I Fucked High School BF's Dad Pt. 01

Look, this is the first story in a series about my sex life. It also happens to be true. And with all things that I hold close to myself, I'm going to do this well and on my own time. So, if you're just hear to read about the time I had sex with my boyfriend's dad, then go ahead and skip down to the first time you see the words, "penis" or "dick" or "mouth". That's fine. But once you've read about it, you'll probably want to come back up here and find out how it all happened. So, you might as well stay with me here.

The first thing you need to know is that Mr Dawson, or Marcus as I would eventually know him, wasn't as old as you'd expect. He was my boyfriend's dad but he was still a young man. While all the other dads in our group of friends in high school were in their fifties, Mark was thirty-two. He had become a dad young, accidentally fathering a son in his teens during a house party hook-up. Mark's own traditional father did not give him any leeway and told him that the moment he was legally allowed to do so, he would marry the mother of his child and leave school to get a job and earn for his new family.

The second thing you need to know is that I was one of those supposedly rare things - a pretty bookworm. My entire life I had been the girl in the background, shunned for her intelligence. Whenever I came top of the class, I would brace myself, knowing a barrage of insults was about to come my way. I had always been unremarkable and plain to the point that other students, with whom I had shared a class for years, would occasionally ask me if I was the new girl. But a year before this story takes place, I had suddenly started turning heads. I had noticed the changes happening in me for several months, but to others it was like it had happened over night. I suddenly had attention from popular guys, not just in my year but the year above and from boys who went to college and university. I had all this feminine power - if you want to call it that - that I didn't know how to control. This was all a bit too much for me and I went through a crazy phase and ran away from home for a year and a half. I can't go into much detail about everything that happened but the long and short of it is that I was held back two years in school, and found myself - on the cusp of nineteen with two years of adventure behind me - right back where I started: a nerdy quiet girl in school.

That was how I ended up dating Daniel Dawson, a shy introvert, who had also been held back a year. We had actually been childhood friends but as our gender roles took over - he becoming a basketballer and me becoming a nerdy mathlete - our paths diverged. Now, as both the oldest kids in our school, both the only eighteen-year-olds who could go to a pub and get served, our bond rekindled. It was this arbitrary nature of our relationship that quietly signalled to us that we were really only in this to kill time until we could graduate and get on with our lives that had been held back mostly by the will of our parents refusing to let us drop out.

One day, at the start of my final year, after advanced mathematics, Daniel invited me over to study. He didn't even look at me as he asked, but kept his eyes down on his backpack as he packed away his papers and textbook. My heart raced a little. He had looked my way a few times during class. The secretive manner in which he asked made it seem to me that the only explanation was that he had noticed me and wanted to hook up. I said okay a little breathlessly and together we walked along the quiet, leafy suburban streets to Daniel's house. The whole way to his house I could feel my pulse in my neck. I had been so bored since I had returned home to this quiet world that I had never imagined a secret casual hook-up could happen so matter-of-factly here. As we walked, the streets and trees took on a vibrant, magical quality. I felt like I had gone into a new dimension where the boring neighbourhood I had grown up in was suddenly an exciting place full of possibility. I wondered what kind of sex would unfold with Daniel. I imagined him biting my neck, my ribs, grabbing my ass. I could feel a pre-emptive tingle between my legs.

When we got his home, I could barely contain myself. I shut the door hard behind us.

"Where's your bedroom?" I said, looking him in the eyes.

Again, with his cryptic neutrality, avoiding my gaze, he pointed up the stairs, "Up there."

I took his hand and pulled him up the stairs, slammed the door, and just as I was about to pull him onto me against the wall, he said, "So, do you want to just start with chapter one and work our way up from there?"

For a split second, I thought it was an innuendo. But I saw in his eyes he was serious. He didn't see me at all. He thought I was really there to study - me who had always excelled in maths and never had to revise for a test. I felt invisible. I looked at his handsome face, his smooth, strong jaw, the brown curls of his hair that reminded me of an ancient Greek Olympian. He had an athletic frame and the delicate yet sharp features of a male model. But his character and personality seemed to carry none of the gusto that his body implied. I sighed. All the excited energy in my body, that had been whirling around my nipples and between my legs scrunched up into a thick knot and I felt the weight of disappointment in my chest.

