Gone Fishin'

CUT TO:

47 CLOSE UP - DADDY'S FACE IN PROFILE

MATCH WITH DADDY'S profile as in 43. Suddenly his lips clench and he begins to spit. The perfect arch in his neck vanishes and he begins to thrash his head around. Sweat sprays from his body. Spit flies from his lips.

DADDY
Oh shit, I'm coming!

*

I bowed my head and shut my eyes.

I listened. I listened. Just outside their door. The flesh. The moans. It rose to a tribal crescendo. A deep moan, a growling ululation like the howling vacuum of space. Eighteen years prior to that night they made me to the beat of such a symphony.

Then it died. Silence. I could again hear the crickets outside chirping.

The bed squeaked. Sheets rustled. Water started running in their bathroom.

When I opened my eyes our dachshund stared at me, head tilted to one side in thatWhat the fuck's with you? gaze dogs have. I shook my head at her, opened my door, and fled across the underwear-strewn floor of my room to my bed.

I made myself come again while I wiped jism from my the flaps of my jeans, staining the crisp white sheets with the faded dandelion yellow that Mom was too used to washing out.

"You going to give me the beer or what, son?" Daddy looks up at me, eyes bright. The stubble on his jaw is thick as moss growing on the north side of a tree.

I'm standing there, stupidly holding his beer, staring off into space, musing. A bolt of fear lances through me, white knight skewering the black. My cock, rock hard, vibrates with urgency, thrusts up against the elastic of my shorts. "Uh, yeah," I say, and extend the beer.

His hand, callused, tufted hair on the knuckles, meets mine on the beer. We exchange hot sweat on the beer can. He smiles.

My nipples are hard. I give him the beer.

Daddy sips from the can. His throat pulses as he swallows, glistening with sweat. Daddy drinks deep and long, puts the beer down beside the boulder.

"Damn," he says. "I've got to piss." He grins. His eyes flick towards my groin. "If I don't I'll end up like you, boy. Standing tall and proud." He laughs, then swings his legs over the side of the boulder.

I laugh too, but it's forced. Mind's spinning.

I've got an erection. My father has noticed it. He's praised it. There's a warm feeling in a my heart. Daddy's given me affirmation in the way few fathers ever do. What more could a son want? What more should a son want?

Looking at my father, his hairy body clad only in shorts verging on being too small, seeing his sweat-slick musculature, his short hair grey-streaked plastered to his skull, I wanted more.

I wanted Daddy.

My cock throbs. I feel wetness at its tip; I know I'm leaking. My shorts are stained with the evidence of my lust. I know the shape of my hardon is prominent through the nylon. I look like an obscene characature of a man -- hard, dripping, perversely excited, fucking horny.

Daddy steps into the water. Waves lap at his ankles. He fumbles at his crotch, unbuttons his fly. He turns and looks over his shoulder. "You need to piss too?" He pauses. "You look like you need to." His eyebrows curl into question marks.

My mouth seems filled with some thick, bitter mucus. I'm scared, scared like a man dangling from the edge of a cliff. The grinning gap of the unknown waits for me, hungry and insatiable. I'm conscious of the incredible pressure in my bladder. Seams along my bloated bladder are on the verge of busting. My belly's distended with piss.

Hang on. Or let go.

Daddy's fly is open. "Come on, boy. Let's piss!"

I can't resist.

I wade out next to him. The lake feels like bathwater. The pebbles bite into my feet; they're slimy with moss. I feel the sweat ooze out of my skin. There is no breeze. All is silent.

I stand next to Daddy. His fly is gaping, but the glory within is shadowed and hidden.

His eyes look up into mine. "Ready?" he asks. His fingertips are on the lips of the opened fly, keeping them spread.

"Yeah." The word emerges from my mouth like a frog's croak.

Father and son, our eyes drop to each other's crotches, mentally linked, twins whose relationship spans generations and genetics.

As I pull the elastic band of my shorts away from my belly, Daddy reaches into his fly.

As I slip my fingers through the tangle of my pubic hair, Daddy's fingers have snagged a huge tube within his cutoffs.

As I pull my cock so that it rears high above the elastic, Daddy yanks his cock through the gaping fly.

As I hook my shorts under my swollen balls, Daddy spreads his fly so wide with his thumbs that I can see his thick pubic hair, sweat-wet and fragrant.

We look up at each other. We grin. `

"Nice setup there, Daddy." It spurts from my mouth. I've let go. I let go when I waded out here.

