A gay sex stories: Surprise at the Glory Hole Pt. 02
That night I waited silently in my room. For the first hour at least, I lay in shock on my bed, unable to process what had happened, but also anxious about what would happen when dad returned home. Every noise made me shudder as I listened out for the familiar sound of the front door opening, of dad stepping inside and dropping his work bag down in the hallway. I waited and waited and yet the sound never came. Still I didn’t dare leave my room to go down and eat. I was hungry, but what would I do if he landed home the moment I walked down to the kitchen? I literally had no idea what I was going to say to him. How on Earth could I justify what I’d done; sucking my own father’s cock in a public restroom?
At some point during the early hours of the morning, I must finally have drifted off to sleep, because the next thing I knew my alarm was buzzing loudly and the sun was glaring through a crack in the curtains. I had only a few milliseconds of peace before the image of my father’s angry face came rushing back to the forefront of my mind. I cringed to myself in shame and utter embarrassment. It was already 8 am, I had to get on my way to school. Thankful for small graces, I knew the house would be empty since dad always left by 7:30 at the latest. I jumped under the shower and just had enough time to grab some breakfast.
On the countertop in the kitchen, I immediately noticed something out of the ordinary; the box of oats was out on the side with the empty pan and wooden spoon – all ready to prepare. I’d never seen that done before. As I stepped cautiously across the room I noticed a scrap of paper; there was a note scribbled on it in pen.
‘Don’t forget to eat breakfast – dad x’
I stared at it for a few seconds, then my eyes shot around the room and I listened silently – that ‘x’, was it a kiss?! He definitely wasn’t here, but he had been here. Was this a peace-offering, his way of apologising? If it was meant to put me at ease, it didn’t. I set about cooking the oats, and threw all the dishes into the sink after I finished eating. At this rate I was going to be late for school. The rest of the day in class I kept getting flashbacks to the previous day; the moment I stepped out of the cubicle and saw the alarmed look on my father’s face. Any time I thought about it, I could feel myself blushing as if the room was 100 degrees. Occasionally though I let my mind wander and the image of my father’s oversized schlong flashed into my mind.
Why did he sign the note with a kiss? He had never done that before. Is he worried he’s upset me? What does it mean?
The thoughts ran through my mind the whole day and I couldn’t concentrate for even a minute. Staying in class was pointless, so I told the teacher I wasn’t feeling well and I went to hang around at the lunch benches by the football field. Gradually I came to the conclusion that I would have no choice but to return home that evening and face the music. If he was angry then so be it – the deed was done, and neither of us could take it back. Besides – what the hell was he doing there? Was he that lonely? I guess he had needs like any man – but why in the men’s toilet?
On the walk home through the park, I took a path that took me a longer way home, first around a small lake and above all nowhere near the toilets. I couldn’t face the thought of being close to them. Arriving home, I started dinner with my eyes firmly on the clock; acutely aware that dad was due home any minute now. Everything was nicely on the boil, when I heard the front door open. My body froze and I couldn’t take another breath, I could feel the anxiety coursing through my body. He dropped his stuff down in the hall and then his footsteps began to get unmistakably closer, until the kitchen door creaked open slowly and he popped his head around the door. I looked over towards him sheepishly and he looked at me with an expression that was impossible to read. We held this awkward stare for a few – seemingly eternal – seconds.
‘It’ll be ready in half an hour!’ I said, forcing myself to sound as natural and chirpy as I usually would. An almost imperceptible grin passed momentarily across his face.
‘Hmmm,’ he grunted as he always did, ‘I’ll be working out.’ With that he disappeared and I heard his footsteps drift off in the direction of the garage.
I let out a huge sigh. All of the emotions I had been holding in were released; anger, fear, humiliation and above all embarrassment. I was by no means out of the woods, but I felt a massive sense of relief and that a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Maybe we would just never talk about what happened – could we just let it be something that happened and not bring it up? Either way, I wouldn’t be the one to bring it up. Later that evening, I served up dinner and we sat through an awkward meal with some stilted and forced conversation. I was relieved by the time we finished and dad offered to do the washing up.
‘You head up to your room – I’m sure you have school work to finish,’ he said, warmly. I darted out the kitchen and up to my room as soon as he gave me the green light.
***
The following day followed much the same pattern; seemingly we were just going back to our routines and neither of us would ever bring up what had happened in the men’s toilet only two days before again. The next morning it was Saturday and if I thought I was going to get out of our weekend workout, I was wrong; over breakfast, dad explained what he had planned for today’s session. I cleared the table and we headed into the garage to begin. It was getting warmer, but it wasn’t quite summer yet, nonetheless dad did something unusual. As he closed the door to the garage, I watched as he crossed his arms over his body, grabbed his t-shirt at the bottom in each hand and pulled it off over his head. He was standing in only his gym shorts. He never worked out topless, so I waited a moment – expecting him to grab another t-shirt or a tank top or something to put over his head – but he just went over and sat on the bench.
‘Come on – I’m doing chest. You need to focus more on legs – you’ve been neglecting recently.’ He said nonchalantly as if his totally bare torso was entirely normal.
Over the next hour or so we worked out side by side, as he encouraged me to begin some warm-up squats and then directed me how much weights and how many sets I should be doing, forever pushing me to improve my performance. As I gasped and moaned, I couldn’t help but watch him out of the corner of my eye as he did his incline bench presses, with his pecs full to bursting and sweat running down his lightly-haired torso. Occasionally, as I took breaks between my sets getting my breath, I couldn’t help but let my eyes wander down his torso to settle on the noticeable bulge in the front of his gym shorts. I had never focused on it before, and yet now I knew it was hiding such a hefty piece of meat, it seemed to be obscenely large and impossible to ignore. On at least two occasions, I caught myself staring and was swift to divert my eyes upwards, awkwardly catching my father’s eye-line so that he could have no doubt about where my gaze had been transfixed. Worse still, I could feel that familiar sensation in my own groin, causing the front of my shorts to be fuller than usual too. After the workout I trotted off to get showered and rather ashamedly I relieved myself under the shower. As soon as I came, I felt a wave of guilt wash over me – what was I doing?