The Farmhouse by Hankster

The Farmhouse
by: Hankster

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My grandfather became a widower before I was born. He owned a ten acre vegetable farm in America’s heartland. A small two bedroom house was situated in one corner of his property. The house faced a dirt road, which went into the nearest town about five miles away. The town’s population never exceeded two thousand, mainly because all the young people high tailed it out of there as soon as they finished high school. The town consisted mainly of a general store, a gas station and a coffee shop for stray travelers, who chose not to use the highways.

My dad moved my mom into the house when they got married, and they shared the second bedroom. Unfortunately there was only one bathroom and they had to share that with my grandfather. It was no big deal because not one week after mom and dad were married, my grandfather disappeared.

Dad got up early one morning to begin the day’s chores. He was surprised to find his father still asleep so he went to wake him, but the man was not in his bedroom. In fact, he was nowhere to be found, and his pickup truck was gone. He was never seen or heard from again. Dad searched high and low for a note of explanation, but none was ever found. Even though he was only fourteen, my father had no problem taking over the farm, but without a pick up truck, he could not get into town for food or supplies. Fortunately, my mother’s father gave Dad his old truck for which he had no further use.

My father has worked the farm since he was knee high to a grasshopper. Although he only grew to a height of five feet nine inches, he is pure muscle and sinew. What I like most about his stocky body, is his hair. The man has more hair on his body than most men ever grow on the top of their heads. I remember how I loved to rub myself against his hairy chest when I was a toddler. He and my mother both had very blond hair, and when I grew up, I had to wonder why my hair was dark.

Until I was six or seven, my father took me into the shower with him. His cock seemed enormous to me, but I was very little, so I can’t really testify as to its size. Neither of us is cut, and I have never seen a circumcised cock in my life, except in pictures. In the shower, my father’s cock never seemed to be the same size. When he cleaned it, it seemed to grow larger. It was a perfect marvel to me. He would wash my weenie with soap, and rinse it using his hands, but it always stayed its tiny self.

My mother was almost as tall as my father. Her father was at least six feet tall, and her mother was at least five feet eight inches. I grew to be two inches taller than Dad so that must have come from my mom’s side.

The one thing I never doubted in my whole life was how much those two loved each other. They started having sex in middle school (or so Dad told me when I was full grown) and I was conceived when they were both still fourteen. There was a quick shot gun wedding, and Mom moved into the farmhouse. She was really uncomfortable living with my grandfather. Dad told me that he was stern and forbidding, but a week after she moved in, the place was hers and she ruled the roost.

I was born before either of my folks turned fifteen. They were unable to conceive again and the doctor thought that it might be because Mom had given birth at such a young age. Her body wasn’t mature enough to withstand the birth process and she probably did some sort of damage to her innards. No matter to me. I was a pampered child, and I loved it. I said pampered, not spoiled. You better believe I worked my ass off on the farm. We all did.

For the first fourteen years of my life my family and I lived an idyllic existence. We didn’t have much money, but as dirt farmers, we always had plenty to eat. I had a couple of school chums, but I had the best gift of all. I had loving parents, who loved me too. All of that ended on a snowy January day.

There was only one intersection with a traffic light in town. Some of the other corners had stop signs, but there weren’t many of those either, since there was little need for it. Mom had gone into town to buy some meat and bread and a few other staples. The one stop light in town was green and in her favor. Joe Murphy was coming in the other direction. He tried to stop; he really did, but his truck’s tires were worn and thin and they just wouldn’t grip the icy road. He plowed right into Mama, and she was gone in an instant. Poor Joe couldn’t get over it. He took to drink, and died of some liver disease not too long afterwards.

Needless to say, my life and my dad’s was never the same after that. Looking back on the year’s immediately following the disaster, I sometimes wonder how we survived. There we were, a teen ager and a young man in his late twenties, struggling to make a living from farming, and having to maintain a household for themselves. Believe it or not, that was the easy part. Dad relieved me of some of my chores on the farm, and I took over the household duties. When he could, Dad pitched in and helped me keep our home clean, but it was up to me to learn to cook and keep us well fed so we could do the hard work required of us farmers. In addition to all that I continued to attend school.

