Her Very First Time

After cleaning rice out of our hair and spending a three-day vacation that would have to pass for a honeymoon, we returned to the daily grind of life. Karen's job took her away from early in the morning until after dinnertime, and I consulted for a living and was continually tethered to my pager and laptop. Even though I telecommuted and spent much of my time wearing boxers, I still was still on call twenty-four hours a day. Honeymoon or not, I could be summoned to a downtown office at virtually any hour.

The family Karen and I made consisted of spare parts—two college-aged boys from her previous marriage, but none of our own—and a live-in daughter who had graduated high school a year ago but had not yet found her way out of the roost. Heather, Karen's daughter, was pretty and put together very well—at five feet, seven inches, I guessed her weight at around a hundred twenty, much of it in very good places. And she was quite good looking, a real head-turner with long hair dyed brunette. She'd never liked her normal auburn brown, and the disagreement over her hair color had been a source of consternation for her mother.

Heather had been the quiet one, the shy one, the pretty girl who had not dated a boy, not throughout high school or during the months that followed. Her sexuality was, by all accounts, non-existent. Her mother feared she might be a lesbian, but I knew otherwise. Heather had simply not been drawn to anybody. And now that meeting people was made harder by the loss of a social life post high school, the years began to race away from her, threatening to forget she had ever existed. Her two night classes hadn't yet contained the man of her dreams.

I met Heather's mother three years ago on an internet dating site. We met a few times for coffee and never wanted to stop meeting. So we got married.

"I don't know," Heather would tell me. "I just never dated. I was too busy in school, and no boys interested me. They were all jerks."

"Now what?" I'd say, earning another shrug from her.

"I guess I'll never know what it's like to kiss anybody."

Karen had asked around at her church as well as the mothers of friends she'd known, hoping to uncover one gem, a diamond in the rough, the perfect man for her daughter. The fruitless search went on for a long time.

"It's so hard," Heather told me. "I should have lost my virginity two years ago like everyone else. I have no experience. It's like credit. You have to have it to get it."

"It's not as bad as you say, Heather." My consolations seemed to fall on ears that refused to let them pass. And so it continued beyond her nineteenth year.

Karen had prepared for an out-of-town business trip and would be gone for much of the upcoming week. We made love one more time before I drove her to the airport.

"Take care of the pets, Raymond."

"Of course I will."

"Feed them, water—"

"Honey. I've had cats before."

"I know, but I worry." She gave me a kiss. "And spend some time with my daughter."

"Our daughter, Karen. She's mine, too."

"That's very sweet. She's always thought of you as her dad. Maybe you can give her a few dating tips."

"Me? Please be serious."

"She loves you, Raymond. She trusts you." One more kiss and I watched Karen brave the security checkpoint and disappear into a sea of rushing passengers-to-be.

Heather had an irregular schedule in college. Mostly, she took her tests online and rarely went anywhere to attend class, contributing to her dismal social life. But word had it her interest had been sparked by one particular man who had yet to ask her on a date. My pep talk hadn't seemed to find purchase, and she appeared disinterested, letting the candidate fall by the wayside.

Since marrying Karen, I'd always slept nude, always at the ready for sex. Now in our mid-forties, sex had not slowed as much as I'd once thought it would. We were quite active horizontally, even though the house had another human living in it.

On Tuesday, the second full day my wife was gone, I lay in bed in the wee hours, trying to decide when I would void my distended bladder. My toilet had been slowed by something and hadn't been working right, so rather than risk a plumbing nightmare, I sauntered down the hall in the weak light of dawn in search of the hall bath, wearing nothing but a sleepy face. That was when I bumped into Heather coming out of the shower, just as nude as I was.

"Oh my God!" she shouted.

"I'm sorry, Heather!" Trying to hide behind her towel was a bad idea, so I scurried down the hall and back to my room.

"Sorry, Daddy. I'll be just a minute." Somewhat less than mortified, I waited until the all-clear sign, and used her bathroom. Then I returned to bed and ruminated about what had happened. Who takes a shower at two-thirty in the morning? Then I drifted to sleep. I'd fix the toilet later.

Later that morning, I awoke and used my own bathroom this time, slow flush and all. When I returned to bed, Heather was waiting for me, seated on the corner of the mattress. She was dressed in only a robe, which was one robe more than I had on. I fetched mine from the bathroom and draped it over myself.

