Lawyers are the only persons in whom ignorance of the law is not punished - Bentham
Daddy. That’s right. I'm a Daddy.
I couldn't imagine such a turn of events just days before, but it happened. I'm not a real daddy. Christ, I'm single, always have been single, always will be single. I even had a vasectomy because I knew I'd be the worst father imaginable. Well, that and I didn’t want some sweet thing to trap me into marriage. Okay, I’m not always a trusting sort. So sue me.
My brother, George, always wanted to be a daddy, even when we were teens. He joined the Marines to get out of Kansas. He went off to fight, like Dad before him. He was in Kuwait for the war. He'd been there three years before as a liaison to the Kuwaiti army, such as it was. He met a Kuwaiti woman, Faizah, and fell in love. She was a bright girl and decided this American was her ticket to freedom... not the lazy intellectual concept most Americans mean by freedom, but real true freedom. As a woman in an Islamic country, she was a... I was going to say second class but that's generous. The camels were treated better; she was more like a fourth class citizen. She was bright and wanted to use her mind. She married George and became an American with all rights, obligations, and privileges. Unlike Americans, who take their freedom for granted, she appreciated it. She could quote Jefferson like an encyclopedia.
I never understood why she chose George. I mean, Bro was an all right guy. Hell, I loved him like a brother. He went to school in the evenings while a Jar Head and got his Bachelors. But he wasn't bright like Faizah. She was brilliant. She had a college degree, very unusual for a woman in Kuwait, and taught in a girl’s school in Kuwait. Once here, she went straight into a PhD in Government and started teaching. She was always stirring things up in the liberal circles of the university by taking the unpopular stances, like pointing out the hypocrisy of the supposed academic freedom, but only when it agreed with the liberal orthodoxy. When one graduate student was denied an assistant teaching position because he was doing his thesis on the continuing influence of Jacksonian democracy, she leapt into the fray on his behalf. It seems that dead white men were out of fashion. When the smoke cleared, she left the battlefield littered with the liberal orthodoxy and its supporters; the fellow had his position and his thesis had been accepted.
Faizah had been kicked out of her family for marrying a Christian. If they only knew we were pagan, they probably would have declared a holy war. Mom had been Episcopal, almost Catholic, and Dad had been raised a Bible thumping, no swearing, drinking, dancing Baptist and he hated it. So they raised George and me without a church. But it got Faizah kicked out of her family anyway which I suspect pleased her, except that she had to leave behind her mother and sister. She never sounded like she had much love for her dad but I never did know the whole story.
Faizah became Felicia, that’s how I knew her. I even think they enjoyed being married, though that was a strange concept to me. They also had a daughter, Anne. Anne was a beautiful and exotic looking girl, half Arabic and half mongrel like George and me. I’d see them once a year or so. I’d go visit or we’d all be at home for Christmas doing our Family thing. I watched Anne grow up. I have to admit, if there was ever anything that could have broken through my defenses on marriage, it was Anne. She was vibrant and bright, sharp as a tack, and always cheerful. She almost made me want to have kids, almost. Then, she changed. She grew up. The last time I’d seen her, she was fifteen and looked older. I had to kick myself several times as she was really affecting me with her beauty, innocence, and smarts. George caught me one time looking at her. Lucky for me he only laughed and said quietly so no one else could hear, “Don’t make me kill you, brother.”
I turned to him shocked. “What?” I asked in feigned innocence.
“Don’t worry, every man does that around her. I’m thinking of shipping her off to a convent, except Felicia won’t let me. Too much like it was for her in Kuwait.”
“Jesus, Bro. Who the fuck did Felicia sleep with? I know somebody that beautiful can’t be related to you,” I said.
George laughed, “Don’t be an envious bastard ‘cuz I got something you’ll never have.”
I looked at Felicia and Anne before turning back to George, saying quietly, “Yeah, I know.”
George put his arm around my shoulder. “Don’t get too serious, you shithead. You could deserve it, you sorry bastard, if you’d quit thinking with your dick and start thinking with your head.”
I had to laugh. “Shut up, Jar Head.”
“Leave the Corps outta this or I’ll have to teach you some respect,” he said
“Listen, little brother. I have always been able to kick your ass and you better remember it,” obviously bluffing. That had been true when we were kids, but now, no way. George was six foot of sculpted muscle. I had been an attorney for fifteen years, sitting on my ass making money. While that’s good for the bank book it’s not good for the waist line. George grabbed me and put me in a headlock until I pleaded mercy.
That was the last time I saw George and Felicia. Four months later, they were coming home from a faculty party when a drunk, doing eighty-five, crossed the line and hit them head on. Even the airbags couldn’t help. It was like hitting a brick wall doing one hundred sixty miles an hour... too much mass at too high an inertia stopped way too quickly.
