It all began when Jamelia was swimming. She'd been racing her father up and down the pool but he'd easily beaten her with his long, graceful strokes and by the time she spluttered to a finish at the shallow end, he was leaning back with his elbows on the pool's edge like he'd been there all day.
"What kept you, slowcoach?"
Jamelia panted a wordless reply.
"Perhaps we should do four lengths instead of six? Or maybe two?" he teased.
"Alright, alright, don't go on about it," Jamelia snapped as she floated around, "I start off faster than you."
"But you can't keep it up."
That was the moment.
Her brain had instinctively lined up a gag about her dad 'keeping it up' when another, more mature, part of her brain warned her not to make penis jokes with her father. Somewhere within the myriad synapses of her mind, a connection was made that was forever to be unbroken.
She looked at him. His ease. His confident poise. His goofy smile with the endearing gap at the centre. He was unshaven, it being a weekend, and his bristles were showing badger stripes of grey. His kind eyes. His strong arms, broad chest and tight torso. The unwelcome thought hit Jamelia like a sledgehammer. They were both standing in the waist deep water and she gazed upon this exceedingly appealing man and saw him, really saw him, for the first time.
'He's fit!' she thought, 'This guy's a honey!'
A warmth ran through her body and she recognised it as the tingling, sparkling and intriguing feeling of a new crush sweeping her off her feet. There had been three times in her young life when she'd fallen completely in love. The emotions she'd felt then, she was feeling now.
'Wow, my dad is gorgeous.'
Her daydreaming was interrupted by her dad's voice, she had to ask him to repeat what he'd said.
"I asked if you wanted to get out, you must be feeling cold in here."
"Why do you think so?"
Her father looked embarrassed and motioned with his hand at his nipples. Jamelia looked very confused. Her father waggled his eyebrows and nodded at her. She looked down to discover her nipples were hugely erect and visibly poking through her swimsuit. She gasped and held her hands over her breasts. She looked around to see if any of the other swimmers were noticing. Realising that this pose was just as awkwardly sexy as letting her nips stick out half a mile, she agreed that it may be time to go.
They stood next to each other in the communal shower room, washing off the pool's chemicals. She loitered under the strong jets watching this tall, handsome, muscular man rub his hands over his bronze skin while the water enveloped him in a romantic mist. She felt a disconcertingly familiar tremble just below her stomach that told her she was getting horny. She was glad she was standing under a shower or she would've displayed a damp spot in her swimsuit that no father should see.
'What the fuck is happening to me?'
She spent the next few days trying to put it out of her mind. She put it down to confusion, loneliness, stress, natural physical reactions to visual stimuli... and a growing, deepening love she had for her father mixing with her maturing sexuality. It couldn't be that she actually fancied her father. That would be ridiculous.
Her mother had left when she was thirteen and, initially, she hated her father and hated having to live with him rather than her beloved mom. All through her puberty she had blazed and raged as they argued, taking all her resentments out on him. Eventually she'd figured out that the reason she lived with her father was because her mother didn't want her. She didn't want either of them. Visits to her mom's various apartments dwindled to zero as the young Jamelia gradually saw how miserable they both were during the mandatory contact; she could tell her mom was just counting the hours until Jamelia left and she'd be free again to lead her new life. Her mom clearly didn't want her around and so Jamelia stopped going. Her father received a lot of flack for this, he was accused of turning Jamelia against her mom, the whole family got involved in a battle of snide remarks but her dad was resolute and defended her; if Jamelia didn't want to go, he was going to respect her decision.
They were ostracised after this melodrama and for the last seven years it'd been just her and her father, sharing a home and building a life. To his credit she never once heard him bad-mouth the wife who'd abandoned him and his daughter. All of Jamelia's insults and abusive teenage rants were taken with a cool civility and his calm arguments were always sensible and caring, and god-damned infuriating to a tempestuous teen. Now she was all grown up. Next year she was heading out to university. She'd taken a year out to hang out with her friends, get drunk, get high, have sex and shake off all the bullshit pressure that highschool used to chain her down. She was going to start college as a new Jamelia: strong willed, independent, clear minded and determined to succeed. Just like her dad, in fact. Her father was very proud of her, and often told her so.
About a week after Jamelia's epiphany in the pool she was sat with her dad on the sofa watching teevee. She was wearing just a pair of tights and one of his shirts. She'd taken to lounging around in his expensively soft shirts, despite him asking her to leave his clothes alone, but this week she had begun to wear the shirts she found in the laundry basket rather than his closet. She liked to feel her naked skin being next to where his had been. She enjoyed the subtle wafts of intimate scents left behind on the fabric.
"I'm going to miss you, Jammie," her father said, out of the blue, "When you go to college... this may sound lame to you but, you're kinda my best friend."
She gazed at him and snuggled her body in closer to his. He laid his arm around her shoulders and his hand fell down to touch her leg. He idly played with her pantyhosed covered thigh in a way that made her turn her face away and blush.
"I'll miss you too, you ol' grump," she said, "But yeah, that is pathetic."
"Thanks."
"You have friends."
"Not ones I like to cuddle."
They sat watching the screen across the room with this growing unspoken 'thing' hanging between them.
