Dad’s gift

By John Y. 
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• Latest update: 7 September. Next update: 21 September. (Submissions welcome.)

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I'd always wished for a larger cock. I mean, don't get me wrong—I like my cock and it does just fine by me, but I'd always envied the huge donkey hung studs I'd see at the Y where I have a membership for my family. I like to jog, swim and “relax” in the sauna in the rare instance that I actually have some free time for myself. Mostly it's my beautiful wife Denise and my sons who take advantage of not only the facilities themselves, but a whole host of workshops, spinning classes, and weigh training seminars available. My wife does the yoga classes to help de-stress from running the boys around to their full schedule of extracurricular activities and sports practices.

I have three sons total; Jeff, by my first wife, and two other sons; Jake and Tyler—both from my current wife, and both as adorable as their mother. Raising sons nowadays is a lot more complicated than it was when I was a kid. If I wanted to play baseball after school I'd just bring my mitt w/me to school that day and play at the park on the way home along with the other kids. My sons, like most nowadays, need their own electronic organizers and costly uniforms and accompanying safety gear for each team they're on—which is many.

My oldest son Jeff is a hearty high school senior, all American in every way—sort of beefy from too much soda pop and videogames, yet he has an intensely competitive nature. He excels in sports, and has the kind of beefy build that's perfect for rugby, hockey, and football. He's still growing and he's gonna be a big bruiser by the time his body catches up with his hormonal fluxes. Jeff has adorably messy light brown locks that poke out all over and kind of flips from under the back of his omnipresent ball caps. The kid wears a different ball cap every day and even holds down a part-time job at the local lids shop at the mall. He claims he couldn't support such an extravagant image without the generous employee discount. And apparently not having your own personal brand or completely unique style is unacceptable as a high school senior in 2004.

When my first wife and I divorced, Jeff was a toddler and his mother was more interested in booze and other men than she was being part of a nuclear family. So with the help of my parents and brother, I raised Jeff primarily by myself until I remarried. The bond between my son and me is stronger than any other I've ever known. In many ways, Jeff is my best friend; my sounding board about everything from listening to me bitch about “that idiot on talk radio”, to enduring my frequent tales of how “we used to do it” when I was a kid. We share blond jokes and a sick addiction to AFV (yes—the stupid show where people send in videos of their grandmothers catching on fire or dying at weddings with overt canned laughter overlaid.) It's wrong. We know. But we cant seem to change the channel once it's on, and I chalk it up to my voyeuristic side. Jeff's also the one who'll tell me how bad my golf swing is, and why I shouldn't wear “those way too short Adidas running shorts, Dad!”. Secretly I think he's just jealous and wants to wear them for the vintage factor, but they're a little too large for him now. All in all, we have one of the closest, most communicative, and healthiest father/son relationships I know of.

Jeff's eighteenth birthday was coming up soon and I wanted to make sure it was a day for him to remember. Turning 18 is a big thing for someone that age and I easily recalled my excitement at the prospect of graduating from a restricted license, high school, and all the wonder and freedom of a life away at college. I knew Jeff expected something significant for his birthday and I debated for a long time over what to get him. Even though he wanted his own car, I didn't want to go that route. Lots of dads buy their sons new cars for their 18th birthdays and 3/4 of them end up totaling it within weeks anyway. I wanted Jeff to earn his car, so he'd appreciate it. I wanted to give Jeff something more substantial than a material purchase. I wanted to give Jeff something that he could really own for the rest of his life—something that his “old man” gave him, by which he'd always remember and cherish our good times together. I gave the matter a lot of thought over the weeks leading up to Jeff's birthday, and one day at the Y it finally came to me.

After a particularly taxing day of work, a heavy greasy burger lunch on the run in my car between meetings, and two too many beers with the my last client of the day, I decided I should do myself some good and hit the gym. I phoned my wife from the car and explained that I needed some “me time”, and I'd be home late after I hit the gym and unwound a little. She and I respect each other's need for space and time and I think that makes for a good marriage in our case. We both know how invigorating and detoxifying it can be to pump out some adrenaline at the gym, sweat out that stress, and rejuvenate in the bathing facilities at the Y. Our local Y was just built a few years ago and is well maintained. The men's steam and dry saunas are spic and span, as are the pool, locker, and shower areas. After a good run and some free weights, I felt like I deserved some shower time and indulgently headed towards the showers. I couldn't wait to peel off my sweat-drenched gym gear and just bask under the hot jet sprays of the shower for a while.

