DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING. (c) JCV AND NICKELODEON.
We've kept it a secret for 7 years. Maybe 6...maybe 8. The exact day, month, year that it began, escapes my mind. I was young, still a child. I wasn't an ignorant child; I knew how certain things worked. I knew that I had problems making friends and my interest in the paranormal just made me even stranger in the eyes of my peers and elders alike. I had no problems with it, if I was destined to be alone, why not make the best of it? I distanced myself from most things and lived in my passions for otherworldly things. What I didn't understand is how that one solitary person managed to get through my shields. I hadn't purposely let him through...then again, maybe I did. Like I've said, I don't remember much about the beginning. Some, but even then, its faded away like most memories do.
Our love was mutual; there was never any doubt. I don't know how I knew he wasn't just using me for his own pleasures, I just did. Near seven years and I still haven't questioned that logic. And what twisted logic, it is, most would say. Ha, they have no idea what its like, yet though so eagerly judge. Condemn my world because I don't fit with society's idea of a model relationship. The ideal lifestyle. Damn them all.
Ever since the beginning it felt so right, perfection. It occurred to me often that our actions could have less than favorable outcomes. He knew as well, and warned me of the risks until I told him I didn't like to hear them. 'We're careful, and that's all that'll matter. Nobody needs to know, nobody will know' I told him. He would, no doubt, be on the receiving end of any punishments. I was just the impressionable kid, too stupid to know right from wrong. It was important that I reassured him often, and I did. Kisses and promises, assurances and love. It mattered not that he was so much older than I was.
My mind strays back to the first solid memory I have of us together. It was the first time he dared to kiss me...a real kiss. Not the familiar pecks and brushes I was used to. I couldn't have been older than 11, but I understood the enormity of the action and the warm feeling that started in my chest and fluttered outward made me dizzy. I knew it was wrong, but I didn't stop him, I didn't pull away. If anything I encouraged. My lips parted, allowing his tongue to slide carefully over my own, willing a reaction. He was cautious, perhaps unsure of how I would respond. Unsure, myself, I simply mimicked what he was doing, returning the kiss. I pushed closer to him, and he took me in his lap, into the chair he was in. I heard his moans, felt them vibrate between us, and when he pulled away, I visibly darkened. The guilt and shame was a bitter aftertaste to the kiss, and yet that warm feeling still pulsed through my veins. The beginning of a long, civil war inside my mind.
It was a battle that continued until my 15th birthday. That night, after Gaz had fallen asleep, he came to my bedroom and woke me up. He took me to his labs, and we sat together in a large chair. I'd grown up so handsomely, he told me. He put his arms around me and slid closer. I probably blushed, I wasn't good at receiving his compliments, I still smile shyly when he tells me how beautiful my eyes are, or how perfect I am for him.
I pushed closer and turned to face him. His eyes were dark with his want for me, and I knew I looked the same. I cleared my mind of any previous doubt or shame and wondered, amazed at how I could have managed so long without him inside me, loving me, and touching places previously forbidden. I kissed him, and in the process, moved a leg over his lap until I was straddling his thighs. He sat in the thick armchair with me on top of his body, kissing him in a furious passion that I hadn't remembered ever possessing. This was the man I loved, no doubt. The warm feeling was back, times five hundred, and I had the incredible desire to remove my shirt, pants, everything.
I pulled away to collect my breath, and lifted my t-shirt, tossing it to the floor. He looked back at me, as though I were insane. I'd never incited such an embrace before, and now I had removed my shirt, and was moving towards his in such a way that made me not recognize myself. He aided me, and soon his shirt joined mine of the ground. I closed the gap between us, relishing in the bare skin against skin. Our lips clashed in another bruising kiss, and his hands found their way to my hair, and down my back. I had chills without feeling cool, and in another crazy flourish, was on the floor, with my lover hovered over me, looking just a little dazed. He recovered quickly, he always does.
