“You know, your ma always used to say it was ugly”, Dad said sheepishly.

The thing I was staring at a certainly not ugly. Those words ‘beercan-thick’ that I had read so many times on the internet sprang to mind. Neither of us moved.

Dad eventually broke the spell.

“I guess it is kinda misshapen” he volunteered.

“Dad, it’s huge” I blurted, immediately embarrassed at the enthusiasm that was so present in my voice.

Dad grinned.

“I know, right?” he said, cheerfully. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. I thought of my own, how I used to play with it in bed before I turned the lamp out. It was like a flute to his trombone.

“I mean, I bet I couldn’t even get my fingers round it!” I said, not intending it as a come-on but immediately realising it sounded like one.

“Well why don’t you try it?” Dad asked, his eyes fixed on mine.

I stared back at him. “That’s a bit weird Dad, don’t you think?” He laughed, embarrassed, and I joined in, quite obviously forced.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he replied, tucking it back into his shorts.

That night I lay in bed but didn’t play with myself. My own thing suddenly seemed insignificant to me. All I could think about was Dad’s giant cock, brushing against my face, sliding between my lips, rubbing between my buttocks, spilling its thick load on my tongue… I lay there wishing Dad would knock and enter my room but he never did. I fell asleep, annoyed with myself for rejecting Dad’s advances, hoping that he hadn’t felt too spurned to try again.