Date: Tue, 20 Nov 2007 14:49:56 +0000 (GMT)
From: Mark Taylor <no.drah@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: The Love of His Son - Gay Male - Incest

This is purely a work of fiction, but in one sense it
is also totally factual. It represents the cry of my
heart. You will read about Kevin and his problem
ridden Dad. The story is set in my time and in my
home. But the difference is that my own father was a
brute of a man who never showed me affection. I lived
in fear of him: of his hand, his fist, his belt, his
boot and harsh, cutting words. That fear turned into
hatred. I left home at the earliest possible moment.

Twenty or more years later, I find myself avidly
reading accounts of intimate relationships between
fathers and sons and I find a longing in my heart.
It's not so much for the physical activities (exciting
though they may well be); it's the approval, the
caring, the bonding that I crave for -- and can't have
because the one man who should have loved me more than
others never did and is now long gone.

Feel free to contact me: I'm Mark and my address is
no.drah@yahoo.co.uk.

I had lived all my life in a sprawling mining village
in Yorkshire. Dad was a miner. He did well. He worked
himself up from the coal face to become a well
qualified mining engineer. Meanwhile his only child
also did quite well. I gained a first in chemical
engineering, entered a firm whose name you will know
and by the time I was twenty three I had landed a
research fellowship with that firm with very good
prospects indeed.
Dad and I lived alone. Mum died when I was 14 and in
some ways neither of us got over it. She was the heart
and powerhouse of the family. I had no plans to leave
home or leave Dad. For some years I had known I was
not the marrying kind, though I had enjoyed a number
of steamy sessions with several of the girls at uni.
But it was also at uni that I began to take a serious
interest in other guys. That was the heyday of Gay
pride, in your face Gaysoc and an evangelical fervour
in the camp. So it was not difficult to meet up with
guys, explore our sexuality together and find out just
who we were. By the time I left university, I was
`out'. That doesn't mean I talked freely about my
sexual orientation or paraded it, but I didn't deny
it. My Dad knew. He guessed early on and one day
kindly and gently asked me about it. I was trembling
with a sort of excited fear as we spoke but he hugged
me and made it so clear I was totally accepted and
loved and he would always be for me and support me. I
just loved him for that!

We come to a black time in Yorkshire's history: the
clash between the miners and the government in the
`80s. Or the clash between a petty minded woman
consumed by her own right wing dogmas, who did endless
damage to my people and society and a rather stupid
man who in fact led his union on a course of
inevitable destruction. The masses were in the middle
and we -- I say `we' with some feeling -- were left to
sink without trace.
My Dad lost his job. The market was suddenly flooded
with good, honest men who couldn't do much other than
mining. It was morally and psychologically the end of
many of them. Dad just went under. He applied for
loads of jobs and received a few demeaning and
insulting offers that he couldn't even consider. Some
of his friends went abroad, mainly to Australia I
think and I told him that if he went I would go too;
he had no-one else in the world. That was just weeks
after I started my research work. We both knew I would
never get another break like this. He just smiled at
me and shook his head.

>From then on, it was heart breaking to watch him. I
came home every evening from work to see him just
sitting there; often in the dark. Sometimes it was
obvious he had been crying. I went out less and less
because I hated to leave him in this state and I
suppose I worried too what he might do. So many of his
colleagues took what has grimly been called `the easy
way out'. (How I grew to hate that woman!)

It all came to a head one Friday evening when I came
in from work. It must have been winter, because it was
quite dark by 6.30. He just sat there, still in his
dressing gown, still with the breakfast pots on the
table and his eyes red with crying.
`Oh Dad' I cried out. I knelt beside him, so that I
could put my arms round him and comfort him. I held
him close, and gently kissed the side of his head over
and over.
`Sorry, lad, I'm not much good for you am I?'
`Daddy, daddy, daddy' I'm not sure why I said it. I
hadn't called him that for years. It just broke him
up. He began to sob. I held him there until the storm
passed. It took a long time. I hugged him and caressed
his back. It was then I realised that I was sporting a
very creditable erection. My position was awkward. I
was kneeling beside him with my crotch level with --
and now jammed up against -- the edge of the chair
seat. But it wasn't just the pressure that was having
this effect. An emotion was rising in me that I had
never identified before. I was having a physical
reaction to this man! This situation was stimulating
me in a way I dare hardly admit. Where did that come
from?

