Tim Reconnects with Dad

I was still at school when I got the text that would change my life forever. My Mum had written "I won't be home tonight. Everyone's okay but Dad can explain when you get home if you want." Mum's usually very good at overexplaining everything, so I knew something bad must've happened. Naturally, I started freaking out. Mum and Dad seem okay based on that, but had something happened to one of my grandparents, or aunts or uncles? I showed the text to my teacher and explained I was worried. Thankfully, she agreed to let me go home to see what the hell was wrong, even though there was more than two hours of school left.

"I hope everything's okay, Tim," the sincerity in her voice undeniable. Miss Wilson is the only teacher I've had a crush on, but I know I wasn't alone in that. Almost all the guys in school lusted after her, and it's not hard to see why - she was young, slim, with an adorable face and perky tits she would show off in her low cut tops. It just made it that much better to know she was a genuinely caring person, too.

"Thanks. Me too." I gathered up my things and left, not even bothering to explain to my friends.

My parents' house is about a 20 minute walk from school. I could've made it home in 10 that day if I ran, but school's on a busy road and I'm very self conscious about my running. Don't ask me why - there's no real reason for it, apart from just being an awkward teenager. My awkwardness is a major part of the reason I was still a virgin. I mean, I'm not fat or anything - I've got an average build, maybe leaning more towards skinny than solid. Anyway, I got home about 15 minutes after leaving school, and Dad's car was in the driveway. Considering he isn't meant to finish work until 6, that was proof to me that something happened.

My stomach sank and my trembling hands struggled to get the keys in the door. I eventually got the door open and went inside. I called out, "Uh, Dad? Where are you? Everything okay?" and dropped my school bag by the front door. I poked my head into the lounge room, but there was no sign of him there. Before I could check the kitchen, he answered.

"Tim? What are you doing home?" His voice sounded different somehow. Tired, maybe. And sad, but not tearful. I followed the sound of his voice into the kitchen. He was slumped over the table, arms folded in front of him, looking down into the faux-wood blackness of the Ikea table. It...was not a reassuring sight.

"Mum sent me a text. I dunno, I guess it sounded like something was wrong so I thought I'd see if anyone was home so I could find out what's up."

"Of course she did," he sighed. "Leaving it to me to explain the mess she made." He still wasn't looking at me. He studied his hands as he took another breath, then started fiddling with his wedding ring. "It seems your mother's been having an affair. For a while now. I just found out about it today, and..." he paused for a little while, clenching his fists. "And so I told her to get out of the house."

I was speechless. "Fuuuuck." Okay, maybe not speechless, but certainly not eloquent. "That's fucked," I offered helpfully.

At least Dad chuckled. "Uh-huh. But I don't know what's going to happen now."

"Um, that's fair enough. So, like, what happened? Should I ask?" Shit, I was still in shock myself. I don't know what you're meant to say.

"I saw some texts and pictures, that's all. I didn't walk in on them or anything like that." He clenched his fists again. "We were just meant to be having lunch together, for fuck's sake. Just like every Wednesday. This wasn't supposed to happen!" He banged his fists on the table, rattling all the crap that was sitting on it. I jumped a little.

"Look, I know that it's not easy to be calm when you've found something like this going on. This whole thing is fucked and there's not much I can do, but..." I put my hand on his hand, and he unclenched his fist. "If there's anything I can do to help, let me know. Okay, Dad?"

"Thanks, Tim" he sighed. "It's just so...raw. So fresh. I don't know. We'll see what happens, I suppose. In the short term, it might be good if you stayed here with me for the next couple of days? I can call the school and let them know." I must've looked a bit taken aback, because he did his best to reassure me. "Not that I'm wanting to...hurt myself or anything. Just for company, I mean."

"Yeah, I can try to keep your mind off it if you want. Order pizza and have a guys night tonight, kinda thing?"

"Exactly. It feels like forever since we've hung out, just father and son. Who knows, I might even let you have one of my beers," He smiled. A proper, relaxed smile. No matter what would happen between Mum and him, I think we both felt better knowing that our relationship would make it through intact.

