Subject: Here Cums the Neighborhood: Chapter 1 This writing contains sexually explicit material, unsuited for readers under the age of 18. If you are underage, live in an area that disallows the reading of this type of material, or are offended by homosexual content, please do not read further. This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, settings, and ideas featured in this series are based on fantasy. Any character that resembles someone in your reality is purely coincedental. If you enjoy these stories, please donate to Nifty so that we can continue reading. Feel free to email ail to give feedback or constructive criticism. Please enjoy. ********************************** Chapter 1 – My New Home “Alright. One, two…three!” my dad and I lifted with our legs to get the last box out of the moving van. We’d been proud back home, over four hours away, after we managed to fit the last of the boxes inside the U-Haul. Not perfectly, but we didn’t care. We’d been boxing, taping, lifting, for hours. We were just happy to be done. We hadn’t thought that unloading the truck would be more difficult if we didn’t plan clearly. But, after two trips back and forth to get all of our household belongings, we were glad to be finished. My dad slapped his hands together, indicating the job was done. My dad is a somewhat quiet, aloof person, 39 years old. A sort of self-made man. Back home, he was a successful carpenter, providing different furniture for neighbors, offices, churches, whoever was needing what he was making at the time. Sometimes he didn’t even ask for pay. He was just giving, and enjoyed giving people the joy of his art. A moral that I knew I wanted to take with me. There was no doubt we were both exhausted, but my dad wore the fatigue much better than me. I just wanted to watch cartoons, and fall asleep in front of the TV, but my dad, in his towering height, built like the powerful shelves naturally constructed in his workshop, and dustings of dark hair patching his body, looked as though he was ready for another round. He never got tired that easily. “Nice work, Seb,” he said. Seb, being short for Sebastian. “Now all’s we gotta do is put the boxes to each room, and –” “Hey!” a cry came from across the street. A married couple with two kids, a boy and a girl, roughly the same age. They seemed incredibly friendly, still dressed in their church clothes from the mass earlier that Sunday. “Yep!” my dad called back. I dug my hands in my pockets and moved to the side, my oversized dinosaur T-shirt, clung to my sweaty body, outlining a small but solid frame. I’d been training to be a swimmer back home in the hill country, swimming in a giant lake that provided the water to our small town. Once again, something my dad introduced me to. For just being 4’9″, and coming into sixth grade this year, I could swim for a good thirty minutes before needing to rest. It was one of the only things I held pride in. I wiped away sweat from my forehead and brushed back my messy brown hair that sat like a bird’s nest on top of my head. “Welcome to the neighborhood!” the man said. The woman smiled in conjuction with her husband. Their two kids sheepishly waved. “Thanks, just finally finished moving everything,” my dad said with a huff. “We’d been seeing the both of you working hard these past few days!” said the woman “We really wanted to come out and help, but unfortunately, we’d been dealing with some work of our own at home.” She patted her husband’s arm. Dad’s interest was piqued. “Our air conditioning blew out. This dang hot summer,” the man laughed wiping his brow, somewhat embarrased. Their children started to scuff the ground, sighing with boredom. “I’m so sorry,” the woman said. “We haven’t introduced ourselves.” “We’re the Grishams,” said Mr. Grisham. “Mark,” pointing to himself, “Wendy, and our twins Paul and Sarah.” Mr. and Mrs. Grisham almost seemed like a TV couple from the 50s or 60s. Mr. Grisham was dressed in a white dress shirt with striped tie, tucked into his slacks with dress shoes; rather tall, at least a couple of inches taller than my dad whom I considered a giant. He definitely wasn’t as strong and solid as my dad; more lanky, letting his clothes float from his body like sails. Mrs. Grisham was much shorter, every hair in place, in a modest dress. Fair skin. Very traditional “Mom”. Much different from my own. “Name’s Gary Smalls,” my dad held out his hand, shaking the grown-up’s hands. “This is my son, Sebastian.” “Hi,” I said, quietly. “Hey,” the twins said back. “We’re really happy you moved