Very special thanks to Techsan for editing my story, and so quickly too.
Disclaimer: All characters in this story are purely fictitious and in no way to my knowledge relate to the story of anyone living or dead. All characters are of the legal age of consent (18) during any scene of sexual intercourse (masturbation and voyeurism included).
*
Chapter One
(Written in First Person)
I'd lived a comfortable life. As comfortable as one could get considering my mom had died when I was ten. However, I never grew up bitter about it because I have a great father.
My dad told me he and my mom had met when he had come to teach her to play jazz piano and it had been love at first sight. I found out later from a journal of mom's I'd found in her box in the attic that it had really been lust at first sight.
He was fifteen, when he stepped into my eighteen year old mother's, life. They began a rigorous training process in building her jazz repertoire, and three years later on his eighteenth birthday, his libido.
No one objected when Alice Harper and John Calloway were married three months later and I was born less than six months after that, and not prematurely either, having been a whopping ten pounds and two ounces.
Yes, those were my giant days. Luckily I grew out of it, or never grew in to it as the case may be. Oh, sorry. My name is Melissa or Eli Calloway as I prefer to be called. I recently turned nineteen years old and just a few weeks before my birthday was unaware of the impending incident that would change my life.
But right now I'm moving way ahead of myself. Before I tell you of said incident, I must relay certain details of my life that, though seemingly inconsequential to those of you who seek a quick thrill, is not completely tawdry.
I had always been an overachiever, so it was little surprise when I was accepted to an Ivy League university in Massachusetts. It was greater still when my Dad declared he had accepted an offer to teach at a prominent music school there, allowing me to live rent free and supervised with him. I suppose you can tell who was happy with what end of the bargain.
Well, actually, that's not a fair picture of my character. The truth is, I'd always been, though slightly popular in the non-cheerleader, school paper editor sort of way, a little bit shy. So being supervised by my dad while a freshman at university was sort of akin to watering your garden in the rain.
I suppose after that statement I don't need to tell you I'm a virgin. But what might shock you is the admission that I've only been seriously kissed twice and that was by my boyfriend of one week Stan from the ninth grade who I found kissing Sally Bennet under the bleachers at a football game I was covering at the end of that week.
But that part isn't really relevant to the story, so let me get back to it. My mom died of breast cancer and for a reasonable amount of time, pretty much ruined our lives. It was easier for me at ten to get past losing her so in a couple of years I accepted it and moved on. It took my dad a little longer though. To this day there is still sometimes an odd look on his face when he passes our family photo on the wall over the fireplace.
But don't get it wrong, my mother had awakened a ferocious sexual beast in him, one that had quietly bided its time during the mourning period and had erupted in a string of relationships, the last one of which leads me to the incident I had earlier mentioned.
Her name was Sophie, and she looked a lot like my mom, not that this was a pattern for my father - he didn't have those types of hang-ups. It's just that she happened to be the long-legged, big-busted singer he happened to take a liking to who happened to have the same blonde hair and hazel eyes as my mom. The last couple of months it had been a short red-headed monster who played cello in the college's orchestra. But she's out of our lives and therefore nameless, so back to Sophie.
Sophie was a nice woman and she seemed to like me. Our rapport was so good, Dad started asking her over for dinner on a semi-regular basis. When I first met her it was at one of those dinners and it became obvious to me why he liked her.
After dinner, Dad would always drive her home and say sheepishly, "Don't wait up, Honey." As if I didn't know what he was going off to do.
But knowing it and seeing it were two different things. Dad had had a steady stream of girlfriends since I was about fourteen. I could see why. At thirty-seven he looked a slightly older version of himself at twenty, then, a devilishly handsome young man with his arms around his wife and his daughter in his lap. Grey had yet to touch his curly raven hair, hair that was so like mine. And the wrinkles around the corner of his blue eyes only made his smile more sincere. I'd heard an old girlfriend compare him to a bottle of wine. I don't think I need to relate the comparison.
But even though he never tried to hide the fact that he had a busy sex life, he was careful to keep it out of my way. Which meant his girlfriends didn't sleep over. So on the nights when he'd be staying over at their places, I'd have a guy friend come over and... you know.
OK, so that was a little bit of a stretch since Mr. Buckley from next door, baby-sitting and then 'checking in' on me when I got older, isn't exactly the stuff of fantasies. The truth was I didn't know what I was missing when it came to sex. I was content with study and masturbation. That is until the incident.
Ah, here it is, the incident.
I came home from school four hours earlier than I normally did one Wednesday evening because my English teacher collapsed before class and so it and the subsequent writing club got cancelled. Oh, did I mention I was doing Journalism?
Our garage is at the back of the house so I usually would enter the house through the laundry room and go up the back stairs to my room right at the top. However, Dad's car was parked blocking the driveway this day, so I was forced to park on the curb and enter through the front. I didn't call out for him because we don't normally do that. If we didn't see each other downstairs, a simple knock on a bedroom door was acknowledgment. You never know when he'd be in the process of writing or recording or riding Sophie on his bed with his door wide open in the middle of the day.
I was so shocked I nearly cried out. There was Sophie, completely naked and on all fours before him, with her enormous breasts wobbling under her as Dad pumped her from behind.
I knew in my head that I should leave silently. In fact, I saw the word 'RUN' printed boldly in my imagination but stood rooted onto the spot until my knees began to give way and I had to crouch on the door frame to keep myself upright.
I became so horny I think I actually grew some. They were in my stomach, piercing whatever organ it was that now leaked a salacious fluid all over my panties.
As wet as I was though, I was content to just watch. Sophie's moaning did well to cover up any noise I made with my wobbling knees. My undoing however, came when Dad grabbed Sophie's French plait and pulled her back up to his chest. He looked into her eyes, simultaneously slowing his pace from a near gallop to a sultry grind. And then he moaned.
It was a sound unlike any I'd ever heard before. It seemed to come out of his organ up into his chest and out of his throat through his Adam's apple, rippling its way on forbidden frequencies toward me across the room.
I came almost instantly. It was so forceful and so sudden I never had time to make a sound. But in my head it was so noisy. The sound of his moan kept reverberating. Over and over until it seemed I was riding a sea filled with waves made of his moan.
***
When it was all over, I quietly made my way up the hallway to my room.
Chapter Two.
(Written in third person)
