First Time I Saw My Daughter Naked

This story is part of a pair. The other story, "First Time I Saw My Daddy Naked," tells the same story, but from the perspective of a different character. You can read the two of them in either order. Happy reading!

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She was almost twenty years old when I first saw my daughter, Jennifer, naked.

You may wonder why it took so long. Twenty years? She grew up her entire life with me and her mother, in a not-very-big house, with two bedrooms and one bathroom. You'd think that at some point, I'd see her at least partially undressed. I never did, until she was nearly twenty years old.

Why did it take twenty years? It's a long story, but I'm not going to start at the beginning. I'm going to start in the middle, a little more than two years ago.

I had been divorced from my first wife, Maribel, for a few years. My girlfriend, Anna, had invited me out to dinner at a much better restaurant than we normally frequented. White tablecloths, nice china place settings with wine glasses. The works. The dinner had been wonderful, but there had to be a catch. Why were we here?

While we waited for dessert to be served, she brought up a topic. "I've been thinking," she said.

"Congratulations!," I said. "I knew it would happen eventually." I'm kind of a wise-ass, but it's part of my charm and she loves it. I looked at her expectantly.

"I was thinking," she said, "that you should give up your apartment and move in with me. If it works out well, in a couple of months, we could get married."

Well, that was a surprise! A most welcome one. We'd only been going out for, maybe, six months, but I was truly smitten with her. I loved her dearly. We hadn't discussed it, but I knew for sure that I wanted to spend my life with her.

I couldn't help being a wise-ass. "Is that a marriage proposal?" I asked. "Aren't you supposed to get down on your knees and offer me a ring?"

"I didn't want to get my skirt dirty and men don't get rings until the wedding."

"But it was a proposal?"

"Yes, it was," she said.

"In that case, I accept," I said. "There's nothing I would like more." We reached across the table and held hands. Then I got out of my chair and knelt on the floor before her. "One of us should kneel," I said.

"Anna, will you marry me in a few months, after we've lived together for a while?" I asked.

She smiled, "Thank you Richard, that's quite a surprise. I accept your proposal."

I stood, and we held each other and kissed. The diners in the restaurant applauded, and we turned to them and bowed, acknowledging their cheers. The waiter brought us champagne that we hadn't ordered.

We drank the champagne, ate our shared dessert, and smiled and laughed and giggled, for many minutes.

I thought we were ready to pay the bill and leave and go back to my apartment and make love, but she had one more thing to say.

"But there's a problem," she said.

Oh, oh. "Does Sarah not approve?" I asked.

[Sarah is Anna's daughter, fathered by Anna's first husband who died a few years back. Sarah, now 20 years old, was an electrician's apprentice, in the union where her father had worked. She's the damn cutest electrician you'll ever meet, 5'3", with honey-blonde hair like her mother, and quite a bundle of firmly-held opinions, expressed without filters, just like her mother. Absolutely charming. She's not the topic of this story, though -- my own daughter Jenny is. So stick with me for a bit. We'll talk about Jenny shortly.]

"On the contrary," Anna said. "I wouldn't have asked without her approval. She loves you and can't wait for you to move in."

"So what's the problem?"

Anna was carefully choosing her words. She had rehearsed this. "What do you think of nudity?" she asked.

I had no idea where this was going, so I answered as simply as I could. "The best things in my life have happened when I was naked. Like, for example, you and I last weekend. Why do you ask such a strange question?"

"It's about Sarah," she said. "We are pretty casual about nudity. We don't close doors and we share the bathroom and go skinny dipping in the pool. Stuff like that. I don't believe in body shaming."

"That's not a big deal," I said. "Lots of mothers and daughters do that."

Anna pursed her lips. "Well, it would include you too. If you're living with us."

"You're worried that I'd be embarrassed if Sarah saw me naked?" I asked.

"Yeh, and if you saw her. It would happen a lot."

"Anna, I have never cared who sees my cock. I'm proud of my cock. But would that be ok with Sarah, to be running around bare-assed in front of a 40-year-old man? And to have my cock waving around in front of her?"

"Nothing embarrasses her," Anna said. "We've been pretty successful about avoiding body shaming."

