Daddys Big Cock

Daddys Big Cock

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When is the last time you saw your father naked? I’m going to bet, for most of you, this is not an easy question to answer. Not because of the subject matter, but because you can’t quite remember a time when this happened.
Up until about a month ago, I was right there with you. If pressed, I supposed I would have answered something like you, which is:
Hmm… I guess I remember seeing once as a little kid. I sort of remember taking a shower with him and noticing it, but it’s kind of fuzzy. Why are you asking anyway? Gross!
So, it’s not like I could draw it from memory or anything. I can hardly draw my own from memory. And I’m pretty familiar with it.
After the story I’m about to share where I saw my father’s dick, I was reminded of a second story involving my father and his penis. I didn’t feel like this would be an ongoing series where I relayed constant anecdotes about dad’s privates. I only have two.
So, let’s knock ’em out and move on.
Our family recently went to Las Vegas. My mom had a conference out there for work, and she invited the whole family. My sister and her boyfriend flew out from New York which meant we really only needed two rooms. I would share with my mom and dad, and Dana and Al would get the other room.
Las Vegas is just not my kind of town. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a lot to do – golfing, gambling, shows, restaurants, etc. But even the nice places seem gaudy to me. I remember walking around our hotel, which is considered one of the nicest on the strip, and thinking, “This still looks wrong to me. Like they’re trying too hard.”
But hey, I’m not a gambler, I don’t care about sports, and I don’t often go to nightclubs. So, I guess it’s not the ideal place for me to visit.
I’m not complaining, however. The pools were amazing, and they even allowed toplessness, which is never a bad thing for these eyes.
Also, I saw the Beatles’ Cirque du Soleil show, which was really the best thing I’ve ever witnessed live.
Okay, now that I’ve sufficiently bored you with context, let’s get to why you’re reading this – my dad’s dong.
Dad and I had just finished a round of golf. It was a 102 degrees during the round, which is hot even without humidity. Four hours in that heat even when you’re not sweating is kind of rough. By the way, here’s a quick tip my dad taught me. In that sort of weather, when you finish the ninth hole, do NOT go inside the clubhouse for any reason. If you have to pee, visit a cactus. Food or beer? Wait for the cart-girl to come by.
Sidenote – Ever notice that, on average, a cart-girl ranks at least an eight on the hotness meter? They’re almost always drop-dead gorgeous. If any are reading this (they aren’t), then hit me up for a date. I’m buying.
Back to the tip – if you don’t go inside after the ninth hole, you’ll be fine for the next nine holes. If you go in the clubhouse even for a moment, you’re done. Consider the rest of the round to be miserable.
Now let’s jump out of this two leveled digression I just made you sit through.
We get back to the hotel, and it’s shower time. Since my folks are springing for the room, it would only seem respectful to allow my father to jump in the shower before me.
I head over to the computer to check my email. As I look up after a few minutes, I see my dad, in a state of undress that is unusual and alarming.
Unusual because I’ve never seen it before. He’s standing adjacent from me, a profile view, about eight feet away wearing only a polo shirt. Nothing else.
He has his phone in his hands – one hand is constantly swiping the screen from right to left. I guess with his phone that’s how you navigate through emails.
His genitals are barely covered by the hem of the shirt, and with each swipe, the shirt raises a little with a short bounce. This is why I mentioned alarming earlier. But it was a controlled bounce, just high enough to cover his junk. I’m telling you, not a millimeter higher or you’ve got balls.
I don’t want to sound like a weirdo, but there was no chance I was looking away. And he must have had like thirty emails, because he was swiping every three seconds.
And then, he must have seen something that either angered him or overjoyed him. All I know is he swiped a little harder than he had been previously, and the shirt jumped up three inches higher. I saw it. IT.
Now, as soon as the penis was presented, I did, in fact, look away. I was pleased and instantly satisfied with myself that my instinctual reaction was that of flight. Two seconds later, I did look back, and the shirt was back to it’s original position, covering his essence.
I didn’t say anything, because clearly this was not his problem. My father apparently is not one to feel the shame of nakedness, and has no problem standing in a hotel room with his son wearing just a polo shirt exposing his dork.
I went back to my computer, processing silently what I had just witnessed. But here was my issue – I had a growing, gnawing thought that wasn’t going away.
I did not like what I had just seen.
“Of course not, D.J.! You just saw your father naked! That’s awful!”
I’m not talking about my feeling about the appropriateness of seeing a parent’s genitals. That’s another discussion.
I’m referring to more of the objective assessment of what I had just seen.
Now, granted I only got a millisecond’s view. But something was bothering me. I had to ask my mother who was now getting dressed.
Dad had since retired to the shower, and had closed the door to the bathroom.
I whispered, “Mom – psst! umm… This is a really odd question to ask, but umm… ahem… Dad is circumcised, right?”
My mother looks at me for a good five Mississippi before replying.
I felt it was important to tell her that I just saw his cock and balls, and it could have just been my imagination, but something seemed off about them.
She looked at me, as if she were about to ask me to explain more about what I had just said. Her eyes were scanning me trying to make sense of my question. But instead…
“Hey Del!” my mother yells through the door, “You’re circumcised, right?”
That was it. The end of this entire story. I’d love to say my father got out of the shower, ran into the room and asked his wife why, after nearly forty years of marriage, she didn’t know he was circumcised, but that’s not what happened.
He got out of the shower, put on his trunks (thankfully in the bathroom), and we went to the pool. Had a good time, too.
Part II Coming Soon – “You Do What To Your What?”
And yes, I’m quite aware of the irony of calling this story “Two Stories About My Dad’s Dick” and only providing you with one story. Sorry.
I'll never give this child another cigarette, pinky swears!