As I said, maintaining the farm and the house was the easy part. The hard part was surviving without Mom. We both missed her so much. After she died, Dad and I never closed our bedroom doors. Every night for months, I could hear him cry himself to sleep. That would get me going, and I would start crying as well. After some time elapsed, I didn’t hear him sobbing as much, and I dared hope he was getting better. I even dared hope that someday he might remarry, but I didn’t care if he didn’t. He was enough for me, and I believe that I was enough for him.

Little by little, old ingrained restrictions broke down. We were just like two guys in a locker room. We often walked around naked, and never closed a bathroom door no matter what we were doing in said room. Even viewing each other’s erections became common place. In time our immodesty seemed as natural as the modesty we had displayed when there was a woman in the house.

Just when I began to allow myself to believe that my dad was handling my mom’s death a little better, I began to hear him crying himself to sleep again. It was worse than ever. Now I could hear loud, racking sobs. My heart was breaking, but I didn’t know what to do. Several weeks after my mother’s death, I heard new sounds coming from Dad’s room. Mixed with his sobs was the unmistakable sound of jerking off. The bed creaked. I heard sobs, grunts, and the final stifled scream. It made me wonder if Dad could hear me jerking off at least once a night, and sometimes two.

Now I knew what I could do to help my dad. I would take my mother’s place in his bed. He had told me often enough that he loved me as much as life itself, so certainly he loved me as much as he had loved my mother. I had no thoughts of sex. I didn’t even know that two men could have sex together. I just meant to hold him and comfort him. I hoped that he might appreciate being held again, and maybe, just maybe, I might be instrumental in easing his pain.

I know what you are thinking. You’re thinking that I am queer or something, but let me assure you that you are wrong. I know this will be hard to believe, but at the time I write of, I did not even know what incest or homosexuality were. I had never heard these acts spoken of, nor even condemned in church. They just did not exist in my philosophy. I had no arousal feelings for my father or any girl or boy in my school. I found out later that my dad was as naïve as I was. He had never heard of any such things either. When I decided to comfort him in his bed, my motives were very pure.

On the night after my fifteenth birthday, I waited until I heard his sobs begin. I gave no thought to the possibility that he might be whacking off also. I jumped out of bed and ran to his room. It was dark, but I could see by the starlight coming through the window, that Dad was lying uncovered in his usual naked state. He was stroking his huge erection. For a mere second, but only a second, I hesitated. From where I stood, what he was doing was perfectly natural. I did it myself all the time. His eyes were closed, and he didn’t see me until I was in bed with him.

I climbed in next to him and immediately put my arms around him. I startled the poor man. He gasped and immediately stopped stroking himself. He tried to pull the covers over his erection, but I had inadvertently pinned them down with my body, and he was forced to remain with his cock exposed. After the first few seconds of surprise, he relaxed. He threw his arms around me and sobbed into my chest. His furry body comforted me as much as I was comforting him.

“Don’t cry,” I begged him. “Let me sleep with you tonight and comfort you.” He didn’t answer me, but without consulting each other we straightened up into a sleeping position. We had our arms around each other and we were facing each other. My dad still had an erection and it was pressed against my own limp prick, which immediately started to straighten and turn into a ram rod. I remember thinking how good it felt when I fell asleep.

I woke before my dad. We were facing in the same direction, and I was nesting against his hairy chest. I could feel his cock rubbing up and down my crack. It was twitching as if it desired to enter me. I wondered what it would feel like if Dad put his cock up my ass. Would he think of it as a substitute for my mother’s vagina, which he had so loved and enjoyed?

I stopped conjecturing as I crept out of bed. I needed to pee badly. I guess when I got out of bed, I woke my dad. Seconds later he was in the bathroom and we were peeing together into the bowl. We smiled at each other, and he said simply, “Thanks, son.”

I answered simply also. “I think we should sleep together every night, if it makes you feel better.” Dad didn’t answer me. He just nodded and smiled. His smile did something strange to me. I felt my cock getting stiff. It was at that moment that I realized that I was a sexual human being, and that the object of my sexual desire was my own father. I still insist that I was unaware of it the night before when I slept with him.