It was about an half an hour before the Y closed and I'd been the only one under the refreshing steam jets of the showers for a while. I'd actually finished scrubbing myself down and eyes closed, I was letting the warm water glide down over my oxygenated muscles and swirl the ocean-scented body wash down the drains at my feet. Racking my brain once again about what to get Jeff, and breathing in lung-fulls of steam and scented water, my mind wandered. I started thinking about how good the water felt on my skin. My balls were hanging low and when my soapy hand drifted past the head of my now lucid cock I felt hedonistic warmth rush in patches all over my body. My mind's eye flashed images of all the hot muscles I'd seen straining and pushing in the gym. Guys with massive arms—huge guns Jeff called them—paraded and pumped in my mind. I remembered a distinctly huge, beefy football player we'd seen during last Sunday's game. Trying to imagine what this guy's look like unstuffed from his tight shiny blue pants, I threw wood. This jolted me back to reality and I struggled to focus as I opened my eyes.

At first, I wasn't sure if I was asleep or really under the hot foggy showers. What appeared to be that guy from Sunday's game—or perhaps his brother—was hanging up his towel at the end of the row of showers and heading towards me on the right. I wiped my wet hair to the side and flushed the excess water from my eyes and still I had to blink twice to realize that I was in fact fully conscious and cognizant of the hulking beefster next to me. He casually said hi and turned on the shower nozzle next to where I was standing. I choked out a ridiculously girlish “umm …hi there.” and turned the other way to quickly apply an additional dose of shampoo to my already clean hair. After all, I tried to convince myself, the bottles does read “shower, rinse, repeat”. I just needed to figure out how I could steal another glance what I thought I saw with this huge guy. What I definitely knew was that this guy was stacked. He was probably 6’6”, thick slabs of bulky rounded muscles that bounced on his already massive frame, black hair, and a strong healthy girth that in all honesty must've been about three bills. This guy was massive!

In a deep baritone, he started humming that clever baby back ribs jingle, then started singing it. When he breathed, his thick d cup pecs bounced, and in turn so did his ripped but bulging belly, and so on down to his meat. In my peripheral vision I could sense something huge and pendulous moving, and as my eyes were drawn down this beast's thick body I honed in on the hugest package I've ever witnessed The guy sported a long fat dong, close in size and shape to a baby's arm, and a massive pair of bull nuts. He was donkey hung and didn't seem to mind me staring, as he rinsed the shampoo from his hair. Arms raised behind his head, blowing out his huge biceps for me like cocky plumage—his gut and basket were pushed forward making his meat bounce even harder with each deep “baby back, baby back, baby back” reiteration. He finally addressed my stunned stare with a friendly, but decidedly knowing, “Ya wanna know what it's like, doncha? I gulped and nodded. He told me most guys couldn't keep their eyes off of it and he didn't mind the attention at all. In fact, he told me he liked to share the wealth and I could take a hold of it to see how heavy it felt. I couldn't believe this guy was gonna let me grab his donkey in the showers, but I knew that beggars can't be choosers and decided to seize the opportunity, along with his horsemeat. I nervously looked around—the locker-room was silent except for us, and I stepped over in front of him.

When I took his huge hang in my hand I blushed because even my man-sized hand couldn't reach all the way around it. I squeezed a little and repositioned my fingers around the rubbery dong, but I still couldn't get full grasp. It must've weighed a solid pound plus, and the giant bag that hung beneath his flopper held two testes the size of softballs. I recoiled my hand quickly because for a second I thought for sure this must be some kind of physical abnormality—like a twin brother that never fully developed and I was going to see this guy on Oprah next week or something.

It was abnormal to say the least, but it was indeed a cock. And the most perfectly formed giant monster cock I think anyone has ever seen. Even with the internet male porn I'd sneak on the computer sometimes late at night, I'd never seen anything this big.

“I guess you've got some rare lucky genetics”, I nervously snickered to break the tension.

“No way buddy” he chuckled, “this isn't a genetic gift from my dad. This is Christmas gift from my girlfriend”.

