The Tomboy

I rolled over. Dawn hinted at the window. In the early morning light, Sam lay beside me. A warm night, so no sheet covered our naked bodies. Unable to resist, I ran my fingers lightly over my daughter's trim body. Sam's not tall, average height, but she's very athletic and curvy. Her short black hair, getting longer now, splayed across the pillow.

The feel of her soft, young skin under my fingers started my cock growing. My caress of her firm butt stirred her. "I wanted to sleep in this morning."

Now I filled my hand with the curve of her ass. "Where's Molly?" I asked as Sam rolled to her back and opened her legs. My daughter does not shave, barely trims, and I love it. My fingers explored her pubic forest.

"She's in with Pete. We both were up peeing and decided to switch. You mind?" She said as her head moved lower.

Sam had my hard cock in her hand as her mouth opened. I sighed as her lips closed around my erection. "Not at all. Family love morning?"

Sam paused in her fellatio, talking around my cock, a trail of saliva between her mouth and the head of my cock. "Yeah, a little shared blood sex to start our day."

"Just as long as I can fuck my wife later," I replied, my cock aching for her warm, wet mouth.

Sam smiled. "Just as long as I can fuck her son." She laughed and went back to sucking my cock.

This is our life. Sam and Pete are engaged, be married in a few months. We are all deeply in love and enjoying life. It didn't start that way.

Ellen, my wife, ex-wife, is a glamorous woman. Though not tall, she has a perfect shape and works very hard to maintain it. She is obsessed with style and appearance. Clothes, makeup accessories, all leading-edge. And she has not said a word to me in two years.

We had a terrific marriage, an odd coupling, but it worked. I own an excavating company. I dig shit up and push it around. Just me and ten guys, they all have a piece of it so they are quite loyal. Ellen liked the money. She was building her brand as an interior designer. We had Rex and two years later, Samantha.

I had my own clean-up area in the house and I was not permitted in until I was clean. While the kids were still young, I'd come in naked and Ellen and I would fuck. Ellen was the perfect wife. A princess in the living room and a whore in the bedroom.

Ellen raised Samantha as a lady in her own mold. Samantha was as beautiful as her mother. I tried to bring Rex into the business, but even as a small child, he had only sports on his mind. In his teens, he discovered the gym, and I lost him to self-admiration. He's a good man, but in a one-word description, he's a Neanderthal. Ellen, of course, loved his highly developed body and his "manly" persona. That made sense since some of our lovemaking involved me being a lot rougher than I was comfortable with.

So, Samantha was Ellen 2.0. Until her mid-teens, maybe sixteen? She started to push back against Ellen's 'plans' for her, a nice way of saying controlling, and when Ellen didn't ease off, despite my suggestions, Sam went full Goth. Ragged, poorly dyed hair. Black makeup, black clothes, all used, big, black boots, chains. Loud, obnoxious music. The whole deal. Nothing says 'up yours and your prissy ways' like going goth.

The war began. Rex lived in the gym and was struggling in school. He had no clue what was going on. I tried to be the voice of reason.

"Ellen. Please. Just leave her alone. It's a phase. She's a teenager."

"James." It's 'James' when she is unhappy with me. It was 'James' a lot that year. "Our daughter needs to project the proper image if she is going to follow in my footsteps at Atlantis designs."

"Wouldn't it be a good idea to let Sam be a kid first?"

The air got colder. "Her name, James, is Samantha. Please remember that. She has lots of time for foolishness, but if she is going to succeed in the design world it takes dedication. I can hand her a profitable business and a lifestyle to go with it, but she has to have the right attitude and you encouraging her disgusting choices is not helping. She must dress and act the way I tell her."

"Maybe, the child doesn't want to be Barbie." I said quietly in a frustrated case of brain-mouth fence failure. Ellen stopped in mid-harangue. Her mouth open.

"Barbie? Did you just call me Barbie?"

Looking back much later, I determined that this was the exact point at which my marriage began its death spiral.

"I'm sorry, Ellen. We're both angry right now. I wasn't thinking. I was stupid."

If those eyes could shoot the fire in them, I'd have been ash.

"Stupid? Ohh, you went way past stupid. Insulting, ugly, demeaning, and demonstrating the crude reality of your past. You son-of-a-bitch, that's the meanest thing you've ever said to me."

By the way, that was also when my sex life ended.

It took a week or so for Ellen to even speak to me. The war between her and Sam continued. Sam was only a teenage girl, trying to be herself. In exercising her stubborn tenacity, she was blind to the damage she was causing in her parent's marriage. I understood.

