My heart was thudding against my guts when a knock hit my bedroom door. It had only been a few minutes since I'd shut myself in, put my shirt on, and caught my breath. The boner in my basketball shorts had barely gone down.
Was Dad about to say we should pretend nothing happened? Was I supposed to act like I hadn't just seen him naked for the first time? Should I act as if he hadn't just slid his cock in and out of my mouth until he shot a hot load into the back of my throat? Would we ignore that my own cum was probably still matting down patches of his chest hair?
"You alright, son?" Dad's deep voice said from the hallway.
When I closed my eyes, I remembered the moment he just watched me climb on top of his furry, muscled body. His eyes were locked on me. Each blue iris held mine under arrest as I pulled on my dick, rubbing it until it powerfully contracted from inside, ejaculating squirt after warm squirt onto his chest.
I realized I didn't answer Dad's question when he added that he was sorry.
I opened my door, ready to tell him I was fine.
But words escaped me when I found Dad standing there, still naked. I tried not to look down, meeting his gaze and simply nodding. "You sure?" he asked. His brow lowered as he studied me, and after a few seconds, I could smell that any sobering up he'd done in the last hour had been undone. There was a renewed weight of whisky on his breath. I peered behind him and made out a bottle on the kitchen counter in the dark. While I was getting dressed, it was apparent Dad had taken a few big swallows.
The responsible thing to do in that moment would have been to take Dad to his room and tuck him into bed, hoping he'd forget everything that happened come morning. Instead, I froze and just looked up at him, fighting every urge in my body to reach forward. I knew it would only take a matter of courage and seconds to hold his warm, meaty cock in my palm again.
To my surprise, Dad reached out toward me.