Father’s Day Tales: The Best Kind Of Present
I woke up sometime around seven. For me, that counted as sleeping in nowadays, and it didn’t matter if I tried rolling over and closing my eyes tight - I was pretty much awake now. Well-rested, at least. Fucking horny, too. I slid my hand under the covers and took hold of my cock, feeling its familiar warm heft. I still woke up most days with a sleep hardon, like I’d been doing since I was a kid, something I was kind of proud of. Well, that and my cock in general - I’m a big boy down there, a nice, hefty, girthy unit ridged with a thick vein, the big mushroom head protected by a thick sheaf of foreskin. Past seven inches when it got fully hard, a cock built for pleasure for sure.
But the only person around to get any pleasure from it this morning was me. Chrissie was working a day shift at the hospital, and I’d been hoping she’d wake me up before she left this morning for a little early-morning fun. But no dice. Maybe when she got home this evening, but based on past experience, I highly doubted she’d be in the mood. She hadn’t been in the mood very much at all lately, which meant I’d been jacking off a lot more, and as fun as that had always been, I really missed a warm, tight opening to slide my big dick inside of.
Hell of a thing, I thought to myself as I lay there, slowly toying with my thickening unit. Father’s Day, even, and no presents for the little man here.
It wasn’t like I was asking a lot. I made good money, didn’t work all the damn time, did my share of the household stuff. I was courteous and attentive to her needs. I knew how to make her cum after nearly twenty years together, and I genuinely enjoyed doing it. I was still in real good shape, and worked hard to keep myself as fit as a man in his forties can be. Maybe not as hard-edged as I was back in college when we’d met, but I still had the frame and the muscles from my football days - the big shoulders, the deep chest, the long, powerful legs, the muscular ass. I still got plenty of looks, and if I was that kind of guy, could have gotten plenty of play. Apparently not here in my own home, though.
Thinking like that just bummed me out, and as much as I usually enjoyed handling my best buddy, my heart wasn’t in it so much now. After awhile, I let it be, sighed, swung my legs out of bed and found my plush, comfy bathrobe. I went to pull my underwear back on, then decided fuck it - nobody else was up, why not do something a little different? I belted the soft robe around my naked body, kind of loving the sensation of being buck-ass underneath it.
This is what passes for your kicks nowadays, huh Scott? I thought to myself, then shut that train of thought down and went out to the kitchen to get the coffee started.
The thing is, though… once you get a train rolling, it’s damn hard to stop it. Between thinking about sex, or more precisely my lack of it lately, and the soft caress of the fabric of my robe against my still-chubbed cock, I was starting to get a serious case of The Horns. Standing at the kitchen sink, looking out the window to the backyard, my mind kept coming back to the feeling of my hand on my shaft, the slick friction of my foreskin grazing over the head, and the last time I’d actually fucked my wife. What had it been now - a month? Jesus - time flies even when you’re not having fun, I guess. By the time the coffee machine had finished its work, I was throwing a solid bone under my robe, pressing hard against the edge of the kitchen counter in a way that felt pretty damn good. I reached between the folds of the robe to give myself a good, solid, ball-tingling squeeze with one hand, poured coffee into the cup with the other, and started to think about taking the show back to bed and going to town on myself a little after all.
I picked up my coffee and was about to make my move, when of course, I heard footsteps. I mean, shit, they warn you when you have kids that you’ll never get a moment alone again, but mine were teenagers, for fuck’s sake - they were supposed to sleep until noon. By the heavyish tread, I knew it was Eric, my eldest, so I swallowed my sigh of frustration, because it was Father’s Day, and I really did love my kids. Instead, I let go of my cock and rearranged the front of my robe, and took a sip of my coffee and hoped it would go down some before he got here.
“Hey, happy Father’s Day, Dad,” I heard him say, his voice thick with sleep, and so deep, all of a sudden. I looked over my shoulder with a smile, since I was still standing at near full mast under the robe.
“Thanks buddy,” I said, and he beamed at me like the boy he used to be. Not a boy anymore, not by a long shot. He’d come through his awkward phase with a growth spurt a year ago, and was starting to thicken up like I had at his age, growing into his broad-shouldered, long-legged frame. A good-looking kid, the best of my and his mother’s features, and already the girls liked him, even if he didn’t quite seem to like them back the same way. My fatherly instincts told me we’d be having a Big Talk sometime in the future, once he got brave and figured himself out. It was no skin off my ass, if he turned out to be gay, or bi, or whatever - he was heading off to college in a couple months, and I wanted him to be happy and enjoy himself. That’s all a parent can truly want for their kid, right?
Anyway, he came on into the kitchen, and I had a moment of panic because my cock really hadn’t gone down any - that unstoppable train thing, and all. He had an envelope in one hand and a kind of sheepish smile on his face, almost like he was embarrassed to give it to me. Almost as sheepish as I felt, my front side still turned to the sink, trying to hide my tent. I set the coffee down and took the card.
Dear Dad - thanks for showing me how to be a man. You’ve always been there for me, and I’ll always be there for you. Love, E.
Yeah, I got a little bit of a lump in my throat at that. I loved this kid - even if he’d been a pain in the ass at times, all kids are, and at the end of the day, it’s the person they grow up to be that matters, right?
“Thanks, buddy,” I said again. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Dad,” he said, and I sure hadn’t heard that very often through his awkward teen years, but it felt real good to hear it now. I stretched out one arm to kind of side-hug him, but he surprised me by stepping in close and slipping both arms around me fully, and that was definitely something he hadn’t done in some time. It felt good though, damn good, as he gave me a squeeze, and I found myself turning to face him so I could hug him right back.
Right as I wrapped my arms round him and squeezed him back, I felt him kind of freeze, and at the same time registered the press of my boner against his hip, through my robe and the old gym shorts he was wearing. I froze up too, and we both kind of stood there, my face starting to burn, for what was just a moment, but felt like an eternity.
Fuck, Scott, I thought to myself sternly. Thirty years to figure out how to get your cock under control, and here you are…
I opened my mouth to say something - Yeah, what are you gonna say, idiot? my brain piped up - and started to loosen my grip on my boy, disengage from the hug. But he surprised me by tightening his arms around me again, squeezing me in another hug, his face turned away and resting on my shoulder. I didn’t know how to respond to that - I mean, my fucking hardon was basically full-blown, and still sandwiched between us - but I guess my paternal instincts took over, and I hugged him back again. And as if the moment couldn’t get any more awkward for me, I felt the stirring of my boy’s cock against my thigh.
