Paternal Intimacy (Intro)
#1 of Paternal Intimacy
Hi! This is my first chapter of my first story posted to SoFurry. Yay!!! But, before we get under way I have a few brief announcements. First, the use of flash photography is strictly prohibited by the management. Also, no eating, drinking, or smoking inside the theatre. If the theatre should experience a sudden loss of air pressure, oxygen masks will drop automatically. Simply place the mask over your nose and mouth and continue to breathe normally. Yeah... If you get that reference, you are my new favorite person. But seriously, this story contains subject matter of a gay adult nature, including, you guessed it, sexual encounters between mostly adult men. If that kind of thing doesn't turn you on or you find that offensive, please quietly exit stage left, no one will think lesser of you for it. But, with an open fly and a spirit of horny idealism, dick in hand, please welcome this next story which is my first. Now on with the show and may the Bard be with you, thank you and good night!
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I suppose all this mess started a long time ago. In a way I should have seen it coming, but I was only living in the moment at the time. I had no idea that there could be consequences to my actions, never thought that tomorrow could be bleak. Who knew love could spur such hate and anger. People see what they want to see I suppose. To me, the relationship I had with my Father was natural, pleasing in fact. I'm rather fond of the connection between us, the kinship and sense of belonging it gave me. Other people, I suppose, see only something unnatural. Beyond unnatural even, disgusting, revolting, evil, you name it. It seemed that other people, once they found out, saw my Father as some kind of freak, a monster.
The truth was though; I wasn't a "victim of suggestion" (as my therapist so poetically put it). My Father didn't abuse his status of authority over me; he didn't twist my thoughts into thinking something true of a falsified situation. I loved my Dad, not in a freaky perverted way, or even as a lover would love his partner. I loved my Dad like a son should love his Dad, and he loved me only as a Dad should love his son. But both of us understood each other in a much deeper level. We understood that each of us had needs. We didn't start to fall in love or start acting like a couple or anything, we were just two guys helping each other get off and sate each other's needs. I'm of age, or at least, I am now. I was never confused about anything. In fact my Dad helped me understand that I was different.
I felt I could share anything with my Dad, and one day I realized that girls just didn't make me feel like all the other kids said they made them feel. We got to talking and I introduced the idea that maybe I was gay. He didn't get angry or anything. He just calmly said that we shouldn't jump to conclusions and we should give it some time. This was around the time I was just starting puberty, around 11 or so. He was so understanding and kind; he kept an open mind to the possibility and went out of his way to help me figure things out. We did everything together. We talked about girls, and for his sake I tried to understand, we talked about boys, we talked about sex. We even watched porn together, straight porn, and then we talked about that. After a few of those, and after I told him that I was actually more interested in the men in the movies than in the girls, he even browsed the web with me for some good looking gay porn. When we found one that looked interesting, he watched it with me rather than leaving. I never had to hide from him or do anything in secret; I felt safe with him. He was the only one who understood me.
Now he's gone. The police came and took him away. It's so stupid! Why couldn't they have just left things alone, left us alone? We weren't hurting anybody. So we fooled around with each other, so what! He didn't force me, it wasn't rape. It was just me and my Dad helping each other out. Is it really such a big deal? Now Dad's in prison and I'm sitting on a big comfy couch in a therapist's office. As if I fucking need therapy. I'm not crazy, I'm not clinically depressed, and I'm not sorry either.
The therapist is asking me questions. Real generic questions too; the ones that are so obvious they hardly need asking, or for that matter, answering. You'd have to be a retard to not be able to get these just from looking at me. What species are you? I'm a Dingo! What color is your hair? It's fucking orange! What gender are you? Let me pull out my dick and check! Height? 6'. Weight? 213. Eye color? Green. What's next? Fucking briefs or boxers? If so, boxers! I even realize why he's asking these questions out loud rather than just filling in the appropriate answers himself. He's trying to get me to open up and talk to him. Well, he can wait! I'm still deciding whether to talk or not; or if I do talk whether or not to tell the truth or lie.
The therapist is a deer. Dr. Roosevelt. A big fucking deer with mile high antlers. I'm sorry... I'm getting worked up again. Just give me a second. I need to cool down.
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Thanks. Normally I don't curse that much. Sorry about that. I'm trying to stay rather neutral in my emotions so as not to make things worse.
While what's his nuts rambles on, let me take a moments to tell you a little about myself. Shouldn't take too long. I was born 19 years ago. My Dad (a really big, buff Dingo) is in his 40's and my Mom doesn't matter. She flew the coup shortly after I was born. Her excuse was some bullshit about how she wasn't ready to be a Mom. She popped in every now and then in my life, but never for very long. She's nice and pretty, and she's my Mom, I don't hate her, but I didn't exactly love her either. The last time I saw Mom was 4 years ago. That time when she came to visit only stayed for a few minutes and left the same time, right after calling me a faggot and telling Dad that we were dead to her. I had chosen to announce to her that I was gay the moment she walked in the door. Apparently she wasn't as open to the thought as Dad.
