The Second Time

This second story happened in the same year as the last. After the first time that I had any kind of sexual encounter, my mind began to slowly wrap itself around the idea of my sexuality. Still so young at ten, I wasn’t honestly certain of everything. I knew what I felt both mentally and literally. My father and I, though the encounter did open up a new closeness between us that was different when my mother was around, and even when she wasn’t, he never did anything with me, nor insisted we do since that night. Granted, we did eventually, and this is that memory, but he was also so reserved about it. I guess that’s what made me kind of proud of him now, because he didn’t take advantage and still treated me as his son, rather than anything more, nor less.



A few months after, he was more often than not preoccupied with work. A single father trying to pave the way for both himself and his son, I didn’t really understand it then, but now that I look back, it was amazing of him to take on such responsibility. I probably didn’t help much at the time, but that’s beside the point. 


My father never worked normal hours like some people. He didn’t work the nine to five shifts like some, and never really had weekends off. Monday and Friday were his days, and Fridays always for the two of us. It was our father and son day, he always made sure of that. This happened on one of those Fridays. 


I remember waking up in the morning after a night terror. I may have actually awoken, paralyzed and riddled with fear, but I don’t really remember it too well. I tried to block as much from my mind as possible. I only remember it being enough to spring me out of bed at Six AM in the morning with my heart beating rapidly. Quickly, I climbed out of bed in just my father’s Pink Floyd shirt, which hung low enough to touch my knees at the time. I liked wearing his shirts to bed, or in general because it made me feel like a man, that, and like I had part of him with me even when he wasn’t around. I can’t really explain it more than that. 


The new apartment, which we had been in for a few months now was small and the bathroom was attached to the master bedroom. I thought to take a pee first, and then maybe try to sleep again, but as I carefully opened the door into my father’s room, I saw him asleep in his large bed, comfortable and bare from the waist up. That’s all I could see as the blanket covered from there down. Something in me kicked in to get into bed with him after using the bathroom. Some feeling to be held, or protected as if being with my father meant nothing could get me. 



Opening the bathroom door, it pushed aside his work clothes from the night before. Green boxers and jean pants. His forest green dress shirt, I remember thinking how funny that his underwear matched his shirt, but also thought it a little arousing. It didn’t help as my thoughts began to dwell upon sex, mostly recalling the night I sucked my father’s cock. I could smell his dick as if it were right in front of me by just remembering it. It forced my little penis to drain itself stiff, which was quite the task for my hand to steady it. 


Stroking it kind of came naturally to me when my cock became erect. It wasn’t often, but sometimes there was this urge to just give it a good rub down, and I found myself in the bathroom gently stroking my youthful member when it finished urinating. I think I lost interest, or lost my erection quickly, because I didn’t do much in there. It subsided and the need to climb into bed with my father took over what ever sexual urges plagued my little mind. 



His blankets, as I remember, were very thick and grey. I know now that they were actually comforters, which are incredibly warm and comfortable. Mine was a real blanket, thin and useless. It just gave me more incentive to visit his bed some nights. This, however, wasn’t night and I climbed up onto the bed, tucked myself under the comforter blanket and then began to scoot closer to my father. It wasn’t long before skin touched skin. He was naked underneath from head to toe, since my toes were touching his bare legs. To double check, I reached a little further and felt the warmth and girth of his adult penis, flaccid, but still marvelous to grasp in my small hands. 



My arm draped across his chest and my face tucked against his shoulder and neck. Warm and safe from all of the bad in the world, here with dad. I think I drifted back to sleep, but it didn’t last very long. I remember waking when I fell off the side of him. He had moved onto his side with his body toward me. Perhaps subconsciously he knew I was there, or someone, because he pulled me with one arm close to his chest. There wasn’t many comfortable ways to rest like this, I remember my arm fell asleep more than I could and eventually had to shift within his grasp, doing so rubbed my thighs and body against his crotch quite a few times. So much so, I began to feel his penis stiffen against my thigh. It intrigued me enough to reach below with my tingling arm and tentatively hold onto his penis from just beneath the frenulum. It wasn’t a hard grip, very soft, just like the flesh of his penis, despite the hardness beneath. 



