This is a multi part story, please enjoy and do not lose your shit.
Thanks.
Dating Dad
The Beginning
The music was part of me, I danced with pure, unadulterated joy. For the first time in my life, I felt free. Our movements were fluid and asynchronous. We danced with our bodies pressed together, and it was amazing. The bass pounded its rhythm into everything around us, and our bodies responded harmonizing. An atmosphere of sensuality settled over us heavy with the freedom of movement and sexuality. A high so natural and powerful that the laws of nature seemed to warp around us.
I looked into my father's eyes, my hands on each side of my head, my fingers intertwined into my hair, feeling sexy and desirable. Feeling wanted. My body pulsed to the beat of the music. He looked into my eyes as I ground against him. I ached, I wanted more than just his leg between mine. His hands were all over me, feeling me, caressing me. A wave of pure bliss and affection washed over me, I was so relaxed, and so full of love, I had never felt a connection so strongly before. I wanted nothing more than to have him explore the blossoming wetness between my legs.
This moment is cycling through my head. I don't think it will ever be forgotten, I know it won't. The rest of our night will be something I relive over and over, time and time again. It is an experience so intense and alive, so beautiful, that I don't even know how I will put it into words. But I will do my best. Even now, recounting this small bit, I find myself moved to tears. But before we can continue, there are some things you must know about me.
This is my story, and how I ended up dating my own father.
If there was a checklist for the perfect American family, we could have checked everything off and added more to the list. Dad worked, and Mom stayed home to raise me. Trust me. I was a full time job. Dad had a 9-5 job and was always home for breakfast, and dinner. Dinner, that we all sat down and ate together. We ended the evening watching television shows, while Mom often ironed. Looking back, just now, I find myself smiling, at our familial memories.
I remember nights where I would pretend to fall asleep in front of the TV. I would cover my head while peaking out a crack in the blanket, so I could stay up later and watch TV. And still, I would pretend to be asleep while Dad carried me to bed. Mom would come in to tuck me in, and smother me with kisses, until I went into a fit of giggles. She always knew when I was awake. To this day the smell of clean sheets reminds me of my mother's kisses.
It wasn't always charm and perfection, there were tough times as well. I remember sitting in the car, we hadn't gone far, maybe a couple of blocks. Dad had let me sit up front, and for some reason I wasn't wearing a seat belt. We were singing along to one of Mom's favorite songs, Dad loved to sing and dance with me. I guess the door wasn't closed all the way. I'm still not sure to this day what happened. But the passenger side door swung open, as Dad was making a left hand turn into our driveway. Somehow I was holding onto it. The door opened and I went with it. My heels dragged across the pavement, and I held on for dear life. I am not sure if I was scared because I was outside a moving vehicle, or if it was my Mom's screams of pure horror at what she was seeing. The car came to a stop, my shoes had been ruined and I watched round eyed, scared, as my parents fussed over me. It affected me, it affected all of us. This was the first time I saw my Dad cry, I can count on one hand the amount of times he's cried.
I laid awake that night in bed, and listened to them. It was the first time I had ever heard them fight. They were up until late that night, not screaming or even yelling, but I could hear the hurt in my Mom's voice, she felt betrayed.
I look back at my youth and I revel in the very real fairy tale that I lived in. I remember long summers spent with my Mom, cooking and baking. She would spend hours outside gardening and watering, while I played with bugs and sticks. There are so many enchanted memories I couldn't begin to recount them all. Even to this day, a smell, or even a random song, will bring to the surface some wonderful adventure.
When Dad was home, our family was complete. Just a simple weekend drive would turn into an enchanted adventure. His energy was so positive that nobody could have a bad day with him around. We would explore beaches, finding castle like outcrops, where Mom would become queen, and myself the princess. Dad became the knight that protected our castle. We always played and laughed, we always loved and smiled. Dad's crazy energy kept our souls full of life.
It wasn't until my senior year, when life became bleak. I was so innocent, a princess with her royal family, I helped cheer Dad on when he fought imaginary dragons and monsters, with queen Mother by my side. I was never prepared to fight real life monsters. We had never armed ourselves to fight against the darkness of real life. However enchanted my childhood had been, it abruptly ended my fairy tale, as all tales must find a conclusion. Nothing lasts forever.
The second time I had ever seen my father cry was that night after school. We all sat down together for dinner, which was normal. The atmosphere was unusually heavy and somber. Dad's energy, for the first time, seemed to be just out of his reach. Before our meal had even been finished, Mom burst into tears and ran from the room. I remember the feeling of utter shock, and how my Dad just sat there with his head bowed. My mother was not typically an overly emotional person, she wasn't prone to such emotional outbursts. The shock of it sent chills through my blood.
"Jess" My Dad began, his eyes looked into mine and I could see the struggle between him and his own complete breakdown. I remember the lump in the back of my throat, and the trouble I had swallowing past it. I remember feeling like someone had placed a great weight on my chest, my breathing was short and sharp, desperate.
"Jess, I have something… to tell you…" he began again. "Today while you were at school…" he took a sip of water, it seemed to give him some strength to go on. Looking away from me, he broke, between choked off sobs he continued, his shoulders heaving. "I'm so… so.. sorry"
I did not even know, nor could I have ever guessed what he was about to say. But the emotional state of my father sobbing like a child, unable to finish even a sentence, broke me. I knew something was so wrong that my world would be shattered. An inherent truth that was written on his tear streaked face. Tears fell from my eyes, they were so hot, that to this day I marvel that they did not leave scars on my cheeks. My emotions and fears were so great that I sat across from my father and stared at him, frozen in time.
