A Ind of Homecoming

Linda realized that her parents' divorce had hurt her father more than her mother. The affair that ended their marriage had something to do with it. That her mother was now married to the object of that affair didn't help.

But her father was just sad, she thought.

Thanksgiving would be tough, but Linda had made her choice. She'd spend it with her father, even though his family was all gone and it would be just her back from her first few months in college and him knocking around the house.

Linda would look up some high-school friends if things got too lonely. Seeing her mother was out of the question, as she and her new husband were in France. They'd offered to fly Linda over as a combined Thanksgiving-and-extra-birthday gift. Linda had just turned 18 two weeks before Thanksgiving, but being on a different coast, she'd celebrated with new friends and talked to both her parents on the phone.

Her father's phone call then had been a bit too forced to be believably cheery, but she could understand that. Hell, she found dating a pain, and she wasn't 45 and newly divorced. He'd perked up when she told him she wanted to spend Thanksgiving with him. The ticket would go on the credit card she had on his account. The rest of her present was another $500 off that card to buy what she wanted.

She saw her father waiting in the spot in the terminal where he'd said he would be and waved. He smiled and waved back. At 45, he was pretty good-looking, though she assumed he dyed his hair, which was brown and thick. He had an agreeable face -- kind without looking weak. And he dwarfed her, 6'4" and 240 pounds to her 5'0" and 100. He'd joked every once in awhile about having helped make something so improbably small, and they'd all laughed. But that was when they were still a family.

Linda had her mother's blonde hair and slight frame. She hadn't inherited her mother's breasts -- 34Ds -- but had instead been somewhat disappointed during her maturation that she tended toward her father's female relatives on that count. 30B was as large as she got, and there had been an embarrassing conversation with her mother when Linda was 16 and her mother tried to gently enquire if Linda wanted breast implants.

The conversation had been strange and uncomfortable, but it had also cemented something in Linda that wanted to like her own body. And so she did, and she had found lots of boys who found neither her breasts nor her slim hips a turn-off.

Linda snapped back to the present as her father said "Hi, honey" and engulfed her in his embrace. Ridiculously, comfortably, he still smelled like Old Spice. She hugged him back. As they broke the hug, he took her larger bag away from her and slung it across his shoulder.

"Good to see you, " he said.

"Good to see you, too."

"Tired? The bags under your eyes would seem to suggest so."

She laughed. "Yeah, I mainly feel like crashing, but I wouldn't mind eating."

"It's only 3 p.m. here, honey. You can even nap and go out to eat."

She slapped her forehead with a hand in a ritualized bit of 'what an idiot I am.' "Right. That would be good."

"Late night?"

"No night. By the time I was ready to get to sleep, it was time to get ready to wake up."

"Poor baby."

They reached the car and drove home, making small talk all the way. The exterior of the house was as she remembered it -- cleaner and better kept, actually. Maybe her father had more time to devote to lawn care now that her mother was gone. Or more reason to.

The interior was pretty much the same as well, with a difference it took her awhile to figure out. All the framed family photos in which her mother had appeared had vanished. Now only pictures of Linda or of Linda and her father remained on the walls, interspersed with the same paintings of rural settings that her father had preferred and her mother had barely tolerated.

She dropped the bag she was carrying on the floor of her room. Her father placed the other on her bed. The room was as she'd left it -- same posters, same frilly pink bedspread, same books on the shelves, same clothes left in the closet. Her father had given her a quick kiss on the cheek and told her to get a couple of hours sleep before he gently closed the door behind him as he left. The same alarm clock glowed red beside her bed. No need to unpack the one she'd brought with her, Linda realized.

Linda grinned. Same personal bathroom with shower too, of course. After three months of shared bathroom accommodations, that would be nice.

Having unpacked and stored the clothes that could be stored and set aside those that would need to be ironed, Linda stowed her bags in the closet and sprawled full-out on the bed, kicking off her shoes as she did so. They made a satisfying 'clump' sound as they hit the floor. Realizing that she was in danger of drifting off now, she quickly set the alarm for 5:30. Dad had said reservations were for 7 p.m., so she'd have plenty of time for a shower if she drifted off now. Then she sighed and sat up so as to take her stockings off and the panties beneath. She tossed both at the desk chair and both landed and stuck their landings. Linda's blouse, skirt and bra soon joined them and she lay back down. The room was warm. No need to burrow beneath the covers.

