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

Chapter 12

For three days, I lived a life of abject penitence. I stayed in the apartment silently doing every extra chore I could think of. As if, by working harder and harder, I could erase my own guilt and prove to Daddy that I really loved him and no one else. But after all that work, I found that I could not live with myself. I knew I had to confess.

Daddy was my mentor, my confident – my all! I could not continue living in secret shame, holding a part of myself away from him. Because of this, I had to tell him about the lesbian affair with Sally.

I started all right, but then, as I began to continue the story in hopes of easing my own conscience, I lost all self-control, I broke into a sobbing confession, blurting out all the details of our perverse acts. But the main part was my confession that I had only done it to test my love for Daddy, that I had wanted to find out if others could thrill me in order to compare his ministrations.

Throughout the whole terrible scene, he remained calm and understanding. Finally I threw myself across his knees and buried my face in his lap, begging for forgiveness and promising that I would never do anything like that ever again.

He merely stroked me gently on the back of the head and said over and over again, "It's all right, kitten. It's all right!"

That night, it seemed as if the slate of my guilt had been wiped clean. Emotionally, at any rate, I was a virgin again. We lay in bed for a long time before any physical contact was made, but we were sharing a fantastic love nonetheless. When Daddy did reach out to touch me, an electrical shock soared through me with an intensity I had never experienced before.

That night, after my confession about Sally and myself, I completely gave myself to Daddy, literally fusing my soul with his. The emotions we shared then were to cement the bond between us – an amalgam no lovers ever made stronger. It was a deep feeling that needed no words, that knew no guilt, because we were both godlike in our love and cared naught for the whims of society.

That was our first total emotional and physical commitment on a mutual basis, and I know that I will never, ever achieve anything even remotely similar with any other man.

Our love was never cracked, dimmed or lessened in the next two years. Many of the boys at school asked me for dates, but I refused them all and no one would ever have found out our secret if it hadn't been for the depth of my own love.

I think I probably knew from the very beginning that I wanted Daddy to fill me with his child. But it was an instinctual feeling then. It didn't reach the surface until after I had passed my sixteenth birthday. Then it began to grow into a fixation, It seemed that not a day passed when I didn't dream of making our love complete by bringing a new life into the world.

Daddy had taught me research and scholarship. I haunted the local library, reading everything I could about incest and the effects of it on offspring. I could not find one valid example of deficiency brought on by incest alone. Granted, some books insisted that certain traits could be increased by incestuous mating so that if both the father and daughter were feebleminded, their child might be too. But neither Daddy nor I had any medical or mental weaknesses!

I really searched and read all I could about incest, babies, contraception and fertility, and finally, lying in bed with Daddy one calm night, told him flatly that I wanted his baby.

Somehow, I don't think he was in the least surprised at my demand. I honestly believe that he, too, wanted to give birth to a living proof of our love. I also know that he, if for no other reason than his added age, had a tendency to be far more careful than I.

"You know we can't do that, kitten," he told me. "Just think of the repercussions!"

"Please, Daddy," I begged. "Make a baby in me. Let me give you a child. Please!"

"Kitten," he began as if searching for words, "don't you know what would happen if you got pregnant? What we do, what we share may be beautiful here in the apartment where no one else knows about it or sees us, but the world out there is different. To them, it's wrong, terribly wrong, even though they can't explain why. If you had a child, kitten, they'd know about it. They'd have to punish us, put us in jail. You just can't do it, kitten."

"What if I married someone else, only made sure it was yours?" I asked.

"Do you really want to do that?" he challenged. "Do you really want to live with someone else just to have my baby? Besides, you don't really know men, kitten. No one willing to marry you would be content to sleep away from you. You're just too desirable."

With that, he gently placed the palm of one hand on my lower abdomen just between the top of my vagina and my navel. The sudden soft touch of his fingers thrilled me beyond words. I responded by rolling over and gripping his penis tightly in one fist. "Please, Daddy," I begged again. "Please, make a baby."

As I spoke, I realized what a tremendous impact my word had, for I could feel instant life surge into his organ, making it as hard and erect as I had ever felt it.

I could not wait for play or massage. I straddled his body in the same way I had when I broke my maidenhead. Impaling myself upon his turgid desire I pressed my torso against his, pushing and thrusting with every bit of strength in my body. All the while I cried and murmured:

"Make a baby, make a baby. Oh, Daddy, please, make a baby in me… " And when I felt the hot, scalding fire of his come within me, I even convinced myself that I had suddenly become pregnant with the son of my own father.

Then, the dream shattered as I realized that with all my fantasies and all my wants, I had still been meticulously regular in taking my contraceptive pills. I could not become pregnant that night! But there would be one – there had to be! I kept telling myself this every moment I thought of my dream to become a mother.

I was determined in some feminine way to go through with my plan, if only I could find a way. In every thinking moment, I began to ponder just how I could get pregnant without upsetting Daddy or letting the world know what kind of love we shared. But other forces of fate were in operation at the same time.

I had not seen Sally since the moment I walked out of her basement playroom in a fit of jealous pique. In the two years that had passed, she had telephoned me a couple of times, but I had never offered to see her. I had wanted no more of her perverted life and thought the best way to avoid being sucked into total lesbianism was to avoid all contact with any of its practitioners.

I never even knew who the woman with Sally had been. I can only guess that after our first childish experiments, Sally had actively sought out other, older female partners. While still a mere child, Sally had totally committed herself to a homosexual life.

