Dad is an Exhibitionist Ch. 01

My cock stood rigid as I paused to look down on the man lying beneath me before settling between his open legs. For one instant it was the sight of another man beneath me that flashed through my mind, and I could still hear the words I said, "Dad, I'm going to give you a fucking that you'll never forget."

Looking back over my life so far, I can point to the summer after graduating from high school when I went to live with my father as the origin of my free sexual attitudes. What is more likely, however, is that the seeds had already been sown and my environment only supplied the water and fertilizer.

After graduating from high school in an Atlanta suburb, I went to live with my father in Texas. He had agreed to pay all expenses for me to attend a nearby community college during the school year in exchange for my working in his machine shop during the summer. .

My parents were divorced when I was ten. That was when I had gone back East to live with my extremely religious mother. The stark contrast in how my parents viewed life made their marriage irreconcilable. My father had been raised by hippy parents; her father was a minister. "That heathen" was how my mother often referred to my father.

Their agreement at the divorce was that I would spend four weeks every summer with my father. From my perspective, I never saw anything that I thought was "heathen" from my father; I only thought that summers with Dad were fun. Of course I had not yet moved in with him permanently and had no inkling of the surprises in store for me.

To this day I can clearly remember my shock when, on my first night at his house following my move in, he came out of the bathroom wearing only his boxer shorts then proceeded to remain dressed like that for the rest of the evening.

Not that there was anything wrong with him wearing only his underwear, it was his house. It's just that I had never seen an adult lounging around who wasn't either fully clothed or wrapped in a robe. He must have caught the surprised look on my face since his indifferent acknowledgement of his state of dress related to my now living there full-time. He said that this was part of the casual "lifestyle" that he practiced at home when I was away at my mother's, and this was how he intended to continue now that I was there full time.

I wasn't certain of what that meant by "lifestyle," but there was no further discussion. As he sat beside me on the sofa to begin leafing through a magazine, his thighs spread to reveal a large bulge along his left leg and from the fly of his underwear a tangle of dark brown pubic hairs emerged. Though I was attempting to keep my eyes on the television, his open legs seemed to offer an invitation to sneak glances at his crotch.

His boxers were soft cotton and pressing against the fabric was the bulge of his thick cock and balls. He was hanging on the left leg and when he shifted on the couch to bring his right foot to rest on the sofa, the bulge became even more emphasized and the fly opened further letting the mash of tangled hair jut through. Buried in his magazine, he seemed indifferent to me sitting beside him as he lifted his butt and reached down to tug on the fabric bunched against his cock.

Getting another glance at his crotch, my heart accelerated. My own cock was beginning to swell at the sight. Feeling embarrassed and somewhat ashamed of the reaction I was having to my father, I left the sofa and quickly retreated to my room saying that I wanted to go to bed early. I heard him only vaguely mumble, "Good night."

Once alone in my bed, still fraught with quilt that my father might have sensed my interest in his crotch, I took the shaft of my hardening cock and began masturbating rapidly. Images of naked men from magazines that I had snuck peeks between the pages along with memories of handsome students from my school were now joined by a new image of my father sitting in front of the television with his legs wide spread.

In my imagination, his cock grew hard as my fingers slipped over to touch it. My fantasy expanded to include my hiding unnoticed in the kitchen and watching him engage in pleasuring himself. He pulled down his boxers, pushing them down toward his knees and began making circles with his palm around his engorged purple cock head.

Sprawled back in my bed and with my own legs spread, I rubbed my own swollen shaft, just as I imagined him doing to his. Reaching down with my free hand I grasped my balls and squeezed them. In my mind I saw him grasping his ball sack just as his hand stroked the dripping head of his cock; we were jerking off together.

Caught in these thoughts and unable to resist moaning, I said aloud, "Oh Dad, stroke that big cock of yours, stroke it Dad." Lost in my fantasy, suddenly strong ribbons of cream began shooting from my rod as I cried aloud, "Fuck, oh fuck!" ending the fantasy. Large globs of sticky semen landed on my belly, pooling around my navel. With my fingers, I began slowly spreading it over my midsection as I fell asleep.