I picked up his hand from its resting-place on my chest and moved it down to the elastic waistband of my pajama bottoms. His fingers curled around it, tugged gently, but not before asking permission with his eyes. I nodded and arched off the floor to give him ease. I cried out when his fingers moved over my obvious lust, my love, for him. I knew that he too, felt the same, and I wanted more than anything to make him feel. I lifted my own hands to his pants and unclasped them with just a slight difficulty. He pushed out of the material until he was finally naked atop me. I'd had dreams about the very moment, never bothering to think they would come true. That pesky guilt seemed to make me forever the pessimist, but him truly being in front of me, grinding our sensitive bodies together, was just absolute.
I opened my legs, and he moved easily between them. We both knew I was a virgin, he, more experienced. I idly wondered if it had only been with females and this experience was as foreign to him as it was I. I almost grew jealous at the thought of another man sharing in this pleasure, but I had trust that there had been no other. Our relationship was not only physical, it went beyond that. We told each other everything, I knew his past, and I knew when he was keeping something from me. There was nothing. He loved me. Just me.
His tongue forged a path around my entire body, his fingers stopping just short of their eventual target. He didn't want to hurt me, I knew, and he needed something, some kind of lubricant. I told him not to stop, to use his own spit, sweat, I didn't care...just don't stop. He looked at me with his familiar, worried look, and stuck his fingers in his mouth. I screamed as he went in, pain giving away, not completely, to pleasure, never felt before. Two, then three, each time a new feeling, even better than the last. Then they were gone; my mind fit to burst with anticipation and lust.
Slowly something larger...filling me coherent thought becoming more and more difficult...strained. I pulled him down until he could go no further, and then he moved out...in...Out... a rhythm, continued over, repeated. I moved my own hands downward and touched myself continuing with the rhythm. This wasn't wrong...nothing had ever felt so beautiful. We were making love, this wasn't sex, this wasn't just a fuck...this was lovemaking. It took a minute to realize there were tears rolling down my cheeks, and I came. He soon followed, my name on his lips, and I wrapped my arms around him. We both lied still, catching our breath and thoughts. I think we fell asleep then, our first and only lack of careful plans and stupid, dangerous endings. That night will forever be the most vivid in my mind.
This night, I wait for him to come to me. He's eternally busy, but tries as hard as possible to make time for me...us. I take a deep breath and smooth invisible wrinkles from the bed sheets. It's pointless to be nervous. He won't deny me, not once has he ever...I don't think he can. But maybe this is anticipation. The thrill of knowing what I'm doing isn't the way it "should" be. I'm still 17, but I know better than ever what people would do to us if they knew. They'd shun us in disgust, no doubt. I'd be surprised if I lived to see 18, if people knew.
So much hangs precariously from this relationship, sometimes I wonder why I bother, but the answer always comes. It's because I love him. How could I not bother? He is my entire life, almost literally. That's why I'll sit here forever and wait for him.
I hear a tap on the door, a distinct rapping. It's him. I open the door and he steps inside, closing the door behind him. I take a silver key and lock it, the blinds are already closed and the curtains drawn. All precautions taken. He takes me in his arms and kisses me chastely on the cheek. Together, we go to the bed and lay, curled into one another. My arms are around his neck and his hand brushes stray hair out of my amber eyes. Hair that matches his own, eyes the same golden color...
"Dib, I've waited the entire day for you." A kiss.
"A long day, I'm sure." I murmur into his chest. He nods, and I lift my head so our noses brush.
He captures my mouth in his own; I'll never tire of those kisses. I moan into his mouth and run my hand under his shirt. I feel his nipples, already erect, and his hard, muscular stomach; he hides so well under his clothing. My hands start to stray lower.
"Dib..." He gasps. I stop, looking up at him.
"Something wrong?" I ask, concerned. "I'm fine with this, you know, you're amazing..." I start to reassure him, hoping he saw my sincerity.
"No, nothing's wrong," he pulls me closer to whisper. "I only wanted to tell you how much I love you." I smile, feeling the blush creep across my face, even if he can't see it in the near darkness.
"I love you too, Daddy." I reply, kissing my father lovingly.
