Parole Dad

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Penis

At the age of thirteen my family life imploded, when my stepfather was sent to prison for ten years, having been found guilty of manslaughter. He would only be eligible for parole eight years later. I loved my stepfather, and although he was a ‘fun’ dad, he was also a hooligan who never grew up. He was perpetually in shit and drifted from one job to another. Pool hall fights were a weekly occurrence in his life, and on one occasion he simply went too far. A year after his incarceration my mother filed for divorce, and decided to move on with her life. I spoke to him on a weekly basis during his jail term, and visited him twice a year in the penitentiary. Dad’s first parole application was turned down, the year after I completed college, but one year later he got the green light. I had my own apartment at this time, and his parole was conditional on him living with me for the following year. I really wasn’t keen on this arrangement, but did what I had to do. His parole officer managed to secure a security guard job for dad, at a warehouse where he would work a daytime shift. Fortunately, I had a spare room which he could use. Duncan, (my stepfather always insisted on me referring to him by his first name) was a good looking man. Not as good looking as he had been prior to prison, but still hot for a forty-five year old man. Jail had aged him, and given him a rougher edge. The parole officer made it very clear, that dad’s life would consist of him either being at work, or at home for the following twelve months. Duncan was not allowed to frequent isvecbahis bars, and any excursions that were planned, had to be authorised by the parole officer. I informed dad that I was not going to be a nurse maid, and that if he fucked-up, he was on his own. Willing as I was to help Duncan out, I wasn’t going to have my life turned upside down by infantile behaviour. I believe he got the message loud and clear. Our first two weeks together were rather uneventful, and I was amazed by his acquiescence. Two weeks later, on a Friday evening, Duncan surprised me by asking if an old prison buddy could visit on the Saturday evening. Alf (Alfonso), and Duncan had been cell buddies for a few years, and dad intimated that he would love to see Alf again. Naturally, I agreed. Although dad only had a few tattoos on his upper arms, Alf was festooned with tattoos. He had a tattoo of Jesus on the one side of his neck, and Mother Mary on the other side. This was apart from an abundance of other Catholic symbols all over his arms, body, and legs. Like dad, Alf was slim and around six feet tall. Alf had a swarthy complexion, and a full mop of long black hair that he wore in a ponytail. For a man in his late forties, I was amazed that he only had a few flecks of grey hair. Alf was good-looking, and must have been hot as a younger man. In fact, he was still fucking hot! After dinner, we sat around chatting till ten-thirty, before I announced that I needed to head off to bed. I put a sleeping bag in the lounge, for Alf. Promising that they would be as quiet isveçbahis giriş as possible, I told them not to worry as I had earplugs, I could use. Once in bed I inserted my earplugs, and drifted off to sleep. Awaking at one a.m., I needed to piss. After completing this ritual I decided to see if Alf was comfortable on the couch, in the lounge. To my astonishment the unfolded sleeping bag was where I had placed it. Returning to my room, I noticed a faint light emanating from dad’s keyhole. After removing one of my earplugs, I heard sexual sounds emanating from Duncan’s room. Peering through the keyhole I could see two pairs of legs, one on top of the other, facing downwards. The legs on the top were covered in tattoos, so there was no doubt that Alf was fucking my stepfather. I watched mesmerized for a few minutes, before returning to my bed. ‘Fuck… They weren’t just prison buddies… They were prison lovers,’ I thought, before finally drifting off to sleep. The following morning when I moved through to the kitchen Alf was in the sleeping bag, and shortly after breakfast, went on his way. On Friday night, Duncan again asked if Alf could visit on Saturday evening, and of course I agreed. I decided to give them some alone time, stating that I had been invited out for dinner, and probably wouldn’t be back till the next morning. I had a light meal at a local diner, before heading off to a favourite action bar down the road from my home. It was a good evening at the bar, and I had a few successful hook-ups during my stay. At twelve-thirty isveçbahis yeni giriş a.m., having had enough, I headed home. Entering my apartment silently, I observed that dad’s room door was slightly ajar. As I peered in, Alf on his stomach, with Duncan on top leisurely humping Alf’s backside. I stood there quietly watching the hot scene with a raging hard-on. After several minutes, I soundlessly left for my room. The following morning as I made breakfast, Duncan emerged from his bedroom somewhat flustered. He made some lame excuse about how they had fallen asleep on his bed. With an impish grin I stared at Duncan. Chuckling, I told him that breakfast would be ready in fifteen minutes. Duncan returned to his room and closed the door, after which I heard muted mumbles originating from within. Ten minutes later Duncan and Alf excited the spare bedroom, looking very sheepish. Breakfast was a silent affair, and shortly after, Alf left. Duncan attempted an explanation, but I cut him short. “Duncan, I know you and Alf are lovers. FYI, I am gay, so your love life doesn’t freak me out at all… In fact, I’m rather envious, because Alf is fucking hot… so good for you.” “Why didn’t you tell me you were gay?” Duncan asked. “I was waiting for the right time… looks like it has suddenly arrived,” I replied. “Are you sure you’re cool with Alf and me?” Duncan implored. “Totally dad…” I answered. The following week Alf also spent Wednesday evening with us. Prior to Alf’s arrival on Saturday night, Duncan asked, “Would you consider allowing Alf to more in with us… at some point?” From prior conversations, I knew that Alf was renting a very small cottage. His kids were grownup and wanted nothing to do with him. His wife had also left him while he was imprisoned, and he was a very lonely guy.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bir cevap yazın