What's in a Name? Beth

As with the rest of the series, this is a work of fiction. Most places mentioned are real. All characters and events (including this introduction) are fictional.

This story is based on the "What's in a name" series. The original stories are written from the father's POV. These are written from the POV of the daughter (Beth). Beth has discovered her dad had written about their experiences, and writes her own story. She has access to the other stories, and will occasionally refer to them, but writes mostly from memory, so there are differences. A large part of her motivation is to cover things that 'Dad' missed, but there will be some repetition.

*****

Oh. My. God.

Dad had Word open on his computer, and the name of the document was simply 'Ch. 2.' About half-way down the screen, it said "Chapter 2: The Beach" in bold type. At the top it said 'Notes:' in italics. The first note was the concept for the series - about how I had changed after changing my name earlier this summer. The second paragraph was about Collin's Beach, the clothing optional beach Dad and I went to most weekends. Dad was writing about our relationship!

It was Thursday and I had just gotten home from soccer practice. Dad wasn't due for another half-hour at least. At work that morning, a customer at the nursery had mentioned a web-site that I wanted to check out and I was too impatient to wait for my computer to boot. I saw that Dad had (as usual) left his computer on, so I decided to use his until mine was up. I didn't use his computer often, but he knew that I would occasionally use it to check something as I was doing now. The only rule he had was that if he left something work-related up (which he never did), I was to close it immediately. This clearly wasn't work related, but I don't think he ever expected me to see it. That's not necessarily true. He may have planned on showing me, but hadn't gotten around to it. Still...

Oh. My. God.

It only took a few seconds to find the first chapter, and I saw that there were more. Debating if I should start at the beginning or not, I finally decided to just bundle everything together and e mail it to myself so I could read them at my leisure. When I switched to g-mail, he was already logged in so I sent it from his account (I was still 'Johnny' in his address book). I then went to his 'Sent mail' folder to delete the copy, and then removed it from 'Trash.' Since he was hiding the stories from me, I felt justified in hiding the fact that I had found them. While going to my room to download the files, I decided to go ahead and start reading the stories from the beginning. After ensuring that everything on Dad's machine was as I had found it, I went to my laptop (which was still in what had been my bedroom).

'Ch. 1' included the title of the series - 'What's in a Name?' Cool name. Bogus that he'd write about it without sharing it with me. His description of my feelings about my first name was just about spot on. I didn't mind being 'Joan,' but I hated the name itself, which is why I started going by my middle name a few weeks after graduation. I've now been 'Beth' for... has it been only six weeks? Within a few days of the change, I had already started seeing 'Joan' as another person. Dad knew I didn't like my name, so he had started calling me 'Johnny' years ago, but nobody else did (and I wouldn't have appreciated anyone else using it). In his story, he mentioned seeing an article on my notepad that 'set me off.' It was about Joan Rivers and Joan Collins - the two most famous people I can think of with that name and they were both about 80. That's what bothered her most about the name - even more than it being 'boring.' It was a name for old people, not for a young adult. I had been playing with the idea of changing my name when I graduated. When Dad brought it up, I totally went for it. I'm not sure why I chose Beth rather than Lisa, but it seems to have worked out well.

Shit. I hadn't even made it to page two when I heard the garage door opening. I minimized Word and opened a tab with the site the customer had mentioned. As soon as I had that page up, I switched back to my e-mail and moved the message with the stories to my 'Dad' folder. I'm not sure why I tried to hide what I was doing. It's not like Dad ever came into my room, but I felt compelled to hide the traces of my discovery. Dad called to me as he came in. I got up to give him a hug and kiss at the door. "Sorry I didn't get dinner started. I wanted to check a web site a customer mentioned, then got caught up in my e-mail." I don't lie often, but this time I felt justified. I used one of Lazarus Long's recommended techniques - tell the truth, but not all of it.

"What? No dinner? That's it, you're fired. Damn, you don't work for me so I can't fire you. I'd give you a spanking, but you'd probably enjoy it. To hell with it . Mexican or Pizza?" Dad had always been somewhat laid back, but never as much as this summer. Knowing that I'm part of the reason gives me a little tingle.