It's regrettable, but Dad came through and helped me get past that as well. On a side note, Dad was a better therapist than this guy ever will be. With Mom out of our lives completely (I won't pretend I wasn't somewhat aware of what she came over for) Dad obviously wasn't getting any, and, with the help of some truly ignorant people, that's where all the trouble began. I walked in on Dad masturbating. Instead of quietly walking away, I went and helped him out. I was gay and knew eventually I would do it with a guy, so I figured there wouldn't be anything wrong with doing it with my Dad as a kind of favor. It probably wouldn't have even happened if Dad had been sober at the time, but he had been drinking when I walked in on him. The authorities would say he forced me in his drunken stupor, but that couldn't be further from the truth. I made the first move.
"Kane." (Oh yeah, by the way, my name is Kane. Heh; should have mentioned that earlier, but I was a little preoccupied.)
"Kane," the deer was trying to get my attention. At the moment I was feigning disinterest, staring out the window. These people can really be stupid; the focal point of my interest was on a sign with a picture of a father holding onto his son. The two looked like they were having fun, playing outside, and showing open affection to the world. The deer coughed and looked out the window. I think he saw what I was looking at because he said, "sorry," apologetically and curtained the window, limiting the light source in the room to a buzzing florescent tube light in the ceiling.
Just the way he said sorry made it abundantly clear that he thought the picture brought me some kind of pain. I audibly huffed at him.
"So, Kane?" I barely acknowledged him by turning my head away from the curtained window. "How are you?"
That simple, seemingly innocent question suddenly opened the flood gates of my wrath. I flung my words at him like I could make his head explode if I just shouted at him angrily enough. "How am I? How the hell do you think I am? You people don't get it! Every fucking one of you. You all think I'm in some kind of emotional pain, that my Dad took advantage of me. That's not how it happened; I just want my Dad back. He doesn't deserve to be in prison, he didn't do anything wrong."
"Do you honestly believe that?" This deer was seriously pissing me off now, trying to make me question my thoughts. "Your Dad abused you. He molested you. That kind of behavior isn't appropriate. Maybe he made you think everything was okay, that it was normal. Maybe this has been going on for a long time, maybe only recently. But the fact still remains, what he did was wrong."
"No. He didn't do anything. I initiated it. This has only been going on for about a year or so. He's not some kind of pedophile; he didn't molest me or abuse me. I a way you could say I took advantage of him, though it was in his interest. The first couple times he was drunk." I gripped my knees hoping what I said sunk in and helped the situation rather than making it worse. The last thing I wanted was to make things worse for my Dad.
The deer had this blank expression on his face. Finally he said, "Oh, okay." I think he finally understood somewhat, that he was approaching this from the wrong angle. Before he had a chance to change tactics and reanalyzed things, I decided I was going to talk to him. My story was a lengthy one, but it needed to be told from the source, not guessed at and inaccurately described as something sickening, wrong, and gross. I'd had enough people glare at me disapprovingly in the last few days. Even after I told my story, I know some still will. That's life. But I won't sit by idly and let people talk about my Dad as if he was the most revolting monster on Earth without them first knowing the whole truth.
"Dr. Roosevelt," I said confidently, "If you are willing to listen, I'm ready to tell you what happened. From the very beginning. I'll tell you everything, from the kind of relationship me and my Dad shared, to the life we led. From how everything started to what so unjustly happened later. I'll tell you what I thought, what I did, all of it; but only if you are willing to listen without comment and without pre-judgment. Can you do that for me?" There was an awful moment of dragging silence, then the deer pulled out a pen and a pad of paper.
"I'm ready when you are!" With that I launched into my tale.
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So yeah! That was my first chapter of what I hope will be an on-going series. Hopefully I'll get a couple of chapters in it. I hope you liked it. If you didn't, I'm truly sorry but I'm glad you read it down to the very end. If you didn't read to the very end, then this thank you does not apply to you. However, if you did like my story, please leave comments. I'd love to hear what you thought and what you'd like to maybe see in the coming chapters. Who knows, if I like the idea enough it may just end up in one of the chapters. That and I could always use new ideas to keep the series going. Generally I'll have some large scale brain fart and the series will die. Happens all the time. So, leave what you thought, and thank you for reading Paternal Intimacy.
P.S. - Any and all characters within this story are the soul property of me and are in no way shape or form based off of any actual people. The events described in this story are also complete fiction and are not based on any truth. If you are one of the few lucky enough to have had sexual relationships with your Dad, you lucky bastard. Granted I wouldn't want a sexual relationship with my ACTUAL Dad, but the idea of Father/ Son relationships has always been a fond one with me. Don't know why. Anyway, leave you brain matter and have a good one. LOVE & PEACE!!!! X3