That night, we had a pizza each. Well, we ordered one each. I had 5 slices of mine, and Dad had four of his one. Thanks to the beers, the conversation flowed pretty easily, and we both avoided mentioning Mum. We watched the first Die Hard movie together, and complained about how terrible the two most recent movies have been. Dad started getting sleepy and fell asleep in his chair with less than half an hour left in the movie, which was probably exacerbated by his three beers that night. Wary of waking him, I headed off to bed once the movie was over, but sleep was difficult. I couldn't turn my mind off - thinking about Mum and Dad and what Mum had done to all of us. It was equal parts depressing and enraging. When I eventually did drift off, my dreams were all vivid anxiety dreams.

At least I got a sleep in. I got out of bed around 11 and went downstairs. Dad didn't look like his sleep was any better than mine. I had my cereal and Dad drank his coffee in silence. I think I startled him a bit when I announced I was going to have a shower.

"Huh? Oh, right, yeah." Fuck, it was hard seeing him like that.

After I showered, I found Dad still in the kitchen, still hypnotised by his empty coffee mug. I didn't want to spend four days off school taking care of a zombie father. "Hey, Dad? Maybe you should have a shower now, too. At least, it couldn't hurt."

He sighed. "Okay, you're probably right." He stood up with a groan and sulked off to his room, his shoulders slumped.

A shower didn't help. He came back dried and dressed, but still depressed. Look, I know it wasn't fair to expect him to be all fine and happy again less than 24 hours after he found out about Mum's affair, but his moping was really getting to me.

"Dad, I think we need to talk." I approached him before he could sit back at the kitchen table and stare off into space again.

"It's about my mood, isn't it?" At least he was fairly self aware. "I'm sorry, Tim. But after almost 20 years of marriage..." His lips began to quiver and his eyes glistened. Tears would soon follow.

I didn't want to see my dad like that. I stepped forward and opened my arms. He opened his. Then we hugged. We held each other close. It was a really wonderful hug. Dad managed to fight back his tears and I felt him relax against me. I relaxed too, breathing in deep and wondering what deodorant he wore, because I quite liked the smell of it. The fact I was admiring my father's scent didn't strike me as particularly strange; it's certainly never occurred to me that it was an indication of what was to come.

"Thanks, Tim," Dad half-whispered to me. Because we're basically the same height, his mouth was right next to my ear during the hug. The sensation of his whisper gave me goosebumps and made me shiver involuntarily, but Dad didn't seem to notice.

"It's okay, Dad," I replied. The hug continued. After about 10 more seconds, I realised Dad wasn't letting go. I gave him two quick pats on the back - the universal sign for "the hug's over now" - but Dad still held my body close to his, as tight as he could. 'I guess I'm going to have to break it, then,' I thought.

Slowly, softly, I pulled away from Dad's body. He finally got the hint, and released my body from his grip. Our hands lingered above each other's hips. I looked into Dad's eyes, and he looked into mine. In that instant, something changed between us. Something changed in us. Years later, I still don't know what caused it. Whatever it was, it happened instantly and silently. Our eyes still locked on each other's, Dad leaned in, his face inching towards mine. I somehow knew what was about to happen but also, I didn't. That's when my father kissed me.

He kissed me on the lips, softly but deliberately. When I was growing up, he'd never kissed me on the cheek, let alone my mouth. Don't get me wrong; I'm not saying he was a cold, unloving father - far from it. He'd always been affectionate towards me - hugs and such - but he only ever kissed me on the top of my head. Never on the face - I think maybe he was worried it might "look gay" or something, which is hilarious in retrospect.

I reacted to his kiss in what I would say was a fairly natural way for a "straight" guy being kissed by his father in such an intimate way - I tensed up, replied with a startled "Mmmm?!" and put my hands against his chest in an attempt to push him away. But Dad held on to me tightly, kissing me harder now. Those extra few seconds made all the difference. I did have to concede that his lips felt soft against mine, his warm body felt good pressing into mine, and the aroma of his skin and deodorant in my nostrils was reassuringly familiar and helped soothe my mind's initial disgusted/horrified reaction. I closed my eyes, relaxed my lips and gave in to Dad's kiss and felt the nervous excitement starting to build in the pit of my stomach. I didn't know why, but this felt good. And right. I embraced my father again, holding myself close against him.