"Your Mom… shes… " he began to speak, and taking a deep breath calmed himself. Likely finding the strength to go on, because he could see the absolute terror plainly etched into my face. "She's sick…"
I don't remember everything he said after that. He said many things, but the words that I do recall, I remember to this day, and can still hear them in his voice. "Doctor, Cancer, Months, Treatment"
When you move into adulthood, there are a great many truths that come crashing down around you. It is expected, and still difficult. The slow painful suffering of cancer is not easy for an adolescent. I watched as my sweet and loving mother slowly became sick. My father quit his job, staying home to care for her. I helped in every way I could, and still felt helpless.
When Mom's hair started falling out from the treatments, I shaved her head and wrapped it in a scarf. Her sweet loving smile tried to tell me everything would be alright. But the feeling of hopelessness was so heavy in the air, that no smile could break through it, not even from our queen.
The sickness was brutal, and took everything from her. She became frail, and spent night after night vomiting while Dad, faithful as ever, tended to her. He was always our knight, he fought for her with a passion so great that it nearly broke him when she asked him to let her go. Mom was so sick, she couldn't take it anymore, it took awhile for us to come face to face with that reality. But in the end, she left us and suffered no more.
It broke Dad, and with him not working, we ended up losing everything. The bills had piled up, and no money to pay them. We lost the house, our queen, and our fairy tale. The third time I ever saw my father cry, I watched as his tears left streaks down her casket.
New beginnings
I was 18 when she passed, I was broken as well. Dad and I decided it was best for me to throw myself at my schoolwork and go to college, and so I did. I moved away, a broken teenager, with a broken family. Dad and I still talked, we talked about small stuff, like my grades, and his new job. We talked about how his new neighbor had a dog that kept shitting in his yard. We did not talk about Mom, we did not talk about ourselves. It wasn't until two years later that I came across his picture on a dating app.
I was 20, and had been on the college scene for some time. Having a full understanding of what college men were all about, I decided to try a dating app, and set my location as far away from any schools as possible. I hadn't seen my Dad in 2 years, he had aged, and grown a beard. He never told me he was growing a beard. There were speckles of gray in his short hair, even some in his well groomed beard. Facial hair was a new thing, he had shaved twice a day my whole life. I decided I liked it, it made him look refined and handsome. Dad had aged well.
I had just created my account and hadn't even added pictures of myself yet. Really, I wasn't even sure at the time, what it was, I was looking for. Browsing his profile I found myself giggling at the cliche things he had written. "Long walks on the beach" and "enjoys laughing" there were a few more things, I can't remember all of them. I actually found myself really enjoying his profile, it was humorous and full of pictures I had never seen. Some of the pictures were goofy, but most of them he had a somber cast to his face. Slowly, his profile started to transform for me. I knew the person he used to be, there were hints of that person. But I could tell how sad he still was, how lonely he must be.
Guilt isn't something I really struggle with a lot. I am pretty carefree and don't hold onto things. But I felt guilt for having left him by himself, it surrounded me, enveloping me in a shadow. My usual happy go lucky self felt dampened and restricted. In his eyes was an intense loneliness that I knew was partly my fault.
I clicked on the messenger compulsively and wrote a message.
Our conversation started with a simple hello, and me telling him that I enjoyed looking through his pictures. Dad, of course pointed out that I had none of my own. I hadn't thought of that, and nearly panicked, thinking I was pretty clever I snapped a picture of my toes and sent it to him. He sent a picture back of his toes. That is how we started, sending weird pictures back and forth.
Weeks had gone by, and I hadn't gone a day without talking to my father. It was different somehow, than it was before. We could talk about secrets, and share our innermost thoughts. I had not intended to end up where I was with him.
The message he had sent me, was clear, and passionate. "I am really into you, you make me smile every day."
I didn't know how to respond, this was a road that I had avoided traveling. It had been innocent conversation, I had avoided thinking ahead, about where this might go. So I didn't respond, not for some time.
My phone called to me, begged me to pick it up, I finally gave in, and found that I had no new messages. I guess I was disappointed, so, not sure what to say, I decided to speak from the heart. "I like you as well, I am glad I make you smile, that warms my heart." And then, after hitting send, on a whim I wrote. "You make me smile as well" and clicked send.
The response was not what I expected. I am not sure what it was exactly, that I expected. Maybe some long drawn out exchange of romantic bullshit. Or maybe something funny. Instead all it said was. "I should very much like to see that smile."
It was sweet and warm, I smiled right then, his words gave me a feeling of happiness, just as I had told him. He did make me smile. I put on some dark red lipstick, and took a picture of just my smile. My lips were full and cracked into a genuine smile.
He thanked me, and looking backwards, I can't remember him ever asking to see the rest of my face. It was like he knew me, not as his daughter, but as his online friend. He knew me intimately, from our conversations, so intimately, that it never occurred to him to ask to see my face. Maybe, with Mom gone, it was easier for him to do this, to look towards moving on, if he didn't have to put a face on it.
We began talking more than ever, neither of us ever ran out of things to say. I found myself checking my messages, at all hours of the night. I seemed to live for every message. We began to talk about very personal things, I told him all about my abusive ex, something I hadn't even let myself think about, much less talk about. I told him about my loneliness and my desire to find my true self, about what it was like to be a victim. And how I had overcome that and become stronger.
He talked about Mom, oh how my heart broke, to hear him talk about her. His messages were so filled with love and passion for her. Their passion for each other's lives had been the driving force of their love. I learned so much about the both of them, like how Mom would leave little notes in places for him to find. I love you notes written in dust, or on a piece of paper tucked into his lunch for work. He talked of her beauty, and he talked about me.
I clung to every word, desperately getting to know the shining knight of my childhood. He told me of his love life, and my mother's unbridled passion. I learned I had been conceived in a parking garage, their lust for one another set off by a simple pair of shoes she wore.
