Here it was, just a week after my nineteenth birthday. I had celebrated the day by moving out of my oppressive mother's house to have some freedom, and bring friends of my choosing home without her constant prying.

I didn't have to worry about money too much, because my father, who showed up in my life only once a month at the most, had set up a trust fund for my further education after my mother and he had divorced years before. This included money for food, clothing and accommodations, as long as I went to school, and I was already at the end of my second year of University. I also made quite a decent wage just from tips at the rather low-paying but trendy chain restaurant I worked for at nights on weekends and holidays. Lots of big-tippers ate there, and I can be very charming when I am waiting on customers.

So why, I asked myself, am I sitting home on a weekday afternoon, jerking off in my bedroom? And I answered myself: because there are no classes this afternoon, and because I haven't met any nice guys who want to jerk off with me - or do anything else hot.

Truth is, most of the guys I meet at work or at school don't interest me. They are all so… immature!

I decided to go find someone else to share sex with. I knew of just the place. There is a large park near my apartment, which has many walkways, a couple of small lakes, and several stands of bush, good for a quick fuck if you find someone cruising in the evening. In the daytime a better place was the men's washroom and change-room, which even had showers, because swimming was allowed in the larger of the two lakes. There were actually two buildings some yards apart, one for women and one for men. This one was a brick structure, and apart from the two cold-water showers, it had a stand of urinals, and opposite them four toilet cubicles. The last two, against the far wall from the doorway, had a glory-hole between them.

I had found this spot the previous year, my first at the University, which was also nearby. The glory-hole was a particularly nice one, because it was fairly large and at a good height for sucking cock - or even fucking ass.

What was a particularly nice about it was that some kind user had smoothed out the original rough hole and lined the wooden edges with plastic tape - the kind you use to seal the edge between the bathtub and the floor or wall. Or maybe it was done by a Parks worker, tired of sealing up the hole only to have it torn open again. That was very possible, because someone had also put rather professional-looking stencilled signs on the door of each of these two cubicles: "Warning. This cubicle has a peephole in the wall" Not only that, the glory-hole was always kept clean.

I had sucked many a cock in these two cubicles - and had my own sucked many times, too.

What I liked about it best about the glory-hole was the anonymity! Never seeing the man on the other side, never knowing whether he was handsome or hideous was a turn-on to me.

Another reason I liked it was because the stalls were large, the doors had solid latches, and there were coat-hooks on the walls - a good place to hang your clothes if you chose to get naked. This day, I chose to get naked, which was easy to do. As it was mid-June, it was already hot out, and I came to the toilets wearing only a tee, shorts, and flip-flops - no underwear! "Swing free," I always say.

You could always tell when someone came into the toilet block. The place was all brick and cement and echoing surfaces. Not even the wooden walls of the stalls or the shower area benches hushed the echoes. There was always the drip-drip of the leaky showers and the automatic flush of the urinals reverberating round, but never-the-less, only bare feet might come in unheard.

I was stark-naked in the third stall from the door, one of the two joined by the glory-hole. I heard someone enter. He tried the door of my cubicle, which was latched, then moved on the the fourth cubicle. This was a good omen. He must have read the sign. He must have known there is a glory-hole, yet still chose the end stall.

The partitions in this facility ran from floor to about seven feet, with just six inches or so at the top open. I couldn't see over, and I couldn't see under, and I didn't want to put my eye to the glory-hole which was at about thirty inches from the floor - perfect for someone standing and putting their cock through or someone kneeling to suck it.

The man was not pissing or crapping. I could hear him moving around and the rustle of clothes. He must be undressing like myself.

"Hey, mister" I said softly, but my voice reverberated in the bare washroom, resounding off the cement and brick. "Want a blow-job?" That was my usual opening line. I rarely got turned down.

In reply, I saw a bare crotch pushed against the wall and an erect penis and balls poked through.

As I bent to take it into my mouth, I noticed something. I had seen this penis before. Just last week I had sucked this very cock right here. The man had an unmistakeable scar on his cock. Right in the center of the knob of his cock was a scar like a cross or a crucifix. It looked as if it had at some time been gashed and a single broad stitch used to close the gash, forming a cross. Maybe someone had bitten him!

