Stephen Jones: Sex With Daddy

The dinner was delicious, probably more due to my dreams and fancies and the candlelight than to the food itself. We finished just in time to get to the theatre for the first part of the movie.

I don't even remember what the movie was, but I do remember that I held Daddy's hand and in the romance of the silver screen, feeling his strong, protective fingers on mine, I was as much in love as any young girl of my age.

But I was shy, too. Even though I had been thinking of the memory of his penis, I was both ignorant and coy at the same time. Besides, I knew absolutely nothing about.sex except what little my mother had told me. I knew that babies came from seeds and were carried inside their mothers and I knew the names for the male and female sex organs. Maybe she had told me the whole story; but I don't think so. All I knew was that I was experiencing a feeling that was part loneliness and part childish desire for what was beyond my grasp.

I was half asleep when we came out of the movie – I don't remember Daddy carrying me out of the car and putting me to bed. The next morning I found that I was in his bed without my clothing on and that Daddy had slept cm a couch in the main room.

I knew something else when I woke up, too. I knew that I must have dreamed strange and supposedly forbidden thoughts – my pillow was pressed tightly between my legs, against my vagina, and I had succumbed to my first strange and compelling urge that morning! As I was waking from a half-sleep, I felt my own hand moving tenderly down my bare stomach and under the elastic band of my panties. I reached lower, unable to stop my movement and slipped one finger into my sexual parts, only to find that they were pleasantly hot and very, very wet.

I became a little frightened by my feeling of hot wetness and lifted the covers up so that I could inspect myself. All was in order and nothing seemed to look strange, so I lay on top of the pillow and kept my finger slowly moving against myself. Then, again, I saw the vision of Daddy's penis just as I had seen it in the shower the night before, and I had another uncontrollable urge to reach out and touch it.

The thought frightened me but I couldn't stop the movement of my finger – it felt too divinely good and I wanted to keep it up. I don't know how long I would have lain there that way, or even if I might have had my first orgasm by masturbating, but when I heard Daddy call me, I stopped. Feigning being awakened from a deep sleep, I called back, asking what he wanted.

Never shall I ever forget how handsome and happy Daddy looked as he walked into the room bearing a glass of orange juice for me.

"Came on, baby," he said. "We've got a big day ahead of us. I'm going to let you decorate the apartment."

The prospect of decorating the apartment all by myself was so exciting that I fairly gulped the orange juice down in order to get started as soon as possible. But had I any idea just how big that "big day ahead of us" was to be, I think my reaction might have been entirely different.

All that day, Daddy was the kindest, most considerate man in the whole world – he really did let me decorate the apartment. But first, he fixed us both a big breakfast of bacon and eggs, and while we ate, we sat talking about my ideas for the place. He actually let me select my own room and what furniture I wanted to go where.

Then, after we had cleared the dishes, we started to work together. He would help me move the heavy pieces of furniture and I would experiment with colors and placement. I remember thinking at the time that it was almost like a honeymoon – I was a bride being allowed to decorate her own little cottage. Actually, the apartment wasn't little at all! It had a big living room and three bedrooms, one I selected for myself, one was for Daddy, and the other was for a combination den and library. We put a folding bed in there along with most of Daddy's books and the television set, so that it could be a room for either study or relaxation.

Even though the work was exciting and thrilling for me, it was also very exhausting. By noon both of us were ready to collapse mentally and physically in the cluttered main room. Daddy had brought all of the groceries and stuff from the house, including a six-pack of beer. He poured himself one and returned to the couch.

When I asked him if I could have some, he agreed, but insisted that I get my own glass. Now, I realize many people might think such an act scandalous in itself – and I can't deny that it didn't confine to the letter of the law – but I hardly think that one small glass of beer after a hard morning's work can in any way be labeled as contributing to the delinquency of a minor. Besides, ever since I was eight or so, I had been allowed to have a small glass of beer whenever Daddy did. I guess his theory was that if I was allowed the beverage, I would not sneak around, drinking behind my parents' back.

Anyway, there we sat – he with his big glass of beer and I with a very small one – completely exhausted, yet very, very happy with our new home and satisfied with the work we had done. As we sat there, we didn't talk much, but he did suggest that after we finished the drink, we might both go out on a little shopping spree after lunch.

This, of course, made the day even more exciting. I jumped up and went from room to room looking to see what I might like in the way of accessories; while Daddy remained in the living room with his beer.

When he had finished, he came into my room and found me standing with my.fists on my hips studying the two windows in the corner. He suggested that perhaps it might be easier if I measured them, and produced a pencil, paper and a tape measure, letting me go to work while he went into the bathroom to shave and get ready for our outing.

I don't know yet what it was about the sound of running water in the bathroom that excited me so, but it did. All the visions I'd had about our shower the night before seemed to crowd into my mind in a hopeless confusion so that my hands actually trembled. Then, when I heard the toilet flush and knew that Daddy must have been standing over it urinating, I became so overwhelmed, by my fantasies that I actually had to sit down for fear of collapsing. Finally I gathered enough command of myself to finish my measurements, going from one room to the next, finally coming to Daddy's room.

When I entered, I saw that he was in the process of taking off his clothes of the morning. He glanced at me, saying that we could leave as soon as we changed our clothes. With that, he peeled off his shirt and unbuckled the old pair of ragged pants he had been wearing to work in.

I just stood there, transfixed – compelled to look at his chest and underdrawers and the gentle outline of his sexual organ pressing against them.

"Come on, sweetheart," he told me. "Get into a dress and comb your hair and then we'll go."

I had been wearing an old pair of Levi's and a sweatshirt and I knew it wasn't any sort of outfit in which to go shopping. But, for some strange reason – for the first time in my life – I felt terribly embarrassed about changing in front of Daddy, Although I was fascinated by his partial display of nakedness, I didn't want to display myself in any way. Flustered and terribly excited, I sat down on the edge of the bed, feigning exhaustion, surreptitiously watching my father's private parts as he slipped into a clean shirt and trousers. When I finally went to the bathroom, I was overcome with something close to fear, and locked the door and proceeded to wash my face and comb my hair.

I don't know what I would have done if Daddy had still been in the bedroom when I returned, but he wasn't. I slipped out of my sweatshirt and Levi's, noticing that my undeveloped breasts were quite sore, and hurriedly put on a thin sleeveless dress. Then I combed my hair again and returned to the living room where Daddy was waiting. Hand in hand, we bounced downstairs and started off on our shopping spree.