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HELPING DAD

I always wished I could've done more for him. It was rough on him, being a single parent. I'm not sure why Mom left, but I honestly don't care; I barely remember her, and what I do remember wasn't pleasant. Dad, though, has always been my rock. The one person I could count on, and I loved him with all of my heart.

Before Mom left, I had terrible nightmares. I was usually chases by some shadowy figure that never came into focus. The screaming and noise was nerve wracking, and I'd wake up covered in sweat, crying, and sometimes, I would wet the bed from stress. Years later, a therapist suggested that I might have heard my parents fighting in my sleep. It made sense at the time, and gave an explanation to why my parents separated.

During the nightmares, Dad would come in and take care of me, while Mom would be out of sight, storming around in their room. He was never mad at me and did his best to calm me down and reassure me that everything was okay and that I wasn't in trouble. If needed, he'd give me a warm bath, change my bedding and curl up next to me till I fell back to sleep. For my part, I'd bury my face in his massive, hairy chest and breathe him in till all that was left were feelings of safety and love.

After Mom left, the nightmares continued for a while. However, Dad had me move into his room. I was scared that I might wet his bed, but he wouldn't hear any arguments against it. Despite my trepidation, he was right, and I never soiled his mattress. The few times I woke up screaming and crying, he'd pull me back into his arms and lull me to sleep. It became our routine, and I couldn't have been happier.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. Dad was a logger and had an accident. A large tree fell and crushed his legs. Fortunately, the doctors didn't have to amputate, but he was left largely disabled and had problems walking. I was 10-years-old at the time, and I took it upon myself to take care of him, as he had taken care of me.

Something in Dad changed the day of the accident. His mood shifted, and he seemed less happy. Again, I found out later, through therapy, that he likely suffered from depression, which is common for people in his situation; however, being 10, I had no clue what depression was, and I assumed that I was the cause of it.

I became hyper-focused on being the best son I could be. I made sure to always have my homework done, the house cleaned and never did anything that could upset him. Most of the time it worked, but the times it didn't broke my heart, which only pushed me further and harder to be a better son.

Dad started drinking around the time I turned 11. He had completed physical therapy and was taken off of his pain medicine, but he often complained about his legs hurting all the time. The government had him on partial disability, since he could walk, though he had to use a cane do so. He managed to get a part time job driving a fork lift at a warehouse, and that lessened some of his depression. He became a functional drunk, only drinking after work and his days off, but he'd drink until he passed out only to wake up and start all over again. His only exception was to dry out on Sunday nights, so he wouldn't have a hang over the next day while working.

After years of sleeping next to Dad, I found his drinking a huge disruption to my life. A lot of the time, I'd find him passed out in his recliner, snoring loudly. He had gained some weight after the accident and the beer wasn't helping. Dad had always been a large man, but his muscles from logging started to turn into chub with all the sitting and carbs that entered his life. I couldn't blame him, since anything to do with his legs caused him a lot of pain, so exercise was mostly out of the picture.

On one particular night, I woke up in our bed and just couldn't sleep. It was a Friday night, and Dad had gone to the bar with some of his co-workers. He promised to come home after and spend some time with me, but he was nowhere to be seen. As I laid there, I wondered what life would've been like had the accident not happened. Would be still have been close? Would he still have been the rock I leaned on when I needed him? Would I have been under so much stress to please him?

As I laid there, wracking my brain on what might have been, I heard the front door open and voices, mostly laughter. I got out of bed, wearing only my briefs, and looked out towards the living room. Two of Dad's co-workers from the warehouse were carrying him into the house and set Dad in his chair. Dad was clearly drunk, and likely drunker than I had ever seen him up to that point. All three men were talking in loud whispers, as if trying not to wake me but unaware of just how loud they were being. I remember Dad asking one of the guys to get him a beer from the fridge before they left, which one of them did. Dad cracked the can open just as the two men left. It didn't take much longer for Dad to take a few sips of beer and then pass out.

