#coleminer

It was 3:35pm when a Michigan area code showed up on my phone, vibrating against the wood grain of a coffee table directly in front of me. Always open to the idea of an interesting conversation after my phone determines unknown numbers as not a spam risk, I pressed the answer button, greeted the unknown caller with a malicious Hello, but that’s when I heard his voice for the first time in over five years, “Cole, this is Chet.”

“Oh…” flabbergasted, I stumbled to find my next words, “I thought you were a telemarketer. Why are you calling me?”

The reception wasn’t great as the wind in the background broke into the call, “… in town… blocked number… using different phone… need to apologize… lunch together?”

Anger rose in my chest. I hadn’t heard from him in all these years and hadn’t seen him in even longer. I had accepted the fact that myself, and particularly the family, had all changed too much to continue any kind of cordial relationship. I said my good-byes, blocked phone numbers and Facebook accounts, and moved on with the best intentions without their input. I also decided that they must have agreed this was the best path to go as well as I hadn’t received any correspondence on any platform from any of them. Good riddance I’d remind myself.

However, I always wondered about my father, mostly what he thought about the last words I sent to him in a manic episode through a text. I tried so hard to hold onto some pride about it, like speaking the truth was better than holding it in and lying to the man who always said it was never ok to lie, especially to him.

But now, embarrassment is flooding my throat, and then he says clearly, “I want to discuss what you last wrote to me. It’s ok, I’m not upset, but I think it’s very important we speak in person.”

I agree to meeting, because I get off on pain and torture and why the fuck not. I jump a street car and meet him down town at a parking lot full of food carts. I looked around for a man I used to remember as a beast of toxic masculinity, ‘roided up and chest pumping in the gym for his next bodybuilding competition. When I was a boy, I was terrified of him, his strength, his temper, his embarrassment for his sissy son. As I grew I saw him get older and weaker, and fatter, and I knew he wasn’t the beast I used to fear when he told me he didn’t worry about me in the world because I was bigger (much taller and broader) and stronger (if only in pride and fearlessness) than he ever was. At that moment I knew I could love my father and be the son he always wanted. Unfortunately for him, I continued to grow into what I proudly claimed to be; a sexual deviant and pervert and to his dismay, I was just as flamboyant about it as he was about his sexual escapades as a teenager and naval recruit.

Looking around the small crowd, I could not find him right away, but eventually, a small, portly man with white hair tapped me on the shoulder and politely exclaimed, “Hey Cole, it’s your dad.”

I turned suddenly and there he was, the father I intentionally pushed from my life, using his own rules to break away. Between the text I sent and his poor health, I had given up on ever seeing or speaking to him again. “Dad. You’re here…”

He grabbed me before I could continue, slapping his thick, stubby arms around me, still surprisingly strong, and held me for an amount of time that even I thought was uncomfortable to display in public.. I immediately begin to think he’s here to tell me he’s dying. My family doesn’t have much in the way of property so if he came all this way to tell me I get the two trailers he welded together to live in, I’m gonna have to let him down easily. I return the hug and for a moment I forget about the text. I know it took him a lot to get here and I’d be a total asshole if I denied him a decent hug.

We embraced and then let go of one another, exchanging polite midwestern pleasantries. Wow, I thought, this is not how I imagined this would go. It took us a little while to order food and eat, sitting on a picnic table with sun shining through the trees right on it. Discussing small stuff; the weather, his flight, the family back in Michigan, we finished our food and he invited me back to his hotel only a few blocks from there. I had no reason to say no. He seemed to just want to spend quality time with his long lost son and we both were doing our parts to avoid heavy conversation topics like religion, politics, and that text of course. I almost began thinking he might not have ever gotten the one I was thinking of,, considering the contents and its implications. Wouldn’t he have brought it up by now? I would have. But I didn’t and so we casually walked to his room.

Inside the Hotel, which I had to note to myself was much nicer than I thought he would get, but maybe he just didn’t know there were much cheaper motels and hotels closer to the airport. We took the elevator up to the twentieth floor and went in, suddenly I’m blinded by a full floor to ceiling window letting in the sun’s light. There’s a full wall of this light and I can barely see until my father closes the curtains and my eyes adjust. “Woah! That was bright, how did you get a room here, I know they’re not cheap.” I had to ask.