"And it would be ok with you?" I asked. That didn't seem likely. "I mean, a stepdaughter and stepfather naked together is the classic setup for..."

She interrupted me. "Don't you dare say that word!" she said.

"What word?"

"Incest. I hate that word. That's a bullshit word people use to enforce their ridiculous morals on everybody. They treat incest as if it were the same thing as rape. Just because it's wrong to fuck a kid doesn't mean that every bit of sex between relatives is wrong."

She was on a roll. There was no doubt this was something she felt strongly about. I hoped the people at the next table weren't listening, but I bet they were.

She went on. "Jesus, Sarah's a big girl now. She's 20, and has had her fair share of sex partners. Nobody cares if she gets screwed by some kid she doesn't care about in the back seat of a car. (She doesn't do that, by the way, but you know what I mean.) But if somebody who actually loves her touches her, then the incest police would come and take people away and put them in jail. What bullshit."

She was done ranting and she took deep breaths to calm down. Her face started to lose its bright red color. "I'm sorry I went off on that," she said. "It's something I feel strongly about."

"So I see," I said. "I promise never to use the i-word."

"The i-word?" she asked.

"I'm not allowed to say it," I reminded her.

"Oh, yeah. Thank you," she said. She paused to collect her thoughts. "So anyway, are you ok with being naked with my daughter and me? Do you still want to move in and get married?"

"You know," I said, "it's not much different than how I grew up. I lived with two parents and two sisters, and nobody worried about who saw what.

I took her hand across the table. I got some chocolate mousse on my wrist but ignored it. "I agree with you," I said. "It's perfect. You are perfect, Sarah is perfect, and the arrangement is perfect and I definitely want to marry you. And I promise never to use the i-word."

"Thank you," she said.

I was, one more time, a wise-ass. "You know, I love having my cock looked at."

"I know," she said. "It's a really nice cock."

"Really big," I said.

"Enormous," she agreed.

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When we told Sarah the news, she was thrilled. She wrapped her arms around me and gave me the biggest possible hug and kissed me on the cheek. "I'm so glad you'll be living with us," she said. "A girl needs a dad even if it's a replacement-dad."

That's the term she used for me. Not step-dad, but replacement-dad. It sounds more personal, doesn't it? Who knows what a "step" is anyway? She sometimes called me Richard, but more often, RD, for "replacement dad."

The next weekend, Anna and Sarah and I gathered up my belongings from my apartment. I still had two months to go on the lease so there was no emergency to get everything cleared out, but we took the things that I normally use. We carried everything through the falling autumn leaves to their pleasant modest house in a pleasant modest suburb. It was a style of house that people in New England call a "cape," with living room, kitchen, dining room, and Anna's small office on the first floor, and two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs.

It wasn't a big house, but it was on a big lot, with a small inground pool in the backyard, surrounded by a concrete patio. Anna had cleared space for me in the closets and we unpacked carefully, putting everything in a proper place. It took only a couple of hours and I was fully moved in.

We hung out for the rest of the day, went out for dinner to someplace cheap, and sat in the living room, the three of us chatting excitedly about our new custom-made family. Eventually, it was late, and we all went to bed.

Anna had a big king-sized bed, quite a contrast to the little one that I was able to fit in my apartment. She and I had made love many times in my little bed, but she was never able to stay overnight. This would be our first time actually sleeping all night together.

We undressed each other slowly, with much kissing and hugging, and then laid down together on that big bed with its soft expensive mattress. She likes to be kissed on the neck and ears, so I did that, while she held my hard cock in her hand, gently caressing it. I moved my mouth down to her breasts and licked and sucked her nipples while my fingers caressed her very-wet pussy.

We decided that our first sex in our now-shared bedroom would be slow and romantic, so we were side-by-side when I entered her. We rocked ourselves together, just short strokes, my cock fully inside her. I moved my mouth to hers and we kissed. We kissed and rocked together, my cock just barely rubbing her most sensitive areas, for a long while. A very long while.

Then Anna decided that she was ready for me to cum, so she rolled onto her back and I got on top of her. She wrapped her legs around me, put her hands on my shoulders, and I stroked into her, more firmly now. She spoke gently to me, telling me how good it would feel when I came, and how much she wanted my load inside her.