I flew back to handle the arrangements. Lord, isn’t that a nice word, arrangements, for such a brutal awful thing. After the funeral, I took Anne back to their house. What the hell was I going to do with her? I knew I was constitutionally unfit for parenthood. I sure as hell couldn’t send her to live with my dad; he had been going downhill since mom had passed on. And I knew Felicia would hound me from the grave if I sent Anne to live in Kuwait.
“Uncle Mike,” I heard Anne say, pulling me from my reverie.
I looked up to see tears streaming down her face. “What is it, sweetie?”
“What am I going to do? I don’t have anybody...” she broke into deep heaving sobs, sobs that wracked her entire body.
I sprang up from the sofa and wrapped her in my arms. I didn't really make a decision; it just came out. “Anne, sweetie, as long as I’m alive you’ll always have somebody.” She clutched at me like a drowning person would a life preserver. And I suppose that wasn’t all that wrong a metaphor. I held her and rocked her as she cried herself out.
“Do you mean that, Uncle Mike?” she asked between sniffles, the tears drying.
“Of course.” I leaned down and kissed the top of her head. Anne grabbed me and held herself tight against me.
That’s how I became a daddy.
Anne never did call me Daddy. It was Uncle Mike, gradually becoming just Mike, dropping the Uncle as a useless adjunct to my name. I couldn’t argue. We settled into a domestic routine. She attended a girl’s school and I went off to work. In the evenings she made dinner, I have always been an awful cook, and we’d sit and watch something on TV or we’d play games and talk. Anne got her brains from her mom. She was in the honors program and still got straight A’s without much effort. She showed me one of her reading assignments once. I had trouble reading the damn article, something to do with Emerson and transcendental poetry. It made law school look easy. So, our discussions over dinner or a game were usually mind stretching, for me at least and I’d like to think for Anne as well.
Anne had been with me for a year when she truly shocked me during one of our evening discussions. We’d been playing Gin. She generally kicked my butt since she could recall every card played, in order. She put down her cards and looked up at me. “Mike?” she asked.
“That sounds like a troubled tone of voice,” I said.
“It is. I’m worried that you don’t like having me here,” she said.
“What in the hell gave you that idea?” I asked really astonished.
“What have you been doing about sex for the past year?” Anne asked.
Shocked, I blinked a few times and finally managed to close my mouth. “Anne!”
“Don’t Anne me. You asked and I told you. I’m worried that you don’t like having me here because it interferes with your sex life,” she said quite calmly.
“What in the world would make you think that?” I asked. Let me say up front it was true. It had put a serious damper on my sex life to have Anne in the house. But I certainly hadn’t held it against her, or wished she wasn’t with me.
“I heard mom and dad talking about your sex life. From what they said, I know you must have been having sex all of the time. I don’t think you’ve had it once since I came to live with you,” she said.
She was close, certainly. She didn’t know about what happened on an overnight I had to do on a case. I met a woman in the hotel bar who was also traveling on business. We sat in the bar, talked, and flirted. A gentleman, I escorted her back to her room, into which she invited me, just for a moment. Standing by the window, we turned heads towards each other and kissed. That’s when she started ripping my clothes off. I was lucky to escape in the morning with my life, and a big smile. But that was it for the year.
“Anne. I don’t know what they said about my sex life, but it wasn’t all that spectacular.”
“From what mom said, it must have been hundreds of women,” she said. “She said you probably kept a scorecard to keep them separate.”
“Greatly exaggerated, I can assure you. Your folks were talking in hyperbole to make a point. It is true that I had a sex life, but hundreds is way overboard. Anne, your folks had such a special marriage, they always thought I should have one too. I think they blamed the women a little for me not settling down,” I said.
Hundreds was an exaggeration. Damn, but Felicia knew me. I did keep a journal. It was password protected, zipped, and encrypted with a different password to protect the guilty, since a few of the names were married to friends and colleagues. Oh yes, and that one time with the senior partner’s daughter, but she was turning eighteen in a month. I was always glad she never told Daddy about me taking her up to her room during that cocktail party. My journal also contained all of the details of the various trysts. I’d been keeping it since college. It started as my little black book, as a way to keep track so I wouldn’t inadvertently say something to the wrong guy or girl. But as it grew, it became a monument to past accomplishments and I hated to let it go. Okay, I was, am, a horn dog. I admit to it.
The number was actually eighty-six. I realize that puts me way out on the bell curve. I just read a recent CDC study on American’s sexual habits. The average man has had eight sex partners. I’m at ten times the average. What is funny is that women in the study have only had four partners. Now, if you can do simple math, like me, you realize that if women have had four, men eight, something doesn’t work. It has to be, one woman, one man to make the math work. Until you take into account that, another study that found women, even anonymously, cut in half their sexual activity on sex studies. They lie even if no one will know it was them. Then the numbers add up. Women have had eight sexual partners just like men; they simply lie about it.