*******

OK, that's how I discovered that Dad was writing about me (and him). I'm still not sure how I feel about it - a little miffed that he apparently has no intention of telling me. Of course, now I'm writing about it with no plans of telling HIM. OTOH, it kinda cool reading about how his feelings about me have changed (and what the new feelings are).

I should provide a little background. If you've read any of his stories, you can skip this. When I was born, Mom insisted that I be named 'Joan Elizabeth' in memory of her favorite aunt. My parents separated when I was 14 and my older brother, Paul, was 20. Paul is attending graduate school in California, so we don't see him very often (although he'll send an occasional e-mail or text). During school, I spent weekdays (Monday thru Friday) at Mom's and I lived with Dad from Friday evening thru Monday morning. After finishing school, I've started coming to Dad's after soccer practice on Thursday, staying at his place until Monday morning.

I was too busy fucking Dad to look at my e-mail over the weekend (a common occurrence), so I finished reading the first installment during the week while I was at Mom's. I also glanced at the next few chapters. The subject of 'The Beach' was obvious from the title - the day after I tripped him (I like Jackie's phrase), I visited a nude (excuse me, 'clothing optional') beach for the first time (Dad has been visiting the place for years).

The topic is also clear for 'Watersports' and 'Jackie.' They refer to things Dad and I explored after we started sleeping together. One thing puzzled me when I finished reading the first chapter - it seemed rough. Dad would occasionally ask me to proof-read something he'd written before posting it, and he's dissatisfied if there's a single instance where he used 'to' when 'too' was correct (the way his mind works, I don't think 'two' would ever be mistaken for either of the other two - no pun intended). There were a few times Word identified misspellings, but those were clearly intentional. The problem was that there were at least a half-dozen word usage errors. Even if he was writing these just so he could read them later himself (holy shit, I hope he hasn't considering posting them!) he wouldn't have tolerated that many mistakes.

The following Thursday, I again got home before he did and checked his computer again. This time the Word document 'Ch. 3' (Watersports) was on the screen but I ignored it. I did a quick check, and found .txt files corresponding with each of the Word documents. I quickly mailed the .txt files to myself (again, deleting the evidence as I had before). This time, I didn't look at them right away, but got dinner started. I found the steaks he had marinating in the fridge (yum!), so I went out back and fired up the barbecue. I checked the microwave, and found Dad had already prepped for baked potatoes. We'd worked this out a couple years ago - these were already partially cooked, all I had to do was zap them while the barbecue was warming, and put them on about 5 minutes before starting the steaks. When he got home about ten minutes later, I had just put the potatoes on the BBQ, and I was curled up on the couch reading my notepad. When he saw that that I had dinner started he seemed almost disappointed. "Damn. I was hoping I would have an excuse to spank you when I got home."

I didn't miss a beat. "I'll make sure I fuck something up later and you can spank me then." We had started playing around the edges of Domination/submission almost from the beginning. (Note to self: is the first time he slapped my ass while fucking me at the end of the second chapter or the beginning of the third? I'm guessing it's at the beginning of chapter 3, since that's the story where we definitely left the rails of mainstream sex. OTOH, it also probably has the first time we used Missionary position. Of course, all this speculation is based on the assumption that he's as accurate in the later chapters as he was in the first). Our foray into BDSM hadn't gone beyond orders and spanking, but we've still got a couple months left.

I could retell the entire story from my perspective, but I have what he wrote. There are some obvious gaps in his story that only I can fill (I was there, but Dad wasn't, e.g. David). His description of what we did in bed seems accurate, but the perspective's wrong (not wrong, but totally different from what I remember), so I'll probably include those too. I'll try to avoid too much duplication, but include enough so readers who don't have his stories can still make sense of things. God, I'm writing as if THIS will be posted!

It's not surprising that he and Mom both noticed how I changed when I became Beth. I was probably more surprised than they were. I didn't say anything because I was trying to sort things out myself. I felt like I was a die that had just been rolled and I was waiting to see what number came up. This was when I realized that I was no longer 'Joan.'

Joan was maybe a four (on a d6). She was smart, she could dance, and God help the forward who thought they could get past her on the soccer pitch. But off the field or stage, she tried to disappear. As Beth, I felt like a 6. It sounds conceited - OK, it IS conceited, but as Dad wrote, I was more self-assured and willing to stand up for myself. Joan was 'book-smart' and I didn't lose any of that, but as Beth, I was able drop all of the insecurities that Joan had carried - that she wasn't even aware of.

