Part of our Daddy Day Celebration!
an excerpt from MH-448
I was born horny!
I remember when I was just a little shit, maybe three or four, reaching up and rubbing the nice, well-filled crotches of the men in my life! I can’t ever remember running my hands up under any ladies’ skirts and getting that hot, melting feeling of pleasure I could bring on just by reaching out to the nearest man and patting his bulging front, or sitting on a male lap and squirming with pleasure at the knowledge of something solid and reassuring under my little-boy-butt!
Some say there’s nothing to the idea that some babies are born with interests and desires toward their own sex!
I say bullshit! And again—BULLSHIT.
I can’t remember, from my earliest memories, having any interests or desires directed anywhere else. I’ve been a boy-and-man-wanter-and-watcher as long as I can remember. A crotch connoisseur!
I didn’t need anybody to show me that my cock was as much for my own personal pleasure as for eliminating the wastes from my body!
Soft, caressing baby clothes, a warm, sudsy bath, the touch of mother’s hands cleaning me up, or drying me after my bath, rubbing me with baby powder!
Maybe I’m just a born sensualist, a hedonist!
Whatever, I’m glad there’s sex, and if there wasn’t I think I’d be the one to invent it, as long as the other party involved is a horny, hung, handsome male!
But, getting down to specifics, let me tell you my first memory of actual sexual contact! At least I think it’s a memory, though it may well be a dream. Whichever, it’s my first real indication of the direction my life would go through all the growing-up and adult years of my life.
I couldn’t have been more than three or four, maybe five at the very outside. It was dark, must have been night, and I was crying. Alone and afraid!
Then I wasn’t alone any more. Strong arms were lifting me from my bed, holding me securely, comfortingly, and I felt the warmth, the softness, the prickly hairiness of Pop’s chest against my face.
I stopped crying.
My father carried me over to the easy chair in the corner of my room, sat down with me on his lap, and started rocking me from side to side. My fear and tears ebbed away and I was happy. I was also aware that Pop was naked from the top of his pajama pants up, and from the top of his pajama pants down there wasn’t very much between him and me, either, because he wore lightweight, almost transparent sleepwear, and I could feel the bobbling mass of his dangle under my warm (and dry) bottom.
I can clearly remember slipping my hand down under myself and groping for the opening of his fly, working my way inside, and getting an overflowing handful of soft, spongy, rubbery male cock.
It felt so good I thought I’d explode with happiness. I gripped it possessively, and when Pop laughed and shifted me to another position, I started to cry and wouldn’t stop until I could take hold of his big tool again! It felt gigantic, but at that point what could I use for comparison? Certainly not my own dinky beginning of a prick.
Anyway, I held onto his big, flexible tool and squeezed it, shifted it in my hand, and had an innocent good time with it.
But the longer I held it, the harder it was to hold. Each change of position of fingers brought a new surge of strength into the huge mass and before long it was no longer rubbery or spongy or flexible. I remember how much the feeling of it changed as it stiffened, went rigid and started its own rhythmic throbbing. It was even better than just holding his soft pee-rod, and I started squeezing and stroking with more intent as Pop’s arms seemed to tighten around me, his body growing increasingly tense and his breath sort of whistling around my head.
I didn’t know I was getting him turned on and horny, but I sure as hell was, and he was rising slowly up the cliff-side of passion, heading for the blowout descent into orgasm!
He reached down and wrapped his big hand around my smaller one, guiding my strokes, tightening his hand over mine so I could exert pressure to his liking, and increase the pleasure I had so innocently and unsuspectingly begun.
He was breathing hard, his chest heaving, his belly quivering, his hips shifting and pumping. I liked what was happening, though I didn’t understand it.
I even liked it when he started to groan, squeezing me almost painfully tight against his naked chest, sweaty and muscle-defined, when his big prick started to jerk and buck under my fingers and he lunged wildly back and forth in the big comfortable chair.
He shot his load! All over my fingers, the butt-bottom of my little-boy ‘jammies’ and a great, glistening pool of cum that splattered all over the rug! He shot hard, a big load, thick and blinding white! And I was gasping for breath, restlessly frustrated, wanting to start all over and do it again!