"Hey," I called, "you here again? I sucked you off right here just last week?" Again my voice echoed and rang.

On the other side of the partition, the man laughed. Like my own voice, his rang hollowly when he replied. "Oh, yeah. You, eh? Well, give me a good sucking and I'll blow you in return today."

"What you doing back so soon?" I asked. I bent and licked his knob.

"Oooh," he moaned. "My husband's at work and I was bored," he told me.

Husband? I knew same-sex marriage was legal, but this was the first man I had ever met who was married to another man.

I went to work on sucking his pole, occasionally pausing to jerk it off with my hand to give my jaws a rest. His appreciative murmurs echoed through the place.

While we were busy at that two or three other men came in to use the urinals, but we didn't make any attempt to be quiet. It must have been obvious to them what was going on in the two end cubicles, but they went about their pissing, shook off their dicks, and left.

"I'm gonna cum soon," his voice came from the other side.

"Mmmm, mmmm," I mumbled, not relinquishing his dick. "I'll swallow it," I managed to get out of the side of my mouth.

Just as he had warned, his cum gushed into my mouth. It was quite a flood, and some spilled out down my chin and onto the floor, joining other dried loads already there.

"Thanks," he said. "Now you!"

I stuck my cock through the hole, and immediately it was engulfed by a warm, wet mouth. I imagined the man on the other side. I knew he was older than myself by the texture of his cock and balls and by the timbre of his voice, even distorted as it was. From the glimpse of his crotch I could also tell he was not fat, but probably well-built.

I could see him in my mind's eye, kneeling there, sucking my rod, and probably fondling himself as he did it.

As I have said, the anonymity was a turn on, but the realization that this guy was a repeat made me curious. Would we become regulars? What did he look like?

Usually, I would suck a guy off and then wait for him to leave and the next guy to arrive. But today I decided I wanted to see this guy for myself, to put a face to him, in case we sucked each other again.

I came in his mouth, and when he had sucked me dry, I suggested to him:

"Can I see what you look like?"

He hesitated a little before he said,"I guess so, but let's get dressed first."

I pulled on my shorts and tee, and slipped my flip-flops back on my feet.

"Ready!" I heard him call. "Meet you outside."

"Me. too!" I replied.

I opened the door of my cubicle and stepped out. I turned to look at the older man who had just stepped out of the fourth cubicle.

"Randy?" the familiar face gasped.

"Dad?" I exclaimed in horror.

Yes, it was my father! I turned and ran out of the building as fast as flip-flops would allow. Outside I kicked them off, picked them up and ran barefoot through the park, though some bushes, and well away from the toilet block. When I looked back there was no sign of my father pursuing me.

I collapsed onto a park bench, panting. I reviewed in my head what had just happened. I had sucked off my own father! And he had sucked me off! And it wasn't the first time. I had sucked him off only the week before.

How horrible … or was it … ?

I had enjoyed it; he had enjoyed it.

As I considered, many things became clearer. I had never known why my parents divorced. My mother never said, or evaded the question when I asked.

I remember that when I was about seven, my mother and I came home from shopping. There was some fuss, and lots of shouting. My father and my "uncle" David had fled the house in haste, and my mother stormed, then spent a lot of time crying. Then there was the divorce, and mother kept the house - and me. She got sole custody, while my dad got very limited visitation rights.

My father was only allowed to see me once a month. I was not allowed to go to his house. We were only to go to public places like the zoo, the beach, the park, the movies. When I got my own cell-phone, he gave me his number, but I had never used it.

Dad had to pay support, of course, but when he made a fortune after the divorce, there was another lawsuit as Mom tried to get much more out of him. The courts turned her down, but he did voluntarily supply her with more money. And that's when he set up the trust for me, too.

I recall now that it was about a year after the divorce that Dad wrote his first novel and it was published. It became a best-seller. He became rich. He followed it up with two more in rapid succession. Two of his books had been made into top-grossing movies, and the third was in production. Dad was now very rich.