Dad owned a small machine shop in front of the country house where he lived, about a mile outside a medium-sized East Texas town. His property bordered on state parklands that were heavily forested and included streams, ponds, a medium-sized lake, and even rumors of a ghost.

During summer evenings on earlier visits, when my father would return from work, we'd set out together exploring nature. He was a good instructor and spent great care teaching me about the forest and its inhabitants. These times were a refreshing escape to me as I grew into young manhood. They offered a sharp contrast to the strict environment that existed living with my Mother.

My education over those years of summers included more than the flora and the fauna. Suspecting that my Mother and her new husband were reluctant to even hint about sex, my Dad supplied me with appropriate knowledge of reproduction and my own body. He was always unashamed and matter-of-fact with his information, so as the years went by I became a repository of facts about the subject which I freely conveyed to my school chums. Consequently, even though I was shy and could be withdrawn, I soon had a reputation at school of being "experienced" at sex, which I certainly wasn't. As part of my education, Dad had also emphasized that "self-discovery" for a young man was not only normal but expected, including a few details on what to do. From puberty onward I had practiced a lot.

By the end of that first week of living full-time with him, I had become accustomed to seeing him half-dressed in his boxers. I had even caught an occasional glimpse of his naked body as he moved from our shared bathroom to his bedroom. What I wasn't accustomed to was the growing thrill of my reaction every time I saw his manly form on display. Alarmed by these reactions, I sought to avoid them by spending most of the time hiding away in my room; even while, at the same time, my father's body increasingly became the focus of my fantasies.

During day hours, I quickly fell into the routine of work around the shop, beginning mostly with odds and ends related to clean-up and organization. The three other employees, a skinny young blonde man a few years older than me, Hank, and two older Hispanic men, Juan and Rodrigo, soon began treating me as just another co-worker. I was included in all their smutty jokes, their innuendos, and the general hijinks of shop talk. My dad was even noticeably more relaxed than I had remembered him on my previous visits.

When I was still in school, though Dad had been great fun to be with, he had kept a distance between us. From the first day of my arrival that summer, I began noticing other changes, besides his dress around the house. Not only did he curse more and occasionally join in the familiarity of idle shop talk at work; but when we were alone, he treated me less like a boy and more as an equal. Among the changes, he began calling me Dave or David instead of Davie as he had used since I could remember.

Dad was taller and darker than me and had a stocky, muscular frame, as I remained slender. I had reached my full height of just less than six feet, whereas he stood nearly 6 foot 1 inches. I also favored my mother with a reddish complexion, sandy hair and little body hair whereas dad had a fury chest with a trail leading down to his pubic area. I became fascinated by this trail.

My face composed the faired Scandinavian features of my mother's side rather than the swarthiness of my father's Italian genes. However, I have his dark brown eyes. In school I had often been teased during showers after gym for my bright bush of reddish orange pubic hair. My senior year I had taken to trimming it down to lessen the effect of what a friend of mine had once called, "an orange bird's nest."

Growing accustomed to my father's new casualness toward me, my attitudes still elevated to shock one Saturday morning when, after rising later than normal, I dressed and went to the kitchen to start coffee. I heard noises from his bedroom.

Coffee started, I returned down the hallway toward the open door of my bedroom when the door to his room across from mine opened and he emerged buck naked and sporting a partial erection. I gasped when my rapid eyes took in details of his swollen cock.

While I stood dumbfounded in the hallway, he casually looked first at me, and then he stretched and yawned before looking down at his himself and muttering, "Morning wood." Amused at his joke, he padded down the hall to the bathroom, his thick buttocks rolling as he walked.

Stunned, I stood red-faced and immobile. I watched him through the open door way step to the toilet and release a heavy stream of urine. "Damn that feels good," he said turning toward me, as though he was waiting for me to add some comment. I was speechless.

Thankfully distracted by gurgling from the coffee pot, I scurried back to the kitchen. With lingering images of my father's engorged cock in my mind, I welcomed the distraction of coffee.

