Women are such incredible creatures. After being married to one for twenty years, you might get the impression that you know what to expect them to do under most circumstances. After years and years of assorted attempts to improve the variety and spontaneity of our sex lives, with very little success, I had sort of given up. We had sex from time to time, and I'm not saying it wasn't good, but it was never as exciting as it had been in our earlier years.
After years of being trained to regard "not tonight" as a small victory over "NO!", I despaired at ever getting my still beautiful, sexy wife with the hot body to relax and allow me to guide her into fields we had never explored. There were times when she would go so far as to complain that sex was boring, without seeming to realize that sex the same way every time, under the same conditions, with the same person might be the reason she found it boring.
Living with the Queen of Denial kept me in a constant state of horny. Hell, I'm only 43 and so is she. We have some of the best possible years of our life left to enjoy together and she won't relax enough to allow us to enjoy life to its fullest.
As our daughter had grown up and matured, my constant erection status kept me very aware of her budding sexuality. Of course this awareness increased the erection status considerably, and so on, if you know what I mean. Brief glimpses of a bit of skin, here and there. An encounter in the hallway as she came back from the bathroom at the end of the hall. An inadvertent peek through a partially open door into her room as she was dressing. These were the things that kept me constantly aroused and able to maintain my ability to perform with my wife under her lust-killing restrictions.
I grew bolder, allowing my robe sometimes to be less than fully closed when Kelly and I would meet in the hallway. By unspoken agreement, we became bolder and bolder in our hallway meetings. Brenda would normally be in the kitchen during these times, while Kelly and I were getting ready for work and school.
Kelly had to walk down the hallway after her bath, but there was no reason she had to make the trip in a towel. I had no reason to be in the hall at that time, other than to get a glimpse of skin. I always pretended that I was on my way somewhere, but she probably saw through me.
When we would meet, she would smile at me then look down. For a long time, I thought she was merely being modest, but then I realized that she was staring at my crotch, which was usually tented out from the hard-on that was desperately yearning for release, somewhere, somehow, in something--anything!--hot and wet.
I was on my way home from work when it dawned on me that she was trying to see my dick! The possibility that this was the truth caused me to have an instant erection. My fat dick was straining for release. Some of my pubic hairs had been caught between my foreskin and what must be a purplish head by now and was being pulled out by the roots. I had no choice but to unzip and pull Old Glory out to relieve the pain. Really! No choice.
Oh, well. As long as it was out, I might as well relieve the pressure a little by stroking it. However, the excitement of driving down Elm Street with my dick in my hand while thinking about the possibilities of my nearly naked daughter wanting to see what I had under my robe, was too much.
I managed to keep my eyes open, but I wasn't aware of very much around me when the blast hit me. My orgasms for the last many years had been so totally predictable. I knew that first you put it in, then you wiggle it around and push in and out, then your wife asks if you're going to be much longer, so you speed up and pretty soon you feel a pressure building up that will eventually be relieved and life will go back to hum-drum. After, of course, you jump up and clean all traces of the nasty stuff from your body. Couldn't have a drop of that nasty stuff contaminating the sheets, now could we? Why, that would be Disgusting, wouldn't it, dear?
Given this background, you can imagine my surprise when I blew a wad of that nasty stuff through the steering wheel and onto the windshield, where it dripped back onto the dashboard and ran down into the inaccessible places where they all joined. Horrible thoughts of trying to get that shit cleaned up well enough to be missed by Brenda were pushed aside by even more horrible thoughts of the gooey shit that my entire crotch was now swamped in. My hand had continued pumping the gusher while my mind was occupied with possible repercussions.
What the fuck was I going to do? I couldn't go home like this. I couldn't go home until the car and myself were both restored to pristine condition. Wiping my hand on my pants leg well enough to keep from sliming up my cell phone, I called Brenda.
"Hi honey. Sorry to be late, but I picked up a nail or something and a tire has gone flat on me. I'm going to drop by Wal-Mart and get it fixed. Is there anything else I can pick up for you while I'm there?" I knew very well to bolster my lie with enough supportable fact to prevent easy discovery.
"Oh, hi darling. Thanks for calling. I'll put dinner on the back of the stove, then. Do you think you'll be very long?"
"Shouldn't take more than 30-45 minutes. Want me to pick up something?" I needed a reason to be seen going through the register when I bought the new pants.
She gave me a list of a couple of things she could use and I headed toward Wal-Mart.
When I arrived, I pulled into an open bay and asked them to rotate the tires while I ran into the store for some purchases. I managed to pick up a shopping bag to hide my crotch until I could get to the mens' clothing area.
After picking out a clean pair of pants and the stuff for Brenda, I retrieved the car and drove to a car wash to clean the cum off the dashboard and windshield. The guy at Wal-Mart had given me a thumbs up signal when he saw the cum tracks. I couldn't help grinning a little. Not a bad shot for an old man, huh?