"Dad, why can't mom just let me be me?"

"You gotta try and meet her halfway. She only wants the best for you."

Sam looked down, half-whispering. "I'd rather be in the shop with you guys."

I was surprised, honored, in a way, and scared to death. Oh, that would just make Ellen so happy. Bulldozer driving goth daughter. The wicked part of me laughed. I liked the idea of my daughter driving heavy equipment.

"Seventeen, kiddo. You can come to the shop if you still want to when you're seventeen."

Sam smiled. "Okay, dad. That's fair. Can I get a tattoo?"

"We have to talk with mom for that."

That 'meeting' went more like the red wedding in GOT. Ellen's face went blank when Sam asked and then my wife erupted. The floodgates of invective opened wide and evil poured forth. Whore, slut, pig, trailer-trash filth bucket. Ellen held forth on her opinion of body art. Waving her finger, face red and tight.

"You will NEVER, as long as I draw a breath, disfigure your body with that disgusting filth."

With that, Ellen stormed off to take a valium and a nap. Sam bawled on my shoulder until my shirt was soaked. I wanted to cry myself. I didn't know whether to give solace to my daughter or go slap my wife. I'd never even thought of hitting a woman, but I was close now.

Sam snuffing in my shirt. "I just want to be me, dad. Why can't she leave me alone?"

"She just wants what's best for you, kiddo."

Sam looked up at me with red-rimmed eyes. "That's bullshit and you know it, dad. She wants to control me. Make me a fucking Barbie, just like her."

I'd never heard Sam swear and I never called her mother Barbie, well, once. I was stunned.

"Can I get piercings?" My daughter asked between snuffs.

That was when I made a unilateral decision to be single. Oh, that wasn't the plan, not even an idea. But it was the result.

"Yes, baby. You can do that. It's not permanent."

By now, Rex had managed to get an associate degree from the community college and had a job as assistant manager of a gym and a place of his own. I heard rumors that he was fucking as many of the wives as he could, and I tried to suggest that was not a good idea. Rex told me to mind my own business.

"Dad, it's good for the business. These broads love it. I get a little rough with them. You know, sweaty stinky sex, hard and fast. Like you and mom."

I was stunned. I was unaware he knew what happened between his mother and me. We have a big house and there is no way he would have heard us. I shrugged it off.

Nose ring, eyebrow, three in each ear, and I had the wisdom to not inquire about any that weren't visible. Wouldn't have mattered. Hell descended upon the Fitzpatrick household. This time, I was heaped with an equal amount of hate.

"You fucking prick. You TOLD her to wreck her body? Look at her, she's disfigured. She's garbage and not my daughter anymore. You two deserve each other!"

That was at eight O'clock in the morning. Sam went to school. I snuck out and went to work. I spent the day trying to figure out how to get out of this.

I got home that night and Ellen was gone. All the clothes, the shoes, the whole thing, poof, gone.

Sam was devastated. She finally got it and now felt totally responsible for her parents' pending divorce.

"I was such a bitch. This is all my fault." She wailed. I let her cry for a bit, just hugging her. She paused and I explained.

"You didn't help, kiddo, but we were on the way to a spit no matter what. Your mom makes twice what I do, and she wanted me to close the business and work for her. I'm not ugly and I keep in top shape. She wanted me in sales. Nice way of saying eye candy for lonely wives. I would be dressed up by her. Lots of pastels and tight shirts. I said no. So, it wasn't all you. Your mother was uncompromising and focused only on her needs."

"You're not getting back together?"

I laughed. "No. Her lawyer already sent the papers. All she wants is to be gone."

"I'm still seventeen for a few months, what about me?"

I didn't repeat what the lawyer repeated from my ex, cold-hearted prick. "I asked that you stay with me."

And, like that, goth disappeared.

The next afternoon, Friday, a couple of Sam's friends showed up and Sam asked for a card.

"Here ya go."

Sam looked at me. "You don't want to know why or where?"

I smiled. "I trust you. Only one rule, remember, we need to eat."

That got me a huge hug and big smiles from all the girls.

Hours later, they returned, all carrying bags. I feared for my credit card balance. No fashion show was offered. That was fine with me. I made dinner for all of us. I hadn't seen Sam this happy in years. The girls stayed for a movie. It was nice.

One day after Sam's eighteenth birthday.