I crept into the living room, unsure of how Dad might react. He was never a violent drunk, which I'm grateful for, but when very drunk, Dad was either super chatty or would just stare at me not saying a word. The staring was scary. It was like he was seeing right through me but also not seeing me at all. It was an odd mixture of staring off in the distance, lost in thought, but also concentrating with an intense focus of someone trying to dismantle a bomb without exploding it.

Fortunately, Dad didn't wake up as I walked up to him. The stench of beer filled my nose and kind of burned. I sighed heavily as I saw that Dad's can of beer had fallen out of his hands and into his lap, most of the contents were already poured all over my dad's pants and shirt. I took the can and dumped out what was left. I then went to the bathroom and got a couple of towels and began to dry him off the best I could.

I knew there was no point trying to wake him up. I had tried and failed every time till that point, hoping he'd come to bed with me, so I decided to do what he would've done for me in that situation.

I started by untying and removing his boots and socks. My dad was a clean and hygienic man, but his feet still had an odor from being his his work boots all day and well into the night. It wasn't a foul smell, though, which I was pleased with. But, that was the easy part.

Again, Dad was a large, beefy man, and I was the complete opposite. I was thin and had very little muscle mass to speak of. Luck was still on my side, though, and I was able to pull his t-shirt over his head from the back. It was a huge struggle for me, but I managed to do it without waking him or tearing his shirt.

This left his beer soaked jeans. For anyone who has ever worn wet, denim pants, you know just how hard it is to pull them off while you're sober. Now, imaging a small, scrawny kid trying to pull them off of a large, adult man who is nothing but dead weight! Yeah, that's what I was facing at that moment.

My hands shook as I unbuckled and then, unbuttoned his jeans. I was scared he'd wake up and freak out on me for what I was doing. I knew I could explain everything, but I wasn't sure if his drunken state would allow him to think rationally; however, I had to take care of Dad out of compulsion and need for his approval, regardless of the consequences.

I laid the recliner back, since I knew there was no way I could pull his pants off while he was in a sitting position. Once he was on his back, I tried tugging his jeans down from his waist, making sure to leave his boxers on, but it was no use. He was too heavy and I was too weak. I decided to go down to his feet and pull at the legs, which worked but was also very difficult and exhausting. I felt like I was pulling a car with just a rope. I had to take several breaks to catch my breath.

After about 15 minutes, though, I managed to get his pants passed his butt and pulled with all my might, sending me flying backwards, crashing to the floor. As I stood, a little bruised but victorious, my heart leapt. In my efforts to pull off Dad's pants, I accidentally pulled his boxers off of him, as well.

I lost my breath looking at his nakedness. In all the years he had lived and slept together, I had never seen him naked. It was just never something that occurred. I know some of you would be shocked, but my father was just one of those men who kept himself clothed or covered whenever I was around. He wasn't conservative by any stretch of the imagination, but it wasn't something he just let happen, nor did I ever seek it out.

I knew that I couldn't pull his boxers back up. I lost a lot of energy trying to pull his pants off, and I'd need his help lifting his body to get his boxers under and over his thick, hairy butt.

“Dad,” I said quietly. “Dad, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do this. Wake up, please! I need to get your underwear back on you.”

Of course, I wasn't talking loud enough to wake him. I know that now in hindsight, but a scare 11-year-old doesn't think logically. I was too worried that he'd freak out and accuse me to doing something naughty. At a loss, I decided to double down and commit to the process. Following though with my goals was something that was hard set in my by that point, so I took comfort in it.

I pulled his boxers completely off of him, as they had stopped coming down around his ankles. As I removed them, I noticed that they were also soaked through with beer, which actually made me feel better about them coming off, as the whole point was to make sure he was clean.

It was then that I had the idea of giving him a quick sponge bath. I had never had beer before, so I assumed it might be sticky like Coke was. I went into the bathroom and filled a small bucket with warm, soapy water and grabbed a wash cloth. I already had towels out there to dry him off. I came out, wrung the wash cloth and started to lightly scrub his chest and belly.

