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My Fathers Face

Posted by: Author: Age: 18 then - now 30s Posted on: 0 comments
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This story needs an explanation. I am taking a creative writing class in college and our assignment was to picture the face of someone special to us at a moment of pure joy and happiness, but the first thing that came to your mind after reading the assignment. What you see below is the main text of what I wrote but obviously never handed it in due to its very personal nature. I wrote some fiction about how happy my husband looked when we got married instead. I did let my husband read it and he suggested I submit it to this website for publication.


I was 18, a virgin and a high school senior when this happened. My dad and I had travelled to San Antonio, Texas on a college tour. We stayed at this older hotel on the downtown Riverwalk. The room was L shaped, with a large bed on one end and a pull-out sofa in the corner of the L that was set-up like a small sitting room.

When it was time for bed, my father insisted I sleep in the big bed and he was going to sleep on the pull out sofa. As he often does, he got a book and was reading in a large chair around the corner, just out of sight from the bed.

I quickly fell asleep, but awoke soon afterwards, my mind racing with thoughts of tomorrows campus visit. Rolling over in the bed I could see my father's feet sticking out, resting on an ottoman. After a moment he got up, went to the bathroom and returned to the chair in his pajamas. What he did not realize is that the bathroom door was covered by a large mirror and I could now see his reflection perfectly. Not really paying attention to him, I tried to return to sleep but could not.

It was then I realized he had his hand in his pants and was obviously masturbating. Putting the book down, he opened his fly and revealed a very large cock. Slowly he stroked it, moving the skin up and down over the head of his penis.

Dad looked over in my general direction but as the lights were off he could not see that I was watching.

He got up from the chair and went back into the bathroom. This time he came out without his pants, carrying a facecloth and the small bottle of 'body lotion' all hotel bathrooms contain.

Now getting serious, he turned off the reading lamp which actually allowed me to see what he was doing even better with the light coming from the bathroom. He applied a small amount of the lotion to his hand and penis then using his thumb and forefingers, slowly rubbed his foreskin over the head.

I was amazed as I had never seen a man do this before. Even today, the sight of my husband masturbating is something I can't get enough of. I don't know why but the magic of the penis, how it grows, stiffens and changes shape and color still enthralls me.

He added more lube and quickened his pace, now stroking the upper portion of the shaft. When he came, he leaned away from me so I did not see the actual ejaculation. He had caught it in the palm of his hand and now rubbed it all over the shaft of his penis and down over his balls.

Now he began to squeeze the soft shaft, slowly taking it in his hand and starting at the base, pulling it up and away from his body, letting go, catching it and beginning again. Soon he was hard again and taking long slow strokes, up and down.

He sat up in the chair, placing his feet far apart, flat on the floor. Up to now, from where I was, in the bed, watching in the mirror, I could not see my father's face, but now not only could I see his face in the mirror, straight on, but I could see him in profile, his face now visible, just around the corner.

That is the moment I remember; the look on his face when he came.

Joy, bliss, contentment-all at once. For a brief moment there was a small smile on his face I had never seen before or ever again. I did not understand then, but that is what I believe the pleasure of sex, solo or with a partner is supposed to be all about.

My father was the nicest man in the world. He brought me up alone while my mother did everything she could to ruin both our lives. I never really understood until he was gone. That is the moment I remember; the look on his face when he came.

PS: When he died, I had an open house after the service. Several women I did not know came to his home and greeted me like a long lost daughter. Each was slightly older than my dad, all very well dressed looking both healthy and wealthy. All of them seemed to know all about me, even though I had no idea who they were or why they were in the kitchen, drinking wine. I entered the room and they all fell silent, although there had been a noisy conversation going on moments before. Somewhat confused and a bit irritated, I asked what they were talking about. Awkwardly, one said; 'Crystal, we were all discussing that your father was the best lover we ever had'.



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