We have identical cocks, Daddy and I. Same length -- these cocks rear proud and stiff, bridging that expanse of flesh between groin and navel. Same thickness -- well-fed boa constrictors can't match us. We have on the underside of our cocks an unusual arrangement of veins -- the veins have sorted themselves in diamond patterns. We both have big balls, dangling from a lot of flesh. He's cut. I'm not. My skin covers my cockhead except right around the pisshole which like an eye stares through. Daddy's naked cockhead steams in the air.

"You too, boy," Daddy says. "Looks familiar." He seems curious, his head cocked to one side, checking me out. His expression looks the same as the guys did, back when I was in the seventh grade and prone to pop a proud boner in the showers after PE.

"Yeah."

"You ready?"

"Yeah."

I'm so excited I'm not sure if I can get my piss up my urethra through all that thick precum that I'm leaking. But I bend my rigid dick down, gripping my cock right at the base, just like Daddy is doing. I look up at the into the hazy blue, rolling my eyes up. I exhale as if I'm a priest clearing his thoughts for communion. I hear Daddy do the same beside me.

Pissholes gape. I moan, a high and thin sound. The piss burns along my urethra like Drano. It sprays suddenly from my cockhead, uncontrolled, split into two main streams and a fan of droplets. I feel inept. It's like I don't know how to piss. Then it stabilizes into a stream like light being focused into a laser. I feel better. Studly. Worthy companion to Daddy. The sound of my piss pouring into the lake is an oddly distorted, weakened version of what I hear when I pee into a bowl.

I look beside me.

Daddy's stream is a solid shaft of gold, a fat wire of glistening piss connecting his erection with the silver surface of the lake. He didn't have that embarrassing fan of piss explode from his cock -- Daddy's too much the rugged stud. Just a straight shot of piss, simple and elegant as a sword-stroke.

And that stream goes on and on, minute after minute, as Daddy empties his swollen bladder. He wears a sly grin while it pours out, while he looks at me. "Really nice equipment, son. Really nice. Chip off the old block. You always get hard so easy?"

"Yeah," I say thickly. A brief flash of fear: should I deny getting boners so easily, so often, always around males big and powerful like Daddy?

But Daddy told me once: never lie. Ever.

"Yeah. Happens a lot." My stream dribbles to a halt. My cock rears up out of my hand, standing free and proud. I wipe a dribble of sweat off my nose. My hand is aromatic with piss.

"Yeah, me too. Shit!" Daddy winces. His pee still gushes. Sweat glistens like shards of mirror in his pubic hair. "Man. Been saving this pee for hours." As he says that, his stream starts of diminish. The water lapping at Daddy's ankles is yellowish.

This lake is now his turf.

"Looks like it, Daddy." I grin. I can't help it. The world spins like a quark, chaotic and perilously to actualization. I'm happy, frightened, lusting, joyful, alive.

Daddy's stream vanishes suddenly, cut off as sharply as if he'd twisted the knob on a spigot. Daddy's hardon imitates mine precisely: bobs up out of his hand, rigidifies hard and rampant. An erect father.

Sperm churns in my balls. I feel adrift in a sea of potentialities, where draughts of fantasy and reality mix in equal measure. My hand pulls back on my cock, revealing my cockhead nested red and hot in the folds of my foreskin. My pisslips cup a droplet of shiny fluid -- precum, piss, what does it matter? It's male.

Daddy says, "Well, son. We've both got boners that we're pretty fuckin' proud of." He smiles. "You know where I use mine. Where do you put yours?"

I surrender. I start getting into this, reveling in the perversion, the evil, the sickness. Spit at the Gods, shit on the bibles. Do what I will; do what I need. "I -- got some friends." I pause, still reluctant to speak my next words. "Some guys on the soccer team, at Carolina, some of 'em, really get into my meat."

"Really? The guys? What do they like about it? Size? Thickness? We've got lots of guys beat both ways, son."

"Does Mom like it?" I'm panting. Panting like a fucking dog. Panting after my hard Dad.

He -- proud stud -- grins. "You bet, son. What do your teammates like?"

"They get off on it, I guess. Couple of 'em are really into how long it is ... most like how thick it is. One or two like to hold up a Coke can up next to it and compare." I release my foreskin, and it snaps shut over my cockhead, smearing precum. Then I pull it back, because when I touch my cock I almost always start to j.o. " ... and they like my 'skin. A lot of guys don't have any. Or ain't never seen it. And ... and a couple of guys, they like to clean my cheese off."

"They wash you?"

"They lick me."

Daddy grins ... slowly, like a man who's bitten into an unfamiliar fruit, slowly realizing that he likes the taste. He starts masturbating with me. His hand smoothly flows up along his erection. The scar where he was cut stretches and moves as his hand does the slip and slide. "Do guys really know how to suck good? That's what I used to hear in the barracks ... "

"Yeah, Daddy. They do. Really good." My hand's frozen, because I'm watching my father pleasure himself, and my world is spinning, and I'm about to explode.

