Granddaddy s Love Chapter 01 Kissing my granddaddy
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Doing It For Dad (chapter 1) free porn video
DOING IT FOR DAD
Chapter One
Putting my dad into "Golden Days" sheltered housing was one of the worst
things I've ever had to do in my whole life.
"It's nice here, dad," I said, trying my best to cheer him up. "Your own
place, with a little park nearby you can go for walks in. There's a
community room with an enormous telly. And they organise day trips, too."
I had spotted a notice, pinned to a board along the corridor, advertising
an excursion to Scarborough in a month's time.
But dad looked unhappy. "I dunno, son," he said. "It's not what I'm used
to. I wish your mum was here."
It had been two years since mum had died of cancer. Afterwards dad had
gone into a decline, suffering frequent bouts of depression. Physically
he was fine, relatively speaking. He'd always led a fairly active life,
and now, having just passed his 79th birthday, was fitter than most men
his age. He'd lost a lot of weight in recent months, and looked better
for it.
"Why can't I come and live with you and Elaine?" he asked, for the
umpteenth time.
I sighed. "I've told you, dad. We just don't have the room, since Julie
moved back in." Julie was my 28 year old daughter, whose foundering
marriage had finally crashed onto the rocks six months ago. Elaine and I
had never liked her husband, Davey, so we were relieved when Julie turned
up on our doorstep, suitcase in hand, asking to come home. She had moved
back into her old room. "Just until I find my feet again," she had
promised.
My dad looked around the small space which was to be his home. "OK, son,"
he said, sadly. "I know you've got your own family to look out for, I
know that. I suppose I'll just have to make the best of it here."
"Oh, dad!" I said. "You're my family too! Look, if there was any other
way, I'd take it. But this," I gestured around the room, "is the best I
can do. And I know you'll be comfortable here, with your books and your
CD's and your DVD's." He didn't look convinced.
Once the unpacking was done, I chatted with dad for another hour or so,
and then left for the half hour drive home.
"Well?" Elaine asked when I got in. "How'd it go?"
"He feels a bit lost, I suppose," I replied. "But I'm sure he'll settle
down in a few days. I'll pay him a visit at the weekend."
When Saturday came I drove across town to dad's new home. With "Golden
Days" being a sheltered housing complex, getting into the building
involved buzzing an intercom system. I pressed the button which was
labelled with the number of dad's flat.
"Yes?" came dad's voice. "Who is it?" I thought he sounded a little
shaky.
"Hi dad, it's Charlie," I said into the intercom. "Just came to see how
you're doing."
"I can't see you today," he replied. "I'm... I'm not feeling very well."
"Is there anything I can do?" I asked, concerned. "Have you called a
doctor?"
"No," he said. "It's nothing serious, but now's not a good time."
"OK," I said. "Well, I'll phone you later, then."
I was puzzled. Dad sounded all right, apart from a slight tremble in his
voice. Yet he had told me that he was feeling unwell, so I couldn't just
leave without first checking on him properly. I buzzed for the duty
warden.
"Warden," came a man's voice. "Can I help?"
"Hi," I said. "My name's Charlie Ellsbrough. I've come to visit my dad,
Samuel Ellsbrough. I've buzzed him, and he says he's not well. I'm a bit
worried, so..."
"OK," the warden replied. "I'll let you in."
The outer door opened with a click, and I walked in. Moments later I was
knocking on dad's door, only to be greeted with silence.
"No answer?" I turned to see the warden, a man in his thirties, strolling
down the corridor towards me. "Here, I'll open it for you." He unlocked
the door with his master key. "There you go," he said, and sauntered off.
I pushed the door open, and stepped in. "Dad?" I called out, softly. Then
I heard a sudden movement from the living room along the short inner
hallway.
"Don't come in, son!" my dad called back. "Please! Just leave me alone
for a bit."
Now I was genuinely worried. Dad sounded really frightened. I opened the
living room door, and entered.
There, standing in the corner of the room like a trapped rabbit, was my
dad. He looked fine, apart from one immediately obvious thing.
