I fucked my daughter last night. Really. And I've got to tell someone about it but it's not something you just up and tell your friends, which is why I'm sitting here writing about it.

What we did last night makes no sense at all without some explanation of how we got to that point and why. 

My daughter Janice is 12 now and becoming a real beauty. She's been a beauty since she was a baby, actually. One of those "Gerber" babies with flawless skin, bright blue eyes, golden blonde hair, perfect teeth and a sunny smile. She was happy from the day she was born -- a good appetite, no colic, early potty training, good manners and a constant will to please her mommy and daddy. Her mommy, my wife Susan, tried to be everything to her -- for a while, anyway.

Susan and I met in college at a fraternity beer bust. It was customary for fraternities to invite sororities for Friday night "socials" starting with dinner then moving to the basement for dancing, drinking beer and, frequently in the rooms upstairs, activities of a more personal nature.

Susan was a Chi Omega and hot! Hot in every way; she was gorgeous and she was hot to trot, as I discovered. We met one Friday, talked, drank and danced and made plans to go out to the movies the following week. Nobody had any money in college, so dates were pretty simple affairs -- a bite to eat at a cheap chinese or mexican restaurant, a movie, usually dutch treat and then anything from a polite good night kiss to a wild romp in the sack back at the frat house. Our first date ended with the wild romp.

We dated frequently but not exclusively during our senior year. As graduation approached and everyone got anxious about job offers and real-world living, Susan and I decided to try the California job market. Susan was from Philadelphia and I has grown up in Colorado. We both wanted the sun and warmth and free lifestyle the west coast had to offer, so we moved into a small apartment in Redondo Beach, a suburb at the beach near Los Angeles. Marriage came later and, I think, mainly for convenience since we already had each other and all the sex we wanted. We found jobs quickly, me as a stockbroker and Susan as a drug rep for a major pharmaceutical firm.

Life was good. We enjoyed each other and the parties and carefree life at the beach. Trying to keep separate records, taxes, utility bills and such didn't seem to make sense so we flew to Las Vegas one Friday after work and got married. We were both 26. Life was still the same but finances were simplified and explanations were easier. Susan got pregnant a year later and looked forward to being a "mommy." 

She was thrilled when Janice was born and decided to be a mommy full-time. That lasted about three years. Janice was going to day care and Susan started talking about going back to work. At 30, she still had her good looks and had no trouble finding another drug rep job. My work offered me very flexible hours and frequent afternoons off, so before long it was I who picked Janice up from day care. It was I got Janice registered for kindergarten. It was I who got invited to the neighborhood Tupperware parties.

I should have seen it coming but I suppose I was just ignoring the signs. I came home one afternoon, Janice in tow with her Teddy Bear, to find a note next to the kitchen phone. "David," it began, "I know this is not the way to tell you but I just couldn't bring myself to sit down with you and tell you what I'm feeling right now. We have had some great years together and now a beautiful daughter but I have lately been missing what we had before -- the freedom and excitement of never knowing from one day to the next what new adventure awaited us. That isn't possible with the responsibilities of being a mommy. I have tried hard to do everything I should for you and Janice but it has become more difficult with each passing day. I have decided that it won't get any better, that there is no alternative but for me to break loose for a while, to try to recapture those days.

"It's nothing you have done. You've been a wonderful husband, a terrific lover and a reliable and loving dad to our daughter. I realize this will leave you the burden of dealing with the problems of raising a child alone but I have no doubt that you will deal with this as you deal with everything, expertly, efficiently and compassionately. I beg of you to have that same compassion for me and for this terrible thing I'm doing to you and to Janice. 

"I don't know how long it will take me to come to my senses but I may be back tomorrow, next week, next month or in a year or two. Please try to understand and to keep your heart open to me while I try to find myself again.

"Hugs and kisses to you both, Susan."

I read the note twice, my hands shaking. Janice noticed.

"What's wrong, Daddy?"

"Umm...Nothing's wrong, sweetie. This is a note from Mommy saying she has to go away for a few days."

"Oh," she said and dragged Teddy along the floor as she went to her room to change clothes. That was it, for the time being.  A few days later Janice asked when mommy was coming back. I told her I didn't know but that it would be soon. 

