Maybe Maybe Not

It was raining next morning when Amy awoke; another great British summer. The sound of the rain on her window brought her down and made her feel...

-a little miserable

-melancholy

-disappointed?

Why disappointed she wondered?

-because it did..

-because it did that's all..

-and because her fantasies about her father seemed to be getting out of hand.

Like an obsession.

Even now, lying in her bed and looking blankly at the ceiling, he was stealing into her thoughts.

-She let him in; she couldn't have kept him out if she'd tried. What was it about that? She didn't know. She just liked to think about him and about the sexy things they might do together...

-a whole bunch of wild stuff...

How much of it was her own imagination and how much of it was the result of the stories she'd read she didn't know.

-When did she start having sexy thoughts about him?

She didn't know that either; it just happened.

Did she really want him?

She wished she could think about it objectively but her fingertip was already describing lazy circles around her nipple...

-it didn't help the thinking process,

-but it felt good...

She didn't see how it would ever happen in reality unless they were two very different people. That was sad but probably true. Yet knowing that didn't really help; it just made her ache even more for something she'd probably never experience.

-so near but so far...

Her thoughts slipped smoothly from trying to be realistic to remembering her arousing plan to sit beside him and watch a movie while she wore a short skirt without any panties...

-that was the kind of thing that happened in stories..

-slut daughter...

Her fantasies were like watching time-lapse photography; this and this and this, without any awkwardness or soul searching...

-nice things happened,

-he fondled her breasts; then lifted her skirt,

Lying in bed her mind kept inventing one sexy scenario after the other and her hand moved lower.

Amy realised it wasn't just the sex. It was also..

-love,

-and security, that she wanted,

-and understanding?

-perhaps a father who was more than a father and more than a friend?

-a lover too,

-was that even possible? She didn't know,

-but if it was....

The enticing thought made her heart beat a little faster and she rubbed herself gently but she didn't want to cum. It was nice enough just to touch herself as she thought about him. It made her feel good. For once there was no rushing sense of urgency or aching desire to climax..

-she was pleasantly wet,

-warm and comfortable,

-drifting and dreaming,

It felt about as good as it could get,

-as if she could lie there all day,

-listening to the rain and gently touching herself...

There was one father daughter delight no one ever seemed to write about very much. Amy thought it would be nice, so nice..

-just to spend a night in his bed,

-safe and warm,

-and loved,

-and feeling special,

-lying beside him in the dark.

She could see it; see them; imagine it; how it would feel with...

-nothing to worry about,

-nothing to fear,

-innocent and sweet,

-his strong arm around her, protecting her from...

-whatever; everything, nothing,

-life,

-stuff..

Amy sighed. They were sweet dreams, a little different to the thought of his thick finger slipping smoothly in and out, or his big hand falling sharply on her vulnerable bottom; or fingers like pliers pinching...

-but so what?

So what? He was the same man and it was really all the same,

-wasn't it?

Amy showered and dressed. The rain stopped and the sun came out. Her father came home from work at 2:30pm. They talked. He fell asleep in the armchair and Amy went up to her room and studied for a couple of hours before she started thinking..

-so what about it?

-it's never going to happen,

-it might...

-but it probably won't,

-she could make it happen,

-but she probably wouldn't...

It was always like that; one part of her mind seemed to pose the questions, while another more realistic part provided the usually negative answers.

Her thoughts went back and fore like the voices of a couple gently arguing with each other; one a dreamer, a romantic, with a taste for sexual fantasies, posed the tantalising questions, while the other less imaginative, more realistic, had all the answers and invariably shot her dreams down in flames.

It was like having two different people in her head, opposing factions,

-the slut and the prude?

and her thoughts constantly bounced back and fore between the two.

How was she supposed to resolve something like that?

She didn't know but she planned to give it a lot of thought.

Later Amy stood in her bedroom and looked at her face in the mirror,

-there she was, still the same, looking back.

Her expression revealed nothing of her thoughts or the mixed emotions warring inside her.

It was getting dark outside,

-evening,

-movie time..

Her father was waiting downstairs.

She was wearing a short, pale yellow skirt, and a T-shirt that was a little too tight across her chest..

-revealing,

-did she dare?

She could feel her heart beating as she contemplated her reflection; could almost feel the blood coursing smoothly through her veins.

She had butterflies.

Her cheekbones shone in the fading light. Her T-shirt seemed to glow in the shadows.

"-Amy? The movie's just starting. Are you coming down?" Her father's deep voice carried clearly up the stairs.

"-It's just a movie," he added. "It's not like we're expecting company."

She smiled and told him she'd be down right away.

Still looking at her reflection she lifted her skirt and feeling,

-daring,

slowly peeled down her panties,

-already damp.

And dropped them on the floor.

She felt naughty to be naked under her skirt.

Next she pulled off her T-shirt and quickly removed her bra. She saw her breasts briefly, naked and full, her nipples already beginning to harden. When she put her T-shirt back on they showed clearly through the thin, soft cotton.

-God, what was she thinking?

-she couldn't,

-she could,

-she wouldn't,

-she would..

She felt nervous, excited, aroused, and apprehensive. She had to force herself to turn and open her door before she changed her mind or lost her nerve.

It had to be now,

-she had to find out, one way or the other.

She enjoyed the way her unsupported breasts moved gently as she slowly descended the stairs and was acutely aware of her nakedness under her thin clothes.

Her father was sitting on the couch with his back to her. The TV was on and the room was getting dark,

-Daddy, look at me,

-don't look at me,

-touch me,

-don't touch me..

Two empty spaces on the couch,

-she suddenly saw herself there, leaning back against the arm, her legs splayed for her father in the flickering light from the TV...

-as he lowered his head towards her..

-premonition, or fantasy?

-whatever, it set her pulses racing.

Her father wasn't sexy but the thought of him was,

-the thought of him,

-and the two of them together.

Did she really want it to happen? She was seriously beginning to believe she did.

He looked up at her as she moved around the end of the couch,

-and seemed to hesitate,

-and stared, then collected himself and smiled, and turned back to the TV.

-But he did look, Amy thought excitedly,

-he did,

-right at my chest,

-so he knows I'm not wearing a bra,

-and now he's thinking...

Something turned over inside her as she sat down beside her father. She ached to be touched but she waited.

Would he touch her?

-maybe, maybe not,

-but she surely hoped he would,

-and before too long, the way she was feeling.

As encouragement, as a hint or sign, and feeling,

-naughty,

-guilty,

-shameful, and wanton,

Amy sighed, and as her father turned to look at her she opened her legs, just a little...

(Definitely) The End.