I was useless that day in school, and when the school bus dropped me off in front of the farmhouse, I was all thumbs cleaning up and preparing food for Dad. When I finally had everything under control, I went out to the fields to see if I could help him with anything.

“No Son,” he said, “I’m almost done. You go on home, and I’ll be there in a jiffy. I just want to shower and get this grime off me. I should have some time to relax and read the newspaper before dinner. I nodded and ran back to the house.

When Dad got out of the shower, he was wearing only a robe. I could tell that he had nothing on underneath. He plopped down on his lounge chair in the living room and his robe opened some. I could clearly see his package. All I could think of was that his glorious manhood would be pressed against me shortly.

He began to read the morning paper.

“That’s old news already. Why don’t you catch up with the latest world catastrophes on TV” I suggested.

“I’d rather read,” he said. “The TV is too noisy. When I read, it’s nice and quiet in the house.”

I mumbled something, and went to set the table. Dinner was almost ready. I had made a hearty stew. It was my dad’s favorite.

During dinner I filled Dad in on the latest small town gossip I had heard at school. He depended on me to be his courier to the outside world. I already knew that I had no head for books, and would not be leaving him to go to college. I wondered if I should even bother finishing high school. He and Mom quit school when she got pregnant and they got married, so I didn’t feel any great pressure to get a higher education.

I thought we would never finish dinner, but of course we did. I told Dad to go relax and I cleaned up and made the kitchen ship shape again. When I was satisfied that the house was sparkling clean I announced that I was going to take my shower. Dad just grunted at me. I didn’t know what to expect in bed that night, but I wanted to be squeaky clean, especially underneath my foreskin. I washed and scented myself like a brothel whore. Not that I knew anything about brothel whores. It was just an expression I had heard somewhere.

At the appointed time, we got into bed together. I was naked and horny. I tried to control my feelings, but I could not defeat my raging hard on. Dad was just as naked as I, but he was soft. Somehow, I was a bit disappointed at that. As soon as we were settled in bed, Dad turned me toward him and wrapped his arms around me. He pulled me tight to him and I was not disappointed. His newly erected rod crushed against my equally hard tool.

Dad sighed, “Aah, you are so soft and hairless. It’s like I was holding your momma again,” he whispered in my ear. I answered him by pushing my cock hard against his.

“This feels so nice,” Dad mumbled, pushing harder and beginning to stroke his cock up and down mine. It did indeed feel so nice, and I began to push and stroke to his rhythm. My dad started breathing heavier, and I could feel something sticky lubricating our cocks, making the stroking easier and more sensual. Suddenly I felt an orgasm coming on. I panicked, not knowing how I should handle it. I knew that I loved what was happening to me and I knew for sure that it was too late to stop. I just pushed harder into Dad, and kept rubbing against him. I was so absorbed in my own situation that it took me awhile to realize that my dad was also preorgasmic. He was breathing hard and panting like a bull. Thank God, he came before me and relieved me of my dilemma.

I lost count of the number of times he spurted between us and greased our two cocks. I just know that I came seconds after he did. My body was bucking and I was screaming. When it was over for both of us, and I got my awareness back, I took stock of the situation. It was certainly the most intense orgasm I had ever experienced. It beat jacking off by a country mile. Dad seemed to enjoy it as well. He held me even tighter than before and kept sighing deeply.

“I love you,” he kept uttering, and mixed it up with “Thank you son” and “That was wonderful.”

I really didn’t know what to say so I said nothing. After awhile he turned me to him and kissed me. That didn’t shock me, but when he forced my mouth open with his tongue and started to bathe my tongue with his, I nearly fainted from the pleasure. After some more time passed, he turned me over so that my backside was nesting against his front side. I could feel his cock on the crack of my ass, and I pushed back against it as he pushed forward. We fell asleep that way.

Something woke me in the middle of the night. I could hear Dad snoring lightly, so I knew he was asleep. His cock was hard and was probing at my asshole as if seeking entry. I smiled to myself. He was probably dreaming that I was momma, and he was seeking entry to her Garden of Venus. I thought, “What the hell.”