in, and it looks like Sebastian will be in Paul and Sarah’s grade!” Mrs. Grisham said encouragingly. I liked the Grishams. They were really friendly. They sort of reminded me of home. “Listen, I know you all must be exhausted,” said Mr. Grisham, “but can we take a look inside? Maybe we can offer some hands on lightening the unpacking you all have to do?” My dad offered them toward the front door, as they followed. “Yeah, where’s Mom?” Wendy asked delicately. “She and my daughter are both back at the old house. Staying with Grandma. Wanted them to come home to a fresh–” he trailed away as they entered the house, leaving me with Paul and Sarah. My mother and my sister Lisa were back at the old house, tidying, taking things to donation stations, and eventually going on vacation together. I was somewhat jealous, but I liked being with my dad more than my mother anyway, so it was fine. My mother was the breadwinner of our house, and she knew it. She was the owner of her own “chapter of a non-profit”, which I didn’t know at all was about. Something about making sure that teenagers didn’t do drugs and drive. M.A.T.H. is what it’s called. I didn’t like math. Only moms could be there, but she was trying to get other dads to join, too. I could still hear my dad–but it’s called MOTHERS for the Advancement of Teenage Health, what’d you expect? He meant well. I stood by our unpainted cedar fence that wrapped around the perimeter of our new two-story house. It was all still surreal to me. This was home now. This is where I’d be making all of my new memories and friends. Perhaps starting with these two. “You look funny,” Sarah said. Sarah was in a light sundress that looked worn and faded from being used so much, and she was slightly taller than Paul. Her hair was loosely curled, and had focused eyes, and scabbed knees. Something about her was inviting, even though she obviously liked to tease. “I look funny?” I was caught off guard. “C’mon, Sarah,” Paul said, annoyed. Paul was definitely the opposite of Sarah. She had a confidence about her that seemed effortless. Paul seemed more reserved. Pale-skinned with messy sandy-blonde hair, he was dressed in an identical copy of Mr. Grisham, it seemed we both took after our dads. Unlike Mr. Grisham who was tucked and proper, Paul had eventually changed his dress shoes to sneakers, and untucked his shirt, loosening his tie. “I’m just saying. You’re wearing a really big shirt, and sandals. It looks like you’re not wearing pants!” she laughed. “I am wearing pants.” I peeled my damp shirt up from my legs to show a pair of short plaid shorts I’d been wearing since third grade. “Ooo, who wears short-shorts?” she teased. “Hey, don’t be jealous you can’t rock these,” I blurted out and took a strong pose. Paul and Sarah both laughed. “Alright, alright you’re pretty funny,” she admitted, tossing her hair. “You’re so annoying,” Paul grunted. She pinched him in the side. “Hey, do you want us to show you Knottingham Street?” Sarah asked. “Yeah, sure.” Even though it was getting dark, the street lights glowed on each corner of the suburban block. Fireflies danced through the warm summer night, elusive, like dreams. Grasshoppers bounced in the artificial amber glow that each street light radiated. Stars were just now waking up to watch over us. Three kids on a new adventure. “And this is Mr. Lee’s house. He never leaves his front lawn. I don’t think his car even has gas in it,” Sarah was going on and on. “And this is where the Pierce’s live. They lost both of their kids in a car accident. It’s really sad, actually. Anyway!–” Sarah enjoyed being the tour guide for us. Paul had probably heard this same routine dozens of times. “She sure does like to talk, doesn’t she?” I said quietly. “Yeah, she’s always been like that,” Paul commiserated. “What about you?” I asked. “Whaddya mean?” “She does the talking and you kinda hang back?” “Naw man, I–” “And THESE are the mailboxes! Everyone gets their mail–” “I mean, yeah, she’s chatty. I guess I’m more shy, ha.” “How long have y’all lived here?” “Ever since I can remember. My dad’s the pastor over at the church in town, and my mom’s a teacher at Frank Elementary. She was my teacher two years in a row.” “God that must’ve sucked.” “Hey, you shouldn’t say that word!” “Huh?” “Over HERE is the Watson’s house. They’re old, like REALLY old–” “Sorry. We just aren’t allowed to say curse words like that.” “Oh.” This family was really strict, it seemed obvious to me. At least they weren’t watching over us as şişli travesti we drifted away from our houses. That