tagGay MaleMy Girlfriend's Dad

My Girlfriend's Dad

byJustLikeEwe©

Mr. William Bryant was one of the more successful businessmen in the city. He had a house that was worth at least a half million, a beautiful wife and two cute daughters.

The reason I know this was that I went with one of his daughters for quite a while, and from that relationship came another relationship that I never saw coming.


...

Chapter 1: My girlfriend.

Sarah Bryant was a cute brunette who was the Salutatorian of our high school class back in 1973. She was also my girlfriend for most of our entire senior year and beyond. People said we were a natural pair, because I happened to be the Valedictorian of that same class.

I don't know if many people knew that we were both harboring rather deep secrets about ourselves, but the fact was that we were not your average couple by any stretch of the imagination.

Sarah knew what she was. She was a lesbian. I didn't know what I was, but I was beginning to suspect where my true feelings were.

I liked Sarah, and enjoyed it when we messed around, but there was something missing in it for me. Sarah liked me as well, and didn't mind fooling around with me a little too, but for her our relationship was platonic and more of a front than anything else.

"Even more gross than I thought it would be," Sarah said after the one and only time she ever went down on me. "It tastes disgusting."

That, and the few times when she got me off by hand, were the sum total of my sexual experience with her. I went down on her several times as well, and I didn't mind it at all. Neither did Sarah.

"Your hair is a lot like Sharon Domino's, so I pretend that she's down there instead of you," was Sarah's explanation of her enjoyment.

So I was her beard, which made it easier for her around her family. The cover of a boyfriend removed any suspicions of her sexuality and left her free to enjoy the company of her "girlfriends" from time to time.

I didn't mind, because I was living a bit of a lie myself. It had started when I stayed over at the house of a friend of mine, and we had gotten into his old man's liquor cabinet. I wasn't drunk, and I don't think that Tom was either, and the alcohol was probably used as an excuse for what went on that night.

We lamented about not "getting any" from our respective girlfriends, and before long we had our pajama bottoms off and were stroking our cocks while looking at a Playboy magazine. Tom suggested that it might be more interesting if we jerked each other off instead.

He was right, of course, and after that night we spent many evenings together, lamenting the chastity of our women. We dispensed with the alcohol after that first night, and concentrated on each other. It was a small step from using our hands to using our mouths on each other, and we continued in that manner until Tom left for college.

We maintained to each other that this didn't mean we were homosexual, and what we were doing was merely the result of boredom and lack of sex from the women in our lives, but I knew different. I loved Sarah's mind and her company, but I much preferred what Tom and I did together.

So that was what led up to the day when Sarah's father came up to me in the mail-room of his company. He had given me a job for the summer before college started, which was one of the perks of going with Sarah, and when I saw him come up to me, it was a bit of a shock, because the top executives of the company rarely ventured down into the bowels of the building.

"Say, Jimmy!" Mr. Bryant said cheerfully. "Sarah tells me that you play tennis. Something about being on the school team?"

"I'm not real good," I said sheepishly, which wasn't false modesty but a statement of fact.

"I've been itching to play but my usual partner is sick. How would you feel about playing some?"

"Sure," I said eagerly, always willing to get further on the good side of Mr. Bryant. "When?"

"How about right now?" he suggested, and when I mentioned that I had to work the rest of the day, he laughed and slapped me on the shoulder.

"Work day's over," Mr. Bryant declared, putting his arm around my shoulder and escorting me out the door, and before I knew it, we were tooling out of the parking lot in his Lincoln Continental.

...

Chapter 2: Tennis anyone?

After stopping at my house so that I could grab my racquet and clothes, we went to the country club that the Bryant's belonged to. Suffice to say, my family did not belong to any organization like this, so I was in foreign territory from the start.

The locker room wasn't anything like my school's had been either, being much more plush and roomy. I undressed in the cubicle next to Mr. Bryant, trying to keep myself as hidden as possible while doing so, because I was exceptionally modest at that time, with good reason.

Mr. Bryant, on the other hand, seemed to share none of that trait, and I made a conscious effort to avert my eyes from him while he changed.

