I came inside my dad's ashes and left it for 6 years

Liszt

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I basically want to tell you guys something that happened me. Growing up my father was a grade A asshole. He was stuck up his own ass. My other stayed with his ass because she was timid and scared but also more embarrassed to her circle of friends if she had a divorce or fled to a shelter. I can't say that I blame my mother, but I wish she could have been a little bit more stronger for me.

I was the only child. But as an only child you're meant to be spoiled right? Wrong. I was my father's skivvy, his toy, and his form of entertainment. He was born to Russian immigrant parents to his mentality was about brute force, he was also a doomsday prepper. So only time we got out of the house was when he allowed mom and I to go couponing with him. I hated it. I felt like an embarrassment cramming 75 tins of baked beans into the cart.

The man forced me to sleep on the basement floor with no blanket in the cold harsh winter to "prepare" for when the world ended and I was left with nothing. The funny thing is he made me go through torture to prepare me for keeping alive when doomsday hit but he didn't treat me like a living being. He would rape my mother. Reason why I know is because every Friday when he polished off two litres of strong vodka he'd force himself onto my mom. I'd hear him grunt, and groan. Then I'd hear his snores. After his heavy snores, I'd hear my mom sobbing in the bathroom. It was routine.

The worst was when I was 7 years old and I was sleepy and just walked into the bathroom on my mom, and she was literally crouched over the bathtub bleeding from her ass. It was horrific. I started crying and she told me to hush and to go to bed and she will be in to see me in a minute. She cuddled me that night and I could feel her hot tears run down the nape of my neck. I fell asleep and next morning I woke up and there was blood stains on my blanket.

I hated that man with every inch of my soul. One time I tried to stick up for mom, but he punched me so hard with his fist, his massive gold ring imprinted on the side of my face. I had a broken cheek bone. The sad part was that I lied in ER and said that I was in a fight. I should have called police on his ass but that was the fear he put us through.

I aspired in my life to do something better and I studied hard in school. It was my escape and learning helped me take my mind off home life. I could have went the opposite way and acted out, but I didn't want to be an ass like my father. I never ever wanted to grow up to be anything like my father. I wanted safety, security and a future. Fuck that man. I wanted to shove it in his face. My learning got me good places, trips away for our quiz team and championships for our team.

He'd let me go on these school trips to not draw attention to our home life. He'd go to parent nights and meetings and appeared as the doting dad. Friends with the whole PTA. He said one wrong move and he'd tell the PTA I am a problem child. That I push my mother to have bad mental health. His threats I took seriously. They loomed over me like a huge stain.

So now you're all up to speed on the grade A asshole and the way he treated me, you probably would like to know I had somewhat of a breakthrough or happy ending in life. As luck would have it, karma was on my side. When I was 16 he was diagnosed with liver cancer. When he was checked over in the hospital, they found it spread throughout him. Nothing they could do for him. He kept on being nasty. He had my mother care for him at home.

He would rip off his soiled adult diapers and fling them at my mother and roar "change me". Even when he was rasping and struggling for air, he would still act like a bully. He would lift his skeletal hand and tap the side of his glass motioning for My mother to fetch him alcohol. He just simply didn't care. He was vomiting blood and shitting himself and he didn't give a fuck. He would still drink down the vodka.

He died 3 days before my birthday. I felt incredibly lucky. My mother looked relieved. She instantly removed his clothing from the house and had a massive bonfire in the back yard. She even had a glass of wine and watched his clothes burn. When my father's sister came looking for something of my father's my mom handed her 8 large boxes of tinned soup, baked beans, hand soap and pickles. She said that was her brothers legacy. She also handed her my father's couponing book and folders and said enjoy.

I loved my mother's new found strength. I absolutely was overjoyed when she decided on cremation. The thoughts of his body at one with the soil and earth creeped me out. I wanted him to burn to cinders so he would have no chance of ever becoming anything of the earth. When my mother got his ashes. She tried giving them to my father's sister but she refused them. I don't talk to my father's side of the family and they don't bother with me. They never even liked my father. His sister was just sent around to see if she could get some valuables. That's it. Apparently he fell out with his sister when I was 2 years old because he punched his sister in the face. Done a couple weeks in prison for malicious wounding with intent. Found that out after he died.

So not knowing what to do with the ashes my mom just tossed them in the basement. She had to move on with her life as had I. Mom and I grew stronger in bond and we discussed how we felt to each other, and we also had long talks about my father and how we felt. She was surprisingly open with everything. She was seeing a counseller and she was improving every single week so our conversations got deeper over time. My mom progressed really quickly but I was still stuck with a lot of bitter anger.

