PS; I’m a father in my late fifties now, with a devoted wife, and a daughter that has long outgrown our control, but not in the dramatic way. Just.. her on her own schedule. My English is not superb and getting incoherent so my train of thoughts might bring some unnecessary details into this story.
After my daughter turned 15(?), my wife and I had kind of let her went on her own. With basic safety nets in place, she had freedom to hang out with whomever, for however late, and spent within the limits we gave. Yet, she mostly stuck to the routines we had around the house, although there was absolutely nothing wrong about that. Simple, mundane activities like breakfast together, occasional texts throughout the day, and being home at around dinner time. My wife and I were partly relieved that she felt comfortable around us, but also knew how she could ‘rebel’ more for a girl her age.
Things were mainly fine even through the phase when we stumbled upon her ‘self-love’ moments, since there was nothing unnatural or unhealthy about that. We knew that a girl has to become a woman at some point. The three of us then spoke openly about being ‘discreet’, and life went on until years later when she asked to speak to me, as a teen girl to a grown man.
I remembered almost everything my girl said to me, because it was that impactful. It was a long conversation, but I never dodged any questions. She had ust wanted to know, if it was normal to fantasise about someone, even though he was way older and definitely impossible to be with. Well, how else would I answer that? You know, as a guy (amongst being a husband and father), there were countless.. ehem idols and.. imaginary situations that were occasionally unspeakable.. along with close calls, that we (I mean we guys!) sometimes get inspirations from.
Of course it was normal! And totally acceptable, because of how unlikely we will be with the one(s) we get hard for. That conversation went positively smooth, and she was clearly in a better mood after.
It wasn’t until many years later, when she was overseas on her yearly trip with her friends, did I understand what she was hinting at. Because of her long absence, it was routine for me to air her room for a few hours every few days. And seeing a compact camera, along with a mini tripod on her bed, kind of set me off in a panic mode. How could she forget something so important for a holiday?!
I texted her my concern and she was suspiciously, excessively, dismissive. Like half being dismissive, and half being defensive, in between long period of inactivity in our chat.
(Her WhatsApp) ‘Dad? Please keep that camera very safe. I kind of made some videos of myself and its in there.’
(I replied) ‘Of course I will. Don’t worry about anything else. As long as you know that the camera is home, just enjoy the trip.’
Besides that camera and tripod, I kept the dildo and vibrator out of our conversation, because those are really out of my scope, nor concern.
(Her WhatsApp) ‘You can look through the camera. But don’t show it to anyone else, not even mom.’
(I replied) ‘I won’t. You’re not a baby anymore. And that’s for someone else to see.’
Without touching her bed and the belongings on it, I opened the windows and wiped and covered whatever surfaces that had dust, and was about the leave the room when her next message came.
(Her WhatsApp) ‘You’re the person I made the videos for.’
Was it ‘by the time you see this video’ kind of video? Or a sobbing tale about something she wanted to tell me but couldn’t? Or a self-improvement video she wished I had seen earlier to be a better dad? Or was it just harmless, selfie-porn that I was overthinking about?
It was the last. Almost 80GB of it, in 1080p, taken from a year ago when she received that camera as a birthday present. That 001 serial on the file told me enough. All of it was of her, professing her thanks, love, and lust for me, followed by some name calling, multiple orgasms, in full frontal, sometimes rear-doggy, angles that displayed the full glory of her shaven vagina.
I didn’t watch all of it, but some of all of it, simply because all the thumbnails always showed the ‘formal’ frame of her well-cared face as if she was going to say (and do) something different. Did I get a boner? Yes I did. Because every 10-minute-ish video started with a heart-warming recount of her affection for me. There were ‘thank yous’, the ‘do you remembers’, and ‘that time you’, some happening way back when she was very young, up till the day before she flew.
She returned five days later, and her hug felt extra tight. The kiss on my cheeks was the first I received in years, and her gaze into my eyes spelt ‘relief’. The days following her return, there were some hand-holding, arm-hugging, head-on-my-shoulder, and more kisses on my face. Then, came the kisses, that landed on my lips.
Pecks at first, then it lasted a second, then three, then too long. Her hands no longer stopped on my bulging belly, but went slightly lower – and lower. Soon, every lip kiss came with a gentle push on my groin.
My wife wasn’t home all the time, with groceries to buy and kakis to do yoga and Pilates with. And my unshapely figure limited all my workouts to the yoga mat our daughter got me. And things went out of hand during one of those days we, my daughter and I, were alone at home.
We hugged, and kissed, and stripped, just enough for our hands to touch where we were sensitive. The yoga mat became useful, as the gym ball which I balanced on while she sucked me off – the way she did to the dildo in her videos. We swapped places, and she spread her lower lips with two fingers, and moaned while I ate her out until her back was literally horizontal on the ball.
We changed positions next, with me seated on the mat while leaning on the ball, while she lowered herself over my dick. We kissed so much that time till the ball rolled away and she just herself crazy like in those bull-riding events. We were in that cow-girl pose when I came for the first time, inside the girl my wife birthed with my sperm. Sperm met sperm once more.
When she finally pulled away, I was still rock hard. And that gym ball came back into the picture for her to bend over. In doggy-style this time, I hammered her silly and kept loving my girl this way until she went silent, but was actually too overwhelmed by orgasms to make anymore noise. In this very position, I came a second time into her, and there were nowhere else for my load to go except back out her pussy that was brimming with a foam.
Like cheating spouses do, we cleaned everything up, and returned everything to its place. Following that day, her affection for me had kind of tapered down. No more hand-holding, no more arm-hugging, and no more kisses.
At least not in front of her mother who was completely clueless. Our physical intimacy remained intense and illogical, until the day she moved out, into the BTO she bought with her husband. Which after, we would only meet once every week for a ‘session’, in between every two weeks for a family dinner.
Many, many years have past since then, and things have changed a lot. Her work, pregnancy, and matrimonial duties, barely left us enough time for family dinners – apart from the frequent, normalised visits to each other’s places for a quickie to alleviate the stress of daily life.