But there was something else she had committed herself to and, as I gradually began to learn the facts, I discovered that Sally, like so many other young kids who strive for kicks without meaning, had virtually committed suicide in her own unique way.

My first inclination of this was a small town item in the local newspaper stating simply that a teen-aged girl had been found dead in her own home. Her mother had reported the matter to the police. The item went on to mention Sally's name and address, and her mother's name, but gave no further details.

At first, even the name didn't ring a mental bell with me. Then it all came back! I was shocked and horrified and perhaps' even a bit curious and morbid about it all.

The day I first read the news was a weekday. I liked to read the paper before Daddy got home and, right after school I would usually do it. Almost immediately after discovering this one particular item, I telephoned Sally's mother, just to ask if it was true.

I must say that she sounded like a rock of strength over the phone. But when I asked if there was anything I could do, she did say she would like it if I could come over. Of course, I had only made the offer out of politeness without any real intent to follow through, but now I had trapped myself by my own words.

Reluctantly, I hung up the phone, wrote a short note to Daddy to explain my absence and walked over to Sally's house. What I found there shall live in my memory until the day I die.

My first impression of the house and Sally's mother was completely ordinary. She seemed completely calm, at least on the surface.

The house appeared to be neat and cheerful without any of the aura that often surrounds a place of recent death. But these impressions, although real and valid, were only a surface veneer. As Sally's mother asked me to sit down and brought me a cup of tea, she seemed less and less able to hide the true emotions within her pain-wracked body.

Apparently looking for some form of confessor Sally's age, she began to bubble forth the whole, degenerate story – a story that would never reach the papers even though in many ways it is typical of hundreds of other stories being lived in this country this very day and hour.

It seems that after her divorce, Sally's mother had made a genuine effort to be both mother and father to her only daughter. But she hadn't quite known how! She had had to make a living and give her child love, but she freely admitted that she had been afraid to discipline Sally in any way for fear of losing the dependent affection she had had for her.

She had known about Sally's masturbation and even knew it stemmed from a deep-seated insecurity. But she had been unable to bring herself to the point of a heart-to-heart talk with her daughter once she had found out about it back in the early days.

She had thought that I was perhaps the only "normal" friend that Sally had ever had. I thanked my lucky stars that she seemed to have no knowledge of our single solitary week of lesbian love, but she certainly was not as ignorant of Sally's other associations. She knew of the first mature woman who had seduced Sally; had even known that she had introduced her daughter to marijuana, but still with a terrible fear of losing Sally's affections, she had kept her lips sealed.

A few times, she confessed to me, she had tried to broach the subject with Sally, but each time, something seemed to hold her back. Instead of being firm, she had usually gone out to buy Sally something by way of a surprise, such as a new dress or record she had mentioned she wanted.

Gradually, of course, the situation became worse on both sides. As her mother became more inhibited, Sally became more brazen to the point where she would have lesbian parties in the basement while her mother was at work. Finally, sex was coupled with other thrills like "goof balls" and sniffing various things like glue and hair spray. That was what finally killed Sally.

During an orgy, she had taken a deep breath of some aerosol compound to heighten her lesbian pleasures and, in so doing had literally committed suicide.

Her mother told me that two of her friends were still trying to get her dressed when she discovered them with her daughter's dead body. For the first time in her life with Sally, she had taken a firm stand and command of a situation. She had completely dressed her daughter, told the others to go and then, when she had made the situation look like a simple case of suicide by accident, had called the police.

"I don't want a scandal," she said. "I don't want any of those maniacs coming to the funeral. Could you… I mean, could you and some of her normal friends come? Just to make it look as if Sally was a nice, normal girl." And with that, she lost control and snapped. Placing both hands against her face, Sally's mother began to sob into her palms.

There was nothing for me to do but to agree to speak to some of Sally's old friends and to attend the funeral with them. But the next three days were so hectic, so fraught with fear and sorrow, that I had no time to think or dream of the baby I had wanted so badly.

Poor Sally had been caught in a trap of her own making and the jaws had snapped shut with violent force. That thought stayed with me in my mind throughout all the telephone calls I had to make and through the funeral itself. I went there with Daddy and could hardly think of anything else as the minister spoke the final eulogy for Sally.

After it was over, I took a tight hold of Daddy's hand as we left the small cemetery chapel. Without words, we walked back to where we had parked the car. Still silent, I opened the door and started to get in. But my dress caught on the latch. Before I could realize it, I had ripped a small rip in it. My dress had been caught by the car's door and now – suddenly in a flash of total awareness – I knew that I would be caught, too.

I knew exactly how I would have Daddy's and my baby, and the child that I hoped would bring ultimate fulfillment to our already perfect relationship was already in the planning.

What I didn't realize was the fact that we had already been caught in another way and that the child, instead of giving the fulfillment of which I dreamed, would constitute the final trap – a trap that was soon to slam shut with the same power and deadly force that had snuffed the life from my friend, Sally.

But it is true, ignorance is bliss and in the great rose-colored cloud of my dream, I set about to become pregnant.

My first task, of course, was already complete. I had timed my menstrual cycle to a point where I more or less knew the time at which I would be most fertile.

My second task was to give up the pill entirely, without letting Daddy know. This, I began immediately even though I had over half a container still in the medicine cabinet.