CALLUM:

    Since my father and I usually met up on Sundays, I was looking forward to Valentine's Day this year, which also happened to fall on a Sunday. I imagined us having lunch at some kitschy restaurant, surrounded by couples sharing dessert, maybe even ordering something for us to share. That was until Friday evening, when I received a text from Dad: "Can we postpone lunch on Sunday? I got stuff to do."

    "Sure, no prob 👍🏻 Busy weekend for me as well," I lied. "See you soon! ☺️"

    The following week was spring holiday. With school off, I texted Dad a few times, but he was always busy. I spent my time helping out at my grandparents' restaurant, trying to keep my mind off whatever it was my father was "busy" with. If I had to guess, he'd gone out on a date on Valentine's Day and it went so well that he was still meeting with the girl, who I'd labeled a "slut" in my head, before realising how shitty I was being. Why is this woman (who may or may not exist) a slut for going on honest dates with my father, when I was the one catfishing him? If there was a villain in this story, it was me.

    As for "Cat," she wasn't getting much more attention from my dad either. He left her on read for days at a time, before texting back a dismissive "sorry, been busy." I was honestly amazed that he was still talking to her; she'd been stringing him along for months without meeting up in person or even showing her face on video. Of course he would move on to someone new.

    Dad and I didn't meet up until the following Sunday, when he announced that he was going to San Francisco for two weeks to attend his half-brother's wedding. I was of course invited, but I knew right away I couldn't justify taking two weeks off school, especially since I'd been to California not that long ago.

    "Why two weeks? The wedding's not that long, is it?" I asked as we had lunch in one of our usual spots in Soho.

    "No, but he's having a bachelor party and I wanna be there for that. And honestly, I need a break from London."

    It felt uncomfortable to hear that; almost as if he was saying he needed a break from me.

    "Everything okay?" I asked delicately.

    "Yeah, fine. It's just been a crummy winter here, and I'm sick of the weather. I need a change of scenery."

    From what I'd seen, San Francisco didn't seem to fare better in the winter-weather department, but I didn't want to argue. Whatever it was Dad was going through, I hoped he would be okay. At least in the past he had "Cat" to confide in, but now that relationship had started to wane.

—

    Being back in California seemed to do the trick. In all of the pics Dad posted, he either had a huge smile on his face or he was drinking champagne straight out the bottle. He even looked younger. It felt weird to see photos of the bachelor party and the wedding, and to see my two uncles and my granddad, as well as other familiar faces I'd met when I was there. Even after such a short time of knowing them, it felt like... family.

    In the middle of March, Dad returned to London along with his brother Kris and Kris's new wife, Mia. The newlyweds had decided on a trip round Europe for their honeymoon, starting in the UK. I joined them for dinner one evening, at a fancy restaurant Dad had selected. Kris was the one person on Dad's side of the family who I'd spent the least amount of time with, since he was always busy planning the wedding. Now that was over and done with, he seemed much more relaxed and we got to know each other better. Just recently turned 25, he was significantly younger than my father, and really had that "cool uncle" vibe going for him.

    His wife Mia was even more fun and outgoing. She'd invited an old college friend of hers, Aaron, along for dinner. Aaron was a fellow American living here in London, and he was extremely fucking attractive. I was almost tempted to start flirting with him, except for my crippling shyness, the uncertainty of whether he was into guys, and the fact that with four Americans at the table I could hardly get a word in.

    "So what's the next stop in your itinerary?" Aaron asked the newlyweds.

    "Dublin, for St. Patrick's Day!" answered Mia. "Wanna come with?"

    "I wish, but unlike you I have responsibilities here," her attractive friend answered.

    "What about you two?" Mia turned to Dad and me next. "We're only there for three days."

    "Um..." I muttered, looking at Dad.

    "I can take the time off work. I'm not sure about Callum and school..."

    "I think that would be okay, if it's only a couple of days," I said quickly. I'd already missed one family trip recently, and this felt like an opportunity to make up for it. 

    "Yay! All together in Dublin," Mia clapped her hands giddily and raised her glass. "Sláinte!"

—

    The flight to Dublin early in the morning on St. Patrick's Day was... kinda ridiculous. Even at Heathrow there were crowds of people wearing green leprechaun top hats and getting a head start on their day drinking. Many of them ended up on our flight. Kris and Mia were having a ton of fun, making friends with strangers and stealthily slipping me some booze on the flight. By the time we all landed in Dublin, I was already tipsy. 

    The airport in Dublin was even crazier, as if every Irish-descended person in the world was coming back to the motherland. I mean, I knew St. Patrick's Day was a big deal, but not THIS big! "Don't lose your way," my father said and took my hand. Tipsy as I was, I felt so warm and fuzzy inside to be guided through the airport by my hand, like a small child holding onto his daddy.

