Chapter 1 - But It Starts with a Smell
It's part of being human; of being male; of being a man; and, unfortunately, of being a father.
It starts so innocently. You're family; you're home; it's a safe zone. You shirk off the multiple masks, one after another, the moment you step in that door. You burp; you fart; you don't do your hair; you pee with the lights off and the door open. No socks; no shoes; no slacks; no buttoned up shirts. That's home.
The problem arises when you're a guy in your 40s, who still loves the smell of pussy, and loves getting his dick wet in as many girls as he can find. Add to that an eighteen year old daughter, with eighteen year old friends, who smells... Well, we'll get to the rest of it. But we'll start here, with the smells.
* * *
The start of summer, and we reached that age. Age doesn't mean much, but since the world focuses on it, it's hard to ignore. When Brooke turned eighteen, I admit that thought went through my head. Eighteen. My little girl is eighteen. My little girl, she's... Legal.
Yes, she's my daughter, but she's also a vibrant, mature, and beautiful young woman. She's not a kid; not a baby. I've known her since birth, but there's a lot about her that's a mystery, a lot of things I don't know, and a lot of things I'll never know. When she was eleven or twelve, she just started branching off. She strayed from my hip and let go of my hand. She stopped asking for permission. She stopped seeking my advice. She bought her own clothes; found her own music; did a lot of things I'm sure I shouldn't ever know about. But that's her right, and I let her go.
And then there she was, all of a sudden, a woman. Somewhere along the way, the braces came off. The bras, the make-up, the hair products. She learned to look attractive to men, to lure them in. She wasn't a vamp or a seductress, but every girl wants to look good and wants to be wanted. And she did a great job of it. Not over the top, but in a natural, understated way. And when she was as natural and understated as she could get, that's when she really drives it home: she's fucking gorgeous.
As that day...
* * *
"Dad, can I grab the paper?"
"Sure," I said, without looking up from my laptop, coffee half-way to my lips. She came up behind me, and reached around me to where the Sunday paper was re-folded on the counter.
"Thanks, Dad." And as she swept the paper away, I inhaled deeply. How could I resist? Fresh out of the shower, hair still damp, she smelled of soap, shampoo, conditioner, and lotion--all stuff made to smell wonderful on women. Clear and clean, fruity and soft. But there was something else--underneath it all, her smell, the smell of woman. A bit musky and warm....
And this time it had an extra bite, tangy undertones that made me freeze. I know that sharpness. I put my hand to my chin, my finger tapping my upper-lip. My finger. I've smelled it on my finger before. I remember days at my desk, or out for lunch, and I'd be in the same kid of thought, and I'd inhale, pull at the scent with my nose, remembering what just happened minutes ago.
One, two, three fingers, working their ways deep into some girl's pussy, pulling her up and in, as I worked her G-spot, eating her out, making her cum. That was the sharp smell. My daughter, although clean and freshly showered, smelled like worked-up pussy.
And so my eyes followed Brooke as she swung over to the other side of the room to drop onto the couch. There she was, a little shorter than me, long black hair falling over her shoulders, a thin t-shirt, and baby blue boy shorts. She pulled her feet up onto the couch and sat side-saddle in the sun. Nice firm breasts, Bs (as if I've thought that before--of course I have), and the rest of her like most of her friends, thin and girlish, lean, but starting to curve out in the right places.
I decided to join her on the couch. "Mind if I have a seat, too?"
"No prob, dad. I'll make room!" And I gently pushed her feet back towards her, making room on the couch. The little push of her knees down and towards her chest forced her cute ass to pop out just a bit more. As I sat, I peered out the corner of my eye, and could see her mound straining the fabric of her shorts.
And so we sat. Both of us reading different sections of the paper. She lifted and rested her feet in my lap; I idly rested a hand on her bare ankle. And, slowly, silently, the temperature in the room started warming. That moment when you know you're still, but you feel like you're shaking, when your shoulders start stiffening (along with your cock), and you don't think anyone knows what's going on... But you also have to admit that everyone's hyper-aware of what's going on. You're turning each other on.
Because my hand resting on her ankle came to rest instead on her hip, and her feet in my lap start pressing into my leg. We both knew what we were touching. I was caressing her ass, and she was testing my cock.
Idle, all idle. All utterly deniable. But I was hard, and there was that smell still emanating from her. And as I nonchalantly stretched out my neck, I saw proof. Where her pussy lips were starting to push out, the fabric was darkening. My daughter was getting wet. Because she was making me hard.
