I've been married to my wife, Becca, for twenty-four years; for the most part, pretty happily. Together we have two children, eight-year-old Martin and eighteen-year-old Clara. We're your typical suburban middleclass family, meaning we've all got our own lives we focus on; however, I pride myself on being a part of every member of my family's life.
Martin is obsessed with baseball. From the professionals to his own team, which he is the pitcher for, everything in his world revolves around the sport. Becca is an account manager at a P.R. firm; she makes decent money, loves being in charge, and rarely complains. As for myself, I'm a psychologist, with my own in home private practice. That leaves Clara. She's different. She doesn't let me in. We'll talk and it's very artificial; I know no more about her than I do my neighbors, but it wasn't always like that. I hate that it's like that now.
Today started off like any other day. We had breakfast as a family, went off and did our own things. I made dinner. Martin and Becca came home after school. Martin and I laughed and talked about sports and the upcoming game we're going to see next week. Clara moved her carrots around her plate and politely nodded or said a brief word when absolutely necessary. A few hours after dinner, when the kids were doing their own thing, and I was in my office working on a paper, I see Becca's car beam lights pull up to the gate. I'm sure she'll eat, then take a shower, put the kids to bed, then go to sleep herself. Life as usually.
Only today, there was a knock on my office door.
I check my watch, half past one in the morning. Everyone should be asleep. "Come in." Slowly the door opens and Clara sticks her head in, "Hey Dad, can I talk to you?"
As if she'd need to ask, I practically jump up from behind my desk, "Of course Sweetie." I gesture towards the couch I have for my patience, she takes a seat and stares at the floor. I lean against my desk and wait.
After twenty minutes of silence, she finally looks at me. "Daddy, do you think I'm attractive?"
This was no where close to where I thought she was going. Clara has never presented any signs of low self-esteem or body issues. Completely taken aback I answer without thinking, "Of course."
She shakes her head as she turns to look at me, "No, not like I'm your daughter and you love me pretty. Like, am I attractive as a woman to a man. Before you answer, think about it, I'm asking you, because you're not like other father's. You can be objective, plus you're honest, this will be confidential, you'll be pensive and I trust you. I want your opinion as to whether you find me attractive as a woman."
Before I say a word, she stands and unties the white robe she walked in wearing. It falls to the ground at her feet, and there's my daughter, naked staring at me. All I can think, is that she want's my honest opinion. The why is moot right now.
Staring at her I take in her features, features I know by heart. Even with her olive skin, it's obvious there's always a bit of natural pink in her cheeks, that compliments her dark brown eyes and oval face. She's of average height, with an hourglass figure, I know for a fact, women would kill for. Her breast are incredible, small waist, tight ass. An ass I wouldn't mind seeing right now. "Turn around for me." She does so without hesitation, and that ass comes into view. It's a perfect heart shape. Her long dark hair, almost kisses it. I move my hands to cover my hardening cock.
"Turn around again." She does so and her face is full of apprehension. "After I answer, will you tell me why?" She nods. "You're absolutely stunning."
"Dad..."