I started kissing Dad back, opening my mouth against his. Fuck, what was happening? I decided I didn't care; it felt way too good to stop now. Dad slid his tongue into my mouth, and I licked it with my own. He let out a short grunt of approval. I started sucking his tongue, squeezing it gently with my lips. He responded by moaning deeply. The sound and sensation of his moan electrified my whole body, kicking my lust into overdrive. I was suddenly hyperaware of my dick, which was twitching and hardening in my pants by the second. Precum began oozing from my tip, leaking into my boxers, forming an ever-growing wet patch.

This was crazy. I'd never had lustful thoughts about any man, let alone my own father. But now, as we embraced and made out in the kitchen, there was nowhere else I'd rather be; no-one else I'd rather be with. I stopped sucking Dad's tongue and slid mine into his warm, wet, inviting mouth. He returned the favour, sucking my tongue hungrily. I could feel him getting hard too, growing and pressing into me.

I withdrew my tongue from Dad's mouth and sucked his bottom lip into my mouth, biting it gently, then released it. He grabbed my ass hard, then started thrusting against me. I followed suit, grinding my crotch against his. I sucked at his bottom lip again. Once I let go, he started making out with me again - deep, wet, passionate kisses - while we dry humped in the kitchen. Dad and I swallowed our mingled saliva as it built up in our mouths.

Breathless and lustful, we picked up the pace of our dry humping. I knew I'd be cumming quick if I didn't slow down, but I didn't want this to end. Not yet. I took a risk and slid one hand from Dad's back and around to the front. I pulled my crotch away from his, and slid my hand into the waistband of Dad's jeans. It was too tight. Both hands fumbled at his belt until I got it unbuckled. Thankfully, it was much easier to undo Dad's jeans button and unzip his fly. I slipped my hand back into the waistband of my father's underwear, moved down past his thick, curly pubes and grabbed his thick, warm, hard cock.

He felt so big in my hand. So strong. He moaned into my mouth when I started stroking it - my own father's dick. I slid my hand up and down his shaft, gripping firmly, feeling the warm hardness beneath my fingers, filling my fist. He had started leaking precum into his underwear too, and it felt cool against the back of my hand when I would brush against it while I jacked my father off.

Dad didn't want to have all the fun, though. Soon after I built up a steady rhythm, he slid his hand into my tracksuit pants, under the elastic waistband of my boxers and grabbed my hard dick. It was a miracle I didn't cum right then and there. I managed to hold off, somehow, while Dad started pulling at my cock, stroking me with his big, smooth hands.

I might as well confess this now: at this point I my life, I was still a virgin. I'd had a couple girlfriends but we never got further than making out. So obviously, I'd never had a handjob before. It felt so exciting, having someone else touch me there, lustfully, for my pleasure. I wouldn't say "and I didn't even care it was my Dad doing it" because that'd be a lie. Having my first handjob (giving and receiving) being with my father was not something I would have ever predicted. If you'd told me two days prior, I would've either laughed or asked what the fuck was wrong with you for suggesting such a perverted, wrong idea. But incredibly, it didn't feel weird or wrong. I didn't question anything - I just gave in and let it happen, letting our bodies tell us what we wanted; what we needed.

Oh how I wish I could say we stood there for over 20 minutes - father and son united in lust, making out and mutually masturbating with reckless abandon. But I was young and inexperienced. Less than a minute after Dad grabbed my dick and started jacking me off, I was at the point of no return. My breathing changed, growing rapids and shallow. I started grunting with increasing intensity into Dad's mouth, and I slowed down my movements of jerking his dick (never letting go) while I selfishly focused on my impending orgasm.

My whole body shuddered and I involuntarily broke our kiss and moaned loudly, closing my eyes and feeling my cock about to erupt. I sprayed and sprayed cum into my pants, my cock twitching endlessly in Dad's firm-but-soft grip. I felt weak in the knees, but Dad still had one arm wrapped around my waist, and he held me while I came. I felt cum drip down my cock and onto his hand like a melting ice cream cone. When he was sure I'd finished, Dad let go of my dick, wiping his hand on my shirt on his way out of my pants. Breathless, we kissed again, with renewed passion and vigour. My mind woke up and I resumed jacking my Dad's thick cock, eager to repay the feeling he'd just given to me.

I sucked at his bottom lip and he moaned long and deep. He pulled me close to him and I felt his breathing change. He was close. I jacked him faster and faster, impatiently waiting for his orgasm, the orgasm I was going to give to him.