    "I can't believe I'm about to say this, but let's take the bus to the city!" Mia suggested. The plans were, of course, to take a taxi (I couldn't imagine my father on a bus) but some of Mia and Kris's new friends were taking the bus and said it would be "great craic". "Do it for the craic" was to become our mantra for this trip.

    The bus was as crowded as the Tube in central London during rush hour, except, instead of staring down at their phones, everyone was cheering and drinking and singing Irish songs I'd never heard before. Random strangers kept offering us free hats and beads and drinks, especially when they heard we were from abroad.

    Before coming to Dublin, I'd done some research on things to do and places to see. Of course, that was all out the window now; the city was nothing like its usual self! The centre of the city was packed with partiers. Kris and Mia kept getting into drinking contests. I noticed my father was nursing his Guinness slowly, barely going through a pint an hour. 

    "You're not really drinking," I said in his ear, touching it with my lips.

    "Someone's gotta keep and eye out for those two," he chuckled and pointed at my new aunt and uncle. Mia, who was Mexican, was teaching some Irish people how to do tequila shots. "¡Arriba, abajo, al centro, pa' dentro!" they shouted. 

    "Fuck, I love my new family," I thought, smiling.

—

    Early that evening, we decided to make a responsible decision: have a huge meal and take a nap, before going to party for what would probably be the entire night. Somehow, we managed to talk Kris and Mia into it. We ate at a pub where we were lucky enough to get a table, and then went to our nearby b&b. Normally, this would appear to be a quaint little place, if not for all the party noise currently coming from downstairs in the streets.

    Kris and Mia passed out in their room, and I followed Dad to the room next door. Once again, he and I would be sharing a bed.

    "Fuck, I'm tired," my father said, kicking off his shoes and taking his clothes off, getting down to his underwear. He was wearing a pair of white briefs. "Very dad-like of him," I thought of his choice of undies as I sat on the bed. I wasn't horribly drunk, but I needed some time for my head to stop spinning. I watched as Dad walked to the bathroom and pissed with the door open, before washing his hands and lying face-down on the bed next to me. 

    "We should've booked a hotel," his muffled voice said. "I need a massage."

    Feeling braver with alcohol in my system, I quickly blurted "I can give you one."

    After a moment of silence, my father asked, "Are you any good?"

    "I dunno, how hard can it be?" 

    "Okay," he said, his face still buried in the pillow. "I saw some lotion in the bathroom. You can use that."

    I walked to the bathroom, where I took a piss and washed my hands before taking the lotion bottle back to the bedroom. There, I was surprised to see my father lie in the same position, but with his underwear off! The white briefs lay discarded on the floor next to the bed. He probably didn't want to get any lotion on them; besides, people usually got massages naked, right? With just a towel on?
   "Do– Do you want me to get you a towel?" I stuttered.

    "I don't mind," my father said casually, and I was secretly thrilled to hear this.

    I walked toward the bed slowly, cherishing the moment and taking in the view. Dad's bare arse – which was amazing! – poked out in the air. I scanned his hairy calves and muscular thighs as they continued on to his even-more-muscular glutes, slightly covered in hair which you could only see from really close by.

    "I– I'll start with your legs," I announced, grabbing one of Dad's ankles.

    Turns out, giving somebody a massage was much more difficult than I thought, but I was unquestionably motivated. I worked Dad's calves slowly, staring at his arse the entire time. Luckily, with his head in the pillow, he couldn't see what I was doing or what I was looking at. By the time I'd progressed over his knees and onto his thighs, I had a raging boner in my pants.

    "Is– Is this okay?" I checked.

    "You can squeeze harder. I can take it."

    My fingers, and especially my thumbs were burning with exhaustion by now, but I did my best to press even harder. I worked the back of my father's thighs, slowly creeping upwards and inwards. As I did so, Dad spread his legs a bit wider, giving me a slight view of the back of his smooth ball sack. 

    "Let me get more lotion," I said, and used the opportunity to rub my hard cock a few times before lotioning up my hands. During the short interval, I heard the loud party noise downstairs and realised that I had completely tuned it out while I was touching my dad. There was nothing else I could feel in that moment; just the slight, pleasurable buzzing in my head, and my raging boner in my pants, already leaking precum.

    I returned to Dad's thighs, inching closer and closer to his arse. "What do I do, do I massage his cheeks?" I wondered. I'd never got a professional massage before, I had no idea what was considered appropriate or not. I allowed my hand to flow from his thigh onto his glute, a movement which came quite naturally. Dad never complained nor stirred; he did nothing but emit a soft "mmm" all throughout.

    "I'm rubbing my father's arse!" I thought, leaking a river of precum inside my pants as I put both hands on both of his cheeks. And what an arse it was! I knew Dad hit the gym every day before work, and this wasn't a muscle group he was neglecting. I'd never been particularly confident about my body, with the exception of my arse, which was phenomenal (if I do say so myself) without me even putting in any effort into it. Cleary, it runs in the family.

