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

Chapter 8

With Daddy attending summer classes and me on vacation that summer, I found little to do other than swim in the pool at the apartment or read. I really didn't enjoy going out with most of the kids from the school because, living so close to Daddy, I suppose I had matured far beyond my years.

Not only had our physical association turned me into a woman, but our love in an emotional sense had matured me. Where most girls my age were still screaming at pop singers or giggling about cute boys at school, I, found it far more rewarding to discuss politics or something of a similar nature with Daddy.

I did get a few invitations to go to the beach or riding with some groups, but after trying these things a couple of times, I simply gave up. I kept to myself on the assumption that it would be better to be lonely while Daddy was away than to be subjected to immature companions whom I didn't really like or understand anymore. It was as if, in some strange way, my first total act of sexual congress with Daddy had stolen my adolescence from me.

Before, I had been a child, now I was a woman and with each added touch of his hand or whisper of his voice, I became more of a woman and thus further from understanding companions my own age.

But I didn't lead a completely isolated life for, over the past several months I had formed a tight bond of friendship with Sally. Who really began the friendship, I don't know. Maybe she sensed that I was not one of the many people she had known who would criticize her. Perhaps she wanted to be criticized – maybe that was why she had masturbated in front of me – but when I refused to comment or evaluate, that must have made our association even stronger.

Remember, I had been raised – even when my mom was alive – to think for myself and to analyze on the basis of hard facts. There had never been any arbitrary dictum of right or wrong in my home and this was particularly true about sex.

I really saw nothing wrong in the fact that Sally masturbated with various things like the sawed-off broom handle, hot dogs, and such. I didn't even think it was wrong that she enjoyed the fact that I watched her do it.

I suppose she was a very strange and lonely girl in her way. Almost every time we were at her house, in her room, she would start the practice.without seeming to have any motivation. We would be listening to a new record and suddenly, she would start playing with herself by sitting on the bed, spreading her legs, and extending the fingers of one hand up one of her panty legs.

Sometimes, this would content her, sometimes it wouldn't. If she knew her mother was out and had a very strong urge, she would peel her panties down her legs and put the broom handle or something else in her. All the time she would talk to me, telling me how good it felt, but never saying or doing more than that!

I, of course, was fascinated by the whole process, because I had never seen another woman before, except for that one time I spotted Mrs. Bradley with Daddy's penis in her mouth. In a strange way, I was very excited whenever I watched Sally play with herself, yet I wasn't really desirous. The emotions I felt were more intense curiosity than anything else.

I had seen Sally perform her ritual several times and had listened to her talk about wanting boys and about her own shyness several more times before doubts really began to nibble in my mind.

By the time that summer rolled around and I celebrated my fourteenth birthday, Daddy and I were well settled down to the life of a married couple. Our sexual life was thrilling and rewarding and if there was ever a time when I didn't experience orgasm with him, I certainly don't remember it. But the newness had worn off. The thrill of the first act and of forbidden fruit was no longer there. I, like hundreds of other women before me, began to wonder if the sexual experience could be as richly rewarding and explosively satisfying with another man, as it was with the one who had first introduced me to the joys of Eros.

Had I been older or freer in my habits, I'm sure I would have followed the classic path of meeting some man at the office or at a bar for a one-night stand, and discover that way that love is vital to any satisfaction of the heart. But I had no office and I couldn't get into bars.

My only real friend, and my only close companion of my own age was Sally. We had been swimming one afternoon and Sally had lain in the sun for some time trying to get a tan. She was wearing a cute little two-piece suit that really made her body look wonderful, even though she was still sort of skinny and not completely developed yet.

After a long time in the sun, I asked her if she wanted to go inside with me and have a drink of iced tea. She agreed and we both went up to the apartment. We were in the kitchen and just because I felt wild, I asked her if she had ever tasted a martini.

"Gosh, no," she said. "Have you?"

"Sure," I told her. "Lots of times."

With that, Sally seemed even more impressed than usual and said she would like to have a martini with me. As she watched me mixing the drinks, she began to play with herself through the bottom of her swimming suit. She always did that when she was particularly excited about something – whether that something was sexual or not.

I finished making the drinks, poured them into glasses and handed her one. I suggested we go into the living room to drink them, but remembering our swimsuits were still wet, I asked Sally if she wanted to change before we had the drinks. She agreed and followed me into the room that was supposed to be mine, although I hadn't slept there in all the time we had lived in the apartment.

Sally peeled out of her damp swimsuit bottoms, revealing slender legs and a thin, muscular hip line dotted with only the slightest punctuation of pubic hair. Then, still as casual as always, she untied her flimsy bathing suit bra and let it fall to the carpet. I don't know what came over me – I had seen her tiny erect breasts several times before – but they seemed remarkably beautiful and firm, almost as if they were asking to be touched.

Forcing the thought from my mind, I slipped into a sunsuit and halter. Sally stood naked for a moment playing with her private parts almost as if she was scratching, although I knew she wasn't. She asked if she could wear a bathrobe of mine instead of getting dressed. I agreed and when she had slipped her arms into it and looped the tie cord around her slender waist, we again went to the living room to sip our forbid-, den drinks.

Sally sat on the couch and I in a chair, and again she began to play with herself. She would take a sip of the martini, wince from the taste sensation of it and the heat of the alcohol sliding down her throat and into her body and then clutch at her genitals. Finally, she just lay back against the couch, raised her left leg with the glass in her left hand and the fingers of her right violently stroking her clitoris.

"Don't you ever do this?" she asked as casually as if she were inquiring about the time of day.

I shook my head, stifling an urge to mention that I didn't have to. I wanted to say that I already knew the total pleasures of sex with a grown man and that I didn't have to play at being a little girl anymore. I wanted to tell her a lot of things about what I had experienced in my father's arms, but I knew I must keep our secret.

"Oh, it's really the greatest," she said, and then with a jerk that almost spilled her drink, she tore her fingers from her vagina, placed the glass on the table and almost screamed, "I know what!"

"What?" I asked.

"Let me do it to you," she said, excitedly. "You'll really like it. Ill get a hot dog or something. You got a hot dog in the refrigerator?"

"Sally… I… "

"Don't be an old square," she said… "It's really great!"

She leaped off the couch and, like some sort of legendary fury, dashed into the kitchen. I heard the refrigerator door open, scurrying sounds for a moment, and then the sound of it closing again. Sally returned to the room with an eight-inch-long wiener in each hand and stood waving them triumphantly in front of my face.

"It'll be great," she announced. "I can do you and then you can do me!"

"But, Sally," I managed, "I don't really want to. It's not like-"

"Like what?"

"Nothing."

She looked at me for a long time before the expression of doubt on her face turned slowly to one of complete knowing accompanied by a strange, totally illuminating smile. "I know," she said, "you don't have to tell me. I know! You've let some boy do it to you! You've gone and gotten yourself fucked, haven't you?"