February 26th, 2018 Views: 169621
Description: I hated homework with a passion! I was always pushing it off to the last minute, working on it late at night, and usually ended up passing out with my head in a boring book. It was often during those unexpected night naps that I would dream about hot daddy dicks and wishing I was doing all nighters on those! ... This video came in and it was like one of those adolescent dreams come true! Mr. Byers catches his son passed out doing his homework in just his underwear, a sight that is impossible for him to resist acting on. Read more
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Rated: XGC · Short Story · Adult · # 1668434
Created: April 28th, 2010 at 11:33 pm
Modified: April 28th, 2010 at 11:33 pm

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It’s happened again. I don’t know if it was a good or a bad thing…and at this point, I don’t care anymore. It’s starting to feel good for me. I can’t just summarize what He did…I have to give every gory detail about the occurrence. Call it venting. Call it therapy. I just need to let someone know so that it doesn’t devour my soul. Although my innocence has been taken from me, a part of me feels like I deserve it. But let me stop rambling on, and begin my story.

It happened a few days ago. Daddy had come home from the hospital. He had just had surgery on His right shoulder to correct it. He told me what He had gotten fixed, but I zoned out at all of the medical terms He had spewed at me. All I got was that there was a ball out, and that it had to be returned to the socket, whatever that means. He had been bed-ridden this whole time, with nothing but the T.V. and his pills to keep Him company. At the same time, spring break had started. I wanted to do normal things high school girls my age did: go to the mall, hang out with friends, go to the movies then talk about boys, etcetera. Unfortunately for me, that didn’t happen. Daddy wanted me to stay by His side so that I could take care of Him.

During this time, my mom was out of town for some psychiatric conference. She was always out of town, so I was used to this.

I was used to it. But I hated it. It meant being alone with Him.

Thinking back to that occurrence, I feel my stomach churning, and bile rising up my throat. Sadly, I also felt the core in between my legs tingling. It angers and shames me to think about it…but I know I have to finish this.

It was night, and I was making dinner for Daddy and myself. Nothing fancy, just something simple and out of the freezer. I’m not a very good cook, so I made something fool-proof. I was standing in the kitchen over the stove, stirring up some Bertolli pasta dinner, when I heard footsteps. It sounded clumsy, and I knew He was coming. He staggered into the dining area, which was attached to the kitchen, and sat down at the dinner table. Daddy looked a frightful mess. He was topless, only wearing a black, blue, and red checkered pajama pants. His short straight blond hair was tousled, slightly greasy; evidence that He hadn’t showered in a day or two. He hunched on the dinner table, took a deep breath, and exhaled sharply, His bandaged arm/shoulder moving as He breathed. His face looked tired, worn…He looked older and more fragile than I have ever seen Him. I almost felt sorry for Him.
I looked back down on the pasta I was cooking. The ice particles were starting to melt. It just needed to be covered and simmer for about ten minutes. I walked over to the dish washer, and bent over to pick up the lid for the frying pan. I then covered the pasta, and reduced the heat to medium-low. Afterwards, I walked over to my Daddy to see if I could make Him feel better. With Him being in this condition, I figured He should be safe.

