The following story contains descriptions of explicit sexual acts involving two consenting adults, and the fantasies of one consenting youth. While all of my stories are autobiographical, some characters are an aggregation of two or more people from these real-life episodes. If this type of content offends you or you are not of legal age in your jurisdiction to read it, scram.
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Write me: branson.anaheim@gmail.com | X: @bransonanaheim
Copyright 2024 Sept, all rights reserved.
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For a budding young man exploring his sexuality, even the slightest suggestion of a dick might send him into a tailspin. Hell, on most days, catching a faint breeze the wrong way had me pitching a tent. The sudden rush of blood into my chubby shaft could send me fleeing for cover in public, at worst. At best, it was a signal from the universe for some self care. But, how exactly should a guy feel when he goes stiff at the sight of his own dad?
With the first faint whisper of autumn air came my annual tradition of skygazing each night, a sort of back-to-school ritual I started in my elementary days. It didn't matter that I was in high school now, and my interest in tracing the constellations had waned. There was something magical about getting out on the trampoline, and peering into the velvet blackness above.
After homework was put away and whatever chores my mom saddled me with were done, I'd rush out the backdoor into our expansive backyard, flipping the porch light off before running to the trampoline, each step awash in moonlight.
In those days, my dad Pablo would get home from his construction job at "dark thirty," expecting a hot shower, followed by a home-cooked meal.
I remember seeing him walking through the house that night, the parted blinds giving way to the scene inside: my dad went and kissed my mom on the cheek, stopping to greet my younger siblings in the living room before pushing his way into my parents' bedroom.
We'd been through this chain of events many times before during my skygazing, but for some reason on this night, I noticed more light than normal as my dad flipped on the bedroom light and shut the door. The blinds had been left open. I watched him pull his t-shirt off, and the gentle struggle as he got caught up in his undershirt. The rich black tuft of hair under his arms caught my attention first, then the way his gold rosary necklace slid down his muscular chest. A man in his mid-thirties, my dad had a fairly nice body in spite of a little belly pooch, shaped by the physically demanding work (and the food trucks) of the construction yard. A moderate field of chest hair gave way to a thicker matte of black hair on his stomach, which pushed down into his tighty whities. I watched as my dad dropped his jeans and then lifted his right leg, wrestling with his Timberlands before disappearing behind the bathroom wall.
This momentary glimpse of my dad probably would have passed until the silence was shattered by a sound. Laying quietly on the trampoline, I glanced up to see my dad opening the window next to the toilet, just before he sat down on the pot.
Great,' I thought to myself, I get to hear my old man taking a shit.'
Before long, I could smell the faint but unmistakable smell of a joint carried in the light breeze. I took a deep whiff, its scent familiar from so many family barbecues with my rambunctious tios and tias partying it up, regardless of my mom's pleas for them to take it somewhere else. I traced the edges of the cirrocumulus clouds above, the ghostly white light of the moon struggling to peek through. And then, I heard my dad speaking in a hushed tone.
Confused, I sat up.
`Who the fuck is he speaking to?' I thought, as I sat upright. I peered through the towering bushes around our gazebo, and saw my mom busying herself with my dad's dinner in the kitchen. My siblings were laid out in the living room, watching TV. His voice carried across the backyard, not clear enough to make out words, but loud enough to detect.
I scooted off the trampoline and sprung across the dirt, an expanse of solid earth where our doberman Bonita had trampled the grass to death. I quietly pushed myself around the corner, coming within earshot of the window.
"I'm sorry I had to leave so soon, baby. I promise I'll stay longer next time," my dad said into his cell phone. I could hear a female voice responding.
"Mmm, that sounds good, baby. What are you wearing?"
I tried to gulp, but the cottonmouth that had taken over was almost too much to bear. My dad had a mistress. My dad was having an affair. For a moment, I was angry and confused. Were all those "dark thirties" just an excuse? All the times he broke a promise because he had "work stuff to do?" As if I was compelled by another force, I realized I had pushed myself forward, inching closer to the window where my dad continued to talk. I could hear the sound of a running shower masking his conversation from the world. My mom would be faithfully cooking dinner, my brothers and sisters preoccupied with primetime shows. The only thing my pops didn't count on was me being in the backyard.
