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Bathtime

Posted by: SoloTouchArchive Author: admin Posted on: 05 Mar 2002 1 comments
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by Rodman Our childhood house was big and old. Built at the turn of the twentieth century, it had already seen quite a bit of wear when we moved in in the mid-1960s but it was ideal for a family with five kids. It was made from pit-sawn hardwood of a quality that's rare these days, and stood on a half acre property with big lawns front and back. A high-fenced courtyard and outbuildings near the back door made an ideal place for the smaller ones to play in. At the rear of the house, the lawns sloped down through a fruit orchard and chicken coops to a slow, muddy river. In a big place like this, with a bit of planning, you could be as secluded as you like. Very soon after we moved in we kids had found all manner of hiding places around and about the house for games. In the big, shadowy old rooms, whose old wallpaper sometimes rustled and bulged in high winds, you could tuck yourself down behind furniture and lie low. We'd even, unknown to our parents, explored the ceilings, sneaking a ladder up to one of the access panels and stepping carefully along the big old beams. One of the major discoveries up there, which I'm sure only I registered at the time, was the amount of reflected daylight coming up through the ornate old plaster ceiling roses in several rooms. The light fittings hung beneath them and their wiring snaked along the sides of the roof beams. The ceiling roses gave a perfect view down into the family room, bathroom and one of the kids rooms. In other places, they had been covered over with new plaster. The afternoon I'm thinking of was an unusual one. The house was quiet as my mother had taken all of us kids to a children's party at our small town's municipal hall. At 13, I was getting a bit too old for such things, especially as most of the kids at the party were younger than me - and that wasn't cool. They were also noisy and annoying, so after I'd collected the gift that was being given out to each kid and eaten a bit, I told my mother I had a slight stomach ache and was going to walk home. The house was quiet as I got home and I wondered what I might do. I'd recently discovered masturbation and loved any chance to pleasure myself in private, although the downside in our household was that you could never be sure you weren't being followed anywhere by a snoopy young kid. This afternoon though I knew I'd have an hour or so to myself. I'd let myself in quietly and was figuring out where I would go to jack off, when I heard footsteps at the other end of the house. Damn, my father must be home. As I moved up the long hallway, I heard footsteps again and water running. My father was taking a bath. I stopped, and a sneaky plan immediately formed in my mind. The bathroom of the house was off the kitchen next to the family room. And in the back porch area past the kitchen was a roof access panel I'd climbed up through before. A big old Dutch dresser that we used for storing hats and coats and boots stood right beneath it. Kids can move very quietly when they want to - and I wanted to. I'd first seen my father naked a couple of months before (see previous archive stories: Learning from Daddy, Parts I and II) and secretly watched him jack off. I'd thought about that experience many times since and now I hoped for a replay. My father was a fit, 37 year old cop, well built, moderately hairy and uncut. I badly wanted to see his cock again. I tip-toed through the family room and peered into the kitchen. The door to the bathroom was slightly ajar with wisps of steam trailing out. Since the old house was poorly ventilated and the bathroom had only a small, high window, my father had also opened the kitchen windows to let moisture escape. Holding my breath, I nipped past the bathroom and down the step to the porch. The dresser was solid and easy to climb. Balanced on top, I popped the panel easily and drew myself up, quietly replacing it below me. Moving as quietly as I could, and pressing my weight gradually along the beams to make sure there were no sudden creaks or cracks, I reached the beam which let me lean over and look down through the bathroom ceiling rose - just in time to hear the thump of the closing bathroom door and to then see my father settle down into the big, old-fashioned claw-legged tub. He was a little to the right of me with the top of his head just out of view. But I could see his lips exhale and then relax into a smile as he lay back in the water. He placed his arms along the warm porcelain of the bath and stretched out, his body almost floating in the water, his strong legs stretched right out. After about a minute I saw his head tilt forward and his right hand come down to his cock and balls. He adjusted them and sluiced warm water over them. He lay