He got up and carried me back to my little bed, settled me in, leaned over and kissed my cheek and forehead, then stood over me, looking down with a strange expression in his eyes, and finally turned around and left me!
Alone again!
But now I wasn’t afraid!
There was nothing to be afraid of. All I had to do was cry out and he would come in to comfort me, pick me up, carry me to the chair, hold me, rock me, and I could slip my hand into his ‘jammies’ and touch that miraculous silky softness until it stretched out and got hotter and smoother and more exciting, and then the game would begin again.
Yes! I had nothing to worry about! Pop would cum!
Okay! So maybe you think my dad was a dirty old man?
Wrong!
Maybe a little weak in the willpower department! Maybe a little too permissive! But remember it was me, all the way, taking the initiative, even though I didn’t know the meaning of the word at the time. I was the one who reached down and grabbed hold of his big, pretty peter and started everything!
Oh sure, he could have put a stop to it, then or later, but he didn’t start it. We didn’t hurt anyone, didn’t do any damage to anybody.
After that first time it happened again and again. As time passed it happened more and more frequently, too! It got so that Pop didn’t wait for me to have a bad dream or to wake up crying out. He started taking over for Mom, putting me to bed, holding me close to him, almost as though inviting me to have my fun with his big, loose-skinned beauty!
I’ve gotta figure that my mother wasn’t much in bed. I sure don’t think she came anywhere close to giving Pop the release he obviously needed! I figure she was one of the old-fashioned kind that was taught all her life that woman’s purpose was to be wife and mother, but under no circumstances should she enjoy it, especially the night-time intimacy of being in bed with a healthy horny stud who wanted to get his nuts off!
Well, to each his or her own, I guess! I sure made up for my mother’s aversion –if it was that– to sex and horny, hard-dicked dudes! I sure as hell did.
I’ve already told you that Pop was the first guy I ever jacked off. I kept jackin’ his big beautiful prick for a long time. He was also the first stud I ever gave head to. That wasn’t his fault or his idea either.
I guess I must have been about seven years old when I came home from school one afternoon and was surprised to find him there, sick in bed. Lying there naked under the covers (though at the time I figured he had on his pajama bottoms as usual) and helpless. By the time I got home Mom was pretty bushed from running up and down stairs, waiting on him, taking care of things he needed.
“Oh, Kevin honey! I’m so glad you’re home. It’s been such a long day and I’ve been up and down those stairs a hundred times. You can help me take care of your daddy.”
I never called him daddy! I hated the sound of it! He was Pop!
Anyway, I balanced an unsteady tray with soup and a sandwich up the stairs, around the corner, and down the hall to their room. Pop grinned with pleasure when I shuffled in so carefully balancing the sloshing liquid.
“Hi, son. How was school?”
I burst into tears. I dropped the tray, too, but it didn’t matter. I dashed to the bed and leaped up into Pop’s arms, terrified that he was so sick he would die. He held me in his big muscle-bulging arms and comforted me, reassuring me that he wasn’t about to die. I finally settled down and, kicking off my shoes, squirmed under the covers close to him.
I gasped when I felt his naked hip and thigh against my own unclad leg (I was wearing short pants).
Pop chuckled and seemed to slide closer to me, and I couldn’t help reaching under the covers and running my inquisitive hands over his bare belly and groin.
I had never seen or felt him completely nude before!
It was a heart-stopping, breathless sensation. I don’t think I’ve ever been that excited before or since. My first contact with a man’s muscular, heaving belly, the thick tendrils of wiry crotch hair and the unhindered planes of flesh to stroke and touch and admire!
I wrapped my experienced fist around the quick-rising shaft of his big dick and started the familiar stroking that dragged his massive, rubbery foreskin back to free the satin-smooth, shiny head of his cock, and with my other hand lifted his big hairy balls and bounced them on the palm.
“That feels so good, son, but you better clean up that mess before your mother comes up and starts raising cain!”
I pouted, but knew better than to protest or procrastinate. Pop was loving, but he believed in being obeyed once he issued any instruction.
I leaped out of bed and ran to the bathroom and rushed back with a sponge and some wadded toilet paper, quickly cleaning up the spilled broth. Fortunately the sandwich had held together and none of the dishes had broken.