He told me of her passing, and I cried with him, I knew his pain and his loss, I knew my mother and his personal torment and self pity. I knew. I fucking knew. I fucking know. God help me what am I fucking doing? My anxiety hit new heights.
Over the next few months our conversations turned sexual, it was like a whole new world to me. I learned what excited him, and got to explore what excited me. I learned a whole new level of sexuality, and began a new chapter in my life. Hours of texting back and forth, talking about everything from bdsm to the different types of orgasms. It had me hot and horny.
In one day, I had to change my panties five times, I was soaking them through to the point of being uncomfortable. I would get nervous and think that the dampness was going to show through my skirt or clothing. I loved his obsession with my feet, and found opportunities to dress them up for him. Sending him picture after picture. I don't know how much money I spent on shoes and pedicures.
When he sent me a picture of his dick, what I had been doing, started to sink in. This was my father. My Dad. What was wrong with me? I spent hour after hour talking to my father about my biggest, darkest sexual desires and fantasies. I had crossed a line, but I just couldn't turn back. I had never felt such an emotional connection to anyone on this level. I was being selfish. I saved that picture, his dick looked like it had been sculpted, and it was framed by a taut and muscled stomach. He even had a happy trail that led down to it. He was well groomed, which shouldn't have surprised me. I found myself looking and imagining that very fine penis within my reach, what did he taste like? What would Dad feel like inside of me?
Fantasy always reaches a point where it collides with reality. For me that point was, well me. I was the reality of the situation. I could not just schedule a meeting and appear and say, "here I am Daddy, let's pretend like it's not me after all this, and we can still make love!" I'm not sure at what point, I had decided that this is what I wanted, that I wanted my own father in more ways than a daughter should.
I dreamt up these fantastical ways for Dad and I to meet up. One recurring fantasy was of us meeting on October 31st. In it I could wear a mask for halloween, and he, oblivious to my real identity, would fall for my masquerade and allow me to undress him and show him my passion. As I said earlier, fantasy always meets reality. And this one was pretty far fetched, there were such factors as my voice, and size and build, and of course, my face.
The first year of our online relationship had been incredibly eventful, still I had not revealed my face, but I had revealed much, much more. I regularly took photos of myself in very compromising positions. Often in various stages of masturbation, I had begun getting waxes, as that was his preference. And often I would take photos or videos of me fingering myself. He would always tell me how beautiful and sexy I was. And I felt it as well. I felt beautiful, sexy, I felt desirable and wanted.
My desire for him to know my true identity, almost hit a crisis point. I cannot tell you how many times I began to type out that message, tears of self pity and self loathing bathing my cheeks. Only to delete it later. I had even gone so far as to consent to phone sex. Disguising my usually very girly voice by making it deeper, and using a prepaid phone to hide behind. Often I took photos of myself nude in my full length mirror, hiding my face behind my phone and flash. My strawberry blonde hair pulled into a bun. I wanted him to figure it out, and end this charade.
It had been years now since my father had seen me. Even our phone calls became scarce. While Jessica and Dad drifted apart, the real me felt closer than ever to him. I teased myself thinking that he might recognize my naked body. My breasts had filled out more since I was 18, I had moved from a b cup to a solid c, and I had put on some weight elsewhere. I wasn't the scrawny girl he would remember. My hips and butt were considerably more pronounced. I was not fat by any means, and worked out regularly to ensure that.
Multiple times a day I sought release through masturbation, and every time I pushed my fingers into myself, I found myself wanting to describe it to my Dad. So I did, and so did he. He described his self pleasuring with such lurid detail, that I couldn't sit still for the reading of it. He was incredibly comfortable with his sexuality and would often describe experimentation that most men would have blushed at. All it did for me was get me excited. The thought of him pleasuring himself while ogling my naked body was beyond arousing. He would describe to me such things as lubricating my feet, and using their slippery contours to bring himself to a climax, describing it in near poetry, I loved it.
What is wrong with me? Why am I like this? Is this normal? Will he ever forgive me ? Panic runs deep and I remember these questions and feelings like they were yesterday. I think that in the end, this is why I chose to do what I did. It was this massive anxiety that pushed me to the breaking point, and why I put everything on the line to get what I wanted. To give him what I knew he needed , which was myself.
I discovered through our conversations that my father loved slang. These words I had so carefully avoided all my life, especially around one's parents, were a huge turn on for him. I took to using words to describe my body to him while on the phone, that I would never have imagined using or saying before. I would tell him how wet my pussy was, or that I had my fingers buried in my cunt. I would even tell him how much I wanted his cock. I would describe to him what I would do with his cock in as lurid of a way as possible. His encouragements and grunts of passion while on the phone, marked his own sated pleasure. We became very vocal about our needs and desires, words being the only interaction we were truly capable of. I had no idea how, at the time this would translate for us in the bedroom. Of course I was defeated at the time thinking I would never have him in such a way.
Our conversations mutated to the point where we talked regularly about what we would do with one another, or to one another, when we met. He fantasized regularly about tying me up, ravaging me. He divulged to me that it had been years since he had been intimate, or sexual, and had only ever been with one woman.
Sometimes his voice would become heavy and solemn when he spoke of Mom. On occasion I would be unable to resurrect him and bring him back to me in the present. On these nights I found myself terribly depressed. I knew that talking could only do so much, and I wished to hold him. Wrap my arms around him and tell him it was okay to be sad, it was okay to be hurt, that it was terrible watching Mom suffer and that life was terrible. That life wasn't fucking fair. Nothing about fucking any of this was fucking fair. Fuck. I wanted to pull out my fucking hair and scream, I wanted to pound my fists on the ground and throw a tantrum. Fuck!