"I'm just going to grab a drink from the kitchen," I said. "To cool down."

Daniel nodded and sat at his bedroom desk, opening his mathematics textbook.

I went downstairs, wondering if I should just leave there and then. Pretend I'd had my period or something. But instead, I decided to grab that drink of water. I walked through the beige living room and into the kitchen. There, facing away from me, Mr Dawson, Daniel's father, was doing the dishes. I stopped in my tracks and observed him for a moment.

Mr Dawson had broad shoulders, short dark hair and big forearms, visible from his rolled-up sleeves. He was wearing a thick woolly sweater, at detail I remember because he seemed cosy and like he would have a warm reassuring hug, but it was barely autumn and it seemed an odd yet mature way to dress considering the weather.

As I tip toed towards him, I realised that what I had perceived to be a small kitchen sink was actually normal sized and that Mr Dawson's shoulders were really very broad and sturdy. A floorboard creaked and he turned his head and noticed me.

He smiled immediately, a warm, generous smile. "Oh, hello. You must be Daniel's friend."

"Hi,' I said, nervously.

He paused washing the dishes for a moment and looked at me. I looked at him. I felt like I could barely breath and realised after a few seconds that I hadn't been breathing at all. I took a breath and giggled awkwardly.

"Do you, uh, need anything?" Mr Dawson said.

"I just came for some water," I said. I wanted so badly to say something witty but I couldn't think anything else to say.

"Of course," he said.

He grabbed a glass and ran it under the tap then handed it to me. The spray of the water shone on his hands and highlighted the size of his knuckles. He had big, thick hands with calluses on the finger tips and palms. I took the glass, feeling the wet brush of his fingers against mine. I looked up at him, his strong jawline that he had passed onto his son, his eyes, much wiser than Daniel's, his smile, more meaningful and natural.

"Aren't you hot in that thing?" I asked, looking over my glass of water as I took a sip of the fresh liquid.

Mr Dawson blushed. "Oh, ha, to be honest, I was working in the shed just before you came. It often gets hot in there so I was topless and when I heard someone coming down the stairs, I just threw on the first thing I saw."

I studied his face. Now I could see the faint sheen of sweat on his brow. Yes, he had been working. He looked younger with the flush of embarrassment in his cheeks. I couldn't imagine what it had been like for him becoming a father so young. He must have been so confused, so lost.

"What kind of work do you do in that shed?" I asked.

"Uh, carpentry," he said, looking down at his hands, looking both proud and surprised that they were his hands.

"That explains why you have such big hands," I said. "And all the calluses."

He looked up at me, probably surprised that I had paid such close attention to his hands. Then almost immediately he looked away, embarrassed again. Suddenly, seeing how shy he seemed to be around me, I felt more confident. I wanted to tell him what he could do with those hands. I wanted to tell him he could grab me with them, hold me hard, or grab a fistful of my ass. Maybe he could even pin me down with them or clutch my neck. I watched him as he got more fidgety.

He sighed and said, "So, you must be Daniel's...study buddy?"

"Is that all he said about me?" I asked. "He had me fooled that he was going to ask me out."

"Oh, he does like you. I mean - that's for him to say, not me. But he has spoken about you. He said you were pretty - but I didn't realise just how - I mean-"

"-Just how...?" I asked, smirking.

He laughed and looked away. "I mean that I didn't expect you to be so - no that's not..."

"So...what?" I almost whispered.

He looked at me as if it was obvious what he was trying to say but that he couldn't say it and at the same time he looked shy and apologetic. He shook his head and looked down.

Just then Daniel walked into the room. "Is everything okay in here?"

"Yes, son," Mr Dawson said.

"Mr Dawson was just telling me how proud he is of you," I said, not taking my eyes off Daniel's dad.

"Urg, Dad," Daniel moaned. "I asked you not to do that."

Mr Dawson smiled sheepishly. "I am proud of you, son. What do you want me to do about it? Not tell people? You know he's been invited to try out for a basketball team in Spain?" He looked at me and nodded towards Daniel.

"Wow," I said, still looking at Mr Dawson. "You have a very talented boy, Mr Dawson."