Puzzled, I stared back wondering what the hell he meant. I asked him to explain, and he told me that his girlfriend worked downtown—not far from Chinatown. During her lunch breaks she would often peruse a local herbal shop and buy crazy cough remedies and PMS teas and stuff. She developed a great rapport with the owner—a withered but wise old Chinese man who had an herbal remedy or potion for anything and everything that ails ya. His girlfriend mentioned one day that she needed a unique gift for her boyfriend, and something that they could possibly use to enhance their sex life. She expected some Benewah balls or spicy herbed lube of some sort, but instead the old man winked at her and said he had just the thing. He scurried off, climbed up a ladder, and produced a glass jar of what appeared to be dried black leaves of some sort from a hidden stash, behind the New Age book overstock section. As he climbed down from the ladder he shook a bony finger her way and warned her to be very careful with what he was about to share with her. He told her it was an ancient Asian masculinity herb and would produce amazing yet unregulated aphrodisiac affects on whoever ingested the mix. He warned that the results were always unpredictable, yet he'd never seen happier customers than those who'd purchased the herbs for their mates. He said it was never to be taken—or even touched by women, and she should only allow her partner to open and ingest the contents that he spooned into a tiny rice paper envelope for her. She agreed and giggled inside thinking that if nothing else, it would make for a great gag gift Little did she know that the seedling thought in her mind at that moment would manifest itself in the way the herbs would take effect. Three days later her boyfriend was transformed after drinking the herbs steeped as tea, as the envelope prescribed.

“She eventually learned to overcome her gag reflex.” the bruiser cockily laughed, “and I've been the object of admiration and respect from everyone I've met since, he snickered. “I've gotten three promotions at work, was made captain of my rugby team, and I never pay for drinks at clubs anymore.”, he goaded. He shook the obscene member at me again and taunted me with it. You want one, doncha bud? You wanna know what it's like to have a donkey swinging between your thighs 24/7, doncha buddy? His previously jovial demeanor now verged on arrogance, but I suppose I couldn't blame him. I nodded and agreed when he inquired for the third time about my envy, but I knew I needed to play it cool if I were to maximize this situation. It almost seemed as if the serpent in his fist was speaking directly to me now. “You want this for yourself, doncha dude?” it hissed lewdly.

“No”, I responded simply. That threw the guy for a loop, as I'm sure it wasnt the typical glazed and patented “uh huh” he was accustomed to hearing. “I want it for my son.”, I announced. The guy laughed and asked me if I was kidding. I shared a little info with him about my relationship with my son, and told him about my desire to gift Jeff with something he'd not soon forget. He agreed with my logic and told me he'd share the secret shop with me, but only on one condition.

“What's that?”, I queried him. “That if he gets bigger than me, I get to see his.” Deal! We shook on it and he clued me in as to where I needed to go and what I needed to do. The next morning I cleared my afternoon schedule and made a beeline to the shop at lunch. By 12:30 I held in my possession the gift of life for my son's 18th birthday.

Jeff's eighteenth birthday was two days away, and I was anxious to give Jeff his gift. I doubted and questioned myself over and over again in the meantime. Was this wrong? Was it illegal? Doesn't every dad hope that their son wil inherit the best genes the family jewels have to offer? I figured at most Jeff and I would get a good laugh, and then I'd buy him a car to reoccupy his mind. That Friday night couldn't have come sooner. Of course Jeff was hosting an obligatory blow-out bash in our basement rec-room with 10 of his closest buds (car keys to be left in my possession), but I wanted to share a special private moment with my son before his guests arrived.

After dinner I went into my den and threw back two double Scotch's, and called for Jeff to come join me. Feeling the need to be relaxed I was wearing those old Adidas track shorts form my stint on my HS running team 2½ decades prior, and I was adjusting my ball sack and to the warm glow produced by the Scotch when Jeff entered the room.

“What's up Pops?” he asked—with an inconceablable smile on his face. In the back of his mind, I knew he thought he was baout to be hnaded a set of keys to a new Porsche or at least a VW. I told Jeff to feel free to grab a beer from my minibar fridge and sit down, because i wanted to talk to him. His eyes lit up about the beer and the newly adult privilege I bestowed on him, but of course he felt compelled to add a cynical teenage groan and obligatory eye roll at the prospect of a lecture. He flopped into the leather armchair opposite me, threw one leg over the side and popped open his beer. He paused just briefly before swigging form it—first to see if I was really going to allow him to drink a beer, and secondly to hide that fact that he knew how to swig beer form a bottle like a sailor already. That fact would have solidified my sneaking suspicion that hed been raiding my wetbar for about a year now anyway, and possibly even explain why I couldn't find my favorite Adidas shorts sometimes. He sensed my lax attitude about the beer and took and sip and pretended to make a face at the fuzz. I told him to cut the BS with me and remember who he was dealing with here and we both laughed. That broke the ice and he proceeded to swig the bottle like a seasoned pro.

