I did this quite a bit, actually. Nothing more than encouragement for him, but it was all I could say at the time. Words were no longer concepts I understood. Just him, my father. 

It lasted forever, this new feeling. I loved every second of it and even whimpered when he would remove his tongue from anywhere near my asshole. The next feeling was quite different from any of that. My sac was enveloped in a hot and moist cavern between his lips. His tongue was there to cradle my little orbs and flesh. I think he sucked on it too, but at the time I remember not being too pleased by that. It felled like he could swallow my sac whole and it kind of hurt so when I cried out, saying something about a pain, he let me go. 

Instead of sucking on my balls, he instead moved lower and tugged on my little boy cock to position it. It kind of hurt as well, but when his mouth covered the length of it and he began to suck on it like he had with my sac, any aversion to him being there was. Please hang...” Goddammit! He should have known better. Clara was always forgetting to charge her phone. A normally thirty minute drive to her office downtown turns out to be an aggravating torture test of snarled traffic and flooded roads. Paul tries every shortcut he knows, cutting through parking lots and alleys, and against one way streets. As he drives he tries to gauge where she might be by recalling what Clara had told him of this night. How she walked through the blankets of rain to street corners where shuttle-buses were supposed to be waiting only to find a massive crowd huddled together at the bus stops. How she tried in vain to hail taxis only to get splashed as they drove by hitting the puddles on the streets. She walked and walked to get home...because Paul would be there waiting for her. “Oh God,” Paul cries, and smacks the wheel of the car with his palm. He checks his watch: twenty-five minutes remaining. How could Michael do this? Why this day? Why now? All he can.
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