Subject: Watching Daddy (Part One) for gay / incest Reader Note: This is a love story pure and simple. A loving tribute to a dad from his son. If this offends you- and by that I mean male sexuality in all its fullness, or if you are not of legal age, then please do not read this. If you have comments, please email me at gmx Please give to Nifty, your support keeps it going! Watching Daddy Part One: My dad has been gone well over 30 years this year. I can still see him as clearly as ever. Sure, I have photos but I don’t need them, he is engrained in my heart and soul, my very being…forever! This is a saga. It’s a life, my life. It spans from my beginning until dad’s untimely demise before I was 30. I have recorded and shared parts of this saga before but this is a more comprehensive look back, a fuller picture. The place inside NIFTY to put this saga of memories was perplexing to me. It is a gay story, a bisexual story and it is a son’s tale of experiencing a dad whom he adored in every way. My story is unique and I think, if you stick with it, you will see what I mean. I will keep sharing with as many chapters as it takes and try to enlighten my readers in all things me, and all things my dad. The title “watching daddy” is truly the key. I am and was from my very beginning a true, blue, 100% voyeur. And my dad was my muse. Yes, I watched others. But my daddy was my one and only real fixation, my hero! I was his only child, his son, his little man. My early ill-health and sometimes over sensitiveness caused him to put me in the front and centre of his life. Let me tell you how he looked back then, well, for almost all of his life really. I was born in the 1950’s and dad would have been in his mid 30’s and a stunner for men and women alike. Dad had “it” and he knew it! My description of him is full and complete. I studied him like a masterpiece in a museum as often as I could and from sweet head to tender toes. My dear father was born in England and moved to the US for high-level career advancement reasons where he met my mum and then had me. He was the most serene and lovely man you’d ever want to know. He was a master in corporate affairs and rose very high in the ranks and was a VP for most of his career. He had matinee charm and style. I say this not to be clich� but because it was true and he had many, many admires on both sides of the Atlantic. He had rusty golden hair, cut short and thick. He sported a moustache and during the 70’s even grew a trimmed beard. His facial hair was a reddish brown, almost a shade of golden really and looked superb. Dad stood at near six feet and never grew flabby. He cycled, swam and did the occasional gym visit to keep trim and toned. His muscular body was perfectly proportioned and never looked hulking or over-built. He had sexy body hair in that rusty gold colour and though not overly thick, his body had a pleasant coating apart from his ass and back which remained rather smooth. The swimming he did continued to tone a well defined chest with rings of rusty hair circling each reddish-pink man-nipple. His crown-like pubic nest was full and thick and sat atop his very classical hefty uncut manhood which in my early days, I did not regard as sexual at all; it was just what I knew to be exactly what one might see in a museum hanging on a precious statue from some unearthed temple of old. His flowing, serenely tapered foreskin hung around his manly appendage with an almost velvet-like skin tone with gentle little puffy creamy pink tufts or folds gently drooping away from the “secret” hidden cock-knob within. Being born in the US, I was sadly cut back then and I found the fact that his penis lay inside a fleshy sheath to be absolutely mysterious and very visually fascinating. The way it seemed have its own coat of skin was a real marvel to me, again, just like a nude male museum antiquity or some famous painting. Thus I am a foreskin fanatic…one of my many manly delights I relish in! REGGIE, as he was known by all, possessed a handsome face with great character, familiar distinction and a killer smile. Add to it ruddy cheeks and playful blue eyes that made you feel all warm and loved. That cute moustache just made him look damn sexy; it was always trimmed and not too overwhelming. Maybe it was his mixed ancestry of Scotch and Danish that made his appearance so very appealing and so easy on the eyes. Dad sported a rather shapely, handsomely sculptured pair of size 11 feet. His feet were artfully tapered from heel to toes, growing rather wide at the ball and thus he wore wide 11’s. His big toes were large and long, and with certain shoes he was best in size 11 and � because of his slightly longish big toes. His arches were high and his heels were meaty and fleshy pink. Wonderfully healthy in skin colour and tone. No hard skin, no funny or long toenails. Just amazing and well kaynarca