I couldn't take it anymore. Two years had gone by since we met online. Two years of him knowing me only by my screenname. He even called my Jfoxy over the phone. He didn't even know my name. Two fucking years of me disguising my voice and carrying two phones. Two God damned years of unrelenting sexual needs and desires that I couldn't sate. My fingers and imagination could only stretch me so far.
I remember calling him, breathless, ready to tell him everything, to pour my fucking heart out. When he answered, I lost my nerve. I did however have the nerve to give myself a date to be put out of my misery. I told him, "I'm buying a ticket. I'm coming, let's meet." I will never forget his response.
"If you're ready, then I'm ready."
It's like he knew somehow that I had been waiting. Like we both had been waiting for the time to be right. For something to click into place that made taking our relationship offline, and into the real world. I understood then a pivotal point in our relationship.
My father knew that I was hiding something, he knew that I had been waiting and he never pushed, never asked. In fact he had never even asked for me to share my body with him. Not once, had he ever pushed me into doing anything. It was all me. He respected boundaries, and I pushed them. If ever there was a person to take fully the blame for what was to happen, it would be me. As it was me that hid from the beginning and fabricated everything. I had lied and manipulated. I was proud of the man he was, but I had nothing to be proud about in myself.
My love for him. It had to be enough. I loved him more passionately than any person ever could, I was sure of it. What the fuck is wrong with me? I was ready, I could not live this all consuming lie anymore. I packed my bags, bought a bus ticket and headed 1500 miles to a town I hadn't seen since I was 18, to a father I had abandoned. To present to him myself, a woman, whom he had fallen in love with online. Someone he had shared all of his secrets and private feelings with. Feelings, thoughts, and fantasies that ought to never be shared between father and daughter.
"I'm coming Dad…"
The bus ride was exhaustingly long. The entire time I sat there imagining possibilities and conversations. I ran through every possible scenario. What I would say, what he would say. His anger, his disgust, I had no solution. No magical Halloween mask to wear and hide my identity. No way to tell him that I was a freak, and have him accept me. It was a long trip, longer for my thoughts.
My arrival was depressingly empty. No, not empty, it was anticlimactic. Life is not like in the movies, where your romance grows legs of its own and carries you both off into never never land. I called him. It was bittersweet. I was one town over and had no idea how to present myself to him.
So I called. And told him where to meet me. I fished out my pumps and tight dress, changed in a restaurant and sat in a booth, feeling ridiculous. He had asked me how he would know me. And I told him I was wearing his favorite shoes. What the fuck is wrong with me? Fuck. Fuck. My anxiety was like a rushing river of lava, burning everything in its path.
He walked through the door. Handsome and in the prime of his life. My heart was pounding in my ears, and my mouth was dry. He walked past the entrance and down the only lane between the booths, until he saw me.
He fucking saw me. He fucking looked at me and met my fucking eyes. What the fuck is wrong with me? I saw the confusion on his face, and I got up, anxiously to greet him. He saw my heels, his favorite pumps, he just stared at my feet. And then he stared at me.
I don't recall ever feeling as vulnerable as I did at that moment. And moments later I felt hurt beyond anything I've ever felt before. The pain was so great, that I might have laid my life to its final resting place, had I had something sharp.
He rejected me. I saw the understanding wash over him, the variety of different emotions. Confusion. Hurt. Betrayal. Sorrow. Pain oh so much pain, so much pain that the memory of the face he made, brings me to tears. So many emotions were plainly written on his face.
None of them love. None of them fucking love. None. I wanted my Dad to love me like he loved Jfoxy . Instead he turned and walked away. He just fucking left me there. It was awkward, I felt betrayed, but I knew I shouldn't. It was my own fault. All of it.
I ran. I pulled off my fucking shoes and fucking ran. He was gone, I looked at cars as I ran, and I realised, I didn't even know what he drove. I didn't even know where he fucking lived. I ran down the street barefoot, carrying my shoes and bag. I wanted to fucking scream. My tears fell down my face and I wept. I had nobody, no one, I was alone. I messaged him from jfoxy, I begged him with simple words. "Daddy please don't leave me" he did not respond. I had made it 1500 miles on mere hope and fantasy. What the fuck is wrong with me?
My feet were bruised and scraped, they screamed at me to rest. I found a curb and cried. I cried until I had no more tears, just dry sobbing and self pity. I found a hotel room, and tried not to think about tomorrow, curling up in bed I cried myself to sleep.
I woke in the morning, dreading life. I had a 1500 mile trek home and nothing to look forward to. My whole life had come crashing down around me. Everything I had dreamed of for the past two years had just collapsed. Fuck my life. What was I thinking?
I didn't realise it right away, but if I had stayed up for just a few more precious minutes the night before. I would have seen the message from my Dad. It was not a very long text. He stated simply that out of all his thoughts and worries and concerns, that he felt a great loss. He had been excited about life again. And that had been swept from under him. With an understanding that was past my years. I texted him back, and told him I'm sorry, and that I understood. And I did. I did understand, I felt that loss as well.
I almost didn't trust my senses, he responded right away. I read it and bawled. It said. "Let us meet...princess." A nickname he had used thousands of times. One that I myself had refused to say or think of. One that he knew, would portray to me, more than any essay or sentence.
He still loved me. He still cared. If not a lover, maybe I had gained my father back. My knight.
We met at a club, it was noisy and the music happy and hip. It was a nice setting in the restaurant, the noise made it so we could talk in private, without fear of being overheard. And there was a hotel across the street, a fancy one, I yearned to be staying there, with him. But I would settle for repairing what I had broken, before I limped across the street to find a bed. We sat across from each other, awkwardly talking about nonsense, like we were two teenagers with nothing in common.