`Dad you've eaten nothing all day. You're going to get
dressed and we're off to Hung Wah'. Dad loved Chinese
food. He took a deep breathe and for the first time
probably for days looked me full in the face.
`Nay lad, what would I do without thee?'
When we were at our closest, he would often slip into
dialect. He didn't need to say much more. It was the
affirmation of the very strong bond between us.
We made small talk over the meal: my job, the broken
catch on the bathroom window, the quality of the food.
A crazy idea occurred to me.
`Dad let's go for a walk on Aidan's Barrow'. We both
loved that place, it was desolate and rugged, but we
hadn't been there for -- well I don't know, several
years at least.
`Don't be daft! It's miles away and anyway it's pitch
black'.
`No it's not, there's nearly a full moon and neither
of us have to get up early in the morning.'
I was right; we had enough light to see where we were
going and it was just great being back on the Barrow.
Dad was quiet. I worried that the black cloud was
coming down again. I took his hand, like the child I
had been fifteen years earlier.
`You OK?'
He squeezed my hand and grunted an affirmative. He
didn't let go. We walked hand in hand. After maybe ten
minutes with very little conversation, I felt a sudden
surge of emotion. I just grabbed him and hugged him.
`Daddy. I do love you so much'
I held him and planted half a dozen quick kisses on
his lips. Something else I hadn't done for a long
time. Then I just hugged him. He was calmer now.
Whether he had cried all the tears he had or whether
he had just regained control I don't know. He held me,
motionless, but so tightly in his embrace. At length
he broke free and now holding my head in his hands he
kissed me, just once, also on the lips, firmly, but he
held me there for maybe ten seconds. It was chaste;
his lips -- and mine -- were firmly sealed but the
effect on me was an emotional maelstrom. For a start
my penis, always independent of common decency or the
niceties of the current situation surged to an
impudent erection. I just prayed that Dad couldn't
feel it, but I don't see how he could miss it given
the clinch he held me in.
The rest of the evening was uneventful. Not much was
said on the journey home; we were both occupied with
out own thoughts.
The night however was not so calm. Not for me, anyway.
It was not unusual for me to be worrying about Dad,
therefore to be awake in the night, but that night
unsuspected stirrings and half forgotten memories
danced in my mind. Hovering somewhere between sleeping
and waking a number of dreams, impressions and
memories drifted past me. It was a mixture of sexual
activity and desire and some of the guys I had enjoyed
spending time with in the past. Nothing new there,
even though some of them were quite a bit older than
me, but here again, age has always mattered far less
to me than a decent physique and a twinkling eye! Into
all of this I began to see Dad's face. He was there
somehow among my most intimate acquaintances! Worse
than that, he seemed to be interchanging with them.
I woke up with a start and tried to shake it all out
of my mind. This was just too fantastic and anyway it
was wrong. Everyone knew that. But try as I might, my
waking mind was not ready or able to put the idea
aside. I kept thinking of my Dad in happier days,
laughing, wrestling, playing sport with me. I
remembered him in his swimming briefs (no long legged
Bermuda style malarkey here!). I imagined fingering
his hairy chest down to his stomach and then tracing
that line down to where it led suggestively out of
sight to the not inconsiderable bulge below. I shocked
myself by imagining what it would be like to fondle,
to expose, to play with and even to taste his manhood.
With a start I rebuked myself.
 `This is wrong'. I think I spoke it out loud.
But the thoughts didn't go away. I dozed again and
woke again, maybe a dozen times. The same dreams kept
circulating, though he now seemed to play a bigger
role in them.
As dawn broke I lay musing. Maybe it wasn't wrong to
have fantastic dreams -- even day dreams. Obviously I
wouldn't do anything about them. But then I felt
disappointed. I knew I wanted him. He was so
vulnerable and I wanted to protect him and make it all
good again. I wanted to somehow take him into my arms
and absorb him into my very being. I think it was then
that I realised I didn't just love my Dad; I was
actually falling in love with him. I wanted a
relationship which was a commitment of hearts and
minds, but would never be satisfied until it had also
joined in every other way possible.
At around eight o'clock I slipped on my shorty
dressing gown and went down to the kitchen to make
some coffee. Dad was already there, dressed and
preparing breakfast.
`You're looking better'.
`I'm feeling much better, Kev. It's up to you. You've
talked some sense into me.'
He hugged me, a real bearhug and pulled me in tight
against his body. I was wearing nothing underneath my
dressing gown and my bare leg was thrust against his.
Fortunately, I was saved from ultimate embarrassment
by about two inches of fabric. Ultimate, because he
held me close for a couple of minutes and I soon
produced the inevitable tent.
On several occasions that day we expressed our
affection in ways more than the usual father/son
relationship. That did nothing to calm the longings
born in me by the dreams of the night and fantasies of
the early morning.
We went to the match. Our side -- Featherstone Rovers -
won convincingly. We were happy. We called in for a
couple of drinks and picked up a takeaway.

