Not Your Typical Father
 (Peace After Pain)
 by: Hankster

© 2013 by the author

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 1
 

I can’t tell you anything about my mother.  The poor lady died when I was six months old, and my father deserves great credit.  He raised me by   himself, without any family to assist him.  He was my rock, and in many ways, I suppose I was his rock also, saving him from a lonely existence.

My father was only sixteen when I was born.  He once let slip that my mother was six years older than he was.  The man was always a mystery to me.  I never knew exactly what he did for a living.  All I knew was that he came home every evening with a friend, and they went into his bedroom.  Before he did, he paid my baby sitter, made sure that I was fed and comfortable in my crib and in later years, in my bed.  I was always fast asleep before the friend left. 

There were times when he came home alone, and he would play with me all evening.  He tickled me and hugged me, and told me how much he loved me, and that he couldn’t live without me.  It was music to my young ears. 

He worked out a lot, and sometimes he took me to the gym with him.  He was hard as nails and devoid of any body fat.  I asked him why he worked so hard at the gym, and he told me that his work required that he look like a Greek statue.  For some reason that struck him funny and he couldn’t stop laughing.  In the gym shower, I could see the other men envying his toned and muscled body, and I was so proud.

At home, I showered with my father until I was about seven years old.  I was always amazed at his penis.  It was uncircumcised, and mine was cut.  That confused me, but he told me that it was what my mother wanted.  His cock was about four inches long, and quite hefty around, but sometimes when he was soaping himself, it would plump up even more, and I thought it grew a little longer, which fascinated me.  When I asked him about it, he told me he would explain when I was a little older.  That was also the time that he told me I was old enough to shower alone.  I wanted to object, but if showering solo was what my father wanted, I had to comply.  It was my goal in life that he always be happy.

I want to tell you now about what I call my ‘awakening.’  I was somewhere between twelve and thirteen years old when I learned the truth about how my father provided for us.  There was an incident, and I found out that my father was a male prostitute.  If you think I was traumatized by this new found knowledge, think again.  It didn’t bother me in the least.  I wanted to ask him all kinds of questions, like what he did, what his clients did, etc., but I was too chicken and I didn’t want him to know that I knew…yet.

This is how it came down.  I woke up one night, not too much after I had fallen asleep.  I needed to pee badly.  I should not have drunk that glass of Coca Cola before going to bed.  On the way to the bathroom, I heard noises coming from my father’s bedroom.  His door was ajar, which surprised me.  When he had a friend over, he always made sure that it was tightly shut.  Out of sheer curiosity I peeked in.  I wasn’t quite sure that I fully comprehended what I saw, but I knew enough to make a hasty retreat.  My father was lying on his stomach, and a very portly ‘friend’ was riding him like a horse.  The chubby man had his penis in my father’s ass (or at least it seemed that way to me) and he was pumping away, and mouthing something that sounded to me like “fuck.”  I peed, ran to my bed, and made sure my door was closed. 

I knew what an erection was by this time in my life, and I was surprised to notice that I had one, and it was a hard one, at that.  I knew two things for sure at that moment.  I could not let my father know what I had seen in his bedroom, but I could ask him about my erection.  I needed to know if it was good or bad, and what to do about it.  I fell asleep dreaming that my father was riding me, and his dick was up my ass.  Very strange!

The next day at breakfast, I told my father about my erection.  He smiled broadly, but when I asked him what I should do about it, his face clouded over.  He seemed to be debating something in his own mind.  Finally, he stood up and went to the fridge.  He removed a carrot from the vegetable bin, and using that as his visual, he taught me how to masturbate.  He tried to describe the feeling I would experience at the end, but words failed him.  “You’ll know when it happens,” is all he could manage.

As I grew older, my dad would call to let me know that he was on his way home, and I would make myself scarce in my bedroom.  By the time I was fourteen or fifteen I’m sure my father was aware that I knew about his profession, but neither of us had the courage to speak of it.