back again for a while, his hand darting down once to flick his cock, which was now floating, his foreskin fully covering his cock and the wet hairs on his balls and the furry trail up to his pecs looking dark. He moved his hips up and down and the water surged up over his trim belly and lapped at the base of his chest. After another short pause, there was a sudden noisy splosh and suck of water and he sat up, reached for the soap and washcloth in the dish by the taps at his feet, and proceeded to wash himself: hair, face, neck, armpits, chest and legs, his arms making long, well practised strokes. Pretty soon though he'd done and lay back, draping the washcloth over his cock and balls and placing the cake of soap out of the water on his chest. His head tilted way back as he relaxed, using the edge of the bath as a headrest. All I could see was the end of his jaw and upturned throat, slightly scrubby with weekend stubble. After another minute he moved his hips again, wetting the washcloth and his mid section, his head tilting forward to look. His right hand came down and lifted the wash cloth away and then he held it, dabbing gently with the damp flannel cloth at the erection that had started. He parted his legs slightly, raised his hips a fraction and dragged the cloth gently across his balls. His mouth compressed and he squeezed his legs together. The cloth went back to teasing the end of his upright cock, where the foreskin had started to peel back, showing a glimpse of red cocklips and pink-purple head. He dropped the cloth in the water, wet his right hand and then reached up for the soap. Rubbing his fingers back and forth, he soon coated them, flicking his thumb and forefingers together to make sure they had an even coat. His hand went down again and with one slick fingertip he gently brushed the very edge of his foreskin, a tiny movement back and forth, his mouth opening slightly as he enjoyed the sensations. His erection began to grow quickly and his fingertip movements became more rapid, his foreskin peeling back steadily as he followed, tickling himself lower down his thick shaft and focusing on the frenum just under his exposed cock head. His foreskin now peeled right back and he wet his hand and rubbed the soap again. His other hand now came into play. Making a V with his index and second finger, my father placed them near the base of his cock and pulled down. His cock pulled tight, and twitched, his cock lips parting slightly. So did his mouth, a small puff of breath and a swallow signalling his pleasure. The V of his fingers pulled down further and he raised his hips and grunted quietly under his breath, his right hand now moving steadily up and down, three fingers stimulating his frenum and his right thumb moving slickly on the belly side of his cock. The right hand darted quickly upwards again to the soap for added slickness. It came back down, renewed, and my father groaned quietly. His right hand fingers travelled further down his engorged cock towards the base, causing him to breathe heavily again and moan. He slipped into what I now recognised as his mounting excitement mode. His left hand left his cock and its fingertips now roamed across his tight balls. More mouth movements and deeper breaths conveyed what I know so well now from my own experience - that waves of unbelieveably pleasurable nerve impulses were flooding his brain. His left hand cupped over his balls, squeezed, and he raised his hips again, the water sploshing. Next, his left hand slipped down the left side of his balls and pressed downwards and inwards: my father's right hand movements sped up. His left thumb now snaked around the top of his cock on his belly side and pressed down, pulling his cock tight and shiny, making his cock lips gape wide. At the same time, his legs parted and he braced against the sides of the bath. The muscles in his thighs became defined and his belly tight. His head went right back so I could only see his jaw and mouth. The sounds of his breathing grew more ragged and he started to vocalise, his mouth moving and forming words that I couldn't make out, his tongue darting out and across his lips and then his mouth falling open. His right hand was moving quickly now and a low sound came from his throat. Suddenly, from his now purple cock head a jet of white spunk flew out and landed on his chest. My father cried out as a bigger jet, and then another followed. His cock twitched a couple times more and the end of his load drooled down the front of his shaft. His right hand relaxed in his crotch and he lay back in the water. After a minute or so he sighed and sat up slowly, starting the task of cleaning up his spunk and rinsing himself off. With the cover of his splashing noises, I eased myself back towards the panel, calculating that I had just enough time to get myself back down and out the back door before making an 'official' return to the house.