As Linda started to drift off on top of the covers, she realized that something was a bit odd. The pillow and the covers smelled like her father, cologne and everything else. No, she realized, that must be just a sense memory.

She awoke to the light touch of someone's breath across her forehead. Its anomalous presence didn't disturb her at first, and so she continued to lie there, eyes shut, trying to decide whether to wake up or doze off. The alarm hadn't gone off.

Someone's breath, she realized.

Linda opened her eyes to find herself staring directly into her father's eyes barely six inches away.

Startled, she started to say "Daddy?" but his large left hand covered her mouth and much of her face besides.

"Shh, kitten." He hadn't called her by that nickname since she'd reached adolescence, she thought.

Her widened eyes took in the rest of the scene as she looked around the room. The clock said 4:58. Enough light streamed into the room between the partially open curtains to show her one thing she knew and another she didn't expect. She was naked and on top of the covers. Bending over her, Linda's father was naked as well. She glanced down. His cock was in proportion to the rest of him, jutting out nearly as long and thick as her forearm -- or so it seemed, and what it seemed was indeed very close to what it was -- from a tangled salt-and-pepper patch of pubic hair.

Two absurd thoughts flickered across Linda's mind as she looked at her father's penis for the first time. The first was the realization that he needed both a trim and some hair dye. The second was the crude surprise that her mother had left anyone with a cock like that.

Her father's breath hitched a bit, as if he had meant to say something and then paused when he realized Linda was looking at his cock. It stood up hard and straight against his stomach, a bit of precum glistening on its circumcised tip.

A third absurd thought flickered across Linda's mind. God, she thought, he should be able to get a date. She continued to look at it for what seemed like hours until she realized that she had to do something harder. She had to meet his eyes again.

Reluctantly, Linda did. Once she did, he smiled his old, familiar Dad smile again, one she'd seen so many times. But he didn't remove his hand from her mouth, and as he sat down beside her on the bed, he slung his other arm across her upper torso to preclude any sudden movement from her. His upper right arm rested against her breasts when he did so, and he didn't pull away. She shrank away from him, but there was nowhere to go. Scared and confused, she nonetheless tried to remain calm while she looked him in the eyes.

"Nothing's the same anymore," he said, in the same tone he'd used while he coached her through learning how to ride a bike. Patient, loving. He removed his arm from across her and casually placed his right hand on her Mound of Venus, let it settle there. She gasped but continued holding eye contact. His fingers brushed against her ass as his hand settled into place and held her firmly.

"Smooth as a baby's bottom," he said then. "That's pretty much the rage now, isn't it? Don't worry, you don't have to answer."

Terror fluttered in Linda's stomach, along with shame at the physical feeling she was experiencing now. The pressure of her father's hand was causing her to moisten between her legs.

Without meaning to, she flicked another glance at his cock. It still loomed against his stomach, a promise or a threat.

When she looked back at his face, he was smiling. "It's OK, kitten. It won't bite. I figure you're not a virgin. In any case, you've seen one before. Now, if you promise not to scream or thrash around, I'm going to get a bit more comfortable and remove my hand from your mouth. But I want you to listen, and I don't want you to talk for awhile. OK, kitten?"

Linda approximated a nod and, satisfied, he removed his hand from her mouth. She tried to breathe regularly, but she didn't try to speak. She was too overloaded.

Her father smiled and shifted position. He straddled her on the bed and then gently, carefully, spread her legs farther apart so that he could sit between them. He drew his legs up and got comfortable as he rested both hands on Linda's stomach. He gently started caressing her stomach with his thumbs, the fingers laid flat. The tip of his cock let gravity take its course and came to rest on the bedspread an inch from Linda's now-wide-spread vagina.

Linda didn't know what to do with her hands. She'd been reflexively grasping the top of the headboard with them since she woke up, and the position was awkward. She finally brought them down and let them lie at her side, each hand nearly touching her father's feet.

"Comfortable?" he said.

She nodded.

"Good." He locked eyes with her. "I have to do this. I can't explain why. But you'll be taken care of, and there will be punishment for me. I want this to be as good as possible, though. And I don't want to talk any more."

"Daddy, I..."

