Stephen Jones: Sex With Daddy

The first time I fucked my own father, it changed my whole life. I'd never had a cock in me before and then, when I finally learned all the wild, animal joys of completely abandoned sex, all the wonderful ways a male and a female can join their bodies to bring impossible thrills I'd never thought existed, I got so sex hungry I couldn't quit. I did it with my own father, and became a sex pervert; but I was hooked – I liked it and I couldn't stop. I had to have more and more of Daddy's cock in me all the time.

But it began long before that first fuck; it began right after my mother's death. Daddy had to sell the house because of medical bills, and we were forced to move to an apartment. Before that, I had been just another little girl – innocent and pure – but living in the apartment changed everything. I knew almost the moment we both walked in that there was a feeling of lust in the very air of the place. I knew I had to have sex – pure, raw animal sex – and I wanted it with my own daddy.

That move to the apartment was the beginning of our strange life together. We began a subtly different relationship right from the first day there.

There we were, a ten-year-old girl and her father, surrounded by all the impossible junk of twelve years' collection. Because we couldn't do anything else, we both sat on the floor and laughed out loud. We both seemed to feel the urge to laugh at exactly the same instant and, we kept it up for the longest time. The whole situation was absolutely hilarious and we couldn't help ourselves.

Finally, Daddy took a great big breath and still smiling, said, "Well, sweetheart, which would you rather do, sit here and stare at this mess, or go out on your first date? How's dinner and a movie sound?"

Of course, there was no choice. The dinner and movie were much more exciting than any sort of hard work. Although I was anxious to find my room and to put my things away, I knew that all that could wait until the next day. We had moved in on a Friday purposely, so that we could have two full days to put everything in place, and I certainly didn't want to exhaust myself doing it the first night.

Right from the moment I accepted my first "date," Daddy seemed to change from a tired man into a really romantic figure. He started to plan the evening, asking me what I would like, and as I placed a few things around the apartment, he went out to get a newspaper to find out what movies were playing and what restaurants were serving what.

We planned the whole thing together and he even helped me select a dress to wear. Then he told me that the following day he would let me try my hand at decorating the whole apartment.

There never had been any stigma to nudity in our family. We weren't nudists and we hadn't made a point of parading around the house without clothing on, but neither had we run around like prigs and prudes locking doors while we were dressing or doing other such Victorian things to call attention to nudity. I had often seen my mother dressing and Daddy coming out of the shower. I, in turn, had no idea of false or ridiculous modesty. I was taught to be decently dressed in the living room and at meals, regardless of the time of day. But I also knew that there was no shame in nakedness.

Maybe that's why, when we decided on the movie and found out the time, I asked if I could take a shower at the same time he did, so we would be able to eat our dinner without rushing.

By the time of our move, I still was not completely aware of the changes that must have been starting within my mind and body. A eleven, I was just experiencing the first rolling surges of sexual awareness and budding maturity and that evening in the shower, I shocked myself – these things all came to the fore in a way I had hardly expected and hardly knew hoe to explain.

While Daddy adjusted the flow and temperature of the water, I quickly slipped out of my dress and peeled off my panties, socks and shoes. He let me get into the shower while he stripped out of his clothing.

Up until that precise moment, I had never really noticed Daddy's body before. As I looked at him through new eyes, I saw that he was tall and thin, but thin in a way that most people would call wiry. Actually, he was magnificently built compared to most men his age – and for many a lot younger!

He had a little.hair on his chest, but wasn't really a hairy man. His forearms and face were sunburned, making him look as though those extremities had been painted. If I had had to describe his face, I doubt that I would have been able to. Before now, Daddy was just a tall man who sometimes looked older than his thirty years because of worry, and other times seemed almost like a teen-ager. His hair was a light blond and I suppose there must have been a little grey in it, but it was hard to spot because his hair was so light to begin with.

Until that moment when we were about to share our first shower, Daddy had been just plain Daddy – a familiar face and body that were his alone – but that was just Daddy. I had never given either his face or his body a second thought. They were merely part of that familiar fixture of a parent I had always known and never really seen. Daddy was someone I had always taken for granted, but had never really noticed.

But that evening, as I took the soap and started to rub myself with it, I was fascinated by his sexual parts. Even though I had seen them before it was as if I had never really seen them! I couldn't take my eyes off that soft, wet cushion of hair and the beautifully rounded tube that seemed to beckon my attention even though it was obviously completely relaxed.

And something about it excited me so much that I literally had to reach out and touch it – as if some force other than my own was compelling my hand toward my father's prick. Try as I would, I could not stop it from reaching out…

I think my father must have known what was in my mind. At least, I'm sure he saw my hand moving towards his private parts. Without sudden movement, or anger, or any sign of embarrassment, he simply turned around and asked me if I'd mind washing his back. That simple act brought me back to total consciousness, although r could never forget my recent and totally new vision of his rod.

I did wash his back, but while I scrubbed his firm flesh, I also rubbed soap on my own private parts.

That was all that happened in the shower. Yet, from that time on, I experienced terrible excitement and recurring thoughts of my father's prick. And that night, I couldn't get them out of my mind.

Without further incident of any kind, we both dressed and drove to the restaurant where Daddy was a perfect doll of a date. He ordered everything for me and treated me just like a perfect little lady – as if I really was his date and he were thinking of me as a romantic and mysterious woman of the world, instead of his own eleven-year-old daughter.

I felt as if I were in a dream world during the entire meal. Before dinner he ordered me a Shirley Temple and himself a Martini and clinked glasses with me, giving me a knowing wink as if we were sharing some great romantic secret. During the meal, he told me of the things he was studying in school.

He was studying architecture and told me about fantastic buildings in Rome and Milan; all about the tilting tower of Pisa. I allowed my mind to wander with these wonderful romantic thoughts, feeling giddy, half-believing that he was a handsome prince and we were dining at some gloriously old restaurant in Rome or Genoa.

Then, the romance was shattered by the memory of my vision of his penis in the shower. A different feeling soared through me as truly agonizing on one level as it was rapturously exciting on another.