We sat at opposite sides of the table and I was aware
of the fact that he was studying me intensely. I
looked up and grinned -- `What?'
He smiled back but said nothing. He just continued to
smile.
`What?' I grinned back again, `What are you trying to
do?'
`Bit difficult to say, lad.'
`How do you mean?'
He looked away, then back at me and then back at the
table.
`You've done me a power of good lad. I owe you one. In
fact I owe you several. How do I repay you?'
`Whaaat? You're my Dad and I love you. You don't owe
me owt.'
He sat quiet for a long time. Then, very quietly, `Do
you love anyone else -- at the moment?'
No question he could ask would be nearer to the
target. I was aware of blood rushing into my cheeks. I
knew that if I didn't keep cool I could blurt out
something stupid. At length I answered him, also very
quietly. I daren't even look up. `No, Dad, there's
no-one else I love.'
Then I did look up. Tears were running down his face.
`I don't deserve thee, lad.'
The emotion was too much. I just burst into tears, my
head in my hands and sobbed.
`Come here son' he said as he got hold of me, half
lifted and half pulled me to the sofa, where he gently
held me in his arms. I cried on his shoulder. He
kissed and kept on kissing my neck and face.
After a long time we sat up and he simply said, `No
limits, son, not for thee, not in this house. Whatever
you need... (he lowered his voice)...whatever you want....is
yours.'
My mind was in turmoil. What could he mean? Dare I
hope -- what else could he mean?

That night I was once more tortured by my libido. At
one point I was taking long, deep and satisfying
thrusts into the rear of a guy I'd shagged a couple of
times, doggy style He turned his face to me and said,
`Tha's reet Kev. Na limits for Thee.'
It was my Dad's face. And at that point I came,
saturating the sheet beneath me as I woke. I struggled
to find my briefs on the bedside chair to clean up
some of the mess.
At length, needing the toilet I grabbed my dressing
gown.

I passed by Dad's room. His door was ajar; he had
obviously been up in the night. I looked in to find
him, wearing nothing but the pair Yfronts he had slept
in. He stood at the open window gazing into the
distance.
`Fancy a cuppa?'
 `Ay lad, that would be nice'. He turned round as I
spoke.
I noticed the bulge in his shorts. It wasn't a tent,
but his manhood was seriously disturbing the fabric.
Our eyes met. We both grinned.
When I took his tea up he was back in bed. An idea
occurred to me. I set the cup down on his bedside
table and walked round to the other side. `Room for
another?' I quipped and got into the other side of the
bed.
He chuckled..
`Ay lad tha knoes tha's allus welcome'
I snuggled down in the bed beside him. He tousled my
hair. `Eh Kevin'.
We lay there looking into each other's faces. The
desire that had chased me through two nights began to
surge again, stronger than before. I longed for him. I
shuffled closer and nestled my forehead against his.
He put his arm around me and held me. No word was
spoken. He gently massaged my shoulder and the top of
my back. I snuggled down onto his chest. I longed to
get closer. A thought crossed my mind. But it was
impossible. I dared myself to ask him. Eventually I
blurted it out.
`Dad, do you mind if I take my dressing gown off?'
`Do what you like, Kev, I shan't stop you' His answer
made my heart leap. Was he truly feeling the same as
me?
`I've nowt underneath'
`Is that a problem?'
I lay still for half a minute considering his answer
then took the plunge. I sat up, threw it onto the
floor and returned to my former position, though now I
was nestling naked, my shoulder against his chest. My
cock was raging with excitement but I just didn't dare
bring it anywhere near his body.
He began running his hand down my back and sides,
still gently massaging. I was brave enough to stroke
his shoulder. As his hand strayed I went further. I
roamed over his chest. We started playing an unspoken
game. As I explored wider, so did he. I got as far as
his navel and he was in the small of my back. I
fingered the top of his Yfronts and he arrived at the
nick in my buttocks. I jumped.
`Sorry'
`No please don't be -- just do it again!'
He chuckled quietly, took hold of one buttock and
squeezed. `Is this what you want then lad?'
I grunted approval and thought, `Yes, that and a lot
more'.
What I said was, `I just love you so much.'
The reaction took me by surprise. He suddenly hugged
me and pulled me towards him. The effect was that my
erection, now dripping with anticipation drove into
the leg of his underwear and wedged itself into his
groin. I tried to pull back with embarrassment. He
just roared with laughter and held me there. I hadn't
heard him laugh like that for a very long time.
Then he pushed me back, tore off his briefs and
immediately pulled me back onto him. We were now chest
to chest, stomach to stomach with two seriously
engorged phalluses trapped in between.
His head again so close to mine, he spoke quietly.
`I know how you feel lad, I've guessed. And when I
thought about it I was surprised it didn't make me
feel angry or dirty. I realised I wanted you too and
decided that if you didn't make a move today I damn
well would!'
Our lips simply met, as if with a mind of their own.
In no time we were intoxicated with the `Dance of the
Tongues'. He gripped my buttocks hard and long and
emotionally exhausted by the rollercoaster of the last
thirty six hours I just came, pumping furiously onto
his stomach.

We lay there, relaxed and contented for ages. We both
new we were walking new paths, but we were quite sure
that was exactly where we wanted to be.
It was a turning point for Dad. A few months later he
left for Canada and got a really good job. I visited
as often as I could and a couple of years later was
able to join him with a very good job of my own.
Life really is good now. I've even been able to forget
that sadistic old cow...well for most of the time!