His groans got louder and longer, then they became one sustained groan of pleasure while his body spasmed against mine. I felt his cock get momentarily harder and harder, then it started twitching as it pumped out Dad's cum - the same cum that had made me 18 years ago. I felt it working its way up his thick dick, then it shot into his briefs, over and over, soaking them with his sticky, hot seed. Like my father before me, I felt it drip down and coat my hand, which was still wrapped around his cock. He moaned softly, and we kissed again, deeply and softly, and held each other close. When I felt him start to soften in my hand, I let go and wiped his cum on my shirt. After all, it had cum on it already.

This post-orgasmic make out session lasted a minute or two, then Dad moved to sit down at the table. I joined him, and instinctively knew what was coming next - The Talk. I just didn't know if it was going to be a good talk or a bad one.

Dad zipped his fly back up and did his belt back up, then sat at the table. I adjusted my pants and boxers and sat down. My cum was now a massive wet pool, soaking the front of my pants, and sitting in it was not terribly comfortable. Dad and I were in the same places as yesterday, when he told me about Mum's affair. We hadn't said a single word to each other since before our hug finished, over 10 minutes ago. Dad broke the silence first.

He cleared his throat, unsure how best to start. "Now son..." he clasped his hands in front of him, and stared unblinkingly at them. "What happened just now... I'm sorry."

Looks like it was going to be a bad talk. I tried to speak up. "Dad-"

"Let me finish. Please. I'm sorry, Tim. I don't know what came over me. What we did...fathers shouldn't do that sort of thing with their sons. And vice versa."

"Dad-"

"I'm not saying I didn't enjoy it. I don't regret it, exactly, but... it's not right. Between dads and sons, at least. What I'm trying to say is that this needs to be just a one-time thing, okay?"

I let the question hang in the air for longer than it needed to. "Right, so I can talk now? Look, I know you're going through some shit right now - we both are. Any maybe all the shit that's happened since yesterday, we got... confused. Like, instead of just comforting each other, we felt like we needed something ...more." I realised I'd started rambling. "Shit, I dunno. But we did it, and there's no taking it back. But I'm with you; it should just be a one time, like, temporary insanity. Yes, we got carried away, but it won't happen again."

Dad breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh good. I was worried it was going to get real uncomfortable real quick for a second there. Tim, I do love you, but not...in that way. I'm glad you understand."

"Love you too, Dad," I confirmed. I shifted in my seat. "But if it's okay, I think I need to get changed." I didn't need to elaborate.

"Uh-huh. I do too. After that, uh, do you want to get something to eat?" I appreciated that he was trying to get things back on track, not giving the awkwardness a chance to develop and fester.

"We could go to that new burger place? They're meant to be good." Too eager to get rid of my cum-soaked pants, I started heading upstairs. Dad followed, but not too close.

"Sure, I don't mind. Meet you downstairs in 10?"

"Can do." I closed my bedroom door behind me, and got out of my pants immediately. I threw them onto the bed and, once I cleaned myself off, found a new pair of boxers and put on a fresh pair of jeans. Dad was right: what happened downstairs just now was a weird blip on the radar. I'm still straight, I'm certainly not in love with him. No, chalk it up to some weird brain chemistry misfire because of the affair thing. Fucking bitch, Mum. How could you do that to me and Dad? It's all her fault. Alright, calm down now. Just get dressed and then you can go get some burgers and get on with your life. You won't have to think about the kissing or the handjobs any more.

I headed back downstairs, where Dad was already waiting for me. "Good to go?"

I confirmed, and we headed out. The car ride was a little awkward at first, but then by the time we got downtown and ordered our burgers, we were talking like nothing had happened. We'd just finished talking about how school was going for me, and my plans (or lack thereof) for once my final exams were over, then came the first lull in the conversation. I decided to tell Dad something that had been on my mind.

"So, I know you probably don't want to talk about it," I started. Dad's eyes looked panicked. "But I just want to say, I'm proud of you for kicking Mum out. Most men would've been begging to take her back, or she would've left before you'd had the chance. So good on you for not letting her walk all over you."

"Well, she's always said I'm not very assertive. Damn well couldn't say that this time." He let out a wry laugh. "But if it's alright with you, I'd prefer not to talk about that stuff right now, okay?" I nodded my acceptance. He changed the subject. "So, Tim, tell me: interested in any girls at school or anything?"