Anne pulled me back from my reverie. “That still means you were having sex and aren’t now because of me,” she said. “That isn’t healthy.”
I had been in a couple of arguments with Anne. She had great command of reasoned argumentation. Her former school district had tested her IQ and she had tested way high. I never knew the number, but afterwards, she was treated almost as a celebrity. She had trapped me more than once into a position I couldn’t escape. It made me wary and I'm a good trial attorney. I felt like I was walking on quicksand, waiting for it to swallow me. “Hold it. We aren’t going to discuss my sex life,” I said hoping that would stop it cold.
“Okay,” she said picking up her cards. “Then don’t ask what’s bothering me.”
Of course I couldn’t let the topic go like that. If she was truly concerned, I wanted to know, and damn her, she knew it. She was way too much like her mother. I’m man enough to know when I’ve just been beaten to a pulp, and by a teenage girl. “You win.”
“Mike, I wasn’t trying to win. I really am concerned. It isn’t natural for a guy to just give up sex,” she said.
“Men get married all of the time.” She gave me the look along with an eye roll. “Anne, please. I haven’t really missed it.” She just looked at me. I said, “Okay, maybe a little. Life is a series of tradeoffs. Do I want this or that? Now or later? This is a tradeoff I am making.”
“That’s just the point. You don’t need to. I am a big girl. I can stay home by myself. Why don’t you date?” she asked.
“Why don’t you?” I asked.
“No interest in boys I know. Too shallow. Nothing to talk about,” she said.
“Anne, you just described most of the single women I know. That’s why I’m not dating right now. I have more fun coming home and having dinner with you and playing gin, than I’d have taking some ditzy blonde to a movie, even if it involved sex,” I said.
”Really? You aren’t just saying that?”
“No, I mean it.” And I did. Funny, but saying it out loud like that made me realize that it was true. I’d just never noticed it before. I was having fun. I wouldn’t mind a roll in the hay, I suppose, but it wasn’t worth the chasing. That was a real revelation for me. I was becoming domesticated, a fate worse than death for me just a year before.
“I just want you to know that you could date. If you wanted to bring a woman home I could stay in my room. I wouldn’t peek, too much,” she said with a devilish little smile. “I just don’t want you feeling like I’m keeping you from dating.”
“Anne, I’d rather be with you.”
She gave me an unreadable look. “So you don’t want to date any of the women you know?” she asked.
“I don’t. And I just want you to know, you can’t date until you are twenty-one,” I smiled.
“You sound just like dad,” she said wistfully. Then she gave me a sharp look, “Probably trying to keep me for yourself.”
I laughed. “That’s right. Deal the cards, my little prisoner.”
Anne smiled and started dealing. I could see the calculation in her eyes and knew she was planning to beat my butt. I was used to it.
That conversation was the wellspring of our new relationship. Anne started asking me questions about sex and boys, women and men, and my own past indiscretions. While she was brilliant she had no real experience. She was smart enough to know it and tried to fill her own gaps of knowledge with my experiences. I tried to answer her clearly and truthfully, neither encouraging nor discouraging her interests... except about my own past. I let that stay buried. Anne opened up to me as well, talking about her dreams and desires. She even asked once about masturbation, basically asking about technique. I had to tell her I didn’t know female techniques, male being substantially different.
Another change happened about the same time. Anne was a typical teenage girl; very body conscious. She always made sure the bathroom door was closed and locked, and the same to her bedroom when she changed. She normally would wear a robe over her nightie if she was running around outside her room. She accorded me the same treatment, always announcing herself before she’d come into my bedroom.
So I was surprised one morning when I was changing, having just dropped my pajamas to the floor when Anne came through my door. “Oh. Excuse me,” she said, making no effort to leave or look away. I didn’t want to make it a big deal, since I firmly believe that many of the problems with American society is our prudish behavior about skin and bodies. It is just skin. So I grabbed my towel and wrapped it around me while asking, “What is it, sweetie?”
“Can you give me a ride this morning? I have a project and I don’t want to carry it on the bus.”
“Sure. I’m going to take a shower and I’ll be ready,” I told her.
“Thanks,” she said leaving.
It was at this time that she started being much less body conscious, coming out at night in very revealing outfits to kiss me goodnight. It’s funny how much sexier a woman can be in a sheer peignoir than she looks naked. The tease makes your mind wonder, 'What is she hiding?' I found myself having to work at controlling my thoughts and other more physical reactions. It wasn’t always comfortable.
The moment at which a relationship between a man and a woman changes from non-sexual to sexual is a moment fraught with potential, but also fraught with uncertainty. Since that moment is always the woman’s choice, the man often doesn’t know that it has happened. Monica Piper summarized the entire dynamic when she said, “A man on a date wonders if he'll get lucky. The woman already knows.”