meant we could play outside. That’s all I mainly cared about. I loved wandering through woods, finding things that I didn’t notice before. This neighborhood was definitely more suburban, but there would be cool things to explore here. I knew it. “I’ll try not to curse.” As I said that, it was difficult not to think of all the curse words I’d heard my dad say as I watched my him working in his workshop–“God fucking damn this shitbird of a buzzsaw jams like my dick in Moses’ asshole.” It was an art. “But yeah, having your mom as a teacher isn’t fun at all.” “At least she’s around. Sounds like she really cares about you.” “Yeah, she does, I guess.” I could tell he wanted her to lay off. I just hoped that he didn’t take it for granted. I liked Paul. Something about the slow way he walked, hands loosely in his pockets. The way he was dressed. It was almost like he was a scraggly adult, home from a long day at the office, even though I knew he was my age. “You like it here?” I asked Paul. “Oh yeah, everyone here’s really nice. The last family moved away because of military, but they had a boy there who was my age. He was never allowed to play, so I’m glad that we’ll finally have other people our age to hangout with.” “And THI-I-I-I-S,” Sarah sang, “Is ‘The Farmer’s Yard’.” “Is that what we’re calling it?” Paul asked. What we stood in front of was a concrete ditch, that divided the housing property from what looked like an expanse of dirt rows, grass, surrounded by barbed wire. “NO one’s allowed to go in there. I’ve heard that the Farmer kidnaps kids and makes them work on his farm as punishment for trespassing,” Sarah explained with total solemnity. I laughed. “No, she’s serious,” Paul chimed in. She couldn’t be. No one was gonna kidnap anyone when there was a neighborhood only fifty yards away. “We’re really not supposed to go back there. A couple of kids went back there, and the Farmer called the police and brought them back to their house. They got in huge trouble. They looked really scared. Like they’d seen a ghost or somethin'” All this talk about The Farmer’s Yard just made me want to explore it even more. In the distance I noticed a single small wooden house with a light on inside. A somewhat tall rusty windmill slowly spun in the summer breeze, creaking as it made each turn. Whatever this farmer did didn’t seem to be going very well. Dry dirt, sparse grass, no livestock. The farms back home made this one seem like nothing. “We should check it out,” I said, a twinge of excitement in my voice. Back home, kids wandered wherever they wanted, no big deal, so I was sure this wasn’t going to be any different. “You serious?” Paul asked. “Yeah, why not?” “Yeah! Why not!” Sarah was obviously game. “Tomorrow! Let’s do it! We’ll go early in the morning before everyone wakes up! No one will catch us then!” “That could work. My dad will probably want to sleep in tomorrow after all the hard work we did moving.” “I don’t know,” Paul looked at the Farmer’s Yard as though it were some battleground. “I at least want to just step on the other side of that fence,” I bargained. “Yeah, Paulie. Let’s just step on the other side.” I liked hearing Sarah call him “Paulie”. Made him seem less of an adult. “Kids! Time to come home!” Mrs. Grisham’s voice called out. “Aw, man,” Sarah said. I was disappointed, too. I was having fun looking at all the new things to explore, and hearing about the different people that lived on our street. “Meet us at the mailboxes at 5:30 AM,” Sarah ordered quietly. “If by the time the street lights turn off and we’re still not there, we weren’t able to get out.” My stomach lurched with excitement. I’d already made friends in my new neighborhood, and we were going to sneak into forbidden territory! We made a jog back to our houses. The Grisham’s were standing by their front door expectantly for Paul and Sarah. “Good night, Sebastian!” called out Mr. Grisham and gave a wave. “Good night, thank you!” I called back. As much as I missed my old home, I could see myself really warming up to this new life. My dad was already inside, most likely unpacking, getting things ready for my mother and Lisa. I pushed open the front door, and it was like walking through a portal to an unknown world. The walls were bare of any art or decoration, boxes were stacked and placed haphazardly about. It really felt like I was trespassing and in the wrong house. “Dad?” No reply. Just the confusing sound of running water. I quickly realized I was still unfamiliar with where everything was in this house. I decided to just follow