"Dad," I said, closing the door. "You're dressed up as a woman."
It was a pretty pointless observation to make. My dad, my 79 year-old
dad, was wearing a knee-length pink floral patterned cotton dress. His
chest bulged with a fake bust. His legs were encased in thick, tan-
coloured tights, and on his feet were a pair of black court shoes with
two inch heels. His once bushy eyebrows were now pencil-thin, and there
was makeup on his face. A short grey wig sat on his head.
"Dad," I said, sitting down. "I didn't know. How long have you been doing
this?"
Dad slumped down in his armchair, shaking his head. "You've got the wrong
end of the stick, Charlie," he told me. "I've never done this before.
Honest."
I found that hard to accept. Dad's makeup was very well done, certainly
beyond his ability to do without a lot of practice. His eyelashes had
been darkened with mascara, and the pinkish eyeshadow and lipstick
matched his dress perfectly. He was even wearing a small pair of earrings
and a pearl necklace.
"It looks to me like you've been doing this a long time," I said. "Unless
someone here's helping you out."
"Yes," he replied. "That's exactly it. One of the women comes and puts
the makeup on."
"Well," I said, quite nonplussed. "That's... kind of her."
Poor dad, I thought. I knew that depression took all sorts of forms, but
I hadn't expected it to turn my father into a septuagenarian
transvestite.
"Look," dad said, leaning towards me in his chair. "Can you keep a
secret?"
I smiled. "Of course, dad. I won't tell a soul about your new, er, hobby.
Don't worry."
"No, no," replied dad, shaking his bewigged head. "You don't understand.
They're making me do this."
He was right, I didn't understand. "Who are making you do what, dad?" I
asked.
"Them. The other inmates," he replied, conspiratorially.
"Inmates?"
"The women who live here. I'm the only man, you see. But they want the
place to be lived in only by women. They told me that if I wanted to stay
here, I have to dress as a woman all the time."
Now, my dad has always been a quick thinker. When the occasion demanded,
he could be an extremely inventive and convincing liar. I had just caught
him doing something he clearly didn't want me to know about, so I was
sure he'd concocted this far-fetched story to cover himself.
"OK, dad," I said, sitting back. "Would you like me to look into moving
you to another place? It might take a while, mind." I already knew that
these sheltered housing schemes had waiting lists months long. If dad
really was being forced to dress as a woman by the other residents, he
would surely jump at the chance to move out as soon as possible.
"No," he said. "Don't do anything. I don't want to go through the
upheaval all over again. But I think it would be best if..." His voice
trailed off.
"If what, dad?" I asked.
He looked at me, a deep sadness in his eyes. "I think it would be best if
you didn't visit me anymore. I don't want you seeing me like this. In
fact, I'd like you to go now, please."
This really took me by surprise. "All right, dad," I said, standing up.
"if that's what you want, I'll go. But I will come and see you again. I'm
your son, and I love you. There's no need for you to feel ashamed about
this. Not with me."
I let myself out. I had no idea why dad had started to dress up as a
woman. Perhaps it was some kind of depression related syndrome, to help
him cope with not having mum around anymore. If he gained comfort from
it, who was I to argue?
As I walked past the community room, the duty warden appeared again.
"How's your dad?" he asked. "Is he OK?"
"Yeah, he's fine," I replied. "Just a headache, as it turned out."
"Ah," the warden said. "And was he dressed?"
I looked at him. "Dressed?"
"Yeah. Was he dressed as Samantha? That's what he likes everyone to call
him around here."
"I see," I said, taken aback. Dad's hobby was evidently an open secret.
"Yes. Yes, he was dressed. It's not something he's done before, so it
came as a bit of a shock when I saw him just now."
The warden nodded. "It's more common than you might think, Mr
Ellsbrough," he said. "A lot of men find it hard to adapt when they move
into sheltered housing. Most especially when they find they're living
under the same roof as a bunch of women. You'd be amazed how many men
dress up as women in an attempt to fit in. The women usually think it's a
bit of a giggle, frankly, but it's harmless enough."
