Evan Burke - Loving daughters

It was different with Daddy. I could always talk with him — about anything. He knew I was no starry-eyed virgin. He had fixed it with our doctor so I could get the pill. And when I told him I knew about the swapping, he had explained it to me. It wasn't that he didn't love my mother, he said, it was simply that they were a mature, sophisticated couple who could accept the fact that sex was something to be enjoyed, not something to be regulated. I agreed, of course.

We had talked about it a lot — swapping, I mean — without getting dirty about it, and it seemed to please him that I accepted it the way I did. I think he had expected I would feel hurt, or something.

So when they received the invitation to the family get-together, to be held at the home of a couple who were members of the group, he had argued that I should go, that I would soon be a woman, that nothing wrong was going to happen, that I already knew about the club, and that I was reaching the age where I would soon have to decide about sex for myself. And so we went.

At first, the whole thing struck me as pretty dull. The dinner was held on the patio of a rambling brick house near the beach, and about twenty couples were there. Talking, drinking, just mingling. And then I met Ken — and the party came to life.

I was standing beside the long table they had set up as a buffet when I saw him. And I reacted at once. That happens sometimes — you get the hots the moment you see a man. Well, I got them that night.

He was talking to Jodi — though of course I didn't know until later who she was — and I thought I had never seen a more handsome chunk of man. And I guess he could feel me watching him, because he turned his head slowly in my direction, smiled, setting my pants on fire, and in a moment the two of them came over to where I stood.

Have you ever met a person who really turns you on? At first sight, I mean? Well, that was the way it was with us. While we stood there talking, our eyes kept meeting, feeling each other out, and we were thinking of the same thing.

Fucking.

Strange as it may seem, when Daddy joined us there, I saw the same look pass between him and Jodi. She wore a pale blue dress that hugged the sensuous curves of her slim little body, and I saw that he was really eating her up with his eyes. I knew, then, that all of us were thinking of the same thing.

We had little chance to do anything about it, though. Not then. Mama was there, watching me like a hawk. So was Ken's wife, Jodi's mother. It would have ended right there — except Jodi and I exchanged phone numbers before we left.

My first telephone call, the next morning, confirmed what I had been thinking — that she wanted to hump for my father. And I wasted no words in letting her know I had the hots for Ken. And we planned, and planned, and planned.

It took me a week to bring Daddy around. I began by dropping hints about how he had impressed Jodi, led him on to the point where I was telling him she was driving me crazy, then joked that he should give her a little to get her off my back. He laughed at that.

"Her old man would murder me for banging his daughter," he joked, but his eyes showed his interest. And then I lowered the boom. "Not if he's doing the same to me," I said.

He was reluctant to do it, really reluctant, but he was also so hot for Jodi that he finally gave in. Ken was no problem. I called him myself. And the arrangements were made. Daddy taking me for a weekend trip. Ken doing the same. Adjoining rooms were reserved. We could switch fathers with detection. It was perfect.

Except we forgot to switch.

Jodi and her father were late in arriving. That was what caused it to happen. Daddy and I paced the floor of the motel room, making unfunny, nervous little jokes about what we were going to do, and we waited… and waited. He left to buy a bottle of whiskey, and we made drinks in the water glasses the motel provided. I drank mine straight.

"Looks like we wasted a trip," Daddy said with a weak grin. They were already two hours late, and my nervousness had turned to anger. I stood up, sweating despite the coolness of the room. I always sweat when I'm horny, mad, or disappointed, and I was all three. "I'm going to take a shower," I said. I began stripping.

Nudity is nothing to be ashamed of around our house, and Daddy had seen me that way a thousand times. This time, though, he seemed to be paying special attention. I was down to my skimpy bra and see-through panties — the ones I had bought specially for this trip — before I noticed the way he was looking at my tits and cunt. He grinned crookedly at me, then said, "He's sure passing up a good one." He looked miserable.

"And she's passing up a better one." He was sitting on the bed and, feeling sorry for him, I sat down beside him. "Poor Daddy," I said, touching his hair. He looked away from me, then back. I kissed him on the lips, very lightly, then slipped my arm around his shoulder. He rested his face in the hollow at the base of my neck.

Somehow, I don't know how, I realized that he was staring down at my tits, barely covered by my bra, down at the dark patch that could be seen through my panties, at the hair that curled out beneath the elastic at my thighs. I felt myself getting hot — no, hotter!

And it was then, I guess, that I first thought of making it with him. His arm was around me, just above my panties, I could feel his warm breath on the flesh that swelled above my bra, and I was suddenly intrigued by the thought of fucking my own father. I looked down at his lap. The swelling hard on said he was thinking of it, too.

He started to say something as I raised his face, realizing, I suppose, what I was going to do. "Shhh," I said. Then I kissed him. It was not a daughterly kiss. My fingers settled on the swell of his cock. Hard as steel!

"Nora…! Nora!" he moaned, his hands tearing at my panties and bra. He stripped me naked, lay me back on the bed, and together we peeled away his clothes.

"That's the way we were — naked and fucking when, without knocking, Jodi and her father came into the room."

Opportunity is, of course, a prime factor in any incestuous affair. It is doubtful that few such interludes are planned, at least on the first occurrence and it seems much more probable that they come about when circumstances create a highly sensual atmosphere.

It seems reasonable to assume also that these circumstances are much more likely to occur in the household of a "swinging" family, as in the case of Nora, than in others. When a child is reared in an atmosphere of sexual "freedom", knowing that her parents engage in swapping or similar activities, she is certain to engage in mental speculation on the subject. Such speculation will lead to a certain amount of sexual stimulation, though she may not connect this arousal with incestuous desire.

While it may be desirable, in many cases, for the child and the parent to engage in free discussion of sexual matters, it is also true that such discussion may instill in the child a feeling of sexual equality, thus weakening Freud's "barrier against incest".

Is the case of Nora a rare example? Or is incestuous swapping a common practice among the growing cult of "swingers"? It is hard to say, but a recent study by Dr. James R. Smith, titled: Consenting Adults, offers some insight into the relationship between "swingers" and their children. In the book, one of the most comprehensive ever compiled on the subject, a young mother is quoted as saying:

"… Swinging aroused in me a new desire to teach my two sons that sex, all sex, is a healthy thing. I would readily accept it if they became 'swingers'."

The book quotes another couple as stating that "we would never hesitate to introduce our own children into the club, if, when they reach maturity, they express a desire to join."