escort looked after feet! Feet that many others lusted after and loved; it was not just me as my saga will reveal. My chapters will get into many of these events as they unfolded in my life. He had a trim 32 inch waist and wore wonderful suits and trousers that showed off his scrumptious assets, by that I mean a great noticeable pouch and succulent ass cheeks! The times I saw men and women grab his ass in fun, well, I just plain lost count! Besides voyeurism, I love men’s feet…and things about feet. So not only will you be privileged to all my foot-love shenanigans, you will see my other “man loves” begin to shine thru. And all observed and explored using my dad…many times, completely unaware of my…shall I say, pulling all the strings? You see, to be quite honest, I was more of a “little mad scientist” and my dad was my beautiful and totally delicious guinea pig. A guinea pig I loved beyond measure, but my gorgeous “lab rat” magnifique, superbe, splendide, somptueux, fastueux! The French have such a way with words! So not only did I watch daddy from my very birth, I learned to manipulate, posses and ultimately control him. And nobody…and I mean nobody ever stood in my way! I found myself with a growing list of interests all wrapped around dad but in the male in general. Voyeurism-feet-socks- ticking-foreskin…and the many mysteries surrounding the ass! My list grew and grew as I watched, noted and plotted my future little experiments or events that I had in mind for my dad. Did I have rivals for my dad and his loyalties? Sure. Mum was a huge rival. But I had to learn to play the game and learn to work around her…and I did. Many other men and women attempted to become my dad’s controller…but I found each a useful tool and a necessary participant but ultimately they were no match for me. I was his son, his one and only. At the end…I won…every match well played. You see this is not the standard tale of adult-youth. No. You know it, in all those other tales the older is in charge. Not here. Never here. Daddy had no idea early on just what a game player I was. He may have been the darling in the boardroom and master, well paid executive…shrewd and all knowing in his 9-5 world. But I knew the lay of the land outside the boardroom, dare I say…I was very keenly aware of how the rest of the world worked. I soon saw and grew to respect the role of human relations, interactions and physical needs. Daddy thought he knew it all. But some folks are just naturals, I was one of those. In the very early years, I can say with all my heart, all my observations and experiments (I shall call my little adventures my experiments) were purely non-sexual. Really! I mean it. Don’t shrug your shoulders! It’s true. Daddy was my guy, I loved him with all my heart…and I began my life watching him everywhere, anywhere and I did it openly and also secretly. The early days were purely data gathering. Learning the how’s and why’s the male adult. It was all very scientific and highly fascinating. I lived for it. Dad was my muse. He was pure perfection and I loved watching him all the time. My eyes were always on him. And I took copious mental notes! From learning to walk, I learned to hide. And when you hide away…you see things. The voyeur is fed, nourished and grows. It became a tool of so much value and so much pleasure! I loved my mum very dearly. BUT she did often question my little “quirks” as they became known and tried to stand in my way to observe what my dad was up to at any given point. Thus the need to be very devious and in “high stealth” mode as I became fond of calling it. The need to be invisible and able to slip below the radar and mu had very good radar! I think you get the picture. And if all else failed, throw a wobbly tantrum or have a fainting spell. Nobody wants to live thru a tantrum or make somebody sicker…so just say “yes” and all will be well. My skill level as a player in the art of getting my way grew day by day. I was very, very good and my earnest eyes (just like my dad’s) opened doors. As my chapters or parts are added to this directory, I shall always alert readers if it will include bisexual goings on. Since this is posted in “gay” I feel duty bound to alert readers. But I really feel daddy was pansexual and his life was hard to pigeonhole into one category. He was loved by both sexes. And rightly so! There was so much to love! I should also toss in another fact, I loved my dad’s smells. I was like a well trained bloodhound…my father’s bodily scents were known, loved and collected whenever possible. The keen reader will know how I collected them, yes, I took his discarded clothing items as often as I could raid the laundry basket before mum could wash away his manly aromas. I can’t recall not clutching at orhanlı escort a pair of his recently worn dress socks, still warm if possible, and just rubbing them all over my