I started moving more quickly now. We locked our lips together and I came, hard, in a long-lasting orgasm. I fell onto her. She didn't want an orgasm that night, so we were finished. My cock shrunk and fell out of her, and we used tissues to clean my cock and her pussy.

When we were rested, I needed to pee. I looked around for my boxers, but Anna stopped me. "You don't need clothes to go to the bathroom," she said.

I motioned to the wall separating Anna's bedroom from Sarah's. "But Sarah..."

"You don't need to cover up," Anna said. "There's no problem if you run into her in the hallway. Remember the house rules?"

I remembered. Lots of nudity. Ok with me. I like being naked. I nodded and started to walk to the bedroom door. She added one more thing. "And you don't need to close the bathroom door either."

As I left the bedroom, I saw that its door was open. I hadn't noticed that earlier. Maybe the wind had blown it open. Oh, well, nothing could be done about that now.

I went to the bathroom, left the door open, peed and brushed my teeth. I came out and there, in the hallway, stood Sarah, wearing a thin t-shirt that came almost, but not all the way, to her hips. And nothing else. She was looking at me. I was bare-assed naked with a wet cock but she was looking at my face, not at my cock.

"You and Mom really do love each other," she said. It wasn't a question. It was a statement.

What was this about? I should have been thinking about the fact that I was naked and she was nearly so, but there was something more remarkable that drew my attention. It was her absolute confidence. Her posture and her expression and her tone of voice conveyed the air of somebody who had come to a conclusion and was absolutely certain about it.

"Yes," I said. "We do love each other." I looked at her with a question on my face. What was this about? What brought this topic up?

"I had to be sure," she said. "Now I'm sure. That's why I was there. I had to know."

"You were where?" I asked.

She was puzzled. "You don't know?" she asked.

"Know what?"

"I came into your bedroom to watch you and Mom fuck. I needed to know whether you really loved her. I know now. It's ok."

With that, she turned and went into her bedroom, and left me standing there. Just standing there. With God-knows-what expression on my face. And the softest, smallest, shriveled-up cock in the history of the human race.

I went into Anna's bedroom and looked at her, dumbfounded. "Did you know she was here, watching us?" I asked.

Anna was calm. "Yeh. I didn't say anything because I thought you'd freak out. It's not a big deal. I was going to tell you when you came back from the bathroom."

"Not a big deal?" I asked, incredulous. "Maybe you should have said something? Maybe told her to leave or something?"

"It's ok," Anna said. "She's seen me having sex before. I don't worry about it."

WTF? My jaw dropped. She continued. "It's a lot better than that bullshit on the Internet, isn't it? I mean, she looks at porn, of course. Everybody does. But she's smart enough to know how fake it all is. You know, the 25-year-old 'step-mom' with the giant boobs and red lipstick who catches her 30-year-old 'step-son' jacking off, and figures that while he's got his cock out, she may as well suck it. That kind of bullshit. Since she's going to see that, I want her to know what's real and what's fake."

She used air-quotes around 'step-son' and 'step-mom' to make her point. She had more to say. "Sarah knows how fake that online crap is because she's seen how real people do it. People who actually care about each other. I'm glad she watches. Sex is a normal part of life, not something to be hidden away and embarrassed about. It's just life."

The strange thing about Anna is that she comes up with the most bizarre, unconventional opinions. She spouts off about the virtues of incest, or of having your daughter watch you being fucked, or other strange ideas. When you first hear her talk, you think she's nuts. But then you realize that she's actually right. She has a point.

She had another thought. "I probably should have warned you in advance," she said. "You don't really care, do you? I'm sure you've been watched before."

I started to say, "Of course I haven't." But then it occurred to me. I had, indeed been watched having sex, lots of times. I had an affair with a girl who was bi-sexual, and she liked to invite her girlfriend over. The girlfriend would watch the two of us fuck, then the two of them would go at it while I watched. It was fun.

Then there was the time I visited a prostitute in a hotel room. It was a Korean girl, and there was a second girl there too. I guess the other girl was a prostitute too, and they were sharing the room to save on hotel fees. While I was fucking the girl I was paying, the other girl was sitting there, with her computer and headphones, occasionally looking up at us. It was actually a great fuck. It didn't bother me that she was watching.