Little by little, I changed the story I told Janice until I got to the point where I told her mommy wasn't coming back. Janice was devastated; she cried, she wailed, she wouldn't eat, she wouldn't get out of bed. She missed a week of kindergarten before she got mad. She cursed her mother as well as any five-year-old can. She called her a "dummy-brat," her worst perjorative for anyone. She cried herself to sleep every night.

One night, after about two weeks of crying and moaning, she came to my room one night, tears streaming down her face, and said, "I miss Mommy."

"I do, too, sweetie."

Between sniffles, she asked, "Can I sleep with you tonight?"

How was I going to refuse her? I lifted the blanket and said, "Sure, hon. Get in." She slid in next to me, still sniffling, and scooted up against me. We wrapped our arms around one another and hugged. I sleep in the nude but Janice didn't seem to notice. She was wearing her favorite little cotton nighty and matching panties, white with colorful flying Dumbos on it.

Janice looked up at me and said, "I love you, Daddy."

"I love you, too punkin," I told her. She moved her head down against my shoulder and hugged me tightly. Then she relaxed and in a few moments we were both asleep. I woke some minutes or hours later, I'm not sure how long it was we lay like that, but my arm was cramped from her lying on it in one position too long. I pulled it out while she slept on and ultimately turned her away from me so I could move up against her backside and spoon her. That night was the first time my little angel caused me an erection. She never knew it, of course, as she slept on but my stiffy was nestled between her butt cheeks most of the night with only her nighty between us.

-------------

A few nights later we had a terrific electrical storm. Lightning and thunder rolled around us. Around midnight the door to my bedroom opened and Janice called me. "Daddy. Daddy. Are you awake?" I hadn't been but I was now. I normally sleep like a log during rainstorms, the louder the better.

"Yes, sweetheart, what is it?"

"I'm scared, Daddy."

"Nothing to be afraid of, sweetie. We're safe and dry in the house."

"Can I get in bed with you?"

"You're a big girl now," I told her. 'Big' was relative. She was still only five.

"But I'm scared, Daddy. I can't sleep."

So, once more I folded and let her sleep with me. She felt so good next to me. Susan had been gone several months at that point and I had heard nothing from her. Nor had I felt comfortable dating. After all, I was still married and I had this little cupcake at home with me every night. Janice slept soundly in my bed even with the pounding rain against the windows and the flashes of lightning and crashing thunder. Her breathing was soft and regular and her little body was completely relaxed nestled up against mine.

My nightly ritual had been to give her a bath about eight o'clock. Then she would dress for bed in one of her nighties and come sit on my lap while we watched TV or I read her a story for half an hour. She was especially playful one night -- splashing water everywhere, including on me. I was soaked! Janice giggled at the sight of me in khaki pants and T-shirt, water dripping down my face, my wet hair plastered down over my forehead. I hadn't had my own shower yet that evening, so I asked her, "What about I get in and take a bath with you?" 

"YAY!" she squealed.

I took my wet clothes off, threw them in a pile near the door and stepped into the tub.

"What's THAT?" Janice asked.

"What's what?"

"What's THAT?" she said, looking and pointing at my penis. I hadn't realized that she hadn't seen me -- or any other male -- naked before.

Decision time. How accurate should I be? I figured that straight-forward would be best. "That's my penis."

"What's a penis?"

"This is a penis," I repeated, touching it with my thumb and forefinger.

"Why do you have a penis? I don't have one," she said, reaching down under the clear water and feeling herself between the legs.

"All boys have penises."

"Why? Why don't girls have penises?"

It's where I go pee-pee."

"I go pee-pee right here," she said, pointing to her little slit.

"Yes, I know. It's a little more complicated than that."

"Why?"

Oh my God. This was becoming more complicated by the second. Susan and I had discussed early on what we would teach Janice and how we would teach it. We decided that we would tell her the truth about things, even if they made no sense to her at whatever age she might be. No fairy tales. No tooth fairies, no storks, no birds and bees, no Santa Claus, even. Yes, no Santa Claus. We had Christmas and we said the presents were brought by Santa Claus but we decided that, if she ever asked or got suspicious we would tell her straight away about the origin of the gifts. We wanted Janice to be able to come to us with any question, any problem, any fear and get straight, reliable answers. So, here we were, where the rubber meets the road, where truth shall prevail come what may.

