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My name is Brian. I lived on the south side with my parents. It was a working class neighborhood full of modestly kept bungalows and older frame two-flats, empty lots where packs of children played, local mom-and-pop groceries, and taverns, some light industries to keep the locals employed. My parents owned one of those little bungalows and it took every cent they could scrape together to get it and hold on to it. Money was hard to come by and savings where practically nonexistent. We lived paycheck to paycheck for as far back as I can remember. College wasn’t something that was on the radar for me and most of my friends. The best we could hope for was a solid job at one of the local factories. If someone garnered a job with the city, or on the docks, or better still got a union job – better wages and better benefits – that person was looked upon as being upwardly mobile. I had part-time jobs all through high school and the day after graduation, I started a full-time job at a local canning plant. Prospects were slim.
My father worked as a laborer in construction – the lowest position you could have. He was pushing 65 years old at the time but had to pull the workload of a young man. Retirement was something that he never talked about since, due to finances, it was unlikely he’d be able to rest his bones after a long life of hard work. He’d been breaking his back since the age of 10, first as a farm hand, then in the quarries, on factory lines, or any other labor job an under-educated man could be lucky enough to land. He was ruggedly handsome and a bit of a rake, but despite his sometimes wild nature, I think that’s what my mother found attractive about him – at least when they were younger, not so much anymore. That, and the fact that he was a hard worker, probably gave her the idea that they could cobble a life together. My mother was a European beauty. High cheek bones, straight back, broad hips, proud bosom, and outstanding legs made her a real looker. One quickly understood why my father was attracted to her. Although she was a good mother, she was always rough on the old man – a ball-buster deluxe.
As the years went by, mounting financial pressures, and my mother’s constant nagging and verbal abuse drove my father deeper and deeper into the only refuge he could find – the whiskey bottle. And the deeper he descended, the more my mother resented him and beset him with her hellish furry. Their loud, heated arguments were legendary throughout the neighborhood. I don’t mean to imply that my father was a wimp – he could give as well as get – but their arguments often ended with my dad storming out of the house and heading for the tavern. I can’t remember a time when they shared the same bed, or the same bedroom, and any signs of affection, even in the brief moments of détente, were fairly nonexistent. They merely existed together loosely held together by a marriage contract forged a long time ago and a mortgage they could barely afford.
My dad was far from being exemplary by any standards but I loved him, and I felt pity for his circumstances, and helpless to improve his lot. Until one particular Friday night, pay day. My friends and I had gone to the local hangouts to do a little drinking and perhaps pick up some willing femmes but as it turned out there wasn’t much action afoot. The boring conversations and lack of females couldn’t hold my attention for long and I was rather tired from a tough week at the plant. I’d decided to head home and maybe watch a little late night TV before crashing for the night.
When I entered the house everything was perfectly still. The only light a dim glow coming from my father’s room. Apparently my mother had already gone to bed and turned out all the lights. Since it was pay day I assumed my father had made the rounds of the local watering holes and had stumbled in for the night. By intent, my parent’s rooms were at opposite ends of the house. This made it convenient for my dad to slip into the house without having to encounter my mother’s ‘gauntlet of fury’ whenever he came home drunk. I stepped quietly down the ataşehir escort hall towards his room to see if he was OK and maybe have a word with him if he was awake.
I quietly poked my head around the door sill and whispered, “Hey, Pop, you up?” I received no reply. I heard only the soft snoring of another, well earned, pay day, whiskey-induced slumber. I turned myself fully into the doorway of his room and saw that he had his bedside lamp on. His clothes were in a rumpled pile next to the bed, and dad was sleeping above to covers completely naked. He was laying on his side, facing the bedroom door, softly snoring and intermittently mumbling in his comatose-like sleep. Apparently he had stumbled in with enough energy to strip out of his clothes but didn’t have the gusto left to get into his pajamas.
My dad had a build similar to the wrestler Dick the Bruiser, thick and stocky, powerful. He had a barrel chest, powerful legs, and upper arms of substantial beef. Looking at his nakedness, I could see that his frame was mostly hairless and even his scrotum had only a faint tuft of fine hair. Warmly tanned and somewhat weather worn, yet quite smooth and robust, looking at him like this, I thought that he actually looked beautiful. I don’t recall ever seeing my dad fully naked before, but the thing that really drew my attention was that even though he was out cold, my dad was sporting a big, thick, meaty hard-on. I was kind of shocked at how fat that man’s dick really was. I was very much average sized in the cock department, nothing distinctive about what hung between my legs. My dad, on the other hand, had something that a man could be truly proud of.