the walls and go room by room. The first area walking in was the den area, where our “nicer” furniture was supposed to go. Pieces dad had made were arranged almost like a rough draft throughout the space. Then the “family” room, where all of us were supposed to be together, watching TV, playing board games, trying to be a whole family. Our mother promised she was going to make more time for us, but with being in a new place, especially with more people for her to talk to about M.A.T.H, I didn’t see it happening. Then the dining room leading into the kitchen. I couldn’t picture us eating in here. It seemed too clean and perfect. Dishes and pots and pans were stacked in towers on the countertop. The sound of rushing water finally stopped, and as I turned the corner I found what was my parent’s room. The only thing that was really present was the massive bed, hand-made by my dad. The bed held a king-sized mattress, nesting it inside with polished and intricate framing made of strong oak wood. I remember sleeping between my parents during a thunderstorm in this bed, my arms wrapping around my dad’s waist, face buried in the small of his back, taking in his gentle musk. He smelled like basil and freshly baked bread. I’d never felt more safe. My parents eventually had to figure out how to let me sleep in my own bed, so my dad made me my own smaller full-sized version of their bed. It worked, but it definitely wasn’t the same. “Hey, son.” The voice startled me, and I let out a weak gasp. I turned around to see my dad, fresh out of the shower. He was a vision in beauty. Water was beaded in his dark facial hair and lightly dripping from his chin and down his neck. His shoulders were like footballs, contracting pulsing as he craned his neck feeling the fresh air. His arms were powerful, cradling biceps that inched and bounced has he adjusted himself into his room. His hands, tough, calloused, and responsible for so much art, were dusted with hair on his knuckles and on the backs of his palms. I remember those hands vividly giving me a swift smack on the ass whenever I got into trouble. It always stung, but I always got whipped into shape. His barrel of a chest hung a set of tight pecs, clouds of hair resting almost symmetrically spreading from his sternum, and reaching his nipples that protruded like gems; vulnerable, yet shrouded by hair. Hair ran down his stomach, venturing over a six pack, and forming a thick bush of hair around his groin. What grew from that thick bush was my first real look at an grown-up’s penis. I couldn’t believe how gigantic it seemed. Five-and-a-half inches, soft and swinging like fruit, with a set of balls the size of lemons, cradling the thick head. It was almost legendary, mystical. An accessory that he was wearing. Not actually belonging to him. Yet it was. All of this held up by a pair of sturdy, hairy legs. It was almost as though he was a man carved and crafted by his own art. I was trapped. Spellbound. I knew I needed to look away, but I couldn’t. It was as though my eyes were lone wanderers of the desert, and my dad was the water that they were finally able to consume to quench their thirst. What finally snapped me out of my trance was a feeling that I was familiar with. My penis was starting to grow. It always did this when I saw something or thought about something exciting. Lately, it had been happening more often. I could be daydreaming about anything, the ocean, swimming in our town’s lake, now my dad. I shoved my hands under my shirt and into my shorts pocket to try to hide my growing erection by pushing it under my waistband. “Sorry, Seb.” He said using his old T-shirt to dry off, wiping his pits, and underneath his balls, only causing my own balls to twitch and my stomach to flutter with a bizarre feeling of excitement, nerves, and arousal. “Haven’t unpacked towels for our bathroom yet.” He wasn’t doing anything to hide himself from me, not that I was surprised. He never cared about things like that. “You got towels in you and Lisa’s bathroom though, no worries.” He gave me an apologetic grin. “N-n-n-no. I-i-it’s okay. Towels!” I had to get outta there. “Night, Dad!” I jogged, limp legged to my bathroom. I closed and locked the door. Humiliated. Surely, he didn’t see me getting hard like that, I thought. I turned on the sink, splashing cold water on my face, as I typically saw my dad do in the mornings. I went by the beylikdüzü travesti tub and figured out the shower worked, feeling the spray start to warm on my hands, and stripped out of my clothes, looking at myself in