I figured it was too early to go into deep biological discussions with a five-year-old so I explained simply that a man's penis and a woman's vagina were there to allow boys and girls to give each other pleasure. Her eyes glazed over at the word "pleasure." I explained that pleasure was the same as "feeling good," like ice cream tastes good and makes people feel good and flowers are pretty and make people feel good. "When boys and girls touch each other there it feels good -- it gives pleasure."

"Oh," she said simply. She thought for a while as I sat down in the tub. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Make people feel good."

"You touch each other," I said."

"Oh."

"You know when I wash you I wash you all over."

"Yeah."

"... and some places make you feel good when I wash there."

"Yeah. I like it when you wash me...down here," she said, pointing to her vagina. "But I like it better when you use your hand. The wash cloth doesn't feel good."

"Too rough?"

"Yeah. Your hand isn't rough. It feels good."

"So, let's wash," I said. I soaped up a washcloth and started with her face, working my way down. I had her stand while I washed her legs, then sit again while I did her feet. "Spread your legs, honey," I instructed her, "so I can wash you 'down there.'" It was a little crowded with both of us in the tub but she dutifully drew her feet up, knees apart and watched me carefully, not knowing yet what to expect.

The bath water was already soapy from washing her. I used my bare hand to rub her inner thighs and then, with two fingers extended her little cleft. "How does that feel?" I asked.

"Feels good, Daddy." I stopped rubbing her there and picked up the washcloth to wash myself. "Do it some more. Please, Daddy. It feels good."

"That's what 'pleasure' is all about, sweetie -- feeling good." I gently rubbed her again, letting the side my finger slip in between the lips, hoping I was making contact with a little clit somewhere. Janice leaned back and closed her eyes, obviously enjoying what we were doing. Her position, though, made it more difficult for me to position my hand. "Let's get out of the tub now," I said.

"Not now, Daddy. I want to wash you." She grabbed both sides of the tub with her hands, stood up and began to soap up the washcloth. She washed my face, neck and shoulders. "Now you stand," she ordered. I stood and she started to wash my legs. As she did, her elbow brushed against my cock and, against my will, it started to grow and stiffen. Janice stopped washing and stood watching the slow upward movement as my involuntary erection continued. She alternately looked at it and at my face for maybe 30 seconds before she said excitedly, "What's happening, Daddy? Why is it doing that?"

"well, I said, "you touched it with your arm a little while ago and when a girl touches a guy's penis -- especially if she's pretty and naked, like you are -- it grows like that. It just happens any time it's expecting some 'pleasure.'"

"Oh," she said quietly, watching it intently. "Is it ok...umm...is it ok to wash it?"

"Oh, yes. Please do. Use the washcloth."

"It's not too rough?"

"No. It'll be fine. I use the washcloth when I wash myself. But it will feel good to have you do it."

"Ok." She was very tentative and very gentle, rubbing the soapy cloth all around. She found my scrotum and balls and giggled. "That looks funny. What is it?"

"Feel it with your hand. But be careful. You can hurt me if you squeeze too hard. That's my sack and testicles. There's two egg-shaped balls in there. Feel it carefully, sweetie. She did and it felt wonderful to have her little hand on me there. She kept looking up at me for approval, worrying, I'm sure, that she was going to hurt me. "You're doing fine. That's one way a girl makes a guy feel food -- by touching him there."

She explored my now-hard penis, too, wrapping her fingers around it, peering closely at the head and at the little hole at the tip. It felt wonderful! After a minute or two of acquainting herself with my manhood, she continued downward, washing my legs and calves.

"now you sit so I can wash your feet." She at the other end of the tub and lifted one foot after the other, srubbing them happily with the washcloth.

-----------------------------------

That was the beginning, seven years ago. I really had no intentions of going beyond that. I thought later that evening that we might touch each other like we did in the tub and that perhaps I would teach Janice how to give me a hand job. Christ! It had been weeks since I had had sex and I was getting hornier by the day. I could imagine Janice's hand wrapped around my cock, slowly stroking it until I came. But I also knew that I could harm her for life if I didn't approach the whole thing carefully. She had to *want* this; she had to enjoy it and look forward to it. 

Children are taught that sex is dirty, sex is forbidden, sex is dangerous. Yes, sex can be dangerous but it isn't dirty and it shouldn't be forbidden. When there is no guilt, sex can be healthy. I feel that when children do something that is considered unacceptable they can become anxious or depressed. Carrying a dirty secret is unhealthy; carrying a pleasurable secret is exciting -- to me and I'm sure to kids as well. So I didn't press the issue.