I found myself staring in openmouthed wonder at that man’s tool as he slumbered in his whiskey stupor. I had seen plenty of men’s cocks before and never stared or had a concern for them, but for some reason I could not take my eyes off my father’s swollen member. It was difficult to tell how long his cock was because of the way he was laying, probably about 5 or 6 inches, nothing special about that measurement, but it seemed to be as thick as a summer sausage, its foreskin was pulled fully back revealing the glistening plum sized head. Had he been jerking it before he passed out or was his cock so engorged with blood that it burst past its foreskin covering? Every few seconds his cock would twitch and he’d murmur some slurred gibberish before returning to his snoring. I was sure that he was having a sexual dream, perhaps about one of the old wide-hipped, rum-soaked women who frequented the local bars. I was sure he wasn’t dreaming about my mother, he looked too peaceful.
I stood there for what seemed like minutes admiring my dad’s dick. I remember wondering to myself how my mother could have taken that thick meat into her body without a lot of discomfort. If I had a cock like that I know I would have scared off the majority of the women I had known. I suddenly realized that I was feeling flushed, not from embarrassment at starting at my dad’s naked body, but rather because I was becoming aroused and almost hypnotically drawn to his beautiful, enormous dick. I had never thought sexually about other men before, nor have I been turned on by their nakedness, but in these few moments a lot of taboos seemed to disappear. He looked lovely laying there. He laid there like the first man, a champion, a warrior, thick, and powerful, his manhood stiff, and exalted. I was at the same time proud of him, in fear of him, and turned on by him.
I shook myself to break the mesmerizing spell, smiled, and chuckled to myself. “What’s up with you, man? Snap out of it.” I thought. Stealthily I walked over beside his bed intent on turning off the bedside lamp and covering him up. I leaned over and reached for the light switch but my gaze once again fell to my dad’s bulging, thick cock. It looked even more enormous as I stood beside him renewing my shameless stare. My thoughts became infiltrated with a touch of sadness for the man. He worked so hard to keep this house and this family glued together. He never kadıköy escort seemed to ask much for himself but all he got from my mother was distain, and cursing, and spite. It surely would have been a long time since she had kissed him or even touched him as a woman should touch her man. All he had now was his back breaking job, the cheap whiskey devoured, and the sorry company he kept while doing it. My eyes began to water a little as love and sorrow for my dad welled up in me all at the same time.
In that moment, I decided that I would finally do something for him, just for him. Out of pity, yes, but out of love too, for this uncelebrated champion, this working class hero, I would do something for him alone. My heart was thumping hard and my hands shook a little as I reached over and switched off the light. The room became immediately dark except for the dim light of the street lamps that shone through the curtains. Silently, I kneeled beside the bed, as if in prayer, near where his cock thrust out so proudly. I could feel the heat of his naked body. I could smell the sweat of his overworked flesh and the strong odor of his whiskey breath. I became aware of a sexual charge in the air – of his making or mine? I became intoxicated with the need for sex.
For the briefest moment I almost changed my mind. I had never sucked man’s cock before nor had I ever thought of performing such an act, but here I was, my face inches away from my dad’s thick, engorged dick, contemplating putting it in my mouth. I wondered if my mother had ever sucked him but I quickly dismissed the thought. I could not imagine her accommodating him in anything as risqué as oral sex. I’m sure, however, that some of the old bar flies that he befriended have tried a taste. I wondered if any of them ever succeeded in cramming his fat tool between their wrinkled lips. Had any of them had ever taken his big meat fully into their old hairy cunts? I hoped that at least some of them had tried.
Nervously, with a racing pulse, I leaned in and licked him across the split end of his glans. Quickly I licked several more times before I lost my nerve, trying to reassure myself that this was going to be OK. He tasted predictably salty, sweaty. I could taste the last piss he’d taken. I gently kissed the fat end a few times then stretched my lips over it trying to measure how wide I’d have to open my mouth to perform the act. My father stirred a bit and I pulled away, afraid that he’d wake and find his only son kneeling over him, ready to give him a blowjob. I could feel his dick pulsing once again. I could feel the heat rising from it, blood surging through it. He thrust his hips with a short jerk like he was impaling a ready, randy partner. With resolve, I leaned in again, and began to slowly slip the bulbous beast into my mouth.