I liked Dad's comment about the 'knickers.' "I noticed slightly racier (what did the British call them?) knickers in the pile I left on her bed." Yes, I did visit the 'intimate apparel' department to have myself fitted for bras (more on that later). While there, I decided to get some sexier panties to go with the new bras. I wasn't quite ready to start wearing thongs, but I got some high-cut panties. This was before 'that night' so it's not like anybody would ever see them (except my team-mates, who didn't even notice). Joan could never decide which was worse, going through a white load herself and sorting out HIS underwear, or leaving it, knowing that he would be handling HER underwear. She generally chose the latter (so she could pretend that the laundry had sorted itself). She was mortified the one time he took the extra step of folding her underwear - he'd done a hell of a lot more than touch it. Now, whoever gets home first (usually me) deals with it, including folding it and putting it away. We both enjoy playing with what's under it, so dealing with the underwear itself is no biggie. There are no surprises. He's already seen what I wear (and recently he's seen it on me, at least until one of us takes it off). From the times Joan had sorted the whites, I knew Dad wore briefs. David wore boxers (as did just about every guy in every porn story I've read). It's something to ask Dad about at some point. So far, I haven't found an appropriate time to bring up the subject of men's underwear.

As I suspected, the .txt files seemed to be the finished drafts. Which kinda makes sense - it takes a few seconds to bring up Word, while a text file comes up almost instantly. I started re reading the series in the .txt files and noticed some other changes as well. In the Word documents, it's obvious that the stories are about Dad and me. In the .txt stories, the fact that it was about Dad and me was still obvious to me. Anybody who knew us well (like my future roommates) might recognize us if they stumbled across it online. But he changed a few things so it's less likely that people would recognize us without us pointing out the stories. I could give examples of things he changed, but that would defeat the purpose. I'm writing this with similar obfuscation (I like that word).

As mentioned before, I was already considering changing my name before Dad suggested it, which is why I asked him to not be so dramatic. I also mentioned that I now see 'Joan' as a different person.

The first sign of the change was after soccer practice the next day. At practice, I told the rest of the team about changing my name. Dad had called Jackie, Karen and Shannon the night before to tell them, and practice went on as usual. All of the coaches used our last names, so it didn't affect them where it mattered. The only places where Joan felt safe letting herself go were the soccer pitch and dancing on stage, so I didn't feel any different during practice. It wasn't until afterwards that things changed. I took a shower at Mom's as usual for Monday and started getting ready for work. Instead of grabbing a pair of jeans, I pulled a pair of slacks out of my closet. I also selected a blouse instead of the polo shirt I would normally wear. I didn't really think about it, I just made different choices. I made similar changes in my make-up. I had seen articles on the internet about make-up techniques for a 'professional' or 'office' look. I remem¬ber reading them, but never really paid attention. That day, I decided that that was the look I wanted. It didn't take more than an additional minute or two (and I had to borrow a couple things from Mom), but I was no longer looking at Joan. I smiled, and Beth smiled back at me from the mirror. The tennis shoes I normally wore to work stayed in the closet, and I wore casual flats.

When I got to work, I asked for a new apron and carefully wrote 'Beth' in large flowing letters. The apron with 'Joan' in small block letters was shredded and thrown out. It took about a dozen people to operate the nursery, and I mentioned my name change to each associate as I ran into them. Four of them paused and said hello, shaking my hand as if I were a new employee. Those four never called me 'Joan' after that. The rest caught on fairly quickly. The owner and managers also noticed, and appeared pleased with the change.

Joan would fill customer's order and suggest fertilizer or an additional plant or two - upselling 101. As Beth, I would read the orders critically. Landscapers knew what they were doing, so their orders were filled unchanged - if something seemed odd, I'd ask (and generally learn a thing or two). If I saw a homeowner with a mix of plants with different lighting needs or differ¬ent soil types, I would ask where they were being planted. If they were all going into the same bed, I would point out the problem, and recommend plants with similar needs (appro¬priate to where they were going). The customer is NOT always right, and part of good customer service is correcting them when they're wrong. I became adept at figuring out what effect they were looking for, and would make recommendations to help them get it. Someone moving into a new place had different needs than someone preparing to move out.