“Don’t worry about that, I just wanted to see you,” he hurriedly made his way to the bathroom, “I gotta piss, I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared behind the door and I thought, now this is more like the dad I remember. In the bathroom, I could hear shuffling and grunts and I wondered if he was dealing with a catheter or colostomy bag. I knew his health might be declining as the last I knew he had surgery on his neck and a port put in his stomach to monitor his insulin. Being fair, I considered the amount of medical work I’ve had done in the time since I saw him last. We both have large scars down the nape of our neck, and an array of other new scars from necessary procedures.

I’m looking out the window when the bathroom door opens and I turn to him, he’s completely naked, except for his insulin pump, a smile on his face and a fat 5 inch uncut dick poking out from under his belly. “Dad! Are you ok? Do you need help?” I start to search the room for his clothes, sure he must be experiencing some type of episode. He must not remember who I am or where he’s at.

Calmly and confidently he responds, “Cole, I’m fine. We both are. Do you remember what you told me in that last text you sent? You said you want to have sex with me. You said you have sex dreams about me and when I try to stop you, you say…” he paused, waiting for me to fill in the blank like a cruel joke. He would make me do this when I was a kid, start off making some point and leave the last word for me to fill in (hitting your brother in the head with a cup is….).

I knew exactly what I said in those many dreams that I still did,. I couldn’t get it out of my head if I tried. I thought about it all the time, if only I was given the chance, the opportunity, to look up at my father in a weakened state with his half hard cock in my mouth, and assure him, “it’s already weird.”

“Exactly!” He’s noticeably proud of my answer as he starts fondling his erect prick. “You said something that was so pure and honest that I could never deny you of your dreams. But you pushed me away before I could reply. At first I was repulsed that my own son could ever have those types of feelings for his father, then I started to think how real and vulnerable you were being with me and I couldn’t fault you over that because I always told you and your brother to always tell the truth, especially to me.”

Told you.

He continued eagerly while I watch befuddled from the bed I had to sit on, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want, son, but I’m here and I’m willing to do this for you. For us. I think it’s important that you know I’ve actually done stuff with guys before, too. I don’t know if I’m gay, but your dad is still kind of a stud in Michigan. I’ve met a few guys online and we’ve experimented quite a bit. I thought you’d want to know that so you don’t think I’m some kind of virgin. In fact, I was fucking guys before you were born. It just wasn’t gay back then, especially if you were the one doing the fucking. And I want you to know something else, this,” he slaps the top of his hard rod, making it bounce, “I did some trimix in the bathroom and this will be here for you all night if you want it.”

He was so proud of himself. It’s like he knew all of the lingo and how to convince me all of this was ok. I wanted it to be ok.

I wanted to walk up to him, fall to my knees, slowly pull his hanging foreskin into my mouth and spend an hour sucking softly on the head of his dick. My fantasy was hindered, however by some pressing questions I couldn’t ignore after this new information of my father’s past. He was acting like the egotistical asshole I had to get away from and the man who thought he was god’s gift to women, and apparently men too.

“You’ve been fucking guys this whole time and you still treated me like shit when I was a boy? You acted so ashamed of me because I was a faggot and now I’m supposed to ignore all that and let you fuck me so you can still call yourself a big straight man?” Just like when I was a kid and had to stand up to him even though he terrified me, I stared him down and pretended he didn’t effect me all.

“Listen, I’m really sorry for all of that and I was never ashamed of you being gay. Far from it, I was jealous and impressed at the way you stood up for yourself to everyone in your high school. I was embarrassed when you were really young because you were such a sissy and the other kids would push you around so much. That’s just not how I thought my son would be, because, I’m mean look at me. And the more I was tough on you, the stronger you got. Suddenly you were standing up to me and holding your ground. The stronger you got, I had to get stronger just to make sure you couldn’t take me out, but I always knew you loved me too much to come after me, not matter what I did. Not like your brother, when he chased me with that bat. Yeah, I hid this part of myself from you this whole time, I hid it from a lot of people, but that’s why I’m here. I wanted to give you something that most son’s don’t get. And I never would have even thought to offer it to you until that text message. Also, I never intended to be the only one topping here,” a devilish grin slid over his mouth and I recognized my father again, always looking at me sideways.

