Dr Wallace's Casebook

DR WALLACE'S CASEBOOK 5 by Sebastian Wallace

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sebastian_wallace@yahoo.co.uk http://stories.remoworld.com

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HELPING OUT DAD

Part 1

A middle-aged guy called Frank came to see me a couple of weeks ago to ask for something to help him sleep following his separation from his wife.

He looked exhausted; downbeat and dishevelled. His experiences during the last few months had clearly really knocked the stuffing out of him.

Scanning my screen to find the course of barbiturates that would most suit him, I asked him if he was losing much time at work.

He shook his head. "People know what's going on. I mean, I could hardly hide it from them. But I only took a couple of days off when things were... you know... at their worst."

I nodded. "Do you think a few more days would help? I can easily sign you off."

He shrugged. "I doubt it. I'd only mope around in the flat I'm renting. And the state that's in... I don't really want to be in it for longer than I have to be, you know..."

"Are there people you can talk to? Friends, perhaps...?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I've got a good set of mates. But they've got wives... their own families..."

I nodded.

"And there's my oldest son David," he went on, brightening up a little. "He's been a star... you know... I couldn't have asked for more help from him... he's been great..."

I smiled sympathetically. His story reminded me a lot of what my own father had been through a few years earlier when my mother had, almost inexplicably, decided that there was no future for the two of them.

I said, "It makes a big difference, doesn't it?"

"There haven't been many good things to come out of this," he agreed, "but the way it's brought David and I together... well... I suppose I wouldn't trade that for anything."

I nodded.

I thought back to my own father's separation and the way that circumstances had similarly brought the two of us together. I knew that he, like Frank sitting in front of me, sang my praises about the way I'd helped him out whenever he had the opportunity. And I knew that I didn't - still don't - regret anything that happened between us.

I thought about telling Frank some of what my father had been through, how he'd managed to get himself back on his feet and now seemed far happier with his second wife than he had been with my mother. But in the end I just handed him the prescription I'd printed out and encouraged him to come back and see me if he had any further problems sleeping or indeed anything he wanted to talk to me about.

As he left the room I thought again of that week when I'd moved in with my dad in the rooms he'd rented to let my mum 'find her own space' as she'd put it. The way our relationship had altered so radically over those few days.

When I'd arrived at the address my dad had read out to me on the phone, I couldn't believe I'd come to the right place. It was a door halfway down a litter-strewn alleyway midway along a poky little North Finchley terrace.

Tentatively, I pressed the bell and then, being unconvinced that it had produced any sound on the interior, I knocked at the heavily graffitied windowless wooden door.

There was no response so I knocked a little harder.

And then, after another minute or so, a little harder still, bruising my knuckles against the hardwood of the door.

Eventually the door opened and my dad's bleary, unshaven face appeared in the crack.

He looked at me uncomprehendingly for a second and then his face brightened in recognition. "Sebastian! What the hell are you doing here! I told you I'd pick you up from the station!"

I smiled. "I know, dad. I just thought it'd be easier if I got a bus. And anyway, I wanted to surprise you."

He chuckled and opened the door to let me in.

As we climbed the cold, damp-smelling staircase up to the flat he was renting, he said, "I heard the noise but I thought it must be kids messing around."

I didn't say anything. I was pretty shocked at how bad this place was: paint was crumbling from the walls leaving large continent-shaped expanses of plaster bare; the carpet on the stairs was cheap and insubstantial and, where it wasn't worn away to threads, it was mottled with stains

When we got to the top landing, he showed me into his rooms, his face apologetic. "Don't expect much."

I shrugged. "After mum's bizarre behaviour over the last couple of months, I've given up expecting anything."

He smiled sadly. "It was all I could get at short notice. And I don't share a kitchen or bathroom, which was pretty much what sold it to me."

I walked in. The short hallway led into four rooms: a small, crowded kitchen with a microwave and a two-ring electric hob; a slightly bigger bathroom opposite it with a shower, a sink and a toilet; a medium sized room with a seventies sofa and a television in it; and an almost closed door which I assumed led into his bedroom.