It was a Saturday morning. I rose and headed to the bath intending to take a shower. Anne, being a teenager, always slept in on the weekend. I knew I’d have the bath to myself and could enjoy a luxurious long hot shower and there would be plenty of time for the water heater to refill before she dragged herself out of bed.
I rounded the corner and stepped into the bath only to see Anne, leaning against the counter, her hands in her long thick black hair, and a towel wrapped around her waist. She smiled at me. “Good morning, lazy head. About time you got up.”
The irony of her statement was lost on me as I stared at her. She was beautiful. Anne simply smiled and waited as I stared at her tits. “Excuse me,” I mumbled. I turned and fled the bath. I hurried into my room, trying to get the image, which was now indelibly burned into my mind, out. I kept seeing her, so beautiful, her tits proudly standing up from her chest, a smile, a knowing smile on her lips. Where did this woman come from? Yesterday, she had been a girl.
I looked into my heart, why was I so shaken up by seeing Anne naked? I remembered that day when I had first noticed Anne as a woman and my brother had threatened me. Here I was, trying to be a father figure to a woman I was excited by, maybe even in love with, certainly in lust with. The L word... Love - Lust. Which? Both? Worse, she was my niece. The old taboos raised their heads.
I was standing in front of my closet trying to regain my composure, when from behind I heard, "Mike. You okay?"
I turned. Anne was standing there, a look of concern on her face and that was it. Once again, I was confronted with this vision of loveliness, this time completely naked and seemingly unconcerned. I noticed that she trimmed her pubic region for I could see her labia pooched between her legs. I tore my eyes away and looked up at her face, still reflecting her concern.
"Are you okay?" she asked again as she wrapped the towel around herself.
"I'm fine." I said trying to buy time to get the image of her out of my mind.
“You don’t look fine. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“No, really. I’m fine,” I said. I wasn’t fine. I wasn’t in the least fine and I knew it. But my mind was an inchoate mess. Defensively, it tried to shut off more stimulation until it could get a grip on the thoughts, emotions, and feelings flowing, bouncing around.
“Is it me?” Anne asked, the concern evident in her voice. “Do I look ugly?”
“My God, no. Anne, you are stunning. I can’t believe how beautiful you are,” I said without thinking.
She smiled; the concerned look was gone as if it had never been there at all. It wasn’t until much later, when I had time to rationally review what had happened that I began to suspect the concern hadn’t really been there at all. But in my haste to allay her concern, I had opened the door to something else. She pressed her advantage in my befuddlement. “Really? You really think I’m beautiful? You’re not just saying that, are you?”
Her question focused my attention back on her body, now barely covered, but still burning in my mind’s eye. My eyes once again drank in her stunning beauty. It almost hurt, she was so perfect. If she had been a model in a magazine they wouldn’t have needed to airbrush any part of her. There was not a blemish or an imperfection that I could discern. The towel only made her beauty more desirable by teasing, the swell of her breasts under the towel, a peek at her thigh, the towel barely covering her pussy. “Anne, you might be the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”
Her eyes widened before narrowing their focus on me. “I think you mean that.” She stepped forward, as stunned, I couldn’t move, and put her arms around my neck pulling my head down and pressing her body to mine, covered only by a towel. “That deserves a reward,” she said. Her breasts pressed into my chest as our lips touched, then pressed harder. Her lips parted, drawing mine with them as her tongue gently pressed forward, drawing mine into a dance of affection and then passion.
My brain short circuited as conflicting messages sped down the neural tunnels of my mind, piling one atop the other until nothing seemed to be under my control; pull away, draw close, stop, continue, sex, no sex. On its own, the body knew what to do, respond as it was conditioned to respond to such stimuli. Send blood. My cock rose up and pressed against Anne. She pressed back, rubbing against my cock, making it harder still. Her rubbing had loosened the towel which tried to fall but was held up only by the pressure of Anne against me. She relaxed only enough to let it fall, then pressed forward again, my cock now between her legs. As she hunched forward my shaft slid along her labia and she moaned her pleasure into my mouth.
It was then that my brain finally managed to correct the problems and I came to my senses. I tore myself away from Anne, appalled by what I had done, backing into the wall. She had a surprised look on her face. “Oh Anne. I’m so sorry.”
Her surprise turned to a smile. “I’m not. I just wish you weren’t sorry. I wish you loved me as I love you.”
My neural paths obviously hadn’t completely worked themselves back into shape. I stood against the wall, my mouth not working as I tried to process her words. I couldn’t fit them into a picture that made sense. “What?”
Smiling, she stepped forward again until her body was again touching mine, her hands gently touching my chest. I had nowhere to retreat to. She said slowly and very distinctly, “I wanted you to kiss me. I love you, Mike, and I want you to love me, completely, in every way. I’ve loved you for years. Do you understand?”