the mirror. It was hard to look at myself after looking at my dad naked. In my head, I was a skeleton. Skin and bones. Though, I knew that wasn’t true. People around town had always commented at swim meets that I was developing my body really well. While my arms were thin, there was clear definition happening around my upper arms from practicing different strokes, and my back was growing strands of muscles that gently rippled down my back. My chest was tight around my ribs which poked out, punctuated by small nipples that seemed to fade into my skin. My stomach was flat with a faint canyon of a line dividing into what was the beginning of abs. Nothing like my dad’s. Not even close. My thighs and waist held the tan of a swimsuit, leading down to slender legs, with very little hair even attempting to grow. I held my hands against my butt, small, but able to fit in the palm of my hands. It was hard to believe that my dad and I were related. We at least had dark hair in common, and those dark hairs I was beginning to see sprouting around my penis, which was still hard from my accidental run-in with my dad. My dick seemed pathetic compared to my dad’s. And he wasn’t even hard like I was. It must have been four-inches, protruding almost painfully upward toward the ceiling. My balls which typically hung loosely were now tightly contracted against my penis, as though huddling for warmth. I shook my head and I stepped into the shower, hoping that the water would help get my mind off my erection. The water felt great. This shower had a more powerful pressure than the one at home. The warm spray gently patted and tapped against my penis, which only made it worse. The water was feeling so good against me. I turned away trying to get it to stop, having the water just spray my back. I tried just getting clean, but the feeling of soap on my skin was so soothing. Again, my penis twitched, and my grape-sized balls burrowed tightly into each side of its shaft. I quickly rinsed off, sliding my hands around my penis to coerce the water to rid my skin of the soapy-suds, and getting between my butt cheeks. This inspired a whole new strange feeling. Never had I felt this way just getting cleaned up before. A lump formed in my throat, my jaw started to clench. I kept sliding my soapy hand between my butt cheeks and around my penis. The feelings I was getting from it, felt wrong, like I wasn’t supposed to be doing them. I felt my breath starting to quicken, and my legs starting to get weak. My vision was starting to get hazy and confused and overwhelmed. I had felt this feeling a few times before. Once was when I was swimming in the lake, and I hadn’t eaten well that day. All the exercise and the roughness of the waves was getting me to the limit of what my body could handle in this condition. But here and now, was different. I felt all my muscles starting to focus their energy around my tummy and waist area. Every way I turned the water grazed against my penis which was beginning to feel more and more sensitive. I kept on pressing my hand against my penis, and sawing my hand between my butt, grazing against my butthole. I took in a huge breath. I felt my balls tighten even more, and it felt like I desperately needed to pee. I lost my balance, whipped my hands away from my penis and butt, and caught myself, pressing my back against the shower, my breath quickening, tears forming in my eyes, chest heaving. The water from the shower now having perfect access to my penis which, with a trembling hand, reached out to feel it. It had never felt more hard. It was like it wasn’t even real. Like a plastic toy, or a bone that had grown from my stomach. I needed to pee. I was gonna pee. I was gonna pee in the shower. I could feel it coming! What was happening to me? “Hunghhh!” I groaned. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK “Hey Sebastian, you okay in there?” Like a whip that had cracked in front of my face, or a glass that shattered on the floor, I was pulled to attention. “Y-yeah, Dad!” “Well, hurry it up in there. We don’t live near a lake anymore got it? No long showers.” His voice vibrated through the walls. I did as I was told, and shut off the water. I carefully lifted my legs out of the tub and walked stiffly to my towel. My legs felt like those days like when I had been riding my bike for a long time. Noodly, yet stiff at the same time. I focused on drying myself off. I remembered that I had to be up early to meet Paul and Sarah to go to The Farmer’s Yard, so I couldn’t waste anymore time in here. I didn’t want to