Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.
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My name's Andrew and I've always looked up to my dad even though he wasn't always there for me. My dad and I were like night and day. He was tall and built while I was short and slim. He had been a police officer for years until he left that for a better paying job coordinating contracts for a private security firm. He tried really hard to be a good father though and it showed.
But my father had one glaring weakness in his life, pussy. Let me explain. My mom left us before I was even a year old. After the divorce he turned to alcohol and my grandmother had to raise me. Things got better when he married his second wife. I was 5 at the time. We all lived as one big happy family. I even had a step brother and some step sisters to play with. But for some reason I'm was too young to remember, it didn't work out. My dad went right back to the bottle and I went right back to my grandmother's house. I would see my dad occasionally when he had a new girlfriend. He would take us to a movie or to the fair or a football game. My dad always had something fun for us to do. But as soon as the relationship fell apart so did he. It was clear my dad just couldn't take being alone. I realized early that I was always going to be second priority to his dating life.
I thought things might be different with his third wife and for a brief period of time they where. They married when I was 12 years old. My dad's new wife was closer to my age than his as she was only 21 herself. It became clear after a year or so of living together as a family that their relationship was toxic. She wanted a sugar daddy and my dad wanted a wife. It just wasn't made to last. He had two or three jobs and worked himself to death to try to provide for my stepmother's ever whim. She had a temper as well. At the smallest offense she would turn violent. She would throw things, rage, and slam random doors repeatedly. Over the years her tantrums became more frequent. Often she would strike my dad, bruising his pride far more than his skin. I never once remember my father hitting back. I would often sit in my room, angry, wishing he would fight back. I was too young to process abuse.
By the time I turned 18, my father and I had built a real relationship with each other. We went fishing. He taught me how to handle firearms safely and with accuracy. He even taught me how to fight, although at only 120 pounds, my dad could lift me with one arm when we wrestled.
We both had eyes that where a dark, piecing shade of brown. Our hair was raven black, his in a tight buzz cut and mine in a shaggy punk rock mess that came to my shoulders. Dad was taller than me, standing at what seemed to be to be a towering 5'11". Only being 5' 7" myself, everyone seemed to loom over me.
The girls at my school all called me cute, but none of them ever seemed genuinely interested in me as a boyfriend or even a fling. As a result, I had never done much with girls. Jewelie Smalls, who was know for sleeping around, had let me fuck her once. Unfortunately, I couldn't get my mind off all the other dudes that had been in her before me. I'm not sure why it bother me, but no matter how good her pussy felt I was freaked out and nervous. I eventually came in my condom when we were trying to find a comfortable position. She seemed pretty disappointed and unsatisfied by the whole ordeal. After that encounter, I tried to avoid girls to save myself the embarrassment. I just put all my efforts into my schoolwork. At the start my senior year of high school I had a perfect GPA and a dozen AP credits already under my belt.
A week after my 18th birthday I came home to find my dad in ruins. He was noticeably drunk setting at the kitchen table with a note in his hand. "She's fucking gone." He said, crying. I had never seen my dad cry before. "I gave her fucking everything. Everything I could at least."
I didn't know what to say so I just sat down and made an attempt to console him. When I put my arm round him he sighed, patted my hand, and got up to get a new pint off bottom shelf whiskey out of a paper bag. There were two empty pints on the kitchen floor already. "You wanna have a drink with your old man? You're old enough."
"Sure, Dad. Sure." I didn't really want the drink, I just wanted to be there for him. I took the smallest sip I could. The sweet whiskey burned my tongue and the fumes gagged me, causing me to cough uncontrollably.
That night I stayed up with him as he drank two more pints and passed out in his living room chair. He didn't go to the work the next day or for the rest of the week for that matter. He just stay up late drinking his whiskey and cursing about his lot in life. I stayed up to listen and comfort him. On the fourth night things took a dark turn.
"You know what the worst part is?" he asked me. "I know exactly how this is going to go. I'm going to do some stupid fucking stuff like set at home, drinking myself to death, probably lose my job, and you know what? I don't even fucking care this time. Fucking shoot myself is what I'll do."
