You've got a biological dad who you were allowed to reach out to once you come of age, supposedly.
You forgot about it for a bit until you stumble upon the fact years later, though why would your parents hold back the truth and not remind you? Surely he's not that bad, so you forgo asking altogether.
The conversation is overtaken by his enthusiasm the moment you call, revealing who you are. He regularly visits the sperm bank even now and has always fantasized about one of his kids reaching out to him, not that it's happened yet until now since he's got a bit of a reputation, or so he says.
You're calling him on the phone, but the way his voice is so haggard with revitalization, the shudder of his breath like a warmth culled through the speakers of your phone, it almost sounds like he's jerking off faintly- you hear him exhale as he asks you to go on, keep talking about yourself for him.
You hesitate, but tell him your hobbies, get lost in what you're into and what you’ve done lately. He asks if you happen to have a girlfriend...or maybe a boyfriend yet. No? He chuckles softly, the concept of purity a funny thing, and groans, the sound of a bed or couch creaking under him. He reads to you the name of one of those sketchy websites to login to for messaging if you don’t have it already, and that he'll even add you on it himself.
He wants to video chat.
You’re alone in your bedroom but your nerves are frayed with excitement. What does he want to show you? The website is simple enough to create an account for and you type in the username he gave you, adding him as a friend. Not even seconds later he’s sending, “hey son. eager to see me?” You’re flushed, but it’s true, regardless of how uncomfortable stir in your gut is. You’re curious what the man looks like, and it’s not long before you find out.
You see your biological dad- well, that might be a stretch. What you see is a grown hairy man stroking his well lubricated meat, face obscured by the dark of his room leaned back in his computer chair. He takes a pause every now and then to type with one hand, keeping a relatively slow pace with the other and he keeps prodding, asking to see your face, cockhead beading with pre as it glints under the dim light of his monitor.
It takes a few moments of fumbling but you turn your camera on and he's suddenly picked up the pace, a muted groan working its way through your computer’s speakers. He’s jerking off quicker, showing his length off to the camera as if shoving his dick as close as he can to your face through it.
He tells you he wants to cum for you, show you how much he enjoys doing it, and he stops typing altogether to focus on finishing, rocking his cock into both hands to bring himself to orgasm- the wet splaps of his greasy dick, palms buried in the bed of his hairy pubes go up in a rise on his overhanging stomach. The motion blurs until his hips still their bucking, cloudy drops speckling the view of it all in a wash of his sperm. His voice echoes out again, cut through the speakers short as he pumps a remaining few drops out in a sag of finality.
He slumps back in his seat, body heaving with slow breaths before he continues again with a single hand, working himself back to a semi with ease, fingers teasing the loose skin back and forth over his swollen head, a finger sweeping up over his slit, hand disappearing through the dark up to his mouth for a taste of his release.
“wanna show dad yours too son?"