Saturday, I'll be at work. I do some bookwork, look over whatever equipment is in the yard, review quotes. I was still home, thinking about leaving, sitting at the kitchen table when Sam walked in. The new Sam, I guess.

No makeup. Her hair neatly trimmed. I noticed that last night. She'd been letting it grow a little. A tank top, red, looked like a man's shirt, with a Kelly green sports bra for her barely-there breasts, sunglasses tucked in the cleavage. Carhartt pants, mens, so the fit was, well, manly. I hadn't paid attention with all the shit going on, but Sam had been hitting the gym, coached by her brother and it showed. Tight cords of muscle under her fair skin.

The pants had a tooled leather belt with a filigreed design highlighted in pink.

Steel-toed work boots, with a pink band, laced, with a zipper too. Black and pink work gloves stuck in a back pocket, a magenta bandana hanging from the other, and a brand-new Caterpillar ball cap holding down her short black hair, with a 'Hello Kitty' pin in the crown.

"I'm going to work with you."

I laughed, finished my coffee, and got up. "let's go."

As I drove, I looked at my daughter. All the piercings were gone but you could still see the holes.

"So, kiddo, what's going on?"

Sam was looking out the window. "I've been fighting to be allowed to be me for so long. I helped wreck your marriage. Don't say anything, I know, it wasn't just me. Then mom fucked off and I was lost. I'd been fighting to be somebody, but I had no fucking idea who that was. I'm still not sure. Call me, 'daughter-in-progress.' Melody and Frankie were amazing. We talked forever and then went shopping. They declared me a tomboy. So, that's me, a tomboy that wants to learn the excavating business."

That first day, I took some time to explain a few things. Sam saw the mini excavator in the yard, declared it 'cute.' I gave her the key and went into the office.

My equipment yard is a former stable. Big barn, a metal storage building, and a stable. I removed the stalls to make the office and storerooms, but I left the shower, just because it was so awesome. It's a shower for horses. Ten feet by six with a nine-foot ceiling, all tile. It's got a bunch of shower heads, rainfall, pulsing, and a handheld thingy. The hot water heater would warm the ocean. No doors, of course. My secret Saturday ritual was showering here. It took forever, I always masturbated, and I loved being naked and exposed, even though I was alone. My little vice. But no shower today.

As I worked, I heard the little machine running as Sam played. I figured she couldn't break the thing and it would amuse her. I got up to see how she was doing.

It was obvious in a few seconds that my daughter and the machine had become one. The bucket on the machine moved as if it was her hand, smooth, steady. She was rearranging the junk in the yard. She used the teeth to pluck items and the side of the bucket to nudge stuff and make room. Sam was a natural. The smile on her face was a mile wide.

To move this along, I'll sum up. Sam enrolled in the community college, business. When she wasn't in class, she was on a machine. Oh, it wasn't easy. I heard mumbling about 'the boss's daughter.' But that crap stopped once they had to run to keep up with her. She took the dirtiest jobs and the guys learned fast that she ran a machine better than any of them. But we also discovered that she was extremely allergic to hydraulic oil.

She stuck with her odd mix of clothing. Man's clothes but with feminine accents. I did the laundry, so I knew that under all that Carhartt was lace and pastels. I let her fold her own stuff, handling it just to wash it was sending the wrong signals. I hadn't dated since Ellen left. I'd had a few fast interludes with somebody else's wives, but I couldn't keep doing that.

Sam was twenty and a partner in the company. She kept her hair very short still, she'd gotten at least one tattoo, a rose, full color between her shoulder blades. She admitted that I was wise to make her wait. I loved watching her work. Sitting behind the controls of a Caterpillar D7, a bulldozer the size of a house, making the machine dance to her whim, or running a small frontend loader, quick, smooth. Life was good.

It was Saturday. The D7 was in the shop, lift cylinder needed repacking. I was on the other side of the machine when I saw the mist of oil and Sam screamed. "DAAAAAAADDDDD!!"

I ran around. Sam stood in the middle of the floor, hydraulic oil running off her, soaking into her clothes, her hair. A puddle forming at her feet. Her eyes tightly shut.

"Help me. It stings so bad."

I grabbed her hand and we headed for the shower. I keep a couple of big bottles of Dawn in there, just in case anybody gets an exposure.

As we ran, Sam cried and said, "help me dad." Once inside, she just stood there, crying. I could see the skin on her arms reddening. I kneeled and unzipped her boots. "Kick em off, kiddo. Help me here." While she did that, I turned the shower on. Sam was in her socks but still just standing there. "Help me, dad."