I felt like taking my anger out somehow on my father but could never find anything therapeutic enough to relieve me of the anger. So I decided in my anger hazed mind, to masturbate and just cum into his ashes. He gave me life and fucked it up, so I'm going to give him fucked up life, and that would be my sperm soiling his resting place. I had a massive vigourous wank. It was an angry one. You know with angry ones the cum load is just like releasing a bit lump of cookie batter into the cookie mould.

I sprayed a big hot load into his ashes. I felt intense relief. I closed up the lid of the urn and just tossed it into a cardboard box. I forgot about his ashes for 6 years. I went off to college. Started My career which I love and it allows me to help people which I love doing.

I moved back home temporarily with mom and her new husband whom I respect and love. I was getting new floors put down in my own home so I am happy to stay with mom for the duration. Last week i was helping out putting up Christmas decorations, when I was rummaging through boxes in the basement. I spot dad's urn lopsided in a cardboard box. The horror of what I did 6 years ago came flooding back. I opened up the urn out of morbid curiosity and the smell that exited that urn was disturbing.

The little green puff of spores came hurtling through the air. My eyes and nose began to itch. I looked into the urn and there was a wall of mould within it. His ashes were now literally chunks and beads of mold and whatever spore ridden chunks developed in the urn from my big wad of cum. God knows what I even ate before i decided to jack off into my father's corpse sand. The sugars present in my sperm allowed a big hybrid of mold to take hold in the urn. I started to cough as my lungs were comprised due to the pungent smell and the potent mold spores.

To be honest I just fastened the lid back onto his urn. My 5 mins of satisfaction and complete curiosity ended. I just tossed the urn back into the box. What harm is another 6 years going to do. With some luck nobody will ever find it nor care to even open it. I'm not ashamed I did it. I'm not sorry that I did it either. At least I got the last laugh!!! :)

TLDR: my father abused and tortured me. He got diagnosed with cancer. Terminal. He died and my mom cremated him. I got angry and came in his ashes. I checked the urn after 6 years and discovered a mould ridden mess.
 
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if I knew now what I knew then than I wouldn’t know then what I know now
 
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The thing is, he hadn't already existed, so he wasn't able to realize all that.
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I’m not reading all of this
 
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RollD20 said:
I’m not reading all of this
It’s the best thing your dirty ethnic eyes will ever lay their gaze on
 
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I would have shit in there...
 
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I left it inside my dads ashes and came for 6 years
 
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came did ashes year 6 is was yeah
 
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I sharted inside your mom's ashes and drank it for breakfast
 
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Read all of it. Based if true.

Thus reminds me of the Egyptian god Horus spreading his semen on a piece of lettuce and feeding it to his uncle Seth. Seth the rodent.
 
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Scooby Dooby Doo, where are you?
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Liszt said:
I basically want to tell you guys something that happened me. Growing up my father was a grade A asshole. He was stuck up his own ass. My other stayed with his ass because she was timid and scared but also more embarrassed to her circle of friends if she had a divorce or fled to a shelter. I can't say that I blame my mother, but I wish she could have been a little bit more stronger for me.

I was the only child. But as an only child you're meant to be spoiled right? Wrong. I was my father's skivvy, his toy, and his form of entertainment. He was born to Russian immigrant parents to his mentality was about brute force, he was also a doomsday prepper. So only time we got out of the house was when he allowed mom and I to go couponing with him. I hated it. I felt like an embarrassment cramming 75 tins of baked beans into the cart.

The man forced me to sleep on the basement floor with no blanket in the cold harsh winter to "prepare" for when the world ended and I was left with nothing. The funny thing is he made me go through torture to prepare me for keeping alive when doomsday hit but he didn't treat me like a living being. He would rape my mother. Reason why I know is because every Friday when he polished off two litres of strong vodka he'd force himself onto my mom. I'd hear him grunt, and groan. Then I'd hear his snores. After his heavy snores, I'd hear my mom sobbing in the bathroom. It was routine.

The worst was when I was 7 years old and I was sleepy and just walked into the bathroom on my mom, and she was literally crouched over the bathtub bleeding from her ass. It was horrific. I started crying and she told me to hush and to go to bed and she will be in to see me in a minute. She cuddled me that night and I could feel her hot tears run down the nape of my neck. I fell asleep and next morning I woke up and there was blood stains on my blanket.

I hated that man with every inch of my soul. One time I tried to stick up for mom, but he punched me so hard with his fist, his massive gold ring imprinted on the side of my face. I had a broken cheek bone. The sad part was that I lied in ER and said that I was in a fight. I should have called police on his ass but that was the fear he put us through.