My god! How I had to slack my jaw to get his monster into my mouth! I released it for a moment so that I could relax my jaw muscles since I wouldn’t be able to engulf it otherwise. I wet my lips liberally then tried again to take him in my mouth. It was a struggle not to scrap my teeth over the smooth, sensitive flesh, but after several tries, I was only able to envelope the entire volume of his exposed cock head. He thrust his hips again and mumbled something unintelligible. His dick was trying desperately to force its way further into my mouth – or in his dreams, some old dowager’s cunt – but it would go in no further. I was completely filled.
I began to suck my dad’s dick with naïve intent. Moving my tongue laterally along the sensitive underside, I tried to manufacture as much saliva as I could so that I could pump my mouth over him more easily. I was visualizing how women had sucked my cock and I tried to emulate their techniques. This was somewhat futile however because of his immense girth. I had to get creative about how to get the job done. After several more tries and a lot more saliva, I was able to piston my lips over the tip, from the piss hole to the base of the head where his retracted foreskin was bunched tightly around his shaft.
My bostancı escort heart was pounding in my chest, partly from the fear of being discovered in this compromising position and partly from the shear eroticism of my act. I was giving my father a blowjob. I was sucking my father’s dick. His cock was in my mouth and was working him to orgasm. These thoughts kept rolling through my mind as I did my best work on the man’s organ. What would he do if he caught me with my lips wrapped around his dick? Would he beat the shit out of me? Would he treat me with disdain and loathing for my immoral act? Or was there a chance he might enjoy my gift and embrace it?
I was now beginning to get a regular motion going. My mouth sucked hard on the old man’s dick, and honestly, I was beginning to the whole oral sex vibe. My own cock was now hard, very hard, and begging for attention. Slipping down my zipper, I fished it out and began to thrash myself, all the while slurping on my dad’s fantastic prick. Dad was beginning to breathe more rapidly and his sleepy murmuring became more emphatic. I was now jacking myself and sucking without remorse. I was completely lost in the eroticism of this oral sex act with another man. My focus was completely on getting my father and myself off. Any guilt, or regrets, or thoughts of ill consequences had vanished. I wanted to suck this man’s cock. I loved how it felt in my mouth, the heat of it, the taste of it, the forbidden nature of it, and as I frantically pounded my own cock, I was eagerly anticipating bringing this beautifully endowed man to a fulfilling orgasm.
As it turned out, I didn’t have to wait too much longer. Dad’s hips were thrusting in short jerks and my mouth jacked over and over and over the tender flesh of his luscious dick. Suddenly, with loud, guttural grunts “UGH, UGH, UGH,” And a final push of his hips, he shot his salty semen across my tongue, into his son’s mouth. Fortunately, I was drawing back as he came otherwise I’m sure his fluids would have gone to the back of my throat and gagged me. As it was, I was able to close my lips around the very end and suck all the warm salty mess out of him without letting any escape. Overall there wasn’t much semen and that was thin and watery. I had tasted semen before – my own during lovemaking – but surely never another man’s. The taste was not dissimilar from the taste of my own cum, but I didn’t care, it felt warm and good in my mouth, and I held it there for a moment in order to catch my breathe. I swallowed it in two gulps and then swallowed several more times to clear my pallet of the salty goo. I then licked his glans several times to catch any lingering drops that might have oozed out and swallowed that with satisfaction. After stuffing my own cock back into my pants, I waited a few more seconds before making any move. I had to stifle my own labored breathing, my heart was pounding. I wanted to make sure that he was still asleep and he was. He began to softly murmur again then rolled completely over to face the wall away from me.
There in the dark, I stood over him for a few more brief moments. I could faintly see the roundness of his smooth, muscular ass cheeks by the dim light in the room. I could hear his soft snoring as he drifted back into a deep whiskey slumber. I leaned over and kissed him lightly on the head. “That’s for you, Pop,” I whispered, “I love you.”
Quietly slipping into my own bedroom, I stripped down and immediately started stroking my cock with a fury I had never known before. I was so sexually charged from sucking my father’s cock I was in a complete frenzy. Twenty or thirty strokes later, I was spewing cum over my bed sheets and convulsing with a powerful orgasm. My heart was racing as if I had run a mile and I nearly stumbled and collapsed as long streams of semen burst from my cock. Several times that night, I stroked myself to powerful orgasm while reliving the blowjob I had given my dad.
To this day, the memory of that night is still a powerful emotion. I have never again taken another man into my mouth. Not so much because I was afraid of my manhood, or because I didn’t want to be labeled a ‘Homo’, or because I hadn’t enjoyed it, I did, but because that was something special I wanted to give to my father alone. I wanted that gift to be a hero’s reward, ‘One for the Old Man’.
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