In addition to the changes in me, my relationship with those around me changed. Dad mentioned being blind-sided at how he looked at me differently as Beth. The change in how I saw him was more profound (and therefore more dramatic). Although I still called him Dad, it was due to habit. He was my dad and I still loved him, but I didn't love him as my father the way Joan did. My relationship with Mom changed too, but it was nothing like the change with Dad. When he coached my soccer team, both Jackie and Shannon had commented that he was hot. Joan had responded with a 'whatever' shrug - she only saw her dad. As Beth, I agreed with them. When I started to find myself attracted to him, I wanted to figure out a way to test my feelings. I decided that at real kiss - on the lips - would give me the best feedback. If I kissed him and it felt awkward, then it wasn't 'love.' I don't know how I came up with idea, but when I tried it, it was immediately clear that I felt a real attraction that was nothing like what Joan had felt. At work the next day I asked if I could have the following weekend off, and was told that I could. I didn't have anything like a real plan yet, but I knew that I wanted to change the nature of our relationship to something like I had had with David, and it would take some time to do it. I'm sure he noticed some of the extras I picked up when we went grocery shopping on Sunday, but he didn't comment on them.

About me and David: The relationship with him is another situation where I was Joan, but didn't feel like it wasn't me (as Beth). He and I broke up about a week before graduation. We didn't have a fight or anything, but we were going to different colleges in the fall, so we decided to end the relationship when we weren't seeing each other at school every day. He probably went along with it willingly because I refused to let him fuck me. We ended it before we were done with classes so others would know that we were 'available' for the summer. I wasn't planning on hooking up right away, but David seemed to have a couple possibilities in mind.

About the only thing that wasn't exactly correct in what I had told Dad about us 'fooling around' is that the first time he came when I went down on him wasn't in his car. I had told Dad, "spitting it out in his car didn't seem like an option, so I swallowed it." Actually, we were on his bed, and I probably could have spit out at least some of his cum, but the first couple bursts were down my throat. At his encouragement I learned to deep-throat him soon after I started giving him head. He warned me he was going to cum, like a half-second before he started shooting his load. I had him in my throat with no time to react. I figured that since I had already swallowed most of his jizz, I might as well swallow the rest. The last bit was in my mouth, so I had already tasted it. If that had been an issue, I would still have to deal with it. I can't describe the flavor. I could understand how some may not like it and the texture was kinda weird, but I didn't find it unpleasant. I did blow him in his car, in fact that was the first place I gave him head, but he didn't cum the first few times I went down on him.

As I told Dad, David went down on me once. It was right after the first time I had made him cum. Without a word, I smiled as I wiped my chin. I took off my panties, lifted my skirt and spread my legs. His cock had started to deflate, but sprung back to full attention the instant I lifted my ass to take off my panties. He had seen my bush before, but not like this. As soon as I spread my legs, his eyes locked onto my crotch and he started to scoot forward. My actions were totally an invitation, but not for what he obviously had in mind. I immediately dropped my skirt and closed my legs. I flipped onto my stomach, sucked his cock for a couple seconds, then pulled up his boxers. Hell, I had already gotten him off - it was my turn. When I turned over and exposed myself again, he got the message and lay down between my legs.

I had been exposing myself by holding onto my calves, heels next to my ass. When he started licking me, I let go of my legs and was soon flat on my back giving him full access to my sex. I lifted my top and bra and tweaked my nipples while enjoying the feel of David's tongue on (in?) me. It felt good while he was licking me and I thought I was on the cusp the whole time. He licked the full length of my slit and stuck his tongue into me a few times. The fact that I wasn't doing it myself made it hotter than anything I had experienced before, but it was soon obvious that he didn't know what he was doing. He seemed determined to get me off, but everything he did was hesitant, almost timid. I never really got close to cumming and finally faked it so he would stop. In spite of the fact that I didn't cum, I knew that if he went down on me again, I probably would do anything to get that final release. I was convinced that the only way he could give me an orgasm would be to fuck me, and I wasn't ready for that. Knowing what I do now, I doubt that I would have cum even if he HAD fucked me. He asked me a couple times if he could 'taste me' again, but I declined, saying that I was uncomfortable because it was too much like fucking.