And he was gay. And he was married to a man. Was it "uncle" David?

It was while I was wondering why he had chosen to stay here in Vancouver, rather than move to Hollywood or somewhere, that I felt a hand on my shoulder. My father had come up behind me barefoot like myself.

"Randy …" he began.

I turned, and began to leap up, ready to run some more, but his hand restrained me and pushed me back down onto the bench.

I sat there, not speaking, not knowing what to say.

"I think we need to have a long talk, but not here," he suggested. "Will you come back to my place with me?"

I nodded, trying not to look directly at him.

"Come on then," he said gently, and led me off across the park to where his car was parked. It always amazed me that he chose to drive a rather ordinary Honda SUV rather than some rich man's car.

"I think we need to get to know each other a little better," he observed as he drove. "Although that's kind of odd to say about a son who you've just sucked off," he joked. "I've probably still got some of your cum on my chin."

He was so forthright about it, I had to laugh, and I snuck a look at him. Just at that instant, he was looking at me, and our eyes met. For a moment, embarrassment flooded over me again, then he smiled, and I smiled back, and we were at ease.

However, crazed thoughts ran through my head. Would he tell my mother what I had done? What we had done? Would anyone find out? Would we go to jail? I knew what we did was incest and I knew incest was a crime.

We were mostly silent during the short ride to my father's house, but I did venture to ask:

"In the washrooms, you said your husband was at work. Who are you married to?"

"You remember your 'uncle' David?" he asked. "He and I have been together ever since your mother and I split - before that, even. Since we were in college together. We got married three years ago. Your mother made me promise not to tell you. She didn't want you to think you were the son of a homosexual, or that homosexuality is normal."

"Is it?" I asked. "Is it normal?"

"Of course it is," he stated, and left it at that.

Fora multi-millionaire, his home was no more pretentious than his car, although it was in one of the classier areas of Vancouver, not far from the University, and not far from the famous Wreck Beach, where I had gone many times to get an all-over tan - and to show off my fairly decent cock and check out others' cocks.

I had never been to dad's house before. I didn't even know where it was until now. It was a large brick ranch-style, with a somewhat Spanish flavour to it, what with the red tile roof.

Inside, the furnishings were spare and simple, but obviously expensive.

Dad gave me a quick tour - four bedrooms, three bathrooms, living-room, dining-room, video and games room, writing room, kitchen and dinette, laundry, and two-car garage, and a large patio, lawned area, and swimming pool at the rear.

It was to the patio area by the pool where we went now. We sat at a wooden picnic table. Actually, I sat on the picnic table. Dad sat on the bench seat. We both stripped off our shirts and soaked in the sun's rays.

"I assume you are gay?" my father said, "Not just some straight kid checking things out?"

"Yes," I assured him. "I'm gay all right. I like guys. I like sucking cock." It amazed me that I was not the slightest bit embarrassed telling my father this. But, after all, why should I be? We had sucked each other's cocks. Thinking of that made my prick grow hard once more.

"Did you like sucking mine?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied.

"Good, I liked sucking yours, too."

"Does 'uncle' David know you go to the glory-hole in the park?" I asked.

"He knows I sometimes get it on with other men," Dad assured me. "He does too. We love each other, but we have an open relationship. It works for us."

"Will you tell him what we did?" I asked.

"Hmm," he considered, "maybe not just yet. I'll get around to it, though."

"What does he do for a living?" I asked.

"He teaches economics at the University," he replied. "He thinks he's seen you on campus a couple of times, but he's not sure. He hasn't seen you up close since you were about seven or eight."

I was studying sciences, and knew nothing of economics.

My father glanced down at my shorts, which were bulging noticeably.

"See you've got a woody again," he observed. " It's not even half an hour since you came in my mouth. You take after your Dad. I can get a hard-on again in about fifteen minutes."

I had been imagining us fucking, taking his cock up my ass at the pool's edge, my legs high in the air, and my father doing push-ups on my willing hole.

"You make me horny," I confessed. "This is the hottest thing I have ever done."

"Have you even been with another guy other than through the glory-hole?" my father asked.

"Yes," I admitted.