This was getting too much. It's okay to look, but touching is getting too close. I knew what I needed to know. That sharp, hot smell was Brooke's pussy, and we both knew that we got each other hot.
"More coffee for me," as I rose from the couch, giving her hip (her ass) a quick squeeze, shifting my hard-on in my shorts, as I lifted her feet off my lap and rose. She murmured something, letting me go, and I topped off my mug and then went to my office. I needed somewhere to breathe, somewhere to think, some space.
* * *
In my office, I took a deep breath and reflected--no, closed my eyes and basked. I just had a gorgeous young girl, with just a light touch, get me rock-hard, and I--an old man, her father--made her wet. I still had it; I still had that touch, that power. And hers, she was just discovering. Yet, there I sat, at my desk, slowly softening, with my balls tingling, and pre-cum starting to form at my tip. I logged into my Gmail and checked my contacts. Perfect. She's on.
The "she" in this case was Erin a woman from marketing. Well, not technically from marketing, but an intern from marketing. And not a career-track intern from marketing, but a freshman college intern. A summer job, hooked up by daddy, to fill in the time between classes. And while technically a woman, still just a teenager. Nineteen and blonde, with a tiny bit of baby fat. Enough for a little tummy and soft pillowy breasts floating on her chest. Cute and bubbly. But, as I discovered, her shaved pussy and her ability to swallow cock showed that she was well on her way to growing out of that phase.
I remember the first day I met her. Tanya (truly from marketing) was making the rounds, and I happened to run into them in the hallway. Erin stepped up perkily, stretched out a handshake, and introduced herself. I took her hand gently, rubbing my thumb against the back of her hand. I know she just saw me as an old guy, one of her dad's peers, and someone she should impress so she could turn this into a future. Innocent of my intentions that soon I'd be burying my cock deep inside of her and filling her with cum.
Next time I saw her, she was sitting by herself, outside in the grass and sun, having some lunch. I waved hi and grabbed a spot beside her. I asked how work was, what she found interesting, and how she was getting along with her colleagues. Of course, everything was great-- which is never the truth. But you have to push a little to get to the truth, and so I shoved.
"Tanya's a tough one."
"Tanya? Oh no, she's great. I love her! She knows so much; I've got so much to learn."
"And she makes that clear to you at least once or twice a day, right?"
"Oh no, not at all!" "Last time I worked with her... Look, everyone knows she means well, but you have to realize that everyone is out there looking to get their own. It's a law of nature: kill or be killed. I can't fault her for that, but I do fault her on the way she goes about doing it. She does it pushing you down. On the other hand, the right way to do it is for me to pull you up and have you give me a push on my way up above you. Do you get that?"
"Uhm, no, not really."
"Look," and I reached out and took her hand in mine. I squared myself to her and looked right into her light blue eyes. I held them for a beat, then two, and then turned her hand so it was palm up on top of mine. "Try to push my hand down. It's hard, right? Now I'll start lifting, and you start raising your hand, too. Now that's super easy." And I raised her hand up into the air. She sat there, a bit confused, in a helpless position, her breasts jiggling a bit in the air, as I lifted. Still holding her hand up there, I said, "We all want something, so we put our hands out, but it's harder to keep people down than to lift them up. But if we go up together, it's easier for both. That's the real law of nature." I flipped my hand over on top of hers, holding it, and then lowered both to her lap. "Now does that make sense?"
"Yeah, it does. But how do I make it happen with Tanya?"
"That's lesson number two. I have to run now, but how about coffee tomorrow afternoon? Swing by my office at 4, okay?"
"Sure! Thank you!" And with that I dropped her hand and strode back to work. I knew it. And tomorrow I'm going to fuck you.
* * *
But, before recounting that first time, more pressing matters were at hand. I had balls ready to burst and a willing assistant on-line. I clicked her name in my contacts list.
me: hey you.
Erin: hey qt!
me: plans for today?
Erin: o just a few. maybe go to jul's house later today. maybe not. depends.
me: depends on what? depends what i'm up to, right?
Erin: haha. so bold right?
me: you know me.
Erin: but i do have things i need to do... sry.
me: "sry" doesn't cut it. send me a picture.
Erin: right now? mom's home!!!
me: webcam. now.
Erin: not now!
me: now. tits or gtfo.
Erin: :D hold on
Erin: did you get it?
Erin: hello? u still there?
* * *