Mr. Bryant was probably in his mid 40's, but was in great shape. He resembled one of the stars of that TV show, The Man from Uncle. Not Napoleon Solo, but the other guy. Robert Vaughn. He was about my height, 5'9" or so, but Mr. Bryant was solidly built, especially compared to me.

The tennis went well. Although Mr. Bryant was physically much stronger than I was, he had a few weaknesses in his game that I was able to exploit, and by the middle of the first set, I was reasonably sure that I could beat him. The question was whether that was a good idea or not.

In the end, I figured that if he thought I was letting him win, he might get a lot madder than he would if he just lost, so I kept the match close enough to make it interesting, before pulling out both sets, 6-4, 6-4.

"My backhand stinks!" Mr. Bryant declared after his final shot sailed harmlessly over my head and we met at the net.

"I was lucky," I said as we shook hands at the net.

"Bullshit, but thanks for being kind," he laughed while we gathered up our things on the side of the court.

As Mr. Bryant picked up his racquet's cover, I looked at his legs, which were incredibly hairy. The hair was thick and jet black and covered them like a pelt, which also contrasted with my pale and virtually hairless legs.

As we walked back into the locker room, it struck me that we were probably going to take a shower, because it was a warm day and we were both dripping with perspiration. There was no way of getting out of it that I could think of, except for maybe not having a towel.

Nothing against showers, mind you. I never minded taking showers back in gym class, where I would run to a corner and hide myself as much as possible while peeking around at the other guys. That was what most of us did, while the well-endowed guys would walk around brazenly showing off their stuff.

Seeing Mr. Bryant naked was not something I had counted on, and while I knew that he was a married man and all, I was still a little curious as to what he looked like naked. I was more concerned with not letting him see me naked though, so when we got to the locker room I tried to figure out how to do this.

The towel question was answered when I saw two thick, plush ones in the cubicle where my clothes were. With Mr. Bryant at my side making small talk, I got my tennis gear off quickly and grabbed a towel, heading for the sound of running water.

My first blunder was in walking into the shower room with the towel and having to run back around the corner to set it down, but I was still shaking when I came back in, because this wasn't like the shower room back at school.

There were shower heads affixed to poles in the center of the room. Nowhere to hide, and you were forced to stand there along with everybody else. There were only a few guys in there, and as I stood frozen at the entrance I felt Mr. Bryant's hand on my shoulder, guiding me down to the far end where there was nobody.

I was fumbling with everything, from the soap dispensers to the shower knobs, all the while trying to keep myself from being seen by others while I took the shortest shower imaginable.

After I got the water going, I soaped up as much as possible while squinting over at Mr. Bryant, who was on the other side of the pole. I soon discovered that the pole hid very little, because despite the mist and the spray, I could see Mr. Bryant very well indeed.

My eyes went down his hairy body, and I did a double take when I saw was was below his waist. Mr. Bryant's cock was gigantic, and for the 20 or so seconds that I was in the shower, I was hypnotized by it.

His wrinkled, flaccid cock hung straight down between his legs, wiggling slightly as he soaped his upper torso. Incredibly thick at the base, it tapered slightly down towards the head of it, which was long and conical, and behind the massive organ, his balls hung low and loose in their hairy pouch.

That was the end of my shower, for two reasons. The first reason being that I felt like I was starting to get a hard-on, which I thought would have been the most horrifying thing that could have happened. The second reason was far worse, because after I gawked at my girlfriend's father cock for all the 20 seconds I was in there with him, I happened to look up at Mr. Bryant's face and saw that while I had been staring at his genitals, he was looking straight into my eyes.

I turned off everything and padded out of the showers as fast as I safely could, and when I got back to the lockers I waved the towel over me a couple of times before putting my street clothes on my still-damp body. By the time Mr. Bryant came around the corner, I was all dressed and tying my shoes.

"You're as quick in here as you were out there," Mr. Bryant said cheerfully, snapping his towel at me and acting like he hadn't caught me staring at his private parts.

Maybe he hadn't really caught me looking at him after all, I thought while fiddling with my shoelaces and looking at his hairy ankles next to me. I would often make things out to be worse than they actually were, and Mr. Bryant was now giving me the impression that anything had happened back there at all.