“Jeff”, I started, “I want you to know that since you were a little boy, I've only ever wanted the best for you—in every possible way.”

Another obligatory eye roll and a mumbled “I know that, Dad—sheesh!”.

“Now Jeff, listen to me here for a minute, I continued. Aside form footing the ridiculous bill for this party of yours tonight, I picked up something special for your birthday. One more gulp of beer and an intense stare to me as he tried to figure out what kind of car I was leading up to. Then he finished the beer. “Can I have another one Dad? Please! It's my only 18th birthday, c'mon!”

Ok, I relented but I want one too, and I have something else for us as well.. He swung back around from the fridge, hading me the beer and looked at the tiny envelope in my hands.

“I have something here for you son, and now that you're a man I think you can handle this.” He looked again at the envelope as he flopped back into the chair and asked me if I was going to smoke a jay with him. Now I was the one who rolled my eyes, and explained that I wasn't quite that kind of Dad, but I did have something for him that I could almost guarantee none of his friends Dads would give them.

“What is it Dad?” he asked, his curiosity piqued. “Whatcha got for me Pops?”

“A donkey dick.” I flatly replied.

Jeff blew beer foam thru his nose—spraying my legs and shorts. Coughing and trying to regain composure, he laughed out loud at me.

“No, really c'mon Dad.” he belted out. The beer was going to his head fast and I could see his beefy pink cheeks flush with alcohol and laughter. “What is it?”.

I explained to him about the old Chinaman in the shop and the supposed effects of the herbs and Jeff just stared at me—trying to determine if I was pulling his leg, or if premature Alzheimer's was settling in.

“I'm serious, Jeff.” I explained. “Guys with monster cocks get ahead in this world and even though I don't believe I've done you wrong in the family jewels department, I want you to have every advantage possible in this world.”

He knew my spiel was of the utmost honesty and sincerity and he quieted down. “So what do I do?” He looked to me for a lead. I handed him the envelope and told him to add the crushed leaves to his beer.

“Even if it tastes bad, swallow it all and don't puke, OK? I chided him.

“I know how to drink beer Dad”, he mocked and snatched the satchel from my hands. The reality of what I was presenting him kicked in, and I knew that at this moment a new car was the FURTHEST thing from his hormonally charged teen mind. I had to admit—I was on the edge of my seat, myself.

Jeff added the mixture to his beer and glug, glug, glugged it down. He sat back down in the chair and looked completely normal. I watched intently for any sign of change. He looked down at his crotch, back up at me, and then let go a huge belch. That made us both laugh an then Jeff's face went completely blank and pale. He bolted up quickly in front of me and grabbed my arm.

“Oh my God, Dad!, he exclaimed nervously, I think it's starting.”

Jeff began trembling and his grip on my arm grew stronger—almost to the point that it hurt me. I steadied him at the hip with my other arm and frantically panicked, wondering if I'd just poisoned my own son. A huge smile dawned on his lips and he shook my arm excitedly. I broke my gaze from his face as I noticed his baggy khaki trousers begin to heave and stir. He was tenting alright and my curiosity kept me glued in my seat—at eye-level with his growing mound. Jeff threw his head backwards, let out a lewd moan, and inhaled deeply. When he did, the bulge in his trousers lunged forward and a large burgeoning outline was taking shape. With each low guttural moan, Jeff was breathing life into his new baby. Within minutes the distinct outline of a large eggplant was bulging out of his pants I wondered how insane this night would become.

“Awww yeah—that feels sooooo damn good”, Jeff hissed under his breath.

His voice had already deepened and his nascent donkey drew the attention of his hands. Both of them rubbed the enormous eggplant bulge in his pants and he caught my eye with a glace as he squeezed his pant mound. I could see pure sexual lust in his eyes and it was a little awkward for me to recognize that in my son. I'd seen this look before during really intense, connected sex sessions with girlfriends—even my wives now and then, but this was different. I could literally smell and taste the pheromones Jeff's pits were exuding and the heady aroma drew me in.

Jeff's moaning continued and I thought his antagonized pants my burst right in my face. It was as if someone were filling a giant water balloon down his leg and soon the bulge began to resemble a butternut squash. I doubted the cotton of his khaki's ability to retain the monster much longer and wondered when it would stop. I mean—I did want Jeff to have a huge one, but I didn't want him relegated to a traveling sideshow or medical journal.