How could this possibly be wrong?
-END-
We've kept it a secret for 7 years. Maybe 6...maybe 8. The exact day, month, year that it began, escapes my mind. I was young, still a child. I wasn't an ignorant child; I knew how certain things worked. I knew that I had problems making friends and my interest in the paranormal just made me even stranger in the eyes of my peers and elders alike. I had no problems with it, if I was destined to be alone, why not make the best of it? I distanced myself from most things and lived in my passions for otherworldly things. What I didn't understand is how that one solitary person managed to get through my shields. I hadn't purposely let him through...then again, maybe I did. Like I've said, I don't remember much about the beginning. Some, but even then, its faded away like most memories do.
Our love was mutual; there was never any doubt. I don't know how I knew he wasn't just using me for his own pleasures, I just did. Near seven years and I still haven't questioned that logic. And what twisted logic, it is, most would say. Ha, they have no idea what its like, yet though so eagerly judge. Condemn my world because I don't fit with society's idea of a model relationship. The ideal lifestyle. Damn them all.
Ever since the beginning it felt so right, perfection. It occurred to me often that our actions could have less than favorable outcomes. He knew as well, and warned me of the risks until I told him I didn't like to hear them. 'We're careful, and that's all that'll matter. Nobody needs to know, nobody will know' I told him. He would, no doubt, be on the receiving end of any punishments. I was just the impressionable kid, too stupid to know right from wrong. It was important that I reassured him often, and I did. Kisses and promises, assurances and love. It mattered not that he was so much older than I was.
My mind strays back to the first solid memory I have of us together. It was the first time he dared to kiss me...a real kiss. Not the familiar pecks and brushes I was used to. I couldn't have been older than 11, but I understood the enormity of the action and the warm feeling that started in my chest and fluttered outward made me dizzy. I knew it was wrong, but I didn't stop him, I didn't pull away. If anything I encouraged. My lips parted, allowing his tongue to slide carefully over my own, willing a reaction. He was cautious, perhaps unsure of how I would respond. Unsure, myself, I simply mimicked what he was doing, returning the kiss. I pushed closer to him, and he took me in his lap, into the chair he was in. I heard his moans, felt them vibrate between us, and when he pulled away, I visibly darkened. The guilt and shame was a bitter aftertaste to the kiss, and yet that warm feeling still pulsed through my veins. The beginning of a long, civil war inside my mind.
It was a battle that continued until my 15th birthday. That night, after Gaz had fallen asleep, he came to my bedroom and woke me up. He took me to his labs, and we sat together in a large chair. I'd grown up so handsomely, he told me. He put his arms around me and slid closer. I probably blushed, I wasn't good at receiving his compliments, I still smile shyly when he tells me how beautiful my eyes are, or how perfect I am for him.
I pushed closer and turned to face him. His eyes were dark with his want for me, and I knew I looked the same. I cleared my mind of any previous doubt or shame and wondered, amazed at how I could have managed so long without him inside me, loving me, and touching places previously forbidden. I kissed him, and in the process, moved a leg over his lap until I was straddling his thighs. He sat in the thick armchair with me on top of his body, kissing him in a furious passion that I hadn't remembered ever possessing. This was the man I loved, no doubt. The warm feeling was back, times five hundred, and I had the incredible desire to remove my shirt, pants, everything.
I pulled away to collect my breath, and lifted my t-shirt, tossing it to the floor. He looked back at me, as though I were insane. I'd never incited such an embrace before, and now I had removed my shirt, and was moving towards his in such a way that made me not recognize myself. He aided me, and soon his shirt joined mine of the ground. I closed the gap between us, relishing in the bare skin against skin. Our lips clashed in another bruising kiss, and his hands found their way to my hair, and down my back. I had chills without feeling cool, and in another crazy flourish, was on the floor, with my lover hovered over me, looking just a little dazed. He recovered quickly, he always does.