"I'm going to wait outside," I said to Mr. Bryant, who was drying his hair, and as I spoke I peeked over at him again before grabbing my stuff and leaving.

His cock looked even more imposing now than it had before, and after I left the locker room I made a detour on my way outside to the men's room. Hopping into a stall of the empty facility, I quickly dropped my pants and peeled down my underwear.

I had gone in there with the intention of taking a leak, but after I finished, my dick was rock hard. A couple of shakes turned into a few seconds of rubbing, with the end result being me popping my load into the toilet, with the still-fresh image of Mr. Bryant racing through my head.

Disgusted with myself, I cleaned up while cursing myself for what I had just done, and vowing to never think of the things I had just done over the last half hour again for as long as I lived.

...

Chapter 3: A stop along the way.

"You in any hurry to get home?" Mr. Bryant asked me as he drove out of the country club lot.

"Me? No," I told him. "Sarah's going to the movies with her friends tonight."

That was her story, but I knew that she was actually going to visit one of her old teachers from high school days who wasn't all that old, and what they were going to do was probably not something that a father would want to hear about.

"Good," he declared, and drove back into the city.

He parked in the underground garage of some building downtown, and after we got into a elevator, I found myself up on the 10th floor of the structure and after a trip down a lushly carpeted hallway, I was ushered into an apartment.

"My Fortress of Solitude," Mr. Bryant said as he turned on the lights dimly, and he seemed pleased that I was familiar with his Superman reference.

The apartment was sparsely furnished, but not cheaply done, as the decor and furnishings were just as tasteful as his home was. The view out the window was spectacular as well, and with the sun going down, the illuminated skyline and the river looked far different from up there than from the ground level view I was used to.

"This is really something," I said, joining Mr. Bryant at the bar near the window.

He poured some scotch and pushed it toward me as he made himself one, and although I wasn't really used to anything like that, I managed to sip it without choking or anything.

"This is my little getaway," He explained. "You know, when the family gets to be too much. It's also a place where I bring special friends."

The last sentence finished just as Mr. Bryant's hand appeared on my shoulder, and his touch made my heart jump a little, as did the soft kneading that followed.

"You might need a place like this if you marry Sarah," Mr. Bryant suggested. "If she puts out as infrequently as her mother does, that is. Of course, if you two have kids, they'll be smart as hell. Good looking too."

"Uh, I dunno about that," I said, the scotch burning and warming as I took another sip.

"There was a time when I suspected that Sarah might be... you know... gay," Mr. Bryant said, his hand now massaging my shoulder a little harder, and when I winced a little, he offered to get a masseur to pay us a visit.

"Masseuse - masseur, whatever," he continued. "Makes no difference to me. Help get rid of some of the stiffness. Of course, you didn't need to exert much out there today to beat me."

"No, you played well," I protested. "I was lucky to win."

Mr. Bryant smiled and resumed kneading my shoulder through the soft cotton of my t-shirt as he stood my my side, looking out at the skyline along with me. I could smell the soft woodsy scent of his cologne, and for the first time I began to sense something was up.

"Sarah being gay or not, that stuff doesn't matter to me," Mr. Bryant said, going back to the earlier conversation. "That's the good thing about your generation. They have less hang-ups about things like that than my generation does. I guess I was born too early, because that sort of thing doesn't bother me."

I looked over at Mr. Bryant, as his eyes seemed to be smoldering as they bore deep into me. He had such a way about him that it was no wonder he was such a success in his professional life. He was intimidating, but not in a threatening way, and I imagined that people found themselves going along with him because they simply melted in front of him. Just as I felt myself doing.

...

Chapter 4: The other life.

"So if someone is gay, or bi-sexual, that's fine with me," Mr. Bryant said, his voice inches from my ear. So close that I could smell the blend of mint and scotch on his breath, and as I looked over at the hand on my shoulder, the brilliance of his gold wedding band against the black hair on his surrounding knuckles made me shiver a little. "Does that sort of thing bother you, Jimmy?"

"I didn't think so," he said after I shook my head no. "What did you think of the club?"

"Uh, the court was really great," I said, my voice warbling a little at first. "The courts we played at in school were usually pretty crummy."

