"Sex With Daddy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jones Stephen A.)

Chapter 11

I was so exhausted when Daddy came home that evening that I couldn't think of anything, particularly the sudden change in our relationship that began the very instant he opened the door and walked across the room to embrace me. It wasn't that I was positively cold to him, but rather that I was drained by my experiences with Sally that afternoon.

Now I was neither child nor wife… I was nothing more than a body being driven towards a narcotic to be found only in the oral embraces of a teen-age girl.

Daddy and I ate dinner in silence. He cooked it because I told him that I wasn't feeling too well and then, instead of sitting up with him, I went immediately to bed. Even in a simple act like that, I was torn apart. Part of me wanted to return to my own room – the room in which I had never slept – while another part still recognized the deep emotional love I had for my father and wanted to curl up with him in the big bed. Finally, habit won out and I went to the master bedroom.

When he came in and stripped out of his clothing to lie beside me as my lover, my husband and my man, I knew I didn't want him to touch me. I was ashamed of what I had done with Sally and I was terrified that, if Daddy did touch me, his fingers would never be able to bring the old fire back to me. I was in the trap of physical and emotional conflict that besets every woman who has cheated, but I had no idea what I could do about it.

I rolled over on my side facing away from Daddy but could feel him snuggle tight against me and could feel the hard rising of his turgid penis pressing against my buttocks. But the terror held me and feigning sleep, I repulsed his efforts at love.

Throughout the whole tawdry and degenerate affair with Sally, Daddy remained silent and understanding. He never pressed me for sexual congress and never questioned my excuses. Perhaps he might have, if my association with Sally had lasted longer than it did. But the human body and fate and lusty desire are all strange things. I do know that what happened to Sally was almost destined to be.

She had never been popular with boys and had always felt shy around them. When I introduced her to the joys of cunt-sucking, I really should have known that she, like I, would experiment with others and also that she, who had never really been in love as I was, would chase after the sparkling magnet of lesbianism as a moth dives into the incinerating heat of a candle flame.

But that week – that first gloriously exhausting week with Sally – was an agony and an ecstasy I could never forget. I was hooked. I couldn't stop our daily affairs, which always followed the pattern of that first day. She would arrive after Daddy left in the morning, we would have our first sex, then swim, then return for our second and then, still driven by the monster of our twin desires, perform yet again in the afternoon!

But the pace was exhausting and guilt became my master to the point where great handfuls of my hair began to drop out. Somehow, as if by an instinct, I knew that the trouble I was having with my hair was not a medical one, so I was almost elated when, with the beginning of the second week, Sally didn't show up as usual.

At first, I was totally relieved when she didn't show up, but then, after I had done the housework for the first time hi a week and had changed into my bathing suit, I began to wonder if perhaps something had happened to her. With this thought in mind, I tried to concentrate on my swimming, but it didn't work. I had to know where she was.

I returned to the apartment, changed into a shift and making sure the door was locked behind me, walked over to Sally's house. If I had had any idea of what I would find over there when I arrived, I would never have made the trip.

Sally lived in a residential area near my apartment house. The house which her mother owned was older than the rest in the neighborhood and had a complete basement. As Sally and I were good friends, her mother had given me permission to enter the house through the basement door any time I wanted to do so.

It had become a habit every time I went over there to enter through the basement because I wanted to avoid Sally's mother. On this particular day, I entered the usual way, walked down the three steps that led to the basement and playroom, and recoiled at the scene I saw before me.

Sally was lying back on the overstaffed couch that rested against the far wall of the playroom with one slender leg resting along the back of the couch, the other bent at the knee with her foot on the floor. Between her legs, a fully grown woman – stark naked – moved back and forth in violently passionate gestures, hip to hip, as her eager head bobbed up and down on Sally's tiny breasts.

I could see from where I stood that the woman seemed to be wearing some sort of belt around her waist, and nothing more. I was so shocked and appalled by the vision before me that my hand leaped to my mouth and an involuntary gasp escaped my lips.

Apparently, the woman – not Sally -heard me and whirled around. Her body pulled away from the gaping vagina of my friend and revealed that she was wearing some sort of artificial prick belted around her waist. It was a huge, curved organ, glistening with moisture from where it had so recently been imbedded and, as its wearer turned to face me, it vibrated in the dim light.

"What the hell do you want?" she demanded as she rose and took a threatening pace toward me.

I couldn't have answered if my life had depended on it and – for all I knew – it might have. Fortunately, the sound of the woman's voice made Sally herself open her eyes to look around the room. As if in a daze, she finally focused on me and in a soft, sheepish voice, half spoke, half whispered, "Oh, hi?"

"Hi, yourself," I managed. "I hope you're having fun!"

"Oh, God," Sally said, ignoring the sarcasm in my remark. "Goddamn, am I ever! Lucille's got-some fake dick that makes you really feel wild!"

"Shut up," the woman said. She was still standing in front of the couch glaring at me, the huge prick bobbing up and down before her.

"Hey, it's okay, Lucy," Sally said. "She's okay. She's a friend of mine."

"I was a friend of yours," I corrected. "I never want to see you again!" With that I whirled around, ran up the cellar stairs and out the door.

I was running so fast I hardly had time to think until I finally staggered into Daddy's and my apartment. Then, completely exhausted, emotionally and physically, I rushed into the bedroom and threw myself on the huge bed.

Grasping the pillow that still held a soft memory of Daddy's after-shaving lotion, I buried my face in it, clutching it to my breasts, and bawled in choking agony.

I was still lying there in some form of a trance when Daddy finally came home. If he called for me, I didn't hear. I do know that I felt pressure beside me on the bed and his gentle hand on my shoulder and his soft, familiar voice saying, "There, there, kitten. It's all right."

At last my sobs broke into a torrent of wailing grief and hurt. I grabbed Daddy around the waist and buried my head in his lap as my very soul poured out in tears that were long overdue.

For days, I couldn't explain my emotions for they were such a tangled mixture of hate, fear, hurt, guilt and love, plus the adolescence that I had willingly denied myself. But again Daddy was understanding and did not press me. He was the most wonderful, understanding, loving man in the whole world and it was that quality that, three days later, made me confess to him my experiences with Sally.

Strangely enough, it changed Daddy's and my relationship a final time. For my confession brought about a new kind of love between my man and me – a love that could only be fulfilled by a woman's most priceless gift.

I had to give, to prove my love, even though I knew that by giving I was to ruin the very relationship that was more valuable to me than anything else in the world.