Bracing myself on the kitchen cabinet, I inhaled deeply, willing my heartbeat to slow, and tried to remember which cabinet held the coffee cups. Without fanfare, Dad walked into the kitchen still naked. Even though his cock was now nearly flaccid, from the corner of my eye I caught sight of one the biggest that I'd ever seen. His foreskin stretched down nearly covering the head but stopped short, just exposing the tip of his penis with its slit peering out.

Ignoring me while casually reaching past me to open a cabinet door and take out a cup, my father said, "Didn't mean to shock you." He continued talking while pouring himself coffee; "I should have warned you that I spend a lot of time around the house nude, but I wasn't sure how to bring it up." Obviously bemused and grinning he said, "You should have seen the look on your face." Looking me in the eye, he winked and added, "I don't think I'll ever forget it."

I stood staring down at the counter top as if I was transfixed by a speck on the laminate.

He then began awkwardly struggling through a rambling explanation of how he practiced nudity during the months while I was living at my Mom's. It was obvious that he was uncomfortable and not used to explaining himself. His rambling ending with, "So I like living this way. Besides, it's my house and nobody's damn business," his voice rose toward the end when he added, "Hell, society places so many restrictions on us out there," his hand pointing with contempt toward a window, "I figure a man should get to live in his own home without their damn rules and regulations."

I supposed that he expected me to agree with him, but with my mind still blank, I could only reach to take a cup from the cabinet. The knot in my throat prevented me from uttering a sound.

Though I wished that he would just shut up, he didn't. "I guess that's one of the reasons why your mother and I never got along. She's so damned up tight," he added. With a trembling hand, I began pouring coffee for myself and continuing to avert my eyes from him. "Where am I supposed to be looking when he's naked like this?" I thought. However, an inner voice told me where I wanted to be looking.

"Maybe I should have warned you about how I am, but I didn't know how to bring it up." Then he spread his arms and concluded, "So, are you okay with your old man going around the house bare-assed?" Whether intended or not, he switched to a tone sounding vaguely like a threat, "You could always go live back with your mother if it's not."

Horrified by the thought of my mother, I uttered a sound that must have sounded like a squeal, "No." Realizing how that sounded, I lowered my voice and blurted, "I mean sure, its okay, everything's okay," and walked to the kitchen table to sit, primarily because of a swelling in my pants. "Shit," I thought, "He'll think that I'm some type of pervert."

"Well," Dad said as he sat down opposite me, "you'll get used to me. I guess I don't think like most people." Switching subjects abruptly he began idly talking about the day ahead including fishing on the lake that afternoon. I would soon learn that it was typical of him to switch subjects in mid-stream. And typical for me, even though I was nearly nineteen, I still hadn't learned that conversations could be two-ways and that it was alright to ask for elaboration.

Meanwhile, while appearing to listen, my thoughts were zooming around my head like cars at a go-cart track. "What am I supposed to say here? Why am I circumcised and he's not? What if somebody comes around and he's naked?" And, "Did he notice my hard-on?" Then the worst thought of all, "I want to see more, I'm enjoying this."

Looking back at that morning I realize that was when a door cracked open in me; one that I had been only vaguely aware of. Sure there had been noises behind it, and I had always been suspicious of what was there, but not until that morning did it begin to clarify itself and I finally understood why the girls in school hadn't interested me.

After breakfast he said it was time to head out and he disappeared into his room to emerge a few minutes later wearing cut-offs and a t-shirt as well as boat shoes. Dressed as he was, though he was in his early 40s, he could have passed for a much younger man. He was a father that I could be proud of. "You 'bout ready?" he threw my way, and off we went to complete our chores.

Following a trip into town to the grocery store and later a stop at a parts shop where he purchased a few items for the business, we were back at the house. After unloading the purchases, he announced, "Time to go fishing." Before heading out the door he paused, looked at me and said, "You're not going out like that, are you? Hell, you look like you're dressed for school."

