The Second Time

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.