He ordered us drinks, it felt odd sitting with my father having a drink. It was warm going down, and much welcomed. It brought a new heat to my ears and cheeks. I smiled at him, and he smiled back. I could feel myself drawn in to him. His whirlpool of emotion and self confidence. He had such a powerful aura and presence, something I had never realised before.
The heat of the drink had softened my edges, and I became a lot less self focused. I wore a sundress, not the slinky body contour one from last night, but a floral form fitting one that I often wore. I had also removed my flats and stored them on the seat next to me. His smiles, and warm gestures and intimate looks drew me in deeper. This was the man I had talked to for hours every night, our awkwardness had abated. He joked, I laughed and giggled, he smiled and I loved.
Without even thinking I stuck my bare foot up and onto his lap. I was utterly shocked, when his hand rested on my ankle. His bare skin, against my own, sent radiant bursts of electricity up my leg. I truly believe he was shocked as well. I do not know that he intended to touch me. But he did. Dad touched me, and it made my heart sing. I remember blushing and averting my eyes, when my eyes returned to his, he was blushing as well. His hand moved across my foot, and his thumb worked at my arch.
He massaged my foot. I sat there transfixed, staring into his eyes, feeling the most relaxed I had in years. I knew then, that everything would be alright between us, and so I let everything go, my walls crumbled, and inhibitions melted away. When his other hand worked itself between my toes, paying attention to each one. I nearly cried. It was so subtle, so sensual, gentle and so loving a message, that the relief was palpable.
We danced. The both of us danced. I can't remember a single face from the club. Just my father's. He was flushed and sweating and happy. The joy in his face was intoxicating. Oh how we danced together.
We ran from the club, hand in hand, refusing to let go of one another, despite our inability to navigate obstacles together. We ran across the street to the fanciest hotel I'd ever been in. We hushed one another, even as both of us giggled, over nothing more than a look that passed between us. We checked in, the clerk at the front, obviously had lost patience with us. But we made it to the room. It was the suite, and was pretty fancy.
I sat on the foot of the bed, nervously smoothing wrinkles out of my favorite dress. And time traveling in my head. Going over everything that has happened, could happen, Or ever will happen. I sat there day dreaming, listening to the water running in the bathroom. Feeling a bit chilly since the sweat on my bare skin had begun to dry. Dad came out of the bathroom, and took my hand. He gently ushered me to my feet, and with my hand in his, and his other hand at the small of my back, guided me to the bath.
He undressed me with reverence, I had never felt so wanted. Each piece of clothing, he removed with a tenderness that nearly broke my heart. I stood there, naked before him, unmolested. I wore only the imprint of my clothing discarded. He worshipped me with his eyes, and helped me into the tub, always the gentlemen. And he bathed me. Washing every inch of my body, supporting me when needed, never lingering longer than was necessary. When he was done, he assisted me out of the tub, and dried me thoroughly. He had touched every inch of my body, and I could feel his powerful attraction.
He went to lead me out of the bathroom, but I stopped, and he halted with a questioning look. I pulled him back to the tub, turning it back on, and began removing his clothes for him. He stood awkwardly, as I unbuttoned his shirt, my hands like balls of lightning, seemed to shock him any time they came into contact with his skin. He would twitch, or jump at the contact. His chest was lightly covered in graying hair, his pecs solid and muscular, his abdomen taut and shaped with a v along his hips. He was the perfect specimen of a man. And I wanted him more than ever.
Dad was trembling as I stood there naked before him, his shirt lay discarded behind him. I knelt and looked up at him.
We held eye contact while I unfastened his belt, and pants, letting them fall around his ankles. His boxers were tented at the front, it was easy to see that he was excited. I removed his boxers, and his cock sprang free, bouncing. I stopped there, careful not to ruin the moment. Standing up, I motioned for the tub, filled with steaming water. I bathed him, as he had bathed me. My gentle cleansing calmed his body, the trembling in his limbs ceased, and he relaxed as I bathed him. When I had finished, I helped him dry and stood up facing him.
He pulled me in gently, and our naked bodies met. The touch of his skin against mine was so magnificent that chills coursed through my body. Between my legs, there was a heat so intense that I had the greatest desire to just spread my legs. My breasts felt heavy against his chest, and my nipples were far more sensitive than ever before. They were squashed almost painfully between us. Our faces met, and his lips were soft against mine. I fell into him, relinquished all control, and sighed, my lips parted to his control. When our tongues met, it was fortuitous that his arms were around me. My legs gave out, and he held me against him with his own strength, for I had none left.
Our kisses became desperate as our breaths grew ragged. Teeth pulled on lips, and his coarse beard against my face, further excited me. I had never before felt the manliness of a beard in such a way. My Dads cock pressed into my stomach, and was a constant reminder of what was to come. The stickiness of his precum grew between us. He broke off our kisses, and lifted me up, cradling me in his arms. I stared at him, and cupped his face in my hands as he carried me to the bedroom.
Not that much long ago, I had sat on this bed, excited for what was to be, and marveled over how far we had come.
Gently he laid me on the bed, my head on the pillow, not unlike so many years ago, when I was still a child. The care and love in his eyes, was enough to feed my soul for years to come.
"Thank you" I said to him.
He looked at me and arched an eyebrow. "For what, honey?"
"For accepting me, I know this-"
"Was it real? ...everything we talked about, was that the real you.?"
I lay there before him, on my back, looking up at him, completely naked, and I laid my soul bare to him.