Dad just laid there, snoring. The smell of beer on his breath made me warm for some reason. I chalked it up to being nervous should I get caught. Being a short kid, too, made things hard, as I had to reach over him to get to some spot on his sides. It never occurred to me to move to the other side. Again, logic defies kids who are stressed.

As I moved the cloth over Dad's nipples, his snoring turned to moans. I froze at first, thinking I hurt him somehow. When I started again, the moaning sounded different than when his legs hurt. It also sounded familiar, though I couldn't place from when or where, as if it were from a dream I could hardly remember.

For some reason, I focused on Dad's nipples. I liked the moaning and was still trying to figure out from where I recognized the sound. I stopped immediately once I felt his arm move. He pulled his arm back and around me. His hand stopped as his grabbed my butt. I inhaled sharply as his hand began to massage me. I felt very warm and light headed, and my heart raced like crazy. I looked up at his face but his eyes were still closed and his breathing heavy, though he wasn't snoring. I waited but the massaging never stopped.

I moved myself down from his chest and started to wash his belly, hoping that the touching would stop, but it didn't really. I was still too close to his hand for him to not reach...and I was liking it. As I slid against the arm of the chair, I became aware that my dick was hard and sticking forward. The sensations of my dick rubbing against the chair and Dad's hand groping my butt were intoxicating.

It was then that I noticed his dick. I hadn't paid much attention to it after noticing I pulled off his boxers, but there was no avoiding it at that moment. It was also hard and pointing towards Dad's face. I was in absolute awe. Never having seen an adult male naked before, I had no idea what to expect, and seeing my Dad fully erect was being comprehension.

He was easily six inches, circumcised (as I am, also), almost too thick for my small fingers to wrap around and a clear liquid was leaking from the tip. My breath shook and my mouth hung open, drying out, as I looked at his. It moved slightly up and down with every beat of Dad's heart. I saw that around the base was uniformly trimmed hair that was much shorter than that on his chest and and legs. His balls were huge and pulled up tight to his body. I was keenly aware of how small my privates were and I felt very inadequate. I was also transfixed.

I was pulled away from the vision before me by the rough hands of my father, as he slid them down the small of my back, past the elastic of my briefs and their continued massaging of my now exposed flesh. Dad moaned a little louder, so I looked at his face. He still looked asleep, so my anxiety quelled slightly.

I turned my attention back to Dad's dick. A pool of that clear liquid gathered just below the head. I knew that the beer had covered his lap, so I moved my quivering hands and the wash cloth beyond Dad's hips.

I began to gently run the wash cloth over his hips, too scared to go near his dick. As I did so, Dad's hand sped up and his grip firmer. It didn't hurt, but I did let out a small, soft moan of my own. I felt like I couldn't draw in enough air, so I had to take deep, steadying breaths to get enough oxygen.

Unable to void the inevitable, I knew I had to wash his private area. I stood there, trying to think of the least invasive means to do so. I couldn't risk waking him and having to explain what I was doing. Unable to think of other options, I decided to just scrub the hairy area under his dick. I placed one hand on his belly to steady myself and used the other to move the cloth under his head. I was wrong in thinking that my hand would do the job without touching it. However, the hot flesh of Dad's dick glided over the back of my hand, smearing the clear liquid over my flesh.

I left the wash cloth on Dad and brought the liquid to my nose. I knew it wasn't pee, since there was no odor and it was thicker. I wondered if it was sugar from his beer, so I licked it. Being a boy, fear of such things isn't often a consideration. There was no taste, only confirming that it wasn't pee, but it also wasn't sweet like corn syrup, which I assumed it was, being a key ingredient of Coke.

I looked back at Dad's face. He was still asleep, but his face looked very relaxed. I took that as a sign to keep going. I shifted tactics. With one hand, I grabbed and lifted Dad's very hot and heavy dick, holding it a little higher than it had been, and used my other hand to move the wash cloth. It was an odd sensation to feel his pulse in my hand through a fleshy rod that was hard as a rock. The liquid flowed faster and thicker, too.