I aspired in my life to do something better and I studied hard in school. It was my escape and learning helped me take my mind off home life. I could have went the opposite way and acted out, but I didn't want to be an ass like my father. I never ever wanted to grow up to be anything like my father. I wanted safety, security and a future. Fuck that man. I wanted to shove it in his face. My learning got me good places, trips away for our quiz team and championships for our team.

He'd let me go on these school trips to not draw attention to our home life. He'd go to parent nights and meetings and appeared as the doting dad. Friends with the whole PTA. He said one wrong move and he'd tell the PTA I am a problem child. That I push my mother to have bad mental health. His threats I took seriously. They loomed over me like a huge stain.

So now you're all up to speed on the grade A asshole and the way he treated me, you probably would like to know I had somewhat of a breakthrough or happy ending in life. As luck would have it, karma was on my side. When I was 16 he was diagnosed with liver cancer. When he was checked over in the hospital, they found it spread throughout him. Nothing they could do for him. He kept on being nasty. He had my mother care for him at home.

He would rip off his soiled adult diapers and fling them at my mother and roar "change me". Even when he was rasping and struggling for air, he would still act like a bully. He would lift his skeletal hand and tap the side of his glass motioning for My mother to fetch him alcohol. He just simply didn't care. He was vomiting blood and shitting himself and he didn't give a fuck. He would still drink down the vodka.

He died 3 days before my birthday. I felt incredibly lucky. My mother looked relieved. She instantly removed his clothing from the house and had a massive bonfire in the back yard. She even had a glass of wine and watched his clothes burn. When my father's sister came looking for something of my father's my mom handed her 8 large boxes of tinned soup, baked beans, hand soap and pickles. She said that was her brothers legacy. She also handed her my father's couponing book and folders and said enjoy.

I loved my mother's new found strength. I absolutely was overjoyed when she decided on cremation. The thoughts of his body at one with the soil and earth creeped me out. I wanted him to burn to cinders so he would have no chance of ever becoming anything of the earth. When my mother got his ashes. She tried giving them to my father's sister but she refused them. I don't talk to my father's side of the family and they don't bother with me. They never even liked my father. His sister was just sent around to see if she could get some valuables. That's it. Apparently he fell out with his sister when I was 2 years old because he punched his sister in the face. Done a couple weeks in prison for malicious wounding with intent. Found that out after he died.

So not knowing what to do with the ashes my mom just tossed them in the basement. She had to move on with her life as had I. Mom and I grew stronger in bond and we discussed how we felt to each other, and we also had long talks about my father and how we felt. She was surprisingly open with everything. She was seeing a counseller and she was improving every single week so our conversations got deeper over time. My mom progressed really quickly but I was still stuck with a lot of bitter anger.

I felt like taking my anger out somehow on my father but could never find anything therapeutic enough to relieve me of the anger. So I decided in my anger hazed mind, to masturbate and just cum into his ashes. He gave me life and fucked it up, so I'm going to give him fucked up life, and that would be my sperm soiling his resting place. I had a massive vigourous wank. It was an angry one. You know with angry ones the cum load is just like releasing a bit lump of cookie batter into the cookie mould.

I sprayed a big hot load into his ashes. I felt intense relief. I closed up the lid of the urn and just tossed it into a cardboard box. I forgot about his ashes for 6 years. I went off to college. Started My career which I love and it allows me to help people which I love doing.

I moved back home temporarily with mom and her new husband whom I respect and love. I was getting new floors put down in my own home so I am happy to stay with mom for the duration. Last week i was helping out putting up Christmas decorations, when I was rummaging through boxes in the basement. I spot dad's urn lopsided in a cardboard box. The horror of what I did 6 years ago came flooding back. I opened up the urn out of morbid curiosity and the smell that exited that urn was disturbing.

The little green puff of spores came hurtling through the air. My eyes and nose began to itch. I looked into the urn and there was a wall of mould within it. His ashes were now literally chunks and beads of mold and whatever spore ridden chunks developed in the urn from my big wad of cum. God knows what I even ate before i decided to jack off into my father's corpse sand. The sugars present in my sperm allowed a big hybrid of mold to take hold in the urn. I started to cough as my lungs were comprised due to the pungent smell and the potent mold spores.

To be honest I just fastened the lid back onto his urn. My 5 mins of satisfaction and complete curiosity ended. I just tossed the urn back into the box. What harm is another 6 years going to do. With some luck nobody will ever find it nor care to even open it. I'm not ashamed I did it. I'm not sorry that I did it either. At least I got the last laugh!!! :)

TLDR: my father abused and tortured me. He got diagnosed with cancer. Terminal. He died and my mom cremated him. I got angry and came in his ashes. I checked the urn after 6 years and discovered a mould ridden mess.
 

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