My earliest memories of childhood are clouded in a mist of sorts. I can remember my daddy coming home at weekends but nothing of him during the week. As I got older it became clear he worked very hard for us.
One of my most abiding memories of him is standing for hours on Friday evening, waiting for his car to come into the drive. As soon as the engine stopped I would rush out to meet him, jumping into his arms.
He had a warm comfortable smell about him, a mixture of engine oil and tobacco - he smoked a pipe in those days. He would throw me up in the air and put me on his shoulders as he marched into our lovely home.
But suddenly he didn't come home. I was seven and couldn't understand why. My mom told me they were going to divorce, but I didn't know what it was about.
Then my mummy met another man. She brought him to our home and told me to call him Daddy, but I couldn't. My daddy was a big man who loved me so much, not this rather smarmy little man she had in her bed at night, Mom making all sorts of very strange noises, frightening me.
Because I didn't like him, couldn't like him, I was sent to boarding school at ten, made to grow up before my time. I know I became a right little bitch, but made friends at the all girl school, even going home for the holidays with my new friends.
Anything to not have to be in the same house as her new man. He made me feel so strange with his sneaky looks every time I was not fully dressed. He would take every opportunity to come into the bathroom when I was bathing, and his hands were always touching me.
My dad used to send me parcels every week, and money. I was probably one of the richest kids in the school, always having the best clothes, but I so wanted to be with him. I wrote to him, sometimes twice in one day, always begging him to take me with him, but Mom had custody of me till I was eighteen.
At last that day came, my birthday, eighteen at long last. Oh, how I longed to go to him. My birthday present was a new car, a shiny new bright red Mini.
The head teacher gave me the keys and said, "There is something in the car for you."
I rushed out to unlock the car and on the seat was a road map, with directions to his home.
The letter read "There will be a proper grown up party for you at seven this evening. Please, don't be late."
I studied the map for ages, till I knew every turn I had to make, right to his door. My best friend had been invited so was going with me on this first ever journey in my own car. I had passed my test as soon as I was seventeen, so I'd driven on many occasions, but only the school's mini buss.
I can't remember much about that journey except it brought me nearer to my dad. At last we turned the corner. His house stood well back from the road. It was huge. He had done very well for himself, now owning of the company he used to work for.
He met me at the door his arms going out to pick me up like he used to but he stopped and said, "Perhaps it's not the way to treat a very beautiful young woman."
Instead he took me in his arms and hugged me tight, the smell of oil and tobacco still there. I had come home at last.
The party was great, even the older people seemed happy with the rock band, not once complaining about it being too loud. The food was fantastic, but the highlight of the whole evening was when he took me onto the floor and waltzed me around the room in his big strong arms. I felt so safe, at last.
My friend was almost as smitten with my dad as I was. She talked about him all night, telling me how wonderful he was and what a lucky girl I was to have such a wonderful dad.
We crawled out of bed at lunch time the following day. Dad was up and working in his study so we made some breakfast and sat with him as he worked at whatever it was he had to do.
He announced it was time for a swim, "I hope you girls have brought your bathing suits with you."
I told him we hadn't known he had a swimming pool.
"Not to worry," he replied, "there are some things in the bedroom that will probably fit you."
I suppose you ought to know what we looked like. I was five feet five high, with a trim size ten figure, but my boobs were a lot bigger than my size ten ought to have, only 34" but double D. My friend was about the same size, just a little shorter with normal size C cups.
We found some swimming things, but they weren't the sort we were used to, our school swimming costumes were the regulation black with full bodies. All we could find were very skimpy bikinis, and even those were a bit too tight around my bust, causing me to almost spill out over the top.
With a towel wrapped round me to hide the fact that I was too big for this costume, we went down to the pool. It was outside but covered by a roof and surrounded by a high hedge, giving us total privacy. We got in quickly because both of us felt overexposed. Do you remember your first bikini? Well, this was much smaller then it ought to have been.
Dad came out in a pair of Speedos. Yes, they were the fashion then, black and very small, emphasizing his masculine charms.
"Oh my goodness," my friend gasped, "he looks like some sort of god."
I was annoyed at her remark, after all, he was my dad. He dived in, swimming across the pool towards us. My heart was beating so hard. I didn't want him to think I was too big, but knew he had noticed my womanly assets as we danced last night.
The bikini I had on was pale pink. It had become almost transparent in the water, and my nipples showed though. I know he noticed because his eyes kept straying back to them, no matter how hard he tried to look into my eyes. He just couldn't help straying back to my tits.
"You look like your mother when she was your age, but even more beautiful."
I know I blushed, I could feel the heat in my cheeks.