I noticed one or two familiar items he'd brought with him from home, but it seemed like most of the stuff ^Ö dreary and jaded ^Ö had come with the flat.

I said, "I suppose it's only temporary."

"Yeah. I've got the estate agent on the look out for something else. Something with a bit more space and in a better area, but these things take time."

I turned to face him in the dimly-lit hallway. "Aren't you going back to mum once she's... you know... sorted things out for herself?"

He shook his head forlornly. "To be honest, I don't think so. My moving out seems to have made her even more determined to end things. I had a letter from her solicitor yesterday telling me that... well... we can talk about all this later, Seb..."

I nodded sadly. So it had come to this.

I dumped my rucksack down in his living room and he apologised about the discarded clothes, empty whiskey bottles and takeaway cartons that littered the floor.

I said, "Looks like you're gonna need some help tidying this place up."

He nodded. "Yeah... sorry... I'd been meaning to... you know, with you coming and stuff... but, to be honest, I try not to spend a lot of time here..."

"Yeah... I can imagine."

I noticed that the jeans he was wearing looked like they hadn't been washed in the weeks since he'd left mum. I'd also noticed a whiff of body odour from him when we'd been up close in the hallway. I felt sad to see him in this state; he'd always been quite fastidious about his appearance and his surroundings.

He made us some tea and we sat and chatted about how he'd been over the last couple weeks since he'd left mum.

Then, feeling a little claustrophobic inside the small flat, we went out to watch a movie in the evening and picked up a Chinese takeaway on the way back to his place.

As we ate it in his living room, helped with a couple of glasses of scotch, he asked me about my life up in Leeds. I'd recently moved there from Southampton to become a newly-qualified GP and was planning to find somewhere to live with my girlfriend, Melissa.

"Things are going well... yeah... the practice is pretty nice... I've made a few friends. Yeah, it's okay..."

He nodded. "And Melissa? Are things serious between the two of you?"

I smiled. "I don't know if she's... you know... 'the one', but we get on pretty well and it makes financial sense to move in together."

He smiled back, reaching for a prawn cracker from the bag on the small table between us. "And you're sure it wasn't a problem for you to take a week off?"

I shook my head. "Of course not, dad. I just wish I could have come down sooner... you know when things were starting to get... well... messed up."

He shrugged. "It wouldn't have helped. Your mother says she hasn't been happy for years. Since the three of you went off to University, actually."

I nodded, feeling a little guilty even though I knew it was totally irrational of me. Kids have to grow up and leave the nest at some point; there was no use in regretting that.

I changed the conversation back to more mundane matters: "Anyway, part of my time is compassionate leave. I said there were family problems..."

"I only wish I could get some time off too. I feel kind of bad... you know... you coming down here to be with me and me having to piss off to work every day."

"It doesn't matter... honestly. Like I told you, I've got loads of things I can be doing. There are a few friends I'd like to catch up on as well..."

"Well, the alarm's set for seven o'clock tomorrow morning. I'll try not to wake you up when I leave."

I asked if I could turn the archaic gas fire on. It was October and there was distinct chill in the air.

"Sorry, Seb," he said, "but it takes some kind of weird plastic keys to get it going and I haven't worked out how to buy them. Like I said, I'm not here much..."

"Looks like I'm gonna need a few extra blankets for tonight, then."

He shrugged, downing a mouthful of chicken chow mein with a large gulp from his drink. "To be honest, I assumed you'd be sleeping with me. It's a double bed."

I took a swig from my own drink. "It's okay. I brought my sleeping bag. I'll be fine on the couch."

He played with his food, trying to get some noodles onto his fork. "Well, whatever. But it gets pretty cold in here and your mum was... er... 'kind enough' to let me have the electric blanket."

I smiled. "I'll be fine. Honestly."

I wasn't particularly bothered by the idea of sleeping in the same bed as my dad ^Ö we'd done it occasionally over the years when necessity had called for it ^Ö but I was being hesitant because of the state of his clothes and the flat. I'm not exactly super-clean myself, but I really didn't like the thought of getting into his bed with him if, as it seemed, he hadn't managed to find his way to a laundrette in the weeks he'd been here.