"Did they just blow you, son?"

"No, Daddy. No." I pause. "One or two -- they get fucked."

"You fuck them?" Daddy whispers, almost in awe.

"I fuck them," I say, remembering steamy showers and wet jockstraps. "I put it to them. They love it."

"Is Jesse one of them? You stay at his house a lot." Daddy hawks a load of spit onto his cock, working it into the taut skin. It's unconscious, practiced, and erotic.

"Yeah." My balls are sucked up against the tube of my cock, like a cannon loaded and primed for firing. "Yeah ... Jesse's like a nympho, Daddy. I can't satisfy him. He can't keep his legs closed around me, he keeps turning around, spreading his legs, and showing me his butt when I pass him in the halls. I've fucked him till my dick was raw, till I shot dust up his hole, and he still kept fucking asking for more." Oh these are good memories. "I sit behind him in Pre-calc, and I keep getting hardons, 'cause I hear him fart and I know it's my jism he's dropping into his jockeys. I've seen the crack of his 501's wet because of the jism he farts out. The guys think he craps in his pants, thinks he's weird."

"Ever had a girl, son?" Daddy asks. "Had one beat you off, blow you, screw you?"

"No, Daddy. No. Just never really been all that interested ... "

"Really? Just not into it?"

"Well, I might try it, maybe. But I get off on guys, Daddy. I just do."

"You sound like you do it good, son," Daddy says.

I laugh. Praised again, the warmth joins the heat in my crotch. "Yeah, I guess."

"You should try something different." He pauses. "If you want. You shouldn't limit yourself."

"I will, Daddy. I will." I'm holding myself one notch below orgasm. My foreskin's sopping with precum, and a big thread of it dangles in the breeze like a strand of spider's silk. "Have you ever tried something different, Daddy?" An evil grin curls my lips.

Daddy's hands pause. His dick's the mirror of mine -- primed, cocked, ready to fire. His voice is low. "No, son, I haven't."

"You want to?" I mean, there's no reason to hold back now. No fucking reason. Me and Daddy should be executed for allowing this scene. This is evil, we're evil; the walls are collapsing around us, the barbarians are here, civilization is collapsing. And I need it to go on.

There's a long pause. That hairy hand of his travels every so slowly up and down that vibrant shaft. "Son, you ever been fucked by a man?"

The strand of glistening lube breaks free, falls like a meteor into the dazzling water. Another begins to emerge, a long, thin transparent worm wiggling out of my body. "No." Voice is horse. "Guys want to. Eric wants to. Real bad."

"Eric?"

"Guy on the team. He's goosed me in the showers. But he's got a tiny cock."

"You've seen him hard?"

"Yeah. And he isn't going to be the one. The only guy who I'll let fuck me has to have a cock my size or bigger." My eyes shine. My guts calm. There. I've said it, as clearly as I can manage.

He shudders. He closes his eyes. He sighs. And Daddy's cutoffs drop to the lake, turn dark as they soak up water.

His cock juts up like a pier of stone, a megalithic tower of hard flesh, a pagan instrument powerful and forbidding as Stonehenge or Carnac. Violent. Passionate. When he and Mom made me he was like this. Aroused. Potent. Virile. What wonderful words these are when applied to my father.

Swollen testicles swarming with gray jism, male essence, the tincture of which I am a solution. Urethra, full of lubricant to pave the way, cock lips open and oozing. Sweaty chest, matted hair, salted fluid of father streaming from his armpits. Sebaceous glands secreting a milky liquid that smells ... like me. And him. Us.

Daddy, hard and naked.

He nods. I kneel.

He steps out of the cutoffs. He strides toward me. The water froths as he moves. He's the perfect male, my father -- erect, hairy, and sweaty, naked beneath the burning sky.

He stops. I'm within the arena of his scent. Only a few more inches to go. His cockhead, hot and angry as a sun, lube sizzling on its textured surface, looms before my lips. Beneath the glaze of fluid, I see the pattern of minute dimples in the cockhead. I imagine this erection in Mom's vagina, pounding, pushing, exploring the slippery gates to the womb.

It's simple now. But oh what we do.

I lick my lips. I try to work up some spit in my mouth. I'm so excited my cock keeps slapping into my belly like a stallion masturbating.

I look up. Daddy's looking down at me. His expression is beatific -- is this what one sees when visited by an angel? There's a light in his eyes I've never seen before, and my heart almost explodes with love.