Or so I believed…

I walked over to Him, and sat down next to Him on the dinner table. With my left hand, I caressed the side of His cheek, along with His strong jaw line. Daddy was a very handsome man. I could see how my mother fell in love with Him. He used to be so kind and gentle. He would never have been able to hurt even a bee. Looking at Him now, I missed the kind of man He used to be, and out of nowhere a memory popped up. I was about five years old. I ran home crying because some boys in the neighborhood didn’t want to play with me because I was a girl, and they kept teasing me that I had cooties. I ran to my Daddy. He carried me, and assured me that one day, boys like that will be chasing me to play with them. At the time, I didn’t know what He meant, but it felt good and comforting being in His arms. After I had calmed down, He carried me over to the piano, and played something while keeping me encapsulated in His arms. As He played, I drifted off to sleep. After time had passed, He carried me to my room, and tucked me into bed. He kissed my forehead, and told me that I was His favorite little girl, and that He would always love me, even if boys made me cry. I fell asleep almost immediately, wishing that one day, I would meet a boy like my Daddy.

Looking at Him from the dinner table, I felt pain envelop my heart. I miss the man who once promised that He would love me even if boys made me cry. I missed the man who wiped my tears, and held me in His arms as He played beautiful music on our vintage Steinbeck, with me falling asleep. I missed my Daddy. Thinking of the man who disappeared only to be replaced by this monster brought tears in my eyes. I dropped my hand from His face, stood up, and walked over to the stove. I pulled the lid off of the frying pan to look at my cooking, and noticed that although all the ice had melted, the sauce for the pasta hadn’t thickened yet. I increased the heat to medium, and placed the lid back on. As I stepped back away from the stove, I bumped into something behind me. Grateful that I wasn’t carrying anything that would have ended being dropped on the floor, I turned around and came face to face with my Daddy’s bare chest. I looked up, and saw a look in His eyes that I had seen only twice before.

Startled, I looked away, and held my hand over my chest to calm the beating of my surprised heart. Daddy then placed a finger underneath my chin, and urged me to look up into His eyes. It was The Look. That look frightened me. I can’t describe it, but it looked animalistic, almost predatory-like. It was as if He was on the hunt, and He had caught His prey. I wanted to move away, but I knew that if I backed away from Him, I would end up burning myself from the stove. So I stood still, and stared back into His eyes. They had transformed from warm, inviting blue to almost glacial. Cold chills ran up and down my spine. It was going to happen again, and I knew it. This is hard for me to admit, but a part of me wanted it to happen.

Daddy pulled my face towards His, and kissed me. It wasn’t a soft, fatherly kiss. It was hungry, lustful, and primal. He forced my mouth open to receive His tongue. I wanted to fight Him, but my body responded to His touch. The moment His tongue touched mine, I melted in His arms. Daddy took His hand away from under my chin, and wrapped it around my waist. He held me steady as His tongue darted in and out of my mouth, slowly twisting and dancing with my tongue. This was wrong, and I knew it in my mind. My Daddy had raped me, and stole my virginity, and He was going to defile me again tonight! But for whatever reason, all common sense left me as His tongue ravaged my mouth. I stood there as limp as a raggedy doll, only being held up by His good arm.

Slowly, Daddy pulled His lips from mine, but I hungered for more. I felt so ashamed of how I was feeling, and how warm my body had gotten from just a simple kiss from Him. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell Daddy that it wasn’t the other boys making me cry now, that it was Him. I wanted Him to be like that Daddy I knew He was, and not this monster taking advantage of me. But I kept silent. A thought occurred to me at that moment; maybe if I was good, then He would stop. Naïve of me to think of it now, but at that moment, it made sense.

Daddy pulled me away from the stove, and turned off the burner that was heating our dinner. I started to protest, but Daddy just shushed me. Then He ushered me away from the kitchen, and into the living room. He led me to the larger couch, and shoved me hard. Feeling slightly winded from being pushed to the couch, I looked up at Him pleadingly. I looked up in His eyes, and saw something fri
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