Date: Tue, 27 Dec 2016 16:16:03 +1300
From: munanga969@gmail.com
Subject: Showershown

Showershown

Bath-time was a family affair in our miner's cottage. As the oldest I was
often the last one out before my dad got in, then it fell to me to
vigorously soap his broad back. This task afforded a shoulder peek at his
floating fatherhood in the warm suds.  My amazement at the sheer size of
his private parts stirred a deep secret excitement. When I'd thoroughly
soaped his back, keeping my head near his shoulder, he'd submerge with
knees bent and eyes closed to rinse off. My vision flooded with the platter
of goodies on view. I was startled to feel my cocklet out-sprouting of its
own volition, and enthralled to unveil an entirely new dimension to
explore. It was a life-changing imprint; aged nine, I became a voyeur.

On Saturday mornings our parents 'slept in' until their door was opened and
I was summoned to provide morning tea in bed.  In the darkened room, fetid
and stuffy, both were nude in the post-coital bed. Dad faced the door, his
huge swollen penis and lazily hanging nuts framed by bulky thighs. Despite
efforts to avert my awed gaze, my snake-like fascination must have been
obvious to both.  My mum, on raised elbow behind him reached across for her
morning cuppa, well worn breasts sagging from an asthmatic chest. From her
faint smile I divined that she understood and maybe shared my fascination
at his blatant display. I pulled my pj pants to one side lest my growing
cock escape through the slit, and beat a retreat.

Nudity at bath or changing time was an accepted norm at home but in
retrospect I see that my dad was well aware of the erotic charge his
genital displays gave both me and my younger sister. He was never erect so
the sexual subtext was never explicit, and my mum was either impervious to
the notion of deviant intent or deliberately blind to such a scenario.
Among his workmates, years later, I overheard the terms donkeydick or
horsecock used of his endowment so it seems that he was never one to hide
his talents.

My own penis at age eleven began a spectacular growth spurt and a few wispy
pubes sprouted. By then my dad was well and truly aware of my captivation
at the sight of his scrotal sac and heavy meat. He'd strip off, strop his
cutthroat razor, then lather and shave still naked and dangling. Or he'd
wash my back with his pendulous parts looming at eye level. So when I
vacated the bath for him I'd emerge noticeably engorged .

It got to the stage where he'd ogle me unashamedly, beaming as my cock grew
uncontrollably, to erection even, under his salacious gaze.  My helpless
arousal confused me, heady excitement was mixed with a nameless shame.
Eventually it became too much for me; as a form of silent protest I wore my
speedos in the bath-tub and he, upset, told me not to be so bloody silly.
But the message did get through and from that time on his gaze was much
less devouring.

On the cusp of 12 and confined to bed by the doctor I shot my first load of
watery cum one bored afternoon while rubbing my painfully hard stiffy on
the bottom sheet. I soon substituted a soft pillow into which I fashioned a
convenient groove.  My favourite fantasy was to imagine that my hot cock
was sliding between the protruding mammaries of Jane Russell, Hollywood's
cleavage of the day. I kept a cum-rag at hand to catch the evidence.The
idea of using my hand never occurred to me.

  Since we kids shared a bedroom, opportunity for release was scarce.
After the bath we'd gather before the blazing fire to don pyjamas and
prepare for bed. I'd retreat to the bedroom to 'read', but my dad was
probably aware of this subterfuge. He walked in to the sight of my hairless
butt vigorously humping the pillow cleavage. I dared not meet his eye but
caught a glimpse of his trousers by my head just as I convulsed in spasms
of heightened climax. Then, without a word he withdrew, softly closing the
door.  That was that.

Tall and lanky with a dusting of freckles, at twelve I was a nerdish
bookworm.  At school I had no interest in team sport, few friends, and
lacked social standing.  My squeaky voice and hand gestures said girl.  But
by twelve also my balls had decidedly dropped and my flaccid cock hung with
heft.  Like my mum I was painfully lean and sallow chested, and like her I
had wide and gaunt hips.  In effect I was a soprano with the genitalia of a
young man.  With muscular thighs and long of leg, I was hairless save for a
small halo of pubic fuzz.  Hopelessly horny, I was at twelve a boy-lover's
wet dream.

Dad was a mine official who tested for explosive and toxic gases; indeed we
hosted the mine canary one Xmas, before technology detected deadly carbon
monoxide.  Very occasionally my dad took me underground with him on his
rounds. Early one Saturday morning he took me with him down the pit to
'measure-up' the coal extracted by that week's backshift, while the
dayshift worked a deeper level of the mine. Of itself the dark was not a
problem but the props which held up the tunnel roof made me conscious of
the massive weight of earth crushing down from above. My job was to hold
the end of the tape while he recorded the dimensions.

We returned to daylight through an airlock at the huge extractor fan and
called in to chat to the winchman, Steady Eddie, who enthroned me on the
A-frame of his jute sacking chair. Eddie got the call to let down the
passenger trolley to collect dayshift workers and dad remarked,

"Well, Eddie, I better get the boy in for a shower before that mob comes
up."

Eddie, who'd been eying my smooth bare thighs in his chair, ostentatiously
scratched his groin as the wire cable played out from its huge drum.

The ridge-vented bathhouse was the biggest structure at the mine
mouth. With limitless hot water from a coal-fired boiler, the long walls of
the rectangular shape were lined with open showers, while down the centre
were benches and pulleyed racks for the clothing change. We had barely
stripped when the first of the dayshift rushed in to the opposite wall.
Some looked questioningly at me.  Overcome and shrivelling from shyness I
turned to the wall behind and took my time adjusting the water heat,
blissfully unaware that presenting my flawless bum not only signified
submission but incited the interest of watching eyes. In time, restored by
the warm shower and overcome by curiosity, I finally found the confidence
to face outward.

I was met by the sight of a dozen or so naked men on the far wall, wraithed
in clouds of steam. Most faced outward, showing their all. The curly pelt
of hair entirely covering Ted McKenzie's giant body caught my eye as did
the drooping pot belly of Jimmy Olsen's dad which obscured his groin.  So
amazed was I by the variety of size and shape of the naked buffet before me
that caution deserted me; I was spellbound. My openly curious looks aroused
no hostility, indeed they were met by some with suggestive soaping and
rubbing.

I finally twigged that their interest in my naked body somehow endorsed my
visual delight in theirs; it was a powerful buzz. My dad, of course, was
well aware of the erotic tensions that showing his naked son had
aroused. The hungry response to the tasty morsel he brought to the table
doubtless fed his pleasure and pride. At last the palpable erotic intensity
hit me and steady arousal to erection began.  By then it was changing time
so using my towel as a screen I turned away to dress discreetly without
publicly showing my sensitive state.

By 3pm, back home, a heavy blackness palled me, as if the overburden of the
mine tunnels had somehow crushed my spirit. Dreamlike, I heard my mum ask
about the bathhouse, dimly aware that my shower outing had been jointly
planned.  After a long glass of water I declined food and headed for my bed
where I collapsed into a deep dreamless sleep. I could not be woken for
supper, a healing blackness cradled my soul. When I awoke it was dark so
using my newly acquired bed lamp I dived into a Jeffrey Farnol historical
novel, immersing myself in another time and space.

Next morning it was if I'd never been near the mine.  Recollection lay
interred in deep of dark for many years; only now has this buried treasure
been unearthed, mined as it were, for you.  As for me, being silently but
openly regarded as 'fresh meat' by a bunch of naked adult males, many
married, was a powerful induction to male bonding.

Rights reserved. A father parading his son seems a not uncommon
experience. Hope to learn of similar experience and feedback appreciated.

Munanga