I reached down and spread my ass cheeks. Then I took hold of his cock and placed it at the opening of my crack. Nature took its course and Dad thrust in. The pain was excruciating. My bowels were on fire. I wanted to scream out, but I placed a hand across my mouth and muffled any outburst. Dad was thrusting really hard and suddenly he touched something deep within me, and the pain became mixed with more pleasure than I had experienced earlier when Dad’s cock got me off. I felt another orgasm coming on and I was amazed. Nothing was touching my cock. Just as I felt Dad spurt deep into my bowels, I spurted out my own cum all over the bed sheets. I made a mental note to change the sheets before Dad got in from the fields the next day.

The two of us lay perfectly still. Dad’s cock still filled my ass, although I felt it softening and wondered if it would fall out. I had no pain left and I loved the way Dad felt inside of me. I tightened my ass muscles to prevent him from falling out of me. Alas, I could not hold him in me forever, and eventually his cock fell out. Once again he put an arm around my waist and we nested like two spoons in a drawer.

I had to know if Dad was aware of our little escapade, so the next morning, as he was getting ready to go out in the fields, and I was getting ready to meet the school bus, I asked, rather craftily I thought, “What did you dream last night Pop? You were moaning with pleasure all night.”

Without his face ever betraying his thoughts, he answered. “I don’t recall dreaming about anything. See you when you get home from school,” and with that he left the house.

Dad may not have remembered, but I did. All I knew was that I wanted more of the same, but would my dad do all that stuff while he was wide awake? I didn’t know, but I sure wanted to find out. I had a long wait.

For the next seven months, all through the late spring, summer and early autumn, I continued to sleep with my dad. I always wrapped my arms around him to comfort him. We were both naked and rubbed up against each other often, but nothing further happened between us. One night, when I thought he was asleep, I whipped out my cock and began to stroke it gently. Suddenly I heard him say, “Good idea, son.” He took out his cock and began to whack off with me. Afterwards, we got out of bed, cleaned up, and went right back to sleep.

Finally, it was mid November. The days were cold and bleak. There was little to do in the fields, and when I got home from school, I found that Dad had done all my housework and prepared dinner as well. We went shopping one Saturday morning, and bought all the fixings for a fine Thanksgiving dinner for just the two of us. While we were at it, we stocked up on lots of food staples and a few treats. Our winters were brutal and our dirt road rarely got plowed, so it was not uncommon for us to be housebound for several days or more in the winter. The school bus had to wait for the road to be plowed before it could get to me.

The old farmhouse had a wood burning fireplace, and we stocked up on wood as well, in case our heating gas failed us. Winters were harsh in our part of the world. If the truth was to be told, I could not wait for the snows to come. I would be alone with Dad for days. I wouldn’t even be able to get to school in our ancient pick up. There were days before Thanksgiving Eve when we had a few flurries, but nothing to stop us from performing our usual routines. But on Thanksgiving Eve it started to snow with a vengeance. The weather man described it as a blizzard event, and said that we could expect two to three feet of snow. It didn’t bother me. We would stay warm and cozy in the house, and as long as we had a gas supply we could cook our traditional Thanksgiving dinner.

Even though my naked presence in Dad’s bed was now routine, and he had long ago stopped crying at night, I planned on rubbing my cock against his, just like that first night I slept with him. He hadn’t stopped me then, and I prayed he wouldn’t stop me now. I couldn’t wait to see what would happen from there.

I took the first shower that night. When I got out, I was surprised to see Dad sitting on the commode, reading a magazine. He was taking a dump. He looked up at me and grinned. “This is great,” he said. “I could never do this with your momma. It’s kind of liberating to share a house with another guy.”

I never answered him because I didn’t know what to say. I hoped that Dad was tempting me sexually, but I dismissed the idea quickly enough. Dad finished up, wiped his ass, and went into the shower. By the time he got ready for bed, I was curled up under the blankets. You better believe that in spite of the heat going constantly, the house remained chilly. As soon as Dad got into the bed I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him to me. “It’s cold,” I said. “Warm me up Dad.”