    As my fingertips slid toward the inside of Dad's thighs and arsecheeks, I grazed his balls for a tiny second. It was such a brief moment that sent shivers all over my body, almost making me cum inside my pants! I had to take another short break to get more lotion, and adjust my bulge which was uncomfortably full in my jeans.

    I continued on to Dad's back, unable to keep squeezing his arse any further without raising suspicion. Although not as exciting, running my hands up his muscular back still felt very satisfying. I'd seen some muscle worship vids on porn sites, and as I touched my father's shoulders and biceps, it felt like that was exactly what I was doing: worshipping and admiring him.

    "Want me to turn around?" Dad asked when I was done with his arms.

    "Su– Sure," I stuttered, pulling down my sweatshirt to cover up my bulge as much as possible. Not that it was necessary: Dad's eyes were closed as he flipped on his back, reaching down to adjust his cock and balls before relaxing.

    "Holy shit!" I thought, staring at Dad's cock, fighting the temptation to reach straight for it. As I went back to his ankles and started rubbing up his shins, my eyes were glued to his crotch the entire time. I analysed every detail: his trimmed pubic hair, his exposed cockhead, his clearly-visible circumcision scar. I remembered the first time I saw my dad's dick – on the very first day I'd met him – and how tempted I was back then to kneel in front of the urinal and examine it more closely. Now here I was, doing just that. The fact we were away from home only made me more comfortable. "What happens in Dublin, stays in Dublin" kinda thing.

    More than anything, I was impressed by the size of dad's dick, even soft. I knew some guys were showers, and he was definitely one! I worked my way up his thighs, my mouth dry, as my fingers approached his balls. I wanted to wrap my fingers around them, grab them and cup them, and the fact that I mustn't do that only made it hotter! Dad's cock even seemed a bit plumper, and I wondered if he was enjoying the massage as much as I was, or if it was all just in my head. 

    I reached his hip bones, and rolled inwards to his lower belly. Dad's cock was lying pointing upwards to his belly button, and I dared to rub my fingertips against it for a split second. Again, I almost shot my load in my pants doing so. I was so turned on, I was finding it hard to stand anymore.

    I massaged Dad's belly gently, grazing his cock a few times in the process, before moving up and cupping his pecs, which filled up my hands like a set of boobs. I massaged them for a while before moving on to his arms. The massage was coming close to an end, and I wanted it to never stop.

    Dad's eyes were still closed, which meant I could continue to stare at his cock like the perv that I was. I wished I'd inherited the big-dick gene from him as well. He was so much larger than I was! I remembered him talking about seeing his own father's cock – my grandfather's – and how the two of them were nearly identical.

    "Dad," I finally broke the silence, "how old were you when you stopped growing?"

    "Like, in height?" 

    "No, like, down there. Like, your penis," I said, immediately embarrassed to use such a medical term instead of just calling it a "cock."

    "Oh, I don't know. I was always fairly big, I guess. I remember my friends teasing me about it in the locker room. Why, you worried about your size?" he asked very directly.

    "N– Not worried, just curious if it'll continue to grow," I said, my hands on Dad's biceps, squeezing tightly.

    "It might," he said, reaching down with his right arm and adjusting his cock and balls again. As he did so, I felt his bicep flex in my hand. "You shouldn't worry, give it a couple more years. Besides, not to sound like a cliché, but it's all about how you use it."

    "Oh, yeah?"

    "Yeah," Dad opened his eyes, and he and I were making intense eye contact now. "There's all sorts of tricks."

    "Oh, yeah?" I repeated myself dumbly.

    "Yes. Don't worry, you'll learn them sooner or later," he said and he smiled at me, making my cock stir in my pants again. This must've gotten Dad's attention, because he looked down at my crotch.

    "Okay, massage's over," I said, and patted his chest. "I'm gonna go use the loo and get ready for that nap."

    "You do that, son," Dad said sultrily. "I'll be right here."

    I rushed to the bathroom as fast as possible without actually running, and shut the door behind me with an unintended slam. Two seconds later, my boner was out and pointing at the toilet, my fist pumping back and forth rapidly around my shaft. Just a few strokes were enough: I was shooting a huge load into the toilet, so strong that it made a loud noise as it hit the porcelain! With my eyes closed, images of my dad's cock flashed through my mind, my fingers touching it as well as his balls, the balls that had produced the sperm that turned out to be me.

    "Ahhh!!!" I moaned as I unloaded into the toilet, just like the evening when I met my father. I stood for full three minutes afterwards, coming down from my amazing orgasm. When I left the bathroom, Dad was already snoozing in bed, Irish music playing downstairs. He was still naked, his briefs on the floor. I took all my clothes off and snuggled up next to him, putting one arm around him as we lay face-to-face. It is like that that I fell asleep.