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I was just called a girl and a bad one at that.
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Now be a good girl and do as daddy says! Now you want daddy's cock, my little Bobby Jo?" But my dirty little daughter does grab a man's cock. You want to tell everyone you are queer, fine by me. He grabbed my wrist and pressed my hand down.Īnd there was that pissy assed fag side of me that came out. I "accidentally" grazed his crotch again. He made no sound, but a pleasant look came over his face. And again he told me to go higher, and I knew now it was my chance. He told me again to rub higher up his legs, and I got even closer to his crotch. "Higher Bobby," he told me, and I knew he wanted me to rub closer to his crotch, but I intentionally didn't get as close as I knew he wanted. I just did as I was told, I rubbed my fathers legs, pretty far from his crotch to begin with. "Yes," I thought, "now we were getting somewhere." But I did not show my glee on my face. He pulled me down by my arm, until I was on my knees next to him while he laid on the sofa. My dick began to grow, as I began to hope that I knew what he meant. But it never seemed sexual to me until then. My father was a drunk and I had done this sort of thing for him before. I then rolled his body over and began to massage it for him. So, I got a wash cloth and dampened it, and washed my father's face down. I came over and rubbed his shoulder and asked if there was anything I could do for him. I saw him laying on the sofa, apparently in agony. So, I got out of bed to wait on my father. He had gotten too drunk and needed someone to help him. I was laying in my bed about to go to sleep, when I heard my father moaning. My mother worked the late shift at a diner, and my father got drunk. Coming out to my parents made me feel liberated.īut still, there was the issue of my father's cock. He did encourage me to come out to my mother. He made no further sexual innuendo towards me. He then told me the words I wanted to hear all my life, "son, I love you no matter what, I don't care that you are gay."īut that was it. Now I know better (what man couldn't tell that I was a fag?). He would have three options: accept me for being gay, kick me out of his home, or accept me for being gay and plant his huge cock between my ass cheeks again, but this time, with no layer of clothes to ban his cock from my hole, where I hoped it would go.
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My plan was simple, I'd do what I had feared for most of my life: I would tell my dad that I was gay. Maybe his crotch grinding was really an accident of some sort. I looked at my dad, and paid close attention to his finer features, the distinguished lines in his face, that on most men would just look like wrinkles, his still youthful looking, but stern lips, his mild streaks of gray that spread from his sideburns and then slowly and handsomely faded into walnut, and his hazel eyes. I knew by then that I was gay, but getting turned on by your dad's cock - that, I thought, was appalling.Īfter a hard day's work of manually scraping the old and peeling coat of paint off the aging victorian styled two story home, now spliced into two separate apartments, while on the long ride back home, I couldn't get my mind off my dad's crotch being ground into my butt crack. I had recently lost my anal virginity to a big-cocked, suave older man named Lloyd, but not in a suave place, the back seat of his car instead. Not because it would've been a new revelation to me that I liked a crotch pressed between my ass cheeks. Instead, it was more like I liked it, and felt truly uncomfortable about liking that feeling. It was, for him, an am-I-crazy moment?Īlthough I laughed, it wasn't like I didn't like the feeling of my dad's cock pressed against my sensitive crack, jeans on and all. I laughed an uncomfortable laugh when my dad humped on my bubble butt, and he got off. He had dark walnut colored hair, but hazel eyes. My dad was about 5'8" and weighed about 140 pounds. I had curly auburn hair and nearly tan colored eyes. I was just under six feet tall, was very thin at 125 pounds as I ran a lot. When we took a lunch break, my father decided to "wrestle with me." He pinned me down and thrust his crotch into my bubble butt. Not a bad deal for poor people living a little more than a vagabond lifestyle. We were painting three houses that our landlord was paying us to paint for him.