Daddy nods.

I reach up and touch his cock. And I almost cum. I hold in my hands the source of my life. It's hot, and it's hard, and the blood in it hammers in harmony with my heart. The rod of might. It's like holding a magical staff that opens one up to all of the power and mystery of the universes. This is better than pot, better than acid. This is my father's cock in my hands.

I bend it down so that it's aimed like a missile at my mouth. It's like steel. I have to use muscles to aim it right. Such is the strength of Daddy's erection.

I open my mouth and smooth as a shark I engulf his cockhead ...

Am I dreaming? Am I dreaming? Have I passed out? A firehose is exploding in my mouth. Rich gravy jets against my uvula. Heat sears my lips. Daddy's cumming inside me.

His stomach is taut, his head arched back, pectorals bulging, neck tensed, legs spread. His arms are splayed out to either side, as if he were a saint in ecstasy. His urethra pulses as he pumps thick fluid into me, and I lick the little bit of cock I have inside me. I hear him moan.

Daddy, his jism, fills my mouth. I won't swallow -- I want to enjoy his orgasm for as long as possible. I swear I feel the tails of individual sperms beat against tongue and gums as they excitedly seek what they will never find in me. I can divide this fluid into many sub-tastes -- the piquant richness of the sperm, the smoothness of the lubricating fluid, the musky tang of the sebaceous secretions, the trace bitterness of piss faintly there. Urine the spice of everything.

My father's seed. Now I know where the Olympians got nectar -- Ganymede jacked Zeus off into chalices, then bore the golden cups brimming with potent male seed to the Gods for them to partake.

Daddy cums it seems for minutes. He holds that happy male tableaux until my cheeks are bulging, until trickles of his jism start sliding down my throat, until it slips between sucking lips and jumping cock and runs down my chin. I feel like a baby full of drool. Daddy shudders, his balls pump. What a stud my father is.

I'm in agony -- feeling Daddy come in my mouth, I'm making an asymptotic approach towards orgasm. Closer and closer I come, the sperm rising in my tubes, precum literally dripping from my cock ... yet the closer I come the longer the distance seems, like the long vistas between you and the horizon.

But I can't be angry. Not at all.

And then Daddy is sighing, and he shakes, and his orgasmic flood stops. His sperm clogs my mouth, and what I've drooled drips onto my chest where it joins a shiny sheen of sweat and cum. I swallow now, gulp after gulp -- he's shot a cup of the thick stuff into my mouth. It's like swallowing a bottle of Elmer's Glue. This jism I'm drinking is thick with sperm, not lube -- my Dad's potent, fertile.

When I'm done I release his meat, which bobs upright and undiminished.

I look up. His gaze goes off into the far blue sky. I wonder what he sees. Whatever it is, the vision fades quickly, for he looks down at me, his son the cocksucker. And I melt. For that light I saw is still there, and it delights in the sight of the son sucking the father's cock, and it delights in the goodness and love of the son, and I know it will never be doused.

"I'm sorry, son," Daddy says, breathless. "Couldn't hold it back. Sorry. I've not shot like that since I was your age."

"I love you, Daddy," I say, and kiss his cockhead, which jumps.

He reaches down, smiling, hooks me under my armpits, lifts me to my feet. I look up at him. His hands slide down, stroking my flanks. My running shorts slip down my legs into the water. Daddy pulls me to him. His chest hair abrades my chest, his arms surround me as his hands slip towards my ass, and our cocks throb together between us. I look into Daddy's eyes. Here is perfection.

We kiss.

Open mouthed and open-eyed, we know what we do and we hunger for it. I open to him, accept him, love him. His tongue laps at the dregs of jism in my mouth. I slip my arms under him, hug him fiercely to me, grind my erection against him. Two males, locked in tender combat. Penises roll against each other; the hunching motions Daddy is making cause his balls to slap mine. Father's nuts to son's nuts.

My orgasm is short but intense. My seed spews from my cockhead, coating our bellies. I writhe in my father's embrace, shooting jism that snarls the dark swirls of hair on Daddy's belly with incestuous slime. My cries echo into Daddy's devouring throat. It oozes down and dripping through our pubic hair and off our balls.

The realm I break into while I jet and writhe cannot be describe.

When it dies away, Daddy is there, holding me up. I never break our kiss, not even when the tears slide from my eyes. Our tongues explore each other, roughly familiar because Daddy and I are reflections from opposite sides of the mirror. His beard scratches my face.

We break. It's as if we are sharing thoughts as well as semen. Daddy's lips glow ruby red. Daddy's hands are wrapped round my waist just above my butt. Does he know how badly I want him to touch my ass?