So I slept on the sofa that first night. Or, at least, I tried to. The temperature seemed to plunge to sub-zero in the hours after midnight and the flimsy blanket my dad had managed to find for me to supplement my sleeping bag was little help. The couch, too, was extremely uncomfortable: the arms were oddly shaped and didn't allow me to stretch out at all, and the springs felt like they'd given up trying to offer any kind of support about twenty years ago.

But I managed to doze on and off throughout the night and woke up properly at about half past six when I heard muffled rhythmic sounds of coming from dad's room.

It gradually dawned on me that I was hearing him discretely masturbating.

I lay listening to him in the semi-darkness of the cold, stark living room, staring up at the swirls in the plaster on the ceiling. Over the next five minutes or so, the gentle beating sounds steadily increased in speed and volume; it seemed that, as his pleasure gradually strenthened, dad was becoming less and less concerned about concealing what he was doing from me.

I wondered if he was fingering his backside as I like to when I wank. I wondered if he was concentrating on stimulating the head of his cock or was instead jerking his foreskin from the shaft.

I realised I'd become hard myself.

I quietly joined in, making a tent in my sleeping bag above my crotch with my left hand and pulling my cock out from my underwear with my right to gently tug it inside the space I'd made.

It felt good to be enjoying a few moments of solitary pleasure while dad was enjoying his.

I'd known for many years that my dad masturbated from time to time, just like most adult guys do. When I lived at home, mum had sometimes joked that he had a high sex drive and I'd had occasionally heard tell-tale thumping sounds from their bedroom when mum had gone away for a few nights. My older brother Gareth had once even claimed that he'd walked in on dad in the middle of a hand-induced orgasm in the shower, but I'd never been completely convinced that it had really happened.

I knew, too, that dad was aware that my own fist enjoyed pretty regular contact with my cock. He'd walked in on me in mid-wank on many embarrassing occasions: mostly in my bedroom, but also when I was in the shower and once, to my perpetual mortification, while I was sitting on the toilet.

So it was nice to feel that we were, in a way, enjoying the activity together. I suppose that's why, after a few minutes of stimulating myself in silence, I decided to let dad know that I was following his paternal lead and lowered the tent I'd made so that my fist beat more noisily against the material of my sleeping bag.

He stopped almost immediately and was obviously listening to me, surprised.

I kept up my rhythm, letting him know that I'd awoken from the noises he was making and had been aroused enough, as I usually am first thing, to want to have a little fun of my own. And that I wasn't freaked out either about hearing him masturbate or allowing him to hear me.

After half a minute or so, dad's rhythm started up again and we were soon jerking ourselves to the same rapid and unashamed beat.

I almost knew he was smiling; I certainly was.

His alarm went off for seven o'clock and he stopped momentarily to switch it off. My own hand kept pumping regardless, now thudding against the thick material of the sleeping bag like a drum beat.

Dad soon rejoined me and we masturbated furiously, both aware that we were hurtling towards our separate climaxes as though on the home straight of a race.

Dad came first. The beating noises stopped abruptly ^Ö I assume he pulled the sheets back from his cock to stop them getting messed up ^Ö and were followed by barely-discernable slapping noises of his hand against his cock. Then he grunted as his cock spewed it's load.

I was about twenty seconds behind him and managed to catch all but a couple of splashes of my semen inside one of my discarded socks.

I heard dad get up and head into the bathroom. I made him coffee while he was showering, and wiped one of the stray strings of semen from my teeshirt. I felt cold standing around in my underwear and wished I'd brought more clothes with me.

When dad emerged from the shower, drying himself, he grinned at me and said, "Seems to have been a good morning so far, eh, Sebastian?"

I smiled. "You started it."

He shrugged. "When nature calls..."

I was pleased to find him so casual about the fact we'd implicitly agreed to masturbate together.

