Morning Wood

I woke up when my Daddy crawled into bed with me the morning after he returned. I was groggy, because he'd come back late last night and I'd heard him and Mom fighting. Something about "morning wood," he had it and she told him she wouldn't take care of it any more. Just another mystery a kid picks up and never, never gets explained.

But his big, warm arms were around me, I felt the strong, hairy, warm chest pressing against my back and his lips were right at my ear. "Morning, Son."

"Good morning, Daddy."

His hands were at my briefs, I only wore my Spiderman briefs to bed and he was slipping those from my body. I didn't fight him but didn't help him. I was confused.

"Not for me it isn't." Daddy whispered in my ear, a moist sound with a smell of unwashing morning breath that was powerful and rank. He smelled of old beer, of smoke, of sweat and oil and dirt and grime. He'd worked all day on a construction site and then went to a club after a quick dinner at a grimy fast food place, and he'd drunk a number of beers and other drinks, coming home at 11:00pm or so, mostly intoxicated, bellowing for my mother to come out and help him to bed, he wanted her now, damn it! After a period of noise, shaking sounds and moans and groans, had come the fight and the words, "morning wood." Mom worked at a Denny's, the morning shift, she left home at 5:30 a.m. and worked from 6:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. Daddy said she was damned well going to quit so she could take care of his "morning wood," and she had told him no, she wasn't. I fell asleep before that argument was over, and now it was early morning, just a little bit of light in the window that wasn't from the street lights, and Daddy was in my bed, holding me in his arms.

"No, not for me." Daddy said as his lips kissed me on the neck. His hands had finished pulling my briefs from my body and I felt his uppermost leg pulling up over me. My bare skin touched his bare skin and I realized that he wasn't wearing any clothes, either. Naked in bed with my naked Daddy.

"What's wrong, Daddy?" I asked as his hands stroked over my bare body, touching me from my shoulders to my chest to my stomach to my wiener, and there the fingers caught hold and stroked it.

I gasped and Daddy said, "Your mother didn't take care of my morning wood, Son. So I got to give it to you."

"Huh?" I said.

But Daddy moved and I was rolled over onto my stomach and Daddy was on top of me, he was sitting on my buttocks and I heard him spitting.

"It's going to hurt at first, Son, but then you'll like it." Daddy said, that husky moist sound still in his voice. He spit again and then he said, "Now here comes Daddy's morning wood, Son. Hold still and it'll hurt less."

I didn't understand until I felt it burrowing between my butt cheeks and at first I didn't recognize it. Then it hit my butthole and I knew what it was. Daddy had that funny thing wrong with his wiener. I'd seen it like that in the bathroom one morning when Daddy was in there, groaning and rubbing it like it hurt, then he'd seen me and cursed, slammed the door shut.

Now it was back, and pressing against my butthole and then.... "AAAhh!" I yelped, because Daddy had just pushed it into my butt, the big head of his wiener was inside me, inside me!

"Ow, ow, Daddy, it hurts, take it out, take it out!" I yelled.