He responded by hunkering up to me, and just as I hoped and planned our erect cocks rubbed together. “That’s so nice,” I whispered in his ear.

“Yes,” he answered as he began to rub our co joined cocks together. I knew that we were about to repeat the events of that first night we slept together so many months ago, but I wanted more. I hoped Dad felt the same way, but if I was to find out, it was obvious that I needed to be the aggressor and take the lead.

I reached my right hand down between us, and grabbed both of our cocks in my palm. I began to stroke the two cocks together. Dad did not stop me. He just moaned and sighed, and kept murmuring how nice I was making him feel. When I felt his balls constrict, I stopped stroking. I asked Dad to lie flat on his back. I intended to sit on his cock and let it enter my asshole. He obviously guessed my motive,

“Just a second,” he said. “I’ve got something here that I use sometimes when I jack off.” He reached into the drawer of his bedside table and took out a jar of Vaseline. He rubbed some all over his cock and I straddled him. I started my descent and he guided his cock in. This time he entered easily and there was hardly any pain. Once I felt his pubic hair, I started to pump up and down. Soon, he joined me in an offsetting rhythm. He actually frightened me as his breaths grew shorter and shorter. Then with one primordial scream, he came up my ass. I could feel his juices rolling down his cock and out my asshole, as his seed gave way to gravity.

He lay so still after his spasms ceased that I thought I might have killed him. When finally he opened his eyes, he said that I should get off him. I was so afraid that he was angry with me that I began to shake. I got off him and lay down beside him. “Are you all right?” I asked. Thank God he smiled at me and nodded.

“When you were an infant,” he said, “and I would bathe you, I used to kiss and suckle your little weenie. You loved it and it kept you quiet. Somehow, I think you might enjoy it more now.” Dad rolled on top of me and started to kiss me. Little by little he worked his way down my body, and when he reached my cock, he took my balls in his hand and started gently kneading them. Then he started licking the shaft of my cock. At last he took my cock and enveloped it in his mouth. After a few short licks with his tongue, he withdrew.

“Your momma used to do this to me, and I loved it more than when I entered her. Just lie back and enjoy, Son,” he instructed me. I did as he asked of course, and after two or three strokes of his tongue, I began to wiggle and mewl like an idiot. I was cumming and wanted to warn him, but I couldn’t speak. I can’t describe the rapture I was in. I came gushing into my father’s mouth, and he kept swallowing and swallowing, and licking and licking until there was no more seed left. I lay there unable to move when I felt a strange sensation. Dad was licking my asshole and trying to lick up his own juices which were still oozing out of me.

In time he lay prone beside me and took hold of my hand in his. Nobody spoke, but finally curiosity got the best of me. “What does it taste like?” I asked.

“I have a feeling you’ll find out soon,” he answered me.

I found out the next morning. The snow was still falling heavily and we were snowbound for sure. We had a hearty breakfast, and Dad suggested we go back to bed and play some more. I knew exactly what he meant by ‘play.’ There were to be no more doubts and no more hints. Dad and I were about to embark on a sexual adventure, a union if you will. On my part it could last forever, and I intended to ask my father if he felt the same way.

In the end words were not necessary. Dad and I spent the day in bed. He sucked me and fucked me and declared that he couldn’t get enough of me. I returned all his favors, and when we were so tired that we could barely move, we held each other tightly. Our kisses were passionate. Neither of us stopped fondling the other’s cock and coaxing our rods back to action. I will never forget that day. I lost track of the number of times we swore to each other, “I love you!”

Needless to say, I never married. Dad and I worked the farm until I was forty-eight and he was sixty-two. All that time neither of us lost any of our sexual enjoyment for each other. Eventually we sold the farm to a real estate developer for a hefty sum. We moved to Orlando, Florida. There were no more snow storms to contend with, but we didn’t need them. Instead of farming we went fishing. We made love often. There are people who would frown upon homosexuality. There are more people who would frown upon incest, but it works for us. Our love for each other is epic, maybe even Shakespearean. We only ask that you do not judge us, but if you do, we don’t care.

Posted: 02/18/11