"Hi, Daddy."

"Heather? Do you know what time it is?"

"I had a bad dream." I looked at the clock. 6:18.

"Call your mother. She's on eastern time."

"Mind if I sit here?"

I looked at her. "I guess that's fine." Then I stifled a yawn. "Maybe I should just get up and put the coffee on. What were you doing taking a shower in the middle of the night?"

"I was bored."

"Try sleeping."

"Daddy, when did you first kiss a girl?"

"Oh, geez. It's been more years than I can count. I think I was fifteen."

"What was it like?"

I smiled a dreamy smile. "Awkward. My first kiss with anyone has always been awkward."

"That's what has me worried. Will it be awkward for me?"

"Not necessarily. You have to find someone you really enjoy being around. Then you can ease into it."

"Was it awkward with my Mom?"

"Nope. She was one exception. Everything was always so easy with her. You'll find the right one, honey."

"I know, but I won't know what to do. You know, it's like credit."

"Yeah, it kind of is."

"Dad? Would you kiss me?"

"Would I what?"

"I knew it was a bad idea. I'm sorry."

I thought about it. I was free of disease, an excellent teacher, patient, kind, and according to Karen, I was a great kisser. This wasn't my blood daughter but a grown woman twenty-five years my junior. It actually made good sense. It was just awkward, the same awkward she had wanted to avoid.

"I don't know, Heather. Your Mom might throw us both out."

She giggled. "No way. She loves you."

"Yeah, but if she—I don't know. I suppose we could, just once. Stand up." She stood, and I moved toward her, placing my arms around her waist. "What you do is relax. Just calm yourself. Chances are he's just as nervous as you are. First time, you'll probably not be using your tongue, so you just rub your lips against his and do what's natural. You can part your lips slightly, then move in slowly and just kiss." I tried to follow the logic of my own instructions as she would, but the explanation somehow seemed muddled. "Here, do this. Lick your lips. Now relax your mouth. You're tense. There. Good. Let your lips separate a little bit. There, just like that. Okay, now I'm going to kiss you. Just do what comes natural." I closed in and kissed her mouth. Her lips were soft and moist and warm, and I became instantly aroused, my growing bulge concealed by the robe.

"That was really nice," she said. "Could we do that again?"

I moved in for a longer kiss. I felt unexpected passion rising up, coming through to my lips. Pressing her mouth tight against mine, I began exploring her lips and tongue, and then plunged my tongue into her mouth. Her breathing deepened and she began to moan. I pulled myself off her mouth. My hard-on raged.

"Oh my God, that was incredible," she said. I smiled. "Daddy, you really are a great kisser."

"You're on your way now, young lady." I planted a kiss on her cheek. "Remember, our secret."

"Yep, our secret," she said with a wide grin before bounding away, closing the door behind her. Too aroused to return to sleep, I tossed the robe aside and fondled myself until I exploded into a tissue.

The day passed with Heather at the library and me at my laptop on the kitchen table. With no one home, I didn't bother to put on a robe. The feeling of being naked where you shouldn't be naked was too enjoyable to stifle. The worst-case scenario would be Heather coming home early and seeing my nude body. She'd done that once already.

Early the next morning, she tapped on my bedroom door and entered without waiting for my approval. The blue letters of the clock showed a little after three a.m.

"What's wrong, Heather?"

She wore a skimp light colored nighty that was not suitable for public view. "I couldn't sleep, Daddy. Mind if I sit on the bed?"

I yawned. "That'd be fine." I closed my eyes and thought about nothing in particular.

"When is Mom due home?"

"End of the week. Three more days, I think. Why?"

"I don't know. I've been thinking. There's a guy I know from school. He's kind of cute. I think he's going to ask me out."

"Good! I'm glad to hear that. You're not a kissing virgin anymore, so everything should go fine."

"Right, I'm not worried about that. But what if he wants to go further?"

My eyes clicked open. "How much further?"

"Like, all the way?"

"Heather, you should be keeping that for your husband."

"What if I don't want to? What if I want to give myself to him?"

"That's not a good—"

"I'm a virgin at nineteen. I'm an outcast, Daddy."

I sighed. "Lots of girls your age are virgins. You're supposed to remain—"

"Daddy, what was it like for you and Mom? The first time."