Frustration built up, as I couldn't keep the area clean enough to move on. I put my thumb over the hole of dick. Dad gasped then moaned as I pressed down on the hole. His hand moved down from my butt, taking my briefs down with it. There I stood, naked, next to my equally naked dad. Dad brought his hand back up and continued massaging my butt. I also noticed that my efforts to stop the clear liquid were pointless, as it leaked out from under my thumb.

Inspiration struck. Since the liquid didn't taste like anything, I leaned over and put the head of Dad's dick in my mouth and started sucking as if it were a straw. Dad gasped and moaned again, which made me happy. His moans grew louder when I had to start using my tongue to keep the liquid from pouring out of my mouth.

As I held Dad in my mouth, I moved the wash cloth around the base, and over to his huge sack. I moaned as Dad's hand turned and I felt his finger move into my crack. I was shocked but couldn't quit what I was doing. I had to finish at all cost. It was the only way to keep Dad happy. I nearly jumped as Dad's finger touched and pressed against my hole. I felt my own dick jolt and throb.

“That's it, Baby,” Dad mumbled.

I turned my eyes and saw that he still looked asleep. He was known to talk in his sleep, so I didn't think much of it at the time.

“Use that tongue,” he whispered. “I need it so bad, Baby.”

Ever the obedient child, I did as I was told and doubled down with my tongue. Dad released a shuttering breath, and I nearly cried out as his finger started to press into me. I tried standing on my tip toes, but his hand only pressed further into my body. I had stopped swallowing at that point. His liquid and my spit drooled all over his dick.

I was about to clean him when I felt my feet being lifted from the floor. With one hand, Dad pulled me on top of him, his finger tip still just inside. I found myself face-to-face with Dad. The beer on his breath was strong and intoxicating. His eyes were slightly parted and blood shot.

I was scared. I was sure I was going to get in some kind of trouble.

“You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this,” he whispered. “I love you, Isaac.”

“I love you, too, Dad,” I whispered, not sure what else to say.

Dad moved his free hand to my face. He softly ran his finger up my cheek, ran his fingers through my hair to the back of my head and held my head still, as he brought his mouth to mine. Our lips met, both soft and loving. I felt his tongue lick my lips. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to do the same thing, so I hesitated trying to think of what to do. I then felt Dad's finger move further into me. I gasped and Dad slid his tongue into my mouth. Our tongues danced and started to make love. I closed my eyes out of instinct and pleasure.

I don't know how long we kissed, but it wasn't long enough in my book. Dad pushed me back just a little, so he could speak.

“I'm going to pull my finger out, okay? After that I want you to sit on my chest while facing me. Can you do that for me, Baby?”

“Okay,” I said, never wanting to disappoint him.

Once he pulled the tip of his finger out of me, I felt empty and a longing for more. I wanted his finger back in me, but I needed to comply with his request. I sat up and moved my bare butt from his belly to his hairy chest. It took a some more direction, but I was finally in the position he wanted, with my willy in his face.

“Let me know if this becomes too much. Can you do that for Daddy?”

“Yes, Daddy,” I said, not having used word in years, yet it felt so right.

I watched as Dad opened his mouth and wrapped his lips around the my whole dick. I cried out a bit as his tongue enveloped all three inches of my dick. I grabbed his head to steady myself. “Oh God, Daddy. Oh God!” I kept crying out as he worked his magic on me. I'm not sure where it came from, but I began to rock my body back and forth, sliding my dick across his tongue and lips. Dad gripped my hips and helped me control the movement, so I wouldn't pull out all the way.

My body convulsed and shook all over as an electric shock struck me from the tip of my dick through the rest of my form. I gasped, moaned, cried and begged Dad to keep going then to stop as my dick grew very sensitive. Dad let me back out of his mouth, and his drunken face looked up at me with a caring smile.

“Turn around, Baby. Lay across my body with your ass in my face.”

I never questioned it. I did as I was told and was looking straight at his dick. The head of pinkish purple and appeared to be straining. “Oh Christ!” I cried out as I felt Dad's tongue lick me in a very unexpected place. His hands spread my butt open and his tongue was wiping me like I never could've dreamed of.