"For what you have to pay there every year, they had better be good," Mr. Bryant chuckled, reaching for the bottle of scotch. "What did you think of the locker room?"

"Fine," I squeaked, and when Mr. Bryant poured some more scotch in my glass, my hand was shaking so badly that it almost made the liquid spill over the sides despite the glass being only half full.

"The showers," he said, his hand sliding across my bony shoulder and down to my neck, which he squeezed with a gentle touch. "What did you think of them?"

I was just about to take another sip of the scotch when he said that, and it was a good thing that I didn't, or else I would likely have made quite a mess. My head was spinning, and it wasn't because of the little bit of scotch that I had sipped.

None of this made sense to me. Mr. Bryant had a gorgeous wife and kids, and yet here he was in this secret apartment with me, and it felt a whole lot like he was trying to seduce me.

"Showers?" he said meekly.

"Yes, you seemed rather nervous in there."

"I dunno," I said. "Wasn't like at school."

"How so?"

"Uh, not much privacy, I guess," I said.

"Not very much to look at in there," Mr. Bryant opined. "Usually that is. A bunch of out-of-shape old farts for the most part. A good looking guy like you, with a trim body and all, is rare in there. I'd bet you made a lot of those guys envious today."

The thought that anybody wealthy enough to belong to that country club would be jealous of a skinny guy with a tiny pecker was ludicrous to me, but I was too scared to argue.

"I'm shy. I get embarrassed easily, I guess," I said nervously, sipping the scotch with enthusiasm as my throat kept getting drier with each passing second.

"No reason to be," Mr. Bryant said. "None that I could see."

I turned my head toward Mr. Bryant, and saw that his face was right next to mine, scant inches away as a matter of fact.

"I was sorry that you took such a quick shower, because I liked what I saw while you were across from me. I liked it a whole lot."

I swallowed hard as Mr. Bryant's hand slid slowly down from my neck, down the length of my spine, and when it went lower still I let out an involuntary gasp.

"Of course, watching you leave was nice too," Mr. Bryant whispered as his hand grabbed my left butt cheek and squeezed it. "You've got an incredible ass on you, do you know that?"

...

Chapter 5: Overwhelmed.

As Mr. Bryant's hand fondled my butt cheek, I had to set my glass on the bar before I dropped it. I continued to look straight ahead to the river 10 floors below and a mile away, where a tour boat was making a leisurely trip to nowhere.

"When we were showering, I saw you looking too," Mr. Bryant said. "I saw you looking at my cock. Did you like what you saw?"

I couldn't say anything, and so I just made a little nod of my head, and Mr. Bryant pulled my long, sandy brown hair away from my ear and leaned toward me, nibbling on my earlobe.

"I thought you did," he hissed into my ear, making the hair on the back of neck stand up. "I'm glad of that. Have you ever been with a man before?"

"No," I lied, and then I confessed a little bit, feeling like Mr. Bryant could see right through me. "Me and a friend of mine - Tommy - we messed around with each other sometimes."

"You played with each other's cocks?" Mr. Bryant asked me, and having set down his own drink, had moved behind me.

Mr. Bryant's hand was no longer on my ass, but had come around my hip and was searching the front of my pants for my dick, which he found after a brief search. I felt his cock against my ass as he leaned into me, and when he pulled me toward him I did not resist.

"You like me playing with your cock?" he asked, his fingers massaging the lump in my pants, and not bothering to wait for the obvious reply, gently led me away from the window and around the corner into the bedroom.

The bedroom had mood lighting all around the perimeter of the spacious room, furnished with only a bed, night stand and a dresser. The dresser had a large mirror on it, and above the king-sized bed was an even larger mirror, which intimidated me even more.

"Just like being with Tom," I thought to myself, and it was only when Mr. Bryant looked at me that I realized that I had actually whispered it audibly.

Mr. Bryant took my face in his hands and kissed me; a long and passionate kiss that I felt helpless to resist at first, and unwilling to do anything but return with equal passion after that.

Mr. Bryant's hands pulled my t-shirt out from under my slacks and lifted it up over my head. As the shirt was passing up over my wrists, he tangled my wrists up in it and held my hands up behind my head while his mouth sucked first on my right nipple and then my left.

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