Soon it became slippery to hold. Precum stuck to my palm and wrist so I let go and wiped some of it on his chest. “What are you doing?” He asked quietly, but it scared me. I didn’t think he was awake, or that I had awoken him. “I had a nightmare. I wanted to sleep in bed with you,” I replied. I remember even kissing him on the chest after, but he snickered and wiped the precum from his chest, and spoke almost accusingly. “I mean this.” There really wasn’t anything I could have responded with to that. It was just what I did, without thought and although I remember trying to come up with something, I’m sure he knew a futile attempt to lie when he heard one. It upset me though, and I climbed out from under the blanket. On all fours, I started toward the edge of the bed, but his voice stopped me. 



“You can sleep with me if you want, just don’t wipe this on the fabric.” His hand was on my foot. His fingers warm, large and strong that I remember at my age. He could wrap his index finger and thumb around my wrists and ankles. Something else happened, though. He said something to assure me that it was all right to sleep in his bed, but the exact words escape me. Everything did except for the feeling of his hand on my little butt. Surely he could see it outlined by his shirt and his hand slide up my flesh to meet it. Fingers traced over my tiny pink hole, almost casually in fact. He had gripped the side of my butt and gently tugged me backward into him. He probably meant to tug me down, but I let out a soft little moan. Part of it was to test the waters to see if anything might happen, and part of it real. The warmth and gentleness of my father’s hand on my ass was like bliss. Little did I know what true bliss felt like when things were down there. 


“I like that.” I said, my breath almost caught in my throat. He snickered and pulled his hand from my body to move that shirt of his up until bare boy flesh was in his view. My legs were close together, to which he parted with soft caressive touches, and my little pink boy hole was in full view of my father, the fabric’s hem just above it. My heart was racing again, but this was in a good way. Like a pleasant dream rather than a horrifying nightmare.

When he pulled on my leg to sit me down, and then slipped his shirt off of my body, I was in bliss and ready for anything. My little boyhood stiff as a board. My father tossed his shirt at the end of the bed and climbed out from under the covers, his throbbing cock dripping with precum now. I remember it glistening in the dim light of the sun between blinds. I loved it. 



It was something wonderful to be able to share this closeness with my father. I was his son and I guess seeing me nude wasn’t really anything big, but for me, a mere kid to get my father’s full body bare for me to see was almost special to me. I doubt most kids got to see their father’s penis and balls. Also, I doubt most kids got to suck their dad’s cock before, even if I had only done it once before. 


I thought he would do something more, but I think he really meant for me to lay down in bed. To take his place under the warm covers as he took a shower. I wasn’t going to have any of that, however. I had the sight of his dick, and the touch of his hand on my butt. My boyhood was screaming for him, just as my sexually charged brain was. 



His shower seemed like forever and a day. When he came out, he looked a little shocked, but for good reason. I had positioned myself on hands and knees, my hands had gotten tired and numb waiting for him to get out, so then I folded my arms and rested my head on them, soon that got tiresome, so a pillow was tucked between. Here I was, a ten year old kid with his head down, ass up, just waiting for his father to see him right after a hot, refreshing shower. 



He ignored it at first. Probable thought I was just being silly, or trying to rest in some strange way. He smiled though. That was something. “What do you want to do today?” He asked. It was our Friday after all, but there was one thing I wanted. I wanted to feel his warm hands on my flesh. This warm, protective hand that could wash over my body and make everything right again. “Can you touch me again? On my butt? I liked it.” I wasn’t very sexy or subtle with my words, that wasn’t something I developed until later, but I know from the persistent tent in his towel that it definitely intrigued him. 



He glanced at me with a look i can’t really describe. It came with a little grin, or maybe it was something else. I don’t quite remember, he just said my name and moved back behind me. Told me to rest my head and relax. Then the warmth washed over my boyish flesh again. His warm hands, hot from the shower, but dry and delicate to the touch. He dried them off so it would be easier to massage me, as opposed to that rubbery feeling you get when you touch flesh with wet flesh. 



His big strong hands softly moved down my sides, then up along the spine of my back. He kind of avoided my butt this time, and caressed down my legs, just massaging my body. It was wonderful, but he knew as I wiggled my little butt that something more was what i desired. I wanted to feel his fingers on my hole again, to repaint that feeling in my mind. It burned itself into me the night on the couch and this morning. It was a good feeling and i needed to feel it again. He knew, but I think he just tried to play the father rather than give in, but he did. 



I felt his fingers first. Don’t know which ones exactly, but the prodding warmth of his digits caressed against and around my hole. “I love you, son.” He breathed, and I could feel his breath on my flesh as it prickled. A sea of goosebumps as I later learned to call them trickling down my spine when a moist digit ran over from the end of my little sac to the edge of my butt’s crevice. It was too broad and wet to be a finger, but I couldn’t see. Maybe it was his penis, i thought, but I remember him mentioning how my asshole tasted, something good, I think. I realized he was licking my boy hole. My father was giving me a rimjob. 