About the time of my fourteenth birthday, I started to work out at the gym with him.  Dad paid for a personal trainer, who was an expert in proper exercises for a growing body.  By the time I was sixteen my cock was fully mature and I had all my pubic and underarm hair.  I was as muscular as my dad and nearly as tall. He was only thirty-two, and looked twenty-two.  He could have been mistaken for my older brother.  In fact, we made a joke of it.  He would often introduce me as his kid brother. 

One day, about half way through my sixteenth year, the inevitable happened.  My father forgot to call, and when he arrived home with a client, I was sitting at the kitchen table doing my homework.  I was scantily dressed, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts.  My father turned white when he saw me, and ordered me to my bedroom.

“No,” the client said.  “Let him stay.”

“Why?” my father asked.

“I’ll pay double for the boy.”

“Get out,” my father ordered.  He had turned from ashen white to rosy red.  “He’s my brother, for God sakes.”  He was so used to introducing me as his brother it just slipped out.

Before anyone could react, I yelled, “Stop it both of you.  This is my decision to make.  Just how much is double, sir?”  (Why was I being so polite?)

“Five bills,” he answered.

“I’m a virgin” I said, “that should be worth something more.”

“Tell you what,” the man smiled at me.  He wasn’t bad looking.  “I’ll pay $750 for the pair of you.”

I could see my father’s jaw open to object, and before he could say anything, I said, “It’s a deal.”

******

Michael David O’Leary was half past his fifteenth birthday, when he was kicked out of his house and told never to return.  His father had caught him doing unnatural things with an older man.  The elder O’Leary might have been even more incensed if he knew that Mike was being well paid for his efforts.  Furthermore, he loved what he was doing.

Mike lived in the boonies in upstate New York.  The first thing he did was hitchhike to the nearest big city, which just happened to be Buffalo.  He slept in back alleys, and learned all about the city’s life lines.  He knew where he could find shelter when the weather turned cold, and he knew where he could pick up tricks to support himself.  His handsome face and body soon earned him enough money to afford to rent a small, furnished studio apartment. 

His work zone was also used by female prostitutes.  He was on a street corner one night, talking to a lovely twenty-two year old prostitute.  She was wearing a tight dress and Mike could clearly see that she was pregnant.  Suddenly the girl fainted.  Mike’s first impulse was to turn and run, but he had too much compassion to turn his back on her.  He didn’t work that night.  Instead he took Rosemary home. 

“I’m six months pregnant,” she told him.  I worked until I showed, but now the pickings are slim.  I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Mike just smiled and said, “Don’t worry.  I’ll take care of you.”  He took care of her very well for the rest of her pregnancy.  She named her son Brad (not Bradley) after her favorite movie star.  She registered his birth using Mike’s name, O’Leary.  If anyone asked, Mike was his father.  She never wanted to brand her son as a bastard.  Two months after Brad’s birth, Rosemary announced that she was ready to return to work. 

She and Mike rented a furnished two bedroom apartment in a fairly nice neighborhood, so that they could both bring home clients.  They placed Brad’s crib in the living room, hired a woman to care for the infant when they went to work, and let her leave when the first of them came home.

When Brad was six months old, Rosemary did not come home one night.  She had been badly beaten by a trick, and left to bleed to death.  Mike gave her a decent funeral, and pondered Brad’s fate.  By this time, he was so bonded to the baby that he could never give him up.  The boy already had his name, so he simply raised him as his own son.

******

When I said, “It’s a deal,” my father turned white again.

“No,” he said, “that won’t be happening.”

I turned to the client.  “Would you excuse us for a minute, sir.  I need to talk to my brother.”

“Sure,” he said, “but please, call me Jim.  Make the right decision.  It’ll be fun for all of us.”

I took my father’s hand and led him into my bedroom.  Before he could say anything I told him that I really wanted to do this, and contribute to our household income.

“But you’re my son,” he objected.  “I could never touch you … there…in that way.”

“We don’t have to touch each other.  We’ll make him happy and he can make us happy individually.  What’s the big deal anyhow?  You love me, don’t you?”

