Young Boys Ongoing Journey of Self-Discovery and Fatherly Love

This second story happened in the same year as the last. After the first time that I had any kind of sexual encounter, my mind began to slowly wrap itself around the idea of my sexuality. Still so young at ten, I wasn't honestly certain of everything. I knew what I felt both mentally and literally. My father and I, though the encounter did open up a new closeness between us that was different when my mother was around, and even when she wasn't, he never did anything with me, nor insisted we do since that night. Granted, we did eventually, and this is that memory, but he was also so reserved about it. I guess that's what made me kind of proud of him now, because he didn't take advantage and still treated me as his son, rather than anything more, nor less.



A few months after, he was more often than not preoccupied with work. A single father trying to pave the way for both himself and his son, I didn't really understand it then, but now that I look back, it was amazing of him to take on such responsibility. I probably didn't help much at the time, but that's beside the point. 


My father never worked normal hours like some people. He didn't work the nine to five shifts like some, and never really had weekends off. Monday and Friday were his days, and Fridays always for the two of us. It was our father and son day, he always made sure of that. This happened on one of those Fridays. 


I remember waking up in the morning after a night terror. I may have actually awoken, paralyzed and riddled with fear, but I don't really remember it too well. I tried to block as much from my mind as possible. I only remember it being enough to spring me out of bed at Six AM in the morning with my heart beating rapidly. Quickly, I climbed out of bed in just my father's Pink Floyd shirt, which hung low enough to touch my knees at the time. I liked wearing his shirts to bed, or in general because it made me feel like a man, that, and like I had part of him with me even when he wasn't around. I can't really explain it more than that. 


The new apartment, which we had been in for a few months now was small and the bathroom was attached to the master bedroom. I thought to take a pee first, and then maybe try to sleep again, but as I carefully opened the door into my father's room, I saw him asleep in his large bed, comfortable and bare from the waist up. That's all I could see as the blanket covered from there down. Something in me kicked in to get into bed with him after using the bathroom. Some feeling to be held, or protected as if being with my father meant nothing could get me. 



Opening the bathroom door, it pushed aside his work clothes from the night before. Green boxers and jean pants. His forest green dress shirt, I remember thinking how funny that his underwear matched his shirt, but also thought it a little arousing. It didn't help as my thoughts began to dwell upon sex, mostly recalling the night I sucked my father's cock. I could smell his dick as if it were right in front of me by just remembering it. It forced my little penis to drain itself stiff, which was quite the task for my hand to steady it. 


Stroking it kind of came naturally to me when my cock became erect. It wasn't often, but sometimes there was this urge to just give it a good rub down, and I found myself in the bathroom gently stroking my youthful member when it finished urinating. I think I lost interest, or lost my erection quickly, because I didn't do much in there. It subsided and the need to climb into bed with my father took over what ever sexual urges plagued my little mind. 



His blankets, as I remember, were very thick and grey. I know now that they were actually comforters, which are incredibly warm and comfortable. Mine was a real blanket, thin and useless. It just gave me more incentive to visit his bed some nights. This, however, wasn't night and I climbed up onto the bed, tucked myself under the comforter blanket and then began to scoot closer to my father. It wasn't long before skin touched skin. He was naked underneath from head to toe, since my toes were touching his bare legs. To double check, I reached a little further and felt the warmth and girth of his adult penis, flaccid, but still marvelous to grasp in my small hands. 



My arm draped across his chest and my face tucked against his shoulder and neck. Warm and safe from all of the bad in the world, here with dad. I think I drifted back to sleep, but it didn't last very long. I remember waking when I fell off the side of him. He had moved onto his side with his body toward me. Perhaps subconsciously he knew I was there, or someone, because he pulled me with one arm close to his chest. There wasn't many comfortable ways to rest like this, I remember my arm fell asleep more than I could and eventually had to shift within his grasp, doing so rubbed my thighs and body against his crotch quite a few times. So much so, I began to feel his penis stiffen against my thigh. It intrigued me enough to reach below with my tingling arm and tentatively hold onto his penis from just beneath the frenulum. It wasn't a hard grip, very soft, just like the flesh of his penis, despite the hardness beneath. 



Soon it became slippery to hold. Precum stuck to my palm and wrist so I let go and wiped some of it on his chest. "What are you doing?" He asked quietly, but it scared me. I didn't think he was awake, or that I had awoken him. "I had a nightmare. I wanted to sleep in bed with you," I replied. I remember even kissing him on the chest after, but he snickered and wiped the precum from his chest, and spoke almost accusingly. "I mean this." There really wasn't anything I could have responded with to that. It was just what I did, without thought and although I remember trying to come up with something, I'm sure he knew a futile attempt to lie when he heard one. It upset me though, and I climbed out from under the blanket. On all fours, I started toward the edge of the bed, but his voice stopped me. 



"You can sleep with me if you want, just don't wipe this on the fabric." His hand was on my foot. His fingers warm, large and strong that I remember at my age. He could wrap his index finger and thumb around my wrists and ankles. Something else happened, though. He said something to assure me that it was all right to sleep in his bed, but the exact words escape me. Everything did except for the feeling of his hand on my little butt. Surely he could see it outlined by his shirt and his hand slide up my flesh to meet it. Fingers traced over my tiny pink hole, almost casually in fact. He had gripped the side of my butt and gently tugged me backward into him. He probably meant to tug me down, but I let out a soft little moan. Part of it was to test the waters to see if anything might happen, and part of it real. The warmth and gentleness of my father's hand on my ass was like bliss. Little did I know what true bliss felt like when things were down there. 


"I like that." I said, my breath almost caught in my throat. He snickered and pulled his hand from my body to move that shirt of his up until bare boy flesh was in his view. My legs were close together, to which he parted with soft caressive touches, and my little pink boy hole was in full view of my father, the fabric's hem just above it. My heart was racing again, but this was in a good way. Like a pleasant dream rather than a horrifying nightmare.

When he pulled on my leg to sit me down, and then slipped his shirt off of my body, I was in bliss and ready for anything. My little boyhood stiff as a board. My father tossed his shirt at

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THE END