My dad and I are best friends, and have been since I can remember. He's always been my role model, my hero, and I wanted to be just like him. I'm his only child and he's raised me completely on his own since my mom left. I was only eight.
Long story short; she'd been cheating for years and when finally caught, decided she wanted to be with her affair partner. The divorce was bitter and they parted on bad terms. Mom moved a few states away, and I'm supposed to go there during the summers, but she stopped calling when I was fifteen, and dad never cared to follow up, which apparently worked well for her. Last I heard, she married the other guy and they have a couple kids now. I don't think of her much anymore, my relationship with my dad was more than enough to sustain me.
Dad and I started camping about a year before their divorce. I realize now it was a time for him to unwind and relax after fighting with mom, both before and during, over who did what and who got what. Most of the time we went to state or national parks, like, places with electricity and bathrooms. But sometimes, we'd go hiking and rough it in the back country. Those times were like an adventure. We'd pretend to be explorers, searching for new lands. Sometimes, if we stayed out for a few days, we would play apocalypse survivors. Morbid, I know, but it was hilarious.
During all of these outings, whether at campgrounds or in back country, dad was always free with his body. He would often hike shirtless, proudly displaying the thick brown fur covering his torso. When it came to changing or bathing, there was never anything private between us, we were both boys, we had the same stuff, we were the same. Dad told me there was nothing about nudity to be ashamed of, that it was natural. He was kind of hippy-ish when I was younger.
As I got older though, and as a certain hormonal milestone was approaching, I started looking at things differently. I knew I was gay early on in life. My friends and I experimented like a lot of boys our age do, but they moved on and started looking at girls, but I kept looking at them.
I looked at my dad too. When it was just the two of us, and after things settled down at home, we still went camping. Now though, I would at first examine, then learn to admire my dad's body. He's average height and has an average build, but as he got older, his stomach got a bit bigger. He loves a good beer. The most notable thing about his body is the hair. He's absolutely covered in it. Its thick and dark brown, covering his chest, stomach, and all the way down to his crotch, though his shoulders, back, butt, and thighs are relatively smooth. We looked a lot alike when his face was clean shaven. I was called "Mini Charlie" all the time growing up by friends and family. Now though, he has a thick, dark brown goatee he keeps meticulously trimmed.
His penis, at least to younger me, looked huge. Now though, as an adult, I think it's probably just average. He does have a well-defined mushroom head, though.
When puberty hit me in full, I started touching myself to mental images of his naked body. He started walking around in his briefs at home, too, so that was added to the old spank bank. His head was always clearly defined against the white fabric. It's only natural that I started to get aroused when we showered together, but I was embarrassed and asked to stop showering with him when I was about 12. When we were in the back country, I insisted on hanging a towel to cover me while I changed and bathed, and soon he did the same. I haven't seen him naked since, and I turn 21 this Saturday.
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"Whatcha got planned this weekend for your 21st? Night out on the town, clubbing with friends, maybe?" Dad asks, eyebrows raised, over breakfast at our tiny round table Monday morning.
"No, nothing like. I told my friends I wanted to spend my birthday with family. Family being you."
"You mean you'd pass up on a night of drunken revelry on your first legal night of drink to hang out with an old fart like me? I'm mighty flattered." He puts a hand on his chest and pokes out his lip.
I laugh. "Of course, dad. I wouldn't want to pop my drinking cherry, so to speak, with anyone but you."
"Oh Benny, I'd love to pop your cherry," he says before cracking up at his own joke. So do I, but my mind immediately turns to alternative meanings. But I know he's only joking. That's him, though, the jokester. He's silly and pretty childish at times. He still laughs at his own farts for crying out loud, but I wouldn't trade his sense of humor for anything in the world. He's gotten me through a lot of struggles using laughter and jokes.
It's not like I'm a virgin anyway, far from it. I'm a strict bottom and I've had plenty of guys knocking on my back door if you know what I mean. Yes, most of them were older, daddy-types. If I couldn't have the real thing, I'd go for next best.
Older men love my softer, more feminine features. My long, brown hair is a little lower than my shoulders, and my body is slim and toned, but my ass is plump and perky. I keep my whole body clean shaven. Daddies sure do love their twinks smooth.
---
My birthday is fortunately on a Saturday this year, so my dad and I go to a nice restaurant and start the night off with wine. Then we hit up a pool hall and play throughout the night. We drink beer after beer, and we get pretty drunk. I can easily turn up the masculinity when needed. We took an Uber here so we drink as much as we want.
It's 1 am by the time our second Uber driver drops us off. As we walk to the door, I have to support him. Seems he got a lot drunker than me, but I had also sobered up a good bit on the drive home. We get inside and I lead him to his bedroom to tuck him in for the night. Even though he's wasted, stumbling, and babbling nonsense, I feel butterflies in my stomach at our proximity as he hangs onto me.
He wears old spice deodorant and a specific cologne with notes of citrus. I've memorized his smell throughout the years and it's an intoxicating aroma that's screams masculinity. Our closeness and the smell of him is making me horny. I need to get him to bed so I can go jack off.
I sit him down on the bed and take his shirt off. Then, I kneel and take his shoes off, admiring the feel of his feet, remembering when I would give him foot massages as a kid. Now his socks. I look up and see he's giving me a big, dopey smile.
"What?" His smile is infectious..
I see him try to focus on me, but it's hard in his state. He says, "Just thinking how much you've grown up. You've turned into a handsome, caring, responsible young man."
I only smile and blush as I stand him up to take off his pants. Dad puts his hands on my shoulders to steady himself as he steps out of them, now just in a pair of white briefs. With that beautiful bulge and his well-defined cock head.
"Okay, let's get you in bed now."