I nodded. "That was more or less the conclusion I'd reached. Thanks for
the confirmation. It's eased my mind. Tell me," I continued, "is it usual
for men like my dad to not want visitors? Even close family, like me?"
"Ah, he's asked you to stay away, has he? Yes, that does happen, I'm
afraid. It's a sort of guilty shame thing. He doesn't want you to think
less of him for the way he's adapting to his new lifestyle, you see."
"It can't be easy for him," I agreed. "And with his state of mind being
what it is..."
"All you can do," said the warden, "is be as supportive to your dad as
you can."
"Whilst not making him feel uncomfortable when I visit him," I added.
"Pretty much. Nice to see you again."
The warden let me out. I walked thoughtfully across to my car and sat
inside for a few moments. Poor dad, I thought. He and I had always been
very close. I didn't want him feeling unhappy at having me visit him.
Whatever his reasons were for wanting to dress as a woman and call
himself Samantha, I had to support him. The question was, "how?".
When I got home, I told Elaine what had happened. "The answer's obvious,"
said Elaine. There was a strange twinkle in her eye.
"It is?" I asked, in response to her statement.
"Yes, it is," she replied, adding, "though you might not care for it too
much."
"If it keeps dad happy about letting me visit him, I'll consider
anything," I said. "But I'm at a loss to see what could be done here."
Elaine sat down on the sofa beside me. "Well, think about it," she said.
"Your dad, for whatever reason, has decided to wear a dress and live as
Samantha. Naturally he feels acutely embarrassed at being seen by his own
son, who he loves."
"I know that much. Go on."
"Charlie, your dad knows you love him. But right now he needs your
empathy, too."
I shrugged. "I understand that he's having a tough time adapting, Elaine.
I get that. And, yes, I do love him. We've always been close. I'm not
about to abandon him now, just because he likes wearing a dress. He's my
dad. Of course I sympathise with him."
"No, no!" Elaine jumped in. "Not sympathy, Charlie. Empathy. You need to
put yourself in his shoes, so to speak"
I stared at my wife. "Are you about to suggest what I think you're about
to suggest?" I asked.
Now it was Elaine's turn to shrug. "I said you might not care for it,"
she said.
My mouth gaped. "You are, aren't you?" I said. "You're suggesting I
empathise with my dad by dressing up as a woman when I visit him."
Elaine smiled. "It wouldn't be that bad, would it?" she said. "Once or
twice a week at the most. It'd make him feel a lot happier about you
seeing him."
"But Elaine," I said, flustered. "I'm 48 years old! I'd look ridiculous!"
"Your dad's 79," Elaine countered.
"Yes," I replied, "but it's OK for him. He's the one living in sheltered
housing. He doesn't have to go outdoors in a frock. It's me who'd be the
one driving across town looking like a... like a..."
"The word is "woman", Charlie. Trust me, your dad would be thrilled to
see you getting behind him like this."
The whole idea was outrageous. "Why are you even suggesting this?" I
asked.
"Well, I'm very fond of your dad, too. I'd like to know he's living out
the remainder of his days contentedly. Having his own son's support and
understanding would be a huge comfort to him. And let's face it, he may
not be around for too many more years. Besides, the crossdressing thing
might just be a phase while he adjusts to his new surroundings. He'll
probably stop in a few weeks time."
My thoughts were spinning. "So you seriously think that, by dressing up
as a woman, I'd be helping my dad?" I asked.
"I do," she said. "It couldn't hurt to try, could it?"
"No," I said. "I suppose not. God, Elaine, I can't believe I'm actually
considering this. But I wouldn't know how to begin."
"That's all right," Elaine replied. "Julie and I will sort you out with
everything you need."
"Julie?" I exclaimed. "I can't involve her in this! What would she think
of me?"
"I'm already involved, dad," said Julie, striding into the living room
suddenly, a broad grin on her face.
"Julie!" I gasped. "How long have you been listening?"
"Long enough," she replied. "And I think you'd be doing a lovely thing
for grandad."
I swallowed, and took a deep breath. "Well then," I said. "I'll do it.
For dad."
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