A hunger like no other pulsed in me, and I took Dad into my mouth. His dick was somehow harder than earlier but I managed to get him inside of my mouth. “Watch your teeth, Isaac,” I heard him say. I wrapped my lips over my teeth and was pleased when he said, “That's my boy.” The praise is what I lived for.

My whole, small body shook as he alternated between sticking his tongue inside of me and trying to get his fingers in me. I moved beyond the pain and focused on hearing Dad moan with each stroke of my tongue over his dripping dick.

We laid like this for ages before Dad tapped me on the hip. “Time to turn around, Baby.” So I complied. “How much do you love me, Isaac?”

I was almost taken out of the moment by the question. I felt a bit offended by it. “What?”

“How much do you love me?”

“More than anything, Daddy.”

“Good. We're going to do something that will show you how much I love you, okay? It stays between us, though.”

As if I was going to tell my friends that I sucked on my dad's dick! I may have been 11 but I wasn't stupid. “I won't tell anyone, Daddy. I promise.”

“Good boy. Just try to relax, do what I tell you and let me help.”

I was still confused but I trusted Dad with my life, so I nodded. He moved me down his body, since I was practically sitting on his dick. He had me sit up on my knees for a second, and I felt his fingers moved inside of me again. I gasped and moaned, but I was smiling the entire time. Thought it had only been a few seconds, I missed having him inside of me.

He removed his fingers then said, “Sit back, Isaac and try to relax.”

I did and thought I felt his fingers pressing to get back inside. I didn't fight the feeling and leaned into the pressure. “That's it, Isaac. Just let it happen. I'm so proud of you.”

More praise! I was addicted.

Soon, I felt Dad's hair touch my butt and I was completely sitting on his lap. It started to dawn on me. I wasn't sitting on his dick, like I had been a few minutes before, then I felt both of his hands grab my hips.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, Baby?”

“Are...are you going to...um...fuck me?”

I could feel Dad tense up under me. “We can stop if you want, Isaac.”

“I don't want to stop, Daddy.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Sir. I'm sure.”

Dad teared up a little as he grinned at me. “Good boy.”

Like when he was sucking my dick, Dad guided my movements as I rose and fell along the entire length of his shaft, so he never popped out of me. My shaking hands grabbed his, which were holding my hips. I panted at the sensations of his dick sliding around inside of me.

“You look so beautiful,” Dad said. Our eyes were locked on each other, and I never want to break that gaze.

I rode Dad like that till my thighs started to hurt. He sat up, wrapped his arms around me, and spun us around till I was on my back. Without leaving my body, Dad pulled my legs over his shoulders and took complete control. He move his face in and we started kissing, while he thrust and pulled his hips against my bare butt.

His movements quickened, and I was mentally transported to heaven. I wrapped my arms around his neck to keep him from leaving my mouth. The taste of beer made me emotionally drunk.

He pulled away long enough to say, “I'm going to cum in you, Isaac.”

“Okay?” I said, not sure what he was talking about.

His hips moved faster and harder. It hurt but didn't ever want him to stop. My dick was also being rubbed against his belly, and I felt that feeling like when he was sucking on me. I cried out as my body convulsed. Dad's also shook, and I felt something strange inside of me. I later figured out that he planted his seed in me, but at the time, all I knew was love.

Dad continued to hold me, while stroking my face and hair. His dick remained inside of me, as well.

I began to cry, and Dad looked so scared. “Isaac, what's wrong? Did I hurt you? I knew we shouldn't have done this!”

“NO!” I cried out. “Don't say that!”

“Then what's wrong?”

“I just realized how much I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you, too, Isaac.”

“No, Daddy. I'm in love with you.”

Dad smiled and said, “I've always been in love with you, Isaac. It's why Mom left. I loved you more than I could ever love her. She was jealous and left.”

“Good,” I said, smiling, as he removed the tears from my face. “I don't want to share you with anyone.”

“Me either, Baby.” He leaned in and kissed me. “Ready to go to bed?”

I giggled and said, “Only if you put it back in me.”

“Deal,” Dad said. He kissed me once more and carried me to our bed.

THE END