My brain was sent into overdrive. Mindless numb pleasure. This feeling was quite different than just warm caressive hands. His tongue was wet, strong and yet delicate. It prodded the between the ripples of flesh that lead to the actual hole, and it lapped over in broad strokes, like a paintbrush. 

“Daddy,” I moaned, or gasped, breathed, or whatever. I did this quite a bit, actually. Nothing more than encouragement for him, but it was all I could say at the time. Words were no longer concepts I understood. Just him, my father. 


It lasted forever, this new feeling. I loved every second of it and even whimpered when he would remove his tongue from anywhere near my asshole. The next feeling was quite different from any of that. My sac was enveloped in a hot and moist cavern between his lips. His tongue was there to cradle my little orbs and flesh. I think he sucked on it too, but at the time I remember not being too pleased by that. It felled like he could swallow my sac whole and it kind of hurt so when I cried out, saying something about a pain, he let me go. 



Instead of sucking on my balls, he instead moved lower and tugged on my little boy cock to position it. It kind of hurt as well, but when his mouth covered the length of it and he began to suck on it like he had with my sac, any aversion to him being there was gone. This feeling was the best of all. He rolled me onto my back and parted my thighs so that his ten year old son could see his father sucking on his young little cock, just as I had on his. 



The feeling was intense. The imagery burned into my mind from seeing this will go with me to my grave. I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t move, breath, let alone encourage him. He probably knew I enjoyed it from the expressions and the way my body acted. Even though there wasn’t as much room to move as there was on his grown adult cock, his lips would slide up and down occasionally. It felt amazing. It felt so good that I could feel something churning in my crotch. A pressure building that seemed to weak my thighs. Back then I considered that feeling to be like turning into a woman. I don’t really know why, I didn’t know what an orgasm was, I just felt so incredibly, well, dainty. 



My body involuntarily pressed into his mouth. Well, the cock part of it, with my hips pushing against his face. Then it pulled back into the bed, trying to escape, but not wanting to all the same. I wasn’t trying to hump him, I was experiencing an orgasm with my cock lodged within my father’s sucking mouth. He knew what was happening and rested a hand on my chest to help steady me. He pulled off of my little boyhood when the feeling became too much, my flesh too sensitive. That pleasure now hurt and he knew it, so he backed off. 



I remember laying nearly breathless, yet all the same taking in deep gasping breaths when I could. It subsided relatively quickly, especially considering that my father had climbed up onto the bed and was on his knees, his adult cock just above my face. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what he was going to do. I think I asked a question or two, or something, maybe I didn’t say anything at all. I was wiped out after that, but he asked, “would you like to help your father?” He said this as a bead of precum fell from the slit and cascaded down the smooth shaft toward his thick, full balls.

I thought about maybe sucking on his balls, but I remembered how it felt when he took mine and didn’t want to hurt him. Instead, I curled up onto my knees and took his penis’ base between my hands. The clear line of precum sticking to my palm, I found it a little funny.



My lips parted and my head dipped. I took my father’s cock in my mouth for the second time in my life. Still unable to get much of it in, as it was huge to me. The head was really the most I could swallow. So, that’s what I sucked on. My father’s groans were much deeper than mine and more drawn out. I could feel his pleasure rumbling through his chest, like a lion. So I just sucked more. I loved the taste of his precum, as well as his big man dick.



Soon enough he mumbled something. I was lost and everything was just a blur in my bliss. I remember whining a bit when his hand took my jaw and gently pulled his son’s lips off his cock, but I guess it was for the best. As he did, his penis looked like it was about to explode. It pulsed and throbbed until that white stuff came out. Cum, of course. I remembered from sucking his dick the first time that it wasn’t really a pleasant liquid, so I just watched as it shot out. Some of it fell upon my nose and then dripped down to my bottom lip. I dared to try again, tasting and swallowing a little bit of my dad’s cum, but it was still unpleasant to me at the time. He seemed to find that amusing, but all the same he wiped his cock clean with the towel so I wouldn’t have to taste it.



After that, he sent me to shower by myself as he prepared a breakfast for the both of us. He even laid out some clothes for me on the bed. I remember the rest of the day being good, nothing out of the usual with exception to that morning. That wonderful morning.

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