I
could taste a pleasant salty tasting clear gel like substance oozing from
his cock.

I was able to get into the motion and started to bob my head back and
forth...he was making those very loud pleasurable sounds again, and then
without warning, he bent sideways and started to rub my cock back and
forth.

By now I was really hot, horny and would do anything my father asked...I
was also able to take more and more of his cock inside my mouth -- the
first couple of times I gagged but kept on sucking on this wonderful cock
of his...without warning, he let out: "Oh fucking hell...I am going to
cum, keep sucking, please!"

I did and the next thing I had a mouthful of my father's cum in my
mouth. At the same time as he was cumming I also came and shot my load
all over his legs.
I remember in a very tender voice he said, "Thanks, son. That was great.
Did you enjoy it and can we keep this a secret between us?"

I replied, "Of course, father, just between you and me."

Dad got back in the shower stall and wash my cum off his leg.

This was just one of many encounters I had with my dad.

Whenever I saw my father going to work all dressed up in a business suite
I always though...I know what you have in your pants for me!

To this day, I love to suck on a guy dressed in a business suit, who
keeps his pants on and just pulls down his fly to let me suck on that
succulent meat. The fantasy stems from the relationship I enjoyed with my
dad, because he was a professional, dressed immaculately.

Did Father have any other extramarital affair? Yes, he enjoyed another
male partner, Andy.

I recall a "pal" of my father named Andy, a little younger than Dad, who
used to come over to the house frequently and use the home gym and to
enjoy Dad's company while working out as a team. On many occasions when I
went downstairs hoping to enjoy their company, the door would be locked.
At these times I would hear my father and Andy laughing and chatting
away like 16 year olds.

Things were so convenient at home with me sucking him off and Andy also
in the sexual picture there was no pressure I feel for father wanting out
of the relationship with his wife, my Mom. Mother was involved with
several "ladies' clubs" which did various fund rasing projects. This kept
her occupied, thus, I felt no tension at all between Father and Mother.
It was a marriage of convenience, to be sure. But it worked.

One time I was just about to go upstairs when I heard different sounds
coming from behind the door. It was my father and Andy making sounds: "Oh
my God! I can't stand it any longer. Oh fuck you are so tight," yelled
Dad.

"Oh, shit!" Andy said. "Fuck, I am so ready for this and your cock feels
so good!"

It was this kind of talk that gave me some clues that my Father and Andy
were getting it on together and this always seemed to occur on occasions
when my Mother would be away for the week-end.

I had some mixed feelings about this. (1) I would love to join them and
see them in action, and (2) I was jealous of the attention Andy was
receiving from my father.

Father also had a certain way of greeting Andy [like two lovers rather
than two straight male workout buddies. Most people would not have
noticed because they both projected straight-male images, but I could
detect the gay relationship in their feelings for one another and
everyday conversations because I, myself, was attracted to males more
than females and could see the situation between Andy and my father very
clearly.

Dad passed away from prostate cancer and I remember Andy at the funeral
seemed to cry uncontrollable -- almost like losing a lover. Well,
actually they were lovers. I'm glad that Father enjoyed this relationship
with Andy, and I'm happy to have been Dad's friend also.

I never related this story to anyone else my entire life. It's nothing I
can freely share to the average public nor to immediate family members.
But that's the way it was. I miss my Father. He passed away at a young
age, but the memory of his love for me lives on.

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NOTE: The above story is written as a true account, though slightly
modified to protect real-life characters. 5/20/06

If interested, write to jayeh2@cogeco.ca
Jaye - Canada