I always sleep with my ceiling fan on the lowest setting.
It isn’t that I get hot at night; it’s just that I don’t like the sound of silence. For me silence isn’t the absence of noise. It’s a high-pitched ringing, and it keeps me from sleeping.
Dad says I have tinnitus—too much time with my earphones in. I’m pretty sure that’s not how you get tinnitus, but he’s probably right, so it’s whatever. I’ve learned to live with it.
The fan blades slowly revolve, a little airplane on a string trailing from the end of one of them, a relic from my childhood. The chain that hangs from the bulb sways with the blades’ movement. And soft waves of cool air brush my cheeks and bare chest.
I sigh.
Tomorrow is my first day of freshman year—as well as my fourteenth birthday.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous. I’m going from being one of the cool eighth-graders to a loser freshman, and I’m going to have to do it without any friends.
Dad and I moved from Chicago to this small town after the divorce. It wasn’t a fun time for him. I mean, it wasn’t fun for me either, but he definitely had it worse.
The whole thing was stupid honestly. Mom found gay porn in her search history, confronted Dad, and they traced it back to me.
Obviously I know I should have cleared the browser history, but she didn’t have to call me a faggot. It was after that confrontation that Dad finally called it quits, and here we are: in a tiny town outside Springfield.
Maybe that’s why I can’t sleep. Everything changed so fast, and now I’m about to be a freshman without a single person I know. I miss my friends.
I grunt and roll over to look at my alarm clock.
4:14 AM
I guess I’ll go get some water. I slide out of bed and pad down the hall toward the kitchen. But I stop outside my dad’s room.
His door is slightly open, and warm light spills out. Curious as to what he’s doing up at this hour, I push the door open and peer inside, and when I see him, I pause in shock.
My dad is lying on his back atop the covers, his fingers interlaced atop his chest, completely and utterly naked. He’s bathed in the soft light of the lamp on his nightstand.
My eyes immediately shoot to his dick. Even soft, it’s long and fat, and it rests atop two swollen balls the size of chicken eggs. A thick black bush surrounds his cock and balls, and a sick twisted part of me wants to run over and sniff him. I’ve always liked smelling my fingers after playing with my balls.
Dad is hairy all over. Long coarse hair coats his legs, and his broad chest is covered with swirls of manly fur. He doesn’t have a happy trail like I do. Instead, dark curly hair grows all over his abdomen.
Even his arms have coarse black hair. It grows from the back of his hand all the way up his arm and over his shoulder. I know his back is just as hairy as his front; I’ve seen it plenty of times around the house and at the pool. His ass—though I’ve never seen it—is surely a furry jungle. It only makes sense.
My dad is a beast, and I wonder how long it’ll be till I’m as hairy as he is. My ass is already covered in hair, and I have a little patch at the small of my back.
He’s really handsome too: heavy jaw with a strong chin and thick stubble, straight white teeth, full brows and cool green eyes. He keeps his hair cropped short, and his hairline has only just begun to recede within the last year. And at forty-two, I’d say his hair had a good run.
Dad grunts and starts to roll onto his side.
I dash back to my room and dive under the covers, heart pounding. I glance again at my alarm clock.
4:16 AM
I was standing in my dad’s doorway just staring at him for a whole two minutes. And as disgusting as it is to admit, I liked what I saw. I liked it a lot.
My cock throbs as I imagine my dad’s hairy cock. I wonder how often he plays with it. I bet that’s what he was doing earlier last night. He probably was jerking off and fell asleep before he finished. Why else would he have slept naked with the light on and door open?
I slowly pull down the waistband of my underwear, and my cock flops out. I’m not nearly as hairy as my dad, but I definitely have a big bush. I tease the tip of my dick and collect the bead of precum on my finger.
I suck the precum off my finger, as I always do when I touch myself, and I swirl the slightly salty taste around my mouth. I moan into it, and I imagine I’m tasting my dad’s precum instead of my own.
And immediately I stop. Why the fuck am I fantasizing about my dad? What kind of freak does that?
My cheeks burn with shame, but my boner doesn’t go away, and neither do my fucked-up thoughts about my dad.
I tentatively stroke my cock, relishing the shockwaves through my body, and I imagine my dad’s strong hairy arms around me. I imagine him squeezing me tightly and kissing me, the pressure of his big cock inside my virgin asshole, his breath against my ear, and all his manly fur rubbing against my body.
I run my free hand over my hairy thigh, pretending I’m rubbing his chest instead of just my leg. My hips buck forward as warmth radiates from my dick and spreads to the far reaches of my body.
The dam breaks, and I shoot thick hot cum into my underwear as I fantasize about my dad. I grunt and gasp for air.
I lie back against my pillows, breathing heavily, and I run a finger on the outside of my underwear up the length of my softening cock. I squeeze my cock, imagining my thin fingers are my dad’s thick strong ones, and then I raise my hand to my nose.
My fingers are moist with sweat. They’re warm against my lips, and they smell strongly of musk. I can’t help but wish this were my dad’s smell instead of my own. I bet he’s a lot muskier with all that hair down there. I know he sweats more than I do.
During a casual, easy workout, he usually sweats through his shirt. I can only imagine how sweaty he must get down there during a normal day.
I peel my soiled underwear off and toss them on the floor.
My cheeks burn with guilt as I pull my blanket up over my head. I shouldn’t have jerked off to my dad. That’s so fucked up.
I hug my pillow tightly, and I try to go to sleep. But after what feels like half a moment with my eyes closed, my ceiling light flicks on and I hear a deep voice:
“Happy birthday, bud. You ready for school?” He chuckles after.
I poke my head out from my covers and see my dad standing in the doorway. He wears a pair of blue cotton sleep pants and nothing else. His soft cock tents the pants, and my ears burn with shame as I imagine how much musk his jungly pubes must’ve already gathered this morning. His nipples are big and round, standing at attention along the gentle curve of his bulging hairy pecs.
“I don’t want to go,” I force myself to say.
“If I have to go,” he says, “so do you. Come on.” He turns to walk away, and I admire him from behind.
All that curly back hair. Fuck.
I reluctantly slide out of bed, not ready to face my birthday or my first day of school, especially since the job Dad took out here in this tiny town is as the algebra teacher at the high school—my algebra teacher.
“Michael,” called Dad.
“I’m up,” I called back. “I’m up. Just give me a second.”
I kick my jizzed-in underwear under my bed and dig through my closet for some clothes. What am I going to say to Dad when I see him for breakfast? How am I going to look him in the eye after I came to him?
I pull on a pair of jeans and start looking for a shirt.
