Stephen Jones - Sex With Daddy

Certainly, he still disciplined me, but no longer as a father disciplines a daughter – rather as a man controls his wife. And, we did have our arguments, too, but they were never intense enough to shatter the love we shared in any way. If anything, the love became deeper over time and I'd be a fool to suggest that sex didn't form a very great deal of it.

Some people say that a woman has to know a hundred male bodies before she can make up her mind as to whose sexual skill she likes best, but I say this is hogwash. Ever since that first time, I knew in my heart that no other man would ever be able to thrill me like Daddy had done. And I think he knew too that the love was as binding for him, physically and emotionally as it was for me.

After his first doubts crumbled, our sex life was full, and rich, and varied. It was never degenerate or sick, or depraved in any way. Once, I did have my doubts about the satisfaction of only one man, but after one "fling" I came back and I even told Daddy about it. He was kind and understanding about it and it never happened again.

But I was still immature and had little girl dreams about life and love and all the rose-colored romance I thought should go with it. To me, Daddy was a knight in shining armor. He was still very handsome with a touch of grey in his hair and still beautiful to look at when he stripped out of his shirt. He was more potent than he thought he was, and often after he realized he was able to get more than one erection per evening, we would have love play as often as three times a night.

His responsibility was to earn the money to support the apartment. Mine was to clean and maintain the apartment and cook his meals. I'm sure both of us felt totally emotionally responsible to one another.

And yes, there was one thing more. This was something that became increasingly hard to explain in terms of the conflict generated within me. I had to be very careful I didn't become pregnant.

He supplied me with money and told me how to take my contraceptive pills, which, of course, I did. But as the years rolled on and I became even closer to Daddy because of the warmth and tenderness we shared, I knew I wanted to prove that love by giving him a child. Somehow, I wanted to prove that I was worthy of him and as a woman, I could only do that in the ultimately female way – by delivering a child.

But long before that, I began to experience other doubts. When Daddy first mentioned pregnancy to me, I went through a period of fear and my own private world of strange guilt's. I didn't like taking the pills on a regular schedule, and I began to wonder within myself if a girl could get the same kind of thrill if she made love to a woman, as she could loving a man.

I had been introduced to sex too early and I had this nagging feeling that perhaps there were other thrills beyond those shared by Daddy and me. But I knew that the guys around school were not for me – they were just kids, with no sophistication or understanding. Sally, the girl who had let me watch her masturbate with the sawed-off broom handle, gradually became my best friend. I never told her about Daddy and me, but I wanted to, I really did. I wanted to tell her how thrilling it was to be in love and how wonderful it was when a man and a girl made love to each other. But I couldn't tell her these things. Instead, I had to keep silent while she told me of her doubts and shyness.

Perhaps it was compassion, perhaps it was a genuine eagerness to experiment with the world of Lesbos, but, in all the time that Daddy and I shared our love, my affair with Sally was my only "adultery." And it, not the incest, was the only thing that caused me any great guilt. It wasn't guilt over the lesbianism of it, but of cheating on the man I truly loved – my father.

The strange part of it is that homosexuality with Sally made my love for Daddy even stronger and reunited us so that our very souls were fused and could never separate.

But to explain, I must go back to the beginning which wasn't a beginning at all, for I'm sure Sally had thought of it long before I. As I said, we were friends, just like regular wives have girl friends and after school closed that summer we became even closer…

With Daddy attending summer classes and me on vacation that summer, I found little to do other than swim in the pool at the apartment or read. I really didn't enjoy going out with most of the kids from the school because, living so close to Daddy, I suppose I had matured far beyond my years.

Not only had our physical association turned me into a woman, but our love in an emotional sense had matured me. Where most girls my age were still screaming at pop singers or giggling about cute boys at school, I, found it far more rewarding to discuss politics or something of a similar nature with Daddy.

I did get a few invitations to go to the beach or riding with some groups, but after trying these things a couple of times, I simply gave up. I kept to myself on the assumption that it would be better to be lonely while Daddy was away than to be subjected to immature companions whom I didn't really like or understand anymore. It was as if, in some strange way, my first total act of sexual congress with Daddy had stolen my adolescence from me.

Before, I had been a child, now I was a woman and with each added touch of his hand or whisper of his voice, I became more of a woman and thus further from understanding companions my own age.

But I didn't lead a completely isolated life for, over the past several months I had formed a tight bond of friendship with Sally. Who really began the friendship, I don't know. Maybe she sensed that I was not one of the many people she had known who would criticize her. Perhaps she wanted to be criticized – maybe that was why she had masturbated in front of me – but when I refused to comment or evaluate, that must have made our association even stronger.

Remember, I had been raised – even when my mom was alive – to think for myself and to analyze on the basis of hard facts. There had never been any arbitrary dictum of right or wrong in my home and this was particularly true about sex.

I really saw nothing wrong in the fact that Sally masturbated with various things like the sawed-off broom handle, hot dogs, and such. I didn't even think it was wrong that she enjoyed the fact that I watched her do it.

I suppose she was a very strange and lonely girl in her way. Almost every time we were at her house, in her room, she would start the practice.without seeming to have any motivation. We would be listening to a new record and suddenly, she would start playing with herself by sitting on the bed, spreading her legs, and extending the fingers of one hand up one of her panty legs.

Sometimes, this would content her, sometimes it wouldn't. If she knew her mother was out and had a very strong urge, she would peel her panties down her legs and put the broom handle or something else in her. All the time she would talk to me, telling me how good it felt, but never saying or doing more than that!

I, of course, was fascinated by the whole process, because I had never seen another woman before, except for that one time I spotted Mrs. Bradley with Daddy's penis in her mouth. In a strange way, I was very excited whenever I watched Sally play with herself, yet I wasn't really desirous. The emotions I felt were more intense curiosity than anything else.

I had seen Sally perform her ritual several times and had listened to her talk about wanting boys and about her own shyness several more times before doubts really began to nibble in my mind.

By the time that summer rolled around and I celebrated my fourteenth birthday, Daddy and I were well settled down to the life of a married couple. Our sexual life was thrilling and rewarding and if there was ever a time when I didn't experience orgasm with him, I certainly don't remember it. But the newness had worn off. The thrill of the first act and of forbidden fruit was no longer there. I, like hundreds of other women before me, began to wonder if the sexual experience could be as richly rewarding and explosively satisfying with another man, as it was with the one who had first introduced me to the joys of Eros.