This recollection spurred the desires I had been trying to restrain and everything he said made sense. I did grow up to be strong and I paved my own path even though I thought he was working against me this whole time. In time, I no longer feared even him and was able to turn him into a fantasy, one in which he played the weak one and I forced myself upon him. All of my lusting for daddy types were realized right in front of me and I was going to make the man my bitch. In all of his planning, he underestimated one very big thing; the intensity at which my large, swollen, overly pierced cock is going to rearrange his guts.

I got up from the bed and stepped over to the bathroom, looked at home and said, “You’re right. Thank you. I assume you have more trimix in here?”

“Uh, yeah… help yourself.”

I closed the door behind me. When I opened it, I saw my father on his back at the edge of the bed with two bottles of poppers and a small bottle of lube laying next to him, one of his hands jerking the meat between his legs. I had also undressed in the bathroom and looked down at my fathers naked and excited body. I saw myself in him, not yet literally, but I saw my belly in his, we shared the same hips, and our eyes were identical. The rest of my body could easily be attributed to my mother. Her hight, long legs, hair, nose.

He had his legs raised in the air like a desperate bottom begging to be plowed by the high school football team. I slowly pulled them down and placed them on the ground. I had not yet become erect and was not sure if I would, that is until I carefully placed my hand on my dad’s prick and began stroking it, using his foreskin to massage the head underneath. Ever since I was young, I’ve always fantasized about his dick; short, fat, and uncut with so much extra skin it hung far down. I remember seeing it when my dad took us to the gym and showered with the other big muscular men. I was too shy, but in the corners of my eyes I could see the men look at the other men quickly and then look away. I fantasized so much about my dad’s foreskin because I don’t have one. Almost in spite of him, my mother cut mine off while my dad was on deployment with the navy and both of us have forgiven her for it.

My dad looked down to see my member start filling up and finally realized what he was getting himself into. I squatted down between his legs and finally, after all these years and all this buildup, I laid my lips upon the fleshiest part of his hard rod and filled my mouth with all of it. It was salty and moist, and I imagined his crotch getting sweaty while we sat at the food carts, him nervously pondering the outcome of this day. I take the scent into my nostrils and plunge my face into his groin and he lets out a soft moaning. I look up to see if he’s watching, and to see the look on his fact and am comforted to know his eyes are rolled back and the look on his face is that of pure enjoyment. All these years of sucking uncut lessons I could have gotten from him pass through my thoughts and I actually hope I’m impressing him with what I know regardless. I continue blowing my father, listening to his breaths and moans, carefully pulling back before he shoots, or whatever he does these days, and find my own pierced meat swollen and ready to be used.

I stand up to show him how much bigger I am than him and he smiles, “I’ve always known you had a bigger dick, but it’s scary with all that metal. Any chance you could take some of them out?”he anxiously inquires.

I chuckle and grab for the bottle of lube, squirting some in my palm and rubbing it all over my shaft, “I don’t think so… turn over.”

“But I’d really like to see your face.”

“That’s nice, but sometimes you don’t always get what you want.” I smile, “Later. Let me have this first.”

He agrees a little apprehensively and repositions himself on all fours. I still have to bend my knees a bit to get in, but I line up my large PA and start to press it into tight hole.

“Can you put lu… Ow!” He tries to pull forward, but I pull him back forcefully and push myself inside of him. “You fucker!”

“That’s right. I’m the fucker, not you. You’re being fucked…” I lean into him and whisper into his ear, “your faggot son. Now loosen up or this is gonna get a lot more uncomfortable for the both of us.. And next time you have something to say, you call me Sir. Got it, boy?”

Breathing heavily, he concentrates on his answer, “Yes…Sir….but,” before he’s allowed to speak again, I slam my full cock deep and hard into his hole, each piercing on my shaft plows in like speed bumps. A loud and painful grunt emits from his throat and I continue violating his rectum. Every rotation of my hips pushes and pulls my substantially heavy PA piercing over his prostate and he reacts with a twerking of his back and legs, but I resist his movements.