The L word. Could she mean it? I shook my head. “But Anne...” She pressed a finger over my lips, stopping me in mid-sentence.
“No, don’t say it. I’ve already thought about all of that. Mike, you know I’m smarter than you. You’ve admitted it too many times.”
I nearly laughed, even in my befuddlement since I knew it to be so true. Christ, I used to belong to MENSA just for the bragging rights, and she was way smarter than me. It did lift my mood, the complete ridiculousness of her saying it so easily, as if it required no proof or even thought.
“That’s better,” she said. “So don’t start any of those arguments. I’ve already been through them all. This is all you need to know. I know you really do love me even if you won’t admit it. I love you and I want you to love me, completely. I want to be your woman. Now. This morning, in your bed. Do you understand?”
I nodded, since I did understand what she was saying. I couldn’t believe she was saying it, but I did understand. As I’ve mentioned, Anne was an expert at using words precisely... like a surgeon uses a scalpel, to get a person to answer the way she wanted. Put her in a courtroom and she’d never lose a case. She could have gotten OJ off. Oh wait, that’s right. The prosecution screwed that pooch so badly, that he did get off…
“Good.” She pressed forward, putting her arms around my neck, pulling my head down and kissing me.
My cock, which had started to soften, immediately hardened and pressed against her. She ground herself against my cock. Our tongues were intertwined, dueling and dancing, as my passion mounted. A year’s near abstinence made itself felt as a powerful soaring surge of desire in my body and tingling in my limbs.
I pulled Anne against me, lifting her in my arms as we continued our fervid kissing. I carried her to the bed. She smiled as we reached the precipice, over which our lives would forever be different. I stood beside the bed holding Anne, afraid to set her down on the bed, aware of the meaning of doing so. She just smiled, took my face in her hands, and kissed me, sweetly, lovingly. “You are going to get tired and then what good will you be to me?” she teased.
I laughed and knelt on the bed, gently putting her down. Her beautiful dark hair spread itself over the gleaming white of the sheets. In the center of the dark vortex of shiny hair was her glowing face, ethereal like the face of an Angel on a moonless night. She was stunningly beautiful. She simply smiled, aware of the effect she was creating. Her body, naked, glowing from within, spread over my bed like an ivory statue of Beauty, or Desire. She was both to me.
She spoke and broke the spell she had cast over me. “Mike, please don’t make me wait. I want you, now.”
I lay next to her, pressed my body against hers. She turned to me and pressed her body against mine. We kissed, a long lingering kiss of discovery, of finding, and finally of passion. I broke the kiss. “Oh Anne.”
“Mike. My beloved Uncle Mike,” she said smiling. “It’s about time.”
“How long?” I asked.
Her eyes narrowed, “Too long. I’d have had you in bed sooner if you would have picked up on the clues.”
“Mea culpa,” I confessed. “You nervous?”
I saw the immediate answer in the sudden shifting of her eyes. She looked back, steadily, and in an almost little girl voice, she answered, “A little. I’m glad you’ve had that vasectomy. I don’t want to be a mommy yet.”
It was tremendously erotic, the juxtaposition of little girl and woman that was Anne. “Change your mind?” I asked.
“Not in a million years. Please, Mike. Show me your love. Let me show you how much I love you,” she said in an almost pleading tone.
I had to try one last time to stop us… or more accurately, to get Anne to stop us because I no longer could. “Sweetie, this is your first time, isn’t it?” She nodded. “Are you sure you want me to be your first? Shouldn’t that be someone very special?”
Anne gave me that wonderfully indulgent smile she reserved for those moments when I drool, intellectually. “Mike, you are that special person. I want you to be my first lover, to show me how to make love. I know you’ll be wonderful. After all, Mom said you had hundreds of lovers.” She gave me her devilish smile and I was lost. I wanted to be her special lover with all of my heart.
You out there that are tsk-tsking and thinking what a jerk I am to be in bed with my niece. Just picture being in bed with the sexiest, most beautiful young woman imaginable, have her plead to make love to her, and tell me you wouldn’t do it; you would be lying.
My whole being was filled with one sweet thought; joining with this beautiful young woman whom I loved and who loved me. Then I felt a moment’s apprehension; not of the rightness of making love to Anne, but of my desire never to hurt her, to make her happy. I wanted, needed to make her happy in this her first time with a man. Nothing else but the best experience I could give her would be right. With that thought, I leaned forward and gave her the sweetest kiss, filled with my love of her.
Anne returned it, first softly, then with growing passion. She may have been a neophyte but she sure took to it quickly. I pulled back for a moment, surprised by how quickly we had both heated up. Her eyes were open and full of desire. “Mike,” she purred. “Do that some more. Do you know how many nights I’ve lain in bed and dreamed about you kissing me just like that?” I smiled and shook my head. “Every night. Now, make my dreams come true,” she commanded.