On the occasion when he'd walked in on me in the toilet, my school trousers around my ankles and my fist a blur on my cock, he hadn't been able to look at me for several days. I suppose I'd been fifteen back then and so he'd had plenty of time to accustom himself to the idea that his youngest son enjoyed playing with himself.

We chatted, sipping our coffees, as he wandered from the bathroom to the bedroom, drying himself. When I followed him into his bedroom, I saw that I'd been right to avoid sleeping in his bed: the sheets clearly hadn't been washed in weeks.

As he was drying his hair, naked, I noticed that he'd lost some of his weight and had bulked up on muscle since I'd last seen him in this state.

I asked, "Have you been going to the gym or something?"

He nodded, throwing down his towel and reaching for a can of deodorant. "I have to do something to pass the time..."

I smiled. "Well, it's done you good."

He smiled back, looking down at his body which, for a guy in his forties, was quite attractive. "Pity no-one wants it..."

"Someone will. If not mum, then someone else."

I was going to make a joke about the fact his cock, which hung between his legs looking much larger than mine, would be likely to attract someone regardless of how good the rest of him looked, but I wasn't sure how he'd react. Gareth and I had often made jokes about his cock in the past and he'd never known how to take them.

After spraying himself with deodorant, he fumbled around the floor for discarded briefs and socks that were wearable, muttering apologetically, "Looks like I've run out of laundry, Seb..."

I shrugged, trying to look indifferent. "Yeah... I know how it gets sometimes."

He pulled on a pair of white briefs that had clearly been worn several times before judging by the stain where the tip of his cock must normally be, and he blushed a little at how obviously dirty they were.

He said, trying awkwardly to be light-hearted, "I remember telling you and Gareth off about doing this sort of thing when you were in your teens. And now I'm just as bad as you guys were."

I realised I ought not to have been watching him like this in his state of embarrassment. But dad and I had never been uncomfortable about nudity so it hadn't occurred to me until then that I should have given him a bit of space. I said I'd go and put some toast on and hurried back into the kitchen.

When dad emerged from his room fully dressed, I noticed how unkempt his suit looked and how creased his shirt was. In addition, the smell of body odour was subtle but obvious. The company he worked for must have realised he was finding it difficult to cope on his own and be making allowances for his current circumstances, but their patience wouldn't last indefinitely.

He said, smiling and reaching for a slice of toast which I'd buttered for him, "What are you going to do today, then?"

I shrugged. "I'll find something to keep me busy, I dare say."

When dad had gone off to work, I spent most of that first day gathering together his laundry and carrying it in black bin-bags to the laundrette I'd noticed next door to the Chinese takeaway the previous evening.

I stripped his bed first, feeling slightly disappointed in his tastes when I found a tattered copy of a cheap girlie magazine pushed between the mattress and the headboard, and then got to work picking up his underwear that littered his bedroom floor.

I was amazed at how filthy it was: even if dad couldn't find the time to get to a laundrette, surely he could have asked one of his friends if they'd mind letting him use their washing machine until he'd got something more permanent sorted out. He'd let his briefs get worse than I'd ever let mine get, even during my shoddiest days at university, and I was surprised at how many of them had obviously been used to wipe up semen. Of the dozen or so pairs I found, I happened to notice that eight or nine of them were caked hard with dried white patches. Some of his teeshirts, vests and socks were similarly encrusted.

Again, I felt a little sad to find all this. I wasn't bothered by the quantity of it ^Ö if dad's sex drive was anything like my own then I could understand why he'd need to regularly relieve himself ^Ö but I was upset that he cared so little about the place he was living in, and perhaps his life generally, to be so unconcerned about maintaining his former standards.

I bundled together his shirts and carried those down to the laundrette and then took some of his suits to the dry cleaners.

By six o'clock, when dad got back to the flat, most of his clothes had been cleaned and I'd remade his bed. I'd even managed to iron a couple of his shirts using an old iron, perhaps part of the flat's furnishings or otherwise left behind by a former occupant, I found in the cupboard beneath the sink.

He was awe-struck. "You shouldn't have! I can't believe you did that..."