"Have you fucked another guy?" he pressed on.

"Yes."

"Have you been fucked by another guy?"

"Yes," I told him.

"Your mother was afraid I would seduce you into the homosexual way of life," he told me, "but you seem to have found your way there without my help."

"Yes," I agreed. "I've always been hot for guys, not girls … and now I'm hot for you," I confessed.

"Slip off your shorts," he suggested. "I want to see my boy's cock close up."

I did as he asked, and sat there naked on the picnic table with a raging boner.

Dad slipped one arm around my back and bent to examine my cock more closely. He seemed intrigued.

"Yes," he eventually observed, "it looks just like mine. Like father like son."

"Except for the scar," I pointed out. "How did you do that?" I asked.

"Did up my zip too fast when I thought I was going to get caught getting a blow-job," he admitted. "My best buddy , who had been sucking me, put the stitch in it because I refused to go to emergency. The stitch infected and I ended up in hospital. Very embarrassing. I was just a teenager."

"Was it 'uncle' David?" I asked.

"No. Long before that. Before I'd even met him. Or your mother.

"Did you tell mom how you got it?"

"No, just that I got it caught in a zip." He was still studying my cock, but now he looked up at me. "So where do we go from here?" he asked.

"For right now," I told him, "I want you to fuck me. By the pool."

My father raised his eyebrows. "That would only put us in deeper," he commented.

"I don't care," I stated. "We've gone this far. We might as well go the whole hog."

"Well, OK," he said. "To be honest, I want that, too, but not by the pool. The neighbors can't see the patio area, but they can see the pool. Come with me."

Dad led me into the house, not to the master bedroom which he shared with 'uncle' David, but to one of the spare bedrooms. He dropped his shorts on the floor and we collapsed onto the bed.

I lay on my back with a raging stiffy. He lay alongside me and kissed me, not a fatherly kiss, but a passionate one. My mouth opened to greet his, We kissed greedily.

"Fuck me," I whispered. "I want your cock inside me."

"Roll over," he ordered.

I did as he asked and lay face down on the bed, my legs and butt-cheeks spread for him. He got some lube from a drawer in a nearby dresser and smoothed some onto his cock and my ass. He positioned his dick-head at my hole, and then he was in me.

I felt my father's cock-head force my hole to open, to allow it to slide it. There was only a little pain, which passed quickly, then a little more as it stretched open the inner muscle ring, then his bulb was past that and fully inside me.

"All the way" I commanded. He lay forward, and my father's cock drove right up into me. The penis that had made me in my mother was now filling my hole, fucking me. He nuzzled my neck and ear as he fucked me forcefully.

"Oh, Randy," he murmured. "This is so hot!"

"Yes," I agreed. "Cum inside me."

I didn't have long to wait. Almost immediately, I felt him tensing, pressing into me as his jizz spurted into my insides. And my own cum spasmed out of me simultaneously.

He collapsed upon me, still in me.

"Do you want to do me?" he asked.

"No," I told him. "I just came. All over the bedsheets. Sorry about that."

He kissed my ear and neck, still lying on top of me, still embedded in me.

"That's OK, but I'd better wash them before David gets home," he said. "Right now, let's take a shower." He rose, and I felt a sense of loss as his cock pulled out of my asshole.

My father led me into the adjoining bathroom and we took a shower together under the warm water, kissing passionately occasionally.

"Can I come here again?" I asked, as we dried each other off.

"Yes," he agreed. "But text or phone me first. You've got my number, I think. And don't tell anyone about this.

"Of course not," I agreed. "And next time, I'll fuck you," I grinned.

"Horny little bugger," he commented. "As I said, you take after your father!"

He led me back through the house to gather my clothes.

"I'll drive you back to your apartment," he offered.

"No thanks," I declined. "It's a nice day. I'll walk. It's not that far."

At the door my father said, "Bye for now, Randy. Take care. I love you, son."

"Yes, I know. Bye for now, dad."

Walking home, I felt amazing. I didn't feel dirty, or criminal, or sinful, or wicked or anything like that. I just felt great love and affection for my father.

Daddy, dearest!

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