Smiling, I bent forward and brought my lips to hers. But she wasn’t having gentle. She pressed her lips hard against mine, thrusting her tongue into my mouth, seeking and swirling. I kissed her back, hard, our lips mashed together, the passion rising. Carried along on our rising passion, we kissed fervently, our bodies molded tighter, rubbing, skin against fiery skin. The heat of our passion fired our bodies from within. Anne’s skin seemed to glow, like molten glass straight from the furnace, dazzling your eyes with its heat. My hand stroked over her soft supple skin, finding her breast, encircling it and finding her nipple hard and erect. She moaned when I twirled and stroked her nipple, her body coming off the bed to push her tit hard against my hand. My hand teased one, then the other nipple.
Anne was growling. I broke the kiss and sought her tit. Her tits were so firm they stood up from her chest, hardly compressed at all as she lay on her back. My tongue found her nipple, circled it as Anne moaned, then licked it hard. I took her nipple between my lips, sucking and teasing. “Oh Mike,” she cooed, her hand resting on my neck, pulling me against her as I laved her nipple. Her head fell back onto the bed as her breath started coming in long gasps.
I was caught up in the passion filling the air. I had wanted to go slowly, making the event last for her; but the passion was overwhelming both of us. We had waited too long for this. I bent down, spread her legs, and lay between them. She gasped as my tongue found her, starting low, then sweeping up to the top. Her pussy gaped open, her intoxicating aroma filling the air. My tongue laved her from top to bottom, side to side, teasing and pleasing her. Her own juices joined mine, turning her pussy into a torrent of heat and desire.
‘Now,’ was all I could think as I rose up over her, positioned my cock at her entrance, and rubbed it in her seething pussy, wetting it with our natural lubricants. Anne was hunching against my cock, trying to capture it. “Mike, Mike, Mike," she kept chanting as her hips humped trying to bring our bodies together. I slid down until the head of my cock was lodged in her opening. She froze at the contact. “Yes,” she moaned, waiting.
I pushed, feeling so intensely, my whole being centered at the point where our bodies now joined. Her pussy flowered open, then a moment of resistance. I pushed harder and felt my cock lance into my little Anne for the first time. A look of intense pain seized her face as she felt the burning of a man’s cock entering her for the first time. I froze, concerned. Then Anne relaxed as she felt the pleasure of being filled, remembering her desire for this moment, the pleasure of having the man she wanted filling her. “Oh Mike,” she moaned. I retreated a little then pushed again, this time sinking far into her. Anne moaned as I filled her. “Fuck me, Mike.” I had never heard her use that word before. It was incredibly erotic to hear little Anne begging so lewdly.
The heat of our passion inflamed both of us, burning us. We began fucking. There is no other word to describe it. It was physical passion, a coupling of two bodies, driven by the soul’s desire to mate. A desire that had long been repressed and now, like a powerful spring long held in check, released all of the stored energy in a moment.
We coupled, body meeting body, wet slapping sounds filled the air as our bellies came together then parted. There were no thoughts, only pleasure as we rose higher and higher, coming together towards that peak.
I felt my climax coming, rising as a tsunami which would overwhelm me, us, taking us both, and sweeping us up into the heavens, tumbling... “Oh Anne, I’m going to cum...”
“Yes,” she moaned. “I want it. I want to feel it. Please Mike. Make me yours.”
The walls of her vagina pulsed around my cock, milking it, pulling it even deeper into her body. A deep rumbling filled me, then it exploded in my brain and my body as I emptied myself, my being and body into Anne, wave after wave of pleasure and release.
Anne trembled in my arms, “I feel it. Oh Mike, I love you, love you, love you...”
I poured myself into her, fully, exhausting myself. I slowed, then stopped, fully in Anne, buried in her as she moaned below me. Her hips rolled under me, pushing against me seeking to take to last of me into her.
“Oh God, Mike. I felt it. I felt it as you came in me. You got all big and hard. Mmmm...”
My eyes opened to see her face, half-lidded, satiated, satisfied, and happy. I bent forward and our lips met in a kiss, loving and quiet.
“I love you, Mike,” Anne said very quietly, her face suddenly questioning.
The earlier questions I had resolved themselves. It wasn’t lust. My heart was full and Anne was in the center. “I love you.”
Her face bloomed into a smile like a Golden Poppy opening to the morning sun as she hugged herself hard against me. “I love you,” she said.
We lay cuddling for a long time. It had been so long since I had felt the intimacy of a woman in my bed that I gloried in it. Anne’s soft skin against mine, her brilliant black hair brushing against me, her soft breath on my chest where she had buried her head, all brought subtle pleasures to me.