I shrugged, smiling. "It's okay... it didn't take too long." It had taken all day, but I wanted to make it sound like it was the sort of thing that he could do quite easily for himself when I'd returned to Leeds.

"How did you wash them?"

"There's a laundrette near the takeaway. If you take a bag of washing in before work, they can have it ready for you when you get back in."

He looked genuinely surprised. "Yeah? It's that easy?"

I chuckled. "How d'you think I did my washing when I was a student?"

"I dunno. Your mother always made it seem so involved... so complicated. I suppose I was just putting off doing something about it because it seemed like it was going to be such a big job."

We walked through to the bedroom, dad pulling off his tie. When he saw the bed, he looked at me a little reprovingly. "You really shouldn't have done that. It's too much to ask of you..."

I laughed. "Come on, dad. I'm your son. Who else is gonna help you out if I can't?"

His disapproval melted into a smile. Then the smile became tinged with pain as he perhaps realised how unused to hearing caring words he'd become over the past few weeks.

He slapped my shoulder and said, "You're not just my son, Sebastian. What you've done today... well, you're a mate too."

And then I left him to change his clothes while I poured us both a scotch.

We went out to the pub that night and talked about my sister Adrianne and her first child, and how Gareth was doing in his new job in Birmingham.

When we got back in after eleven, and while we were both undressing, I decided, since dad's bed was now in a much better state than it had been on the previous night, to forego another night in the frozen living room on that hideous couch.

Dad grinned at me when I suggested it. "I knew you wouldn't last another night on that bloody thing!" The change in the state of his bed didn't seem to occur to him; I suppose he just figured we were close enough, as family, for me to be unconcerned about such things.

As is traditional when two guys who are friends or relatives sleep together, we stripped to our underwear and got into bed like that. I knew I sounded a little like mum, but I told him to put his dirty clothes into a pile so that I could sort them out in the morning.

He smiled at me. "Yes, dear..."

I added, grinning to let him know that I was aware of how maternal I sounded, "And leave your suit ^Ö I'll get it dry-cleaned. There's loads of others in the wardrobe for you to wear tomorrow."

He got into bed next to me, still smiling but leaning over to ruffle my hair like he used to when I was a kid. "Thanks, Seb. I was really going to pieces. This is so good of you."

I smiled. "Like I said, that's what I'm here for."

He said, "I don't want you to feel like I'm using you to do all my cleaning and stuff..."

"Come on, dad. I'm just getting you back on your feet... you know... helping you pick up the pieces."

He nodded slowly. "Well, you're a credit it to me, Sebastian. And to your mum. Probably more to her, because I can't see me doing this for my father if he'd ever been in this state..."

Dad had never got on with his own father. He'd once told me that he'd even seriously considered changing his name from Wallace to my mother's maiden name, Godtfredsen, to sever all ties with a man he so despised.

He switched off the light and we turned to face away from each other, another tradition when men are forced to share a bed, to get some sleep.

And I slept quite deeply, enjoying the relative luxury of lying on a mattress and having the space to stretch out after the rigours of the sofa on the previous evening.

Until about four o'clock, when I was awoken by dad behind me wrapping one arm firmly around my chest and grinding his crotch into my right buttock.

I grunted, still half asleep, "Dad... come on..."

But he just snored tersely and kept pressing himself into my bum. His cock was erect: that much was obvious. If you have a cock the size of dad's, erections can never be anything other than obvious.

I thought, "Oh my god, he's dreaming that I'm mum."

As if in response, he moaned and his cock slipped into the cleft between my buttocks.

He started gently rubbing his cock up and down the groove it had found itself in, moaning quietly as he did so. His hand groped down my chest and stomach, no doubt wanting to find a pussy that wasn't there. When it settled upon my cock and balls, still limp inside my briefs, his disappointment showed itself as a brief guttural growl in the back of his throat.

I wasn't sure what I should do. Should I wake him and compound the humiliation he'd felt in having to leave mum by telling him that he'd been nocturnally relieving himself against his youngest son? Or should I let him continue, in the hope that he'd drift into deeper sleep and his grip on my chest and his thrusts against me would subside?