face. His smells were my way of becoming part of him and capturing his very essences. I know other shrewd readers will be thinking another thought now, too. Did I collect any used condoms or fallen man-seed captured in a hanky or tissue? I say, all will be revealed as my life with dad unfolds with each chapter. And there is much to recall and celebrate. He was so worth all my efforts, the things I saw and heard and many of which were my very own created situations were priceless! And now I share it all with you! I shall end my first chapter with a beloved recollection. The very seeds of one of my many fetishes related to life with dad, the foot fetish! Back then, dad was dressed by mum, not physically mind you. He did all the purchasing but she chose the ones he wore each day to his high powered job. She took a great deal of pride in her handsome man and how he looked. She selected every article he wore day to day; she picked socks, underwear, the whole wardrobe. I think he got to pick on weekends but not if they were going out, then it was back to her choices. She’d lay it all out on their bed; I can still see the whole scene as if it were now. The suit trousers lay open, so not to crease and the suit coat on the back of the chair in the corner of the bedroom. The ironed shirt lay upon the pillow with a suitable necktie and the underwear next to it. A white v-neck t-shirt lay beside it most days. And then his socks lay side by side on the bed like long silky flags announcing dad was dressing. I always looked at his socks in the early days. Mum would be gone, off to the kitchen to make his breakfast. Dad would be shaving his face and trimming his moustache in the bathroom wearing only a towel loosely wrapped around his 32 waist. I’d sit and just look at those socks. They represented dad and dad’s wonderful feet. The socks he bought at two places. A very nice men’s shop in New York when he was there on business and the other’s came from a men’s store in London. He swore by these back then in the 1960’s and well into the 1980’s. Their style was over-the-calf (OTC) and a blend of cotton and synthetic. Before I was born he wore many with elastic calf belts and clips to keep them in place. He still had the sock garters and clips in his sock drawer. I thought they looked amazing. Later in time, I got dad to wear them but that is a bit later on. I will tell all as we progress! The style was mainly solid with gold-toes and some gently ribbed with solid heels and toe caps. The colours were charcoal gray, black, golden tan, chocolate brown, deep navy and a rich burgundy. A few pairs of white tennis style socks were there for his fitness work on weekends. He did own a few odd socks as well. He sported a few OTC forest green ones with a gold emblem on the side of a fleur-de-lis type and some very sheer black and gray ones that had solid toe and heel caps. I was fascinated by this sheer, see-thru type and grabbed them one day when I was rummaging about in dad’s sock drawer. I loved to look in his dresser drawers and was not discouraged. So I did! I loved to stroke the silky ones with my fingers; they felt so unusual as compared to other socks. I brought a pair to him one day and asked him why they were so silky and see-thru. He explained they were worn (back then) with a tuxedo and his very low leather black slip-on loafers. Ones he hardly wore and looked to me back then like the type Prince Charming wore in Cinderella. I had not seen that outfit yet on him at that stage. He promised that the next time he and mum went to a gala event or a wedding, he’d let me see them in use. I couldn’t wait. I knew I might have to make a fuss some Saturday or Sunday to make him put them on. Being the only child- the ruler of the roost, I could do things like that. But for a weekday, I had to just let him get ready for work. I’d eagerly watch and assistant my dad in getting ready for the office each day back then. The transformation from towel-clad to suited business executive before my very eyes. I’d hand him each clothing item as he directed me to. But I really loved to watch him sit on the edge of the big bed, and pull those wonderful OTC socks up along his muscular furry legs and cover each of his supple feet with whatever colour he was to have to match his suit and trousers. The socks clung tightly like custom made hosiery to each leg and foot and reached right up and hugged his cycle-strong calf muscles perfectly. The high cost of each pair was in its perfect fit and great holding power; they never drooped or wrinkled. He would hold his socked feet up for my inspection, “How do they look, Tony?” I’d gently give them each a stroke with my index finger, running tepeören escort it along his very pronounced arch and make him giggle. At that age, that was a real bit of fun. Making dad laugh. He was very ticklish indeed. My small, sharp finger really