"It was… " I said it simply "I am in love with you"
For the fourth time in my life, I saw my dad weep. Unlike before, his face was filled with happiness rather than sorrow. Leaning down, he showered me with both his tears and his kisses. His hands roamed the curves and arches of my breasts and stomach. It felt like he was an artist, admiring his creation. I was the art, and he worshipped my lines. My nipples were so erect, that by the time his kisses found them, I nearly orgasmed. I found myself squirm, as if pushing my ass further into the bed, could relieve the monstrous ache between my legs.
He crawled over me, and parted my legs, he stood, gazing between them at my womanhood. And spoke.
"You are so beautiful… so much like your mother."
I smiled, biting my lip, my legs spread wide open, my pussy throbbing with my heartbeat, and so I begged.
"Please daddy… please…."
I squirmed as he knelt before me, placing his lips on my thighs, kissing me tenderly. Kissing his way to the center of my universe.
The heat from his mouth touched me first, I shifted side to side almost in a panic to get closer to him. His kisses had ceased and his breath our only contact, I closed my legs around his head undulating.
His lips, soft, his tongue firm and wet, his teeth sharp but gentle. His mouth parted me, his teeth nibbled and his tongue violated me. Just as I believed that I had reached the pinnacle of pleasure, he wrapped his lips around me and sucked. My back arched and I pressed up and into him.
The sweat on my lower back felt cool as air flowed under me. The pressure of him sucking on my pussy did not cease when he showed me an even higher level of pleasure. My clitoris, caught in his steady sucking pressure, had reached heights of engorgement that I had never known possible, then he flicked it with his tongue.
The pain of it was a pleasure all of its own. He teased it with his tongue, I felt my wetness, mixed with his saliva, trickle down my asshole. I felt the softness of the comforter enveloping me, and the sweat trickling down my body. I felt my body tense and relax, tense and relax, over and over again, as I began to orgasm.
It was like I was a star that had gone supernova, an explosion of such epic proportions, that it falls in on itself, complete oblivion and darkness. Then it super explodes so brightly that time itself shudders.
I fell in on myself, and nearly blacked out, I condensed into a hole the size of a pin, then I super exploded. I lost control of my body, my muscles acted of their own volition. I felt like I was falling. I felt like I was flying. I felt. I fucking felt. I fucking screamed.
Convulsing, I had a death grip on his head. I rocked and turned and held on until I could take no more. I fell backwards onto the bed, breathless, completely spent and exhausted.
Dad crawled up next to me, wrapped me up protectively and held me. He whispered things into my ear, his breath hot, and I could smell my scent on him. He talked for awhile, I panted and rasped, unable to catch my breath.
"That… was impressive, princess."
I laughed, my cheeks feeling bright red.
"I'm so embarrassed right now."
He murmured in my ear "There's nothing to be embarrassed about"
"You just watched me lose complete control of myself."
"I wasn't watching, I was too focused on making you lose control. "
"I can feel your cock Dad." I said giggling, He was pressed firmly between my asscheeks.
"I wasn't trying to hide it." He chuckled.
I rolled out of his embrace, feeling bittersweet, but I had recovered, and there was nothing more that I wanted to do, than taste him. I had fantasized about this moment so many times. It felt awkward and clunky, I giggled like a little girl, as I navigated the bed, and pushed my father onto his back.
He stuck out, fully erect, he was much larger than I had imagined, and I became a little hesitant. He noticed right away, as I awkwardly perched over him.
"It's okay, hon, you don't have to do this."
"No" I said quickly, "I've been dreaming of this for awhile… it's just… what if I'm not very good at it?"
"I promise to pretend that I like it." Dad said snickering.
I punched him in the leg and found myself laughing too. A bead of precum dripped off the head of his cock l, and onto his taut belly. I positioned myself between his knees and spread his legs as I scooted forward.
I leaned down and placed my hand on his shaft. There was a good amount of him still sticking out of my hand. I felt nervous. He had been so calm and sure of himself, when he went down on me. As he should be, considering it had been the best orgasm of my life.
I spent all this time fantasizing about all of this, and the whole time I had convinced myself that I was the gift. That it was me that Dad needed. But he was far more experienced than I, and had just proven how much more he had to offer than I did. My fucking anxiety was getting the better of me.
I looked him in the eyes, they were pale blue, and the smile on his face was blissful. I leaned forward, and licked the precum off the end of his cock. His eyes rolled back into his head. He tasted salty, with a hint of sweetness, the tip of my tongue tingled as my saliva mixed with him.
My heart pounded, I put the head of his cock in my mouth. His girth was considerable and I found it difficult to hold my mouth open and not drag my teeth. The taste of him exploded in my mouth. It was glorious, the flavor of him was complex and wonderful. I found myself hovering there, with just the head of his cock in my mouth. My tongue unable to ignore it, coaxing out drop after drop of his precum. I could feel him mixing into my mouth, I swallowed several times to clear my excess saliva. The mere action of swallowing, seemed to suck more of him out, and into my mouth. I realized that my throat had become naturally numb from his precum.
Gently I took more of my Dad into my mouth. My eyes darted fervently to his face, as my pulse began to hammer at what I was about to do. He had his eyes closed, so I waited with him pressed against the back of my throat. I had dreamt of this moment hundreds of times. I worked on relaxing my throat, my nerves ready to shatter, telling me I'm silly and that I shouldn't attempt this. But I wanted to.
His eyes opened, and looked at me. I wondered what it felt like. To look and see your daughter, with her mouth full of your cock. The thought fled me as I urgently shoved my face downward, putting as much pressure as I could, to try and get him down my throat. But it wasn't enough. I coughed and tried not to gag. My mouth opened wide around him, so I could breathe with him against the back of my throat.
Thats when he reached down, and gently pulled me the rest of the way. He popped past my throat with an audible gurgle, and he was in, and in, and in.