"Why are you calling him that?" Daniel asked. "Just call him Mark like a normal person."

"Is that your actual name?" I asked him.

"Well, no," Mr Dawson said. "My name is Marcus but people call me Mark."

"Good to know, Mr Dawson," I laughed.

I watched his eyes as they met mine with the slightest hint of a spark and then turned to follow Daniel up to his room.

***

Fast forward three months and Daniel and I had been dating a while. After weeks of beating around the bush he eventually asked me out. It was a painfully slow relationship. I just wanted to rush things and do as much as I could with my life before school finished. But Daniel acted as if he were immortal or something. He always took his time with everything and after weeks of being together, he had barely touched me at all.

One evening, Daniel invited me to sleep over. I was sure he was going to finally try to have sex with me. I wore my favourite white lacey bra and a matching set of panties. I looked at myself in the mirror and admired my body as I got ready. I still wasn't used to this womanly shape that I had developed in the last few years and I often enjoyed looking at my body as if it belonged to someone else. When I saw it that way I loved the smooth milky skin, the firm breasts that seemed to be trying to defy gravity by pushing up towards the sky. I loved my shapely and firm ass that was toned from a lot of jogging and high intensity exercise. But when I remembered it was my body it would suddenly seem ugly, too bland, lacking in volume and shape.

I wondered what Mr Dawson would think if he saw my body. Would he think it was pretty? Would he think it was hot? Sexy? Would he want to touch it, make love to it, fuck it? Or would he shake his head and look away? Would he prefer Mrs Dawson's body?

I had gotten to know Daniels parents over the weeks. Mr Dawson and I had never had another moment like the one where we first met. In fact, we hadn't been alone. Because Mrs Dawson, whose name was Shirley, was always there. And she seemed to really love Mr Dawson. Shirley was always doting on her man. Always complimenting him, touching his big arms. I didn't like Shirley. I felt that she tried to hard to portray the perfect family and I knew that nobody in the world was as perfect as she pretended to be. But one thing I couldn't deny is that she had a banging body. She had impossibly wide hips and a plump ass that was not fat or too big, it just seemed to have been created to be admired and probably to fit snugly in Mr Dawson's large hands.

But my first night sleeping over at Daniel's, I knew Shirley wasn't going to be there. It was the entire reason Daniel had invited me.

"When my mum is away for work, my dad spends most of his time in the shed working, we'll basically have the house to ourselves," he had said.

When I arrived, Daniel and Mr Dawson were sitting on the couch watching a film. I sat down between Daniel ad Mr Dawson. Daniel put his arm around me but all I could feel was Mr Dawson's thigh against mine.

We had dinner together. Mr Dawson cooked a roast chicken with vegetables. Daniel spoke about basketball. Mr Dawson described the piece of furniture that he was working on - a rocking chair based on the one he remembered his grandfather using before he passed away a few decades ago.

After dessert, Mr Dawson excused himself. I waited for Daniel to take us up to his room but he seemed nervous and took me over to the couch again. We watched another film, then another. We kissed a lot throughout the films but again he barely touched me - he squeezed my breasts a few times but without going underneath my bra and by then my lips felt so raw from kissing that I could barely enjoy the touch. Eventually, he said he was tired and going to bed. I hesitated then said that I felt like watching an episode of something on television first. He shrugged and nodded then left.

I was alone watching re-runs of Friends until past midnight when I heard a clang in the kitchen. My body froze. My ears twitched. I listened intently. Then, in the darkness of the living room, lit by only the erratic glow of the television, I saw Mr Dawson emerge from the shadows of the hallway. I could only tell it was him from his silhouette, the big shoulders and sturdy legs. It was only as he got closer and as a bright advert came on the TV that I saw that he was almost naked except for some boxer shorts. He had the sheen of sweat on his forehead again. True to his promise he had been working late in his shed. I felt a prickle on my skin, a flash of electricity across my breasts.

"Oh!" Mr Dawson cried when he saw me. He immediately, instinctively, put his hands in front of his boxers as if to cover his genitals.

I looked at his surprised face then down at his hands. I don't know what it was - the darkness, the middle of the night, the numbness from watching too much TV, the glow of the screen, but I felt in a trance, in another world.