Then my brain started to engage again. I had sex with my niece. The guilt started to pour into my head. What had I done? I had despoiled the one thing in my life that gave it meaning. If George or Felicia were still alive they would kill me. I felt shame, a deep soul searing shame. I pulled away from Anne as if by instinct. She looked up lazily, then saw my face.
“What?” she asked, alarm now showing on her face.
“Oh Anne,” I groaned. “I shouldn’t have done this.”
The look of alarm faded and was replaced by a smile. “Oh. It’s kicking in, is it?”
“What?” I asked.
“The guilt,” she said calmly. “I told you I had already considered all of that.”
“But Anne…”
“But nothing,” she said cutting me off her voice so confident completely dismissing all of the guiltly thoughts flooding my mind. She sat up, her nude body enticing me even as I tried to wallow in my guilt. She was incredibly beautiful and desirable. “Okay then. Incest is instinctual, right?”
“Of course,” I answered, sure beyond doubt. Everyone knows that.
“Well, then. Explain why every state defines incest differently if it is so instinctive? What’s legal in one state is illegal in the next. Why did the Egyptian priests require a Pharaoh marry his sister? The Incans were the same way. Were they all depraved perverts, those two civilizations? Why do the Arunta people consider seven out of eight women are ‘blood relations’ and consider such marriages incest? Why do the tribes in Burundi expect a mother to sleep with her son if he is having erection problems to cure him? Why do the Thonga people allow a father to have sex with his daughter before a lion hunt?” Anne waited for me to process all she had said. "We're right and all of them are perverts?"
This all swirled around in my head, the multiplicity of accepted customs. There had to be a reason incest was universal. I looked at Anne intently.
“The definition of incest is completely social. What is accepted one place is condemned the next, and vice versa. Avoidance of certain sexual relations is not instinctive. It is entirely social, it is learned. What is universal is the incest taboo, not what is defined as incest. So what is instinctive? I like what anthropologist George Murdock argued. If parents were allowed to have intercourse with their children, what would their social role be? What we expect of people as parents and lovers are quite distinct matters. So, to permit incest between parents and children would lead to role conflict--the expectations and obligations that are attached to one role would conflict with those attached to another role. As a result, Murdock argues, to avoid these strains on the family, every society developed some form of an incest taboo depending on what sort of roles were expected for different sorts of relatives,” Anne finished.
Again, the thoughts swirled around in my head. “But, that’s it. I am raising you,” I said. I should have realized as I listened to Anne that she had already marshaled all of her arguments and thought through all of the objections. When she was as prepared as she appeared to be, I hadn’t a chance. I was just too stunned to think clearly.
“Mike, Mike, Mike,” Anne said as she patted my hand. “I appreciate what you have done for me and I don’t mean to belittle all you’ve done. It is really incredibly wonderful, taking me into your house. You didn’t have to do that. But the truth is, you’ve never stood in loco parentis to me. You’ve never been a parental figure. You’ve been a friend, a dear one, one I’ve come to love, but not a parent. There is no conflict. There is no incest conflict because we’ve never adopted those roles.”
“But uncle and niece…”
Anne cut me off. “Are we going to have children?”
“God no.” I shuddered.
“Then what’s the problem? Used to be first cousins weren’t allowed to marry, still aren't in many states. But geneticists have shown that here isn’t any significant increase in the likelihood of bad recessives. And we don’t even have to worry about that. We aren’t going to have children,” Anne said reasonably. "Mike, the great mind of the Age of Reason, Voltaire, married his niece and all of the great men of Europe and America thought nothing amiss of it."
“But it’s against the law,” I said.
“What happened to your libertarian ideals? Bad laws carry no moral weight. Mom would be ashamed of you,” Anne said.
“Your mom would be taking a knife to me,” I said gesturing towards my crotch.
“No she wouldn’t. She always told me that who I had sex with should be up to me. I should decide who I wanted and that no one, not even her or dad, had a right to stop me once I chose.”
I shook my head in disbelief.
“Oh yes,” Anne continued. “Mom was consistent in her beliefs. One of her favorite quotes was by Shaw. She said it many times to me, ‘Liberty means responsibility. That is why most men dread it.’ She believed in liberty and responsibility. She believed that one couldn’t be separated from the other without both becoming worthless. She told me she expected me to be responsible for my choices, so she also had to give me the freedom to make those choices. It isn’t comfortable, but it is consistent and right.”
“It’s still against the law,” I said.
“Mike, you don’t really accept that, now do you?” Anne asked me. “You’re a lawyer for God’s sake. You know that what is legal isn’t what is right. What two people choose to do in the privacy of their bedroom is nobody’s business. You aren’t forcing me. You aren’t seducing me, although I suppose you could argue that I tricked you and maybe I should be arrested.” She looked at me with a smile on her face daring me to agree.