"I suppose... you need a woman in your life. It's been seven years, Dad."
She knew her mom had broken his heart and it was always a touchy subject to bring up.
"Awww, where're am I going to find someone as good at cuddling as you?"
She squeezed him as hard as she could, and he chuckled at her effort which had little effect on his fit, strong body. She tilted her head and gazed into his serious, big brown eyes.
'If you want to kiss me, I really wouldn't object at all,' she almost said out loud.
She wondered at the dangerous thoughts that were zig-zgagging around in her mind lately. His fingertips gently touched her thigh. She laid her head on him and sighed.
"You bored? With the film?" he asked.
"Nu uhh," she murmured, "I'm absolutely fine."
A few nights later, Jamelia walked into her father's bedroom to steal another of his shirts. He was lying in bed on his back, asleep. She stood next him in the darkness, looking down at his breathing chest. The greying chest hair ran down in a streak across his belly and disappeared under the duvet. His dark skin looked so touchable. Her hand reached out, slowly. Just as her fingertips were about to make contact, he said her name. Her hand flinched away and she laughed at how shocked she was.
"You made me jump," she said, "I thought you were asleep."
He didn't reply. His lips parted and he repeated her name with a gasp.
'He is asleep,' she observed, 'And he's... is he dreaming about me?'
"Jamelia," he called softly.
She puzzled over what he could be dreaming about, why he would be saying her name like that. He moved on the bed and his legs kicked down the duvet exposing his utterly naked body. Jamelia stood transfixed by the sight of his impressive fully-engorged cock. Again, he moaned out her name, this time with a desperate passion in his voice. She felt her mouth moisten. A kind of fuzzy realisation was dawning but she doubted her own mind.
'It can't be that, not that! This cannot be true. This cannot be...'
Her father reached down and gripped his magnificently hard prick. Her eyes were wide as she watched him begin to stroke up and down.
"Oh Jammie, Jammie," he said.
She recoiled and stepped back into a small table, clattering deodourants and other detritus. She put her hand down to steady them and it touched soft, warm material. She picked it up and found it was her father's discarded underwear. She stood still and silent and watched him masturbate in his dreamworld while calling out her name. She raised up her father's shorts and held them to her nose, inhaling his most intimate scents as he fucked his imaginary Jamelia.
His hand began moving faster and her own imagination flew at just how hard he must be screwing her in his sleeping fantasy. She couldn't keep her eyes from him as his hand flashed faster and faster until his breath stilled and his back arched and his face contorted.
"Jammie!" he cried out and he shot a glob of stringy white cum up in the air.
It landed with a plop on the bed. Jamelia had stifled her involuntary whimpers with the shorts, biting into the warm, fragrant cotton underwear to keep quiet. Her dad spunked spurt after spurt until his convulsing stomach was glazed in creamy white goo. Jamelia had a sudden and urgent idea that this would be the moment when he was most likely to wake up, brought around by the feeling of wet cooling sperm on his hot skin, so she stole out of the room on her tippitoes.
Back in her bedroom, she paced up and down trying to mentally process the sex she, or the dream version of her, had just had with her father. She plopped down on her bed. It can only mean one thing, she decided:
'He wants me too.'
She looked down at the bunched, bitten underwear she held in her lap. She laid down on her bed, opened her legs and let her fingers slide inside her tight damp panties to dip in and out of her swollen pussylips as she held his shorts to her nose and mouth and lost herself in dreams of her own. After a minute or two, she became frustratedly horny. She raised herself up, threw off her bra and panties and opened up her bedside drawer. She pulled out her vibrator but looked at it despondently.
'If I'm going to imagine this is him, I'm going to need a bigger one.'
She laid back down and opened her legs. She clicked on the vibe and let it buzz over her lips and clit for about ten minutes, working herself into a frothy frenzy. She had stretched her father's underwear across her face and was breathing in the heavenly heavy scent of his body, his penis, his balls, his sweat, the talcum powder he used, his pee dribbles... at the height of her self-stimulation she felt him above her, pushing down upon her and her plastic substitute father dove inside her with a wrong-minded, incestuous arousal that both freaked her out and excited her.
That night she had some weird dreams.
The next morning was also very weird. They had made each other come. There was an almost post-coital strangeness to the atmosphere. This unspoken fact hung in the air between as they went about their every-day, typical breakfast routine. When Jamelia looked up from her cereal bowl she would find that her father had been staring at her. He would look away whenever she caught him. She glanced down and discovered that, quite unconsciously, she had put on one of her most revealing dresses and, to add to the effect, had left a few buttons undone of her already low-cut décolletage. She'd been flaunting her considerable cleavage without even intending to and the thought that her dad had been thoroughly enchanted by the view pleased her immensely.
She crossed the kitchen, to get a glass, and had to stand on her toes and stretch to reach them on a high shelf. A breeze from the open window danced around the tops of her thighs and she was aware that her short hemline would be revealing her butt to anybody watching. She glanced again at her father and, just for a second, caught him gazing over at her with a lost, fascinated look on his face. He looked up, their eyes met, again just for a moment, then he went back to skipping through the news on his phone.
