Dinner and a Movie

The covers had been pushed back. I guess by my daughter's bare feet. She lay there, awake but lazily, fully exposed, naked.

I too was naked as I headed off to the bathroom, directly opposite the bed, to pee and to upbraid myself. I'd just fucked my own daughter! For the second time in, what, nine hours? Was I insane? Sick in the head?

After peeing I splashed cold water on my face. It helped, a little. Not much but a little. My balls ached. I wasn't used to having sex this frequently anymore.

But wait a minute, I thought. This wasn't my ex-wife--her mother--or some woman I'd met at the office or in a bar. This was my own 24-year-old daughter!

"We can never do this again," I told her, upon my return, standing over her naked body in the bed, perhaps dripping urine. "Ever."

"That's what you said last night," she yawned.

"No, I mean it. It's wrong. It's..."

"Why's it wrong?" she said in the same lazy voice.

"Because. It's incest. It's..." The words, the rationale, escaped me at the moment.

"Daddy," she countered. "It's just two people who love each other giving pleasure to one another. Get over it."

"If your mother ever found out..."

"Fuck mom. She's three thousand miles away with her...motorcycle friend. Some asshole who's barely older than me."

"Don't blame her."

"Fuck her."

"I'm just saying..."

"Who's gonna tell her? You? I'm not."

My daughter's breasts were just like her mother's when she was 24. Or so. Soft, pliable. Drooping downwards a little. Slightly larger, perhaps. C cups but...

Little did my daughter know that one night I'd gone in her old downstairs bedroom and dressed up in the underwear she'd left behind. After college. After grad school. The bra was too short for my back so I'd rigged it up with her black hair bands. I'd put on lipstick; make up. I'd smiled at myself in her mirror.

And now I stood over her, sober unlike that night, and naked, having just inseminated her for the second time.

"You could get pregnant...," I argued.

A roll of her mother's brown eyes. "No I can't. I'm on the pill."

"It's not infallible."

"Then you should wear a condom." Not..."you should have" but you should. Future tense. Or whatever.

"No. We can never do this again. OK? It...happened. It happened and..."

"Oh relax, dad. I'm not an animal. Livestock I mean. Breeding. I'm a human being on the pill and I can't get pregnant. And even if I did..."

I stood over my daughter, at a ninety degree angle, looking down at her somewhat plump, naked body on display in front of me. I too was naked, though no longer hard. And, frankly, I was thankful for that. I countered:

"Abortions are illegal in this state."

"That's because it's a redneck state," she insisted.

"I wouldn't..." The thought somehow again escaping me.

"Besides, I could always go back up north and get one..."

"And tell 'em it's because of incest?"

"I wouldn't tell 'em anything," she frowned.

My daughter's naked body was pale--untanned. Uniformly so. White and pale and desirable. Some of my meager semen, my second load, whiter than her body, had leaked out of her, and it was staining her bedsheet grey. Between her plump thighs. She didn't seem to notice, or care.

"But that's what I'm saying," I went on. "It's dangerous."

"Are you breeding me, dad?"

"Breeding...?"

"No you're not," my daughter said, answering her own question. "It's sex. It's pleasure. Between two horny people who love each other. What's the problem? I wrote a paper on this once."

"On what?" Incredibly enough I felt a stirring in my 50-year-old penis. Something, with this regularity, I hadn't felt in years. It was as if the prone sight of my daughter's naked body was the aphrodisiac. The surrogate, all-natural ED drug.

"In Psych class. On incest. I argued that as long as it was between two consenting adults...and the woman couldn't get pregnant...no harm, no foul."

"Is that why you seduced me last night?"

My daughter blew dismissive air. "I didn't seduce you. You seduced yourself. Shouldn't have had all that wine."

"I lost control...," I admitted, sheepishly. Chianti.

"We had dinner, spaghetti, then we went to the couch and watched that stupid movie, half of it anyway, and I leaned against you, and you felt my breasts..."

"I couldn't help it," I swallowed.

"You were drunk."

"I wasn't drunk. Why'd you lean against me?"

"So it's all my fault?"

"I'm just saying..."

I took a deep breath. I wanted to ratchet the tone down. No arguments, please.

Here we stood, and lay, both of us in the nude, the tall windows of this former highschool-turned-gentrifying apartment complex pulled down, blocking from view the street below, and my SUV, as well as the "bad" neighborhood to the north...

"I blame myself," I said softly, my penis nevertheless thickening, rising, balls still aching. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what? I think we should do this every week. Until, or unless, I get a boyfriend. But all the people in this building are fucking gay. It's...hopeless."

I'd helped her move in a couple of months ago. Such promise. An obviously gay male had helped me carry the couch up from the street. I was, at home, a closet crossdresser. He seemed interested, I thought. But what did I know? What did HE know?

"Well...," I averred, offering nothing to the discussion; the topic.

"You could sleep over every Friday night."

"I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"Come over for dinner maybe, but..."

"And then afterwards we fuck. And then we spend the night together."

"No."

"Yes. Why not?"

"Because..." I threw my hands up. I was naked, standing over her. I was getting an involuntary erection.

"Then why are you getting hard?" my daughter asked, at last smiling, and rolling onto her left side, breasts sagging.

"Can't help it. I apologize."

"Don't. I think you need a blowjob..."

"No."

"Yes." And she shifted over to bed's side and opened her mouth. "A blowjob and then another fuck."

"I..."

"Right?"

And she took my penis in her mouth, and began expertly sucking it. I was amazed at how versed she was in this. Fondling my balls? I wasn't as hard as I had been last night, or earlier this morning, but she took it and sucked it and, I assumed, tasted her own dried juices as well as, perhaps, some of my semen.

The same semen that had helped conceive her 25 years ago. Or was it mine? Even back then her mother had been sleeping around. Old boyfriends. College guys, distant, somewhat, and current.

She'd told me in the car that night, after I proposed to her, her mother, that she liked to sleep around. And would--probably--always do so. Especially if I couldn't satisfy her sexually. Which, frankly, I never did. I was just a loyal husband, and presumed father, to her daughter and her various, and constant, infidelities.

"Come get in bed with me again, daddy," my daughter urged, after pulling back, my penis slick with her saliva. "Fuck me."

And I did, against my better judgment, and my weakened willpower, and, though not as hard this time, at least I lasted longer, before depositing a mere tablespoon or less of additional semen in my daughter.

We lay in bed together afterwards, after this third time, both of us naked, and we both slept in filtered morning sunlight, and warmth.