“Sure I do, but not like that.  It just isn’t right.”

“That’s bull.  C’mon. Let’s do this thing.”

Reluctantly, my father agreed.  We went back to the living room, and I repeated, “It’s a deal.”

“Let’s see your money first,” Dad said.  Jim pulled out a wad of bills.  I marveled that he went off with a stranger, to the stranger’s house, with all that money in his pocket.  He was more trusting than I would ever be.

As he started to count the money, my father said, “Give it to my son to count.”

Jim smiled.  “Your son?  I thought the boy was your brother.”  My father was caught with mud on his face.

“I lied,” he said.  “Brad’s my son.”

“That’s even better,” Jim giggled.  He counted out some more money.  “Now it’s worth a grand.”

I took the money and ran into my bedroom, where I hid it.  When I got back, Jim and Dad had already gone to my dad’s bedroom and were undressing.  I followed them in, dropped my boxers, and got into bed before they did.  God, I was so excited.  I already had reached my full erection limit of eight inches.

Dad got into bed next, and lay beside me.  He took hold of my hand and squeezed it.  We looked at each other and smiled.  Jim got in next.  He straddled us, placing one knee between each of our legs.  He made no attempt to kiss either of us.  He just started fondling my balls with one hand and my dad’s with the other.  Then he leaned over and started to suck our cocks alternately.  It was my first time.  Dad and I made small gurgling noises.  This Jim knew how to suck cock, and we O’Leary’s couldn’t be happier.

I was the first to begin to cum, and I was unprepared for how good it felt.  I guess I expected it would be like a glorified hand job.  My balls began to tighten and Jim pulled off.  He leaned over and started to work on my father.  When dad’s groans began to increase and he started to writhe, Jim stopped again.

“I want the boy to fuck me now,” Jim said, “and while he’s doing me, I want you to do him.”

“NO! NO! NO!” my father objected vehemently.  “He’s my son.”

“Bullshit!  I paid you a grand.  Either do as I say or I want a refund.”

“Please, Dad,” I said softly, “I want you to do this.  I’ve dreamed about this for years.  I love you.  I want you to make love to me.”  My father seemed defeated.  “OK,” he said.  He took out condoms and lubrication from his night stand.  He showed me how to grease Jim’s ass, and how to prepare him for my entry.  Then he handed me a condom.  He wasn’t about to touch me yet.

Jim grabbed the rubber and said, “Here, let me.”  Jim put it on me and lubed me good.  Then my father greased my ass.  I could hear him sobbing softly.  He was kneading me with two fingers. 

“Enough crap,” Jim said.  “Let’s get to it.  He lay on his back, raised his legs, spread his ass, and said, “Go, Brad baby, go.  My cock was jerking like a willow in the wind.  I didn’t know what to expect so I ram-rodded right in.  Jim screamed in excruciating pain.

“Fuck, you are supposed to go in slow.  Don’t move now, until I get used to you.”

“Don’t complain,” my father said.  “You wanted a virgin, and he has no experience.”

“Fair enough.  Now it’s your turn.  Fuck your son, …. Daddy.”  

My father entered me ever so slowly.  My asshole was on fire, but I knew the pain would pass.  Jim was already wriggling his body, begging me to start pumping. 

“Go slow,” Jim said.  “I’ll tell you when to thrust faster and harder.  Mike, you pump at the same pace as I set Brad going.”

I started to fuck Jim’s hot and tight ass.  This beat his blow job, and my solo hand jobs, by a country mile.  I thought I was in heaven, but I soon went higher.  When my dad started pumping, he must have begun to massage my prostate because my soul was soaring. 

“I’m sorry, Jim,” I screamed out.  “I can’t hold back.”  I came with such velocity, poor Jim was pushed further into the bed.  Now my father let loose, and all I could think of was to curse the condom that held his juice, and kept it from spurting into my bowels.

When we disengaged, I asked Jim how he would like us to get him off.

