Authors note: This story is my submission for the 'Literotica Annual National Nude Day' contest. It's a little different from my usual one-shot stuff, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.
Also, a little warning, but the main character suffers from a little social anxiety, and feels a lot of anguish over his feelings, often expressing self-hate and lots of self-doubt. I know that a lot of people really hate that kind of stuff, so just a warning to skip this if you aren't into that.
Anyway, enjoy~.
***
Do clothes really make that much of a difference?
The thought comes reflexively as I observe the brunette dancing in front of me.
She's wearing a skimpy spaghetti strap top and a matching pair of short pajama pants, and listening to music through a pair of air-buds, and swaying carelessly to the beat of some stupid pop song that she'd admit was pretty dumb, but say that it's catchy, and puts her in a good mood.
In the mood to dance, apparently, as she dances in that carefree way, oblivious to my probing gaze...
My eyes flicker to her hips, and my tongue dances behind my lips to the rhythm of their subtle sway, and in that moment, memory and reality merge into one.
A naked thigh; deliciously curved. Silky, creamy skin; flawlessly smooth. And that flushed look that bodies seemed to only have when lain bare for one's appraisal. She was standing at the kitchen sink, washing up some dishes; nothing odd about that in itself, except she was completely naked.
I call out to her; my own voice shaky, caught in my throat.
Choked up, really.
But no response.
Then she looks back over her shoulder, and I see that glazed over look in her eyes.
She's sleepwalking, I thought.
Then reality comes back, and I study the little pajama bottoms, and the cotton strap top that the she's wearing, and the thought comes to me again.
Do clothes really make that much of a difference?
Those same creamy thighs spill out of those shorts that barely cover anything, and the shape of her hips, that smooth expanse of stomach that leads all the way to those small, perky breasts.
The shape of her collarbone, and that kissable neck.
I can see them clearly; every shape, every contour; all the same.
Yet it is the naked form that caused me to stir darkly, and respond in that way that no man ever should to his own flesh and blood.
"Daddy?"
The word stings, like a rebuttal to my involuntary arousal.
"What're you doing?" she asks.
Her question shakes me from my reverie, and I catch myself with a dumbstruck expression plastered on my face.
"I- uh..."
Words utterly fail me, but she seems oblivious to my malfunction.
"Well, don't just stand there. Come dance with me!"
I recoil instinctively as she approaches.
"No, I'm fine. I was just-"
I topple over, and fall to the ground as I stumble backwards away from her, and she quickly moves to help me up.
"Jeez, you're such a klutz! How do you get through a day without ending up in the emergency ward?" she chides me, and I laugh nervously, rubbing the back of my head, but she's not done-
"Dance with me!" she says again, and as she pulls me over to her room and begins to hum the tune that she's dancing to, I try for a moment to move as she does, before shaking my head, and backing away.
Careless, rhythmic movements like that never came naturally to me, and she puts her hands on her hips, and shakes her head at me.
"Just- let yourself go. Feel the moment!" she says, and I shake my head.
"I'm just no good at it, Beck."
"That's because you're not trying. You know, just because mom thinks you're a loser, doesn't mean you have to be one."
But I am...
In every sense of the word.
Her words are teasing, and I know she means nothing by it, but that feeling hits me nonetheless.
I smile to let her know that it's fine, and she smiles back, but as I head out of the room, I wonder if her smile is anything like mine.
It doesn't matter anyway; I just need to get away, and then everything will be fine.
***
I make a beeline for the phone in my bedroom, then open whatsapp to look through the contacts for the one that says 'Bell (ex-wife)'.
Hey. I don't think this is working out.
I hit send, then wait for the blue ticks.
An angry face emoji comes up almost immediately in response.
We've been divorced for five years now. Are you only just realizing, or...?
I meant with Beck...
'Bell (ex-wife) is typing'
comes up, but as I wait for the message, it doesn't come, and only after the notice appears a few more times does a message finally come through.
Well, maybe you should have thought of that before you put your dick inside of me.
Blunt, to the point, and bitter as always.
I guess Bell hadn't changed at all.
I decide to try a different approach.
I thought she grew out of the sleep-walking?
I hit send, then wait for the reply, but this one doesn't take as long, and is much more civil.
She did. Did it happen?
Yes.
