Ever since I was old enough to tackle my tackle, I’ve always thought about what it would be like to touch someone else’s tool.
I once saw my dad coming out of the shower, and I couldn’t explain the tingling sensation in my loins. I found they got *fairly* fired up. I began experimenting with trying to create peepholes in the bathroom. When this failed I retreated to my dad’s laundry, where I found his soiled boxers, filled with siblings that never were. It ended up with a schedule of me sneaking in to my dad’s bedroom the day before Laundry Day, and giving them a good sniff. Until one day.
It started as usual, my dad’s boxers nearly stuffed up my ass, during one of my more, *experimental*, sessions. I could tell after a few minutes that something was amiss. My father had been watching me for the past hour. He’d just been so still, he was invisible. He was now breathing heavily and sweating. I turned to face him, knowing I’d have to. His face was littered with disappointment. I left. I couldn’t go back to the house for fear of facing him.