be the kid that ditched everyone because I overslept, leaving the fun to everyone else. I opened the bathroom door, letting out a cloud of steam. I turned to my left to check my room. I saw my dad. He was in a bathrobe fiddling with something in my room. Suddenly, the room filled with orange light. I instantly recognized that. It was my basketball lamp! My favorite lamp from home that had a lightbulb inside of an orange glass orb, colored and textured like a basketball. My mom hated the light, saying that it gave her a headache. It made me feel comfortable. Especially in this new place. “You all set for bed, Seb?” I felt better seeing him clothed. His chest hair still peaked out from the V of his robe, and I knew full well that he was naked under the loose cloth, and that with one yank of the fabric tied around his waist could bring back that image I just saw only twenty minutes ago. “Yeah, I’m ready Dad.” I walked into my room, towel around my waist. All I had set up in my room was the bed, and the orange lamp, but already it was starting to feel like my very own space. My own space that I would get to explore and venture out, trying new things. Because Lisa and I had to share a room back home, the idea of how this room was going to grow and become my own chamber was thrilling. I took off the towel as my dad was starting to leave the room, and hung it on my bed. Luckily my erection had basically gone down. I bent over and started digging through a box that said “Seb Clothes”. All I could find were school and winter clothes. “Aw, man where are my PJs?” “They’re in that one.” I jumped slightly. I thought he was gone. My face blushed as I basically was bent over, mooning my own dad. “Oh. Whoops. Sorry, Dad.” I turned and saw him staring at me. I put my hand over my crotch, embarrassed. “You sure have grown up,” he said, chuckling slightly. I laughed, and shrugged. He looked at me, almost as though he was admiring something he’d created in his shop. Technically he took part in half of the creating of me, so it makes sense. Having him look at me naked like this was a little unnerving. I just stood still like one of his pieces. On display. Being examined by the carpenter. What needed fixing, or touching up? How could these hands make something beautiful? Soon, I started feeling that rush toward my penis again. “Alright, good night Dad!” I said quickly going to the door to close it. “Night, son,” he ruffled my hair, pulling me into a playful headlock, then shoved me back to my room. Catching my balance, I looked down, and saw my penis once again at full attention. I exhaled in frustration. This has to change, I thought. I can’t have this happen every time I see my dad. It’s embarrassing! After looking for my PJs in three different boxes, I gave up and decided to just sleep naked. It seemed like it was warmer in my room than any of the other rooms in the house, so laying in the cool sheets without clothes on seemed like the best bet for tonight. After a long day of moving, meeting the neighbors, and whatever was happening to me below the belt, I was exhausted. Still the thoughts of my dad were spilling through me. Why was this happening now? Is it okay that I’m having this reaction to seeing my dad this way? What if he knew that my penis was getting hard thinking about him? Would he hate me? Would he– *** I found myself in the middle of what appeared to be a clay-dirt field. The earth felt firm, yet well tilled and managed. I must be in The Farmer’s Yard, I thought. It seemed as vacant and desolate as I remember seeing it briefly earlier today. With each rotation of my head, the dirt seemed to be sprouting strands of black grass that curled and waved in the breeze. The grass was long, and tickled my legs and arms, and was starting to grow up to my nose. As I tried exploring and parted the long grass like a curtain, I saw Paul, and then Mr. Grisham. They both were standing close to each other, Mr. Grisham holding Paul tightly, almost protectively. He looked worried. As though they knew where they were, and that none of use should be here. Suddenly, a certain scent began to drift through the air. The scent was unmistakeable. I was picturing my dad in his workshop, manually sanding the boards by hand, with his shirt off. Or lifting the boxes and furniture into our house. Or when he locked me under istanbul travesti his arm before going to bed. Pine, bread, basil, lakewater. My dad was near, and I could somehow smell him. I tried following the scent the best I could, and I noticed the Grishams following my lead. The