“I know how,” Dad said, and he went down on Jim.  I joined him immediately, and as soon as I did, Jim began to cum.  I pushed my father away, and took Jim’s cum into my waiting mouth.  I know I shocked my dad when I did that.

Jim and I squeezed into our small shower, and then Dad went next.  Before he left, Jim asked if he could have a repeat performance on his next business trip.  Dad assured him that he could.

“But Brad’s not a virgin anymore.  I’ll only pay $500.”

Before Dad could say anything, I said, “That’ll be fine, Jim.”

“I have some friends who would go ape over a father-son combination.  I’m going to recommend you,” Jim said before he left.    

Again my father was mute, so I said, “That’s very nice of you, Jim.”

After Jim left, my father collapsed on the living room sofa and began to cry.  “I tried to shield you from all this,” he lamented, “but I failed miserably.”

“How long have you been doing this?” I asked out of sheer curiosity.

“Since I was younger than you.”

“Why didn’t you ever try to break away?”

My dad was silent for a very long time.  I could see his mind racing for the right words.  Finally, he looked at me, and said, “I really enjoy my work, Brad.  It’s hardly work.  I have a lot of fun, and I am well paid.”

“I feel the same way, Dad.  I guess I come by it naturally.” I said it simply and walked over to my father.  I put my arms around him and began to kiss him on the lips.  He pulled away.

“What did you mean when you said you have wanted me to fuck you for years now?”

“Just that, Dad.  If I were to choose the perfect lover (for me) it would be you.  I don’t give a crap that we are the same blood.  Who made up that crazy rule anyway?  Wouldn’t blood relatives make the best lovers?  They would always be looking out for each other, and making sure that nobody got hurt.”

“There’s another thing I never wanted you to find out,” Dad butted in.  “In light of everything that has happened tonight, and your admission of sexual love for me, I think that this may be the time.”  His face grew serious, and I knew that it was going to take all his courage to tell me whatever burden he was carrying.

“I’m not your father,” he began.  “I mean I’m your father in every sense of the word, but I’m not your birth father.”  He lowered his head, and I gasped for air.  “I’m afraid we’ll never know who your natural father was, and maybe that’s for the best.”

As the tears ran down my cheeks, my father told me everything he could; how he allowed an older man to have his body, how he turned to prostitution and made money doing something he really enjoyed, how he got kicked out of his house, how he met my mother, how he kept her safe, and finally, how she died.  I couldn’t stop crying.  Now it was his turn to put his arms around me and try to comfort me.

“Emotionally,” my father said, “I love you as a son.  I don’t know if I could ever be comfortable loving you like you want me to love you.”

I embraced my father and we just held each other, rocking back and forth in a sort of dance of comfort.  Finally, I said, “I love you as a father too, but I love you as a lover also.  I want to share a bed with you, grow old with you, and get buried with you.”

“What about the other thing?” he asked.  “Do you think you can share prostitution with me?”

“Absolutely!  Let’s do it for as long as we are both desirable.  We’ll stash away every cent we can, and then retire.  We can live modestly.”  I started to laugh.  “We can live on our love.”

“I’m sure that’s a fallacy, but let’s try.”  Dad took my hand and led me back to his bedroom.  We crashed naked on his bed, embraced each other and fell fast asleep.  After all, we had to save ourselves for our clients.

At the age of sixteen, my resolve melted.  In the middle of the night, I leaned over his magnificent body and went down on him.  He woke up immediately, but offered no resistance.  He came rather quickly, too quickly for me.  When we both calmed down, we began to kiss passionately, and then he went down on me, but I stopped him.

“Maybe next time,” I said, “but now, I want to fuck you and I don’t want to use a rubber.”  He didn’t answer me, but he got the lube, and greased us both up well.  I did to him what he had done to me.  I unloaded far up his bowels, and he sighed with contentment.  I could not wait for him to fuck me again without a condom, and to feel his juices filling me up, as well.

A short time later, we embraced again and fell asleep.  All was well in the world.

To be continued...

Posted: 05/17/13