I was wearing what I had been taught by my mother was appropriate weekend casual wear, jeans, polo and very clean sneakers. Though I had shorts, she didn't like me to wear them and so, I discovered on arriving here, she hadn't packed any. My swim suit was also back at her house. "Your legs are so white," she used to complain, as though somehow was my fault.

Well," I stumbled, "I guess it's all I brought," feeling sheepish and gullible for letting her pack for me.

He shook his head and said, as though he was perplexed by me, "You've lived with your mother too long. Didn't you bring any shorts? What happened to the ones you had last summer?" he added.

"Mom said they were too old and ratty and threw them away."

He rolled his eyes with the mention of my mother, rubbed his chin, and then said, "Let's see what we can come up with. Come with me," and we paraded down to his room.

Digging through a couple of drawers he examined a few pair of shorts and cut offs then commenting that everything was too large for me. "You got your slim build from your mom's side." He got an idea and went to his closet and after rummaging around a bit, he came out holding an old pair of white nylon running shorts. "These are old but the waist stretches. They're too small for me and the string is still in them. You can tighten it to fit you." Tossing them toward me he added, "Put them on," followed by, "and find an old t-shirt to wear, while I put together a lunch for us."

I went to my bedroom and quickly changed. Looking at myself in the mirror, I felt exposed in the flimsy white shorts. They were a size too large and, even though they included a net liner, it was loose and I wished that I had a pair of briefs to wear underneath. Between my legs everything felt unprotected and hanging loose. However, since I hadn't packed my only jock and wore only boxer underwear, there was nothing I could put on to contain my genitals.

I came out of my room to hear him say, "My god your legs are white. You'd better slap on the sun screen or you'll boil like a lobster." Once again I felt blamed for something I had no control of. I fantasized saying to the angel in charge of assigning bodies, "Sure, I'd like those white legs, the skinny ones."

We soon set off with boat in tow for Eagle Lake several miles away at the northern end of the state park. My Dad had a permanent park pass. Waving to the guard as we passed, we were at the lake with the boat in the water in what seemed like no time at all. After we had cast off, Dad mentioned a cove about half a mile from the landing where he preferred to fish at that time of day. Soon we pulled into the isolated cove, anchored and killed the engine.

After saying "Let's get ready to fish," he stood in the boat and, without ceremony, unsnapped and dropped his cut offs, revealing that he was wearing an old pair of yellow Speedos underneath. The elastic around the legs was frayed and fit loosely. This wasn't how he had dressed when we went fishing on my previous visits.

Looking at his bulging crotch, I thought of how my cock and balls were dangling unconfined between my own legs. He quickly doffed his t-shirt, sat down with his back toward me and said, "Put some sunscreen on my back, will you. It's in that bag," he said motioning toward a small bag he had brought.

While pretending to pay attention to him chatting away about when and where fish bite, I poured an amount of lotion in my palm and began rubbing it over his shoulders. The act felt strange and more familiar than anything I had ever experienced with my father. I was starting to feel a flush over my face. Privately I was also trying to ignore the small thrill that was beginning to build in my stomach as I touched him.

His back was broad and muscular. When he sat on the plank the skimpy suit pulled downwards revealing the upper half of his butt crack. A light dusting of fur covered his rear. My eyes feasted with the sight while my mind rebelled at what I was doing.

Once I'd finished I handed him the lotion and he stood facing away from me to begin spreading oil over his chest, arms, and while bending forward, the front and back of his legs. I took in the view of his full, firm butt cheeks straining against the yellow nylon. A view of his ass crack was clear through the thin fabric. "Whew," I thought relishing in the view.

When he'd finished he tossed me the sunscreen with instructions to "rub it in good and heavy everywhere." Then he sat down facing me and began to rummage through his tackle box preparing our rods and lines. While I rubbed my face I snuck peaks at him sitting in front of me.

With his legs splayed open, the bulge between them strained against the thin yellow suit. The matting of hair on his groin created a dark smear under the thin fabric. The suite obviously had no inner lining. "Had he cut it out?" I thought. Sticking out from the frayed leg openings were dark, curly pubic hairs and a protrusion of skin from his ball sack. His Speedo was not only old but too small.