Minutes later I was back in bed, but now I was naked too, and I hugged up hard against Pop’s sleek-skinned, silken-haired nakedness, running my hands all over him, fingering the hair on his chest, under his arms, tracing the sharp lines of his well-defined, mounding pectorals, tweaking his nipples, then going back down to his crotch to explore and start jerking!
I got the idea of kissing him, all the places I’d touched with my hands. I wanted to follow-up with my lips. I sneaked my tongue out and licked the silky hollows under his big-bicepted arms, teased his quick-erecting nipples, and running all the way down his midsection, over his belly, until I was crouched over his groin and started lapping the thicket of coppery-dark hair!
Man, did he ever taste good!
So there I was, licking and lapping and kissing, and when I got down to his crotch, his big, fat, velvety cockshaft lay against my cheek, beating a living, rhythmic tattoo, coaxing me magnetically, hypnotically, to try the same new adoration on it.
I turned my head and my tongue ran a broad wet swath over the upper length of that monumental hugeness. Pop gasped and tried to push me way, but this time I didn’t obey him. I raised my head and shifted so I could get the bulging, ridged underside of it, and ran my tongue all the way up from where his balls attached right to the tip of his skinned-back cockhead, and felt a tingle of strange excitement at the realization that it was all wet and sticky under my tongue. His cock slit was seeping a slick, creamy juiciness!
Again Pop tried to push me away and squirmed all over the bed, trying to get out of reach, but I held on and scrambled right after him, holding onto that big hard prick of his all the while.
My heart was beating so hard I thought it was going to burst right through my chest! I couldn’t get my breath! I’d never been so excited before! And, I suspect, damn few times since!
“Pop! Please, Pop! Let me kiss it! It’s so pretty, so big. It feels so good, Pop.”
With a heavy sigh he settled down and seemed to resign himself to the inevitable, and his big, strong hands crept into my hair, rubbing my scalp, as I returned to the unbearable pleasure of that big, throbbing hard-on! I stuck out my tongue, ran it slowly, deliberately, experimentally, all the way around the broad, jutting rim of his flaring cockhead, then fluttered it up and over the cock slit, gathering the steadily increasing ooze of cock juice!
Pop shuddered and his hips shot up involuntarily, instinctively, and I felt the whole crown of his big lob slip between my lips, almost filling my mouth just the head—and it was my turn to react instinctively! I pursed my lips and sucked in my cheeks! I worked my tongue all around the now spit-drenched lavender satin knob, and pressed forward as hard as I could, trying to take more and more and still more of his giant tool into myself! I’d have kept going until I somehow managed to get the whole length of it into me, but Pop suddenly began to writhe and thrash around on the bed. his hips hunched wildly and a long, hissing sigh bursting from his mouth as a fiery load of thick, creamy jism exploded from the spasming lips of his swollen, convulsing cockhead!
He shot his wad in my mouth and I swallowed—again and again—ravenously loving the taste and texture of his load, the too-often wasted man-seed that usually splattered the floor, now filling my mouth, gushing down my throat, overflowing the corners of my mouth, running down my chin!
But, by Christ, I got him off. I took his big, choking cum load. I made him shoot off down my hungry, cock-and-jism-loving throat!
That was the beginning, but it was far from the end of my long, satisfying love affair with my father! Like I said, I don’t think Mom gave him much, and what she did give him couldn’t have been very satisfying or even pleasurable for him, so I filled the void, eased his frustrations, and after a while it was a taken-for-granted part of life.
I loved to suck his big beautiful prick. I loved his heavy, responsive balls, and the masculine, muscular planes of his body, perfect to me, almost perfect in cold impartial reality.
So, there I was, a confirmed, unquestioning cocksucker, before even approaching puberty! I played with my peter and now and then Pop would lend a loving hand, but only briefly, only occasionally. His touch on my peter drove me wild with excitement and pleasure, but he never did it often or for long. Maybe he thought I was just going through a phase of development, and if he didn’t encourage me or reciprocate, I’d outgrow it!
Ha!
Maybe there are some things I’d like to outgrow… my loving cocks and balls and cum and ass and solid, strong, male bodies, no, man! Not that! Never that!