I fought panic, my fingers digging into his thighs, his curly patch of pubic hair tickled my nose. I pushed off, and he slid, when I say slid, I mean SLID out of my throat, and into my mouth. I came up so fast that he popped out of my mouth and slapped me in the chin. I busted out laughing just as everything that had been sitting in my mouth ran down my chin and onto him.
Fighting embarrassment, I looked him straight in the eyes, and pretended that it was intentional.
"Dad, you taste so fucking good, I just want to swallow you fucking whole."
My embarrassment broke off with his laughter. I wiped my chin, and took him a few more times. He watched me as I worked his cock in my mouth, and I watched him, enjoying the subtle faces and sounds of pleasure he would make. I kept at it, practicing, until my mouth ached from holding it open, and my throat began to get sore.
I collapsed facing him, my hand still working on his cock, it felt good to hold him. He kissed me, I was surprised. He kissed me deeply, I could still taste myself on his lips, as I'm sure he could taste himself on mine. For some reason, that realization, really turned me on.
I had never realised the affect our years of vocalization would have on our first intimate rendezvous. But it made conversation easy and smooth.
My father, wasn't a large man, but he was tall and fit. He was toned, more than muscular. But in bed, lying next to him, he seemed almost a giant. It's strange what your fantasies leave out, certain details that elude you, and make it all that much more obvious when fantasy becomes real life. Laying next to him, I felt intimidated by his height and weight. I felt very small.
I placed my foot on his, mine was so tiny in comparison. I had never thought of myself as small, but next to this man, I felt so. This wonderful man. This glorious man who had fallen for me, as I had for him.
"I love you daddy." I whispered. He rubbed his body against mine, it sent tingles through me.
"I love you too princess."
I must have cooed, or awed , or made an appreciating sound. As he seemed to become invigorated. In moments he had asserted dominance, and I obeyed willingly. He rolled me onto my back, away from him, and began to work at my body with kisses. He tickled my collar bone with his beard, and worked his way down to my breasts.
He spent some time, playing with my nipples, occasionally running his teeth across them, he was gentle, and I rose to his every caress with moans and sighs of pleasure. His attention moved to my abdomen, and my hips, he bit and nibbled and made me squirm. Occasionally I would push at him giggling and beg him to stop.
He sat and massaged my feet, and calves. He sucked on my big toe, running his teeth across the bottom, forcing me to pull back, giggling once again.
"Dad!" I exclaimed trying to free myself from his tickling torture on my feet.
He chuckled, and spread my legs. He cupped my pussy, his hand was hot and my passion ignited. I grabbed his hand and pulled him up and onto me. He looked down into my eyes.
"Please… Dad… fuck me…" internally I cringed at how that sounded, and quickly added. "I need you… I need you inside of me, I need you to make love to me Dad. Please…" I nearly whimpered as I felt him jump and twitch between us.
His eyes were deep and soulful, as he gazed into mine. I felt him lift, and adjust, without ever taking his eyes off of me. I felt then the head of his stiff cock, radiating heat, press against my opening. He moved, running himself up and down, he slid easily across the surface of me. I was soaking wet.
We gazed into one another's eyes as he began to enter me.
I felt my eyes widen in surprise as the head of him stretched me in preparation for the rest of him. He noticed it immediately and paused, as if to let me adjust. I could feel the heat of him spreading me. My pain eased back into pleasure. He was large and I was not used to anything but my fingers. He knew, and always the gentlemen, went slow.
I felt my fingers bite into his flesh as he eased further inside of me. He took it mere fractions at a time, and I still felt stretched to the brink. My discomfort was evident, Dad withdrew from me.
"Are you sure about this sweetheart?" He was so precious he didn't want to hurt me.
"Please.." I begged, I wanted this so bad, I needed this so bad. I really fucking need this. "Please" i called out, this time a command.
He obeyed, and pushed his cock back between my opening lips, and did not hesitate as he slowly pushed his beautiful cock all the way inside of me. I gasped in pleasure and pain. I shuddered, the entirety of my father's cock was something to behold. I wondered what mom had thought of his girth. And so I asked.
"Was Mom this big of a pansy?" I breathed it out in a whisper, as I felt him throbbing deep inside of me. The sensation was shockingly violating, and I felt incredibly vulnerable.
He withdrew some of his length, and then slowly he penetrated with his full length once more. I ached with the need to release, I could feel myself adjusting and stretching to him, I knew he could feel it as well.
"Mom… she loved my cock." He said mischievously as he withdrew his full length, exiting me entirely. My hips rose to meet him, expectantly. Instead he pushed himself against my asshole. I gasped.
"She loved it, here, as well…" he said groaning. He slid upwards across my asshole and back into my pussy, the motion so fluid and swift that I gasped and clung to him. He seated himself fully once more, his pubic bone pushed into my clitoris.
I could feel the wetness still on my asshole and my arousal skyrocketed.
"Fuck me please, I'm ready dad."
He began to fuck me, in and out, with increasing intensity. I stretched and willingly accepted him. Each time he plunged inside of me I imagined the length of him in my ass. It was scary, and exciting.
"Dad…" I got out between my own grunts as he heavily slammed into me. His balls were slapping against me, and the sharp force with which our bodies collided, was pushing me over the edge once more.
"Daddy…" I called out once again, more desperate this time, very much aware of the whine in my voice.
"Oh god…" I moaned. "Oh" I said, meaning to say something else, but having lost the thought with his forceful pounding of me.
"Do you want me to stop?" He asked breathlessly.
"Ohh… God dad don't stop please."
I remembered that his face was in front of me. I opened my eyes. Shit, I didn't remember having them closed. He was gazing down at me. With an intensity that I at once recognized. I clasped my legs around him pulling him to me. His pace picked up, faster and harder. Faster, and harder.