Well, you can probably guess what I opted to do.

Unfortunately, his thrusts showed no sign of abating and soon the bed was creaking to the rhythm of his cock sliding up and down my arsecrack.

I tried to pull myself away, but dad's grip was so strong that to try and detach him from me risked waking him up. And every time I tried to roll away from him, he pressed himself closer to my back and his cock prodded more urgently against my buttocks.

Soon he was on top of me, pinning me down with his chest against my back, grunting as he rapidly fucked my arsecrack through our underwear.

Then, with an exclamatory snort, he woke himself up.

His thrusts ceased and he just hugged me, pressing his large erection against my arse.

He said, "Sebastian?"

Without pausing to think of how much easier it would be if I were to feign sleep, I replied, "Yeah?"

Motionless, he said, "I'm really sorry... I am so sorry..."

I forced a laugh into the pillow beneath my face. "Hey... don't worry about it..."

He pulled his hips away from me, removing his cock from it's insistent position against my backside. "You should have woke me up."

I shrugged. "I thought you'd be embarrassed. I hoped you were just having a dream that would pass..."

He unwrapped his arms from around my chest. "How are you ever going to be able to forgive me for this?"

I made that forced laugh again, feeling a little pain in my back from the way he was disengaging himself from me. "It's really no big deal. I've done it myself while I was sharing a bed with a guy. It's embarrassing, but... you know... it's nothing, really."

He pulled away from me, returned to his own side of the bed and, as I sat up on my side, he switched on the light. We squinted and hid our eyes from the glare.

He said, looking tired and away from me, "I was just dreaming... I dunno... I suppose it's like wanking, isn't it... just fantasising..."

I'd never heard him refer to masturbation as 'wanking' before. Come to think of it, I don't think I'd ever heard him refer to masturbation at all.

I concealed my surprise and nodded. "Exactly. I wasn't that bothered..."

He looked at me. "If you want me to sleep on the couch, it'd be only fair."

I laughed, more genuinely this time. "Of course I don't! Don't be daft, dad."

He looked upset.

I went on, smiling, "You were thinking of something... well... 'nice'... and you grabbed the nearest thing to you and rubbed yourself against it. Where's the harm?"

He nodded slowly. "You're really not bothered?"

I slapped his shoulder. "Come on, dad. Even if you'd have... you know... cum on me..." I felt a little embarrassed to say that word to him but I acted like I wasn't. "Well, I wouldn't have been bothered. It would have been no worse than what we did this morning."

He stared at me. "No?"

I smiled. "No! You'd have been wanking, that's all. But using me to help you. And it's not exactly too much to ask of me, is it? Jesus Christ, dad, after what you've been through, I don't mind doing anything to help you out..."

He smiled cautiously and nodded. "You're a good lad, Seb. I know I keep saying it, but you are."

I shrugged. "If using my body like that helps you out... I mean, helps you to cope... well, you know I'd let you..."

He smiled more warmly. "Okay. Thanks. I really appreciate it." He reached back over to the bedside table and I assumed he was going to switch off the light so we could go back to sleep.

Instead, he reached into the drawer and pulled out a tube of lubricant. Without hesitating, he pushed the covers down to expose his briefs and pulled out his still semi-erect cock. It looked larger than I'd ever seen it and the stem of it was coursed with veins. He squirted a gob of the lube onto his fingers and smeared it around it's half-exposed dry-looking head.

He looked up at me, with an expression of mild discomfort, "It gets a bit dry these days... I'm probably playing with it too much or something."

I tried to smile casually but I probably looked a little stunned.

Without seeming to notice, he said, "It's probably best if you turn over again. I don't think I'd be happy face-to-face but... well... it's gonna feel a bit weird whichever way, but I think it'd be easier on us both if you're facing the bed."

I nodded like I understood.

He pulled off his briefs and threw them to the floor, then he got up and knelt on the mattress. His cock stood half-erect, rising upwards from his large hairy balls, and it's broad purple helmet looked wet with the lubricant he'd smeared onto it.

He said, "Probably best to pull your own underwear off, Sebastian..." He chuckled uncomfortably.