I felt myself blushing in the dark. "Everything about her was right, Heather. It was great."

"You weren't a virgin, were you?"

"Two daughters from a previous marriage? I'd say the virginity ship sailed long ago."

"See? I don't want to be a virgin when Steve asks me out."

"He hasn't asked you yet, has he?"

"No. But I was wondering—would it be all right if—Daddy? Would you have sex with me?"

I looked at her in astonishment. "Heather, that's enough! You're asking me to violate—"

"Father-daughter sex is permissible in many countries. In fact, it's considered quite normal in many places."

"Where did you read that?" I said, my face still frozen in shock.

"The internet."

"Well, it's taboo in this country. Your mother will kill us both if we did anything like that."

"She doesn't have to find out, Daddy. Nobody does. Just spend a few minutes with me, show me how a man is supposed to love a woman, that's all I ask." I saw her smile in the dim light of the alarm clock."

"Heather, I can't—"

"Please Daddy? Please?"

As crazy as it was, I felt my resolve weakening. Had she been my blood daughter, I would have given her a long hard paddling and thrown her out of the bedroom. And when her mother got home, Karen would have whipped Heather with a special belt reserved for the most egregious offenses. But, I reasoned, Heather really was just a pretty female who happened to have been brought into this world by my second wife. In some ways, it made sense. I wished it hadn't.

"Heather, what you're asking is huge."

"I know, Daddy. But you're such a good kisser. I bet you've made love to twenty women and could show lots of guys Steve's age your technique. Pretty please with sugar on top?"

I massaged my scalp and sighed. "Okay. Click on the light by the door and dial it way down. Too bright. There, that's good. Now hop up on the bed." I already regretted this and it was already too late to turn back. She crawled up on the bed like a happy puppy and sat near her mother's pillow.

"What have you done with a guy?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Just you."

"Okay. Remove your nightgown and lie on your back, head on the pillow." I undid my robe and tossed it to the floor, then positioned myself alongside her body and brought one hand to her thigh. I watched her embarrassment as she undressed and gave the nighty a fling. "Heather, do you masturbate?"

"Uh, well..."

I smiled. "Lying naked next to each other is when you can tell all. Do you masturbate?"

She squirmed a little and gave a tentative answer. "Yes."

"Do you have any trouble getting moist?"

"Never."

"Okay. I'll begin by getting you a little wet." My fingers found her muff and began to explore its outer edge.

"I'm already wet, Daddy."

"Yes, you certainly are." One finger went in to the first knuckle, then the second, and I pushed in further and explored her inner workings. I removed my finger briefly to lick it—the taste was lovely, almost sweet—and then slid it back in. She groaned softly. Then I inserted a second finger and began to probe for her G-spot. I hit it several times and she shuddered and moaned, clearly excited at a man's touch. With my thumb, I massaged her clitoris. She pushed my hand aside with hers and began to rub her clit with her fingertips, leaving my fingers still in place. I watched her boobs swaying as her hips began to rock. Her mouth was parted seductively, her eyes closed. Her body begged me to take her. Her moaning grew, as did my engorged cock.

"Okay, Heather, I'm going to penetrate you now. Get ready. It might be a little painful, so I'll go slowly." Saying nothing, she continued to massaging herself, so I climbed atop her missionary style and lined up my parts with hers. I kissed her lovely lips and she responded hungrily, French kissing my mouth. I easily entered her and she moaned, meeting my first gentle thrust with one of her own. Though she was tighter than my wife, she hadn't acted as though anything had broken or hurt. I proceeded as carefully as if she were made of China. Heather's moans grew in intensity and began to get me worked up. I thought I would cum too quickly, so I held back a little and began to pull out, but she followed my cock with her hips, not permitting me to exit her. Then I thrust several times deeply, she moaned and bucked, and I shot my wad into her. She screamed and I grunted and panted, and I finally came to rest lying fully on her damp body, trying to forget the enormity of what I had just done. With her arms wrapped around me, she held me tight and thanked me. Before I could say anything, she grabbed her nighty off the floor and left.

I didn't see Heather the entire day, and having not heard anything, I worried she had gone off the deep end somewhere. I imagined her crying next to an empty vodka bottle or shivering at a women's shelter while naming her assailant. Horse shit.

I texted her, "How are you?" and heard back ten minutes later. She was fine.

