Paul Tate - Camping with daddy

The campfire in front of the small camper pick-up truck crackled and spit, sending orange sparks of light flying through the air to land on the dew moistened earth and die. Two silhouettes, a man and a girl, outlined in the reddish pink of the fire sat by it, the small piles of their food and cooking utensils stacked next to them.

"Good to have you with me again, baby," the man, slightly greying at the temples, but ruggedly handsome, said to the blonde girl looking admiringly over at him.

"Oh Daddy, you don't know how good it is to be back with you again too," she answered, closing her eyes and shaking her beautiful head as if she couldn't believe it. Then her face saddened for a moment. "If-if only Mom could have been here too," she finally said softly, as if it were a forbidden subject.

The man's eyes hardened, then immediately softened again. "Now honey, you know we don't talk about her. I know the divorce between your mother and I was as hard on you as me, but it's something we've got to forget. I've got custody of you for the next two weeks and we're going to see every part of the Louisiana Bayous there are to see before you have to go back to her."

Sally Grover ran her fingers through her sand-gritty scalp, brushing a baby-fine wisp back into the long mane of fine, blonde hair that waved and cascaded down her shoulders to her waist. She smiled apologetically across the fire at her father, Brad. He took another bite of his barbecued steak. The corners of his deep liquid eyes flashing yellow from the campfire, wrinkled up happily. He took in the shadowy vision of loveliness before him: smooth ivory skin, uptilting deep blue eyes with a tendency to turn green, high slanting cheekbones that gave a slightly exotic wicked-looking cast to her otherwise classically sculpted face.

The path of his gaze stopped abruptly at her well-formed delicately, curving neck now sunburned from the day in the rowboat they had brought along with them for fishing. Sally shuddered against the approaching evening cold, her bikini-covered body burning the lushly curving outlines of her well-developed body in her father's brain. Hot damn! But she had one of the most sensuous bodies he had ever seen: high lifted, huge, closely placed tits, a sudden hourglass waist that blossomed again into smooth moon-shaped hips, firm, full swelling little ass-cheeks and thighs that flowed down over small beautifully shaped calves into tiny ankles. Why the hell did she have to be his own daughter?

Brad swallowed the last mouthful of his steak, and setting his metal survival kit plate on the log beside him, reached down to twirl the end of the half-burned stick that supported a whitely foaming marshmallow on the tilting end.

"What about a couple of marshmallows for dessert?" Brad's blue eyes flashed orange in the fire's light. "I know this isn't exactly like dinner at MacDonald's, but damn, I'm hungry from rowing all day."

"Me too," mumbled Sally through her choking swallows. The approaching evening cold was causing goose bumps over her scantily clad body and she reached down for her sweat shirt that lay in a brown heap beside her.

Brad watched her, and for a brief moment their eyes locked. "I sure am glad to have you with me, honey. I've missed you being around."

She shrugged her suntanned shoulders and shuddered, rubbing her palms over her knees to calm her trembling body. "I… I've missed you too, Daddy. It… it's been horrible without you." She raised her head to stare into her fathers warmly soothing gaze. Her father had a strength about him she cherished and needed. Her eyes brimming with tears, her mouth twitching to fight back the signs of misery, she swallowed hard before speaking. "Oh, Dad," she choked, unable to continue, her voluptuous body rising from her camping chair and swaying toward the tree jutting from the earth behind her as though she were going to faint.

Instinctively, he rushed to his feet and caught her in his arms. He could feel her trembling like a leaf.

"Come on, baby," he whispered soothingly. "It's something both of us have to get over. Can't let yesterday ruin tomorrow." His daughter's answer was a burst of tears and she buried her face in his shoulder.

Brad held the girl close while she sobbed. He stood awkwardly, his arms around her, not knowing just what to do. He had the strange, feeling, suddenly, that he was at this moment, closer to Sally than he'd ever been to anybody in his life. He stroked her back, hoping that it would stem the flood of tears, and as he did so, he became increasingly aware that the supple, pliant flesh under the sweat shirt was warm and smooth to the touch. Her tits pressed hotly into his chest.

"Come on, let's talk about something else. Let's talk about your boy friends." She wailed louder.

"Okay, then I'll talk about my girl friends." He tried to sound jovial but it was ineffectual at best.

Holding her close, he stared out to the moonlit tide moving slowly up the bayous. Its wetness contrasted icily with the blazing fire. Closing his eyes, with flaring nostrils, he smelled the warm wet dew.

A hot shiver raced down his spine and turned to blazing heat in his balls. The deep emotions he felt there for his daughter were more than empathy, he realized with a shuddering start. He stared out over the empty expanse of the swamp where giant, moss-lined trees covered the horizon, letting his eyes trail to the forested recesses leading back miles to nowhere in this God-forsaken land.

And he had to be with his daughter! What a perfect spot it would have been to fuck a gorgeous girl, cuddled up in a sleeping bag with a warm, naked body. He glanced down into the fire again, realizing if he didn't put on another log, it was going to go out completely. He resolved not to think about pussy any more. It was too dangerous with this little minx so close.

"Hey, kid, gotta tend the fire. You okay now?" he whispered, stepped back, arms still on her trembling shoulders. Silently, she nodded her head, her blonde hair falling to shroud her tear-strained face.

Kneeling down on one knee, Brad slipped a splintered half-log onto the blazing cones and stepped back to admire the sudden, shooting flares. From his lowered position he couldn't help but notice his daughter's lithe legs, goose bumped and naked, shining orange in the fire's light.

Impulsively, typical of his fatherly concern, he blurted, "Are you still a virgin?" He had to know.

"Oh, Daddy!" she half-giggled, rubbing her eyes with clenched, thankful, perhaps subconsciously, that the awful, subject of her parents' divorce had been discussed and left behind again. The emotion and agony had been shared; at least she knew now that it had not been her burden alone.

"Well, are you?" he teased.

She pooched out her lips, feeling more relaxed now after her cry, and nodded.

"A body like that, and you're still a virgin?" he smirked playfully. "You wouldn't be puttin' me on now, would ya?"

"No, really, I'm telling you the truth!" She sounded defensive and he still wasn't sure he was being told the truth. With tits and an ass like that, some kid had to have fucked her at one point or another.

Sally sat back, down on the camping chair, rubbing her knees with her sweat shirt muffed hands. "Think I'll put my Levi's on now," she announced, strolling over to the camper where their suitcases leaned against the side of it.

Brad watched as she bent over to open the latches, feeling his cock harden against his will in his pants. Jesus, but she was a beautiful little girl!

"Promise not to look, Dad, 'cuz I'm gonna have to undress to take off this damp suit. I'd go back there to the trees, but I hate the dark," she called out in a high, strained voice. "And the camper roofs too low."