Stephen Jones - Sex With Daddy

But, even though I was sure in my heart, I wanted to be sure in terms of logic, too. During the next week and a half, I made sure that we experienced total sexual congress every night and in as many different positions as we knew. I was determined to have enough of his sperm in me so that I couldn't escape becoming pregnant.

So involved was I with my love and my desire to become pregnant that I did not even bother to look out the bedroom window. Even if I had, I doubt if I would have assigned any importance to the occasional fleck of reflected moonlight that struck a pinpoint of brightness in the window of an apartment opposite our own. But, had I known what caused the light, I'm sure I would have begged Daddy to move as soon as possible.

The owners of the apartment house in which Daddy and I lived, had long been thinking of expansion. They allowed children, of course, and rented only on lease arrangements and as soon as they were able, began construction of a second apartment complex about fifty yards from the first. That was the new building that rose far away outside our bedroom window.

But, to save money, even though the two huge buildings were apart, the owners conceived the idea of putting a playground in the center of the new building so that tenants with younger non-swimming children could live there. If anyone there wanted to swim, he could walk across the park area that separated the two buildings and use the pool where Daddy and I lived.

Because the pool was a large one and everyone in both buildings met at least once, and also because of the fact that both buildings were heavily populated with children, most parents were on speaking terms with one another.

The light reflected from the opposite window, however, belonged to a boy I had not yet met. His name was Steve and he was a curious thirteen. The light itself was the reflection of the moon's glow off the lenses of a pair of powerful binoculars through which he enjoyed looking, in order to see Daddy and me make our love.

Had the knowledge of our love affair been confined to Steve, it would have gone no further. He was not a tease and, if anything, was very shy. I'm sure he watched first put of curiosity and then because of some budding adolescent instinct toward his own sexual cravings. Undoubtedly, he would have continued to watch and enjoy without speaking. Unfortunately, he, too, was caught in his private pleasures by his grandmother who shared her knowledge with her son (his father) and daughter-in-law. They, in turn, knew that Daddy and I were just that – parent and child – and taking our behavior into their own moralistic hands reported the affair to the manager.

But all this came about later, after the time I knew I was pregnant and after the times when I intensified my sexual contacts to make sure that my "knowledge" would become fact.

Actually, we had three more glorious months of borrowed time in which to savor every last shred of our consuming passion and we did just that. The only thing that disrupted our relationship at all was my announcement, in point of fact, that I was pregnant because my period had not started on time.

Daddy's reaction was a strange mixture of resignation – he must have known I would do it sooner or later – and quiet joy, but he was also careful.

We both agreed on the rape story, it being that I had taken the car to a movie two weeks ago and, in coming out of the theatre had been attacked by a complete stranger in the parking lot. But before telling the tale, we wanted to be sure such a lie would be necessary.

Daddy took me to a doctor, explained the false story, told the medical man that we hadn't been to the police because of the possible scandal but that he wanted to make sure I didn't have any venereal disease or symptoms of pregnancy. We were both terribly worried he said, because I hadn't gotten my period on time.

Of course, I knew, and I'm sure Daddy at least suspected that the laboratory tests would show me to be pregnant Our next stop was the police.

They asked us why we hadn't come in before now to report this. And again we explained that shame and fear had held us back and that we probably wouldn't have come in at all except for the fact that now I was pregnant. Since there was no allowance for abortion, as far as the police knew, I was just another girl who had to wait her time before delivering a child for adoption.

The plan was complete. We had reported the rape and had been virtually assured by the police that, with the information they had, it would be almost impossible to catch the person responsible. But we were covered. Their report was dated and I had checked the theatre on the supposed night of the attack so that I knew what picture had been shown at that time.

Daddy and I had thought of everything, and now settled down to wait for an event which I knew was going to be the happiest of my life. The only thing I hadn't planned on was Steve. And even if I had, I could have no idea that in addition to watching us make love through his binoculars, he also kept a completely detailed diary in which he described acts, positions and facial expressions – filing them by date!

But for three months, I had no idea of these things and with a burden of frustration finally off my mind and with the full knowledge that now I was "caught" as I wanted to be, I seemed to become even less inhibited than I had been before.

Now that Daddy and I had proved our love, we both seemed to become wildly and freely passionate for the time we had left. We played and experimented and threw all caution to the winds. It was as if I was a grown, mature woman with an easy lover and he was the young boy testing all the things he had heard about sex.

But the sands in our hourglass of pleasure were running out and only a few grains remained to drop before our love would be wrenched apart by an unthinking, uncaring society.

Strangely, when it finally happened, it was almost as if I knew it would be that way. Stage by complicated stage, with a hint here and a sign there, I watched the temple of our love crumble around us as the cannonade of society battered its walls. When the ultimate shot was fired, it was Daddy, not I, who was shocked.

It began quietly – with whispers, spoken doubts and the silent condemnation of strangers. How long it had been going on before I sensed something definitely wrong, I don't know. But certainly I became aware of a change long before any outward signs of my pregnancy were evident.

At the time, I was fairly well known, at least on a casual basis, to almost everyone in the apartment house. In the summer, when I had nothing else to do, I enjoyed sunning myself and swimming in the pool, and it was a rare day when I didn't engage in some short but friendly conversation with one of the other women there.

I don't know how they had previously thought of me, but I, because of the relationship with Daddy, always considered myself as one of them – housewife and all with little to do while her husband was working – who could relax by the pool enjoying the conversation of members of her own sex, indulging in the relaxation of girl-talk.

But the day I first noticed things were wrong, was the afternoon I walked down to the pool and felt something amiss in the air. Two women were seated there at one of the table and when I waved to them, I noticed that both of them turned away.

I thought little of that. They might not have seen me. But as I came close and snugged my hair into my bathing cap, I heard one of them say, "Absolutely depraved… a man that age… " and the other replied, "That poor child, poor, poor child. She probably doesn't even know."

Then, just as I reached the lip of the pool, the first one said, "Doesn't know! Indeed! She's as brazen and sick as he is. Just think! With her own father!"