Showershown
Bath-time was a family affair in our miner's cottage. As the oldest I was often the last one out before my dad got in, then it fell to me to vigorously soap his broad back. This task afforded a shoulder peek at his floating fatherhood in the warm suds. My amazement at the sheer size of his private parts stirred a deep secret excitement. When I'd thoroughly soaped his back, keeping my head near his shoulder, he'd submerge with knees bent and eyes closed to rinse off. My vision flooded with the platter of goodies on view. I was startled to feel my cocklet out-sprouting of its own volition, and enthralled to unveil an entirely new dimension to explore. It was a life-changing imprint; aged nine, I became a voyeur.
On Saturday mornings our parents 'slept in' until their door was opened and I was summoned to provide morning tea in bed. In the darkened room, fetid and stuffy, both were nude in the post-coital bed. Dad faced the door, his huge swollen penis and lazily hanging nuts framed by bulky thighs. Despite efforts to avert my awed gaze, my snake-like fascination must have been obvious to both. My mum, on raised elbow behind him reached across for her morning cuppa, well worn breasts sagging from an asthmatic chest. From her faint smile I divined that she understood and maybe shared my fascination at his blatant display. I pulled my pj pants to one side lest my growing cock escape through the slit, and beat a retreat.
Nudity at bath or changing time was an accepted norm at home but in retrospect I see that my dad was well aware of the erotic charge his genital displays gave both me and my younger sister. He was never erect so the sexual subtext was never explicit, and my mum was either impervious to the notion of deviant intent or deliberately blind to such a scenario. Among his workmates, years later, I overheard the terms donkeydick or horsecock used of his endowment so it seems that he was never one to hide his talents.
My own penis at age eleven began a spectacular growth spurt and a few wispy pubes sprouted. By then my dad was well and truly aware of my captivation at the sight of his scrotal sac and heavy meat. He'd strip off, strop his cutthroat razor, then lather and shave still naked and dangling. Or he'd wash my back with his pendulous parts looming at eye level. So when I vacated the bath for him I'd emerge noticeably engorged .
It got to the stage where he'd ogle me unashamedly, beaming as my cock grew uncontrollably, to erection even, under his salacious gaze. My helpless arousal confused me, heady excitement was mixed with a nameless shame. Eventually it became too much for me; as a form of silent protest I wore my speedos in the bath-tub and he, upset, told me not to be so bloody silly. But the message did get through and from that time on his gaze was much less devouring.
On the cusp of 12 and confined to bed by the doctor I shot my first load of watery cum one bored afternoon while rubbing my painfully hard stiffy on the bottom sheet. I soon substituted a soft pillow into which I fashioned a convenient groove. My favourite fantasy was to imagine that my hot cock was sliding between the protruding mammaries of Jane Russell, Hollywood's cleavage of the day. I kept a cum-rag at hand to catch the evidence.The idea of using my hand never occurred to me.
Since we kids shared a bedroom, opportunity for release was scarce. After the bath we'd gather before the blazing fire to don pyjamas and prepare for bed. I'd retreat to the bedroom to 'read', but my dad was probably aware of this subterfuge. He walked in to the sight of my hairless butt vigorously humping the pillow cleavage. I dared not meet his eye but caught a glimpse of his trousers by my head just as I convulsed in spasms of heightened climax. Then, without a word he withdrew, softly closing the door. That was that.
Tall and lanky with a dusting of freckles, at twelve I was a nerdish bookworm. At school I had no interest in team sport, few friends, and lacked social standing. My squeaky voice and hand gestures said girl. But by twelve also my balls had decidedly dropped and my flaccid cock hung with heft. Like my mum I was painfully lean and sallow chested, and like her I had wide and gaunt hips. In effect I was a soprano with the genitalia of a young man. With muscular thighs and long of leg, I was hairless save for a small halo of pubic fuzz. Hopelessly horny, I was at twelve a boy-lover's wet dream.
Dad was a mine official who tested for explosive and toxic gases; indeed we hosted the mine canary one Xmas, before technology detected deadly carbon monoxide. Very occasionally my dad took me underground with him on his rounds. Early one Saturday morning he took me with him down the pit to 'measure-up' the coal extracted by that week's backshift, while the dayshift worked a deeper level of the mine. Of itself the dark was not a problem but the props which held up the tunnel roof made me conscious of the massive weight of earth crushing down from above. My job was to hold the end of the tape while he recorded the dimensions.
We returned to daylight through an airlock at the huge extractor fan and called in to chat to the winchman, Steady Eddie, who enthroned me on the A-frame of his jute sacking chair. Eddie got the call to let down the passenger trolley to collect dayshift workers and dad remarked,
"Well, Eddie, I better get the boy in for a shower before that mob comes up."
Eddie, who'd been eying my smooth bare thighs in his chair, ostentatiously scratched his groin as the wire cable played out from its huge drum.
The ridge-vented bathhouse was the biggest structure at the mine mouth. With limitless hot water from a coal-fired boiler, the long walls of the rectangular shape were lined with open showers, while down the centre were benches and pulleyed racks for the clothing change. We had barely stripped when the first of the dayshift rushed in to the opposite wall. Some looked questioningly at me. Overcome and shrivelling from shyness I turned to the wall behind and took my time adjusting the water heat, blissfully unaware that presenting my flawless bum not only signified submission but incited the interest of watching eyes. In time, restored by the warm shower and overcome by curiosity, I finally found the confidence to face outward.
I was met by the sight of a dozen or so naked men on the far wall, wraithed in clouds of steam. Most faced outward, showing their all. The curly pelt of hair entirely covering Ted McKenzie's giant body caught my eye as did the drooping pot belly of Jimmy Olsen's dad which obscured his groin. So amazed was I by the variety of size and shape of the naked buffet before me that caution deserted me; I was spellbound. My openly curious looks aroused no hostility, indeed they were met by some with suggestive soaping and rubbing.
I finally twigged that their interest in my naked body somehow endorsed my visual delight in theirs; it was a powerful buzz. My dad, of course, was well aware of the erotic tensions that showing his naked son had aroused. The hungry response to the tasty morsel he brought to the table doubtless fed his pleasure and pride. At last the palpable erotic intensity hit me and steady arousal to erection began. By then it was changing time so using my towel as a screen I turned away to dress discreetly without publicly showing my sensitive state.
By 3pm, back home, a heavy blackness palled me, as if the overburden of the mine tunnels had somehow crushed my spirit. Dreamlike, I heard my mum ask about the bathhouse, dimly aware that my shower outing had been jointly planned. After a long glass of water I declined food and headed for my bed where I collapsed into a deep dreamless sleep. I could not be woken for supper, a healing blackness cradled my soul. When I awoke it was dark so using my newly acquired bed lamp I dived into a Jeffrey Farnol historical novel, immersing myself in another time and space.
Next morning it was if I'd never been near the mine. Recollection lay interred in deep of dark for many years; only now has this buried treasure been unearthed, mined as it were, for you. As for me, being silently but openly regarded as 'fresh meat' by a bunch of naked adult males, many married, was a powerful induction to male bonding.
Rights reserved. A father parading his son seems a not uncommon experience. Hope to learn of similar experience and feedback appreciated.
Munanga