"I promise this weekend, I will eat that pussy `til you squirt," he continued.
The sensuality in his voice made my dick jump again. I was conflicted but emboldened by the testosterone surging through my bloodstream. I craned my neck forward, leaning into the red brick of my family's one-story house. The smell of his blunt wafted in my face as the smoke escaped the window. I pressed up on my toes until the windowsill gave way to a full view of his furry torso, and then a copper brown hand wrapped around the base of his veiny manhood.
Unlike the jungle of hair that flowed from his stomach downward, his bush was respectably trimmed, framing the girthy base of his uncut shaft. I watched as he rhythmically tugged his foreskin down, exposing his fat head. The cap glistened under the light above, beads of heavy precum rolling down his fingers. He kept his eyes down as he massaged his penis, occasionally stopping to roll his hairy balls between his fingers. I thrust my hand inside my shorts and gave my dick a few strokes. I could feel the wet spot growing ever larger in my boxers. As he continued talking to that bitch, my dad thrust his pelvis forward like he was proud, giving me an intimate view of the big vein on top. He pushed his cock vigorously through his hand, retracting more of his foreskin with each pull, his bulbous head exposed. Sweat formed across his chest as his breath was quickening.
I swallowed hard again, this time so loud I thought he might have heard. I recoiled away from the window, scared I'd be discovered at any second. As I slinked away, I caught a glimpse of my treehouse just feet away, its 2x4 wooden steps browned by time. The treehouse was a project pops and I had worked on in the third grade when we first moved into the house. I can remember watching my dad's muscles flexing in the summer sun, his strong hands lifting the wood above his head. Now, suddenly, I was hoping to use the tree fort to watch dad grapple with some wood once more.
While I hadn't been up on the treehouse's sheathing panel floors since maybe the sixth grade, my younger brothers had climbed its structure for years. Its history suggested it might be durable enough to hold a high school boy. Only one way to find out. I grabbed one of the highest wooden ladder steps and hoisted myself up. That climb used to feel like scaling a mountain. Now, I was clearing it in two moves, squeezing through the fort's narrow doorway within seconds. The wood beneath my knees shifted slightly as the fall breeze rustled the branches above, but it still felt as solid as day one.
I adjusted my angle and peered down into dad's bathroom window, where I could see him still going at it. From this perch, I glanced straight into the kitchen, and saw my mom tidying up. I could still hear the faint sound of my dad's voice, but it was the visual of that beefy pito that I was after, and from up here, I felt safe to gawk. I slid my shorts down beneath my ass cheeks and laid out, spitting in my hand a bit. I slicked my dick while the cool autumn air enveloped my bare skin, and I felt the freedom to breathe again in the shadows.
I was laser focused on the steady strokes of my dad's hand, the way each pull sent precum cascading down his veiny piece. I watched as he put both hands flush against the sides of his cock, pushing his thick scrotum down. He thrust his pelvis forward again and beat his dick even harder. My breath quickened as I tried to keep up with my dad. The sound of my greased up dick grew louder, but I felt emboldened to cum along with him. In spite of my confusion and my anger, there was something really hot about seeing my dad play with the dick I came out of. I swallowed hard, imagining what it might be like to taste my father. Would he hold back when it was time, or would he flood my throat with his milky load? Would he be gentle, or would he be selfish about his nut and push my nose into his dense bush, making my eyes water as I gagged? These thoughts conjured up so many visuals in my head that I couldn't hold back any longer. I closed my eyes and pulled up my shirt, my head pulsing several thick shots of cum onto my belly. I caught my breath, and swiveled my eyes down again in time to see my dad stand up. His thick, hairy ass came into view, and when he turned, I saw him wiping his head with tissue paper, grasping just beneath his head, milking the last of his nut from his shaft. The window slammed shut, and I heard the toilet flush. The light went dark, leaving me in the stillness of the night, my mind racing, splashes of cum still on my chest.
I can't believe I fucking missed it,' I thought. Did my dad see me? Does he know?'