scent was leading us toward this thicket of black forest. Once we were at the base of the bushes, they were towering over us. I pushed my head into the weeds to see inside, and I became intoxicated by the smell. I felt my penis getting hard again, just from the smell hitting my nostrils. Looking at the Grishams, I could see that–with woe on their faces–they too were getting hard in their pants as well. Paul looked as though he wanted consolation from his dad, Mr. Grisham’s bulging pants looked as though he was having trouble adjusting to make it comfortable, almost as though there was a giant snake slithering in his pants, writhing and thrashing to be set free. The ground beneath us began to shift and shake, and soon enough we were being lifted into the sky by the earth beneath us. My stomach was shifting and sinking with each rise and fall of the earth, but eventually, I found myself on top of what looked like a giant tower, or a tree without any branches. Turning my head to the North, I instantly realized where I was. I wasn’t on a clay/dirt field, this wasn’t ordinary black bushes and grass, and this wasn’t a tower. I was standing on a giant version of my dad! This tower that I stood on top of now was the penis that I had seen earlier that night. I looked at my dad’s humongous face and he just looked relaxed and at ease as he always does. Dad’s giant penis twitched, and caused me to fall to my hands and knees. Feeling his skin, it was warm to the touch, smooth, spongy, like warm bread dough. I looked down, and saw Paul and Mr. Grisham clutching to the mast of my dad’s penis as though they were climbing a pole at gym class. They appeared to be afraid and trying to cry for help. Waves of my dad’s musk shot through our senses, making me feel dizzy, and apparently the Grisham’s looked dizzy, too, but they weren’t letting go of my dad’s penis. Then, something shifted in the atmosphere. A gust of wind, yanked mine, Paul and Mr. Grisham’s clothes right off! I watched as they fluttered to my dad’s thighs and balls far down below. Mr. Grisham’s naked body kind of reminded me of those statues we learned about in social studies class. I wouldn’t have expected him to have all that muscle, even though he’s so skinny. Paul looked much smaller than me in terms of what muscles we had in common, but his skin was the same as his dad’s. Pale, almost like marble. All of us held on for dear life, pressing our now naked bodies against my dad’s towering penis. Instantly, my waist, my own penis, my balls, all compelled me to keep pressing myself against my dad. For safety, but also, his spongy and moist skin against mine, felt incredible. As I looked down, I saw Paul and Mr. Grisham were doing the same thing. A vacant, almost drunk look in their eyes, as if they were puppets controlled by something other force. It felt really good to press into him, and then lift my waist up slightly, arch my back, and then press into him again. Kind of like what it looks like horseback riders are doing when they ride a horse. I found that the harder I pressed, and the longer amount of thursts I grazed my penis against my dad’s the better it felt. Pretty soon, Paul and Mr. Grisham both were following my lead. All of us grappled my dad’s penis with our naked legs and kept rubbing our whole bodies on him, trails of sweat getting left behind on his own skin. My entire body looked like it was speckled with rain, but I knew it was my own sweat. I realized: I was humping my own father. I started to hear my dad grunt. Like he was trying to tell me something, but all that was coming out was “mmph. mmmmph!” I started grinding my hips against my dad, hearing and feeling his penis beating like a drum as I lay my ears against him. My penis was starting to get that feeling again that I need to pee, building at the base of my balls and growing out to the rest of my body. I looked down to check on the Grishams they hadn’t fallen off. Paul and Mr. Grisham’s eyes started to roll back into their heads, and the began grabbing furiously at Dad’s skin, rubbing themselves furiously against him. The sight of them having so much fun, and this intense feeling I was getting in my penis was becoming too much. I could feel my whole body start to become damp with sweat. “Oh, God.” I whispered. “Oh, my God.” I said louder, humping and grinding faster against my dad. My vision and perception of what was happening was starting to fade away. I knew I needed to stop or else something bad was going to happen. A bad feeling, or something bad would happen to me or my body. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop myself. “You sure have grown up.” His voice punched through my chest like a cannon, and hearing my dad say those words, I was releasing something furious from my penis, but it certainly felt like it was rising up from deep inside of me like lava. Like a volcanic eruption. It felt like someone was yanking on it several times, and a really thick pee was trying to come out. I kept myself latched my dad’s throbbing penis, gyrating and grinding against him, as if I was no longer in control of what my body could do. My balls clenched. My jaw dropped. My vision was gone. I felt my breath quicken and– HAH. UNGH. AHHHHH. *** I flailed awake from my dream. My breath was shallow. What just happened to me? I tried settling down. My breathing had resulted to steady hums. Any movement I made that caused my penis to touch anything, sent my body back into quick spasms. I threw the sheets off of me. I noticed a pool of sweat that had formed around me, and a sticky web around my waist area. I shuddered. Afraid. What is the matter with me? What was all of this? I gathered up all the sheets I’d used into a ball and headed down, quietly to the laundry room. Thinking along the way, maybe it’s the house that’s doing this to me? Maybe it’s leaving home? Maybe it’s being without my mother. Maybe she is important to me, in keeping me from having this problem. Maybe– I stopped dead in my tracks. I saw through the kitchen area into my parent’s room, my dad. He was laying on his bed, robe spread wide open, with his penis in his hands, but this time, his penis was gargantuan. Before it was softer and only about 4 inches. Now it must have been at least 10 inches, and as big around as my wrist. It was like he was holding my arm, grabbing me by the wrist. What he was doing was really strange. He was taking the skin around his penis, and shaking it up and down. Kind of slow at first, but then really fast. He would go up and down. Up. and down. Then sometimes updownupdowndupdowndupdown. He was whispering things to himself like, “Fuck yeah.” “Take that fucking dick in your ass.” “Yeah, you like that dick.” His voice was mezmerizing. I didn’t understand all the slang he was using. I’d always listen to my dad curse, but never had any teaching on what it meant. Just that the “f-word” was really bad, but one of the easiest to use. His muscles spasmed in waves down his body. His pecs twitched, like they were being shocked, his right nipple orbitted in circles to the rythym of his arm shaking his penis. His stomach contracted showing off his abs as he breathed in and out. Eventually, he started arching his back, his toes started to curl, and looking way up at the ceiling, and not at his hand. “Oh, fuck.” He said. He said that a lot in the workshop, but this was different, and then got louder and louder. “Oh, fuck. Fuck. FUCK. FUUUUUUUUGH.” What I saw next changed my life forever. In his final primal yell, my dad shot out strands and strands of this white stuff from this penis. They were like ropes that just kept shooting out of him, like Spiderman. MMPH! Some of it landed on his belly, MMPH! some of it landed on his chest, MMPH! some landed on his belly, MMPH! and some even landed on his face! All of it glistened in the dim light of his room. It was so amazing. I wanted to be able to do it too! My dad’s breath was kind of like mine just a few minutes ago. Really shallow, short, but eventually it was though he was at total peace. Like nothing was wrong in the world at all to him. After my dad had a second to compose himself, I saw him take a finger, wipe some of the white stuff off his face, and then stick it into his mouth! He was eating it! After he had a little taste, he started wiping up all of the white stuff he could find like it was cake frosting and licking his fingers like we had just eaten ribs. It must really taste good if he’s eating it like that. I want to taste it, too! I moved the sheets away from my waist to see that my penis was hard yet again. I heard my dad’s bed start creaking and figured I better get out of here and go back to bed. I dropped the sheets in the laundry room, and went to my bed as quickly and quietly as I could. Darting away, my penis flopped against my stomach with each step. What was happening to me? My first night in this house, and I’d already experienced so much. What more would I learn? What more was there? ************************************************** Thank you for reading. Chapter 2 to follow.

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