I gave her a look. “Fine, I won’t argue that either of us should be arrested.”
Anne said vehemently, sounding so much like her mother when she was making a point that I almost thought she was Felicia, “It’s NO ONE’S business.”
“But Anne you are too young, too inexperienced to decide,” I said quietly.
“Ah, the heart of it. I’m too young. How am I supposed to gain that experience of age? The only way I’ll gain experience is by living, fully. Maybe I’ll regret this, maybe. But I’ll never know unless I experience it, fully. Life has to be lived. Choices have to be made. I have the freedom to choose and I have to accept the responsibility of those choices. I’ve chosen. I choose you.”
“Anne,” I said in a strangled voice.
“I love you Mike, and you love me. I know that. I want to be in your bed and to hell with social customs that say no to our love and keep us from being happy. Mom taught me to live free. She left her home because it wasn’t free. I know how hard it was for her. But I can honor her memory by living free, completely free, as she told me she wanted me to live. I won’t let any stupid rule that I know to be wrong take away from me what I want. Will you?”
Anne sat there, naked, gloriously beautiful, deliciously desirable, and stared at me. She challenged to me to say, ‘No. I don’t desire you. I don’t want you.’ She knew already that I couldn’t say that because it would have been a lie... a lie my soul couldn’t have lived with.
“Of course I love you,” I said quietly and firmly with all of my being.
A deep radiant smiled lit Anne’s face from within, seemed to glow from her soul and light her skin. “I know you do. I’m glad you know it too.”
With the decision, my mind calmed and started functioning again. It didn’t take a blink of the eye for me to see what I had been blind to just moments before. Anne had been ready for this which meant much thinking and planning. I should have seen it, but in my befuddled state I hadn’t grasped just how ready she had been.
Trying to get my head around it, I asked her, “How far did I get?”
She gave me a little girl smile she used when she was trying to hoodwink me. “What?”
“How far did I get in your line of prepared arguments? Did I make you extemporize at all?” I asked.
She patted my hand, “Do you really want me to say?”
“I think I’m sorry we have an Internet connection. Makes it too damn easy for you to research. God damn it, I doubt I really do. But tell me anyway,” I said with resignation.
“No, I never had to extemporize and you got maybe twenty percent of what I had prepared. There is lots more material about cultures and defining incest as well as lots of studies on the effects of incest on quote, survivors. You didn’t get into how I would be ruined,” she said laughing, holding her hand to her forehead.
“Do I need to?” I asked.
“No,” she said with finality. “Maybe we’ll regret it, but I don’t think so.” Holding my eye, she asked me quite solemnly, almost as a vow, “Can I share your bed?”
I held out my arms to her. “I love you, you minx.”
She came into them, wrapping herself around me. “I love you Mike. Hold me like you’ll never let me go.”
I did.
I’m married now... no, not to Anne. We lived as boyfriend and girlfriend during her last year in high school. It was a wonderful time for me. Then she went off to college. Before she left, we had a long painful talk. She knew she needed to live her life fully. Fully meant she would be meeting men, potential life partners, something we both knew I could never be and she had to be open to that new experience. It hurt to set her free, but we both knew that she had to be free. We cried that night and cried again as I put her on the plane to college, hugging, but not kissing that time. That part of our lives had ended.
I was left at home, alone. It was then that I realized what a gaping hole in my life her departure had left. Even the pain of her departure would have been better than the emptiness of her not being there. I had never had anything in my life like her before. When she left there was a vacuum that I couldn’t fill with meaningless dates and sport sex. Now, don’t get me wrong; there is nothing wrong with sport sex. A tumble between a man and a woman who are having fun is just fine. Not much is better. It wasn’t the sex I missed. It was all of the other things that Anne had meant to me: she made me laugh, cry, think, enjoy, challenge, relax, and live. That was what was missing.
So, I fell in love, although marriage isn’t really about love. It is about respect, values, companionship, and a life shared together. It isn't those goofy Hallmark cards of two people staring at each other: it is two people standing hand in hand looking into the future together. I found those with a woman ‘my own age.’ Anne was happy for me. She was my best ‘man’ standing in for her father who would have been my best man. Anne was too much like her mother, an iconoclast, and she loved the idea of the gender reversal. She even wore a tux instead of a dress, her beautiful long dark hair streaming down over her back highlighted against the dark gray of the suit. Now I’m a husband and a daddy; my wife’s kids call me Daddy. I am thoroughly housebroken, and loving it.
Anne is in law school, telling me that I inspired her. I’m just glad we are related. I wouldn’t want to face her across a courtroom. Soft on the outside, steel on the inside and a mind that is scarily brilliant. I can’t wait until I meet the man who can tame her. He’ll be a better man than I.
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