I had begun to realise that he'd taken my assent to having him hug me in his sleep as meaning that I'd be happy to have him... well... what?

I asked him, "What are you going to do?"

He grabbed his cock and squeezed its shaft between his fingers and thumb. His bell-end swelled and hardened. "The same as I was doing a minute ago. I just think your underwear might be a bit painful for me... I don't want any friction burns, you know!"

I said, perhaps a little incredulously, "You want to hump my bum?"

His stared at me uncertainly and then his face flushed. "I'm sorry, Seb, did I get the wrong end of the stick?" He looked mortified. "I thought you said you wouldn't mind if I ^Ö "

I quickly interjected, "I don't mind, dad, honestly." I smiled like it was no big deal, aware of how devastated he'd be if he realised that he'd misunderstood me. "I just wasn't sure how you wanted me."

I pulled my briefs off and tossed them onto the floor next to the bed. My cock was small and thin and almost hidden away in my pubic bush; it was a pathetic imitation of dad's distended organ.

He said, "If you don't want to, it doesn't matter..."

I smiled again, turning over onto my stomach to show him my arse. "Of course I want to! Anything to help you out right now..."

"You said it'd be just like wanking. You said that..."

I nodded, looking up at him over my shoulder. "And it is. It's really no big deal."

I noticed dad had a few wispy hairs between his pecs just like I have. With his hair being darker than mine, his was more obvious.

He looked at my backside, possibly admiring it because most people say it's my best feature, and said, "If you want me to stop, just say. I mean, if it feels weird..."

I nodded, turning back to look at the pillow as he climbed on top of me. "I'll be fine."

His hands felt cold as he wrapped his arms around me, and his cock felt hot as it slapped against my buttocks. He pressed his chest into my back and whispered in my ear, "Thanks so much for this. You don't know how it's been... these last few weeks..."

He had clearly been used to enjoying fairly frequent relations with my mum, even right up until the very end.

He started sliding his cock up and down my arsecrack as he had been doing in his sleep. He went on, his breath hot against my ear, "Women just don't want to know..."

I said, "They will... once you're back on your feet."

His breath began to quicken. "This feels good."

His hips began to work more quickly against my buttocks, making quiet slapping noises. His cock felt like it was growing much harder as it rubbed against me and I could feel his balls walloping against the tops of my thighs.

The bed was starting to creak again.

He muttered, his breathing now quite fast, "Thanks... thanks for this..."

I smiled into the pillow. "You're welcome to it, dad..."

I pushed my hips up from the bed and got on all fours with dad pausing for breath behind me. I said, "It might feel better like this. You can press your cock into my arsecrack."

We must have both been aware that we were getting ourselves into a blatantly homosexual position, a father simulating buttfucking with his son, but we both chose to ignore the implications of that.

He fumbled with his cock, pressing the shaft into my cleft so that it was gripped between my cheeks. Working up and down and feeling how my arsecrack was effectively acting like his hand, pulling his foreskin back and forth, he muttered, "Yeah... I see what you mean..."

He grabbed my hips and started thrusting himself up and down inside my cleft. My buttocks squeezed the shaft of it as firmly as I could and I could hear his foreskin making soft clicking noises as it slid back and forth across his large bell-end.

He started grunting, his rhythm increasing rapidly and the headboard of his bed starting to thump against the wall.

I wasn't sure why, but I was beginning to enjoy what we were doing. Not necessarily the feel of his cock working itself inside my arsecrack, but the sensation of allowing myself to be used by my own father like that. My cock was beginning to respond and, while nowhere near to being hard, it was a lot larger than it had been when I'd pulled off my underwear just a few minutes earlier.

He pulled his cock out of my arsecrack and stabbed it between my thighs. It thrust through my legs, impatiently shoving my balls out of the way, and was long enough to arch upwards against my own cock, making it look a mere child alongside its hefty parent.

His bell-end was as large as a good-sized plum and it gleamed like a polished red stone. The slit of it was puckered outwards and a dribble of precum oozed from its opening.

