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All my life my mom has hounded me about going to church, and it was difficult for her because my dad doesn't care to go and would rather spend the day fishing. It became even more frustrating for her when I turned 18 and, like my dad, declared that I was old enough to make up my own mind about religion and started staying home on Sunday mornings. With my dad's support, she had no choice but to accept my decision and spend the 3 hours (yes 3 hours) of service by herself and the congregation.
Usually Dad went fishing and then I would have the whole house to myself. This was the perfect time to have personal fun with myself and I usually started by stretching out, thinking about some hot guy I would imagine fucking and start rubbing myself. Then I would take off my clothes and walk around the house naked with my 5" boner bouncing in front of me. Just the act of being sexual in my prudish mother's living room would sometimes get me off and I would try my best not to leak jizz on the carpet as I rubbed myself and tried to catch every drop with my left palm. I usually was clean and dressed by the time Mom was back from church, and Dad would be back in the evening.
One Sunday I awoke to an empty house and immediately began rubbing my stubborn little cock. I wiggled my little cock, coaxing it back to life so that I could have some jerking fun. I needed something visual and stood naked in front of the mirror. Although my family is full Irish, we sometimes get mistaken for Italian because of the dark black hair that covers our slim, milk-skinned bodies. I have lots of dark fur everywhere, especially around my balls and ass crack. I often remind people of Collin Ferrell and claim him as a long lost relative. Truth is he's one of my favorite jerk off fantasies.
Next I went on the computer and downloaded some gay porn and turned up the volume since I had the house to myself. Apparently I had not heard my dad come home after getting rained on, and I was enjoying my flick too much when I heard a grunt from my bedroom door and a growling voice say between heavy breathing, "You're doing it all wrong."
I almost shit a load right at my desk when I realized I got caught. But I got fluttery in my stomach when I noticed the wet tent in his gray sweat pants and saw the glazed look of lust in his eyes. My father was always the epitome of masculine sexuality and I had often imagined pleasing him but thought of it as the ultimate sin. But here he was, a 44-year-old version of myself, dark bushy eyelashes and eyebrows contrasted against milky skin and sleek, naturally muscular body. His hairy arm was gently strumming his own growing bulge as through playing a harp and his deep breathing intensified.
"Dad, I didn't know you were home," I mumbled trying to locate some clothes.
"Don't stop. I was just saying that you were doing it wrong."
"What do you mean?" I asked, dumbfounded and bewildered about what was happening.
"Your technique is interesting but you could hurt yourself like that."
I knew exactly what he meant. Because I was cut and not too long, I would spit in my hand and rub my palm back and forth across my slit until I came in my hand. My dad obviously took notice and felt he needed to show me the "right way" to get off. Pulling the sweats down to his knees, he gently gripped his throbbing rod, which was a few inches longer and fatter than mine, and began pumping it back and forth. "Like this," he huffed and puffed, closing his eyes and thrusting his hips. I copied him and he came closer and licked my mouth. I licked him back and he immediately went down and engulfed my member. I was so excited I shot his mouth and he drank every drop.
I tried to suck him but he pushed me away and kept pumping. I reached for him just as he shot sperm all over the carpet. He bucked his hips violently with each spasm as the wave slowly subsided and he returned to reality.
All he did after was pull his sweats back up and tell me to clean up before my mother came home. I was confused as to what life with my parents would be like from this point on, but it was only the beginning of what would later become an endearing relationship with my maker.
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