I took a grip of her tank and cami and not so gently yanked them off. The toned skin of her body already beet red against the soft green of her lacy bra. She held my shoulder as I pulled off her socks. Her pants were soaked, I had no choice. I unbuckled her belt, unsnapped them, and pulled the zipper down. The wet pants pooled at her calves, and I knelt to get them off her feet, my face inches from the soft green Victoria's thong, also wet with oil.

Sam stood on the tile in just her bra and panties. Even in emergency mode, I had to admire her body. She was in fantastic shape, desirable in every sense of the word. But she was my daughter and in pain.

"It's in my bra and stuff, dad."

The steam from the shower rolled over us as I unhooked her bra and let it fall. I ignored her firm, small breasts as I slid my fingers into the waistband of her thong and shoved it down.

"Get under the water, kid."

"I can't open my eyes."

I had no choice. I unzipped my boots and in seconds I was down to my loose boxers. I steered my daughter under the rainfall head and grabbed the dawn.

The soap and the warm water made a satisfying foam. I roughly tousled her hair, letting the detergent sit. Her face was next.

"Not so rough dad. It's getting better."

I slowed down, but not much. The oil had to go. My hands moved quickly spreading the soapy mixture over every inch of her skin, pretending not to notice when my hands moved over her breasts, brushing her hard nipples, the blade of my hand in the crease of her hard butt feeling the little ring, and a soapy hand quickly massaging the thick matt of fur around her pubic area. It wasn't working. I'd been celibate way too long and admired my daughter in many ways. My cock went fully erect, tenting my loose boxers. I was horrified and ashamed.

"Hey, kid, you're doing good. You got it from here?"

Sam leaned back into me. "No, dad. Keep going. My hair."

I backed up and ran both my hands through her short hair, slowly massaging her scalp.

"Oh fuck, that's nice." She purred, not helping my condition at all.

This was torture. I had to be good.

"Dad, the rest of me. The oil's still sticking."

I should have told her to do it herself. I should have stepped away. I shouldn't have a screaming boner. I was beyond conflicted. But I did as she asked and slowly ran my hands over her as she put her arms up and against the tile wall.

Her skin felt so good. Soft, with tight muscles underneath. I slowly massaged her back, reaching around and scrubbing her hard abs. A quick pass over her breasts, feeling two hard, long nipples, Sam catching a breath. On my knees, scrubbing her calves, then knees, thighs. Sam, spreading her legs, tempting me, no, just wanting to be clean and me, perving, helpless to my desires. My face inches from her hard round ass as my hands moved up her legs, my guilt forcing me to stop before the top.

Standing behind my daughter now, the blade of my hand sliding in the crease of her hard ass, feeling her star as I moved down, lower, between her legs now. I had to wash everywhere, right? Sam opening a little more. My left hand on her hip.

Sam, breathing deeper. Me losing control. Palm up, my hand slid forward until I had her whole pubis in my hand. Wet. My daughter's vagina was soaked. No longer thinking, my left hand moved up, cupping a breast, capturing a nipple. The right moved around front and down. Sam gasped and leaned back. I didn't back up. My cock, out the slash in the front of my soaked boxers, nestled along the crease of my daughter's butt, the warm water and soap lubing.

My right hand moved around her hip and between her spread and welcoming legs, up her thigh. I felt the coarse, dense, pubic hair. I gathered my fingers cupping her sex. Her wetness coated my fingers as I felt her breathing deeper. Her nipple hard under my pinching fingers. Sam nestled against me. I was lost to my desire and I slipped a finger inside her open wetness as I rubbed my erection against her ass. I was shaking and I felt my daughter shaking against me. Her pussy soaking wet with her need, and I slid a second finger in, my thumb pressing on her long clitoris. My hips moved in a steady rhythm, my cock sliding up and down the crease of her ass.

Sam, panting. I knew she was close. So was I.

Her hands on the tile wall, spread-eagled as her father, tight against her body, fingering her pussy and fondling her breast. Sam gasped and quaked, I felt the goosh of her orgasm cover my hand as I came with her shooting hard up her back. Relief and lust combined.

What have I done? Euphoria gone, I realized how badly I'd fucked up. I moved back quickly, the line of my orgasm like a blaze of guilt up my daughter's back. Sam, still leaning, silent as I ran out to my truck for my gym bag. I yanked out shorts and a tee. I stripped off my wet boxers and put the shorts on and ran back with the tee.

Sam standing, the shower off, a confused look. I tossed her the shirt and grabbed my keys.