"Shh."

With that, he shifted position and knelt over her. She felt his hot breath on her clitoris and then the hotter wetness of his tongue as he began to tentatively lap at her. She moaned and closed her eyes. Then she gasped as first one and then two of his fingers entered her to find her wet and waiting.

Linda moaned and shuddered as the first, sudden, unexpected orgasm took her and she wrapped her legs around her father's back. He paused and then continued to lap, continued to explore. The bedspread dampened beneath her ass as the second orgasm took hold. She felt as if a giant fist was squeezing her, wringing every bit of pleasure out of her only to find more.

He sat up. She whimpered. Resting one hand on her stomach, he carefully lifted first one foot and then the other to his mouth and gently tongued and sucked each toe. She thrashed on the bed throughout.

When he kneeled again and then began to gently lick and suck his way up and down each thigh before moving onto het stomach, she moved her hands to his head and played with his hair -- still thick, dyed or not -- as he mapped her body.

Finally there came a time when he looked up and met her eyes again. She nodded and spread her legs wider. He was big, but she was wet -- God, she'd never been wetter -- and so the head of his thick penis slid into her as if it belonged inside her, and she wrapped her legs around his ass in ecstasy.

Their eyes stayed locked as he gently extricated himself from those legs and pushed them back and out from her so that she was spread fully beneath him. She braced herself against the headboard as he rocked within her and she picked up his rhythm, matching him, accepting her father's cock within her as if that were its natural resting place. He dwarfed her, and she was scared, but she also felt safe as he loomed above her and thrust into her, safer and more excited than she'd ever felt during sex.

They fucked like that for what seemed like ages. At last, she heard him gasp and she felt his cock suddenly swell a bit more inside her. She wrapped her legs around his ass again and drew his face to hers, kissed him, and then they came together, both moaning as his seed geysered inside her.

Covered in sweat, he finally rolled off her and out of her as his cock deflated. Linda didn't have any protocols to handle what to do after what had happened, and so she simply lay on her back, sore and glowing and wet, her eyes closed, wishing he were still inside her and getting ready to blow, wishing she didn't feel that way.

The bed shifted as her father sat up. She tried to rise as well, but he pressed her down with one large hand before leaning over and kissing her gently on the forehead.

"You should have a shower," he said. "Reservations are in about half-an-hour."

He rose and left the room, gently closing the door behind him. She rolled over to look at the clock. 6:23 it said. All of it had happened in less than an hour-and-a-half.

The parts of my brain that actually do the thinking, Linda thought, aren't working very well right now. None of it seemed real, though the dishevelled and soaking bed attested to the fact that it was all real.

Shower, she thought. Shower and decide what to do after.

Linda was quickly towel-drying her hair and simultaneously deciding what to wear when the loud noise sounded from across the hall in her parent's bedroom. Her father's bedroom, she realized. It didn't sound like the gunshots one hears in movies, but that's what it was. When she found him, he lay stretched across his bed, dressed in what she later learned was the suit he'd worn at his own wedding, irretrievably dead.

She sleep-walked out of his room to get dressed. Her brain gradually thawed as she made herself up and slipped into a proper dress, and so before she put on pumps or even stockings, she bundled up her bedspread and, once she'd had a chance to examine them, the other sheets on her bed and hustled them downstairs and into the washing machine. She didn't start the load, though. That would be a bit too odd. New sheets, new bedspread, and then phone 911 and try to sound panicked. She managed it all.

What her father left her in terms of money and property gave her more than a good start in life. She saw the appropriate grief counselors and said nothing of consequence.

In late January, after Linda finished a particularly hard essay, she finally admitted to herself what was bothering her and then furtively, guiltily bought and used a home pregnancy test. The results were positive, and she knew who the father was once she saw a doctor and confirmed the length of the pregnancy.

She bore the boy to term, kept it, and managed to finish school and have a career before settling down. She always took much-older lovers and finally one suited her. Sometimes when they made love, or sometimes only when he gently stroked her face, she would begin to cry. But she would always assure him that the tears were because of her love for him or because of the gentle strength of his love-making.

"He has your father's eyes," Linda's mother said more than once about Linda's first child.

"Yes, yes he does," Linda would always reply. And when she smiled about that reply, no one ever knew what she was really smiling about.