Four more angry-face emojis, followed by one which seems to have a censored swearword coming out of his mouth.
There was an emoji for everything these days, huh?
She sleepwalks, and that's it? You lose your fucking balls? Why is it so hard for you to just MAN THE FUCK UP AND ACCEPT RESPONSIBILITY FOR THE DAUGHTER YOU HELPED BRING INTO THIS WORLD?
FUCK!
As I read the messages, I'm thankful that I decided to have this conversation over text, rather than hear her scream at me, even over the phone.
I'll pay for whatever she wants to do. You know that. I'll pay to take care of anything that she does...
I hit send, but the series of replies come before my finger can even leave the screen.
ITS NOT ABOUT MONEY, CUNTFACE!
She doesn't want money.
She wants her father.
Though, God alone knows why.
I slump down onto the bed, running my finger carelessly across the edges of the mobile device.
I'm trying to think of how to convey my problem at hand to this woman, when another message comes to me.
Is this really just about sleepwalking?
A miracle?
No,
I reply, but the fleeting hope is extinguished with the next message.
Then, explain. Because I need a
really
good reason to cut short the only vacation I've had since leaving your dumb ass. I needed this, Finn. Steve and I needed this...
Steve, huh?
I sigh, as I send the reply.
I can't...
A few more seconds, before the response comes to me:
Well, I can't help you with something that you can't tell me about. As for the sleepwalking, just lead her back to bed. It's easy. And you probably still wake all night anyway, right?
"Right..." I say, as I throw the phone onto the bed, and turn, burying my head into a pillow.
I shut my mind off, trying to forget that the world exists, and for a little while, it works, as I drift off to sleep.
***
Thump*
I woke up to the sound of a door slamming shut.
Was that the front door?
And what time was it?
I retrieved my phone, and winced as the overly bright light shone into my face.
A little after two...
Did that mean it was happening again?
I suppressed a groan, as I looked at the door to my room.
Maybe I could just stay here?
Pretend she isn't doing anything, and just let her find her own way back to bed?
Badump*
This one was louder, and it didn't sound like a door, but like something falling...
Fuck!
What if that was Beck?
I panic and dart for the door, quickly heading downstairs.
"Beck?"
I see a figure moving in the dark, and I swallow uncomfortably as I follow the movement with my eyes.
Please have clothes on,
I thought.
But my prayer goes unanswered, as she turns and moves across the room, the dim orange illumination of the streetlight sneaking in through the window momentarily illuminating those perfect little breasts.
Despite myself, I already feel my part stirring, and I feel like slapping myself in the face in frustration.
Get ahold of yourself!
I thought.
Just do it! Lead her back to bed, and be done with it!
I moved in quickly, but in my haste, I stumbled on the way, and as I flailed out my hand made contact with something warm, and soft, and I yelped in surprise, as my palm is face up against a breast.
I froze, and she did too, but as my heart raced in my chest, the thumping echoing across the dark room, she turned, and went back to... whatever it is she was doing.
"Shwere is ich..." she mumbled, the words almost indecipherable, but as she reached down to the floor, I finally saw the object of her nighttime excursion.
What is that, though?
A cardboard box?
There were no boxes down here, I thought, and as she tried to pick it up, it slipped out of her uncoordinated hands, falling down with another 'thump'... but that was no longer where my mind was, as my eyes zoomed in on the swell of her ass, the shapely figure of her hips... all bared, and completely in the buff.
Why did she have to bend like that?
In the darkness of the room, I could only see the silhouette, but that was more than enough to score a critical hit on the stirring in my pants.
"Beck," I tried again, but I knew she couldn't hear me.
The only thing loud enough for her to hear would be something that could wake her up from deep sleep, and if she woke up like that, she might fall down and hurt herself... and I definitely didn't want her to wake up naked like that in front of me.
Would it be as big a deal to her as it was to me, though?
Probably not.
I mean, I knew full well that most parents were probably used to seeing their kids naked...
But maybe those parents didn't have a daughter like Beck...
Those sleek curves. That toned, tanned stomach.
That perfect bone structure that held together a flawless frame.
What I wouldn't give for a taste... a touch... a-
No!
Stop that, you fucking asshole.
She's your daughter, now get her back to bed before she hurts herself!
Before... you hurt her.