I opened my mouth to say something and instead I grunted as he slammed into me. I felt him begin to spasm and I clung on to him. He shuddered. I felt him burst. It was like a balloon had gone off inside of me. It was hot and intense. He collapsed on top of me. I wanted him to continue, I was almost there. So. Close.
He began to shudder and spasm and held on to me. I realised in that moment, that this was no longer an orgasm. He was crying. He was sobbing. I held him to me, and tears came to my own eyes. He sobbed against me, his tears hot on my skin. I held him in my arms like a baby as he cried. The fifth time I had ever seen him cry.
"What have I done…" he whispered into my embrace. It shocked me. I could feel him start to slip out of me.
"What have I done to you…" he said this time with more conviction.
"What have you done?" I asked in alarm? "You've done nothing Dad!" I grabbed him by the face and made him look me in the eyes. "You've done nothing at all!" My lip trembled as I stared deep into his eyes. I sighed, audibly, he trembled in my grasp. "You've found release… I want this. You've done nothing.. " I paused as a humorous thought came unbidden.
"You've done nothing, except maybe cum before I could, and left me hanging."
His laughter was music to my ears, but I could see an underlying shame to it. Inadvertently with my humor I had touched on the very matter that had put him to tears. In his moment of passion he had abandoned my needs in favor of his own. Pounding into me with his need, penetrating me without regard to my own pleasure. I loved my Dad.
Still cupping his face in my hands I drew him in for kisses, and I assured him of my love.
"I am so happy to be here with you Dad." And I kissed him some more. He rolled off of me and lay on his back. I crawled on top of him, his softened cock pinned under me. I lay my head on his chest, my arousal began to recede, and the steady rise and fall of his chest was soothing to me. It is there that I fell asleep, wrapped in my father's arms, laying on him.
I awoke, not sure where I was, thinking I was back at my apartment and everything had been a fanciful dream. I was alone in bed and my heart began to weep. Did I imagine it all? Fuck. Fuck.
"Shhhh …" Dad said to me "its okay…" he came to me, from across the room.
"I couldn't sleep, so I have been watching you sleep."
I yawned and stretched out. He tickled my toes, ruining my stretch. I scowled at him and he held his hands up in surrender, and smiled. Oh that smile, how I melted for that smile. I leapt up and threw myself into his arms, snuggling against his naked body.
"This…" I whispered. "This is heaven."
I felt my father's cock stirring beneath me. And slid off his lap. I hungrily lapped at him devouring him. I pleasured him with my mouth, until he could take it no more. And with his hands gripping my head he climaxed, his legs spasmed around me.
Inexperienced as I was, I did not expect the first shot to completely fill my mouth. Nor did I expect the heaviness and texture of it. I gagged just a little in surprise when it shot at my throat, and he fell out of my mouth. He continued to orgasm, and him, still in my grip, shot the rest of the ejaculate up my nose, in my eyes, and everywhere but my mouth. I fell back in surprise, and my laughter was hysterical.
We laughed together, like we used to years ago. Just like that we had shed the bonds and restrictions of grief, sorrow and regret. I made a show of cleaning myself up, and we laughed even more.
We lay together, under the covers, naked, for hours. We talked about my crazy scheme of hiding behind a mask for Halloween. He told me of his fear, that I had the face of a gargoyle and the body of an angel. We laughed together and toyed with each other's bodies. We cuddled and talked long and lovingly. We talked about things old and new. We laughed and cried, reminiscing about Mom. We talked about things easy and hard, about our dreams, and hopes for one another. We planned our future together.
At some point, we agreed it was time to put clothes on, and get some food. We walked for a bit, the cool night air was refreshing. We were both so giddy, that we broke into smiles everytime we caught the eye of one another. We walked hand in hand, my heart bouncing in my chest with glee.
We found a store that was open, its windows were like gleaming eyes shining out, and into the street. Dad held the door for me, bowing.
"M'lady" he said, I curtsied as I went past, giggling, flashing him a smile as I danced across the floor.
I didn't understand what was happening in front of me. There was a lot of yelling going on.
I turned to look at Dad to ask him what was happening. The look on his face, made my blood run cold, and I felt my smile fade into nothingness. I turned my head back, taking in the two men before me. They were asking me for my money, and Dads money, I didn’t bring my purse, why would they want my purse?
Nothing made sense. I felt fear begin to grip me. Dad moved in front of me, and I couldn't see. I was scared. I grabbed him by the shoulder, clutching at him. He was shouting angrily, they were shouting at him.
The sound. It cracked the air. It cracked so loudly that It took from me, my ability to hear, and gave me an incessant ringing instead. Voices at the end of a tunnel, fuck. Fuck. What were they saying l, why are they yelling? What the fuck was happening? Why was the world ringing? Where was Dad?
I had been holding on to him a moment ago. I look around and he is gone. I get pushed to the ground as men rush through me. Crawling, my head is still ringing. I saw him. His eyes. His fucking eyes. His beautiful fucking eyes. Fucking eyes. Fuck. Fuck Fuck Fuck
"Daddy…?" I already know.
It is inhuman. The sound I hear, I did not know where it came from. It broke through the cloud and the ringing in my ears. It is so unnatural that it scares me. I'm crying and covering my ears.
"Please… Dad… make it stop." I beg. Oh, how I fucking beg.
The wailing. It sounded like despair, like utter despair. It scared me.
It came from deep.
It came from horror, and cut the air like a knife.
It hung out there like a siren.
It was me. It was me. It was fucking me!
So deep from within me. This terrible sound. I felt turned inside out.
It ended abruptly, and I collapsed. I repeated it in a whisper.