That night, she seemed to avoid me. Only a quick hello when she returned home around dinnertime, and she disappeared into her room. I guessed she was coming to grips with having lost something that was dear to her. Or maybe she was celebrating.

When I awoke for my early morning urination, Heather was again sitting on the edge of my bed. I could not reach my robe or anything else to cover myself, so I remained on my back under the covers.

"Heather? Are you OK?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Why aren't you sleeping?"

"I have a lot on my mind. What we did. It was—"

"Wrong, I know. I'm so sorry, honey. Please forgive—"

Her eyes grew wide. "No, Daddy. It was awesome. Would you do it again?"

I cleared my throat. "Again?"

"Yes. Right now."

I took in a deep breath. "Let me use the john first." She'd already seen me naked and was liable to again, so I made no effort to conceal anything. That included my first woody of the day, the one most men seem to awaken with.

When I returned, she was lying on Karen's side of the bed, atop the sheets. Her nighty was gone. She was nude.

"Heather, are you sure you want—"

"Yes, Daddy. I'm sure."

Against my better judgment, we had sex again. Afterward, she remained in bed with me and peppered me with questions.

"What's the difference between fucking and making love?" she asked.

"Heather! I cringe at that word. It's so ugly. It doesn't fit you."

"Fucking?"

"Yes, that word."

"What the difference between that and making love?"

"I don't know that there are any real definitions. My take on it is that effing is more of a general term and can mean vulgar sex or sex between two people that don't know each other or care about one another."

"What about having sex?"

"I would guess that's somewhere in the middle."

"Do you make love to Mom?"

"Absolutely."

She thought for a moment. "Did you make love to me?"

I was silent while searching for the best answer. Either one was surrounded by razor wire.

"I love you, Heather. What we did was not exactly making love, but it sure wasn't effing, either."

"So we had sex then."

"It sounds rather cold when you put it that way, doesn't it?"

"A little. Daddy, would you make love to me?"

"Heather, I—"

"I want to be made love to and you're the best in the world. Please?"

"Heather, I—" My voice trailed off. I'd created this jam and now I needed a delicate way out. "Okay. I have lots of work to do today, and your mother will be gone for a few more days. Let's do it tonight. We'll have a real date. I'll take you to dinner and bring you home and make real love to you. How's that? And then we can forget—"

"That's awesome! Thank you, Daddy." She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me on the mouth.

My thinking that day was so scattered, I barely got any work done. My mind kept returning to my daughter and how we were having some kind of affair that would put me in jail or hell or someplace worse. That really was what it was no matter how it was painted. It was an affair. We were fucking and apparently had no plans to stop.

I bought flowers and a bottle of wine, came back to the house and showered, then put on a nice pair of slacks and a dress shirt. I found Heather in the living room, already dressed, and quite immodestly. She had on her nicest dress, long and dark blue with a slit running up the side. Partly exposed, her cleavage left little to the imagination. On her feet were black four-inch open-toed pumps. My jaw dropped. I'd no idea she owned such an outfit. She was, in a word, hot.

"Heather, you look—stunning." I handed her the flowers and she beamed a smile.

"Thank you, Daddy. I'll put them in water."

We went to a steakhouse for dinner. For our first appearance in public as a couple, I asked her to wear sunglasses in a lame attempt at concealing either her age or her identity. Then again, lots of men took their sexy daughters to dinner, didn't they?

When we returned home, she stopped off at the bathroom. This gave me a chance to pour two glasses of wine, light a couple of candles in the bedroom, dim the lights, and strip to my boxers. Heather entered the room without knocking. She was still in her clothes.

"Daddy, this is lovely. You really went all-out."

"Yes, I did." My eyes combed over her body from her toes to her ruby lips and her purple eye shadow, undressing her with my mind. My cock stirred. I held out my hand to her and she came toward me. "Heather, you are one hot woman. Are you ready to be made love to?"

"Yes, Daddy," she beamed. She sat on the edge of the bed and removed her heels—she had painted her toes red for the occasion—and then I helped her out of her dress while she tugged at my boxers.

Admiring her nakedness, I said, "You know, young lady, if you like deeper penetration, there are better positions than the one we used."

"Such as?"

"Well, there's doggy-style, the wheelbarrow, the scissors, woman on top, standing. I've done all of those with your Mom."

"I don't want to talk about Mom right now. This is about us, Ray."