Stephen Jones - Sex With Daddy

Our movements were slow and deliberate – almost like those of gourmets savoring a delicious meal knowing, yet not knowing, that it was to be our last.

We both wanted to prolong our ultimate responses as much as we could, but the intense sensations of body and soul could not be denied and I knew we would ultimately soar to the stars and eternity together. When the knowledge was sure in me, I pulled him even tighter by wrapping my legs more closely about him and whispering in his ear… "Daddy… Daddy. Daddy… "

At that very moment, just before orgasm, the door of the room opened with a crash and I turned to see the apartment house manager and another man standing there right in our bedroom!

I Finally, I could no longer deny the knowledge that had only nibbled at my brain before. Now there was no avoiding the fact that we had been caught in our tabooed love! We would not and could not escape the garrot of social pressure. I was sure now of what I had only suspected before. We would never share our bodies again, no matter what.

Even though we both were shocked by the entrance of the two men, we both realized the implications of their intrusion. With a final, passionate surge, we grasped each other in total strength and in a wracking internal explosion of mind and body let our love crash together and fuse ultimately in a final orgasm.

But we had no time to savor the after joy of our act, for the manager of the apartment house took one step to the bed, roughly grabbed Daddy by the shoulder and pulled him away from and out of my still steaming body. He fairly threw Daddy against the bedroom wall, as he turned to me and curtly ordered, "Put something on!"

I was too stunned to do anything but obey. I slipped into a shift and Daddy donned a pair of trousers and a shirt. Then all of us went into the living room while the other man used our telephone to call the police.

The police took us away. I was confined by the juvenile authorities and Daddy went to jail. Then there was the trial, and we both knew what the outcome would be.

Perhaps as many people said, my father was no more than a weak and lonely man who had succumbed to his carnal desires for my body and had discarded what moral standards he might have had. Perhaps I was an unwilling pawn to a monstrous act! I had been hypnotized into a degenerate sexual relationship that was both unnatural and against all the laws of civilization. During the time of the confinement and trial, I hardly knew what to think. I only knew that Daddy was going through some terrible ordeal and I wanted to be by his side just to hold his hand and reassure him that I still loved him and always would. But even that was denied me and when he was finally sentenced, my whole world was so shattered and crushed that I remained in a state of absolute shock.

Paradoxically, the law is not equal – where Daddy suffered all the wrath of an indignant society, I was allowed to go free although I had to make periodic reports to a parole officer.

I visited Daddy every chance I could, but these times were rare. I had little money and no family, so I had to find work. I managed to get a secretarial job and to live an isolated life for some time, but always I would think of some excuse to get to see the man I loved whenever I could.

Fate, too, was good to Daddy, even though it was hard. In prison, his spirit withered and ultimately after no more than six months, he seemed to completely deteriorate.

Death was merciful. Perhaps wrongly, I let the state bury him in an unmarked grave. That final resting place might have eased some of the guilt from his mind; I don't know.

But I was now hopelessly alone. Society says that I had not merely been a pawn, I had not been lured into a degenerate act by a monster. I had loved with all my heart and soul and body. I am sure that because of the depth and intensity of that love I shall never be able to find similar happiness again. If it was wrong.

I don't even care now, for at least I had the joy of knowing it all! Even though the proper members of the society have continued to tell me how terrible it all was.

I did go through a time of hopeless and helpless confusion for some months after Daddy finally died. I was lost. Even the psychiatric aid the state offered was no help at all for it did not center on understanding me or my emotions. It was only a final effort on the part of the "ins" to brainwash me into believing I had sinned.

Perhaps that's why I. finally decided to write it like this – to go into the details of an impossible love – a love that can never die, because, as the old and corny song goes, my heart belongs to Daddy. It always did, I guess, and it always will. Oh, I'm not trying to say that I live in absolutely celibate isolation. I don't. I did for a while, while I was with the juvenile authorities. I spurned the advances of all the dykes down there and when I got out and moved to a small apartment, I tried to stay away from everyone.

But sex had become a habit with me and it was one I couldn't break by just wishing the urge away. Daddy was no more; my body still craved attention and sexual satisfaction.

For the first time in my life I turned to masturbation almost on a grand scale similar to what Sally had performed on herself when she had been alive. Often I would masturbate myself several times in a single day: in the mornings before I left for work, in the woman's room at the office and twice or more in the evenings when I got home. But it wasn't the same. After a while my intensity succeeded in irritating my clitoris to the point where the act was painful rather than pleasurable.

Also, I have to admit that I'm the kind of woman who is not left alone by men. I'd always had the opportunity for dates. Despite the fact that I was pregnant and flaunting myself to the world, the men asked me out. While the child was growing within me, I had an easy excuse, but then everything seemed to happen at once.

My time of delivery came near and Daddy died. I had to give the child up for adoption even though she was the one thing I really wanted to keep.

I suppose I knew it would be that way from the moment we were caught. Maybe I am really some form of masochist and really take some form of pleasure in my own emotional pain. But that last moment with my child – our child – when I was allowed to see and hold it, feel the pressure of its tiny body warm against my breast, will live with me forever.

If things had only been different. If only I could have kept our baby to have some living proof that it wasn't the sordid cheap affair that everyone kept telling me it was.

I know just thinking about it like this is no good, but I also know that I can never really forget. The sadness is with me. It's a part of me for.-I was caught in a trap from which I could not even hope to escape. There never could have been the slightest hope of keeping the child after we were caught, so I had to face the inevitable. The adoption. Maybe, I tell myself, it is better this way, for my baby will be around people who really know how to love.

But the emptiness was there nonetheless. I quit my job, sold all the furniture and left because it was all around me. I had no idea where I intended going or what I would do when I got there. I suppose I hated myself more than anyone or anything.

It was in New York where I finally determined that, if everything I had done was called wrong by an uncaring world, I might just as well do something really wrong to make them and myself know the real truth.

I was alone and almost broke and hadn't found a job yet, and I was just walking aimlessly along 42nd Street right by the old Times Building. Something came over me in a flash and I walked into the life of a prostitute as easily as some people bite into a cookie.