dug in and sailed across the silky thin sock material in back and forth motions. Dad would hold his feet up as I stood there tickling until he could take it no more and he proceeded to dress the rest of the way. Mum was never far off and heard the giggling, “Tony, are you distracting your father?” She was all business in the morning. I think those memories last a lifetime. Seeing dad’s socked feet, enjoying the way his feet looked in the socks he wore each day. The very feel (the tactile input) of his socked feet in those socks and of course, making him giggle with my tickling efforts. I suppose even then I was a foot fanatic but I had no idea, it was all very innocent and part of my daily routines. The thin silky feel of each sock was really incredibly enticing and made me want to touch his feet often as possible. His good humour and incredible tolerance for my little sock-foot niche was really above and beyond the call of fatherly duties. I stress the complete innocence of my early foot fetish days. At that stage “sexual” did not come into it. The rush and giddy feel of seeing his feet was more like the excitement one might feel before getting a present or going on a trip. His feet gave me a head rush and a feeling of a joyful buzzing all over. Dad’s feet were just a lovely indulgence and something I looked forward to everyday, odd or crazy as it may sound, it was my little private delight. He’d slip on whatever shoes he was to wear; he seemed to have endless shoes in his closet. Mum let him pick his shoes each day and they always went with what he wore. He had many fine leather lace-ups as well as slip-on loafers. He had suede ones as well. He even had “penny loafers” with the penny in the little slit on top. Brown and black were the main colours. He had trainers (sneakers) as well as hiking boots. He had galoshes for rainy days, just in case. The floor of his wardrobe was a sea of shoes, many with wooden shoe-forms fit in to protect their shape. He took great pride in all he owned. I did try his shoes on; they were always just too big. He was 11 mainly and I only 9’s by the time I was full grown. He shoes always remained big on me. But when I was young, they seemed like boats. I learned to pull out the shoe-forms and put them back. He knew I did, never minded it one bit. I loved the feel of walking in his shoes, no joke! He worked long days. He maintained that style of life until he was just over 60. He would leave the home at just after 8 am and be home around 7 or 8 PM. I learned later in life that he had many “after work” commitments. Mum just knew he worked long hours but dad’s faithful male office junior (Harrison) always made sure dad was covered since he was more or less a glamorous PA. Harrison will come into the tales of my life in good time as well. He was smitten with my dad, too and travelled between the two head offices as my dad did. They were a team indeed! Dad would drive into our side parking area and appear each night like magic. In those early days, I waited by the front bay windows of our house and watched for his car to drive in. He’d walk up to our front door and I’d be there and waiting. Hugs and tickles and jolly moments passed. Dad would toss his briefcase and various items on the hall table. I would be bouncing around like a mad thing. Mum would come and do her usual evening greetings and make him a drink. Usually scotch and soda, which he’d carry to the bedroom. Mum would vanish into the kitchen and I’d tag along with dad. I was eager to be with him and watch and certainly help. He’d sip the large drink as the ice cube tinkled and chat with me. He’d begin the undressing process as neatly as he had done the dressing in the early morning. The suit coat, tie, the now sweaty dress shirt and t-shirt would be replaced by a comfy pullover type shirt. He’d toss me the shirt and undershirt and I’d dutifully take them to the clothes hamper in the bathroom. I knew the scent. A bit of his unique aftershave cologne and dad’s man-sweat, mainly in the underarm parts of each shirt. I loved that smell, so rich and personal. His deodorant was not overpowering at all and let his natural scent shine thru. I would be confronted by other smells, too. Other colognes or perfumes that I did not know as his but assumed they were from his office staff and business associates. Some scents I grew to recognize as ones dad seemed to mix with on a regular basis. He kept on the trousers most nights and would waltz into the front room to his chair and footstool. I followed eager and ready but mostly very giddy, it was foot time! Next chapter will carry on from this point. Every nook and cranny of dad was worth my knowing and observing, his feet were amazing! But all of him was, but let’s start at the ground up! Feel free to write me if you enjoyed this or have read my earlier works elsewhere. Thank you! Tony aka gmx