Oh shit—what if I gave him too much? What if he's too young? Thoughts were racing through my mind, but the manly aromas now wafting form Jeff's body were starting to bone me as well. Jeff's breathing began to slow and the bulge seemed to have slowed its rapid rate of expansion. I couldn't help myself any longer and I reached forward and yanked down Jeff's trousers.

What lay before my eyes was the wildest thing I'd ever seen. Jeff's cock had morphed into a heavy, lewd column of meat. He'd even developed a massive juicy foreskin that bloated out the circumference of the cock and make it appear even larger. It had to be at least 15 inches in length and probably 10 inches around. It bobbed and throbbed in front of my face and seemed to be breathing on it's own. His ball sack hung a solid foot below his groin and his testes had swollen up like ripe Florida grapefruits. Jeff wrapped both hands all the way around it and with his voice definitely an octave lower asked me if it was really him.

He squeezed it and shook the bloated beast a few times. Jeff shuddered in ecstasy and a tablespoon of thick precum oozed from his quarter-slot piss-slit, and began a viscous, slow-mo descent from Jeff's monster and dripped lewdly onto my leg. I shoveled the goo up with my fingers and brought it to my nose. It reeked of semen personified, and I nearly succumbed to the Cloroxy smell, as if I were scrubbing an unventilated bathtub. Jeff leaned in and inhaled deeply. When he did my cock jumped and the head burst forth from my tight Adidas shorts. That gave us both a jolt and Jeff's monster bounced one final time and bloated up another inch in diameter. That was as big as it was gonna get, and it was gargantuan by any standards. Neither of us knew what to expect from his newly birthed monsterbone.

My son was now a magnificent bullstud. His monster meatshaft would be the envy of men everywhere, his now stacked bulbous chest had grown a thick matt of fur. His voice was a full octave deeper and he'd developed a visible 5 o'clock shadow.

His eyes were lustfully wild and it was plain that I'd turned my son into a sexual beast. He grabbed my head from behind and forced my mouth onto his Easter ham. My eyes bulged and my lips stretched tightly just to accommodate the head. As my eyes teared up, I looked up at him and saw maniacal evil in his eyes. I don't think he even knew it was me he was forcing onto his cock. I don't think he cared either. At that moment my manboy just needed his nut. I got him into this situation and I was to endure the brunt of his first powerdong experience.

He bludgeoned my mouth and I whimpered like a punished boy, taking my medicine. Copious amounts of precum poured from his nozzle like a broken beertap and my swollen lips barely accommodated one third of his might girth. He pumped and grunted and I gasped for air thru my nose. Thick bolts of precum squished out the corners of my mouth and landed in loud splats on the floor each time he plunged his beast into my skull. My boner was throbbing like mad but I couldn't touch it because I needed both hands to steady myself as my son tore me a new one. Tears streamed down my purple swollen face and I nearly passed out form asphyxiation. Synaptic stars shot off like fireworks in my brain due to lack of oxygen and then the first volley hit.

The cum gushed so intensely out of Jeff's cock that the pressure blew him off of me like a crimped firehose unraveling. Trying to get a hold of the angry beast, Jeff grabbed it tightly with both hands and attempted to direct the lurid flow of semen, but it was no use. He shot off at least ten huge wads of cum, each one pulsing out of his monster and hosing me down in warm pungent jizz. Jeff grunted and growled and I could literally see his balls beginning to deflate as they unleashed their substantial payload. A thick gloppy cupful of jizz splatted squarely in my face and I looked out from under the drippin ooze to see Jeff collapse back into his chair. I shot my meager manwad into a puddle of my son's mitochondrial spermpool, and struggled to catch my breath.

Within moments Jeff was snoring in the chair, and I scrambled to clean up the slippery mess. My den was awash with jizz and I sopped it with as many bar towels as I could find. My body was covered in the gooey gore and I worried that Jeff's guests might start arriving soon so I hurriedly wiped down everything and ran to the shower.

When I came back Jeff began to stir, the swelling of his thick member had begun to subside and in the light it looked like a like a saintly baby sleeping.

“Oh my God, Dad, Jeff started, I just had the most fucked up dream.”

When he looked down for a reality check, he gulped hard and his eyes shot up at me in near disbelief. There was an intense moment of silence and then Jeff's signature smile appeared. He confirmed what I had always hoped he would say to me.

“You're the best Dad ever!”

“Happy Birthday Jeff, I replied. Never forget who's your Daddy!”


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