We swam for a while, all the time my mind wondering how the hell I was going to get out of the pool without showing even more of my very ample charms. Up to this point I had been so proud of my bosom. The other girls at college had been so envious of the attention my tits received, but at this moment I would have gladly swapped my friend for her more modest "C" cups.
Dad climbed out and walked across to the BBQ shouting, "I hope you girls like steak, because it's all I'm good at cooking."
There was nothing for it, I had to get out. And because of his idea of eating outside, I was going to be in this revealing outfit for the next hour or so at least.
He had loungers around the BBQ so we sat on either side of him as he expertly cooked the steaks. Because of the angle of the seat I was leaning back showing my tits off to his roving eyes. He also noticed my flat tummy and I'm sure he sussed out the wet triangle of my tiny briefs, only just hiding my smooth pussy.
Why did an eighteen year old virgin take the trouble to depilate her bush? It's simple really, I hate hair on my body. Except my head, of course. Some of my friends had hair on their legs and under arms, but I thought it looked horrible, so at first I shaved it off. I later learned about better ways, so bought a machine that made me so smooth. It made me feel so womanly and cute.
The effect of this tiny bikini and my smooth pussy was the material pulling into the cleft of my sex and accentuating the shape of my outer lips, leaving not a lot to the imagination. I noticed his trunks were struggling to contain his rather large package, it seemed to have grown since he first walked to the pool. Was he getting off watching his own daughter?
Later that evening my friend's parents called to pick her up. We had arranged it earlier because my dad's place was halfway home for her. We kissed and held each other, not knowing when we would meet again. Our college course was over now, we were going into the real world.
She whispered in my ear as she left, "I think your Dad is the sexiest thing on legs."
I gave her a slap on her bum as she climbed into the car.
That evening I learned so much about my Father, and his failed marriage. I never knew what had split them up. Apparently my mum was having an affair with the man she brought into our home all those years ago. My dad wanted me to live with him but due to his life style it was agreed that I would be better off with my mum. If only he knew the truth.
We sat talking into the early hours of the morning, him asking about my life, wanting to know who I had dated and even asking me how far I had gone with the boys I went out with. I thought it would have embarrassed me to talk like this to my dad, but it was just so easy, he seemed to make me feel safe.
I told him I had petted and even held a boy's cock in my hand but never gone all the way with any of them. I explained how it didn't feel right at the time. I admitted to him that one boy in particular had touched me there and made me feel so sexy, but something had just held me back.
He told me how proud he was of me, for being so strong, "It should be something very special the first time. You were so right not to have given in to the temptation."
We at last went to bed, Dad in his own room, me in the guest room he had prepared for me. It was perfect, a mix of girly pink and teenage horror, even my favourite group posters on the walls, with a TV and music centre, everything a girl could want.
He had gone when I got up next day. His housekeeper, a stern looking older woman, came in to clean and prepare our evening meal. We couldn't have been more different; she was as black as I am white, she was short and plump to my skinny, her hair was short but mine hung down my back in great waves of shimmering auburn. We had one thing in common though, she had a huge bust, even bigger than mine.
Jasmine, as I found her name to be, was a widow who was glad of having the work to supplement her meagre income. We became friends that first day despite my first impressions of her sternness. She showed me all over the house, telling me where everything was kept and showing me how to use the huge range in the kitchen. I love cooking so asked if I could prepare the evening meal.
With her help I made Dad's favourite supper. As soon as she left I dashed up to my room, finding the best clothes I owned, right down to my very best underwear, a balconette bra and matching thong in soft pink. You may have guessed my favourite colour is pink. I finished the outfit with hold up stockings and a short skirt. My top was a bit daring but he had seen most of me, at the pool yesterday.
I added a little of the perfume he had provided for me, it looked and smelt very expensive. I had just finished putting the final details on his supper, and myself, when he breezed in asking, "How's my favourite girl?" He took me in his arms, giving me a kiss that made my knees go weak.
The meal was a wonderful success and he complimented me many times. The wine was stronger than any I had drunk before and I could feel it going to my head, making me say and do things perhaps I should not have.
We sat in the lounge watching the TV for a while before he asked if I wanted play chess. He knew I was good, but I didn't know how good he was. We played for over an hour, before deciding to give it up for the night at a stalemate. It was getting quite late, but tomorrow was Saturday so he didn't have to get up for work.
I had felt his eyes on me so many times, it was confusing. I was quite used to men looking, with my chest it was almost normal, but he was my dad. It made it feel somehow perverted, but it also turned me on so much to think he fancied me.
I went to bed and played with myself to relieve the feelings that had built up in my body during the evening. I remembered what my friend, Sandy, had said about my dad being the sexiest thing she had ever seen, and as I reached my climax it was him I was thinking of.