I kept my eyes on his hands and said, "What are you covering?"

"W-what?" Mr Dawson asked. "I'm - I don't know."

He didn't move. He stood there, his hands still hovering above where his penis was safely stowed away in his boxers.

"Move your hands away then," I said.

He did as I told him. His hands dropped to his side and he stood there unsure what to do. He kept his gaze averted. I was not in the same state of near nudity as him but other than my lingerie, I was only wearing Daniel's oversized hoody, having decided to make myself comfortable after taking a shower during one of the films I had watched earlier.

I felt cosy and warm and strangely safe there, sitting on the couch while Mr Dawson stood a metre away, awaiting my next question or command. I took my time, letting the stillness settle.

"What was it like," I whispered, "becoming a dad so young?"

"What?" Mr Dawson was surprised by my question.

I looked at him in the eyes. He seemed confused, lost, but not afraid. I let my eyes fall back down to his boxers. I could see the faint downward curve of his not unsubstantial yet flaccid dick.

"Were you scared? Do you regret it? Do you feel you missed out on life?" I asked, my voice quiet and airy.

"I - I was scared, yes," Mr Dawson replied. His voice was low, pensive and resigned. "I don't regret it. I don't think regret serves us much in life. But, of course, I missed out. I never went to college or university. I never went travelling. I didn't get to explore...well...anything."

"Did you ever get to sleep with other women?" I asked, my eyes staying firm on the outline of his penis.

I could sense him wondering if he should answer the question or draw a line. If there was ever a moment for him to say this was not an appropriate conversation, that I was transgressing an unspoken boundary, it was now. A long moment passed and then he sighed.

"No. I only ever slept with Daniel's mum."

"How sad," I said. And I really did feel sad. Sad for this man who had been so good, who had decided to commit to his family after one understandable mistake, simple sheer bad luck, to prematurely become an adult with responsibilities that many men his own age now weren't willing to take on.

"Don't take pity on me," he said. "I made all of my choices and I stuck by them. You only know the outline of my story. You don't know me at all."

There was a gruffness in his voice that tantalized me. That made me feel conscious of the sound of my own breath. Up until now I had seen him more like an abandoned puppy who had perhaps been taken into a tough shelter that had taught him to be wary of other dogs but still an abandoned puppy inside. Now, I realised he was more like a wolf that had left his pack before he was ready and had survived the wilderness of life by staying true to his instincts, his wisdom and inner strength.

I looked up and he was looking at me square in the eyes with a confidence I hadn't seen in him before. It was as if the candour of our conversation had stripped away the glaze of his daily self and brought out the strong, dedicated man who had been built out of a confused boy who had been forced to miss out on his youth to provide for his family.

I felt my fingers rise up to my shoulder and slowly pull open Daniel's zipped hoody. The hoody fell open, revealing my lacey white bra and my bare belly. I saw Mr Dawson's eyes follow my fingers. I gently pulled on my shoulder strap until it fell and the left cup of my bra dipped just enough to expose part of my nipple.

I heard Mr Dawson swallow and breathe. He clenched his jaw. I looked down at his boxers and saw that the outline of his dick had shifted, no longer diagonally curving downwards, it was horizontal and extending.

"Mr Dawson," I said, with an ironic inflection of voice, pretending to reprimand him.

Immediately, fearing he had misread the situation, he covered himself with his hands again. His eyes went wide. Then he screwed them shut and looked away, preparing to walk away.

I couldn't help but giggle. But then I pursed my lips and said in a serious voice: "Did I tell you to move your hands back?"

He looked back at me - there he was, the wolf cub. It occurred to me that all me were part wolf and part wolf cub. He hesitated.

"Did I?" I whispered.

He shook his head and moved his hands away. His penis had already responded to his uncertainty - it was back to its downward curve, like the tale of a scolded animal. I took pity. I looked at his eyes again and saw that he was struggling with a deep hunger. In the quiet of the room and vicious war was being fought in his mind.

"Don't worry," I whispered. "We're in another world right now."

He gave the briefest nod as if he understood but didn't want to break the spell of the magic.

"Come here," I said.