I continued to bathe Janice every night and bathed with her frequently. It became a ritual. So did erotic touching. She would stand in the tub and spread her legs enough to let my hand slide in and out, the sides of my fingers rubbing her. One night, as she neared her sixth birthday, I asked if I could look closer. 

"Ok," she answered without hesitation.

I wanted to see if she had anything resembling a clit yet and if it would give her pleasure for me to rub it. I used both hands to gently open her still-immature pussy lips. I saw the tiniest little button at the top and pressed a finger against it. Janice jumped.

"Ow! What'd you do, Daddy?"

"I'm sorry, punkin. I won't do it again."

"No, it's ok. It made me jump. Do it some more; it feels good."

I turned my hand around so that the pad of my thumb touched her button. I began to make soft, slow circles with it.

"Oh, Daddy. That's the best!"

"You like that?"

"Yeah. Keep doing it. I really like 'pleasure.'"

I used the fingers of one hand to keep her pussy lips open while I continued the slow circles with my thumb. There was one part of each circle that made her gasp, "Ooooh," every time I touched it.

Janice also liked to give me pleasure. Over time, she developed a two-handed approach to jacking me off. She would sit in the tub facing me, my knees on either side of her, and would reach out with both hands to encircle my cock. I kept up a steady stream of "Oooohs" and "Aaahs" to let her know she was doing well.  But I never let her get far enough to make me cum. I was concerned that the sight of my white cum floaating around in the bathwater would not be a posipositive experience. Better save that surprise for another situation.

Janice slept in my bed with me more and more over the next year. By her seventh birthday we were sleeping together every night. It occured to me that I had better warn her not to talk about our sleeping arrangements or our bath ritual to anyone. She was completely relaxed about our little pleasure sessions and naive enough to mention it in passing to one of her friends. She had no idea that fathers touching their daughters was considered "inappropriate." She was having fun, our touching was making her feel good, she was feeling good about making me feel good. What could possibly be wrong with that? We talked at length one night about all these questions and she promised me that these things we did and enjoyed so much would be "our little secret." I was sure that she considered it an "exciting" secret and not an "anxious" secret and would keep it.

Our sex play moved to the bedroom. Janice decided she liked sleeping in the buff, too. We would go to sleep every night with our bodies touching and frequently with a hand on the others genitals. It not only felt good to have her touch me there, it also felt reassuring just to know that she was there and that she loved me. I loved her, too, and she knew it.

We could talk to one another about anything; we had no secrets. I dated women from time to time, when I could find one I liked enough to spend time with. I had my job, I had my daughter and I had a sporadic social life. Going out meant time away from Janice and that became a difficult decision as we slowly became more and more like lovers. We went to the movies or out to dinner. We went on picnics and to the beach in summer. I bought a tent and sleeping bags and we went camping. Janice enjoyed camping. This was car-camping, not backpacking. I would cook something nice for dinner and we would sit before a small fire under the stars and talk about our lives -- my job, her school, people we knew and liked or disliked. Then we would go into our little tent, undress and crawl naked into our double sleeping bag. We would kiss, not as father and daughter but as lovers, our tongues darting in and out, sparring, sucking, tasting, smelling. She had become an expert kisser and kissed me frequently for no reason other than she liked to kiss me. I would gently rub her little nipples and then down between her legs. It was soft sex. Petting, actually -- dreamy, languid, relaxed sex.

                       --- To Be Continued ---

Read all my stories at:  http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/cyberguy

(Copy and paste this address into the address window at the top of your browser window.)

Needless to say, this story belongs to me. You can share it with friends but son't rip it off for any kind of personal gain without my written authorization.

                               --------------------------

I write, usually about a young girl and an older man, for my own pleasure. My stories usually have a kernel of an actual event in them but they are sheer fantasy. I will sometimes see a young girl at the market or riding a bicycle or waiting in line with friends for a movie and my body will literally twitch with excitement. Not just ANY girl; some girls. There is no way I would ever approach one of these girls but I do fix an image in my mind of their faces, figures, clothes and body language. I then dream, like a perverted Walter Mitty, about what might have happened had we actually met. 

I always enjoy comments, good or bad. Nice things encourage me to write more. Critical things encourage me to write better. Please encourage me, one way or another, by emailing me at:

                         CYBERGUY20038@YAHOO.COM
Thanks.