Blasting his cunt with my studded manhood over and over and over until I’m almost out of breath and panting for air, my hips began to ache. Unfortunately for him, I have something to prove and I lay into his hole even harder, the trimix doing it’s desired affect to full capacity, I’m so hard it hurts in my loins and I don’t think I can cum.

No matter how hard I shred my father’s man pussy, I just couldn’t get myself to shoot my juice in him. It could have been that I always had problems cumming on trimix, something there’s no way he could have known, or maybe I couldn’t bring myself to dump a load of poz cum in him. Either way, I gave up and told my dad to roll over and get further on the bed.

“Yes, Sir,” he complied, and rolled over in visible discomfort from his asshole, however his prick would say other wise as it bounced and swung side to side.

I crawled on top of him and lubed up my hole, then looked him dead in his hazel green eyes and plunged his tool into my already gaped cunt, feeling every veiny bump and girthy inch all the way to the base. Once I was sitting with his balls pressed deep against me, I leaned forward and said passionately, “it’s already weird… dad.” And began kissing him with my powerful mouth. I expected him to recoil, but he grabbed my head and returned the kiss with force and he were enraptured by the intensity of our manly grasps. Our tongues collided between our swirling lips and I looked down into his eyes to see him staring back at me. His hips began rising and falling under my hips, the thrusting was so powerful he almost threw me off several times. It was his turn to prove himself to me and I became thoroughly impressed by his love making.

That’s when I realized it; we were making love, bellies pressed against one another and hands caressing each other’s bodies thoughtfully. Our eyes barely leaving each other’s gaze, only closing them to blink and take in the moment of sheer pleasure. My father really knew how to fuck and I would forever be in his debt knowing he allowed me that. Suddenly I became slightly envious of all those men my father had used in the past. With his thick meat goring out my hole, and his huge hairy balls slapping against my ass over and over again, my mind was being torn open and my thoughts got dirtier and dirtier. I thought of all the things I want to share with him, all the fucked up shit I’m really into. I wanted to dress him in leather, take him to the bar, and lick my dad’s boots in front of everyone at the urinal. I wanted to eat my dad’s smegma, licking it off slowly and enjoying every minute of my worship. I dreamt of feeling my father’s large, blue-collar worker’s hand punching my loose and sloppy cunt, but somehow knew that might be a bit much for a guy who has only “experimented” with a “few guys.” Maybe on the next trip, I considered.

As the thrusting got harder and harder, I peered again into his eyes and blurted out, “I love you dad!”

He examined me and grinned, then returned, “I love you too, Cole.”

Our motions became erratic and he burst into deep grunts and groans and filled me with his seed. I could feel his cock throb within me and I received every bit of him before collapsing atop him. We both breathed heavily and stroked each. I curled my fingered in his arm again like I always wanted to and he pet my back with his big, heavy hands.

Eventually, I rolled off, and he commented on the still standing pole between my legs, “I’d love to help you with that thing,” he smiled again.

I exclaimed it would be of no use and it wasn’t necessary. Either I would fuck him for a few hours relentlessly and still not ejaculate, or something else that I don’t think he’d be into. He pressed me to tell him, but I asked him to let it go and he did, reluctantly.

Rolling over and off the bed, he stood up and asked, “This isn’t about those videos I found of you online?”

Looking at him quizzically, I implored, “Which videos? I have a few floating around.”

“The fisting ones. They’re surprisingly easy to find.” He states with sincerity, “You’re amazing to watch. I hope that’s ok that I’ve seen them?”

I collect my thoughts and respond quickly, “I can’t stop you from seeing them. I don’t mind. And you actually like them?”

He grins, “At first, it was a bit of a shock, but now I share them with my fuck buddies. They’re in awe. I’ve always been proud of you.”

The thoughts in my head start to get a little wild and I’m burdened by one last question for my father, “So… are you into fisting?”

Again, he smiles and replies, “I am, son.”

In that moment, I can only hear one thing that needs to be said, “Well dad, it’s already weird.” And I smile, too.