I picked up his hand from its resting-place on my chest and moved it down to the elastic waistband of my pajama bottoms. His fingers curled around it, tugged gently, but not before asking permission with his eyes. I nodded and arched off the floor to give him ease. I cried out when his fingers moved over my obvious lust, my love, for him. I knew that he too, felt the same, and I wanted more than anything to make him feel. I lifted my own hands to his pants and unclasped them with just a slight difficulty. He pushed out of the material until he was finally naked atop me. I'd had dreams about the very moment, never bothering to think they would come true. That pesky guilt seemed to make me forever the pessimist, but him truly being in front of me, grinding our sensitive bodies together, was just absolute.
I opened my legs, and he moved easily between them. We both knew I was a virgin, he, more experienced. I idly wondered if it had only been with females and this experience was as foreign to him as it was I. I almost grew jealous at the thought of another man sharing in this pleasure, but I had trust that there had been no other. Our relationship was not only physical, it went beyond that. We told each other everything, I knew his past, and I knew when he was keeping something from me. There was nothing. He loved me. Just me.
His tongue forged a path around my entire body, his fingers stopping just short of their eventual target. He didn't want to hurt me, I knew, and he needed something, some kind of lubricant. I told him not to stop, to use his own spit, sweat, I didn't care...just don't stop. He looked at me with his familiar, worried look, and stuck his fingers in his mouth. I screamed as he went in, pain giving away, not completely, to pleasure, never felt before. Two, then three, each time a new feeling, even better than the last. Then they were gone; my mind fit to burst with anticipation and lust.
Slowly something larger...filling me coherent thought becoming more and more difficult...strained. I pulled him down until he could go no further, and then he moved out...in...Out... a rhythm, continued over, repeated. I moved my own hands downward and touched myself continuing with the rhythm. This wasn't wrong...nothing had ever felt so beautiful. We were making love, this wasn't sex, this wasn't just a fuck...this was lovemaking. It took a minute to realize there were tears rolling down my cheeks, and I came. He soon followed, my name on his lips, and I wrapped my arms around him. We both lied still, catching our breath and thoughts. I think we fell asleep then, our first and only lack of careful plans and stupid, dangerous endings. That night will forever be the most vivid in my mind.
This night, I wait for him to come to me. He's eternally busy, but tries as hard as possible to make time for me...us. I take a deep breath and smooth invisible wrinkles from the bed sheets. It's pointless to be nervous. He won't deny me, not once has he ever...I don't think he can. But maybe this is anticipation. The thrill of knowing what I'm doing isn't the way it "should" be. I'm still 17, but I know better than ever what people would do to us if they knew. They'd shun us in disgust, no doubt. I'd be surprised if I lived to see 18, if people knew.
So much hangs precariously from this relationship, sometimes I wonder why I bother, but the answer always comes. It's because I love him. How could I not bother? He is my entire life, almost literally. That's why I'll sit here forever and wait for him.
I hear a tap on the door, a distinct rapping. It's him. I open the door and he steps inside, closing the door behind him. I take a silver key and lock it, the blinds are already closed and the curtains drawn. All precautions taken. He takes me in his arms and kisses me chastely on the cheek. Together, we go to the bed and lay, curled into one another. My arms are around his neck and his hand brushes stray hair out of my amber eyes. Hair that matches his own, eyes the same golden color...
"Dib, I've waited the entire day for you." A kiss.
"A long day, I'm sure." I murmur into his chest. He nods, and I lift my head so our noses brush.
He captures my mouth in his own; I'll never tire of those kisses. I moan into his mouth and run my hand under his shirt. I feel his nipples, already erect, and his hard, muscular stomach; he hides so well under his clothing. My hands start to stray lower.
"Dib..." He gasps. I stop, looking up at him.
"Something wrong?" I ask, concerned. "I'm fine with this, you know, you're amazing..." I start to reassure him, hoping he saw my sincerity.
"No, nothing's wrong," he pulls me closer to whisper. "I only wanted to tell you how much I love you." I smile, feeling the blush creep across my face, even if he can't see it in the near darkness.
"I love you too, Daddy." I reply, kissing my father lovingly.
How could this possibly be wrong?
-END-