Then there was the time that I was out with this really kinky girl who took me to a sex party. Everybody was watching everybody. And then a different girl I took to a nude beach and she gave me a hand-job while I had a skimpy towel over me, but everybody knew what we were doing and were looking right at us.

I'm sure there were other times too, so I had to answer Anna, "Yeh, I've been watched before. Does she watch every time?"

"Oh, no," Anna said. "Only every once in a while. Most of the time, when she comes into the bedroom, it's just to visit or hug, or snuggle under the covers, or play around, when there's nothing going on. I leave the door open so she can come in whenever she wants. I hope it's ok with you."

I didn't know if it was ok. I'd have to think about that.

We were quiet for a moment, then I heard something. "What's that noise?" I asked. I thought maybe it was the refrigerator.

"That's Hummer," Anna answered. "Sarah's vibrator. She's been masturbating a lot recently, probably because she doesn't have a boyfriend. She's been super horny the past few months. I imagine watching us got her all worked up."

That was interesting news to share about your daughter. "It's pretty loud. Doesn't she know we can hear?" I asked.

"Of course she knows. It's no secret what she's doing in there. Mine is just as loud. She's thinking of getting a new one, one that's rechargeable. Hummer goes through batteries like crazy. Sex tech has gotten a lot better in the past few years so she could get one with a lot more controls and modes and stuff. Maybe Wi-Fi connected, but I don't know what you'd do with that."

I must have had a pained expression on my face, so she added, "It's nothing to be embarrassed about, is it? She should have fun. Are we supposed to pretend that she doesn't masturbate? That's ridiculous."

Nothing to be embarrassed about. Nothing at all. Why wouldn't a girl share her masturbation habits with her mother, and her mother share them with me? Why not?

What have I gotten myself into?

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To understand what happens next, we need to go back to the true beginning of the story. We need to go back in time, to about 20 years ago, when I met Maribel, Jennifer's mother and my first wife. Maribel is a lying, conniving, manipulative, bullying, narcissistic bitch. Evil incarnate. I can provide additional adjectives if you like. Most importantly, she hates men. I was the closest man in her life, so she hated me the most.

When I was 19, I was working in my father's construction business, mostly building additions to people's homes. I was a responsible, sober, drug-free, gentle citizen who believed in treating women well, and women told me I was cute. Therefore, I was a virgin. I was, in short, exactly the kind of guy who women like to have as a "just friend." You know what I mean.

I met Maribel through a friend of a friend, and she actually flirted with me. She was at that time quite cute, with big boobs and pretty long dark hair, olive skin, and skimpy clothes. She was probably out of my league, but she was obviously flirting with me, so I worked up my nerve and asked her for a date. We went to a movie, and afterwards, she asked me to take her to a certain secluded spot where we could make out. It was her idea! Holy shit!

So we went to the designated place and got into the backseat of the car, and within 15 minutes, her jeans and panties were off and her legs were spread. I didn't have a condom, but she told me not to worry, she was on the pill. I stuck my cock in her and, five or ten strokes later, I came, much too soon. I had embarrassed myself with her. I wasn't surprised when I didn't hear from her again for weeks.

Then she called and told me she wanted to see me again. That was a surprise. When we met, she told me she was pregnant and it was mine. What happened to the birth control pills? They didn't work, she told me. Do you want me to come with you to the abortion? I'll pay. She wasn't going to have an abortion. Her religion forbade it and she didn't want to burn in hell for eternity.

She told me that I had to "do the right thing" and marry her. It was good, she said, that I was a responsible citizen who understood my responsibilities.

So that's what I knew at the time. I was incredibly naïve, and much too nice for my own good. It wasn't until years later that I figured out the true story of what had actually happened. She never told me, but I figured it out, piecing together bits of information I collected over the years.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that I wasn't really Jenny's father. I wondered about that too, for a while. But as Jenny grew, she looked more and more like photos of my mother when she was young. And the resemblance to my younger sister is unmistakable. There's no doubt. I really am Jenny's biological father.

So what actually happened?

I only met Maribel's parents a couple of times. Her father is a mean abusive bully and her mother a hard-ass with a permanent scowl. When I met Maribel, she was just graduating from high school and desperate to get away from them as soon as possible.