By the time I was ten I was an expert cocksucker and meat handler. I started to expand my horizons about then, making advances to some of the other boys in school, the best-looking, the best-built, the best-minded, and most of the time I wasn’t rejected. I guess the other kids were as curious, as intrigued, as confused and caught-up in sex as I was. I taught all the boys in my sphere of acquaintance all about how to beat off, how to handle a fragile set of sensitive nuts, and how to lick a dick and make it feel better than any loving hand could ever make it feel.
I was endlessly curious about and interested in, the size and shape and heft of my friends’ peters. My life during that time was a constant comparison test! The biggest, the smoothest, the clipped and unclipped, the smallest, the thinnest, the shortest, longest, fattest, prettiest, ugliest cock.
I loved them all!
I played with them, jerked them, sucked them!
I bounced balls and fingered firm-butted asses!
I was the ringleader of all our circle-jerks, our group encounters, and intimate two-somes! I was the sex-head of the crowd, probably the entire school, possibly the whole town.
I never felt guilt or shame, and thought anybody who did was foolish and unimaginative!
I felt no fear! What was there to be afraid of? After all, I was sucking my own father’s cock regularly, and if there was anything wrong, would he let me do it?
I was relaxed, easy, comfortable, and outgoing. I didn’t worry about my interest in sex and other boys’ peters! I had fun, enjoyed it all, and would have been shocked and amazed if anybody had made deprecating remarks—which of course they would have, had they known!
So I went along playing with every peter I could get my hands on, sucking cock as though I were eating ice cream cones, and just being a happy, normal–in my own frame of reference–kid!
Looking back, it seems only slightly strange that I took so much interest in the other kids’ bodies and so little in my own. I guess, there, too, I lived within an uncrackable shell of confidence and security.
I loved to play with other boys’ peters, but it didn’t bother me if they didn’t play with mine. I didn’t mind if they didn’t suck back—after all, Pop didn’t either, and it was okay.
And I was nowhere near puberty, yet.
I played with my joint when it demanded, but the demands were few and infrequent. And I didn’t need the attention I bestowed on my playmates. I had the biggest, longest, fattest, prettiest prick of anybody I’d yet come up against, except of course for Pop!
His meat was the prime cut in my life! The filet mignon, the Chateaubriand among male members!
Unbeatable! Unmatchable! Unapproachable! In size and beauty and excitement and pleasure!
I sucked his dick with increasing avidity and ability! I took every opportunity to unzip Pop’s pants and fish his monster cock out into the open, often taking it into my mouth soft, swelling with pride and pleasure and thrills as it swelled in me, stretching longer and fatter, creeping toward the back of my mouth and arching down my throat!
I could handle every inch of his dick.
I could get both his massive, egg-sized nuts in my mouth and swab them with loving spit, roll them around on my tongue, clamp down on them with just the ultimate degree of pleasure, and stop just at the exciting threshold of pain!
I was becoming an expert on cocks—at ten years old!
I was happy! I loved my Pop and he loved me. He came to me willingly, more often, more openly, more unafraid. And he started playing with my meat more frequently as I started moving toward puberty and adolescence. I would stretch out on the bed beside him, both of us naked, excited, and swab his belly and inner thighs and nuts and prick with tongue-lavished spit, then slurp the oozing juicy head of his meat into my hungry mouth and suck with all the love and lust in me until he was almost at the brink!
Then, with those big, strong, thrilling hands of his, he’d grab my hips, lift me in the air, and turn me around so he could roll onto his side, supporting his head on an up-raised elbow, and fondle my steadily enlarging growing peter and nuts while I took him off!
I loved giving him head! I loved everything about him and I still do! I’ve never stopped feeling that special love for him that was my introduction to the reality of love and of sex!
Even today, though he’s beyond middle age, I’m often tempted to get him off somewhere alone and run his zipper down, fumble in his shorts and work his big beautiful prick out, watching as it flops in the air until I can wrap my hand around it and guide it to my mouth, crouching in front of him, tasting the matchless male zest of his spicy flesh, the soap-and-sweat-and-fresh-underwear smell of him!
I dream about him, sometimes, with those big balls of his rammed way down my throat, my hands endlessly restless, moving all over his muscular, hairy nakedness.
But it’s been a long time since I’ve actually touched or tasted his special masculinity!
Maybe one of these horny nights…