He said, urgently, "Close your legs. Give me something to work against..."

I did as he said and he began fucking my thighs. His cock jabbed in and out between my legs, stabbing against my own cock until its movements against me had made mine fully aroused. Now it looked as if I had two cocks: a thicker stubbier one poking in and out through my thighs; and a thinner but longer-looking one which stood above it.

He grabbed me tightly to him, pressing himself against my back again, as he fucked my thighs as fast as he could. He was panting like a dog against my neck.

He groped at my chest, as though searching for a pair of tits, and, on finding none, contented himself with holding me around the shoulders.

I realised he was whispering a name through his rapid, uncontrolled breathing. "Gillian... Gillian..." My mother's name.

Abruptly, his cum splashed up against my stomach, soaking my skin and the bed beneath me.

I couldn't help but think, as I watched his cock spew its white gushers as it jabbed through my legs, "Jesus ^Ö I came from that stuff! Twenty seven years ago, part of me came out of that cock!"

He kept fucking me through my legs for nearly a minute after he'd first started cumming. His pace slowed and his breathing recovered, but semen still oozed from his slit with regular, though lessening, spurts.

Eventually he stopped and pulled back from me.

I turned around, being careful not to get even more of his cum from the bed onto me, and grinned at him. "It looks like you needed that!"

He looked shattered; both physically and emotionally. He muttered, "I can't believe I just did that to you... what the hell was I thinking of?"

I reached for my discarded teeshirt and started wiping up some of the mess from my stomach and from the bed. I said, "You did nothing wrong, dad. I told you that before we started."

"I know, but... it was wrong to use you like that."

He looked over at me and saw, for the first time, that my cock was fully erect. I made no attempt to hide it from him; to have done so would have seemed a little ridiculous after what we'd just done.

I looked down at my cock and then back at him, grinning. "Did you think it was unpleasant for me?"

He looked surprised. "You enjoyed it?"

I shrugged. "Come on, dad. It's not as if you're hideously repulsive or anything. And the feel of you enjoying yourself... well, it's like when you hear another guy having sex and you end up getting off on it... maybe I'm not explaining it to well..."

"I know what you mean. A bit like this morning, actually..."

I smiled. "Exactly. Well, it was pretty natural that I'd get aroused."

He smiled back at me, his expression warm and intense. "After so long of having your mum tell me... well... all the stuff she said, I'd kind of assumed that I wasn't exactly an attractive commodity these days."

I finished mopping up what I could of the mess. "I told you this morning that you're looking good. I meant that."

"I know, but ^Ö "

"And if you've got such a good technique that you can actually get your straight son's pecker up," I cut in, "I don't see you've anything serious to worry about!"

He chuckled. "Thanks, Seb. I think my self-esteem has been at an all-time low these past few weeks. It's good to hear something nice about myself."

I fished a clean pair of briefs out of my rucksack and pulled them on, managing to get my erection into them.

He said, looking at the large ridge my cock was making inside my underwear, "And what are you going to do about that?"

I grinned salaciously. "Are you offering?"

He shook his head looking a little shocked. "No. I can't. I'm sorry ^Ö I'd never be able to let you do anything like that to me..."

"Hey, steady on, dad. I was just joking, you know. Of course I don't want to do anything like that."

"I mean, maybe if you'd have been married a few years and then something had happened and ^Ö"

"Dad! It was a joke!"

He nodded. "Okay. It's just... well... I really needed what we did tonight and I don't want you to make it sound cheap or smutty."

"Okay, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it."

He nodded and threw me a conciliatory smile. "Well, I was just asking if you were going to go and... you know... sort it out in the bathroom or something? I really need to get some sleep."

"No... I think I'll turn in as well."

My cock had pretty much lost its stiffness by then, anyway.

Dad pulled on a clean pair of underwear, clearly enjoying the feel of a freshly washed pair after so many weeks of recycling his used ones, and we both got back into bed.

We turned away from each other, like guys do, and he switched off the light.

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Part 2 follows

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sebastian_wallace@yahoo.co.uk http://stories.remoworld.com

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