I used my sticky pants to clean up all traces of cum that were still visible and tried to vacuum out any that might be in the cracks of the dash board. At the last minute, it occurred to me to look at the seat and floor. Oh shit! There was a huge puddle on the floor and a wet stain on the seat. I must have cum a gallon.
Thinking back, I couldn't help grinning to myself. Under Brenda's tight restrictions, my ejaculations had dwindled to the point that there wasn't that much to clean up after our infrequent sex sessions. I had watched the decline with dismay, thinking that it signaled the start of old age and that my sex life would be completely over before too long.
The immensity of shit I had delivered with the right inspiration restored my confidence to an unbelievable degree. Hey! I'm not dead after all! There is life after forty! All it took to restore me to my boyhood potency, or more, had been the thoughts that my sexy daughter might be trying to catch a glimpse of her father's noble prick.
My reaction should tell you how much I worry about the old incest taboo. My only concern was the mental health and well-being of my daughter, plus my relationship with my wife. I wanted to be extremely careful not to push the envelope with Kelly in any way that she would regard now or later as a negative experience. On the other hand, I convinced myself that if she had a need to know what a prick looked like, then I had a duty as her father to teach her what she wanted to know. The brain is a wonderful thing. It can find a way to justify whatever the hell your body needs, and boy, did my body need something! My assumption that my dick would be limber for the next week or so after that blast was proven false almost immediately. While I was still cleaning my cum from the car, the smell of sex and remembrance of the reasons for the smell had me hard as a rock.
I finished the cleanup as best I could using my pants before dumping them in a trash can. There was no way Brenda would miss those stains. Better to lose a pair of pants than a wife.
"Honey, I'm home!"
"Oh, hi dear. Just drop that stuff anywhere. I'll get dinner on the table right away. Kelly has already eaten and went to her room to study. What happened to your pants, dear? Those aren't the ones you wore to work. They look cheap."
"I'm afraid that those pants were too badly ruined by the stains from the tires. I threw them away on the way home."
"Oh, how could you, dear? Those were very expensive dress pants."
"Yes, dear. What's for dinner?" It was better to never attempt to reason with Brenda. Her initial statement contained the facts. Any further discussion would serve merely to try to explain the facts to you and to reiterate the difficulty you always seemed to have in recognizing the facts.
Brenda must have sublimated her sexual urges into her cooking. She was a wonderful cook. If she had divided half her sensuality into cooking and the other half into her lovemaking, I wouldn't have walked around so horny all the time. American society has never recovered from the fucking Puritans. They have probably been responsible for more human suffering than any other group in history of comparable size.
The concept that there is something inherently evil in the most basic of human needs is such a ludicrous idea that it is difficult to accept the reality that it has persisted throughout the growth and development of the most successful, prosperous and educated society that has ever existed on earth. We may be able to see sexual acts on cable TV, but we still think it's "dirty".
Ok. End of sermon. Back to the good stuff. It just always seemed to me to be such a terrible waste of potential to be married to a wonderful woman, whom I loved dearly, regardless of her inability to join me in a higher level of sexual enjoyment. I can't help commenting on it from time to time.
As I ate, I was aware of my dick swelling again, with thoughts of Kelly in her room directly over my head, doing her homework. What would she be wearing, I wondered. She would probably be wearing her long cotton nightshirt with a pair of white cotton panties underneath. Brenda would have a fit if she suspected that Kelly might sleep with a naked ass. Would she be wearing a bra underneath the nightshirt? Brenda had put her into "training bras" the moment her chest started budding. What the fuck a "training bra" is has always eluded me. What the fuck are they training them for? Would they not be able to wear bras later on without suitable training? Was it like drivers' ed? If you don't learn proper bra technique, your tit might fall out in class when you're older?
I reached the conclusion that girls want to wear them because it makes them feel older and more mature. Moms buy them for their daughters to keep men from being able to enjoy the visible signs of budding sexuality.
With an effort, I jerked my mind back from my negative thoughts and back to the pleasures of Brenda's cooking and images of my perhaps less-than-fully-clothed daughter. My cock rose again to the occasion and begged for another release like the one in the car. Hell! It had only been a couple of hours and I was as horny as I usually am a day or so after a session with Brenda. If I weren't careful, I would begin obsessing over Kelly.
Hah! Begin obsessing? I realized that I had been locked on her for a long time, but had forced the idea to the back of my mind, like a good father has to do. Now that she was legally old enough to fuck, my mental barriers must have relaxed on their own. I could scarcely think of anything else other than the incredible delights I might find between her thighs.
After dinner, my body carried my mind with it down the hall and tapped on Kelly's door.
"Come in! Oh, hi Daddy. What's up?"
