Story by Custos (Original posting 25 January 2025 on https://inkbunny.net/Custos) Please don’t repost this story, let it remain in my galleries! This story contains material for adults only, do not read if you’re a minor. The material presented is fictional and for adult fantasy only. The author does not condone any of the depicted illegal activity in real life. —— Standalone: It's Okay to Touch, Son 5 The weather is slowly leaving behind the wet snowy winter and one of the first true warm days covers the lands like a comfortable blanket. A gentle breeze breathes life into the clothes on the lines, making them dance and beckon with a peaceful vibe to them. Dave can hear some of the neighbours yelling to each other, making a ruckus in one of their many typical arguments. A missing pair of panties here, a trampled flowerbed there. Even things as mundane as parking a car are not quite as simple in the trailer park. Not without stepping on some toes. The doberman is sitting on the steps of his porch and is wearing his typical black jeans, but this time around a white tank top as well. Too chilly to be bare chested when you’re not working out and sweating like a pig. Upon his lap rests an acoustic guitar, and Dave is calmly strumming away as he remembers a song he used to play for Olivia. It is… or rather, it was their song. The beautiful silver Labrador used to sing the lyrics so beautifully while he played. Her voice is deeply missed. From around the corner, Matthew walks up to his father as Dave continues to play a few chords at a time. The adult male mostly relying on muscle memory while he hums along. - “Hi, daddy. What are you playing?” Dave smiles sweetly at his little boy, eyes full of memories and reminiscing. Briefly marvelling at how much Matthew looks like his mother. Not only physically. But the way he carries himself. The way he moves and smiles. Olivia truly lives on in their little boy. “Hey, kiddo. Jus’ a lil’ song I used to play for yer mother. Heard it on the radio and… I jus’ wanted to play it again. Ya know the one. The one she used to sing to ya before bed.” The adorable ten-year-old pup lowers his schoolbag from his shoulder and sits down next to his daddy, gently taking hold of the strong man’s biceps and giving Dave a reassuring squeeze. The brown canine smiles warmly at his son, appreciating Matthew’s unspoken sympathy. The boy offers a slightly sad smile and nods toward the guitar before resting his head on his daddy’s shoulder. There’s a mildly charged romanticism in Matthew’s mannerisms, but Dave doesn’t mind or let on. - “Can you play it for me, daddy?” Dave pauses for a moment, simply taking in the beautiful innocence of his boy before he turns back to the guitar. A moment of hesitation. Allowing Matthew to continue resting his head onto his father’s shoulder while the doberman readies the instrument. A tune starts flowing from the acoustic guitar as Dave softly hums and sways back and forth, gently making his son rock along with his movements. Though, the song officially has an upbeat nature to it, the lyrics are deep and touching. And the melancholy in Dave’s voice emphasises the sad way they can be interpreted. He is no singer by any means, but for Matthew, he tries to approach the song as beautifully as the boy’s mother would have. “Talkin’ away. I don’t know what I’m to say. I’ll say it anyway. Today’s another day to find ya. Shyin’ away. I’ll be coming for yer love, okay.” Dave can feel the impact of the teardrop upon his bare shoulder. Moistening his short coarse fur. Matthew sniffles softly and clutches his daddy’s arm a little tighter as he nuzzles into it. The brown doberman can feel a lump forming in his throat, breaking his voice a little. Expressing his unspoken sadness to his son. Gently leaning into Matthew to let him know he’s hurting too. “Take… on… me. Take… me… on.” The corner’s of Dave’s vision are slowly blurring too. Every word is feeling tougher and tougher to express. “I’ll be… gone. In a day or two.” Another tear. Another sniffle. Somewhat louder than before. The chord echoing from Dave’s hand dies as it stretches out in sorrow. The doberman clearing his throat as he moves his hand over to Matthew’s back, gently rubbing his son and offering comfort. “Ah. Maybe… Maybe we’re not ready yet. Eh, sweetheart?” The ten-year-old silver Labrador-doberman pup sniffles and rubs his eyes with the back of his free hand, clutching his daddy’s bicep with the other. Pressing himself closely into Dave. Shaking his head. - “No, daddy. Please finish mommy’s song. Please.” The lump grows in Dave’s throat. Nearly making it impossible to speak, let alone sing. Softly and breaking. “Okay, then. Baby. For you. For mommy.” The masculine dog man is sniffling too now, wiping his eyes on his shoulder before continuing to strum the guitar. Finding the correct place again. “Needless to say. I’m odds an’ ends. But I’ll be stumblin’ away. Slowly learnin’ that life… is okay. Say after me. It’s no better to be safe than sorry…” The father and son lean into each other, slowly swaying back and forth along with the music. Hurting. Healing. It’s as if the whole world is holding its breath. Not a sound exists outside their little bubble. A token of respect from an otherwise cruel and merciless world. “Take… on… me. Take… me… on. I’ll be… gone. In a day or two… In a day or two…” The last few notes are drawn out, wafting away on the gentle breeze. Taken away into the world on their journey. However short it may be. Dave lets out a sob. Unguarded, it left his lips before he even realised. It startles the man deeply. The young father looks down at his beautiful son through a watery lens, offering the crying little boy a meek smile. Observing his child’s face full of hurt but wonderful bittersweet memories. For a moment, Matthew had his mother back. Tucking him in. Reading him stories. Telling him he’s her big strong boy. Resting the guitar on the steps to the side with one hand while using the other to draw Matthew into a fatherly embrace, Dave shows his son that it’s okay to cry. Gently swaying back and forth against each other. No words needing to be spoken.